mrsoharaa

[mrsoharaa]

‘why do you read “various x reader stories?”’

first, i’m a narcissist and will not read it if it’s not about me

second, I love the feeling of people liking me

third, I was ignored as a child

[mrsoharaa]

I love personalization. I love stickers on water bottles and on laptops. I love shitty marker drawing on the toes of converse. I love hand embroidered doodles on jeans. I love posters on walls. I love knick knacks on shelves. I love jewelry with goofy charms. I love when people take things and make them theirs.

[mrsoharaa]

If you’re writing anything besides smut or angst, you’re probably scrambling for a crumb of interaction. I see posts of people complaining about the over-saturation of smut and unhappy endings in fandoms almost every day. Yet, smut seems to get a lot of engagement (I wrote a fic about morning head and it garnered more attention in a matter of days than anything I’ve shared here) despite the posts rejecting it.

This is not a dig at anyone who writes the above—I write both religiously, sometimes together in the same story. However, we don’t get to complain about the lack of something if we’re not supporting it. Many talented writers here give us exactly what we want (fluff, comedy, romance, horror), but some switch gears or leave altogether because they feel their efforts are for naught. And not everyone wants to write sad porn all the time.

I am once again imploring you to support your favorite writers, reblog your favorite stories, and maybe drop a comment now and again. People aren’t mind readers, and they haven’t a clue how much you enjoy their one obscure story unless you tell/show them.

[mrsoharaa]

If you get a star ⭐️ in your inbox. It means your moot appreciates you, and your efforts in the community. Send this to 10 mutuals to continue the love! <3

Swiffffft youre sooo sweet!! 😭😭🥺💓💗💞💕💗💗

[mrsoharaa]

bonding with friends over your favourite fictional little guys

[mrsoharaa]

The social attitude regarding age is consistently getting weirder. You’re not ‘pushing 30’ you’re just in your late 20s. 30 is not old and neither is 40 while I’m at it. Growing older is an enormous privilege and displaying that age is a gorgeous component of life. Spending your days trying to reverse that grace breeds an eternally wasted life.

[mrsoharaa]

[mrsoharaa]

Awaken - Breaking Benjamin :)

It is literally embellished into my entire being and soul! 🥰💗

No pressure tags; anybody who wishes to join! 💞🫶🏼

ATTENTION

If you see this you are OBLIGATED to reblog w/ the song currently stuck in your head :)

[mrsoharaa]

“tell me to leave,” he murmurs, but he already knows you won’t.

LOOSING ALL OF MY COMPOSURE AND BRAIN CELLS (AND ANY FORM OF RATIONAL THINKING AFTER THISSS!!!) 😵‍💫😵‍💫🥴😩😩😩💦💦💕💘💞💗

ex-husband!suguru who still sets out two mugs in the morning, muscle memory betraying him before he curses under his breath and shoves one back into the cabinet.

ex-husband!suguru who hears someone humming your favorite song at the grocery store and his heart stops. because for a second, just a second, he thought it was you.

ex-husband!suguru who catches himself reaching for his phone whenever something funny happens, thumb hovering over your name before he locks the screen and throws it across the bed.

ex-husband!suguru who lays in bed, the room dark except for the glow of his phone screen, watching that video the two of you made…when you were together—the one where you’re on top, back arched so prettily, lips parted as you ride him slow. his fist is tight around his cock, stroking in sync with the rhythm of your movements. his breath is heavy, jaw clenched, hips bucking up involuntarily when you moan his name just right. he grips himself harder, eyes locked on the way your body moves, your moans filling his ears. he pumps his cock faster, chasing the ghost of you, but it’s not enough. it’s never enough.

ex-husband!suguru who shows up at your doorstep unannounced late at night, hair in a messy bun, grey sweats slung low on his hips, looking like every mistake you swore you wouldn’t make again. His voice is low, almost hesitant when he mutters, “just needed to see you,” like he barely managed to convince himself to come. His dark purple eyes drink you in, lingering on your lips, your bare legs, the way your fingers twitch like you don’t know whether to let him in or slam the door. And then—so quiet you almost miss it—he exhales, almost pleading, “please.”

ex-husband!suguru who backs you up against the wall the second you let him inside, lips hovering over yours, warm breath fanning across your skin. “tell me to leave,” he murmurs, but he already knows you won’t. his hands are on your waist, fingers pressing into your skin like he’s scared you’ll disappear.

ex-husband!suguru who takes his time with you, stretching you open on his cock with slow, deep thrusts, like he’s trying to make up for all the lost time, like he needs to prove that no one else could ever fuck you the way he can. His forehead presses against yours, breath hot and uneven as he mutters, “missed this—so much.” His fingers lace with yours, pinning your hands above your head, forcing you to look at him, to feel every inch of him, to understand just how badly he needs this. needs you.

ex-husband!suguru who doesn’t pull out when he cums, just stays buried deep, holding you like you’re the only thing keeping him together. His lips trail over your jaw, your neck, down your collarbone, soft and desperate, like he’s trying to carve himself back into your skin. And when he finally looks up at you, eyes dark, voice barely above a whisper, he breathes out the words he’s been too much of a coward to say until now—“take me back.”

[mrsoharaa]

Geto but he plays Guitar

[mrsoharaa]

If you see this on your dashboard, reblog this, NO MATTER WHAT and all your dreams and wishes will come true.

[mrsoharaa]

All fanfic writers are hot.

[mrsoharaa]

Being in fandom spaces is so surreal-

Bc once your age hits a 'serious' number, you start to think - "damn, I should probably stop geeking and get more serious." But then you scroll and see a 34y/o woman writing fics after driving her kids to school, a 40y/o dude making fanart of his fav super heroes and you realize - "nah, I'm actually good"

[mrsoharaa]

Death Of A Marriage

Miguel O'Hara x Reader ♡ Angsty Drabble

Word on the street is the O’Hara’s are getting a D.I.V.O.R.C.E.

You're still not certain when it all began.When the nights of heated passion turned to little more than oceans of cool sheets between the most familiar of strangers. 

Miguel became intimately familiar with his tablets and gizmos. Hands that had once handled and worshiped your body with the tender care of a sculpture found themselves slowly and steadily becoming more familiar with the coffee maker and an endless deluge of increasingly complicated and intricate puzzles. 

The signs had been there, you suppose. One late night at the office turned into practically every night of the week. The habit of twisting your engagement ring when nervous slowly died- along with your desire to wear it at all. One excuse to leave your ring on the bathroom counter turned into it taking a permanent vacation from your finger. 

Somewhere along the way those looks of longing and desire turned to nothing more than the briefest meeting of the eyes. Always shuttered and always closed off to conversation. You’re not certain when the desire to even know how he felt died but it had. 

Somehow, across the growing ocean of silence carefully built between you, you’d grown cold. By any estimation that turned out to be a blessing as it made his early morning admission over coffee easier to bear. 

“I want Dana.” 

To his credit, Miguel has attempted to look contrite as he informed you of his desire to fuck his ex wife. Tired eyes searching for salvation in his cooling coffee, tie askew, and hair haphazardly styled. In the past - before the tired numbness had set in- you might have teased him that your own hands had done a better job at styling his hair during a moment of passionate embrace. 

Now… now you found only the limited energy to bring your mug to your lips and study him blandly over the brim. 

“You want a divorce?” The words sounded hollow to your own ears, a faint whisper of passion long dulled. His eyes met yours, equally bland and equally shuttered. 

“Yeah.” 

“Okay.” 

From his expression that hadn’t been the response he’d expected. Though, given the lengthy apathy between you, you hardly understood how he could’ve expected any other. 

“That’s all you got to say?” His eyes flickered with the barest hint of heat. Your own eyes dipped numbly to his fingers and how they tightened about the mug- but this was the titanic, and that buoy wasn’t going to rescue him. 

“What do you want me to say, Miguel?” 

Miguel flinched. It's been so long since he’d heard you call him by his full name. Not since the early months of your relationship. 

“I don’t know.” A hand scrubbed down his face in frustration. 

There were lot’s of words in the back of your mind that you’d like to have said. Would have loved to have the energy to say. 

‘I hope you’re happy with Dana.’ 

‘I really hope it works out this time, Migs, cause if it doesn’t, I won’t be here for you to come crawling back…again.’ 

But these words died like everything else along the currents of apathy. 

The death of a marriage. Just like that. It died with little ceremony. Papers were signed. Boxes were packed.

You still haven’t figured out between you how to explain to Gabriella that she’d see little of you, but her parents were giving it another go. Conchata was thrilled- she’d never much cared for you. 

The death of a marriage. Did most die with a bang? Was the funeral announced with fireworks and fights? Not yours. Yours faded like the faintest of memories. It passed with little more than a wet squelch as it slid to the floor and breathed its last. 

Word on the street is the O’Hara’s are D.I.V.O.R.C.E.D.

[mrsoharaa]

which one of your favs can't handle a playful little chase around the apartment without turning you over on your belly after they catch you and fucking you prone

[mrsoharaa]

Heavily making out with an intent, greedy Barou on your shared couch (with him laid out comfortably beneath you) and he just gets soo into it, so reeled by the sweet lingering taste of your essence on his tongue, that he grabs you by the back of your neck to deepen the heated, breathy intoxicating exchange of entangled tongues and shorten breaths. Heftily grumbles out steep vibrating growls against your slick sweetness, thick fingers entangling and weaving deep into your scalp, pushing you further and further. ♡