#pretty certain he is dying

[tommyxgrace-always]

Ohhh there’s a woman…

..a woman, who I Love❤️

[sysig]

Family ♥ (Patreon)

[bluehairperson]

Imagine MC getting into an argument with Asra regarding him always being so secretive and fickle, and starting to descend more and more into paranoia and an identity crisis, wondering if what he says is even reliable at all.

Asra could pretty much just make up any fact about MC, even basic things like their name, age and birthday, and because of their amnesia MC would just have to take them as face value without having any way to disprove them if they were false. Asra could have made up who they are entirely.

[carbonateddelusion]

I have. Thoughts. I am going to explode with cartoonish sound effects that accompany my demise. play the juggalo step song at my funeral and make my old-ass relatives dance to it

[osaemu]

GOJO SATORU: IT'S GONNA FEEL SO GOOD, I PROMISE!

.ೃ࿐ he's dreamt about fucking you for months, and now that you're finally in his sheets, he has no intent of letting you go—especially when he finds out that he's your first time. NSFW

contents: fem!reader. virgin!reader. kinda sorta subtle coercion, corruption kink, slight dubcon, fingering, p –> v, lots of praise!!, mentions of prior dirty dreams (about you).

author's note: had this stuck in my drafts for a while so uhhhh. yea enjoy. tagging @mymegumi bc i love selene ꨄ︎

"please, baby, it'll feel so good," satoru cooes, threading his fingers through your hair and pulling your face closer to his. "i promise i'll be gentle."

you shrug, scrunching up your nose at satoru hesitantly. "i don't know..."

your boyfriend presses his lips to yours briefly and smiles tenderly. satoru's soft eyes are fixed on you, only you as he widens them pleadingly. "i wanna teach you how to fuck. please, sweetheart, we can stop anytime. jus' wanna make you feel good, i promise!"

it's only partially a lie—yes, satoru certainly wants to teach you to fuck, but he's not entirely certain that he could just stop anytime. especially because he's well aware that fucking a virgin is such an addicting experience—satoru knows you're gonna be so tight that you'll just suck him in, and he isn't that confident that he'll be able to stop once he's started.

but whatever, that's a problem for later—for now, he's focused on persuading you to spread those legs for him and show him your pretty pussy.

you pause, considering his proposal. after a couple seconds, you nod hesitantly. "you promise you'll be gentle?" you ask meekly, averting your eyes.

satoru nods, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. "of course—now c'mon, let's get those clothes off of you, baby." and a couple agonizing minutes later, you're half naked underneath a shirtless satoru, and his fingers trace the inside of your thigh.

"so first, i'm gonna make you cum on my fingers, 'kay?" satoru informs you. "needa loosen you up so you can take my dick."

"o-okay," you whisper, swallowing nervously. "i'm a little scared," you admit, fiddling with the waistband of your lacy underwear. "will it hurt?"

after a moment, satoru nods in response. "at first it will. but then you're gonna feel so good, i promise."

"you promise?"

"i do."

satoru tugs down your panties and grins at the sight of your pussy, untouched and reserved just for him. he's dying to just fuck you then and there, rough and no prep, but he made a promise. and satoru has no intention of breaking it.

"ready?" he breathes, positioning his fingers just outside of your entrance. when you nod, he shakes his head. "i'm gonna need to hear it from you, baby. use your words."

"i'm r-ready," you confirm, inching your thighs farther apart for him.

"good girl."

then satoru slips his fingers inside, and you can't suppress the sudden moan that slips out of your lips. to you, it's embarrassing, but to satoru, it's music to his ears. he steadily pushes his fingers farther and farther into your tight cunt, and satoru can't help but marvel at the way you just suck him in.

"you're so fuckin' tight," satoru mumbles, eyes fixed on your pussy. "and so wet, too. i've barely even touched you, fuck."

it's agonizing, really—the sensation of having someone else's fingers inside of you is so new and so strange that you can almost ignore the pain (which is present but not as throbbing as you had feared). satoru makes sure to be as gentle as he can, which unfortunately isn't quite as gentle as you'd like—but it's not too rough for you to handle.

satoru starts widening his fingers in a scissor-like motion, stretching you farther apart to make room for his already rock-hard dick. you squirm around him and whine about how deep his fingers are, but satoru dismisses your complaints with a laugh. "c'mon, this is barely the beginning. if ya can't take this, how're you gonna take my dick?"

a couple minutes later, when satoru finally deems you loose enough, he pulls out his now-drenched fingers. looking you in the eye with a smug smile, he slips his fingers into his mouth and licks your slick off of them. "mm, you taste so good, pretty. lemme see if you feel as good as you taste, yeah?"

and that's how he convinces you to keep your thighs nice and spread wide open for him as he positions the head of his dick at your entrance, practically trembling from the effort it takes to not just pound into you. you're so compliant and perfect for satoru, and it takes every ounce of his willpower to resist the urge to push you up against the headboard and fuck you until you pass out.

but somehow, he manages to control himself. "alright, baby, this is gonna hurt," satoru warns, touching his reddening tip to your soaked pussy. "you ready?"

"y-yeah," you breathe, distantly noticing the way your hands start to tremble. satoru exhales softly and shakes his hair out of his eyes before gently pushing himself inside of you, and the first thought that enters your head is that he's ridiculously big—it feels like you're getting torn apart every second he goes in farther.

"satoruuu," you whine, starting to paw at his chest when he goes in farther, and it's too much, too fast, but he only grins down at you in response. "it hurts, ow... y're too—"

"uh uh, just shut your pretty mouth n' take it," satoru groans, shifting the angle of his hips and going in a little deeper. you cry out in pain, face scrunching up in an effort to numb the stinging sensation around your waist. satoru dips his head and kisses your forehead, murmuring praises on how well you're doing.

"it'll feel so good soon, i promise, baby," he insists, pressing his lips to the spot in between your eyes. "you're takin' me so good, fuck— agh, you're so damn tight, this one's gonna hurt like hell, but you can take it, yeah? my pretty princess, you'll do anythin' i say, won't ya..."

satoru doesn't give you a chance to respond before he says something about this being the last stretch, but his words don't really sink in until he's two more inches deep into you. his last thrust is so sudden and jarring that it makes you cry out his name, over and over and over until the pain evident on your face starts to turn into something that looks a lot like... pleasure?

a self-assured smile grows on satoru's flushed face when he sees the chance, and a thousand more words of praise fall from his lips. your vision's a little fuzzy in the corners, and your mind is all but gone—it's hard to focus on anything but the slowly fading pain.

satoru starts to move his hips back and forth, easing your loosening cunt into him and nodding at the way you slowly start to show signs of wanting more. your eyes brighten up a little and you seem more alert the longer satoru opens you up.

"startin' to feel good now?" he asks, smiling smugly when you nod your head. "yeah, told you so." the prominent blush on his face starts to creep down his neck, and when you reach up and tentatively touch his cheek, that's when he loses it.

it takes every drop of self-restraint in his body to not flip you over, face-down and ass-up and fuck your tight cunt the way he's dreamed about for months. satoru's imagined it for so long that it's practically a reality for him—the way you would whimper his name and claw at the sheets, the way you would cum all over him too many times to count, all of it. he's seen it a thousand times in his head, but having his fantasy so close and yet so far drives him insane.

but as you smile up at him, the almost unnoticeable tremble in your bottom lip assures him that this probably isn't the time. after all, you're not leaving him anytime soon, so he might as well train you first before even attempting any of that on your perfect, untouched body.

"what do i do now?" you ask, and the simplicity of the question is almost childish. especially when satoru almost laughs in response, soft blue eyes glinting with amusement.

"jus' lie there and stay pretty f'me. and keep your legs spread wiiide open," satoru cooes, shaking his hair out of his eyes only for it to fall right back in.

"yeah, you're doin' so good that i don't even buy that you were a virgin—or are you just naturally made for me, huh? maybe that's it, 'cause i swear on my life that i've never fucked a cunt this fuckin' pretty, heh."

[glow-in-the-dark-death]

Space (I see you)

Danny has a space core, in the beginning he thought he has an ice core, but it turns out that because he had been highly stressed since his death his core had been underdeveloped and only showed certain aspects to keep him healthy.

Years have passed his 14 birthday (death-day)

He was now 17 and had grown into his core which had revealed a lot about him.

For example, being the Ancient of space distorted his entire view of everything. After all space was everywhere and ever growing, expanding more and more.

Danny could feel himself in his physical halfa body,

But at the same time he was watching people on the other side of the planet: laughing, dancing, celebrating, crying, being born, dying,mourning, and going about their day.

That was only on this Earth he could see every Earth that exists.

Earth was such a small part of space.

He could feel & see entire solar systems, galaxies, nebulae.

More & more

Just continuing to expand

Never ending

As he got older he could understand more his connection to everything.

Being able to help life be born on other planets

Moving moons towards planets

Creating star nurseries

Everything at his grasp

~

This would cause him to let his mind wander away from his physical form, which just looked like he was spaced out.

His human form slipping slightly when he does: freckles gaining a glow and moving to form different constellations, his hair moving like if it were weightless, and his eyes

Don't stare too long at his eyes

After all the eyes are the window to the soul

And his hold too much

(Look away)

~

Danny casually watches a meteor shower hundreds of light years away, spaced out: Ooh pretty!

The poor goon who taught he could mug a careless teen and stared at his eyes for too long: *Twitching on the ground foaming at the mouth*

~

Danny who hasn't blinked in a few minutes: "The pretty space station with heroes in it just made a full orbit on top of us again!"

Tim next to him who's just waiting in line for a cup of coffee or 3: *panicked side eyes him* Wh-What?

~

Batman: "We have to find who's taking out all these criminal."

Danny who looks like a Wayne kid therefore getting regularly kidnapped (or at least attempted), focusing on making a good star nursery: " Shhh! I'm concentrating"

Villain & his goons dropping like flies: "Mercy!"

~

Just an Idea

[sunderwight]

Shen Yuan who glitches in his transmigration, but the original Shen Qingqiu still dies of a qi deviation.

So the System still needs someone with narrative relevance to throw Luo Binghe into the Abyss. In a fit of desperation, it contrives circumstances after Shen Qingqiu's death to move Luo Binghe to An Ding Peak (not that difficult), and then the System makes Shang Qinghua be Luo Binghe's new scum master who casts him down.

Airplane's thrilled, really. Cultivators aren't supposed to get ulcers but damned if he doesn't come close to one anyway. Between Shen Qingqiu and then just a while later Liu Qingge both dying from qi deviations, and Shang Qinghua looking like a stiff breeze could take him out any day now, poor Mu Qingfang is also just about at his wits' end.

But it's not all bad news! On An Ding Peak, Luo Binghe actually finds himself surrounded by the kinds of people who are accustomed to being bullied by the rest of the sect. So they're pretty sympathetic to him, and it's easier for someone with basic laboring skills to advance on that peak too. His chores don't decrease too much, but he actually gets rewarded for doing them well, and no one tries to kick him out of the dorms or anything. Shang Qinghua doesn't either go out of his way to bully or praise Luo Binghe, correctly reasoning that his best shot at not getting a gruesome death is to just be a more forgettable bad guy than an abusive dirtbag or a heart-wrenching betrayal. He doesn't sabotage Luo Binghe's cultivation (no point, and it would just farm resentment later) but he also doesn't go out of his way to help him improve (not gonna arm his inevitable maybe-probably-murderer with better weapons!), so Luo Binghe's situation sees an overall improvement but not the zero-to-hero treatment he'd have got with Shen Yuan either.

When Shang Qinghua shoves Luo Binghe into the Abyss (he just full on picks him up and tosses him like a sack of beans, better to rip it off quick like a bandage), LBH is upset, but he's not especially surprised or dismayed about Shang Qinghua's part in it. Later on he'll be kind of confused, because he just assumed that of course the righteous sect cultivator would abhor the demon, but it turns out Shang Qinghua has been working for a demon since before Luo Binghe even came to the sect? But then it still kind of makes sense because a Heavenly Demon would definitely pose a risk to Mobei Jun and to Mobei Jun's rule. Shang Qinghua, he supposes, is just really loyal to his specific demon.

Luo Binghe's subsequent revenge quest is also somewhat mitigated by the Abyss actually not being that bad.

The Abyss is not actually that bad thanks to the glitched out Shen Yuan having been camping there for several years now.

So when Shen Yuan's transmigration failed it failed because he "woke up" during the process, realized where the System intended to put him, was like no way in goddamn hell am I being that guy about it, and actually kind of won the ensuing tug-of-war. The System couldn't put him in Shen Qingqiu but Shen Yuan didn't want to go back to his dead body either, so he ended up stuck in the nearest available space for lost interdimensional beings. Which was the Endless Abyss.

Luckily Shen Yuan's quasi-transmigrated imparted an equivalent cultivation level as Shen Jiu's to him, and the glitch made him able to sense and manipulate certain extra-dimensional energies, so he manifested as this weird godlike being able to manipulate and control aspects of the Abyss. So he set about transforming Airplane's Torment Nexus into a viable ecosystem (the current version would not be anything approaching sustainable were it not for divine/narrative intervention, and is constantly on the verge of destabilizing into unlivable ruin that would only be fit for some particularly hardy microorganisms).

It's still like, a monster land full of demonic creatures and terrifying phenomenon, but with Shen Yuan's assistance it becomes something more like a demonic wildlife reserve than a dimensional horror plane. Though it is still a dimensional horror plane, and Shen Yuan is its chief dimensional horror. He treats it sort of like those dungeon building or wildlife park sims, figuring out how to keep everything in balance while still preserving all the interesting parts. A lot of the extreme survival issues of the Abyss are more of a result of it being environmentally unstable than a result of its actual denizens, and once he smooths out a lot of the messy dimensional edges and creates stable vents for the fluctuating energy run-off, the demonic inhabits start behaving less like horror movie monsters and more like animals. They're still wild and dangerous and prone to killing one another, but also more cautious, and able to access enough stable resources that they can even start to be picky about what they pursue.

Turns out that a lot of creatures in the Abyss actually don't like fighting and dying and being brutally injured on a regular basis, even if they can heal from it!

Shen Yuan has even discovered that some like chin scritches (he's not terribly worried about habituating them to people, given how rarely any people actually access the Abyss, but also because he's not really all that people-ish himself these days).

This means that one of Luo Binghe's first encounters with the horrible creatures of the Abyss, is in fact a pack of wolf-like monsters thoroughly avoiding an actual fight with him. In fact most of the denizens of the Abyss just avoid him. They can smell the Heavenly Demon energy rolling off of him, and given the current abundance of alternatives to dealing with that, virtually none of the monsters actually choose to challenge him. There are still a few that will go after anything that's bleeding, but that problem stops once Luo Binghe's physiology heals his wounds, which takes like... a couple hours, max.

Despite the stories he's heard, Luo Binghe is relieved to find that the Abyss is not quite so terrible as all that. Normal survival skills suffice for seeing him through much of it. He's able to hunt for food, scavenge for tools, and even finds potable water fairly easily. After a few weeks, he also comes across a ruin which seems to be inhabited.

The being inhabiting it is plainly a god, although he demurs and refutes such assertions whenever Binghe is too frank. He's a strange being, at turns looking like some queer approximation of a human, at other times blinking and winking in and out of existence, in patterns of strange lights and oddly geometrical fire. But he's surprisingly not hostile, letting Binghe rest in his residence, and even directing him towards points of interest. Accompanying him, too, though he seems to think that Binghe doesn't notice the odd almost spiderweb-like patterns that appear on things which he's influencing. The god calls himself The Peerless One, or at least that's what Luo Binghe infers from some writings on the ruin. The Peerless One offers instruction, seemingly without thinking about it, and gets flustered at being addressed by title, so Binghe also begins to refer to him as Shizun after a while.

[yueebby]

4:36am – gojo satoru

synopsis. satoru is dying (he has a fever) and he needs his darling wife (you) to nurse him back to health 

contents. fluff, lovesick!gojo, even in sickness gojo can still flirt, he yaps a lot abt marriage and he’s kind of perverted, but he’s just so in love why dont you just give him one chance?

notes. i tried to make this very shoujo-esque. cant have a good shoujo anime without a fever episode!  this has also been sitting in my drafts for a hot minute. enjoy yet another fic of me showering satoru with affection (sigh).

the cold wooden floors of your dormitory creak underneath your waddling feet. your sleepy haze does not deter you from the strong desire for a cold glass of water.

surprisingly, the usual dark communal kitchen is illuminated by the small lightbulb inside of the fridge. you hear shuffling of some items from the white icebox, removing any ounce of sleepiness from you. it was unusual for anyone to be up at four in the morning.

a tuft of white hair peeks over the refrigerator door, giving the culprit’s identity away.

“satoru? i thought you were still on that mission in sendai?”

the sounds of digging pauses. satoru’s rises to his full height, towering over the rundown refrigerator door. he gives you a crooked smile that you rarely see. it’s dopier than one of his signature cocky smiles.

“missed me? don’t worry, i tried to speed run it since i knew i had such a beautiful woman waiting for me back home.” 

you placed a hand on your hip, scoffing at his pathetic attempts to flatter you. a snarky response was about to fall from your lips, but a series of painful coughs from the lanky male stopped you. 

you recoil back to avoid his germs. “gross. are you sick?”

satoru sniffles, pointing his nose in the air. the same nose that was starting to turn pink from irritation. “i can’t get sick. it’s physically impossible.” 

“don’t be stubborn, satoru. why didn’t you call for help?” 

he huffs, eyes trained to the floor. “it’s too early. shoko’ll kill me for waking her up.”

sometimes you forget that satoru had an image to uphold. he was the great gojo satoru, after all. 

but if you don’t take care of him, then who will? and despite your disdain at the thought of coddling his ego, it was only basic decency to take care of a fellow peer (or that was what you’d like to convince yourself).

silently, you place the back of your hand to his forehead. you’re not surprised by the warm sensation that you feel. 

satoru’s hazy eyes watch as you move your hand from his forehead to his cheek.

you purse your lips in concern. with the way satoru was stubbornly denying that he wasn’t sick, you were nearly certain that he was indeed not fine. without warning, you grab the collar of his white t-shirt and pull him to your room.

“at least take me out to dinner before~”

“shut it.”

it wasn’t hard to get satoru to settle in your bed. in fact, he seemed giddy at the opportunity. while he was happy cuddling with your rilakkuma plushie, you came to two conclusions: either satoru had a wound from his mission that got infected, or he was simply sick.

knowing his pride, you lean towards the former.

the boy in question winces when you grab his shoulders to inspect the damage done to him. the sounds of furious pats and heavy breathing is the only thing you can hear over your rapidly beating heart as your hands run down his body to check for any injuries. satoru sucks in his breath when your hands cup his cheeks to loll his head to check for any damages done to that pretty face of his. 

his body tensing up doesn’t go unnoticed by you. your imposing hands immediately retract, afraid of inflicting any more damage on him.

“where is the wound?!” your frantic eyes meet his blissed out ones. 

satoru sighs happily, lazily grabbing your hands to bring back onto him,  “there isn’t one, this just feels nice.”

your chest angrily puffs up before you shove him into your soft mattress. he grunts, but you know it didn’t hurt.

“[name]!” he whines, rubbing the arm that cushioned his fall.

you cross your arms angrily, “you scared me!”

gojo mimics your actions, crossing his arms while weakly glaring at you. his efforts to intimidate you prove futile as he shivers uncontrollably, resembling a newborn kitten.

sighing, you delve into your closet, emerging with an oversized black sweatshirt that you toss to him.

he catches it with ease, a chuckle escaping while he inspects the sweater, “i never took you for the type to wear this.”

“....that’s not mine.” you give a nod in the direction of the men’s sweater. the sparkle of amusement vanished from satoru's eyes, coinciding with his jaw dropping.

his grip on the dark sweatshirt tightened while his head darted back and forth from you to the clothing item. “then whose is it?!” 

“suguru’s.”

you think that you’ve broken him when his face scrunches up in disgust. it’s laughable how his mouth had managed to stay wide open the entire time.

“sugu-suguru?!” he splutters. you slowly nod, careful not to make any sudden movements that could provoke him any further. “why– how– explain yourself!”

you cast an uneasy glance at the sweater, finding it challenging to summon any recollections of how you obtained it, especially with satoru's piercing cerulean eyes fixed on you. his scrutinizing stare has the power to reduce you into a puddle.

“well? go on,” he urges you when you stay silent. 

“it’s nothing, really. i believe it was from that mission i had with suguru a while back. somewhere up north. i had packed light and suguru offered me his sweater.” you tap a finger on your chin to recall the memory. “i guess it just slipped my mind to return it.”

“slipped your mind, huh…” satoru sniffles before letting out a sneeze loud enough to wake up japan. you nearly jump out of your skin.

“suguru was just being friendly… and be quiet! yaga will have our heads if he finds you in the girls’ wing!” you warn the weary boy in front of you, prompting him to respond with a dramatic sigh.

“how mean!” he whines before making a pained expression. you quickly rush to his aid. when you make it to his bedside, satoru weakly hands you a clean tissue.

you stare at it blankly.

“be a darling and help me blow my nose?” he gestures for you to hold the tissue up for him. all you can hear are muffled whines when you shove him underneath your plush covers. 

when your flurry of attacks ends, he cautiously lifts his head from beneath the sheets. to his surprise, a steaming bowl of bitter melon miso soup is presented to him. while the broth isn't your personal favorite, shoko appreciates its bold flavor, spurring your decision to prepare it the night prior. despite its bitter components, the concoction had a perfect track record of treating illnesses. you have your brown haired friend to thank.

perhaps it was cruel of you to take enjoyment while he eyes the bowl in horror. you know his sweet palate couldn’t handle it.

he looks up at you with big pleading eyes while shaking his head. you roll your eyes.

“c’mon, it won’t kill you.” the bowl inches closer to him by your doing. “please?”

satoru's pallid complexion contorts into a hesitant frown. "i’ll eat it…” he concedes reluctantly. however, his gaze lingers on the bowl with a mixture of uncertainty and reluctance. you respond with a hopeful smile, but it fades when he adds, "on two conditions."

“this is for your own health, not mine satoru.” you remind him.

“doesn’t it pain you to see me suffer?” he brings up, eyes glittering in the darkness.

you suck in a breath. “...not really.” lie.

“you wound me, love.” he clutches his shirt like he has been critically hit. 

you bite your lip, tired of his theatrics. “what are the two conditions?”

just like that, gojo comes back to life.

“condition number one! you have to feed me.” he points one finger into the air, paired with an innocent smile. “and two: i want you to warm me up like that night in our first year.”

an unflattering appalled expression is cast over your face. no words leave your mouth for a good minute. “y-you’re disgusting. why are you the way you are?”

“love,” he sighs. “anyways, what kind of wife wouldn’t feed her husband while he’s dying?”

“satoru,” you warn. he was starting to babble nonsense again. “if i accept your conditions, will you shut up?” your eyes were starting to feel heavy. it was the middle of the night, after all.

he nods fervently.

carefully with the bowl of soup in hand, you gently squish yourself next to satoru on your full sized bed. the tight fit left you little room to move, forcing the two of you to nestle closely to each other. with a gentle maneuver, you rest your head on his chest. his arm slowly drapes itself protectively over your shoulder.

“your heart is beating awfully fast.” you whisper, tilting your head upward to take a glimpse of satoru’s feverish face. his breath hitches.

he takes a hand and holds your head back onto his chest to prevent your movement.

“shut it. i didn’t think you would actually accept my conditions.” he mumbles.

“don’t get used to it. this is another moment of weakness.”

you stir the spoon in the broth, basking in the silence of the night, save for satoru’s erratic heartbeat.

“this is very intimate isn’t it?” he gushes. “it’s almost like we’re married—”

“keep your side of the deal,” you remind him, lifting a spoonful of broth up to his mouth. satoru looks straight into your eyes as he opens his mouth to receive it.

his adam's apple bobs when he swallows, “i’m going to tell our grandkids that we were written in the stars.”

you shove another spoonful of soup into his mouth.

extra notes

satoru magically recovered from his fever the next morning.

his second condition (for you to warm him up like that night in your first year) refers to this fic from earlier on in the series.

satoru also made you promise to never accept another hoodie from suguru. if you needed one, satoru was more than willing to give you his! (you halfheartedly agree, only because he was acting all delirious because of his fever).

as of right now, there have only been three occasions where satoru has fallen asleep in your presence. he can testify that those were the best nights of sleep in his life.

shoko went into your room for a spare pair of stockings the next morning only to find you tucked into gojo’s chest. she chases him out of your room all while calling him a pervert . bless her heart.

[6esiree]

More Than Just A Sugar Baby

Summary: Imagine you’re Alastor’s, Lucifer’s, and Husk’s sugar baby and one of you starts to develop feelings?

Warnings: NSFW, AFAB reader, rubbing, fingering, oral, swearing, a little bit of angst if you squint? Husk is drunk, but that’s it. I wasn’t happy with Vox’s and Adam’s parts so I’ll upload those soon. MINORS, DO NOT READ!!!

Alastor:

Romance was not something Alastor dealt in, everybody knew that, so when a pretty little thing like you suddenly showed up at the Hazbin Hotel in search of him instead of redemption, they were…confused. Nobody dared to pry into the man’s private affairs, however, shut down by a mere stare over the shoulder as he escorted you upstairs. This continued religiously every Saturday night, your secret arrangement never escaping the confines of Alastor’s walls.

“Oh, ma chérie, why are you being so quiet?”

You sighed as Alastor placed a gentle kiss on your clit, his arms wrapping around your thighs to part your legs, which you were too shy to do yourself. “That’s better,” Alastor murmured, his tongue slithering past his teeth. “But not quite what I’m looking for.” You tossed your head back against the mattress with a cry as he licked at your clit, which is exactly what he wanted to hear.

Lick, kiss, lick, kiss—Alastor did this back and forth, relishing in every noise that escaped your throat, including the way your hips tried to wriggle away from his ministrations. You didn’t recognize the man between your legs, and truthfully, neither did Alastor, overcome by something he had worked so hard to suppress since he manifested in Hell: carnal desires.

“Is this what you wanted all along, hm?” Alastor asked you as he lapped at your cunt, making for a filthy sight.

The sexual aspect of your arrangement was new, at least when it came to you being on the receiving end, so you were afraid that if you gave Alastor a verbal response, you would tell him more than a simple ‘Yes,’ months of getting on your knees in exchange for salvation from the financial hole you had dug yourself into making you feel…certain things for him.

“Well, yes—“ You started.

“‘Well, yes?’ Do not lie to me,” Alastor interrupted you, the sound of radio static flooding your ears. “Just admit that you kept pleasuring me for something you no longer needed.”

“That’s not entirely true…” You tried again, but there was no point in lying when you had already fucked up from the beginning. “Okay, fine. I’m a liar. It’s just—I don’t want to be your sugar baby anymore, Alastor.”

“If that’s the case, then why did you continue to return to me?”

“Because I want something more.”

A foreign feeling stirred in Alastor’s chest at that, and while he didn’t know what it was, he did know that he preferred to hear what you said more to any other sound you’d made thus far. He latched onto your clit, suckling it and making you feel rewarded for your honesty. You were close, so, so close, but then Alastor brought his head up with a ‘Pop!’, any complaints you had dying on the tip of your tongue when he crawled up to you.

“Part those legs for me, won’t you, ma chérie?” Alastor told you, settling his fingers on his belt buckle as he peered down at you with a smile, his cock straining against his pants. “I will give you something more, alright.”

Lucifer:

Nobody was aware of your arrangement with Lucifer, not even his own daughter, and he intended to keep it that way. Even when he moved into the Hazbin Hotel shortly after it was rebuilt, the man told you through the phone an hour before you were supposed to meet, “Just tell me when you’re outside, alright?” allowing him to whisk you away in secrecy, a smile on his face as you lit up at the sight of his wings.

“Fuck, please keep doing that—yeah, just like that, honey.”

Lucifer carded his fingers through your hair, a groan escaping his throat as your tongue leisurely traveled up his cock. But when you peered up at him through your lashes and gave the head a wet, sloppy kiss, the man yanked your head down, tears forming in the corner of yours eyes as he forced you to swallow him whole, his cum shooting straight down your throat. Although you almost choked, knowing that it was the third time he had finished made your heart swell with pride.

“That was…quick,” You said, blinking away the tears as you pulled back, licking your lips when he shot you an unamused look.

Even though Lucifer didn’t mind a little teasing, he couldn’t help but wipe that smile off of your face, his tail wrapping around your waist. You yelped as he tossed you onto the space next to him, your heart pounding violently against your ribcage at the suddenness of the act. “Lucifer!” You scolded him, your face flushed in embarrassment as he hovered above you with a toothy grin.

“Aw, why’d you stop laughing?” Lucifer arched a brow at you.

You would have responded if he hadn’t trailed his hand down your shorts and past your underwear, locating your clit with ease. Lucifer chuckled as you parted your legs, your head sinking further into the pillow, but your displeasure never leaving your features. “You’re the worst,” You muttered, your eyes fluttering shut as the pads of his fingers moved up and down your folds, collecting your slick.

“Yet you keep coming back to me,” Lucifer said, leaning into your neck, staying there as he added the next part in a joking manner. “You must love me then, huh?”

You sighed, your back arching off of the mattress as he slowly sunk his fingers inside of you, stretching your walls with a delicious burn. His thumb massaged circles onto your clit, too, the combination feeling heavenly. However, you particularly enjoyed watching how Lucifer’s arm flexed as he worked away at your cunt, the way you clenched around his fingers a testament of that.

“And if I do?” You whispered, feeling his breath hitch.

Lucifer brought his head up to look at you, his hand coming to a standstill. You opened your mouth to ask him why he had stopped, but then he curled his fingers upwards, pressing against that velvety spot inside of you. “And if you do…” He said, seemingly considering your words as he fucked you with his hand, the room filled with the filthy sound of your squelching cunt. Your eyes fluttered shut with a cry—fuck, you were so close.

“Well, uh, if you do, you wouldn’t have to worry about money ever again,” Lucifer added tentatively, assuming that was what you cared about the most.

“Yeah, but…I’d also get to wake up next to you every morning,” You said, looking at him with half-lidded eyes.

Lucifer suddenly captured your lips with a kiss, swallowing your gasp of surprise. The two of you had agreed not to do that when discussing the terms of your agreement, finding the act too…intimate, reserved only for lovers. But there you were, letting each other know how you truly felt by defying one meager rule, all while his fingers continued to work away at your cunt, preparing you for the long night you were in for.

Husk:

Husk lost the ability to love a long time ago—that’s what he told you when he offered to help you with your financial situation, positive that the sexual aspect of your arrangement wouldn’t affect him. But as the months passed by, he started to feel a distant ache in his chest, guilt enveloping his heart when he realized it only worsened with every visit you paid him. So, what did Husk do? He drowned himself in liquor, trying not to let his feelings get in the way.

“Shit, babydoll…ya treatin’ me s’good.”

You kissed at Husk’s neck, your hand buried in his pants as you stroked his cock at a leisure pace. He was usually the one on top, but he came into your room utterly inebriated tonight, asking you to take care of him as he collapsed onto the mattress. You could tell that Husk wanted more, his hands bunching your skirt up over your waist, the pads of his fingers running down your cunt through your panties, but he was drunk.

“Always,” You said, feeling him throb in your hand.

“C’mere,” Husk said, patting his lap. You hesitated, but you eventually retracted your hand from his pants and complied. “Why ya bein’ so shy, mm?”

“Maybe because you’re drunk—“ You started.

But then he grabbed your hips and tried moving you against him, his brows knitting in confusion when you didn’t budge. You ached for Husk, truly, but how could you give him what he wanted without feeling guilty about it? That is what you wondered as he tried to shrug off his own pants, the man growing frustrated as he failed to realize his suspenders were still on.

“Just needa get these fuckin’ pants off.”

“How about I use my mouth—“

“Nah, lemme—“

“What’s wrong with you!?”

You hadn’t meant to blurt that out, but watching Husk drunkenly struggle underneath you made you feel sort of…upset. Not to mention that this wasn’t the first time he had come to your little meetings like this. As you stared down at him, you started to wonder if he was doing it on purpose, the hurt on your face sobering him up a bit.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Husk said, panicking as he pulled your skirt down where it belonged.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to yell at you,” You said, but he wasn’t having any of that.

Husk shook his head, holding onto your hips as he sat up. He was no longer hard at this point, so you straddled his lap, your eyes fluttering shut as he reached out to cradle your jaw. “Don’t apologize, babydoll,” He muttered, the stench of whiskey wafting into your nostrils, but you were too busy focusing on the feeling of his thumb swiping across your cheek to care.

“Is everything alright?” You asked. “I’m only asking because I’ve noticed that you’ve been coming to me all drunk and shit.”

“Yeah,” Husk said, but when he noticed how unconvinced you looked, he sighed. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with me, I’ve just had a lotta shit on my mind, s’all there is to it.”

“Y’know, Husk? If you don’t feel comfortable with…this anymore,” You said, gesturing to the two of you, “You can just tell me.“

“No!”

Now it was your turn to be surprised, blinking as Husk massaged his temples. You had no idea that he was trying to figure out how to tell you that he’d been getting drunk so he’d feel less guilty as he fucked you, refusing to end your arrangement not only because you needed the money, but because he was selfish, too. “Husk?” You said, your hand settling on his chest, his heart racing against your palm.

“I’m just gonna give it to ya plain and simple,” Husk sighed, placing his hand over yours. “Look, I like ya, and I didn’t wanna say anythin’ about it.”

“But why’d you get drunk?”

“I got drunk ‘cause I’m fuckin’ selfish, alright?” Husk said, raising his voice at you by accident. “Sorry, babydoll, I just feel like a jackass right now.”

You leaned in and placed a kiss on Husk’s nose, trying to show him that you weren’t upset. In fact, you appreciated his honesty, relieved to know that he didn’t find you…disgusting or anything. “Let’s talk about this when you’re sober, okay?” You said, pushing him down onto the mattress. “For now, let me take care of you.” Husk’s face flushed at that, but the way his cock twitched eagerly against your clothed cunt felt more rewarding.

[slttygeto]

to love you is to grow old with you - GOJO. S

synopsis: satoru learns to appreciate the little things in life thanks to you.

c.w: just tooth rotting fluff, wrote this w fem! reader on mind but there are no gendered terms, physical touch being gojo’s love language, slow mornings with pookie bear himself, he deserves all the love.

note: im on a ROLL.

to age is such a blessing and a privilege in itself, and gojo only learns how much he loves it when he notices it on you. it’s not too obvious, he never points it out to you, but over the past couple of years of dating you, he’s noticed a few changes in you, all positive.

your smile lines have gotten deeper with him around, and when he stands in front of the bathroom mirror first thing in the morning to wash his face while you were still fast asleep, he notices how his own dimples have gotten more prominent. he glances at your skin care products and although he appreciates how much you take care of yourself, he is not looking forward for the day where you start buying “anti-aging” cremes or face masks.

he wants the full experience with you, and for the very first time, gojo wants to live for a long time and is certain that he wants to die with you next to him. he doesn’t fear death, he knows it’s inevitable, but something about dying in a boring manner has always irked him—until he met you.

now he doesn’t mind if he gets sick, because he knows you will be there to take care of him. he doesn’t mind when he gets fevers because he knows you’d immediately notice based on his reddened face and would quickly but surely treat his fever and ask him to lie down and be careful, as if the man wasn’t the strongest himself.

he finds himself so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice when you start waking up from sleep and your first instinct is to look for him.

“satoru?” you call out sleepily and satoru snaps out of his thoughts and walks towards your bedroom.

“oh look who’s awake.” he grins when he sees the sleep lines on your arm and face. his hand goes towards your hair as he takes a seat at the edge of the bed and strokes it before leaning in a planting a kiss to your forehead.

“did you sleep well?” he mumbles against your forehead before planting another kiss. “any dreams of me?” another kiss to your nose. “did i look handsome in them?” and another on your cheek before going down to your neck. “were you always my pretty girl in them?” he mumbles against your pulse and you giggle at the ticklish feeling.

“satoruuu,” you whine out loud. “I just woke up,” your hand rests on top of his head when he keeps peppering kisses all over your neck.

“and plus, what were you doing in the bathroom just staring at yourself?” your fingers scratch his scalp and the man immediately melts on top of you, making you lie back down on the mattress.

“i think i changed my mind about aging,” he replies and your other hand rests on the back of his neck before sliding upwards to feel his undercut and scratch the hair there as well.

“changed your mind how?” you feel the man wrap his arms around your middle and pull you tightly towards him. he pushes his face down and plants it on your chest, enjoying the way he gets to hear your heartbeat that seems to have a nice rhythm to it.

“i wanna grow old as long as i get to do it with you,” he mumbles again and his arms unwrap from your middle and you watch as his hands push up the shirt you were wearing to kiss your stomach. “i want us to get wrinkly and ugly together,”

“you can never be ugly,” you say as you roll your eyes at your man but he strongly disagrees and pinches your sides.

“my hairline is receding.”

“please stop taking what nobara tells you so seriously,” you chuckle at how serious he is and a hand rests on his cheek. “in my eyes, you can never be ugly.”

“even when I forget to put my socks in the laundry basket and accidentally use your shower gel?”

“you’re only ugly when you do that.”

2023 ; all works belong to @ slttygeto. do not repost my works on any other platofrm.

[hazelfoureyes]

I just need you to know this story has had me in a chokehold and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I am enjoying writing it. This is gonna be a weird smutty slow burn, so still smut every post but full p in v sex will be a reward you have to work for?

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

Part 1 - Pretty in Redsmut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedysmut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds

A burlesquer with a penchant for conning men, you find your latest game interrupted when your next mark saves you from an aggressive fan— by killing him. The chance encounter left you curious, still half convinced you could complete your normal chase. Unbeknownst to you, you were the one being tracked.

「warnings/tags: HumanAlastor x FemaleReader, implied attempt to SA, fingering, plot with porn?, Multi part work, bad kind of choking, blood kink, blood licking, just in general blood, Non-Sex repulsed Ace Spectrum Alastor, stalking, murder obvs, finger sucking, smoking kinda kills if you squint, Public sex acts, garter belt, You have a stage name but no one important uses it, Greed, Lust, Human Alastor is a little different than Demon Alastor. 」

minors dni 💅🏽

Part 1 Pretty in Red

The marriage between burlesque and jazz wasn’t unexpected. Before the Great Depression took the nation into a stranglehold, both Jazz and Burlesque were immoral wastes of time only the most barbaric sought out.

And oh, did you love it. Everyone who was made to feel like nobody flocked to your theater and the surrounding neighborhood. Men, women, the people who didn’t agree with either. The biblically inclined, those closer to sodom, the sapphic dolls. Everyone was equal in the halls of jazz rooms and theatres where burlesquers were welcome.

Because of the inclusive nature of such places, you often saw familiar faces. It wouldn’t be unusual for someone from Thursday night to be seen Saturday at a different locale.

That presented certain opportunities and challenges. When you found a good mark, it was easy to be wherever he was and play it off as fate and common interests.

And when you gained a new stalker, someone wanting a personal show, it could be hard to tell until it was too late. 

Maybe it was your greed, or just your love of attention, but you found yourself focused almost entirely on a particularly well dressed man one evening. You’d seen him around before. Clean cut, sharp suit, a welcoming smile always on display. He looked like he had money, the most attractive quality of any man you could meet.

So focused on his gleaming stare from the side booths you hadn’t noticed the man at the stage front tables. You barely noticed him the night before, or the night before that, either. Because Smiles, as you took to calling the handsome stranger in the back, had been here three nights now too.

You really put on a show. Shimmying your hips, ostrich feathers following suit with every move. Your brassiere was heavy with shining rhinestones, panties of silk and lace. Your set was almost done, all that was left was to remove your top and slink away behind the curtains to hollers and whistles. Back turned, you unhooked the painful bra and let it fall to the stage with a clunk. Foot in front of foot, you stalked the stage length. With your hand hidden from view you took the feathered fan from the stagehand behind the curtain. As the music crescendoed you turned, fan unfurling just in time to hide yourself.

Groans, mass begging from the audience. Your stage name a chant now, a prayer. “Autumn! Come on!”

As the band slowed, music dying to mark the end of your number, you scanned the crowd. Eyes blinking coyly, you mouthed, “More? Did you want more?”

People were jumping to their feet, not Smiles but that was fine, you were focused now on the adoration of the crowd. The music ended, a second of silence. 

You winked, the drums hitting one last beat as you let the fan close.

Fanfare! Men whistling, women clapping. Someone shouted a marriage proposal. You took a bow, twirled on the balls of your feet and slipped gracefully behind the curtains.

Your hands wound to your spine, rubbing blood flow back into your skin as the staff removed your headdress. Someone slipped your robe over you and you nodded a thanks, aching feet carrying you to the dressing room. It was chaos, as usual. Women buzzing around, tits and ass here and there. You smiled. You happened to enjoy this part of the job. Soft bodies in shiny costumes, lovely smells and sweet voices. If you could get dressed quickly enough, you could still take a tour of the room and slide into Smiles’ booth. 

“Enjoy the show?” You’d ask. He’d lean in, maybe blush, “Always when you’re here.” Or something like that. You’d cozy up to him, flag down a waiter for something strong and pricey, and get him properly drunk. He’d wake up outside, fine and dandy except his missing cash. 

You’ll call him a drunkard if he confronts you, accuse him of getting himself robbed after you refused his advances. You’ll say it too loudly, and he’ll run off. 

You danced a little in your seat, another game of cat and mouse about to commence. But first, a smoke.

Unbeknownst to you, the well dressed man hadn’t come to see you. He preferred your singing shows at the little dive bar two blocks over. No, he had come for the man at the front table. For weeks now, he had watched him harassing the ladies of the few joints in New Orleans that weren’t regularly hounded by police. Your smiley mark even heard stories of unsavory acts, many women leaving the dance scene entirely after.

He didn’t care for it. He didn’t care for him. So he took to his hunt, following the man to come to his own conclusions. The pattern of behavior was obvious, and though he hadn’t seen what ended the last obsession, it was clear one of the performers at this club was being stalked as the next victim. 

He watched your dance with half lidded eyes, just as much as he watched the man give dirty looks to the other men cheering. Heard the, “Marry me!” shouted at you.

Yes, it was obvious to him now. 

So when the target of his interest got up and pushed his way into a staff only door, well, the well dressed man was sure to follow. 

The great thing about confidence and a nicely tailored suit is that no one questions you about why you are where you are. So while the brute he tailed had to shove past people to get wherever he was going, people smiled and made room for the gentleman who was not far behind.

He caught the street access door before it closed, allowing it to stay open just a sliver. Enough for one golden brown eye to watch the events unfold.

“Can I have a light?” The stranger asked you. You looked at him, then to the staff only entrance he just came out of. 

“I don’t think I know you….,” you handed him the lighter but he instead leaned into you, cigarette hanging from his lips. “You… new?”

You sparked the flint with a practiced thumb, taking three tries to get it lit, and put your hand out. The man didn’t budge, eyebrows rising, “You really don’t recognize me?” He asked, motioning with his hand to come closer. Your eyes glanced down the alley, cars slowly moving past the street. When you looked back, the man took your wrist in his hand. He held you so tightly that the muscles in your palm locked and you dropped the lighter. 

“What the fu-,” his hand came across your face, halting your sentence.

“I’m your best customer. Every show. I’m the one who brings flowers.”

Dozens of men bring flowers, especially on the weekend shows. You held your cheek, skin burning. Your hand pulled back, the corner of your lip bleeding from his rings. Scrambling, your mind was searching for the right words.

With a forced smiled, your shaky voice finally piped up, “Oh! Yeah! Oh geez. I am so sorry, doll. I���m just so tired, and the alley is so dark. Here, let’s go inside so I can get a better look at you.” You tried to take your wrist from him but he didn’t loosen up.

“Nah, you ain’t tricking me. You owe me.” He pulled you into him, large hand gripping your face with ease, “You can’t lead on men like this and think you don’t gotta answer for it.” He kissed you, forcing your face into his. “Bitch! Did you fucking bite me?” He threw you into the tin trash cans beside the wall, knocking the wind out of you. 

No purse, no sharp object, not even a heeled shoe to defend yourself with. You cursed, so preoccupied with Smiles you forgot your wits.

You spit out the copper saliva, his blood and yours. “I’ll keep biting, too.” 

Why scream? The sounds of the next act were bouncing off the brick walls. Upbeat jazz and applause echoing around you. No one would hear you. Men can break your body but you never had to give them your dignity. Never give them the satisfaction of a response.

No. No screaming. You instead spent your energy trying to get to your feet. He took hold of your neck now, throttling you. It wasn’t what you had expected, but as he lifted you off the ground and your little dressing room slippers fell off, you thought this was actually better. 

“Well I think that’s quite enough.”

You felt warmth, then registered wetness. Your shin scraped on the asphalt as you were dropped without warning. Trying to open your eyes, you found you couldn’t see. Wiping and blinking away the foreign liquid, you watched your attacker fall to his knees.

Blood was shooting from between his fingers around his own neck, each pulse becoming weaker and weaker, evident through the stream.

When he finally fell over, drained, you were startled to see another man with you. The light reflected off his glasses as he adjusted them, the knife still in his right hand as he did so. 

“My, my. What a mess he’s made.” The man smiled down at you, offering a hand. When you didn’t immediately react, he cocked his head to the left, “Is that anyway to treat your rescuer?”

Is that was this was? A rescue? You took his hand with both of yours, pulling yourself up. 

Smiles? You blinked away the shock, time to shift into your next part. Damsel. You weren’t out the woods yet.

“You saved my life!” As you pressed yourself into his chest, you tucked your head beneath his chin. You tried to make yourself small. “I owe you! Please let’s go inside, drinks on me!” You looked up, batting your lashes.

“I don’t think that’s wise, dear.” His gaze panned down your dress, soaked through. He could see the thinking behind your eyes.

“No, right….,” You gripped his vest, “We gotta get outta here, fast. There’s a hotel just behind the threatre.” You started to pull his suit jacket off, slipping it over yourself. “No cops, the theatre will get raided. Just— take me somewhere safe?”

You watched him look you over, arm finally extending to let you hook yours with his. 

As soon as the hotel door closed behind you, you slipped off his jacket and ran to the dressing table mirror. 

Your face was painted red, navy dress now black and sticky. It was good you stayed from view of the reception staff. “I didn’t get my rescuer’s name,” you licked your thumb and rubbed at the blood around your cheeks. 

“Alastor. It’s a pleasure.”

You laughed, “Is that what you call a pleasure?” Turning, you pulled the mostly still dry handkerchief from your pocket and dabbed the corner on your tongue. You brought it up to the frame of his glasses and wiped the blood from the metal. “I’d hate to see what you call a bad time.”

Your hand slowed, noticing the way he was looking at you. Typically men’s pupils were blown when they fell on you, but his were constricted. They flitted around your face. His hand took hold of yours, fingers separating the thumb from the handkerchief. He pulled the little square of yellow fabric free with his other hand, allowing him to hold your thumb now by itself.

His lips opened, tongue licking the blood stained finger before placing it directly into his mouth.

Your stared, horrified, as he sucked the digit clean. 

His eyes fluttered close, finger popping out of his mouth with a debauched sound. You made no attempt to take back your hand. The realization you may have hopped out of the frying pan and into the fire set in.

“You are a funny one, aren’t you?” You tried to sound as in control as possible. Calm. Unwavered. Offered a timid smile. 

He chuckled, “You could say that. May I?” His fingers lifted your chin. You didn’t know what he was asking. His soft smile looked downright loving. He smelled so good, notes of something earthy rising above the copper.

You nodded, because part of you wanted to see where it would go. And part of you thought you didn’t have a choice.

As his face came to yours, you instinctually closed your eyes expecting a kiss. But no, instead you felt his tongue wipe across the cut at the corner of your mouth. His breath blanketed your cheek. Then his hand left your chin, the warmth of his body gone entirely. 

You opened your eyes to see him at the door, slipping back into his jacket, “I’ll pay for the night.” He tipped his head to you and exited the room back first, eyes locked with yours until the door closed.

You just stood there in the silence left behind. But as if on cue, the adrenaline waned and your knees buckled under you. You were moments from death, now somehow spared. But what had he— Alastor, been doing there? Did he follow you, too? The cat and mouse had been flipped, or perhaps now this was a fox and hound?

Gripping the dressing table, you pulled yourself up and into the view of the mirror again. Face streaked in dried blood save for the one clean spot where your lips met cheek. 

You felt like a ghost the next day. It would be nice to tell someone about what happened but, “Hey a man tried to kill me and then another man killed him! Then he licked blood off my face and I let him. It was the most disturbingly erotic thing to happen to me in months!” would get you tossed into a wagon. 

“Are you rude or just stupid?” The theatre manager pulled you aside by the arm when you came into rehearsal. “You can’t just disappear like that, people were waiting.”

Your eyes narrowed, “Was… my absence really the most exciting part of the evening? Not the John in the gutter?”

He huffed, “So that’s it? Got a beau?”

“Wait— nothing else happened last night? After I left?” 

“This show doesn’t revolve around you. Plenty happened.”

“Excuse me,” you hurried into the back, “And sorry!”

You opened the street access door and looked into the alley. Trash cans neat and tidy, no dead man, nothing strange or telltale.

You ducked back inside. Had Smiles done this? Obviously, actually. No stranger just cleaned up the dead body. If the flatfeet had found him, the club would have been under scrutiny.

Good, you thought, and went about your work.

Rehearsal dragged on. Little details summoning you back to the night before. 

“You okay?” Another performer asked, grabbing your hand and inspecting the blood around your cuticles.

“Oh it’s not mine!” You laughed, she laughed, you walked off before she could clarify.

When applying your makeup, you remembered his hands on your face. They were so soft. Definitely a man of means. A brief intrusive thought, the other hands on your face last night.

You pranced on stage, going through the motions of your routine. Even in the empty hall, your eyes wandered to the booth he’d been in. And as you took the stage in earnest later that night you searched the crowd for the glint of his glasses and found nothing shiny nor promising.

Back in the dressing room you took a moment to wonder what the actual fuck you we’re doing. He murdered a man in front of you, why were you hoping to see him again? He had half a mind to kill you next.

But would that really be so bad?  Your life was routine, boring even. The only thing keeping your lungs expanding was the applause. Maybe the headlines of your death would cause such an uproar, dancer struck down in her prime, that you could bask in the loving glow all the way from hell.

One way to remain famous, you considered. A dramatic death.

Not that you were famous. You weren’t part of the national circuits. Just your local theatres, a common face and body to the sinners of Louisiana’s most infamous city. But, well, fame is relative. For the scene you were in, you were your own little star. 

A shining light. Shimmering. The faint light reflecting off— Blood. For a second you could only remember looking through bloodied, heavy lashes. 

“You’ve been so out of it. Trouble in paradise?” Ruth, the curviest of your coworkers and arguably the favorite of the crew, rested her chin on your head. Looking at each other in the mirror, you offered a soft smile.

“I’ll letcha know when I get there.”

She pinched your cheek, “Tommy said you had a new guy. I just figured-,”

“That isn’t,” you clenched your eyes shut, “no, no guy. I just got locked out last night in the alley. The sticky-,” sticky and viscous blood, “back door wouldn’t open up. I didn’t want to come in the front in my slippers so I just hoofed it home.” 

She patted your head, “if you say so! Be careful out there though. Dangerous these days.” 

An understatement.

You enjoyed the spotlight, but more than that you craved the attention doted on you after. You’d walk through the hall to the bar to adoring looks and free drinks. It bothered you that Tommy was telling the girls you had a man. You didn’t want to appear too closed off, or for word to spread to the customers. 

Last thing you needed was men passing you by for more available options. Not that the pay wasn’t fine. Ends were being met, but grifting added an element of thrill. You really did love the chase. Finding someone and deciding he would be yours, he would fall under your spell and be at your feminine mercy. It made you feel powerful, almost mythical. And the money was nice. Sometimes you didn’t even need to steal, the men would just lavish you in gifts and you’d let it fizzle out naturally. Normally their wives would snatch them back or they’d just get tired of waiting for you to leave the stage and dance into their domestic dreams. A housewife? An adopted mother to a grown man during the day, a hungry nymph at night? For what, an allowance and a home you didn’t own? Pass. Where’s that handsome man with his knife? That was a much better steel to fall onto than what these men offered from their laps.

From your view at the bar you knew he wasn’t there. But with a nod you decided the chase was still on. You were going to get your victory. If anything, this would be easier. You had dirt on him. Blackmail would be simple enough. Bloody clothes and the perfect alibi; being a woman. No cop would think you took down that hulking man. 

Ah, right. There was no body.

That would be an issue. He had to have taken it somewhere. Just find him and follow. Worst case scenario, you play the usual game and steal whatever cash was in his wallet.

Well, worst case you die. 

You slept sitting up to keep your hair set, during the day your makeup barely was there but a red lip always the star. You had three nice dresses (well, you had had four) so you figured three nights to find him before moving on.

You slinked through the crowds of the hot and sweaty dance club Moxie. Swinging music kept bodies moving, and though you kept your eyes open you didn’t catch sight of this Alastor fellow. Which was fine! You enjoyed a few dances, swing always making you feel energized. Not a waste of a Friday night.

Saturday was easy, the lounge on fifth. Smooth jazz, plush chairs, rich men. Definitely a place you could imagine Smiles to frequent. The whisky was all top shelf, and many gentlemen offered you a lap to sit. Sure, no Alastor, but you didn’t go home empty handed.

You weren’t a particularly great singer, but if the room was small enough and the piano loud enough, you could please a crowd. Your friend had you on a semi-set schedule most Sundays at her little dive too many blocks from Main Street. Her darling played piano, you sat and sang to the couple dozen patrons stuffed into the one room bar. When you finished your set, you took your bows and looked for your friend. You needed to tell her you wouldn’t be staying. 

Your polite nods and gracious thank yous were abruptly ended by a tap on your shoulder, “You dropped this, miss.” You did a mental check of your purse before turning around.

“Oh, a sight for sore eyes. Mr. Alastor.” Your face lit up, you could see it in his glasses.

“You’re too kind. Here, I apologize for the delay. I wanted to return them clean.” In his hand was your yellow handkerchief, folded neatly. You took it and found it uncharacteristically heavy. 

When you unfurled it, your brass lighter fell into your waiting palm. Your thumb caressed the engraving. 

Alastor watched your face as the lighter tumbled out. “I figured it was important, given the condition and detailing.”

You tested the weight in your hand, “Did you fill it?” You looked to him incredulously.  He nodded.

It was a surprisingly kind act, and you needed a second to regain your composure. “I don’t know how to thank you.” Your quick wit failed for a moment, but rebounded fast. “Except with a drink. My treat. To my rescuer.”

He mulled the idea, your reaction to him was interesting. Alastor had thought if he approached you first you’d show a little more fear, or shock. But you looked downright chipper to see him there. 

“Unfortunately I don’t have much time tonight. I had just wanted to return your items.”

Your smile dropped. How did he know you were here? Had he been carrying— no, he said he had them cleaned. Had he seen you here before, before the incident? A chuckle, smile brought back, “My luck is terrible. You always flee me. I hope you don’t see my company as deadweight.”

Alastor’s smile twitched, eyes hidden behind the glare of his glasses, “Not at all! I think you’d find I’m quite comfortable with-.”

“Lugging people around?” You said. That constricted pupil again, eyes wild. A chill ran down your spine. Alarms were going off. Wrong answer. You straightened your back, popping the items into your purse, “Next time.”

Alastor nodded, “Yes. Next time, then.”

You fucked it up. You knew you had, but suddenly his words felt like a thinly veiled threat. 

You turned to leave and hadn’t seen his smile sour.

It hadn’t been a threat. He hadn’t anticipated you to notice the implication. Most people would have been so blinded by his charm they would fail to notice the glaring red flags. He was mildly impressed. You would be more trouble than he had expected.

Alastor knew he needed to do something about the clearly clever woman who was seemingly expecting him. He had followed you for several days, surprised to find you not spreading word about the murder. You hadn’t spoken to anyone, really. Even the man you left the lounge with, you just smiled and nodded nearly all evening while the man dominated the conversation. So, your sharp wit took him off guard. Who were you pretending to be? And why?

All of your cleverness fell apart when you tried to follow him. It was almost comical. He felt bad. This was going to be embarrassing for you.

He took several right turns and stepped into the park just outside of the bar. You thought perhaps he had gotten lost and considered turning around after you realized you’d lost sight of him. As you passed a large weeping willow, you were pulled under the curtains of hanging moss by your waist.

Back against the large tree, you could only pout.

“What are you after, stalking a man in the dead of night?” Alastor had you pinned, both hands on either side of your head. His body boxed you in, not that there was much more to see than moss and darkness.

You blinked several times. What a question. You answered honestly, “You.” He cocked a brow. Then you lied, “Your affection. Your time.”

Something akin to a giggle bubbled from his chest. “I don’t have much affection, but I have even less time.” Your eyes darted around, looking for your next move. “I-,” you grabbed him by the face and kissed him. When you broke the kiss he was staring wide eyed, glasses askew. He opened his mouth to speak and you kissed him again, longer, harder.

He seemed frozen under your mouth, lips taut. Your hands roamed his face, messing up his hair and glasses. Mind reeling. Play the nymph. Be the whore the men always said they hated. Be too strong, too forward, too much and he’ll run off like men do. You could try again another day.

Your hand reached for his lap, his hips instinctively jerking away. Perfect. Men these days can’t get it up for a woman who takes the lead. 

Alastor was entirely unsure what the fuck was happening. You were wildly unpredictable. When you grabbed at his dick, he thought his eyes would cross from the shock. Is this what ‘affection’ meant to you? He couldn’t understand it. Couldn’t understand you. Were you really just lustful? Even after what you’d seen him—

You bit at his bottom lip, pulling slightly. Big eyes looking back at him. Your breath was already running away from you, adrenaline seemingly synonymous with Alastor. Staring up at him, you waited. His move.

It was his turn to blink. He looked off to his left, eyes swinging back to you. With a shrug, he leaned his body back towards yours. His hand slid down the front of your dress; red silk. A deer in the headlights, you tensed. The rare third option; fight, flight, freeze. Soon his fingers were tracing the lace of your stockings, climbing up the garter straps. 

His eyes were studying your face. You didn’t want to give the wrong answer again, but at this point you weren’t sure any answer was right. This was taking a sudden turn and your foot was off the brake. You closed your eyes, opting out of the scrutiny of his stare. His hand met your stomach and began to slip down again. He rested it between your thighs, longer fingers and palm cupping the entirety of your sex.

Alastor struggled to decipher your expression. It was almost like a pout, but more subtle. You hadn’t said stop or pushed him away yet. Was he right? You were just… horny? As his hand slid back up and pried their way into your panties, you trembled.

It had been so long since someone else’s hand was on you. Someone whose hands you genuinely enjoyed, who you wanted to be on you.

Is that right? You wanted him to touch you? 

Maybe it was the stare, or the smile. Probably just the adrenaline.

His hand found its place again, middle finger bending to part your folds and feel your wetness. You whimpered, hand coming to cover your own mouth. 

“Is this what you wanted?” He said it low, a husky tone he didn’t have before.

No. Maybe. You nodded yes.

“Will you be satisfied now? No more tailing me?”

No. Probably not. Another nod.

His finger pushed in, and with a kind of greed you didn't recognize your hips ground down into his palm. He slipped in and out of you with ease. You had no idea when or why you got so wet.

“I always end up dripping around you, Alastor,” you whispered through your fingers. His ring finger joined. Why couldn’t you shut up? Why did you have to bring up, well, the murder?

“A common problem for those I take an interest in.” 

Oh no. You moaned softly into your hand. Sharp mind made dull by his fingers so you didn’t, couldn’t, process his double meaning. 

Oh no. The sounds of footsteps, a pair of lovers sneaking into the park for privacy. You heard their giggles, the sounds of kisses interrupting their walking.

“Shhh”, he breathed into your ear as he worked a third finger into your heat. One knuckle, two knuckles. A whimper. His hand came to press down over your own on your mouth, a second barrier for your mewling. You groaned, the sound coming from your throat.  

Whispers. The silhouette of the two interlopers was visible through the willow’s curtains. You watched from over his shoulder, pussy clenching around him. Three knuckles deep, bottoming out.

Fuck it. You moaned freely into your hand, wiggling down onto his hand. Hips rolling, you let your little sounds of praise flow.

The couple laughed, “That’s the spirit!” A man said, a woman hushing him and pulling him away.

Alastor grinned into your neck, immensely amused. He would have better luck predicting a dice roll than your next move. 

You hadn’t realized how hollow you’d been until now, feeling so full. When alone, you focused on just cumming, fingers on your clit and mind on memories. You never bothered much with anything else.

Your hunger intensified. You wanted more. Both hands reached for his crotch again, finding nothing there for you. You could have cried. How were you a wet mess pressed against a tree and he was soft as a newspaper in a rainstorm?

Your pride stung. Men usually stood at attention around you. A half sob into the air earned you a chuckle from Alastor. “It’s no reflection of you, darling.” His nose nudged your ear lobe, “I need a little different stimulation than most.”

“Do you play for the other team?” You considered how you could momentarily switch. 

A louder laugh, “I don’t have a team.” He leaned back now to look at you. His freehand came to press on your lower stomach, gently pushing your womb down. Your brows knit, why did that feel so good? Hands going to the tree behind you for stability.

“Sure feels like you know how to play. This is-,” his hand switched from thrusting slowly in and out to moving front and back. It sent vibrations up into you. Your eyes rolled close. Shut up. Stop talking. Focus. Close.

He kissed around your open mouth, “Well, it’d be unamerican to not dabble. When necessary, or when the conditions are right.”

Double speak over, “Just tell me what to do to get you to fuck me.”

Alastor’s head fell back as he laughed earnestly, most likely alerting anyone in the immediate area. “Ha! No, this is more fun.”

“Oh fuck you,” you brought a hand around to your throbbing clit to quicken your release.

“Maybe next time, dear.” He took a second, fingers in you sliding around your walls in search of something before finding his place and continuing. Your breath noticeably changed, instead of panting you were practically holding it in. You needed the pressure, you needed something to squeeze that spring of pleasure down so it could snap back. As your face went flush, he kissed at your temple, “You look so pretty in red.”

“Oh god-,” Your head fell onto his chest, your joint effort bringing you to orgasm. 

“A little late on Sunday for prayers, don't you think?”

A tiny scream into his suit pocket, his hand not stopping until your thighs finished twitching around him. Even after his hand stopped moving you gripped him by the wrist and rolled onto his fingers a few more times. The pleasure ebbing but still spiking every time he moved against you. 

Ah, greed. That was it. He understood a little better. This wasn’t lust, not alone.  You were definitely a mix of the two. With a sigh, you released your hold and let him slide out of you. Already you felt lonelier. Already you wished to start over.

With his dry hand he smoothed out your dress. You weren’t ashamed but you suddenly felt too embarrassed to look him the eye. But you did, hearing him hum as he sucked his fingers clean. 

Why were you only ever in his mouth in the strangest ways?

“You always taste so sweet, dear. Now!” You wanted to say something clever and salacious like, ‘there’s more where that came from’ but he didn’t afford you the opportunity. He offered you his hooked arm, “It’s dangerous in the park at night. Let’s get you to a cab and on your way home.”

“Is this a hobby of yours?” Your legs were wobbly but otherwise fine. “Illegal activities in public?”

“Funny, I was just wondering the same of you. Stalking is a crime, dear.”

You bit your lip. “Touché.”

He flagged down a taxi, “Tell him where to go.” You slid into the back seat and half-whispered to the driver. Alastor leaned into the passenger side front window and after paying the man, went to close your door, “You’ve been an entertaining sparring partner. Goodbye, sweetheart.”

With a thud of the door and a growl of the engine, you were driving away from him. You could see him in the rear window. He didn’t dare to move, he didn’t need you following another step of his.

Which was unfortunate for him, as you were already scheming how to find him again.

༻Masterlist༺

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot , @pseudobun , @fraugwinska✨, @alitaar , @angelicwillows

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan ,@valkyrie-expeditions

[lovegasmic]

MY STRANGE ADDICTION

──── . curse!toji fushiguro + sorcerer fem!reader  

 𝜗𝜚 mdni◞ slight dub con just at the beginning ◞ handcuffed sex◞ breeding kink◞ mild pussy slapping ◞ name calling : slut ◞ petnames: princess, angel , good girl. rewritten and reposted . ★ taglist

“I will be alright”

you had grinned at Nanami that one afternoon, his usual calm face held a slightly concerned look, surprisingly still present on even though you were already miles away from where goodbyes were exchanged.

“it's a low rank curse, it should be fine”

but it really wasn’t.

the report mentioned some passersby’s warning over a strange metal clanking sound in a nearby abandoned building, —nothing out of the ordinary really, adding to the faint, almost imperceptible cursed energy found in the surroundings everyone agreed it was some low rank curse doings.

yet an eerie feeling was palpable left and right, coldness digging deep into your bones and making the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

much against your initial perception, the curse didn’t attack, and instead, it cornered you into a windowless floor, much obviously the building was still on construction due to it’s bare walls and floors where it hid in the dark, like a predator hunting its prey, and much to your disadvantage, you were the latter.

the rapid and loud thumping of your heart rang in your ears, slightly muffling the startling voice the curse held, although you didn’t expect for it’s first words to be “you’re way too pretty to be a sorcerer”

“huh?!” jaw slack —from what it seemed— he, chuckled at your body’s automatic response, feeling your stomach drop at the deep and manly voice resonating through the walls and hallways.

you swallow hard “what the fuck does that mean?”

the curse laughed again, shifting in his place to take a step, two steps closer to the moonlight light coming from the wall opening and reflecting on the floor, one that barely got to show a portion of his shadow.

“what i’m saying is...” the voice came from your back, startling you enough to steal a gasp before it moved again, “...I would hate for a pretty thing like you to get killed so easily”

“if someone is dying today, that's you” you spoke, fake confidence helping you cope with what could possibly be your imminent death. this curse wasn’t one to mess with, you were certain.

“hm?” he smirks, “why don’t we test that out?” he whispers in your ear, and a second later, you’re on the floor, not giving you time to react to the inhuman speed the curse possessed, will definitely sport a couple of bruises later on from the hit and a makeshift handcuff that held onto your wrist, it’s coldness and weight reminding you of metallic chains.

“let me go” you grit, and much to your disgust, your mouth going dry the moment the curse got into the light didn’t help, hating to admit a slight throb in your pussy —and shoulders, due to the awkward position, laying barely propped up by your elbows.

he was terribly hot, dark tight shirt clinging on his broad chest and disappearing underneath gray joggers that only fueled your dirty thoughts.

“stop squirming, you have nowhere to go right now” his laugh echoes as loud as his shoes click right before your pity form, coming to your height dark pupils, almost fully engulfing the color of his irises and matching messy hair falling on them.

you had to earn time, strike a stupid conversation or anything that could win you some time until anyone came to your rescue after noticing the long absence, but the man smirked down at you in such a mischievous way you couldn’t help and try to push on his chest, screaming internally when the tall wall of muscle didn’t even budge, and instead, wrapped his fingers around your ankle.

“don’t touch me!” you half shout, both at the surprise of his movements, and the slight shiver engulfing your body from the calloused fingertips coming in contact with the bare skin right here your pants raised.

there’s a tsk coming from his lips right before sliding his huge hand across your leg, slowly enough for you to stop him, yet your body remained still, frozen against the cold marble floor.

“you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

he whispers in your ear, leaning close enough into your ear until nothing but a breeze could separate his lips from your skin.

“fuck you” you hiss, empty words not matching the way you pliantly let the man, curse, touch you, both hands resting on your thighs, your waist, snaking a single thumb across the side of your covered breasts that rise and fall with each harsh breathing.

“that’s what I plan on doing”

for the second time in the night, your head fogs at the sudden movement, knees landing roughly on the floor with a pained gasp as you stare into the wall, your back arched in a very, suggestive way towards the man.

“i bet you’re fucking wet” he chuckles, “what a slut, in this situation, really?, do you not get fucked well enough?”

lips part to talk back, anger and embarrassment burning on your face, but the fact was undeniable, now obvious to him since his rough fingertips came in contact with the crotch of your elastic pants, rubbing across your slit through the fabric, rough enough for your growing wetness to seep towards the exterior.

“fuck— naughty girl” he is very much enjoying this, palming his already hard cock through the loose fabric of his own pants. “gonna take care of you, princess, fuck you nice and good til’ that pretty head of yours goes dumb”

it’s involuntary the moan that escapes your lips, suddenly losing balance until your cheek is pressed against the cold floor. a lewd sight of your willing body all pliant for him.

“name’s Toji” he huffs, leaving a single sharp slap on your ass before shredding the cloth down along your drenched panties, enough for his thighs to come between yours and stretch them, leaving your pussy to his lustful gaze, “remember the name you’ll be screaming tonight”

the curse, or now, Toji’s words are remarked with a couple soft slaps on your throbbing clit with the tip of his cock, making your thighs twitch and whimpers escape at the sensation and disgustingly nasty sound of creamy wetness sticking.

he’s big. incredibly big and stretching you so well your breath comes out unsteady and erratic, nails digging against your own palms as to conceal the pleasure you’re currently feeling, something no one has ever made you feel before.

“T-toji...” you whine for the first time, deep down loving how his name felt on your lips.

“that’s right” he grunts, slowly but steadily feeding your cunt the rest of his fat cock, his own breathing coming in stuttered huffs with how tight you felt, “you’re squeezing me so fuckin’ much, you just needed a fat cock to satisfy you, isn’t that right, angel?”

“ha— ngh!” you sob, toes curling in your shoes when his heavy balls kiss your clit, and then he’s fucking you with abandon, holding onto one of your shoulders to pull your upper body up, forcing you to meet his thrusts that almost knock the air out of your lungs.

“good fuckin’ girl” Toji’s laugh resonates through the empty concrete floor, mingling alongside the wet sound your slapping flesh, it’s dark and dangerous, but still makes your cunt flutter, “do you like how I ruin your unprotected human pussy?”

for a second, your eyes cross, brain shuts and opts not to reply, deciding to keep at least a bit of dignity instead of babbling a cockdrunken nonsense that would have seeped out due to Toji’s cock continuously slamming against your sweet spot, forcing waves of slick to drool out of your slit and stain your thighs and floor, mixed with the creamy precum coating your sensitive walls.

“answer me, darling” a rough hand comes to cup your jaw, forcing your head up until his lips ghost over the skin of your cheek, hips rutting into your slit and forcing his length a bit deeper into your abused pussy.

"y-yes!, feels so good" you stutter, eyes rolled back and hair clinging to every corner of your forehead, unaware of the movement of your own hips in an attempt to fuck yourself back on him.

“good girl” Toji leaves a single chaste kiss on your cheek, taking his previous position, although this time he forces your waist to arch deeper, almost mounting you before resuming his thrusts, “gonna show you how I breed pretty girls like you”

you whimper his name in approval, completely gone while letting him use you, positively drooling onto the floor and making a mess like he’s doing with your cunt.

with a choked out sob, you cream all over his length, shaking and crying while clinging to the chains around your wrists, yet he didn’t stop, fucking the white ring of cum back into your drenched pussy.

he’s forcing your ass cheeks open, aiming for your cervix before filling your hole with thick cum that comes out with a grunt and a groan, hips rolling, grinding and forcing you to milk that load out of his tip.

you know for a fact, that after that night, you became utterly ruined for any other man. since no one could ever fuck you like the curse you were supposed to exorcise.

he leaves a sharp slap on your overflowing pussy, loud and wet enough for your mixed fluids to splatter, right on time before hearing footsteps on the first floor of the building, —perhaps your reinforcements that might take a while to reach the high floor you were currently at. and then he’s quick on his feet, untangling your bound hands while chuckling at the yelp and beautiful sight of his cum oozing from your hole.

“if you want another load, you know where to find me”

[shizucheese]

Hey guys, we need to talk. Because a certain little something in TMAGP 8 is causing what is genuinely the most toxic part of the Magpod fandom at large to once again rear its ugly head. So let's talk about podcast character appearance head canons, shall we?

I'm tagging this with the Magnus Archives, TMA and Magpod tags because I am absolutely calling all of you out, but if you don't want spoilers for The Magnus Protocol episode 8 then stop reading right now.

.

.

. Okay, so, Gerry exists in the TMAGP universe. He's happy (or at least acts cheerful). And some people have headcanoned this to mean that he is no longer goth, or at the very least isn't dying his hair black with bad box color. And other people have decided to get seriously agro over this. I have literally seen with my very own eyeballs someone call "un-gothing" Gerry a "hate crime" and calling the person they were talking to "gothphobic."

Let me make this absolutely clear for all of you: podcasts are a purely audio medium and unless a physical trait of theirs is explicitely stated, everyone's headcanon for how a character appears is valid. Goth TMAGP Gerry is valid. But also

Rainbow Goth TMAGP Gerry is valid. Pastel Goth TMAGP Gerry is valid.

Not Goth At All TMAGP Gerry is valid.

Bald Gerry who has actually gotten his brain cancer diagnosed in time and is getting treated for it is valid. Somebody's headcanon of a character that has no canonical description to them, or whose headcanon matches the few crumbs of canonical description we have but otherwise doesn't look the way you imagine them to, is not going to take away from your own headcanon of what a character looks like. If someone imagining or drawing a character looking a different way from how you imagine them looking somehow takes away from your enjoyment of the fandom or otherwise makes you feel like you need to barge in and tell them that they're Wrong and need to conform to your headcanon or else, that is a reflection on you, not them.

And this problem way predates TMAGP, let alone TMAGP 8. The only description we have of John is that he is in his early 30's and has prematurely greying hair.

If someone thinks he looks like the pastiest motherfucker to ever dwell in a basement, an extra-in-the-Adam's Family or Tim Burtan protagonist of a man, let them.

What's that? You want to tell them that John is BROWN and if they don't headcanon him looking that way they're WRONG and RACIST? Back away from the keyboard and go outside.

(Ironically, as someone who started getting grey hairs in my hair in my 20's myself, I'm pretty sure everyone's headcanon of John, with tiny little whisps of grey in his hair, is wrong, because if he was so grey that people were surprised to learn he was "a child of the 90's," he was probably full on salt-and-pepper when he was in his 20's.)

The only description we have for Martin is that he (man who canonically has the self esteem of a used doormat) describes himself as "not the smallest guy", Not-Sasha called him "roomy", Melanie is skinner than him, and Jonny said he imagined him as a "bigger guy" who would beat Alex in a physical fight. If someone decides to take this information and conclude that it means he's tall, broad and has muscle, rather than that he's overweight, fucking let them. If your first instinct to this is to run to your keyboard and call them "fatphobic" or otherwise bash them for it, I once again urge you to back away from your keyboard and go outside.

Someone headcanons Basira not wearing a headscarf? We have exactly 0 canonical physical description of her and the people who headcanon her as having one are basing that purely off of her name alone. Fucking let them. Someone headcanons Melanie and/ or Georgie as a skin color you don't agree with or a hairstyle you don't like? Fucking let them. As long as someone's headcanon of a character's description doesn't contradict the few canonical descriptions we have of a character, why do you care? Them having a different headcanon from you doesn't take away your right to imagine the characters looking however you like, anymore than it should take away their right to do the same. Someone headcanoning John as white (or Black, or Asian, or Mixed, or whatever) isn't going to make all of the fanart of John as brown with long hair suddenly disappear, nor the fanfiction describing him as such (although I do often wonder if the opposite is not true; is the fact that John looks the same in so much of the fanart I see on here really because of fandom "consensus", or is it because people are absolutely awful to anyone who draws him Different?). Someone headcanoning Martin as not fat isn't going to make the mountains of fanart of him as a fluffy little marshmallow vanish into the void (although I do remember hearing about someone getting bullied off the internet for daring to draw Martin as not fat). And someone headcanoning Gerry in TMAGP as not being goth isn't going to take away your preciouse goth TMAGP Gerry headcanon. That should be part of the fun of it, shouldn't it? Seeing what different images people have conjured in their heads of these characters we only get to experience with our ears, and celebrating the differences as well as the similarities? Why are we bullying people into conforming to one appearance of a character when no actual canonical appearance of them exists?

[bunny-lily]

Satoru, who...

Did you ask for more fluff? I did, ehe~

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x fem!reader

CW: pure fluff, just fluff, no angst, only happiness | proposal, marriage, pregnancy, husband!Gojo, dad!Gojo, soft!Gojo, categorically fucking whipped Satoru, domesticity, kinda slice-of-life, mildly suggestive at the end

The starstruck boy, Gojo Satoru, who is utterly obsessed with you in every way possible.

AN: while I’m in the middle of writing an absurdly long fic, I wanted to post some shorter stuff to 1) keep my hands loose and brain active/busy, and 2) post something while I’m working on the fic to come. I won’t post much about it rn because I want to actually finish it first and not make any promises, so enjoy a lil fluff in the meantime <3 just something short and sweet

WC: 3k

Satoru, who is smitten with you from the very moment he first lays eyes on you. Sure, he's had infatuations before, but they were short-lived and typically lasted no longer than a week. A quick fascination, then poof. You, on the other hand – you are different.

And it is plain to see for pretty much everyone. He is normally cocky and outgoing, even during the little fads he’s had, he never let down his façade of bravado. You, though? You melt all his walls until he’s a goopy puddle of a blushing, giggling school girl.

He is whipped, almost to an annoying point. He rambles off Suguru's and Shoko's ears enough times for them to know when he’s about to start singing your praises and avoid him, or distract him somehow (which is a monumental task when his ditzy head is full only of thoughts of you).

Even so, they are conflictingly bewildered and happy for their friend. For him to have found someone that he is interested in for longer than a week – let alone several months, now – is a riveting change of pace. He seems so genuinely delighted any time you two interact, bubbly, dreamy sighs leaving him as hearts dance in his eyes.

He has fallen for you bad.

Satoru, who’s a stuttering disaster when he tries to ask you out on a date, and damn near collapses in relief when you’re able to decipher what the hell he’s going on about and agree to go to the new café that opened up near campus with him.

One date turns into two, then three, then a dozen more that become routine for you. You meet up after classes let out, then head to the café side by side. Or, if one is running late, you have each other’s orders memorized. You even go the extra mile and order him a sweet he hasn’t tried yet to surprise him with when he bursts into the establishment, panting like he ran a marathon. He might as well have, he booked it for the café as soon as he was free, dying to see you.

Satoru, who is somehow in even more shambles when he gets the nerve to ask you to go steady with him, despite the two of you being borderline boyfriend and girlfriend by now. He’s jittery, sweaty, downright vibrating with tense energy when he brings you to the sakura tree near the back of school that you two had laid claim on. Oh, and when you say yes? He’s certain he’s died and gone to heaven. Nothing can explain how an angel like you decided to grace him with your existence as is, let alone love him – even while you called him an idiot and said you thought you two were already dating.

Satoru, who was already protective over you when you first met, dials it to eleven after you agree to being his girlfriend. Gojo Satoru, the strongest man alive, could inspire fear and respect simply by being in the room with his confident and brash nature, completely relaxed and faithful in his skill. But if, gods forbid, something happens to you? Gone is that cocksure attitude. Gone are the coy smirks and passive-aggressive taunting meant to rile others up. Gone is everything but his one track mind that focuses solely on two tasks: protecting you, and destroying whatever harmed you.

Satoru, who spoons you to his chest and watches ASMR, random videos, or movies on your phone with you 'til you both fall asleep. It became routine shortly after you began officially dating. You'll climb into bed first and decide what you want to watch while he finishes his nightly regimen, then he'll slip under the blankets and pull your back flush against his front, prop his chin atop your head, slide a thigh between your legs, and off to cozy dreamland you two go as whatever you choose acts as white noise. 

It brings him an immense amount of comfort, and though he doesn't need as much sleep as normal folks, he'll refuse to leave bed until you're awake (with the exception of any needs he might have to take care of that will only see him away for a couple minutes at most before he’s cradling you in his protective hold again).

Satoru, who salts and peppers your face with endless, ticklish kisses to wake you up, saving the best kiss for when your sleepy, pretty little eyes open: right on your lips. He always wakes up before you do, and spends hours watching your blissful, precious face as you snooze, content and relaxed like a cat with full trust in its human. The comparison always makes him smile, because he, truthfully, envisions you both as being cats all the time. Lazy ones that cuddle in the sun, your smaller form using his ridiculously fluffy and larger one as a pillow-slash-blanket. His tail twined with yours, your ears twitching as he grooms you with kitten licks, ah, the dream.

Satoru, who wants to slap a ring on your finger the very moment he can. You two spend so many days and weeks raving about your imaginary wedding that he so desperately wants to be real, setting up plans, picking out what you would want for decor, scrolling through forum boards for ideas on a wedding dress for you. He is practically more excited at the prospect of getting married than you are, eager to help in every step of the process and more. 'Let me handle all the hard stuff, baby,' he nearly begs. 

He won’t tell you the cost of anything, and insists you go all out. Get the dress you want, don't you dare look at the price tag. Choose the perfect venue, he doesn't care if it's in Japan or fucking Dubai, he'll handle paying for everyone's travel and hotel needs on top of the whole wedding. Only the absolute best for you, nothing less, everything more.

Satoru, who is a train wreck of nervous excitement, anxious anticipation, and giddy trepidation when the day comes for him to propose. He takes you to the perfect location – up a short and easy hiking trail that leads to a cliffside with the most magnificent view of the ocean and setting sun. You think it's just a sweet date trip, until you see the path of tea candles guiding you to a romantically set up picnic blanket, a basket resting atop it, waiting to be opened.

When you turn around to express your shock and confusion, you find Satoru on one knee, looking up at you as if you are the most gorgeous and divine creature to ever exist. He's confident and boisterous, as always, as he plays out his little speech about how much he adores you and wants to keep you by his side, forever and ever, but he's a shaking trash fire inside. A shivering little dog that's relieved he didn't stutter or screw up the speech he practiced a hundred times over and then some.

Satoru, who's thanking every god to ever possibly reside above (and even below) when you throw your arms around him, sobbing into his shoulder as a flood of yeses pours out of you, slurred as you ramble through your tears and tell him you love him, how happy you are, and a plethora of other things that make him genuinely the most elated person to ever live.

Satoru, who slides the brilliant engagement ring he had custom made for you onto your finger; smooth, with an inset blue diamond that shares the same shade as his eyes, nestled in with a dozen tinier crystals in vine-like spirals flowing outward from the center. Swarovski, of course. He made sure that it was all flush with the platinum to ensure it wouldn't snag on anything. 

He was practically breathing down the jeweler's neck during the entire process, needing to guarantee it’s positively perfect for you. And, when he sees the glimmering jewelry cozy on your finger, the evidence of your bond and the next step in your journey to unite as one, he knows he made all the right choices.

Satoru, who only uses the finest material for your matching wedding bands, and has the insides of both engraved with each other's names. Yours in his, his in yours. He has the same jeweler as before (poor guy) design them to have two stripes of platinum within the gold of your rings, delicate and stunning for himself and his wife.

Satoru, who's jubilant and so incredibly ecstatic that you're now his wife that he can't help but tell everyone he knows, everyday, multiple times a day, even those that were at the wedding. He just can't get over it. You're his wife, the girl he's been crushing on since highschool, the girl he swore to make his, and to devote himself to. It feels like an incredible dream, and he worriedly pinches himself from time to time to make sure it's real. 

He did it. He married you, and now you carry his name in yours, in your wedding band, everywhere he could put it to subtly (not really) show you off as the unquestionably precious treasure you are, his wife, and how overjoyed he is that he managed to catch you and keep you.

Satoru, who forgets how to function when you hold up a pair of white and pink sticks on his birthday, from different brands, both showing positive symbols. You. You're pregnant. With his baby. He swears his brain short-circuits because one minute, he's staring at you like you'd grown a second head, and the next, he has you wrapped up in his arms as he showers your forehead, cheeks, nose, jaw, lips, neck, ears, anywhere he can reach, with kisses.

He's a babbling, sniffly mess as he practically crushes you to his chest and coos and preens and weeps with elation. He reveres you like a deity and he’s your loyal and pathetic servant who was blessed beyond measure that you decided to give him the gift of life. He's going to be a father, and it's all because of you.

Satoru, who completely spoils the living hell out of you during your pregnancy (as if he hadn't already been), bending backwards for you for everything. Weird cravings? He's on it. Swollen ankles and nausea? He's rushing to the store for medicine, then rubbing your feet to ease the ache. Insatiable horniness? He's your slave for you to use for your pleasure. Hormones swinging wildly back and forth? He's there with a box of tissues and his firm chest for you to beat on when you feel like you're going crazy. It's his fault you're pregnant, after all. You're doing the hard work of not just carrying his child, but of nurturing it, growing it, letting it take from you to develop strong and healthy. Of course he's going to take care of you.

Satoru, who refuses to let you do any work. You're on indefinite parental leave. From the moment you show him those positive tests, he sits your pretty ass down on the couch and tells you firmly that your only job now is to help your baby develop. He'll take care of everything else, don't even think about lifting a finger.

Satoru, who's there at every appointment with you, clutching your hand tightly as you talk to your doctor about everything you need to know. And when you have your first ultrasound, and see your fetus together for the very first time, he's crying right alongside you.

Satoru, who spent meticulous hours packing a duffel bag with everything you'll both need for when it comes time for you to go into labor. Spare changes of clothes, plenty of water, blankets to keep you warm, a couple pillows, anything and everything. He refuses to go in unprepared. As soon as it's all packed and ready to go by the 8 month mark of your pregnancy, it's in the backseat of the car. The baby car seat is in the trunk of the sleek and top-of-the-line SUV he purchased specifically for your soon-to-be family. He doesn't care that it's taking up space, or that it’s too early, he refuses to go in unprepared.

Satoru, who immediately ditches work the very instant your water breaks. Who gives a fuck if he's in the middle of something important, nothing takes precedence over you and the incoming birth of your infant. He's breaking several driving laws to get you to the hospital, but neither of you care. Not when you're panting in the passenger seat, white-knuckling the grab handle with a palm pressed to your stomach, grunting and crying out in pain any time you have a contraction. It's a miracle he doesn't get pulled over, and he's incredibly thankful (and proud of himself) for thinking of calling the hospital ahead of time so that they're ready for you.

Satoru, whose entire world becomes a blur from the second you reach the hospital, to the second you're crushing his hand in your grip, screaming as you fight to bring his baby into the world. He's letting you yell at him and blame him for the pain you're in, easily accepting and agreeing because it is his fault. 

But while your shaking sobs and shrieks of agony wound his heart beyond any possible measure, he also can't help his elation at knowing it's time, all the waiting has been worth it, every minute spent catering to your every need, want, and desire. He'll do it indefinitely, wait on you hand and foot for the rest of his life, treat you like a queen, because you deserve it and so much more.

Satoru, who's shocked by how well he's holding up when the nurse puts the wrapped up, pudgy little newborn in his arms, gazing down at the tiny being. His tiny being, your tiny being, the fragile and priceless life you both created. Looking down at his kin, his reason for being, he knows he'd do anything and everything to protect you and your child.

Satoru, who sees you, a disheveled and tired disaster, with your hair all tangled, frizzy, and astray, strands stuck to your sweaty skin, your body slack in relief as the hardest part is finally over, watching your husband hold your baby, and he thinks you're more beautiful now than you've ever been. 

You look like you’ve been dragged through hell; your legs are sticky with residue blood, amniotic fluid, placenta, and whatever else that needs to be cleaned off (though your legs are covered with a few layers of blankets to keep you toasty warm while you recover from labor), your face is a little pale and sallow, you're barely clinging to consciousness, and he's marveling at how he's never seen anything or anyone as utterly blest and sacred as you. 

A goddess amongst men, the only one the strongest man in the world would ever willingly bow down to without you even needing to ask.

Satoru, who helps place your baby on your chest, the nurse having opened the blanket for skin-to-skin contact as you feed it, and finally lets himself release all his pent up emotions of raw, unfiltered joy. Every cell, every fiber, every atom in him is dancing in overwhelming happiness. He'd do it all over, again and again, as many times as you'd let him, if it means he gets to see you this blissful and tranquil. The glow of maternity suits you like no other, even in all your unkempt and chaotic glory. 

Satoru, who can't believe he's a dad. He goes above and beyond, insisting he takes care of the baby at night so you can sleep – he doesn't need as much rest as others do, after all. He murmurs to his newborn about how much he cherishes and adores you, how much you mean to him, how you're the best wife and mommy a man could ever ask for and more. He reads the kiddo bedtime stories to help it sleep, feeds it, changes it, whatever it is that is needed, he's there and doing it. 

On top of that, he continues to be your doting, devoted, caring husband. He makes sure you're taking your vitamins, takes you to all your postpartum appointments, aids you through your subsequent depression, all of it. He's sworn himself to you for life, not just in this timeline and universe, but in any and every single one of them.

He made and said his vows with purpose and conviction. He meant every word, and upholds them like his life depends on it. Because, in his mind, it does.

Satoru, who is patient with you, and firmly commands you to not push yourself to do things you can't do while you're still in recovery. He doesn't care if he has to wait months or even years for you to be ready to lay with him again, he'll wait it out. He might not be a patient man, but for you, he'd wait until all the stars die. 

Oh, but you, darling little minx that you are, do your best to take care of him, too. Even when he urges you to rest, or not worry about it, or anything other arguments he might have against it, you tend to him in whatever way you can. Touching, sucking, rough and heavy petting, whatever it takes. You refuse to leave him alone to suffer through months and months of dryness with no relief save for his hand and the toy you surprised him with to help take the edge off.

Satoru, who can't be more grateful to you. You're more than his wildest dreams, the perfect wife, the perfect mother, the perfect person as a whole in the entirety of the universe. He really can't help boasting about being the Chosen One, because he really is, if the cosmos decided to gift him with you.

Satoru, who swears to take care of you for the rest of your lives, and does well on his promise.

Satoru, who fights for the sake of you and your kin alone. He refuses to leave you in any way, shape, or form. He refuses to let the world be a danger to any of you. He refuses to have anything happen to his family. Nothing will tear you apart, not now, not ever.

Satoru, who loves you more than the sun, the moon, and all the stars combined.

—-—-•(-•ʚɞ•-)•—-—-

Banner by cafekitsune ♥ thank you for reading

[tender-rosiey]

hinting — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: thank @callmemirro for the bby fever idea but the video of the baby is what fueled the fire even more

you have a feeling that something has been plaguing your husband’s mind. it’s not a bad thing—like that way too expensive pea-sized handbag he wanted to get just to clown it.

it’s actually good and adorable especially with the way it gets him all smiley and bubbly.

you also started to notice when exactly he gets into these moods or rather regarding what.

for example, you were browsing the store once for new clothes. you and satoru agreed to split to search on a wider scale for discounts.

so when he came back, all smiley and excited, you expected a 50% sale or something. instead, you got surprised with possibly the cutest baby pajama ever.

“what do you think, babe? it’s so cute especially the little smiling duck in the middle!”

you take it from him, examining it up close. truthfully, the material is pretty good and it is soft on the skin. there is only one problem though.

you look up to your husband with a smile, “but, honey, we don’t have a baby.”

satoru deflates for a single second before standing up straight, proud, “hey, now! we can always get it for future plans,” he ogles you, but you quickly pinch his nose.

“haha, very funny.” you start pushing the cart towards that one outfit you liked with satoru following close by.

“y/n, I am serious!” he whines as his hand finds home on your waist.

“and I am a dinosaur in disguise.”

he gasps, “really?!”

“no.”

and that happened more than once.

another thing is that satoru has been obsessed with baby videos.

you remember that one time you were chilling on your beloved couch when he came stumbling into the room, clutching his phone and almost dying of laughter, “y/n! y/n! look at this baby!”

satoru is wheezing as he replays the video over and over again. his uncontrollable laughter is music to your ears, but you feel that you’re going to have to take him to a therapist or a mental hospital.

he laughs loudly for sure, but he has been like this for 4 hours, showing you a baby video every minute or so.

you look at him with sympathy as he cackles, “it was so ready to square up too—huh, what’re you doing?”

you pull him into your embrace and he immediately melts, arms wrapping around you in an instant.

you gently rub his back and press a kiss to the top of his head, “my poor baby,” you coo and gojo lights up: have you finally understood what he has been hinting at?

you cup his face and kiss his cheeks, “work must’ve taken quite a toll on you; we can go to the hosp—“

“hey! that’s just mean!”

he huffs moving away and giving you his back, but then he looks back at you, “but the baby was cute, right?”

you laugh, resting your chin on his shoulder, “yeah, in a way, it reminded me of megumi.”

“you’re so right! even as a first-grader, he was so ready to fight anyone.”

another memorable incident happened when you were in a park, taking a walk with your darling husband.

it was peaceful, accompanied by the squeals of children, the coolness of the ice cream, and the comfort of your husband’s presence. speaking of which, where’s that guy?

you look around, searching for a very prominent walking paintbrush. you blink once, twice, and he is finally in front of you with a huge grin, “y/n, look at this cutie pie I just met!”

you soften at the sight of the giggling baby in his arms. the little baby girl reaches out for you and you cradle her in your arms.

cooing at her, you rock gently while making silly faces and it makes her laugh a laugh from her belly. it also makes a certain someone sport the most lovesick smile known to existence.

smiling, you look at your husband, “where did you find her? was she lost?”

your husband sweatdrops and looks to the side, glasses showing off his bright blue eyes, “about that—“

“there he is, officer! he took my baby!”

so yeah, something is up with your husband, and you have had enough with him hiding it from you. god is on your side today as you’re finally able to back him into a corner and finally interrogate him.

“satoru, is there something you want to tell me?” you ask the man, breathless after running around the school for a couple of hours.

silence occupies the room before your husband finally gives in.

he takes a deep breath and hugs you, resting his head on your shoulder, “I want…” he mumbles, “I want a baby, please?”

you are silent for a moment then you make him look you in the eyes, “really?”

“really,” he says, voice unwavering, “I know that it might be scary, but we have experience with tsumiki and megumi, and they turned out just fine!” he starts rambling, “except for megumi, he can be bratty sometimes, but point is!” he holds your hands in his, “I want to start a family with you, but if you don’t want—“

“okay.”

“—to I completely understand and…wait—did you just say okay?”

“yeah,” you beam, “let’s have a baby. you could’ve said that right away, silly.”

he stares at you for a bit, “do you have any idea how LONG I HAVE BEEN—“

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copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

[he-calls-me-kitten]

Sugar, Spice and a Tempting Vice

VA! MC x OM! Characters

"Hey Levi, any new game recommendations for me? I just finished the last lot of books Satan suggested." You asked, plopping down your head on his shoulder to look at his screen.

"M-MC! You have to warn me before you do such things!" He muttered, his ears turning red as he scrolled some webpages pages for you. "But okay yeah these are the new games that are out recently... see anything you like?"

"Oh my God! It's out it's out!" You pointed excitedly at the screen. "Pretty Little Things is out! Finally!! I was dying to tell you all about it!"

Levi visibly stiffened up. "You-you were waiting for this particular game to come out? Are you sure it's not another game with a similar sounding name?"

"Nah uh this is the exact same one. Look up the list of voice actors in this game!"

"WHAT?! MC WHY IS YOUR NAME IN HERE?????"

"Yes! This was the new part-time job I couldn't tell you about since it was still in production! Im so glad you can just play it now!"

"...it's uh ready for download on all platforms already...so which character did voice?"

"Oh spoiler alert, my character is the only one that doesn't have a name, you have assign me one, the same way you name yourself. They even designed the characters to resemble all the VA's and add in some of their personalities, isn't that sweet?"

"Hahaha y-yeah definitely sweet! I'll be sure to check it out soon!"

"Great! Lemme know what you think of the game okay?!" You squeezed him in a small hug before you left.

Later in the Demon Brothers only group chat:

Levi: Code Red! Code Red! ASHSKSHSKSKSJJSKKS

Mammon: WHAT WHAT THAT MEANS AN MC RELATED EMERGENCY RIGHT??

Asmo: OMG are they OKAY?? Should I go check up on them in their room!?!

Satan: I'm already on my way.

Mammon: NOT BEFORE ME YOU'RE NOT!

Belphie: Is MC hurt in anyway?

Beel: Did they pass out from hunger?! I can bring them emergency snacks right away

Lucifer: Can you lot not lose your minds everytime MC is mentioned? Pathetic. Levi, calm down and tell us what's wrong.

Beel: But Lucifer I just saw you hurrying up the stairs to MC's room too...

Satan: Typical Lucifer. By the way, MC is perfectly fine, happy even. Levi what are you on about?

Mammon: Yeah MC can't stop smiling! It's a good thing that happened, you idiot! Why would you scare us like that?

Asmo: Omg apparently MC voice acted in a new game! Levi I need you to download it for me ASAP please!

Beel: Me too, please.

Belphie: Me three.

Lucifer: I've already done it, you all can do it yourselves if you could do your own work for once.

Satan: Oh shut up, MC just did it for you right now as they did it for me.

Levi: It's a Dating Simulator. With multiple H-rated DLC endings. And MC is one of the dateables.

...

Levi: Hello?!! Did you guys not see my message?!

Levi: Seriously no reaction?! You guys aren't freaked out by this?!?

Beel: I just heard several doors opening and closing at once.

Asmo: Oh come Levi, I think you already know what our reaction is Levi ♥️ How can we possibly hold in our excitement after such a news!?

Levi: Are you all downloading the game together?!!! Y'all are hogging the bandwidth too much, my download speed has gone way down!!

Simeon: Hey

Simeon: I heard some demons in a cafe, raving about a game where MC plays one of the main characters?

Solomon: Indeed MC just sent us all a link right now.

Simeon: Oh is that so? I'll get Luke to help me download it after he's done with his.

Levi: Luke is playing it too?! I don't think it's appropriate given it's certain hidden endings!!

Barbatos: MC already made sure of it. He only has access to the sibling and friendship routes. It's a special version they added for all ages.

Diavolo: It already has downloads in the ten thousands. I'm really glad to see how MC is beloved by Devildom.

Levi: Are NONE of you affected by the fact that there are erotic routes with MC's VOICE?!!

Solomon: Oh I personally cannot wait hear my adorable apprentice's performance.

Barbatos: Ahem. I'd rather not comment on it.

Simeon: Same.

Diavolo: Same.

Levi: Sigh. We really are just a helpless lot at the mercy of MC.

To be continued...