#the fingertips are bonkers

[camembertlythere]

Shit's coming together boss!! 💖

[aphroditessaturn]

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐋 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 || 𝐌. 𝐎.

pairing || miguel o'hara x fem!reader (is a spider-woman, tho nothing specific)

summary || you have anger issues and it’s no secret to anyone in the Spider-Society, Miguel might as well be the only who can tame you. His methods are, quite effective…

warning || smut! p in vi, oral (female [fingering] and male receiving) throat fucking, nipple play, spanking if you squint

note || I had to get him out of my system and I'm not even done, this piece is for my anger issues and I need a Miguel to fuck them out of me. please reblog/comment and give feedback! I would love to know if you like my Miguel fics, I have so many more ideas

legend || mi luciérnaga = my firefly; abre la boca = open your mouth; buena niña = good girl; mocosa = brat; puta = whore; dios mío = my god; niña traviesa = naughty girl

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“I do not have anger issues, who does he think he is?” you asked to no one in particular while walking around Miguel. He let out a sigh, pressing his fingertips against temples.

“He’s like what? 15, yeah you don’t say that to someone twice your age,” you continued, your blood pressure building up with every second you thought about the incident.

Miguel tried to be calm, but the last mission worked him up and scratched on his nerves. The mission went fairly well, except for you going ballistic and the newcomer – Miles – commenting on it. Oh, and the target almost escaping because of Miles which lead to all of this.

“Can’t fucking believe this, he was the reason the mission almost failed, and he dares to say I have anger issues!” the last part you nearly screamed. You never paused, always moving around.

You couldn’t stay calm, couldn’t calm down. Every vein beneath your skin run hot, some just waiting to explode.

Suddenly both of you heard someone coming near Miguel’s platform, said Spider turned around with a glare. He knew exactly who came and what would happen if you saw him, but now there was no preventing it.

You walked to the edge of the platform and looked down at Miles, “came to apologize?” you asked and crossed your arms over your chest.

Miles looked confused, no he wasn’t here to apologize, and he would make that clear, “you threatened me, screamed at me because I let the anomaly almost escape. You overreacted,” he stated.

Your eyes squinted together, expression hardening. “You can’t do a thing right and accuse me of having anger issues? I do not have fucking anger issues!”

Just as you were about lounge at Miles, arms wrapped around your waist, “enough,” Miguel’s deep voice rang through your ears. Normally his voice would smooth you, but you were already too gone.

Your man however ignored that and pushed you behind him.

“Miles, we will talk about this later. You made a mistake -,” “what, you’re saying she didn’t go bonkers?” Miles didn’t want to accept that what you did was right.

“If you’d let me finish, you would know that she will get her fair share of consequences,” Miguel snapped at the young boy, while it made a small part of Miles feel better it only angered you more.

“Are you serious? You let that little shit get away with saying I’m in the wrong? He lost the target and we had to-,” you couldn’t finish your sentence. “Miles, leave,” Miguel’s voice was dark and left no room for back talk, he sounded scary to be honest.

Miles immediately left, knowing it was better for now and he needed to get away from you.

“We weren’t finished yet,” you barked at Miguel who didn’t bat an eye. You stalked up to him, trying to intimidate him – unsuccessfully. “Yes, we were and it’s time you calm down, mocosa,” he whispered and grabbed your waist.

You were manhandled onto his desk, wrists held together in his right hand. With his left hand he ripped down your suit, “you asshole! Can’t you-,” “yeah mocosa, stop your whining,” Miguel rolled his eyes.

Without warning he pushed pointer and middle finger into your drenched cunt, you gasped. Realising with just a few words he had you wet and in your rage you didn’t even notice.

He curled his fingers against your walls, your head fell back. Right hand letting go of your wrists and sliding down to your neck.

Miguel moved his head into the crook of your neck, kissing along your carotid artery.

A shudder run down your spine when you felt his sharp teeth graze your skin. You adored the feeling of his teeth piercing your skin as it made you feel a kind of pleasure nothing else brought you.

Miguel had easily picked up on that all those years ago and now used it taunt you, “niña traviesa,” he commented with a small smirk.

His fingers kept a slow pace, it was torture and Miguel knew that. “Miguel,” you snapped, a plead for more however the man above you wasn’t having it. “You think you can be a mocosa and I’ll just give you what you want?”

“I wasn’t a brat! It’s not my fault your spider people can’t do their job and then-,” “dios mío,” again Miguel cut you off, picking up the pace.

Hitting that spongy spot inside you which pulled a loud moan from your lips. As his fingers worked their magic on brining you closer to your high, Miguel run his tongue along your earlobe and gently nibbled on your skin. With your hands free you threaded them through his beautiful hair

You closed your eyes, the feeling just too wonderful and for a moment you lost yourself but quickly Miguel reminded you that this was a punishment.

“Look. At. Me,” his voice deep, commanding. His hand was suddenly in your hair, gripping it tight as he pulled your head back. It was a way to underline his words.

You looked at him with pleading eyes, god you loved this side of him. Miguel would make you take whatever he gave you if you could or not – you were surprised with how much you could actually take.

“I’ve barley did anything and you’re already putty in my hands,” he teased, slowing his pace down again. You wanted to scoff at his words.

He didn’t do ‘barley anything’, he almost bit into your sensitive neck, rubbed his fingertips over you bundle of nerves and hit your g-spot with every thrust. Miguel very well knew that all those little things would send your body into overdrive.

“You know exactly what you did!” you spit at him and drew a low chuckle from him, it amused him how you kept pushing, ��are you that much of a puta for me that you can’t shut up?” “Guess if you want me to shut up then you have to fuck my-,” “fine.” Miguel retrieved his fingers from your cunt pulling a whine from you.

Both hands gripped your middle, manhandling you down to your knees. He gripped your chin with his thumb and pointer finger tilting your head up to look deep into your eyes.

Then his suit slowly started to dissolve, starting by his neck, and revealing his naked, toned chest, his broad shoulders, and muscled arms. The light of the screens dipped Miguel into a dangerous red which made him look like the devil in person.

Now he was completely naked, his mushroom formed tip hitting his lower abdomen. “Abre la boca,” when you didn’t instantly comply Miguel slapped your cheek, causing you to gasp and open your mouth, “now,” he added.

His thumb moved between your lips and pressed onto your tongue to make you kept your mouth open, “you’re going to be a buena niña and suck my cock.”

You caved and let your mouth hang open, tongue already awaiting him. At first, he gently placed his tip on your tongue, giving you a chance to taste his salty precum. Then without warning he thrusted his cock full on into your mouth.

You gagged as it hit the back of your throat, Miguel looked down on you. There was still a part of him that didn’t fit inside your mouth, but it was his mission to make sure it did.

Miguel began fucking your face, abusing your throat with his harsh thrusts. You looked up at him with teary eyes, his head was tipped back in pleasure and a deep groan fell from his lips. You clenched your thighs together, you were a whore for Miguel as it was already but something that always got you were his moans.

Miguel was vocal, so fucking vocal. For one his mouth never stopped running, but then there were his moans. They were deep, hoarse, and loud.

However, your throat couldn’t keep up with his pace any longer, though you loved the feeling of getting used by him too much. Salvia dripped from the corner of your mouth, his cock twitched in your mouth which was his cue to pull away.

You whimpered pathetically, of course Miguel catched up on that and wiped your mouth with his thumb. “Such a cock slut already, just for me,” he stroked over your hair before kneeling down your level and hosting up into his arms. Your back hit his desk, legs dangling over the edge.

“What hermosa? No, smart comment?” Miguel teased with a smirk, you couldn’t say a word. Your throat hurt, no tone would come from your lips.

Miguel dipped his head down, teeth closing around your nipple while his right hand grabbed your breast. Massaging it as his tongue lapped on your nipple, causing you to whimper again. In response your man slapped your breast making you moan, “fuck,” your voice barely audible, throaty thanks to Miguel.

Switching sides he sucked on your right nipple, your hand coming up to grab his hair and pulling on his roots. “Ay, dios mío,” Miguel moaned, loudly.

He pinched your neglected nipple causing you to arch your back and a line of goosebumps to adorn your skin.

Suddenly you felt his tip stroke over your drenched entrance, distracted by his work on your breasts you hadn’t noticed immediately.

“Miguel,” you whispered and in the next moment he had plunged his huge cock into your cunt. A pained yet pleasurable moan left your body, loud and hoarse.

His cock was big, and thick, god even after all this years you needed time to adjust to his size. You could feel those veins, how he stretched you out. “Don’t fret mi luciérnaga, I’m not fully inside you yet,” Miguel whispered against your lips before kissing you.

You loved his kisses, they were full of fire and passion. Miguel kissed you like he owned you – he did, and it was one of your favourite things. His lips were so soft and warm, sliding over yours before his teeth bit into your bottom lip.

“After all those years and you’re still so tight,” he gushed and slowly pushed deeper inside you, lifting his head to look at you with a smirk.

“Feel that mi luciérnaga? Feel me deep inside your belly,” Miguel pressed his hand onto your stomach, feeling his tip bulge out, “am I too big for you?” he taunted.

You didn’t know what possesed you, but something did, “you wish,” you snapped. Miguel looked dumbfounded for a second before his expression turned into a glare, “guess my mocosa is back.”

He pulled out all the way before harshly pushing back in with his full length, cunt pulsing around him as he pounded into you without mercy. You couldn’t catch a break, he constantly hit your sensitive spot, “you like it, huh, like me fucking you like the puta you are,” aside from his cock pushing you into an abyss of pleasure, Miguel’s voice made you shiver.

It also didn’t help that he groaned uncontrollably, growling when you tightened around him. You were close, so fucking close and he knew it.

Miguel wrapped your legs tight around his waist to keep you close. His thrusts became harsher, and his thumb pressed down on your bundle of nerves, drawing hard circles.

His pace was animalistic, “look at you, mi luciérnaga already cock drunk. That’s what you need, someone to fuck all the anger out of you, fuck you dumb.” You couldn’t say anything, only unidentified words came past your lips.

Your high was near, it came and washed over you like a fresh shower, “mhm, come for me, buena niña,” Miguel only strengthened it.

“I’m not finished yet,” he stated and manhandled you, so your back was turned to him.

All the while still having his cock in your needy cunt and fucking you through your orgasm. His hands gripped your ass as he rutted into you, “Miguel,” you whined, holding onto his desk, “come on where’s your fire mi luciérnaga?” he slapped your ass.

You had nothing in you anymore, your head was completely empty. As much as would’ve wanted, you couldn’t. You just laid there, enjoying the pleasure, and taking everything Miguel gave you.

“Maldito infierno,” he cursed as he reached his orgasm, for a moment he stilled inside you and painted your velvet walls with his cum. Filling you up to the brim, not pulling out.

He slid his hand around you and pulled you against his broad chest, right hand wrapping around your throat like a necklace.

“How you feeling mi luciérnaga,” he whispered, softly stroking your sides while you closed your eyes.

“’m fine, Miggy,” you mused laying your head on his shoulders. Everything felt at peace, you were calm and had no issues with anything.

You could just lean against Miguel and he would take of you. He scooped you up and slowly pulled out to make sure he didn't hurt you, his cum leaking out of your cunt. A sight Miguel could never forget – one he didn't want to forget.

Miguel went to your universe, laying you into your bed and cleaning you up. Meanwhile you dazed around, until he joined you in bed.

"I don't have anger issues," you muttered into him as you cuddled up against him.

He covered you two with the blanket, "no, you don't," he agreed and pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. You were fast asleep, tired and spend while Miguel admired your beauty.

You have anger issues, always will but Miguel knew an affective method to control them. Add to that he loved your fire, needed it.

And Miles did fuck up.

please reblog/comment and give feedback! I would love to know if you like my Miguel fics, I have so many more ideas

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[bby-blu-swirll]

insomnia - scenario ! w/ bakugo, todoroki, iida, & kirishima

at the time of starting this,, i posted a whole short a few hours ago, but i can't sleep and it's getting frustrating, so here's some little whatever's so i don't go bonkers in my little corner <3

( in my experience, insomnia is very very frustrating and kinda makes me want to bash my head in and throw myself into the mediterranean, so i may or may not be slightly touching on those feelings here as well idkk )

bakugo :

tbh if you came knocking at his door in the small hours of the morning, he would probably seem a bit irritated ( dw he isn't he's just worried about you and doesn't know how to show it. and he might be just a little irritated, )

"the hell are you doing up this late?"

he'd lean against his doorframe as you explained - you'd been trying to sleep for hours, but you just couldn't get tired, couldn't get comfortable, couldn't keep your eyes closed. and it was just a bit maddening,

with a heavy sigh, he'd open up his door and step to the side ( a silent invitation into his dorm ).

bffr tho as soon as he closes that door, he's pulling you into a hug, rubbing your back, massaging your head and just holding you to his chest. he wouldn't say anything, just hold you, making sure to take deep, slow breaths.

eventually he would pull out of your arms and make his way back to his bed, rolling onto his back. at first you thought that was his way of telling you that you were done there, but after a second of you not moving, he would open his eyes and look over to you, motioning to his chest.

"are you coming or what?"

he would sleep as he usually did, with an arm behind his head, but tonight his free hand was around your waist, holding you close.

he wouldn't draw attention to it, but he would do his best to stay awake until you were out. he'd use his thumb or fingers to draw small patterns on your torso to try and lull you to sleep.

the more you came to his door at night, the less he asked.

eventually it got to the point of you coming in without knocking, and just crawling into bed with him. he never seemed to mind though. as soon as he was stirred, he would look around a bit, see you, and relax again, wrapping an arm around you.

he'd give you a half awake, "you okay?" just in case it was worse than usual, or if it had a more specific cause.

under the circumstance you said no, he would sit up so he wouldn't fall asleep and just listen to you talk until you were ready to pass out in his arms again <3

todoroki :

he understands sleeping problems, they probably plagued him in and out of his childhood.

the first time you had come knocking at his door, he was concerned. he would try to help, offer to make you tea or get you a blanket or melatonin or anything you could need.

but if it got to the point you were willing to wake him up, then you had already tried everything. dragging him into your waking nightmare was the last thing you wanted to do, really.

before he could finish his list of solutions, you had your arms wrapped around his waist and your body weight leaning against his.

"whoa, hon, hey..."

he would hold you up and support you immediately, kissing your head and lifting your chin to face him.

he would push some hair from your face and smile at you. maybe kiss the tip of your nose,

"don't worry love, i'll take care of you.."

he'd lie in bed with you, playing with your hair and just brushing his fingertips across your skin. he would probably lie awake just a bit, racking his brain over you.

he just wanted to help you, and knowing there was nothing more he could do than hold you and try his best to be comforting, it just didn't feel like enough. in perfect contrast, though, he couldn't help but know exactly how you felt.

when he was young and still shouldering his father's abuse alone, he had plenty of sleepless nights that nothing but the sunrise could put an end to. he was, at the very least, grateful he could be one thing he didn't have- warmth and comfort to reassure you that you weren't dealing with all this alone.

all his guilt dissipated when you were quietly breathing in his arms, fast asleep, a few minutes later.

in the future, on those especially rough nights that you found yourself at the door of his dorm, he would always be there for you.

he had begun to insist that you didn't need to keep knocking, and after some time you finally listened. some nights, you just went over before either of you first went to bed in the first place.

he didn't shift much in his sleep, but even when he did, he would always find a way to keep his hands on you. the physical contact seemed to be good for you and your insomnia, so he made it a point to offer that comfort, even when he was unconscious. <3

extra - he definitely started getting a second glass of water for his room at night, just for you

iida :

he did react poorly when you first came knocking on his door in the middle of the night, breaking curfew and the rules of being in each other's dorms past dark. (ESPECIALLY your partner's dorm). just know that it wasn't personal.

he was about to scold you in a whisper tone, but put a full stop to that the moment he noticed that you looked as though you were about to cry.

"uh- y/n? are you alright?"

his voice was gentle and concerned, his intense respect for the rules going out the window the second he saw you hurting. he would hold out a hand to carefully cup your jaw, his worry growing when you just closed your eyes and leaned into his touch.

"oh... come in, darling, tell me what's bothering you."

he would turn on whatever his softest light was and sit you down on his bed. he, of course, would take his desk chair and move it so he could sit across from you. after all, if he had no clue what made you so upset, he wouldn't want to risk making you uncomfortable as well.

as soon as you explained your troubles, he went straight into logical solutions. though his intentions were the most pure, his words were frustrating nonetheless.

"a nice cup of chamomile should do the trick!" "have you made sure you've been off your phone for at least an hour before you retire for the night?" "i've heard wonderful things about melato-"

"iida."

you didn't even want to give him a chance to finish that last thought. you thanked him for his efforts, you really did appreciate them, but you were insistent that this was a continuous issue that you've tried everything and them some to cure.

you explained the frustration of lying awake, tossing and turning, never quite comfortable and never quite tired enough. hour after hour of constant moving and shifting that feel like second and an eternity at the same time.

iida was a man of logic, but he was also a man with a heart. he understood frustration, feeling powerless and completely stuck.

so, where logical solutions had failed, he knew now what was left to do was just to comfort you and be there.

over the course of your relationship, you had shaken him a bit loose of being so uptight. especially when it came to pda and physical touch, and ESPECIALLY when it came to being 1 on 1 inside the dorms. despite all that, he would still normally put up some kind of protest as you tried to weasel your way into his lap before he gave up.

this time, however, he made no effort to stop you from curling up to him once he switched off the lights. he understood this is just where you were right now and what you were needing, and this is all he could do, and he was happy to break the rules for your sake.

so much so, that this became regular. he would leave his door unlocked for you to come in and snuggle up to him however you'd like, and he would wake up for long enough to adjust to you, hold you and ask if you were all right before you could both drift off.

any night without fail, he would do whatever he needed to to help you out, even though that definitely went against his intense respect of the ua dorm code. as long as aizawa never found out, he was free to care for his darling girl another night. <3

kirishima :

he's the kind of boyfriend who's like your built in best friend. except you can make out with him.

the first time you had trouble sleeping, you told him immediately the next morning.

"bro i had the worst time trying to sleep last night,"

and the next

"omg babe it happened again."

and kirishima is honestly the biggest sweetheart, he's just trying to be manly and be there for you, so it's safe to say he would have extended an invitation to his dorm by the third time you mentioned it. maybe even sooner.

we all know he's smart, but his first thought probably wouldn't be all the herbal remedies and healthy living practices that could solve your problem. he probably did some research on them when your issues first started, but the second you found out the didn't work, he dropped them to find some other fix. turns out, it was him.

you would knock at his door, just a bit nervous he would be upset even though he had offered beforehand.

he would know it was you, immediately, and answer all sleepy and half awake. rubbing his eyes, he'd lean against his doorframe and put an arm around your waist.

"hey, baby.. 's it happening again?"

you would just nod and he would lead you inside, his hand never leaving your lower back.

"is there anything i can do, or do you wanna just try and go to sleep?"

he would definitely make sure you were completely taken care of - if you needed a glass of water or wanted a snack, he would personally get you one from downstairs and insist that you don't worry your pretty little head and just get nice and cozy in his bed.

once he was positive you had everything you could possibly need, he would snuggle all close to you in any way.

he probably mostly sleeps on his back, with you lying on his chest. he'd have one hand on your back and the other in your hair, brushing through it gently or just massaging your scalp, just trying to help you relax.

sometimes he'd spoon you, just pressed to you with an arm draped over your waist, holding you close. on those nights, he would probably move your shirt up just a bit to be able to trace small circles on your skin. (his hands are warm too aww)

but no matter how you were lying together, he would always be whispering sweet little nothings to you.

extra lol -

there was one time when you said you wished you could get some fresh air, and he was ready to sneak out in 3 minutes. it was freezing outside, but he just said it was just more reason to keep an arm around you while you wandered the bright and colorful streets of musutafu past midnight.

(iida definitely caught you guys on your way back in, but he let it slide when you agreed to do the dishes for a few nights. (kirishima took most of that responsibility too lol <3) )

if anybody wants me to do this w/ different characters, my inbox is open ! it's also open for any other requests <33

my last few posts have pretty much all been some kind of hurt/comfort so i think i wanna do something more fun and cutesy or smth lol anyway

i love you sm sleep well !! 💗💗

[inoreuct]

what if, and hear me out: sanji one day grabs zoro's hand so they could run together away from some bad guy and zoro develops a dreadfully deep seated longing to hold sanji's hand (when he's not cooking ofc). it drives him insane. he cant sleep. sanji's hand is so Soft. Why??? Why does he want to feel it again??? he wants to yell into the sunset

they're sprinting through the streets, skidding into random alleyways and falling over each other as they try to outrun whoever's chasing them and sanji's laughing, head thrown back and eyes blue as the damn sky, his hair in absolute disarray. he's beautiful and his hand is warm and slim and strong around zoro's and it hits zoro like a fucking bullet to the heart.

the memory haunts him like a particularly persistent ghost. he closes his eyes and all he can think about is sanji's fingers laced with his, lightly calloused, nails filed down to a perfect glossy sheen and skin butter-smooth from the hand cream that the cook is so adamant about using. his laugh rings in zoro's ears like the echo of a bell, merry, taunting— the swordsman is half-sure he’s losing his mind. he is one more restless night away from climbing to the top of the main mast and hollering until he scares seagulls up into the air.

as it turns out, he does not go seagull scaring. he carries on and keeps an iron grip on his self-control and acts like nothing’s wrong, because nothing’s wrong! it’s all fine! it’s all fine, who, him? peachy fuckin’ keen.

…yeah, right.

sanji’s fingertips brush his and he nearly drops the plate he’s just taken. the cook hip-checks him out of the way and he damn near chokes on a breath. they spar and he almost dies, not just because of everything, but also because sanji gets his thighs around zoro’s neck in a chokehold and zoro just gives up. throws in the proverbial towel. he doesn’t even try to get out of it.

strong, slender fingers drag him by the ear back to the men’s cabin to pick up your fucking clothes, marimo, what is this? a pigsty? because it looks like one and it smells like one, do you really expect me to— and sanji cuts himself off, because zoro’s. picking up his clothes. he looks so bewildered at the lack of protest that zoro almost laughs, and he hides it by bending down to snag a pair of pants peeking out from under his bunk. (he decidedly does not laugh, because it has suddenly hit him that he’d probably do just about anything sanji asked him to. he might complain, sure, but he’d do it—

and that is a terrifying thought to entertain.)

the days carry on, and it doesn’t get any better; hell, zoro would say it gets so much worse. his heart seems to recognise every touch of sanji’s skin as cause to go absolutely fucking bonkers; chopper literally asks him if he has a family history of arrhythmia. it’s that bad. he tries to go to sleep and imagines sanji, one bunk up, in his bunk instead, his fingers tangled in flaxen hair, his free hand laced with sanji’s. he eats dinner and gets hit with a pang of desire to help with the dishes so strong that he almost stabs himself in the face with his fork. there is something wrong with him, he thinks profoundly, a familiar sense of gloomy dread spreading in his sternum as he rests his chin in his hand, like an oil spill marbled through with potent fondness.

they’re forced to get their shit together in the end but only because luffy manages to get them locked in the galley while franky is “too occupied” to get them out. (he isn’t. he’s sunbathing on the damn deck and absolutely in on the plan.)

zoro’s barely breathing as he goes up to sanji, eyes wild, and as soon as the cook looks at him he smacks a big fat kiss on his mouth and yells OKAY BYE. he’s seriously considering jumping out the porthole window but someone snags his collar and yanks him back, pinning him in against the countertop.

“and where do you think you’re going?” sanji purrs, but it’s breathless. his eyes are sea-sky-sapphire blue, like the heart of a flame, and zoro is the stupid little moth that was too damn dumb to fly away when he could and now he’s in the thick of it and he’s burning up, smoke drifting like it does from the tip of sanji’s cigarette.

the edge of the counter digs into his back. “nowhere,” he breathes, and it’s a lie and too much of the truth all at once. anywhere away from here. nowhere away from you. nowhere i can’t find you. nowhere you can’t follow.

sanji sucks in a trembling breath, electric eyes searching for something in zoro’s face, and he must find it because the next moment zoro’s being kissed within an inch of his life and the only thought in his head is yes, yes, yes. finally. yes.

they walk out red-faced, hair mussed, clothes twisted, avoiding all eye contact and immediately darting off to opposite ends of the ship with mumbled excuses.

zoro’s mouth is kiss-bruised and his head is spinning. his hip aches where he’d banged into the edge of the table. his heart aches where he’s finally let go of the wound he’d been holding shut for ages because now it’s bleeding afresh and sanji hasn’t stitched it up yet.

(but that night, as he lays awake heavy-limbed and staring at the bottom of a bunk, long legs swing over the side. sanji drops down, angling himself to land on zoro with a soft oof.

they talk. it is easier, somehow, when they cannot see each other— but zoro knows those blue, blue eyes are on him. he feels them slip shut, lashes dragging against the pad of his thumb as he tilts sanji’s face for another kiss; softer, this time. gentle. a banked flame flickering in the hearth, warmth and not destruction.

they fit together like their hands do, puzzle-piece natural, and it feels like coming home. zoro hasn’t known home in a very, very long time.

he buries his face in silky, sweet-smelling hair and falls asleep with sanji’s pulse thrumming beneath his palm.

come morning, he wakes to find the sheets twisted around them, a dull ache blooming across his shin— sanji’s a kicker. being privy to this information delights him an unreasonable amount.

the cook stretches with a loud yawn, arms falling to rest around zoro’s neck as he rubs his socked feet together. “come make breakfast with me,” he mumbles, the words muffled against zoro’s shoulder—

and zoro finally lets himself laugh, lets it bubble out of him like champagne, a rumble in his chest. “sure, curly. five more minutes.”

he feels impossibly light. five minutes turn into ten, and ten into twenty. they both fall back asleep. their captain will have to settle breakfast himself for the day; their cook’s hands are, unfortunately, otherwise occupied.)

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Study Bunny (Prodigal Son One-Shot)

Martin Whitly x GN!Reader 18+ ONLY / requests are open

Summary: You ride Martin's thigh.

CW: daddy kink, medical talk, possessive behaviour(ish)

Prodigal Son: @stevekempscocktails @go-bonkers-go-foolish @peytonpenguin37 (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

Martin was far too perceptive for his own good, you thought. He always seemed to know exactly what you were thinking even before you did. It was a little uncanny, to be completely honest. If this was the twenty-four hundreds or something, you would have been concerned that he’d implanted thought reader chips in your head or something. 

“Oh, my dear,” he’d said one day when you’d questioned him about his ability to know what you were thinking- not about the chips. “I’m just exceptionally good at reading people.” 

You weren’t really sure whether it was people in general, or just you. He did spend an awful lot of time with you, after all. It made sense he’d get used to you enough to read your face. 

Anyway, you were thinking about all this while perched in his lap in his study. Martin was peering over some anatomical diagrams in preparation for a surgery he had in the morning. You’d been planning to leave him alone to his study, but you had found yourself in his lap somehow anyway. That sort of thing had a tendency to happen, you’d noticed. 

What could you say? Martin was a convincing man. And quite cuddly. How could one resist such temptation? 

“Dear, you’re staring again,” Martin commented without looking at you. You blinked twice, clearing your brain from the fog that had been seeping through the corners. 

“Was I? Sorry,” you replied sheepishly, dropping your head onto his shoulder. Martin chuckled, and you saw his cheek muscles move with his smile. He sighed and put the paper down on the desk. He turned his attention towards you and placed both his hands on your hips. 

Your breath hitched ever so slightly, and the sharpening of Martin’s gaze let you know that he did not fail to notice it either. 

“Mm,” he hummed thoughtfully. “Interesting. You know, I’ve noticed you tend to have heightened feelings of arousal and hormone spiking around the mid-month mark.” 

You blinked. Did you? 

“Yes, my dear. Interesting, I know.” 

You felt his fingertips press a little harder into your hips, and the resulting whimper it pulled out of you was as embarrassing as it was telling. Martin chuckled- a wolf’s grin on his lips, and dragged your hips just slightly against his thigh. 

You bit your lip, taking the initiative and rocking yourself ever-so-slightly against his thigh. Martin grinned wider if that were possible, and leaned back in his chair so he could appreciate the sight in front of him. 

You rolled your hips harder, delighting in the jolt of pleasure ricocheting up your spine. Martin let out what could only be a possessive growl and pushed his knee up for you to rut against. 

“That’s it. Fuck, my love. Stunning,” he grunted, voice like gravel. “Watching you fuck yourself on my thigh like this? Fucking gorgeous, my dear.” 

You whimpered, pleasure shooting up your nerve endings and setting you alight. Your muscles were aching with strain, but the pleasure far outweighed the delicious stretch and burn. 

Martin started bouncing his knee, sending jolts of pleasure into the mix, giving you a different sensation to take your ecstasy from. 

“Mm, maybe I’ll have to conduct a little study on you- when do you reach your hormonal cycles? How do we measure when they’ll be coming up?” Martin leaned in to whisper darkly in your ear, saying, “when are you most pathetic for my cock? Hmm? Yes, I know, dear. Pathetic little thing just wants to cum.” 

You were getting close now, having him speak to you like this and with his hands on your hips rocking you against him- you would never have lasted long, anyway.

“Would you like that? Daddy’s little study bunny? Oh, look at you. Yes, I know,” he growled possessively, eyeing you hungrily, all thoughts of his upcoming surgery forgotten. “Fucking cum for me, my love.” 

And cum you did, whimpering and moaning as your hips jerked against him erratically, releasing with such vigour that your whole body shook atop him- much to his delight. 

“That’s it. Oh, my good little dove.” 

You panted, dropping your head back onto his shoulder and letting out a giggle as the endorphins flooded your system. 

“Fuck, I love you,” you panted. 

“I love you, too, my dear,” Martin replied, pressing a soft kiss to your sweaty forehead and turning back to pick his papers back up. 

“I’ll just finish these notes and we can retire for the night,” he said, already losing himself in the papers. You nodded, yawning tiredly. 

“Sounds good to me, beloved.”

[bettyfrommars]

Dr. Munson & The Monster

mad scientist!Eddie x The Monster x fem!Reader

Based on a sweet ask I got about how Reader's boyfriend cheats on us, and then we get revenge with his dad. I'm sure this was not what they had in mind 👀 my apologies. wc: 1.7k

18+Only, mature content, smut, cheating, mention of monster sex, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), creampie, breeding!kink, mention of being forced to live at the castle, mention of male impotence. Frankie and Reader are 25+, doctor!Eddie is 40+.

Things with you and your boyfriend Frankie were complicated.  When he first put you over his shoulder and carried you back to the castle, determined to be your mate, you wondered if it would work out.  But, you’d grown to love that zipper-neck lothario, and the enormous cock attached to him.  Munson’s Monster was famous by that time for being the first reanimated human, and he had so many women throwing their panties at him, it was intimidating for you at first.  

“Baby,  where are you going?” You called to him from the bed where you were in one of your sexiest nightgowns, draped perfectly to expose the curve of your hip that drove him bonkers.

“Out!” But he didn’t actually say it, he just grunted it, stomping off toward the balcony on stiff legs.  He liked to use the thick vines on the side of the building to climb down.

He flung the terrace doors wide open, and you watched him make his clumsy descent with a shake of your head.  “You’ll break your neck again one of these days, you know that baby? Just use the front door next time!”

He was too busy banking on his arm strength to hold his substantial weight to look up at you, but he did offer a growl and a grunt, and by the time he dropped to the ground in a crouch, there were tears glistening on your lash line.

The first few months together had been so rich with discovery and the promise of new  love. Frankie mated you from sunup to sundown, stretching you out and chasing his release with animalistic passion, the likes of which you’d never experienced before. After a few weeks, you were confessing your love; there was even talk of planning an October wedding.

But, the honeymoon phase was over, as they say, and word had made its way back to you that Frankie was getting in bed with every village woman within arms reach.  They all snickered and laughed behind your back when they saw you in town.

You watched him stumble into the night, and then you peeled yourself away from the balcony and wiped your eyes.  

You didn’t want to be alone again.  The only people who lived in the castle besides you and Frankie were Dr. Munson, his assistant Igor, and a housekeeper named Frau Blucher.  You put your silky robe on and brought a candelabra downstairs with you, following the golden glow of light coming from under the door of Dr. Munson’s library.

You knocked first, because he was a very private man, and you were paranoid that he hated you for whatever reason.  Maybe he didn’t think you were good enough for his creation?

“Enter,” a gruff voice bellowed from inside.

Edward Munson, brilliant surgeon and mad scientist, was hunched over his desk, fingers flying from inkwell to paper as he scribbled notes in his journal.  Long, dark curly hair wild around his shoulders, with a touch of gray at the sides, and fingertips stained black from the ink.

“What do you want?” He grumbled, never looking up from the paper.

He knew it was you.  He recognized the way your footsteps sounded on the floor above, the cadence of your knock, the way his heart jumped into his throat whenever you were near.

You shut the door behind you, pushing it until it clicked.  A cozy fire roared in the hearth, the air smelled of old books, pipe tobacco, and leather. You intertwined your fingers in front of you and went to take a seat by the fire.

Eddie finally glanced up, your silence making him curious.  That was when he saw your puffy face and the tears in your bloodshot eyes.  The horrible way his “son” treated you was no secret among the house, and sometimes his thoughts found their way to wondering how it would’ve worked out if he’d found you first, and not Frankie. 

With the pen still in his hand, he sat back in his seat.  “I’m sorry this keeps happening. You deserve much better than this.”

You snapped a look at him.  He was always so grumpy with you, this was the first time he’d ever offered you any semblance of comfort.

The nightgown under your robe was so tight to your skin that he could see the outline of your breasts and the way you weren’t wearing any undergarments.  He cast his eyes back down at his desk, ashamed for even allowing himself to dream.

Pausing in the middle of the room, on your way to the couch by the fire, you were struck with a sudden epiphany: Dr. Munson was attracted to you.  How had you never noticed it previously?   The way the light from the fire danced on his skin, making his dark eyes sparkle.

Driven by loneliness and a sudden, rabid burst of horny, you slinked over to the big oak desk, hitching your ample hip out to rest it at the edge.  The muscles in Eddie’s jaw flexed, eyes anchoring to yours, refusing to let them roam your body like they wanted to.

“What do you want from me?” His tone was tight, his cock twitching in his pants at how close you were.  “You should go back to your room.”

What you wanted was to get back at your neglectful, cheating boyfriend.  He got to have his fun several nights a week with whoever he wanted.  Why couldn’t you have the same?

You came around the desk to be closer, now your leg was touching his.  You let your hand graze up along your inner thigh over your nightgown, lips parted as you watched him from under hooded eyes.  “I want you to touch me, doctor.”

Dr. Munson hasn’t been with a woman intimately for years.  Mostly because he was a recluse who had no patience for the small talk required for getting to know someone, but also—he’d been harboring a secret crush on you since that first day Frankie brought you home.

His eyes flicked from the outline of your cunt to your face.  “Show me,” he told you, pushing the sleeves up on his shirt.

Eager to please him, you ran your hands up your thighs to shimmy the silky skirt up around your hips, giving him the perfect view of your kitten.  

Eddie’s mouth went dry at the sight, his brows knitting together.  He inched forward to brace one hand on your thigh while the other worked a finger along your slit, hissing at your wetness.  You yanked down the front of your nightgown to play with your nipples.

“Get on the desk,” he demanded, unbuttoning his shirt.

You had your knees bent, feet on his shoulders, quivering as his fingers spread you, his tongue seeking out the special nub that Frankie could never find.  The scientist that he was, he had studied a woman’s anatomy extensively, and wanted to use his gathered knowledge to please you.

“Your mouth feels so good, doctor,” you whimpered.   

He pulled away, chin dripping with a mix of saliva and your arousal, and then he worked a finger down, slipping in one, two, and then three.  You were all the way back on the desk now, knocking things over as you writhed, spilling the inkwell.  

He got to his feet, pushing his pants down to expose a generous pink length. You propped on your elbows to lick your lips and watch as he rubbed the tip along your slit with a groan, frowning in concentration.  

“Is this what you want?” He mumbled, pulling open your lips to watch how well you took his tip.

You sat up to meet his mouth, fingers clawing into his crazy hair as you forced his lips open with your tongue.  “I want you to give me a baby,” you begged. You found each other's eyes then, hovering on the implication of what was being asked. “Because we know Frankie can’t.”

It was true.  As much of a medical miracle and scientific treasure Frankie was, Dr. Munson suspected his sperm was no longer viable. Sometimes he blamed his skill as a surgeon for how Frankie had turned out, but he had to be gentle with himself—that brain Igor found for him was not the organ of an intellectual.  

Locking eyes with you, he sank all the way in, filling you to the base at first thrust, making you both cry out.  He cursed, bracing his hands on the desk for leverage to piston his hips against you.  You held his face between your hands and matched his need with your tongue.

His deft fingers moved from working your nipple to your clit, watching you unravel before his eyes.  It wasn’t until he felt your walls flutter around his cock and heard you whimper his name that he allowed his release.

He grunted, fingers digging into your soft hips. He hadn’t tended to himself in days, and so the potential for seeds to be planted deep in your womb was strong. 

 It took a while for him to finish pumping it all in, and then you stretched back on the huge desk, planting your feet, knees wide.  Maintaining eye contact with him, you used your fingers to push his cum deeper inside of you, tilting your hips up, holding it there, and then rubbing the excess up through your folds, before bringing them to your mouth to suck. 

He kissed your stomach and your breasts, up your throat, sticking his own fingers inside to keep any from leaking out.  “Stay like this until I say you can go,” he mumbled against your mouth.  “And when it starts to drip down your leg, I want you to remember who put it there.”

“Yes, doctor,” you whined, listening to the plop of the tiny ink droplets as they fell from the desk and collected in a puddle on the floor. 

[fcthots]

u + anon talking abt jason's scars are soooooo real 🤭 his autopsy scar literally makes me go bonkers, ngl it's the perfect guideline for where to trace your fingertips over or press kisses to, especially along his sternum and his tummy 😭 i wont him so bad 😭😭

also omg your reply to my ask SO TRUE jason becoming a makeup girlie for his s/o is so cute 😭 he's on beauty bay reading reviews for hours trying to find the perfect shade..hes 100% the type to learn your skincare routine too if thats smthn u do.

in my mind he loves leaning against the bathroom doorway watching while s/o does their morning/evening skincare routine bc 1) hes like a cat that wants attention and will just follow you from room to room, 2) he likes the domesticity of doing Stuff and chatting with u, and 3) hes 100% the type that would do ur skincare routine on you if u were too tired and he wants to get it right 🥺

like if u came home exhausted from work and were too lazy to wash ur makeup off and moisturise, he'd have u sit on the edge of the bathtub while he washes ur face jdndjdjd..........jason todd's calloused hands, rough from fighting and doing maintenance on his motorcycle, etc, and hes just handling ur face sooo gently while he applies ur lotion for you and looking at u with absolute Adoration bc he loves u so so much and loves takin care of u.....@ someone when will this happen for me. i need to bite him‼️

💋 anon

REAL.

If you trace along his autopsy scar, he shivers and involuntarily squirms if you do it just right. He loves gossiping with you while you do your morning skincare. You start putting on face wash and telling him about your work or friend drama and he sits criss cross and is so invested. If you come home late and tired, he'll sit you down on the edge of the tub and put your face wash on for you, scrub it in, and then wipe it off with such care.

I, too, want to bite him.

[idontknowreallywhy]

WIP Wednesday

✈️✨✈️✨✈️✨✈️✨✈️✨✈️✨✈️✨✈️✨

The grin levelled up from Shark to Maniacal. For a brief moment, she wondered if there had been something in the coffee…

That all makes perfect sense, Scott, apart from one tiny detail - you don’t work here? Why on Earth are they letting YOU…” she poked him in the chest and the anti-g-suit squeaked ever so subtly under her fingertip “fly…” she gestured emphatically out the window towards what must have been fifty bajillion pounds of gleaming military efficiency “THAT THING?”

Another voice interrupted from across the table

“Because nobody else currently based here has got the nerve to really try to shake the thing off. Tracy’s a bit… unusual.”

“You mean bonkers don’t you?”

The man let out an explosive laugh “If you like. And he also…” the newcomer winked at her across the table “is particularly susceptible to a double dog dare.”

“Hey! That’s classified!” Scott flicked pastry crumbs at him. “Estera, this is Air Commodore Ashmore McKellar, callsign Smokey. He’s here solely to make sure you don’t run away with or eat his shiny equipment and is not in ANY circumstance allowed to feed you scandalous half-truths about my past… got that, Ash?”

Scott’s friend looked up at the ceiling with a supremely innocent expression.

Estera chuckled “Well that’s a shame. What was your callsign?”

Ash opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted by Scott standing up and clapping a hand on his shoulder and stating firmly:

“Also classified.”

✨✈️✨✈️✨✈️✨✈️✨✈️✨✈️✨✈️✨✈️

[twisted-coffee-shop]

👁Simpbur x GN!Stalker!Reader👁

Word count: 540 Trigger warnings: Stalking, obsessive behavior, a hint of yandere behaviour, open ended ending. Summary: He's been watching you for weeks now, taking pictures, stealing your things. And then he started to see you everywhere.

𖦹At first, he doesn’t think of how easy it was to find you. How you carry a polaroid camera around at all times. You liked photography, you had something in common! 𖦹He didn’t question when you were taking photos of his general directions more and more often, he liked knowing that he’s in your pictures. 𖦹Then he started seeing you in moments of his life when he wasn’t out to stalk admire your beauty. On his way to the office, in the grocery store near his flat, out of the window of his apartment, sitting on that hill he has the perfect view of… 𖦹Alright, that should have been a crystal clear sign, big red flag. He thought he’s getting delusional, losing it. There could be no way that you were just as infatuated in him as he is in you, right? Oh, wait, is that his sweater you’re wearing? The one he didn’t bother to look for weeks on end?  𖦹The thing is, Simpbur is not a confrontational guy. He wasn’t about to walk up to you and ask if you’ve been stalking him. That sounded absolutely bonkers. And what if he’s wrong? What if it really is just a coincidence? Yeah, keep coping, king. Keep coping. 𖦹And so, he decided to just keep stalking you admiring you from afar. And if he sees you taking pictures of his office window? That just makes him fall in love with you even harder. 𖦹It seemed fit that his first true conversation with you would be HIM getting caught in YOUR home. He was hoping to find a hoodie big enough to fit him in your closet, so he can wear it next time you see him. He wanted to surprise you, but instead you surprised him. 𖦹Too engrossed in the task at hand, he failed to hear the soft creak of your door, your footsteps behind him. Getting closer and closer and closer. He nearly jumped out of his skin when you gently put your hand on his shoulder.    𖦹You were ecstatic, the man you’ve been watching for months is right here at your fingertips, standing in your messy bedroom. The truth was, you’ve been watching him far longer than he watched you. It was no coincidence when you bumped into each other at that one cafe, where it all started for Simpbur. 𖦹You got to the line at the same time and you let him go first, smiling up at him with so much affection. If you knew that one smile was all it took for him to fall in love with you, you would have seeked him out sooner. Although you quite enjoyed the lovely circle of stalking, it made you feel hot inside, when you thought about him obsessing over you. So loved. So wanted.  𖦹His mind clouded with panic as he started stuttering out apologies, “I uhh I can explain, I, I promise!”. How adorable. His face was all red, you could probably see his brain steaming if you looked hard enough. You moved in closer, softly taking his hands in yours, raising them to your lips. You kissed his hands softly and as you look up at him, you whisper. “I finally caught you, sweetheart.”

🍄𖦹Mod Shroomai𖦹🍄

[monstersandmaw]

Male orc x male reader - monthly Patreon story (nsfw, 9.6k words)

Greetings! Apologies for this being a little later in the month than I wanted it to be. I have been occupied with reopening my Etsy shop (Patreon discount by the way!), and this orc lad had so many iterations before a random prompt on Tumblr gave me this Reddit-worthy angst fest with a very happy ending. Do check the warnings just in case, but there's nothing in huge detail.

I will not be charging Patrons for next month (November 2024) because things are going to get a bit more bonkers, with my mum moving across the country and I'm gonna have to be there a lot for her, so there'll be no story next month. I'll keep updating the not-yautja story (ShipMates) as and when though :).

The idea/prompt that sparked this final version was this:

_

Story content: Set in the Starfall Springs universe, in the university town of Old Trollbridge. The male reader (nerdy academic type) spots a big and very wealthy male orc having a very bad day (see warnings below, light story spoilers) and checks in on him. A deep friendship is kindled, which develops over time into a nice mutual crush, which is eventually resolved... :)

Warnings/nsfw content: orc is cheated on by long term boyfriend with his brother in law, falsely accused of attempted SA, and is not believed by his own family and is instead ostracised and denied contact for a while. Reader supports him through that and helps him move on and get back to his life. NSFW content: big male orc prefers to bottom and is on the receiving end of anal fingering and penetrative sex.

Preview:

The spattering of liquid falling from a fairly decent height, and the fizzing hiss of a billion tiny bubbles bursting on the pavement, was not the sort of thing you’d expected to hear upon coming out of the Medieval Research Library.

Confused, you looked across the street in the general direction of the bus stop and a multi-species daycare and, of all things, spotted a huge orc upending an extremely large — at least large by human reckoning — bottle of Silkfoot Valley sparkling wine into the gutter beside the bus stop. At four in the afternoon. Those bottles were not. cheap.

The bus stop had no bench for waiting, and the actual town centre of Old Trollbridge was a fair walk from your department’s new library building, so what on earth was he doing wearing an expensive suit and wasting expensive wine here of all places?

You needed to catch a bus home though, so you hoped he wasn’t going to cause you any trouble. He didn’t look drunk — he was pouring it all down the drain after all — and as you drew in a deep breath and crossed the road, he didn’t look up at you. He just stayed with his body leaning against the edge of the shelter and this dead, empty look in his dark brown eyes while the bottle dangled upside down from his fingertips.

He looked… defeated.

Seven or so feet tall, and as broad at the shoulder as the bus for which you were waiting, he looked pretty traditional for an orc: black hair plaited back off his face in two braids and left long and loose down his back; thick, tapered ears pierced all the way up and adorned with little silver and gold rings. From his earlobes hung — again traditional — bone or ivory amulets, and around both of his huge tusks he had a cuff of worked silver. He had on a gorgeous, forget-me-not blue, button-up shirt and deliciously-fitted, slate grey suit trousers. His shiny black shoes might even have been vintage dragon hide. He didn’t look like the kind of person who would normally be waiting there for a bus. He looked like the kind of person who owned a company and should be picked up in a limo.

Still, you joined him and he didn’t look at you. He seemed totally lost. Finally he set down the wine bottle, careful lest it topple off the kerb and shatter, and he tipped his head up to the sky. When he did that, the long black hair spilling down his back brushed his buttocks.

Not that you were looking at his buttocks.

Because you weren’t.

Ok, you were.

Damn though.

When he let out a long, heavy sigh though, you felt your heart squeeze, and you realised with a jolt that the big orc was crying.

“Hey,” you murmured softly, approaching and coming to a halt a few feet from him, in case he reacted badly to the interruption. “You… You alright?”

When his head turned slowly to regard you, you saw that his beautiful, doleful brown eyes were red from crying, and he took one look at you and his expression crumpled. He turned away, cuffing at his face with the sleeve of his shirt, and just hissed, “No.”

“You want someone to talk to?”

“No.”

“Ok,” you said, stepping back. “I’m here if you change your mind before the bus comes.”

He went still, and as you walked to the other end of the shelter to give him at least a pretence of privacy, you heard him let out another shuddering sigh, followed by a cavernous inhale, and a grunt that sounded like he was trying to pull himself together.

You risked another glance at him, and found he was looking at you. You offered him a gentle smile, your heart breaking for this poor man, whatever had just happened.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “That was rude of me.”

“I think I can probably cut you some slack,” you smiled. “You look like you’re having a tough time of things.”

He nodded. “You could say that.”

You kept eye contact with him, but didn’t push. His lip wobbled and tears rimmed his lovely eyes again, and he swallowed thickly, throat working as he wrangled himself back into a semblance of control.

“I, uh, I just found out that my boyfriend of six years has been screwing my brother in law.”

Read the whole thing right now on Patreon!

[cairavende]

You know, I get that The Sharing is the cool hip thing and it's what all the kids want to do these days, but have the Yeerks considered starting a megachurch?

I'm not saying they don't have an okay strategy, I'm just saying that all they had to do was snag a few evangelicals and they could have gone to town. Hell, probably even better to brain worm some exvangelicals - we usually even know how the parts you aren't supposed to notice work.

I get it was the 90's and megachurches weren't quite as wide spread as they are now, but they definitely were still there. Visser One supposedly did all this scouting and learning about humans to help start the invasion, but did they just . . . like not notice religion? Even a not-megachurch would still do great.

Churches will build their own buildings - easy Yeerk pool access right there, no need to hide doors in a school or a McDonalds. People start acting weird, change their priorities, quit their hobbies, after joining Yeerk Church? They found religion at some bonkers new church, their friends and family would be more confused if they DIDN'T start acting weird. Need money? You don't even have to do the ear worm boogie with all the members, many will just give you cash anyway. Oops someone accidentally said something in an alien language that sounds like gibberish to most humans? We speaking in tongues now! A host fights back against their mind snail, starts spasming and falls over? Shit son, look who is getting slain in the spirit! You want teenagers for some reason (I dunno, The Sharing seems to try and recruit from kids a lot)? I've got 40 of them whose parents will not only let you lock them inside the church overnight, but want you to. Easy picking for some brain bugs. Cops? Already looking the other way. Government oversight? Ha! Free up so many resources by not having to worry about putting some living head hummus in various IRS agents or whatnot. Want to get a new town? Well then lets go church planting! Send a few members over, use cash reserves to get some land, start with a small building with a tiny pool in the basement, and bam - before you can say Aximili-Esgarrouth-Isthill is your uncle - you've got a whole new crop of humans ready for your evil escargots.

Let me lead the Yeerks and I could have had half of America eating out of their squishy little slug fingertips in 6 months, and I'm not even good at this!

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

YOUR, YOUR TAG ABOUT GOD READER WITH FOUL LEGACY, READ IT AND ALMOST LEAPED IUT IF MY CHAIR. OH MY GODD GOING BONKERS, ABSOLUTELY BONKSRS RN

Reader who can’t touch Foul Legacy, searing pain shooting up their body if they even so much as bump into FL,,,Thinking about if they met Ajax first, confused why he would have small burns and cuts near wherever you would touch him, unaware it’s from his connections to the Abyss.

First time you saw Foul Legacy you wanted to cradle his face, gently press his forehead to yours, and you tried! Oh you tried so hard, fat tears rolling down your cheeks as you hold Foul Legacy’s face, biting your tongue in an attempt to mask the burning pain shooting down your arms, Foul Legacy trying so hard to leave your grasp, not wanting to hurt you.

OUGHHH YOUR TAGS FUEL MY BRAIN

[📺]

EXCELLENT MY PLAN WORKED >:D /lh

even better if Ajax can't touch you, and you can't touch Foul Legacy. like Rex Lapis, you enjoy taking a human form to stroll around Liyue Harbor, being one of the few gods who view mortals as equals. you meet Ajax on one of these walks and become close, both of you eagerly waiting for the hour or so he gets after work each day so you can spend it together... although, for some odd reason, he can't touch you. his skin reacts harshly when met with yours, blistering and burning a bit, so you're both careful to touch each other as little as possible- but that's alright! you're perfectly content to simply sit next to each other on a bench and chat about everything and nothing

then you encounter Foul Legacy, and suddenly everything makes sense. as a Celestial deity, you're supposed to kill any Abyss creatures you come across- but you've always been a softhearted god, so when you see him collapsed in a field you immediately rush to help. but your eyes widen when you get closer, familiarity washing over you as the Abyss creature stares up, whining softly and curling in on himself. you simply smile, reaching to hold your Ajax's masked cheeks

pain sears your fingertips as they brush against his face and you draw back in alarm. Foul Legacy yelps as you jerk away, trying to nuzzle closer until he sees the blood dripping from your hand, the skin there completely melted and burned, and he balks in horror. he cries out sharply and hunches over in shame- of course this would happen, he's from the Abyss and you're from Celestia, how could he be so foolish? but then he feels your arms wrap around him, squeezing him gently, comforting him, and he wants to cry, attempting to struggle out of your grip. it's been so long since he was held like he was something precious, so eventually he weakens and just allows you to hug him, holding him tightly despite the awful pain that burns your flesh

the next time Ajax sees you, your hands are covered in bandages

[inoreuct]

I imagine Zoro feeling guilty for the famine & death he inadvertently caused. During this time he's a bit more distant, more closed off. One day, Sanji sees him in the fields of the dead with souls of children who had starved to death. He sees Zoro apologize to them and, with with a wave of his hand, takes away their pain. (1/2)

oh YES. there’s definitely a lot of guilt and emotional tumoil there. zoro doesn’t regret it, because then he wouldn’t have met sanji, but it eats away at him. he gently deflects sanji’s attempts at getting him to open up; spends way too long after dinner soaking in the mineral pools beneath the castle and running circles around his head over what he could have done differently. he ensures that the souls are happy after death, sure, but what about before? what about how much they’d suffered? they hadn’t had painless deaths. they deserved better than what zoro had caused because of his own immaturity.

sanji slips down and finds him in the pools, and his husband is silent when he sits on the ledge and dips his feet in the water.

they don’t talk. not for a while. sanji coaxes zoro’s head into his lap and pets at his hair, and zoro hugs his calves to his chest.

now, zoro is not what you’d usually call a soft person. sanji has seen him absolutely radiating divine rage, his shadows lashing out behind him like barbed whips, eyes glowing unearthly gold in his anger. he has seen his husband make unbelievably tough calls without so much as flinching or showing a hint of emotion.

but here, when it’s just them, it is obvious to see that zoro cares. he’s plagued by the truth of what he’d caused from one small decision, and it makes sanji’s heart ache. “what’s on your mind, darling?”

“it’s my responsibility to take care of the dead,” zoro breathes as he presses his forehead to sanji’s thigh. “i don’t regret it. you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, but it can’t happen again.”

“well, i’d hope not!” sanji scoffs gently, trying to lighten the mood and trailing his finger back and forth through zoro’s two remaining earrings. “if you kidnapped anybody else to marry i’d— well, i don’t know what i’d do.”

“if that ever happens,” zoro starts, very seriously, “take my head off. that isn’t me.”

sanji laughs. zoro’s hair is damp at at the ends and silky-soft beneath his fingers. “why was your first instinct to kidnap me, anyway?”

the king groans, and sanji is delighted that he can read zoro well enough to tell he’s embarrassed. “i had no idea how i was going to talk to you. you looked… untouchable. you’d have never looked twice at someone like me.”

“so… you kidnapped me. kind of a red flag.”

“i panicked and made a stupid decision, okay? and that stupid decision killed thousands.” zoro lifts his head and shifts to stack his forearms across sanji’s knees. he suddenly looks haunted. his eyes are bottomless pools of grey slate. “your father’s wrath was… deserved. and i wish he’d directed it at me.”

“oh, believe me, he wanted to. but he wasn’t sure who took me, even though he suspected, and even if he was right knew that he wouldn’t have been able to touch you.”

“i’d let him.” he draws in a shaky breath, leaning into the fingers sanji presses to the nape of his neck. “if i could go back—”

“but you can’t,” sanji reminds him gently. “what’s done is done. we can only make the most of it now. try and make it better.”

zoro sighs heavily and regards his husband with a wan smile. “don’t know what kind of stupid decisions i’d be making without you here,” he says, and sanji snorts.

“yeah, well. that’s why i am here. somebody had to keep you company before you went bonkers,” he mutters airily, ruffling zoro’s hair with his fingertips.

the water sloshes gently. zoro’s lungs are warm with steam, and his fingertips prune. “i’m sorry. i’ll do better.”

sanji clicks his tongue in a soft reproach, leaning forward to hug zoro to his chest. “it’s not me you should be apologising to anymore. you’ve more than made up for that,” he whispers, and the words echo in the cavern. they help, if only a little.

“i know.” zoro’s lips brush his husband’s shoulder. his arms fit around sanji’s waist like they were made for it, and he feels the wedding ring pressed to the top of his spine. “i know. i’m trying.”

he doesn’t know what else to say. doesn’t know what will absolve him of this guilt, sitting like a stone at the bottom of his stomach; he has a sinking suspicion that it’ll never really go away, but he’d prefer that any day over not feeling guilty at all.

zoro is the king of death. that is exactly why he treasures life most of all.

he looks up at his husband, resolute, and sanji raises an expectant eyebrow. “help me. teach me to be— kind. gentle. i need a buffer so the children—”

“but you are,” comes the reply, so very soft. “you are kind, and you are gentle, and you are a good king. they are not scared of you. they are simply in a new place, and they need guidance. familiarity. but yes—” sanji smiles, slowly, and zoro’s heart aches in his chest. “i’ll help. i’ll come with you. what was it you said to me, when you proposed?”

“my equal in every way, by my side,” zoro says immediately. it is his truth, everything he knows, and sanji nods.

“exactly. you’re allowed to lean on me, you know.”

“…i don’t feel like i deserve it, sometimes.”

“well, you’re wrong. so get your butt out of your giant bath—” sanji splashes the surface of the pool with his fingers, and zoro smiles despite everything, “—and we’ll go visit the fields again.”

“alright.” zoro is blessed. he knows it. and he’s dealing with the fallout of his stupidity, but gods.

he is so fucking glad sanji’s here.

[morvantmortuary]

Gentle boops for the Morvants and others.

(Just to clarify, I interpreted "boop" here to be tapping someone on the end of the nose, not the cat-baps that the paws would indicate.)

Maxi leans over slightly to accept your boop with a gentle, crooked smile and a scrunch of his nose that closes his eyes in obvious affection. "Well, thank you, darlin'," he says, his now-open eyes sparkling mischievously. "Here, can't have you goin' without, can we?" He extends his own index finger to carefully boop the end of your nose, his skin cool against yours. "Boop!" He lets out his familiar giggle-snort. "Thanks for takin' the trouble, babydoll. I didn't think we'd get too many people boopin' here at the House." His smile becomes fond. "It's nice to be included."

Hex scrunches his nose when he's booped, and twitches it a couple times like he's going to sneeze. "...Is that what's got everyone going bonkers today?" He blinks, amused. "Sure, okay." He reaches up, booping the end of your nose with his hoodie-sleeve-paw. "Boop." He stands there, smirking. "That's it, right?" He shrugs, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "That... doesn't seem like a big deal. You'd think people would do that more often for how easy it is, I don't know." He stands there for a moment, seeming to ponder this, before reaching up to boop you again. "Boop."

When you boop Rora, she blinks hard, shaking her head slightly as though somewhat perplexed. For a long moment looks you up and down, like she's trying to decide just how to interpret that. "...How... thoughtful, of you," she says slowly, though her face still looks a bit uncertain about this. "Thank you, sweet pea. I'm... flattered." She looks askance for a moment, as if weighing her next course of action, before she haltingly reaches up and taps the end of your nose with her ice-cold fingertip. "...Boop," she says belatedly, with a nod. She follows this with a small smile, searching your face somewhat with her eyes like she's trying to figure out if she gets a good grade in booping.

When you boop Seth, he lets out a slightly manic giggle, clapping his hands together. "Is that what people are doing now?" he grins. "Delightful! Boop!" He boops you in the nose just a smidge too hard, dark eyes shining with enthusiasm. "Goodness, I can see why that's caught on. I wonder why that isn't just how we say hello. Unless our noses would eventually fall off, what with all the booping." He pauses, tapping a slender finger to his chin for a moment as he considers this. "Though I don't suppose you'd really damage the cartilage unless it was sustained pressure in the same place over time, no? Hm. I might have to test that out later," he mumbles to himself, as if somewhat forgetting you're there. Indeed, he looks back to you a second later with his smile back in place. "But that was fun!"

When you boop Leon, he stares at your finger as you pull it away with a gaze so intense, for a split second it looks like he might just try to bite it off. When his gray eyes refocus on your face, they're a bit dazed. "...Um, oh," he says slowly, as if on a slight lag. "Sorry, kid. Haven't eaten yet today." He gives you a crooked smile that shows no teeth, one that's meant to seem reassuring but somehow... doesn't. "...Thanks. I think," he adds, looking a touch confused. He holds up a gloved hand apologetically. "Sorry if it's not mutual. Just, uh... germophobe," he mumbles half-heartedly, shrugging a shoulder.

(thanks for taking the time, nonny! <3 look at that -- the first post where everyone's in the same ask! go figure!!)

[oh-katsuki]

okay I just read your stsg fic and right after the tendou fic and for some reason my brain started combining the two and I started thinking stsg + stepcest + older brothers best friend and idk....I'm into it I think

hmmNMJFDNAGFJKRNGVJKREN oh ill THROW UP THAT'S SO FNRIJEAGVNREJGNRJBVNREJLKN SEXXYYY HFNREJKANVGJREHKABV sorry if this makes so sense im like drooling and hollering at the screen and everything

cw: fem!reader, use of she/her pronouns, stepcest (but gojo lowkey is imagining it's incest sorry), i say SISTER CUNT!, vaginal fingering, threesome, suguru is basically a spectator but he loves it, everyone is so strange and disgusting ill moan

ugh satoru as the overly clingy big brother type. the kind that makes the people around him mildly uncomfortable because he absolutely has a sister complex. he's even gone so far as to share an apartment with you while you're in university, makes the financial burden a little easier.

he's like.... infatuated. he thinks that you're fucking precious and so damn pretty it makes him sick. satoru just can't get over how obsessed with you he is. to him, you're the perfect little sister.

the age gap isn't all that big. four years, give or take a few, but satoru still treats you like you'll break. he likes to spoil you. likes to buy you things and feed you and make you feel pretty.

thing is though, he also obsesses over who you date. satoru likes to know who you're seeing, when you're seeing them, and how far you're going with them. of course, you'd never tell him if you were fucking someone or not, so he's left to assume. satoru's gotta fill in the gaps. he knows you're having sex though. there's really no way he couldn't, what with the way you stay out at night.

and suguru... suguru is satoru's best friend from college. a bit of a brute, with a silver tongue and a borderline twisted sense of humor, the two of them are like peas in a pod.

of course, suguru knows you. satoru's pretty little sister who is either an idiot or willfully ignorant to her brother's overt sexual obsession with her. it's a little funny to suguru actually, just how fucked up satoru is over you. of course, he probably would be too if he lived in the place you showered in. that would send any guy in his right might a little fucking bonkers and satoru has never been all too deep on the sane end of things.

course, things change a little when suguru starts letting satoru talk about you. he listens while satoru goes on about the guy you're seeing, the person you fucked this weekend, how pretty you looked this morning when you woke up. you know, the weird and obsessive shit satoru is pretty much known for when it comes to you.

things just sort of... happen from there out. they watch you when you're in the room, touch you softly while you're sitting on the couch with them, till eventually, they've got you spread open across their laps with satoru's fingers in your pussy and suguru coaxing you both through it.

suguru watches over your shoulder from where satoru is crouched between your legs, slowly sliding his fingers in and out of you. it's the gentlest of touches, just to make you feel good. satoru wants to make you feel good so badly.

he just wants to see you fall apart, to melt at his fingertips. so he curls his fingers slowly while his best friend watches with a chin resting on your shoulder. suguru's got you from under your thighs, holding them up and spread so that satoru can get a proper angle on your tight sister cunt.

and you, pretty you, are caught in the middle. satoru mumbles into your thigh that it's okay, that you're allowed to feel good with them, that he's going to take care of his little sister (and he doesn't bother to add the 'step' before it). suguru, who you've always been intimidated by, speaks directly into your ear, asking if you plan on cumming for satoru any time soon, to which satoru remarks that you can take as long as you want.

big brother's gonna make you feel good, okay? he says.

it's so fucking disgusting that you think you might cum on the spot.

[leagueofdccm]

STARTER FOR @nghtmarish // FROM HOMELANDER TO ANNIE

THIS WASN'T HIS HOME. THIS WASN'T THE LAND OF THE FREE; SEA TO SHINING SEA, FUCKING BULLSHIT. This wasn't his home; this wasn't American Soil that he stood on. A new beginning that made him feel dread for the first time. Homeland- John, he's John now, and no longer is he Homelander. That name had to disappear along with him. He isn't a supe--- well, he is, but for this new life, he can't be. He's no longer Homelander with Incredible powers that would set this whole fucking country BONKERS ! He's JOHN JANUARY, an ordinary, boring human looking for a nine-to-five job to support himself and his... wife.

Long digits run through now chestnut-colored locks. John does this so often, two of his fingers tugging gently on a single strand, rolling the piece of hair between his fingers. When he looks down at his hand, he expects to see the dye stain his fingertips, BUT NOTHING. And when he shifts baby blue hues to his own Reflection, his hair is still brunette, and no longer blonde. Who is this man ? John no longer recognizes the man staring back at him; seeing him like this is so strange. Dressed in casual wear, sporting brown hair.

" Hi—" THE ONCE-UPON-A-TIME SUPE CLEARS HIS THROAT, and a forced grin creeps its way across twin flesh. " Hi! I'm John January, and I saw that you were hiring, and I would like to-- NO.... " His fist curls, and he slams it down on top of the bathroom counter—not enough to break it, though, so at least he's trying not to destroy their furniture. He grips the counter's edge, his head bowed low and lets out an irritated sigh. " .... Come on, come fucking on. You got this tiger. You fucking got this. " Eyes locking with his Reflection. THAT'S ENOUGH FOR TODAY.

He walks out of the bathroom and makes his way down the hall to the stairs leading to the kitchen and living room. Scanning the area, he settles on what—or, more accurately, WHO—he was looking for. A grin appears. " Good morning, kitten. " Homelander's voice DRIPS with honey spoiled with poison. He plants a kiss on the top of her head. " What ? Oh, don't give me that look, honestly. I'm just keeping up with the whole husband-and-wife act we have going on. I don't want people questioning our fake marriage or THINKING I'm a horrible husband. "