#i hope your fic goes well!!
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Note
hi, hello! I love what you post here, literally it is like the highlight of my day!!! I've been writing my own fanfic and just wondering if you have any tips when it comes to writers block or like getting dialogue to not come off as flat? just totally love your stuff and wish I had the same talent :)
hi love!! thank you so much <33
as far as writers block goes â it sucks, and if youâve fallen victim to it i am sooo sorry. for me, to get out of writers block, i took a couple of days off from writing & then found something that gave me inspo. id suggest taking a small break and having some time to yourself, then coming back with a fresh mindset. also, donât be afraid to rewrite things!! if your fic/part of it just isnât going the way you want, itâs totally normal to rewrite it. chances are itâll come out more to your liking the second time :)
with dialogue, itâs definitely tricky. iâm not sure if youâre talking about game of thrones specifically, but if you are, itâs very important to remember the time setting youâre writing the conversations in. because instead of âYou really think Iâd do that?â itâs âYou truly think me so capable?â yk?
and i know i already said this, but truly, rewriting is your best friend. i reread and rewrite dialogue like six times before i post it because iâm super picky đ & even if after rewriting the convo six times, it still doesnât feel right, try rewriting the scene itself. the dialogue can be as good as you set it up to be (does that make sense) but it also comes easier with practice! the more you do it the easier it gets.
goodluck with your fanfic!! youâre every bit as talented as i am <3333
p.s: i rewrote even this three times to get my wording right
#dippys asks#highlighter anon#i hope your fic goes well!!#trust me#iâve rewritten the cregan fic in my drafts like six times#it just comes out better after every time yk?#the best piece of advice i got for writing is to rewrite everything twice#cause think about it#itâs kinda like writing an essay#your first write is like the outline of your main ideas#second write is the rough draft#and then third write is the final piece#in school u rewrite your paper multiple times before the final essay#itâs just the order of things#i feel like this was word vomit iâm so sorry
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
Normally, traitors arenât frog-marched to the Emperors themselves, regardless of what rank of information they had. These arenât normal circumstances, though, Techno bemoans to himself. For one, the man is refusing to speak anything but French and a tiny amount of broken Bayesh. For another, on being made, he immediately handed over about three folders of classified information then loudly waited for handcuffs to be put on him.
Phil is lounging in his throne; heâd never been one for propriety. This leaves Techno to be, uh, the actually serious one. The one adorned in uniform, sitting and glowering down. Itâs lucky that the traitor isnât a pigman, because Techno isnât actually great at glowering, but humans are weird about pigman facial expressions so he should be fine?
The traitor stands before them and grins. In perfect Bayesh, he says: âFinally. It took way too long for you to catch me, bitch.â
Techno pauses. He stares. In Piglish, he barks to his guards: âEveryone out. Itâs Leader business.â
They file out. Theyâll be waiting outside. Phil straightens in his seat and reaches for his own sword.
Techno, laboriously, drags his hand across his face. He switches back to Bayesh. God, does he regret being fluent in multiple languages sometimes. âWhat are you doing here, Tommy.â
âShowing you your intelligence weak points, fucker. Do you know how easy it is to slip Bayesh spies in here? I was smooth. A smooth customer. I was hearing classified milkitary secretsââ
âYou were caught within two hours,â Techno says.
âThatâsâthatâs just what you think, innit?â Tommy says. Phil laughs. Heâs the real traitor here.
âTommy. I donât wanna have to cause an international incident, but Iâve had a really long day, so if you just tell me who hired you to run a spy op, and why you decided it was a good idea to run it yourself, instead of sending one of your expertsâŠâ
âNo one,â Tommy says.
âHey, donât lie you little shit. Techno might not want to start an incident but I donât care,â Phil says. He grins and holds up his sword. âYou wanna wake up in a jail cell and reveal some secrets? We may all be Leaders but it wonât stop torture from hurting.â
âWhat the fuck, Phil,â Tommy says.
âNo oneâs torturing anyone. Weâll just bomb them later if we must,â Techno says.
âAnd I wasnât lying. Itâsâcan I take the wig off by the way? It fucking itches.â
âI despise you.â
Tommy takes off the black wig, revealing his blonde hair. âAnyway, I donât want to work with you guys either, so I figured Iâd get your attention by like, acting like weâre enemies and stuff. Got hired for espionage enough back in the day to pick up that much.â
âWho the fuck wanted you as a spy?â Phil asks.
âFuck you,â Tommy says and doesnât elaborate.
âPlease just tell us what you want,â Techno says. âPlease. I canât handle this much you at any given time.â
âThis needs to be Leader to Leader,â Tommy says, and something heavy laces his words. The hairs on Technoâs arms stand up.
âYou coulda asked,â he says, in one final desperate bid for normality.
âNo, I couldnât have,â Tommy says. âI think Chipâs dead.â
Techno doesnât notice that heâs standing until he is.
âWhat?â
âYeah,â Tommy says. âYeah. And, uh, I fucking. Need your help to figure out what happened. Before we get blamed. And I know, politically, youâve got no reason, but if we donât figure outââ
Techno sits back down, heavy.
âI know you understand Piglish. Let me talk in my native language. Phil.â
âYeah, mate?â
âGo get the stuff.â
Philâs eyes darken. âRight. That. Well, Iâll be back.â
Tommyâs voice, for the first time since Techno met him as a newly-minted Leader, standing on a wooden bench and yelling about executions, is small.
âYou believe me?â he says.
âWhy else would you come here?â Techno asks. âNot like we like you.â
âGood, because Iâm shit at infiltrations. Would have been embarrassing if you, like, didnât know your enemy well enough to know that,â Tommy says. Heâs saying something else underneath it. Techno is neither good enough at Bayesh or at Tommy to guess what.
âLetâs work out an excuse to make a treaty. And you tell me everything.â
#smp earth#WELL THAT'S A TAG I HAVEN'T HAD TO USE IN A WHILE.#a bee fic#anyway have you ever had to excise a story hook that's appeared in your head?#anyway: in which business bay gets framed for murdering chip and unfortunately as much as tommy would like the notoriety#he can't afford to let a guy who could kill chip just run around. also no one believes him.#so he goes to the antarctic empire hoping to ruffle enough feathers to at least get them out of the way#and technoblade immediately goes 'oh god something that incredibly stupid WOULD happen to you. oh no.'#AND THEN THEY ARE FORCED TO WORK TOGETHER TO CATCH THE GODKILLER#for the record. i probably won't write this.#if you're in a certain server with me please ignore how much i've been going 'but i COULD write bedrock bros' recently i PROBABLY WONT#anyway. i thought maybe you all would like this. the worldbuilding is like. ADJACENT to empires earth? with a lot of months in-between#like it definitely has influences from when i was doing the empires earth stuff.
155 notes
·
View notes
Note
So, in the fic where Tim gets his appendix out, Jason tells him that he usually freaks out before he gets put under, not after. Now that Tim knows, how would he comfort Jason? I'm thinking, like, imagine that Jason breaks his leg badly on patrol, so urgent surgery is in order. Would Tim try to prevent him from freaking out? How?
P.s. i said i a thousand rimes bur I love your works!! You're amazing!!
Ooh so I've actually answered a similar question pretty recently (although that was focused more on the needle aspect than the anesthesia/loss of control aspect which I headcanon to be Jason's main issue with being put under)
Honestly? I think Tim would be the worst family member to try to comfort Jason through something like this. Not for anything that Tim is doing right or wrong, just because anesthesia is something that really freaks Jason out, and his response to being freaked out is a) to angry cry, and b) to lash out at people. Because he knows this about himself, and he's also extremely protective of Tim, he tries not to let Tim see him when he's not fully in control of himself. So while Jason would totally be great in a crisis involving Tim, he does terribly when the roles are reversed.
BUT that being said, if Tim was the only one available, I think Tim would end up offering his hand to squeeze, and Jason would hesitate at first but eventually take it. He'd probably also be trying really hard not to cry, which Tim would very intentionally act as through he wasn't noticing because at the end of the day, Jason needs his dignity more than anything.
#settle our bones#might not really be the answer you were hoping for but i think jason gets suuuper cagey when he's feeling vulnerable#and nothing makes him feel vulnerable more than when his inhibitions are being forcibly removed from him#and he loses all agency#like while being put under#Dick in this series has a LOT of practice brushing things off#and meeting Jason where he's at#but Tim isn't nearly as well versed in it so it trips him up a lot more#but he's also growing and learning and making progress the more time he spends with the Waynes#so while in the 'everybody gets the hell flu' fic he was suuuper wigged out by Jason's trauma responses#he gets less and less so as time goes on and he starts to understand his family more#even in the migraine fic i just posted recently he feels comfortable enough to argue with Jason while they're both in a stressful situation#which i see as progress for him#anyway thank you so much for your kind words and I really appreciate the question!!
24 notes
·
View notes
Note
âidolish7 sequel with ayaâ is actually the premise of my new fic (itâs in outline stage rn bc iâm finishing a zool fic w 3/4 chapters out first)
completely unrelated i feel like im always referencing side stories in ur tags so now that ur finished with the main story do u want a list of my faves
!!!!! oh, i love that idea with aya!!!
And do I want a list of your favourite side stories? Absolutely!!! I have no idea where to start, anyway, and now am dying for more i7 shenanigans
#fandom spamdom#note's notes#idolish7#op i hope your aya fic goes well i am SO intrigued by it#and thank you for the ask again!!
10 notes
·
View notes
Note
working on fic and remembering the joy and love that is intrinsic to creating something
The act of creation is truly one of the best things about being human. We have delicate, dexterous hands and amazing minds that allow us to create beautiful works of art that are overflowing with meaning, love, passion and sentimentality. The most complex and hard to discuss feelings can be put to paper and made tangible by an artist. They don't even have to be skilled. So long as their heart is in the right place, they can create anything. These hands and minds also allow us to create Garon x Winston Payne mpreg.
Be careful with what you use these gifts of dexterity and creativity for.
9 notes
·
View notes
Text
it really breaks my heart discovering my mutualsâ tumblr accounts deleted, their art and fics gone too... i hope they just got bored of the fandom, that they only wanted to move on and everything else is going alright in their lives...
#i get so sad when something thatâs created with so much happiness and hype gets deleted and there are only ghost posts behind.#especially as far as ficsâ goes i can totally understand the frustration of scraping your whole writing and hating and deleting it and and.#i really hope they return someday and even if they donât at least i hope theyâre doing well
2 notes
·
View notes
Note
do you know what exact age fitz was when he manifested?? gotta be around 12 right the wiki doesn't have an exact answer (except linh apparently was the youngest ever to manifest at... 11 years old??? didn't know that)
I do know! Fitz was 13 when he manifested, the youngest telepath to manifest naturally. It's on page 29 of book 1: "They said I was the youngest to manifest, and I didn't start reading minds until I was 13."
He's specifically the youngest telepath, not the youngest elf to manifest in general. I see people get those two mixed up often.
And yep, manifesting at 11 is the youngest we're aware of. I can't recall of the top of my head the specifics of it (whether she's the youngest ever, or just the youngest talked about in the series), but still very impressive on her part.
Hope that helps!
#kotlc#fitz vacker#quil's queries#when-wax-wings-melt#i'm assuming this might have something to do with a fic#because I think you double checked something else as well? yeah! the pencils!#so considering this is another minor detail about them until proven otherwise I'm assuming this is for your fic#in which case: I hope you writing goes in a way you personally enjoy and find satisfying!
22 notes
·
View notes
Note
I just wanted to let you know that you are one of the only writers Iâve seen do a time travel fic in an intensely narratively satisfying way. I know you donât really plan on updating it anymore (which is so valid!! Iâm just so glad I got to read *anything* from you, youâre so talented!!!). There are virtually no plotholes, you chose the perfect character to voice the narrative (he wouldnât give away too much, so it leaves the reader in suspense), and you write the most beautiful character relationships!! Your attention to detail and understanding of the effects of trauma supplement the narrative so well!!! Both the subtle and large-scale effects were interwoven so well. And the suspense!!!! Oh my gosh!! The double dramatic irony of us the readers knowing things Aizawa doesnât and Aizawa knowing things the rest of the characters donât constantly kept me on the edge of my seat. Itâs one of the only fics I can reread and find new details in every time. Every single character is written with so much love and care, itâs so beautiful and impressive!!!!! Itâs such a kind story, overall :,)
There are so many more things I could say, but I think Iâve left enough comments on the fic itself and would probably go waaaaay over the word limit for a tumblr ask.
I hope you continue to find and work on projects you enjoy doing, even if tmgr isnât one of them <3 <3 <3
Youâre just a truly excellent writer and I wish you nothing but the best!! Reading your works is genuinely a privilege â„ïž â„ïž â„ïž
;___; maybe Iâll just cry forever because of this ask tbh this was incredibly sweet and kind and I donât have any clue what to say in response that will express how reading this made me feel
Time travel fics (tbh time travel fixits in general, thereâs a bunch of kcomics that have the same trope and I live for them too) are so near and dear to my heart, and theyâre my go-to âthings are hard, I need something that makes me feel like mistakes donât have to be forever,â comfort reads, and it really means so much to me that you enjoyed my take on one so much. And also that you picked up on a lot of my deliberate choices! The double dramatic irony, picking Aizawa (who admittedly is my fave bnha character so I was probs always gonna pick him BUT he also made a great unreliable-but-predictable narrator), and the trauma affecting things subtly and obviously⊠Sometimes I wonder how much of what I write gets across to readers, because Iâm v much a âevery choice I made, every word I picked, they all had a reason even if I donât explicitly say what that reason is,â kinda writer, and itâs both amazing and humbling to have those details picked up on by a reader tbh đ
Thank you very very very much for sending this message and brightening my day, it was so nice to read and means a lot đ I hope to get back into writing something (anything!!! I miss writing) soon-ish now that the holidays are over and 2024 is in full swing, and hopefully Iâll get something out there thatâll be in a fandom you enjoy đ thank you again!
#starlight personal#starlight fandom#starlight asks#truly itâs when anyone goes âyour writing is awesomeâ rather than âthis fic is awesomeâ thatâs gets me gobsmacked ngl#v much view my writing as a âeven a broken clock is right twice a dayâ type thing even now rather than having faith that I write well#(not that Iâm not always grateful and touched by ppl who love a specific fic and not to say those comments arenât also appreciated!!!! just#that specifically commenting about my writing ability is the fastest way to make my brain blue screen; so thank you!!!!)#itâs been a bit of a rough month so far (dear god weâre not even halfway through jfc) so this was a very very nice pickmeup to read#I really do wanna post something again soon but I donât want to post another WIP that Iâll never finish lmfao ;__;#finishing things is the WORST I was born to get halfway through and then have the ending teleported from my brain into paper w/o effort#if only lmfaoooo#but anyway!!!! thank you so much I appreciate this a lot and I hope you have a lovely day
4 notes
·
View notes
Note
So, I was looking up some information for a Fic I am writing, and happened to stumble on this;
https://aliceoseman.fandom.com/wiki/Darragh_Hand
And now I am really looking forward to some Tori and Michael scenes in Season 3! What do you think?
ohh i had no idea they'd cast michael! i don't recognize the actor but he and jenny look cute.
the sunshine/grumpy energy coming from these pics is so funny fjfj i too am looking forward to watching their scenes in s3!
2 notes
·
View notes
Note
I never fully got when other writers said "Oh these characters are getting away from me" and that the plot or dialogue was decided by the characters and stuff like that, until very recently!
I was playing around with a wip I've been working on for fucking ages (I'm at 7k words and these two idiots aren't at all where I want them yet) and I was in The Zone and I looked at what I was writing and these two had lines of dialogue I never thought I'd write. Now there's a whole sub-plot I need to work through because no matter how hard I try those two always bring this Thing up and I gotta explain it.
The poly fic Anon made me think of this and I had to let it out. Also, said Anon (if you're reading this which I hope you are) I'm cheering you on so hard. You got this, I am so hugely excited for you!!
Anyways, how's your day been Bex?
- đŠ
Oooh Batty! Now correct me if I am wrong but you've never mentioned till now that YOU write! Now THAT is an exciting development! And yeah seriously, it sneaks up on you, huh? Characters will really grab your hand and drag you away on a journey before you realize they are even doing it!
My day has been a mixed bag but mostly stressful! At my work it was a lot, stressful, a little crazy but I am done now and off tomorrow! I am having dinner soon and gonna write some more for Multi-May! I can't wait for it!
2 notes
·
View notes
Note
Can you write a college roommate head cannon for miguel OâHara ( 18+ f!reader)
ik you asked for HCs but I have no self control... my bad, anon!
College Roommate!Miguel O'Hara Headcanons
(AO3 Mirror), Main Masterlist
pairing: College Roommate!Miguel O'Hara x f!reader
summary: Miguel is your roommate. And heâs hot. Thatâs it, thatâs the tweet.
warnings: 18+ as fuuuck. F-receiving oral, using toys, masturbation, voyeurism (-ish), grinding, praise, service dom (idk?) Miguel, recreational drug use (reader and Miggy smoke a blunt). Minors DNI
a/n: I am a firm believer that modern day Miguel listens to 90s rnb, back when men were men: unabashedly, unashamedly down so fucking bad for their partners. he just gives me those vibes!!
edit: I'm writing a full fic for this! Rigor Mortis, college au fic, read here.
wc: 6k
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'm thinking you become roommates but he's your last choice.Â
Very last minute: you have a big falling out with your now ex-boyfriend, and the plans for flatsharing next semester goes right out the window.Â
So all the good places are taken, and you're going apartment-hunting, but everywhere's either too expensive, too dirty, or there's a predatory clause hidden in the lease: shitty landlords and blaring red flags in 9pt Times New Roman.Â
When you stumble upon Miguel O'Hara; a student in private accomodation who, lucky you, is in need of a roommate; it feels like a godsend.
Rent is affordable and he's nice enough; refusing to grunt more than a few words to you, but is clean, organised, and from what you can tell, is barely in the apartment.Â
You sign onto the lease, desperately, hoping you've just been lucky and trying not to look a gift horse in the mouth.Â
You give a thousand mile stare at the blank document in front of you. A bullshit paper due in exactly 12 hours. Yes, you left it until the final stretch, and yes, it's 10k words. Very doable. You're not fucked. Nope.
You blame it on the banging from next door. Paper thin walls; obscene noises. Cries of Yes Miguel and Just like that, daddy have been plaguing you for almost an hour. His stamina must be superhuman, the way the woman in his bed has been howling. Howling may seem extreme, but she sounds like a dying cat: cock drunk and babbling over Miguel O'Hara?Â
Your new roommate had been nice enough. Quiet, unassuming, and seemed more than absorbed in his schoolwork. So you didn't expect him to unashamedly fuck the girl he's been tutoring for the past week. It all clicks. The "perfect roommate" turned out to have one teeny tiny little flaw: loud, obnoxious sex, well into the early hours of the morning.Â
On autopilot, you're clicking through tabs on your bed. Perhaps you're a prude, but the sex noises are abrasive, excessive, to the point of parody. Persistent, Miguel's low voice reverberates in the walls of your bedroom; making heat pool at the base of your stomach.Â
"You want it, hermosa? Tell meâŠ. such a pretty girl⊠like that?" It's muffled, but his voice is unmistakable. Low, greedy, heavy with want. God, the last time someone's spoken to you like that wasâŠÂ
You shake your head free of cobwebs. No. You're not rewarding him. You can't . Your roommate is shameless, and inconsiderate, and really fucking annoying .Â
The smacking noises increase, coupled with banging on his side of the wall. Resolute, your face hardens. From where you perch on your bed, you slam the wall with the side of your fist.Â
"O'Hara! Keep it the fuck down!"Â
~~~
He's a biochem major, up to his ass in assignments and he still has time for societies, internships and tutoring.Â
The only times he'd be in the apartment really was an impromptu session, and you didn't notice at first, but it became more obvious as the semester went on.
As a so-called tutor, he only seemed to pick the prettiest girls - they would twirl their hair on your kitchen counter and bat their pretty lashes at him when they didn't understand. Favours for a couple of friends, is his only response when you ask.Â
It felt like you'd open the door to a new girl every week and you are baffled. Donned in makeup and short skirts, they'd waddle in asking for Miggy, or drop off half-finished assignments whilst craning their head through, trying to catch a glimpse of him.Â
The absurdity would make you laugh if it wasn't affecting your sleep.Â
Not that he's not absolutely gorgeous, but he's so quiet you would never have thought he had it in him: to have a revolving door of women lining up to lay underneath him.Â
This time, her name is Sarah: pretty little thing in Miguel's Advanced Math class. She perches on a stool, wearing a tight dress that is wholly not appropriate for a tutoring session. She's one of his regulars, if you can call it that, and has been failing for at least 2 semesters. You flash her a smile as you pad through the kitchen, searching the cupboards for a snack. God, she is gorgeous; dolled up for another long session with Miguel, no doubt.
"Where's he gone?" She asks politely.Â
You shrug. "I couldn't tell you, sorry."
"It's okay⊠I'm just a bit stuck." You almost snort and catch yourself. For some reason, you didn't think they actually did any work, merely a pretense for the⊠cardio later on in the day.Â
You glance at her sheet of paper, scribbles in purple pen with large swathes crossed out. Leaning over, you scan the page.
"Right here." You point and she follows with a manicured finger. "You fucked up with this integral and I think⊠yeah, I think that messes with the whole thing."
Her eyes light up as she follows you, explaining with a piece of cookie hanging out of your mouth. She's definitely smart, just a few little mistakes here and there that you're happy to point out. Thanking you fervently, she rushes to correct it.Â
"Ah, it's no problem. I get mixed up with it too." You smile and notice Miguel by the doorway, watching with a strange look in his face. You roll your eyes as you walk past. What a fucking weirdo.Â
"Thought I was the tutor?" He croons.
You raise an eyebrow, voice low as Sarah is engrossed in her work. "...I don't want to fuck her, Miggy , if that's what you're worried about."
A little cruelly you push past him, shoulders clashing against one another. Is he smiling ? For now, you blame your perpetual tiredness when you think you catch the hint of a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.Â
~~~
You're a light sleeper, and it all makes for a tired, delirious combo. You sleepwalk through the day, scramble to finish assignments and whilst it's not all O'Hara's fault, you can't help but blame him for a lot of it.Â
After you successfully get through one long week, you decide to celebrate. That means a couple hours of mindless hedonism: your favourite movie, greasy foodâŠ. and your trusty dildo. Not at the same time, of course.Â
Miguel's not home, and he's not tearing down the walls with some other girl, for once, so you decide to treat yourself.Â
You've been going through a dry patch, and you'd hate to admit it, but he does sound good through the thin drywall.Â
It was a joke gift; given to you by a friend for your birthday. An obnoxiously purple dildo with a suction cup at its base. Aptly named Hugh, due to its - ahem - large stature. Standing tall at 7 or 8 inches, far bigger or thicker than any partner you've taken in the past. Sitting around a small diner booth with your friends and opening the bag to reveal him, had been quite the experience, for sure.Â
It wasn't your fault you had gone through a dry spell in the past few months. With work, with school, with relationship issues, you hadn't had the time or energy to sleep around. Not that you were desperate for drunk, lackluster sex, followed by an awkward dance of ubers and shitty coffee in the morning. Like many, you preferred to do it yourself.Â
Laptop open, you ease yourself onto the toy, already slick with lube. Prepping yourself with your fingers had been quite the task, tabs open to something on a lewd website. It's cheesy, but you didn't really like the bright lights and plastic of usual porn. The moans felt too fake, the sex devoid of any real passion. So you found a couple of independent creators; couples, mostly; carnal fucking with fervour only borne from real love . It's embarrassing to admit it, but your favourite parts are the little kisses and touches in between, or light laughter after a rough session. As if to say: it's okay and I'm still here.Â
On your screen now is a longtime favourite video, a broad man bullying his fat cock into his partner. You can't help but think he looks like Miguel, not as pretty but tan with strapping shoulders, and large hands that wrap around the neck of the girl in the video.Â
" F-Fuck," You breathe, sinking down onto your toy. You bet Miguel's palm on your throat would be deliciously rough, and you imagine how he'd fuck the brat out of you like the man on your screen.Â
What hadn't occurred to you, however, was that the thin walls went both ways. Whilst you were quieter than many of the girls Miguel brought home, you were fairly shameless with the moans and curses that fell from your lips. Headphones on, you were blissfully unaware that Miguel had slipped into the apartment some time ago. The slap of your thighs to the floor, the desperate whine as you roll your hips over the toy - he can hear it all.Â
Miguel has a conscience, so he does feel some amount of shame when he slips a hand down his trousers and presses an ear to your shared wall. He closes his eyes and bites down lusty groans, fisting his cock to your pretty noises. Noises he's been wanting to hear from you for months, now, imagining it was you underneath him instead of his usual partners.Â
He times it just right, squeezing around his tip in time with the steady slap just beyond the wall. Are you fucking yourself? On your knees, hands flat on the floor, churning up your insides with a toy⊠or maybe ass up, dildo attached to somethingâŠ? He almost cums with that mental image, wondering what you'd look like on your knees for him. Is the dildo as big as him? He knows you, knows you'd want it to hurt - for his cock to stretch out your pretty pussy when he cums deep inside you.Â
All things he thinks about with a hand around his cock, and he's already close. But he wants to cum with you, listening intently for the signs.Â
" Fuck," Your voice comes out muffled, but it makes him buck up into his fist all the same. " Need it⊠oh God, I-"Â
He speeds up, wondering what it would be like to have your thighs shake underneath him, what it would take to have you babbling and begging for more. How would he break you? Maybe on his cock, where he'd watch you squirm as you take his length. Or on your knees, choking around him and licking up his cum. Or, God, thighs wrapped around his head, riding out your high with his mouth sealed on your clit, crying for him slow down, for him to-
" H-Harder, Miguel, please."Â
He releases, sudden and intense, spilling white ropes into his boxers.Â
" Fuck, MiguelâŠ"
He fucks his fist through it, overstimulated from the way you say his name. It feels like the only way it should be said; spilling from your mouth, haphazard and desperate. Like honey, like treacle; sweet things he didn't know he had the capacity for. He lets that feeling wash over him, panting, bringing his forehead to rest on cool wall.Â
~~~
He's hot. He's smart. He's a whore.
A total blindspot for you, and no matter how much you can't stand him; you still find yourself stealing glances whenever he's home.Â
And he does seem to be home a lot more, often choosing to study on the dining table rather than his room. It's like he does it on purpose, using the warmer weather as an excuse to wear tiny tank tops and loose gray sweats - showing off the muscles of his broad back and arms perfectly.
Funnily enough, when he's not around those girls, he's bearable - seems to have grown a couple of brain cells in those short few days between sessions.Â
You laugh and joke, sometimes, and he surprises you by suggesting a movie one quiet night.Â
He offers you his sweater to snuggle into, you eat your weight in greasy takeout, and your roommate seems like an actually decent guy??Â
You had fallen into an easy routine: O'Hara leaves a flask of coffee for you to snatch up in the morning, hair damp from the shower and all, and you meet him with netflix and instant noodles in the evening. A push and pull that works in the little space - much smoother than your rocky beginnings.
After a truly shitty day, you come home to a quiet apartment. Almost sleeping through an exam, forgetting lunch, missing the bus home, and having to trek back through pouring rain in a thin coat. Everything that could go wrong, did, and you are left with the pieces. You trudge through the living room into the kitchen, the wet squelch of socks on laminate floor haunting every step. Shedding your limp outerwear, you lay the contents of your backpack onto the kitchen counter: clumps of loose paper, the damp leftovers of a textbook, bleeding ink. Your main concern, however, is your laptop slick with rain water.Â
With baited breath, you put it on the slab, and press the power button. A click, a stuttering whir, and the screen flickers on. Then, just as strained, it putters off. Dead. Completely dead. Your legs almost give out, and you lean on the counter to steady yourself. Half of your life was there; including the final project that would make up a good chunk of your grade. It takes you everything not to collapse onto the floor right then and there.Â
"How was it?" You hear the click of a door and Miguel calls out from the hallway.Â
You wince."...F-Fine?"Â
You hear footsteps, as he gets closer. "Are you asking or telling me?"Â
You clear your throat, desperately trying to keep your voice steady. "Fine. It was fine. I'm just⊠it was fine."
Back still turned, you fumble around with the wet contents of your bag, hoping he doesn't notice.Â
"Long day?" He says warmly, head poking into the kitchen. Haphazardly, you spare him a glance from behind your shoulder. He's dressed in a sweater that fits snug around his chest, rolled up to expose his forearms, and loose sweats. In his hands, he drinks from a cheesy mug - your mug, donning a stupid pun. He looks warm. Cosy. Domestic. For some, reason it makes your heart sink even further.Â
Long day? "Something like that." You manage to squeeze out. There's a pregnant pause as he comes closer. Rummaging blindly through a cupboard, you try to hide behind its door. If he sees you like this, now, you don't know if you'll be able to hold it together.Â
You close the door, and all of a sudden he's there, mug in hand.Â
" Fuck, man- " It makes you jump, as he squints and takes a sip of his coffee.Â
"You look⊠wet."Â
"That's because it rained, Miguel." Snapping at him, your tone is biting. You're tired, stressed and in desperate need of a cry, but he is unrelenting in his gaze.Â
"Are you ok?" He asks, unfazed.Â
There's a lump in your throat and all you can do is nod with a tight expression. His eyes flicker towards the counter and you shuffle, trying to cover up the mess. And then you watch it happen; initial confusion, a flash of realisation, and then worry; all in the space of a couple seconds.Â
Gently, he pulls you aside to inspect the damage. "Mierda. This is pretty bad. You sure you're ok?"Â
He's got a hand on your arm now, The dam breaks and you crumple into tears in the kitchen floor. Of course, he comes with you, rubbing your back as you blubber through the details.Â
" Nothing's going right for me⊠and I've got my final project on there⊠I'm barely keeping up as it isâŠ" All he does is nod, face tight with something you can't quite name. It must seem pathetic to him, you think, shamelessly crying on the kitchen floor, complaining to your poor roommate. He can't leave you like this, because he's a decent person - but internally, he must think you're going crazy.Â
It helps, having him there: a steady presence by your side. Slowly but surely, your tears subside.Â
"You could've asked me to pick you up." He hands you some tissues off the counter, and watches as you mop up the tears. "I would've come, if you called."
"I didn't⊠I didn't think we wereâŠ" You search for the right word.Â
"...friends?" He offers, with a small smile. "You think I let just anyone steal my sweaters?"Â
"First of all," It makes you laugh, despite yourself. "You offered. And second, I've seen what you do with your friends, and I don't know if I have the energy for it."
"Ouch." Bashful, he rubs his chest like it aches. He sits a little close to you, knocking your shoulders with his own. "I know this girl who's crazy good with computers. I could ask her to take a look, if you'd like? Might not be able to save it but maybe we could recover the files?"
"...I'd like that, to be honest."
"Muy bien ." He leaps to his feet, palm stretched towards you to help you up. "I'll run you a warm bath or something. You're creating a puddle and it's going to ruin my floor."
"Our floor, asshole. I pay rent here, too."Â
~~~
You find that you enjoy being around him, and he feels the same.Â
You can't help but compare him to your shitty ex who you were planning to move in with: and even with his quirks, Miguel is better in every way.Â
There is harmony in your household, for a while, and you almost look forward to coming home to him after class. Almost.Â
It doesn't last long, because of course it doesn't. You'd thought you'd come to a tentative ceasefire, able to casually rib and joke with each other - takeout and B-roll movies aside. He leaves you leftovers from food he makes, you turn down your music when he's studying, and he even woke you up the other day when you had slept through your alarm.
Beyond the wall, his music is loud: a playlist you recognise as the one he puts on to (unsuccessfully) mask the noise of his usual late night adventures. Cheesy love ballads, heady RnB that leaks into your own room. You'd rather die than admit his taste in music isn't horrible, but it usually means a long, long night for everyone around. With finals around the corner, there's no way you can let this stand.Â
What kind of person does that? Lull you into a false sense of security with Snakes on a Plane and pepperoni pizza?Â
Absorbed in your own work, you hadn't even realised he had someone over; let alone was gearing up for obnoxious sex. You'd bang on the wall, but you feel like you guys are past that: crossed a threshold of intimacy that means you can shout at him up close and personal.Â
So you stomp over to the hallway, banging at the door to his room. In the short trip there, you've worked yourself into a frenzy. How many times have you told him to keep it down? That it was rude and inconsiderate to flaunt his sex life in your face; to fuck other women so loud you were practically involved? There was something about the little smile he would give you afterwards, when you catch him shepherding his latest out the door in the morning - like he gets off on it, enjoys it, when you react. Even when you think you're over it, he still manages to drive you absolutely crazy.Â
âMiguel? Open the fuck up!"
You're still fuming when the door opens with a click, and Miguel appears in the sliver of the doorway. He opens it so that his frame is half swallowed by the door, top half peeking through with a lazy hand in his hair. And of his top half, he's bare from the waist up, black band of his boxers sitting low on his v-line and loose sweats.Â
All the wind is knocked from your sails, and you lose your train of thought.Â
"Yeah?"Â
"IâŠ" You clear your throat. "I don't care who you fuck, but when I'm doing work-"Â
"-I'm not." He chuckles. "There's no one here, hermosa. Just me. And you, I guessâŠ"
There's something about the way he says it, lazily, as if it's his first time saying those words - wrapping his tongue around your name to see how it fits. If it fits, how it tastes. His relaxed posture, the way his hair fallsâŠ
"You're high." Your brow shoots up. "... you're high!"Â
With a finger pressed to his lips, he grabs your hand and pulls you into his room, eyes darting around the hallway.Â
"Shhh! You can't-" Now, he gets close, whispering like he's saying something he shouldn't. "You can't tell anyone. "
"I won't." You breathe. His face is serious at first, and then you're both giggling. You've never seen him so carefree, and it's nice to see Miguel walking around without the weight of the world on his shoulders.
He's still holding your hand, pressed close, and you see him drag his eyes up and down your figure. "You want do something you'll regret�"
"...I've got a 9am, tomorrow, I really-"Â
"-shouldn't?" He finishes, dragging his hand up your bare arm, pupils blown. He gets up to your shoulders, tucking your hair behind your ear. It's sinful, the way his touch is gentle but gaze heavy - violent in the way he practically eyefucks you. You feel bare, in little sleep shorts and a t-shirt.
He steps back, lounging on his bed, and makes for a half finished blunt by the adjacent window sill. Sighing, you sit by him, sinking into the mattress. He pats you closer, dangerously close, and you comply. One arm curled by your waist, the other brings the blunt up close and you wrap your lips around it. When Miguel brings a lighter to the blunt, you lean into it, knuckles brushing your lips.Â
You take a drag, long, heavy, eyes closed. And when they open, you're met with his own. Maybe it's the weed, maybe it's the heady atmosphere, but you swear his eyes are low and deep with lust.
"Good girl." He rumbles, cupping your chin and tracing a thumb to your lips. He separates, bringin the blunt to his own lips before leaning back to pass it to you. As quick as he gets close, he pulls away; leaning back into the expanse of his large bed. And he looks good, head drawn back and the curve of his tan arm drawn upwards. Tufts of hair from his chest, the trail that leads down suggestively - and without inhibition, you basically drool over him. God, there it is. You feel it kick in and let it wash over you.Â
His music, long forgotten, blends into your downy haze. You want to sit in his lap, rest your head on his chest. You get it now: if this is the view all those women he tutors get to have, then you finally understand.Â
"Come closer, hermosa ." You barely register the nickname, only focused on the way he says it, the delicious way it rolls off of his tongue. You nod, and shuffle closer. His siren song sounds sweeter, somehow, up close.Â
You pass the blunt between you both, and watch it dwindle to the last dregs. Lying down next to him, he clutches your hand and takes the butt between his fingers, letting its flames die as you watch. You giggle and his gaze softens.
"I didn't expect this from you." You look up to see an upside-down Miguel, hiding a smile.Â
"Expect what?" He drags himself downwards, to rest his head by your side.Â
"AllâŠ" You gesture vaguely. "This. Don't even think I've been in your room for this long, before."
His room looks exactly how you'd expect it: tidy and modest, a row of trophies neatly lined up on a shelf, a telescope pointing out towards a window. There are posters by his bed; science related, mostly. You tilt your head in the direction of one of them.
"Is this what they see?" You mumble to no one in particular.Â
He manages to catch it, sluggish in his response. "...Is this what who sees?"Â
"All the girls you fuck." It tumbles your of your mouth, before you can help it.Â
He tilts his head too, looking at the poster and you watch the sharp lines of his jaw besides you. Even at this angle, he's so pretty.Â
"Huh. I guess they do."Â
"It's not very romantic, is it?" You blink, oblivious. Your question is met with a noncommittal shrug. "What was her name last time? Cassie, Clara-somethingâŠ"
"Katie." He hums.Â
"Katie." Ignoring the twinge of disappointment at his quick response, you hope it's the weed and not jealousy that made you pretend to forget her name.Â
You sit up on your haunches, tracing the valleys and mountains of his bare chest with a leisurely finger. You try not to notice the way he shivers at your touch.Â
"I could hear everything. Every, 'Yes daddy'," You feign a moan by curling your lips into an O-shape. You bring your other hand to your hair, head tilted back with exaggerated movement. "And 'right there, Miggy, right fuckin' there' ."Â
Technically, you're making fun of him and laughing, expecting him to follow. But he doesn't, head back and eyes boring into you - only bringing a hand to press yours at his chest.Â
"Thin walls, Miguel." You clear your throat, sensing a shift in the atmosphere. Too far, probably. "Sorry, shit. I didn't mean-"Â
"I hear you too." He says softly. "I heard you, the other day."
Head filled with cotton, it takes a moment for his words to really click. So he elaborates, lacing his fingers with your own.Â
"Fucking yourself, hermosa ." He says it lazily, like the vulgarity of the act doesn't register.
Your eyes widen in horror. How much exactly did he hear?
"...and I heard you say my name."Â
"It wasâŠ. i-it wasn't like that-" Fuck. You can't think straight as it is: and his voice is low and silky, rubbing circles on your hand close to his chest. Even now, he oozes confidence, the steady thump-thump of his heart giving away nothing.Â
"Hmmm? Then what is it like?" You blink at him, unable to answer. "You're a hypocrite. You complain about all these women I supposedly fuck, but then-"Â
He pulls you closer, so that your lips almost touch his. "-you lock yourself in your room, touching yourself and thinking about your poor roommate. What am I meant to do with you?"
A pause, and in your daze, you can't breathe. For all your theatrics, it's too easy for him - to prod and tease, and for you to chase after him. You move to kiss him, but he grabs your chin at the last second. "Not quite. I want to hear you say it."
"Fuck- " You crumple, hiding your head in the crook of his shoulder. Even in your haze, the nerves bubble up from the base of your stomach. "Fuck me, please , Miguel."
He places a hand on your thigh, leading you to straddle his middle, other hand wrapped around your waist. He grinds your lower half into his, leaning up to bring your lips together.Â
He tastes sweet, greedily lapping up your moans in the clash. You're not thinking, not really, lost in the heat of his body, desperate and eager when you kiss. To contrast, Miguel cups your chin, pulling you away for air whenever you sink too deep. Somehow, he still manages to look smug, taunting you with a flash of his little fangs whenever you separate. If you weren't feeling the effects of that blunt, you may have had the means to be embarrassed at how much you want him - needily grinding against him and pawing at his chest.Â
It's too slow, too leisurely, like a punishment; and he refuses to give you what he knows you want. Your whines betray you when he finally slips a hand down your shorts.Â
"ÂżPaciencia, hmm?" He grabs a handful of your ass, clothed cock catching on your clit. It rips another moan from you, which he happily swallows with another kiss. "Patience, princesa."
You hump against one another like teenagers, your hands planted by his head for purchase. Hips moving of their own accord, you chase the relief Miguel provides: with his hands kneading your ass, length catching at your clit, and teeth nipping at your bare neck.Â
He licks a stripe up your collarbone, soothing the blossoming hickeys with a hum.Â
Fuck, how can he be so casual ? You don't know if it's the weed or something else, but he is in his element, hand dipping down your back to graze at your pussy from behind. He hisses when he realises how wet you are, swiping his fingers down your slit and taking them out to pop them in his mouth.Â
Now, flushed and face hot with embarrassment, you look up at him with big doe eyes. It makes Miguel feel guilty for stopping you so close to your climax. Beautiful : lower lip hooked under your teeth, plump and swollen and kissable. He'll make up for it later: a promise he whispers into skin.Â
"You're soaked." He cups your cheek to press a kiss to your forehead, and all you can do is whine. His gaze dips down, to the swell of your tits in that thin shirt..Â
"What did you think about when you touched yourself?" It's soft, said in the warm press of your bodies; hook-shaped and hazy and you fit like you were made for one another. The thought lingers, plants a dangerous seed that makes you forget that the man underneath you is your roommate : unrepentant whore, Miguel O'Hara.Â
"You." You've seen it first hand, he eats hearts for breakfast; and yours is on a platter for him to devour.
He laughs, deep and rumbling, hands resting on your waist. "I know that, baby. You don't have fantasies? Fuck yourself to the thought of someone touchin' you just right?"
Not just someone, him, you think. Your voice dies in your throat at the way he looks at you. "Just⊠n-nothing really-"
He hums, grinding your hips onto his. "Speechless, I can't believe it. Is this what I need to do to get some fucking peace around here?"Â
You roll your eyes, "Don't be a dick, Miguel. When I shout, it's because you deserve it."
"...there it is." Eyes shining, his face stretches into a shit-eating grin. Wide, unabashed, unambiguous. "You back with the living, sweetheart?"Â
It makes you laugh, even though you hate to give him the satisfaction.Â
"What do you want?" He kneads your thigh and pleasure pools at the base of your stomach.Â
You mumble something begrudgingly.
"Hmm? Can't hear you, baby."
Louder, now. "...want to sit on your face, Miguel."Â
Lowly, he groans, shaking his head. "Mierda⊠of course you do."
Expertly, he helps you take your shorts off, dragging the thin material down your thighs. You clambers upwards, wrapping them around his shoulders, watching intently as he kneads the soft skin. It's tentative, at first, and you place your hands on the headboard to perch just above his mouth.Â
He licks, diving in with the flat of his tongue: a long upwards stroke that ends with him sucking your clit. Moaning, your hips jump and he chases your pretty pussy up, large palms pushing you back down. He concentrates on your bundle of nerves, lips around your clit like a man on a mission.
And, God, does it feel good; he watches and learns from your every movement, committing your body to memory. His moans vibrate deliciously, tension building at that spot faster than your mind can register it. Then, you clench around nothing, gushing into his mouth whilst he eases you through it. The noises he makes are obscene; one leg off the bed and a hand snaked under his boxers. He's getting off on it; watching you crumple and sob around his tongue.Â
And when you begin to move off, thighs sore, he doesn't relent, sealing his mouth on your pretty little hole.Â
"Miguel.. fuck-" After your first orgasm, it surprises you when he continues, tongue fucking you with fervour. He presses you close, impossibly close, and your body fights against his ministrations. Heat, everywhere, and it's too much. The haze of the blunt begins to wear off and you are left with biting clarity. You want more of him, deeper; drunk off of just his tongue.Â
You card your hands in his hair, and he moans: deep and wanton, with his eyes fluttering shut. He wants to look, to watch you when you cum on his tongue for a second time. Back arched, the curve of your tits peeking through a tiny top, fucking yourself on his face. He wants it hard , wants you to take control and use him to get off.Â
"Right there, fuck⊠"
Like you can hear his thoughts, you press yourself down harder, riding the deep ridge of his nose for relief. Miguel complies and leans into it. He eats you out like a man starved and the carnality of it all brings you to a second peak. You cum once again, legs wrapped tight around his face. Head back, he laps it up readily.Â
You separate with a wet pop, and Miguel looks blissful : fucked out and panting, wiping the slick off of his face with a forearm. Exhausted, you lean back onto the mattress beside him.Â
"That wasâŠ" He searches for the right word, and it's your turn to finish for him.Â
"... good. " Scarily good. So good you won't be able to see him around the apartment without remembering what he looks like trapped between your thighs.Â
Gently, he turns to cup your cheek and bring your lips to his. It starts off sweet and deepens rapidly, making that thread at the pit of your stomach tighten, again. He grabs your thigh, bringing it closer, and you feel his length poking your stomach. Fuck.Â
"You haven't�" Your hand makes for his trousers, and he stops you. "I want to, Miguel. Want you to feel good too."
His head sinks into your shoulder. "I know, baby, I know. Not like this. Not yet."
You nod, still wrapped up in his arms. You haven't even fucked, and it feels more intimate than it should.Â
"You've got a 9am tomorrow." He smiles with a hand underneath his head.Â
"I've got a 9am tomorrow," You repeat, sighing. "...and my life is falling apart. I'm failing half of my classes as it is."
He turns to you, lazily.Â
"I could tutor you, if you'd like."
âŠ
"That's not fucking funny, Miguel."
_
_
Miguel taglist: @d1lf-loverrr, @afro-hispwriter @ilovemiguelohara @weedxgirlx420 @ladydovahkiin180 @aaliyuh3 @sweetanimebakery @vvitcxen @rosecoloredlenses708 @daikondal @magikmina @impettywhenyouare @alonelygirlsuicidenote @plushyplants @javi0ca @rheeves @starrfruit @nikirikii @marsbars09 @foxglove-grove @mimooyi @crosshairclown @dead-by-light @kynamitedessert @naarra @wanderlustingcastaway @sagejin @cookielovesbook-akie @tangerineloverrr @gobblegluckgluckgod @wolfiepirate @jxxey3 @ebrysteria @elliemm @manchuria @youngghostpeachslime @weasleybuns @ilovemuppets @vauriz @bonbyon @aimno256 @ancientbeing10 @tvije @venus1224idkpleaze @neteyamsbulletwound @chickenjefferson-blog @maki-z @jasjasthings
_
edit: the full fic xx
#i am very very close to making this a full fic#(implying that this isn't alr basically a full fic lmfao)#miguel o hara x reader#miguel o'hara x reader#across the spiderverse#kat_writesđŒ#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara smut#miguel o'hara headcanons#spiderman 2099 masterlist#spiderman 2099 x reader
30K notes
·
View notes
Text
Modern Love (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)
A/N: Hey y'all! Here's something short and sweet. This is based on a request, so I hope the requester enjoys :) No song references here, but "Modern Love" by David Bowie seems appropriate. It's 80s, New Wave-y, and we're in an arcade in this fic, so it fits.
Summary: The team goes out to an arcade, and Logan is his usual grumpy self...but his soft spot for you is more clear than ever.
Warnings: Suggestive content (would totally write a second part with some true smut), tooth rotting fluff, friends to lovers, kissing, cursing, f!reader/afab!reader, grumpy!Logan, Jubilee is a cock block LOL, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it.
Word Count: 1,685 short and sweet indeed
âI do not want to be here,â Logan complains, rolling his eyes as the team strolls into the arcade.Â
Jubilee skips inside, twirling with excitement. âWell, thatâs just too bad, Logan!â She calls, running over to the arcadeâs version of Dance Dance Revolution. Kurt is laughing, following at her heels. âBecause everyone else is going to have a great time!âÂ
âGambitâs winning big tonight,â Gambit says, taking Rogueâs hand in his. âGambitâs winning chere a prize, he is.â Rogue blushes, letting Gambit pull her to one of the fake slot machines.Â
Jean and Scott walk over to an older machineâPac-Man or something similar, probably. Storm and Charles head towards the seating area near the snack bar in the back, leaving you and Logan to yourselves. Of course. Youâre alone with Logan. The person you want but you know you canât have.Â
Youâre friendsâjust friends. Youâve accepted that heâll never see you as anything more, but it still hurts.Â
âSoâŠâ You say, trailing off as Logan looks around the arcade. âNot your kind of place, huh?â
âNot particularly,â he says back, his eyes finding yours. You canât help but smile at that stupid, grumpy look on his face. âYou like this shit?â He asks, smiling back at you.Â
You shrug your shoulders, noncommittal. âI think youâd have fun if you tried,â you say, nodding towards the crane machine, and walking over. You can hear Loganâs footsteps against the carpet, following you close behind.
You peer into the glass, looking at all the stuffed animals filling the machine. Your smile widens when you spot the cute little turtle in the backâgreen and brown, wide eyes, and extra plush and round. Logan leans against the machine, arms crossed tightly against his chest. âWhich one are we going for?â He asks. Weâyou canât help but replay the word in your head. Thereâs a âweâ in this. You and Logan.Â
You point to the turtle in the back row. âWeâre going for that one,â you say, and his eyes find the green little thing. âIsnât he cute?â
He shakes his head, grinning ear to ear, his grumpiness seemingly gone now. âSure, princess, sure he is.âÂ
Your breath hitches in your throat at the sound of the familiar pet name. You lean down to put a quarter in the machine, trying your best not to overthink the situation. The crane starts up, whirring to life, giving you three tries to win the stuffy.Â
You maneuver the crane to the back row, just above the turtle. âDo you think thatâs good?â You ask, looking towards Logan. But he isnât looking at the machine; heâs looking at you, smirking. âWhat?â You ask, narrowing your eyes incredulously.Â
âYouâre cute when you concentrate,â Logan says, his smirk unwavering. You can feel the heat rising to your chest as he peers into the machine. He nods, his eyes finding yours again, changing the subject before you can respond to his comment. âLooks good to me.â
You swallow nervously, pressing the button on the top of the stick, sending the crane down to the stuffy. It grabs the turtle, holding it up. It looks like itâs going to make it, but it falls in the center of the glass box. You groan, annoyed as the crane moves back to position. You try again, bringing the crane to the center of the machine, just above the turtle, and dropping it again. The silver claws grip the plushy, but itâs a bad grabâthe turtle slipping right out of its grasp.Â
 âFucking rigged,â you mutter, moving the crane over the turtle for the final time. âThis is it,â you say, looking at Logan. Heâs suddenly shifting closer to you, standing behind you and pressing his front to your back. His arms rest on either side of the crane machineâs controls, caging you in.Â
âMuch better view from here,â he whispers at the shell of your ear. Youâre distracted by how close he is. You can smell himâtobacco and pine and musk. âLetâs see if it works, princess.â This is too much. Far more than you can possibly handle.Â
You take a deep breath, your eyes surveying the craneâs distance from the turtle carefully, and you press the button. The crane drops, grabbing the stuffy, and picking it up successfully. âYes!â You say, looking back at Logan. His face is inches from yours. You can feel his breath fan across your lips. Your noses are so close, brushing together softly. He leans in, lips parted.Â
âGame over!â A robotic, automated voice rings out, the crane whirling back into position. It snaps you back to reality, and you look inside the machine. There, off to the side just next to the machineâs drop box, is the turtle.Â
âShit,â you mumble, shoulders slumping with disappointment. You know itâs just a game, and you are an adult after all, but you canât help the frown that forms across your face. âI really wanted him. I was gonna name him Bernie.â
Logan chuckles. âBernie?â he asks, and you nod. Heâs centimeters away from you again, leaning in. âDonât sweat the loss, princess. Youâre cuter than that little thing is anywâ"
âLook what Kurt and I got with our tickets!â Jubilee is suddenly in front of you, a stuffed, sparkly blue dinosaur in her hand. Sheâs tugging you away from Logan and across the arcade before you can protest. âYou gotta dance with me!â You look back at Logan, whoâs standing alone in front of the crane machine, arms tucked against his chest.Â
Have fun, he mouths. And good luck. He winks at you as Jubilee whisks you off to Dance Dance Revolution. You let her pick the song, and you struggle through the round, your feet tapping to the beat. You and Jubilee are a laughing mess. You know you look absolutely ridiculous, but itâs fun.Â
And yet, your mind still wanders to Logan. You think about how close he was to you, the way his lips practically brushed against yoursâthe ghost of a kiss. You think about the way he caged you in, pressed against your back. Youâre so distracted that you donât even realize how badly youâre fumbling all the moves; you donât hear Jubilee calling your name.Â
âHey!â She shouts, finally bringing you back to reality. The round is over; you missed the entire second half of the dance. âWhereâd you go just there?â She asks, concern hidden within her smile. Â
You look over to the crane machine, expecting to see Logan, but heâs gone. In fact, you canât find him anywhere. âSorry Jubes, but I gotta go see about something,â you say, stepping off the platform.Â
Your eyes search the arcade. Gambit and Rogue are at the ticket redemption counter, picking out a big stuffed bear. Kurt is fooling around on one of those motorcycle racing games. Storm and Charles areâuncharacteristicallyâsharing a soft pretzel, while Jean and Scott share a milkshake. Everyone is here and accounted for except Logan.Â
That is, until you notice the puff of smoke in the corner of the glass door at the front of the arcade. You smirk, walking towards the entrance and pushing the door open.Â
Logan leans against the brick wall of the building, cigar in his mouth. His head turns towards you, and he immediately takes the cigar out, dropping it to the ground and extinguishing it with the heel of his boot.Â
âHi,â you whisper, standing next to him.Â
He looks down at you, smiling widely. âHi.â Heâs leaning in againâso closeâand a shiver runs up your spine. âCold?â He asks, shrugging out of his leather jacket before you have a chance to answer. He helps you into the jacket one arm at a time, his eyes drinking you in once itâs on, trailing up and down your body. âLooks good on you,â he hums. âWay better than it does on me.â
You shake your head, letting your shoulder brush against his. You look over at him and suddenly notice something green and round in his hand. âWhatâs that?â You ask. But you already know. You recognize the little brown spots and the wide eyes.Â
Logan smirks, lifting the turtle up. âCouldnât let you go home without him,â he says, holding it out towards you.Â
âNo way!â You shout, ignoring the turtle and throwing your arms around Loganâs neck. Itâs instinctive, natural. He tugs you in closer, his arms wrapping around your waist. âThank you so much,â you mumble into the crook of his neck. âI canât believe you ended up playing a game at an arcade.âÂ
âIâd do anything for you,â he whispers against your temple. The sudden vulnerability of his words makes your heart tighten in your chest. You stay like that for a while, his lips ghosting your forehead, your chests pressed together. You finally lift your head, looking up at Logan.Â
âLo?â You whisper, and his gaze meets yours, flitting between your eyes and your lips. He drops the plushy onto the bench next to him and walks you back into the brick wall, caging you in, hands on either side of your waist.Â
He leans in. âYeah, pretty girl?â He brings one hand to your hip, gripping gently. âWhat do you need?â
âY-you,â you stutter. âI need yâ"
His lips swallow your words, fitting against yours like a puzzle piece. The kiss is slow, languid, but you can feel his need in the way he moves against you, hands slipping underneath the borrowed jacket and your shirt to explore your skin. His fingertips drag along your back, relaxing you into his touch.Â
âMaybe we should get out of here,â Logan mumbles against your lips.Â
Your heart flutters in your chest. âBut what about the others?â You ask, nodding to the arcade.
Logan smirks, stealing another kiss. âAll the more reason to get back to the mansion before they do.â
âBut how are we going toââ
He grips your waist, tugging you towards the parking lot. âI took my bike, pretty girl.â
Oh?
Oh.Â
tags: @ilysmdovie12 @prettyseaveins @spiderset @figsnpassionfruits @silversprings-mp3 @movhoney @wittyjasontodd @theasiaabattoir @fanfic-writing-barbie @manipulatour @pedrohoe04 @derbygracie
#Logan Howlett x reader#Wolverine x reader#James Logan Howlett x reader#Logan Howlett x you#Wolverine x you#James Logan Howlett x you#Logan Howlett fluff#Wolverine fluff#James Logan Howlett fluff#Logan Howlett x reader fluff#Wolverine x reader fluff#James Logan Howlett x reader fluff#deadpool and wolverine#Logan Howlett imagine#Wolverine imagine#James Logan Howlett imagine
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
â THRILL (h)ER! â SATOSUGU X READER
summary: when watching a scary movie with your two best friends, you cant help but hold onto them tight every time you get jumpscared. but as the night goes on and your fingers roam... wait, what movie were you watching again?
wc: 3.3k (its alll smut guys so give me a medal)
cw: double penetration, praising, slight degradation, gojo and geto bickering, fingering, dirty talk (?) and some fun loving you're their pretty little princess. afab!reader, MDNI
an: guys look I finally posted a fic for kinktober, yay me, I hope you like it since Id say the smut on this one hits different sooo give it a chance. also only big brains will understand the fic title.
KINKTOBER M.LIST.
your best friends, gojo and geto always have a way of making you feel right at home, especially when you find yourself in your favourite spot on the couch â sandwiched between them. geto's embrace is a gentle yet possessive one, his arms wrapped around you in a tender hold that radiates warmth, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on your lower back.
to your side, gojo's long limbs seamlessly entwine with yours. your legs stretch over to meet him, creating an intimate tangle of limbs. his fingers trail leisurely up and down your thighs, their teasing caresses sending delightful shivers through your body. it's a familiar and electric sensation that's become an unspoken language among the three of youâone that hasnât fully been enacted upon⊠yet.
"i don't know why you insist we watch this movie every year," geto complains, his gaze locked onto his b est friend, a playful frustration in his tone. "you're so predictable."
"oh, don't be a bore," gojo retorts, matching geto's glare before shifting his attention down to you. his voice is laced with mischief as he speaks to you. "you find it fun, don't you?"Â
âwhat? do i like crappy slashers from the 80s with big titted damsels running from a shitly costumed killer?â you deadpan, your sarcasm evident. you could feel the vibration from geto as he lowly chuckles. gojoâs face forms a pout that prompts you to quickly add, âbut i love them.â
gojoâs pout transforms into a triumphant grin as your admission earns you a playful nudge from him. âthatâs my girl,â he exclaims, giving your thigh an excited rub as he turns on the movie.
geto, still chuckling softly, leans in closer. âwell, i suppose if toru enjoys it, we can endure it one more time.â his words carry a hint of tenderness, his arm around you tightening ever so slightly, puling you closer into his embrace.                                                                           Â
you watch the movie in a comfortable silence, the only noise coming from the tv and gojo's oddly placed screams that you've come to expect every year. his over-the-top reactions to jump scares and gruesome scenes never fail to amuse you, and it's a source of endless entertainment for both you and geto.
geto, on the other hand, watches the movie with a more stoic expression, occasionally shaking his head at the implausible plot twists and unrealistic gore. His hand continues to rest on your thigh, his fingers now tracing soothing patterns as if to counterbalance the tension on the screen.
as the movie progresses, you notice how both gojo and geto steal glances at you when they think you're not looking, as their innocent touches progress into heavy petting. but there's a moment where you all pause, their movements stop, and you all look at each other as the loud sounds of exaggerated moans blare from the screen.
âi always forget this scene is in there,â gojo lies, with a snicker, an appreciative smile forming on his face as he watches the scene.gojo's arm remains draped around your shoulders, his fingers lightly tracing patterns on your arm, while geto's touch has grown increasingly intimate, his hand resting on your hip, his thumb making slow, deliberate circles.
âoh donât bullshit satoru,â geto accuses, taking his hand off of you for a second to send a jab into gojoâs side, âi know youâre getting off on watching this ditzy blonde getting laid.â
ânot true,â gojo retorts childishly, âi think thereâs better sights to get off on, isnât that right?â he finishes casting his eyes, not so subtly, over to you.
âwell i canât lie and say the sights arenât⊠appealing,â geto grins his hands coming back on you, toying with the hem of your shirt.
âyou two are such guys,â you laugh, trying to remain nonchalant even though on the inside the pace of your heart was quickening, and every touch of their fingers sends jolts straight to your core. âyouâre focusing on the wrong things here.â
âand what should we be focusing on here?â geto murmurs at you, you couldnât see his face but you knew a smirk was plastered across it. his challenge hangs in the air as you pause, hesitating as you scan the room, your eyes meeting gojoâs trying to gauge if they are thinking what you are. geto can sense your hesitation as he feels your breathing still as you lean against him, so he pulls his finger under your chin turning your head to face him. âlet us focus on you, come here.â
you lean in, his lips enclosing on yours in a deep kiss, you turn your body almost straddling him so you could get better access. his tongue enters your mouth, as his hands work down your body, and as the kiss intensifies, youâre aware of gojoâs gaze on you. you extend an inviting hand toward him, flashing him a smile as you pull away from geto and set your lips on your other friend.
gojo groans as your lips work with his, and his hands go straight into his pants, fisting his dick that has been hard all night just at the sight of you. geto cascades kisses down your neck as he starts to pull your shirt up off of you, you gasp at the feeling of both of their hands and lips all over you.
âh-how long have you two been planning this one then, huh?â you grin, a laugh escaping through your moans, as you let geto get rid of your shirt, assisting gojo with taking off your pants.Â
âhow long have we known you?â geto responds rhetorically, and gojo nod in agreement, as they both take off their jogging bottoms, leaving you all sitting on the couch in your underwear. there is no more hesitation, or uncertainty between you threeâyou all know exactly what you want.
âso who gets to have me first?â you joke, your eyes darting between the two of them, their lustful eyes are unmistakable as they stare at your body, their dicks straining against their boxers ready to be suffocated by your tight pussy.
âi get to!â gojo sputters out quickly, but heâs not as swift as geto whoâs already pulled you back onto him, his fingers pushing into you without any warning. your mouth parts, as you let out a whine, as his long digits give your pussy fast, relentless strokes, he adds another finger, smirking as your body buckles against his. âhey no fair!â gojo pouts, side eyeing geto, but he canât help biting his lip as he hears your cunt squelch everytime his best friend shoves his fingers into it.
âdonât worry, âtoru,â geto reassures, his fingers curling up into you before he pulls it out swiftly, spreading your pussy apart and giving gojo a knowing look, âthereâs room for the both of us.â
gojo eagerly drives his fingers into you from behind, his body pressing against yours as he charges your fingers into you. your moans increase as you feel a flurry of digits explore your pussy, gojoâs hand grips on his shoulder and geto hand holds your waist as they both tug your body back and forth in an attempt to get you closer to them.
âs-shitâ you cry out, as you clench around their fingers, trying to keep them inside of you. you grind down against both of their fingers, your whimpers encouraging them to twist and push their fingers deeper into you.
âyou see how much of a mess she gets for us?â geto asks gojo with a low chuckle, and gojo nods, smiling as the wetness of your pussy allows for his fingers to slide into you with ease, âpress down on her clit. hard.â
âdonât tell me what to do,â gojo mutters, but he does it anyway. his thumb going straight to your clit, pushing down on it, smirking as you groan your back arching right into him.Â
âsee i told you,â geto chimes, laughing as gojo glares at him. getoâs focus shifts to you, as he pulls his fingers out of you, bringing them to your mouth, he holds your chin, placing his thumb on your bottom lip as he raises his eyebrows at you for permission. you nod lazily, opening your mouth, accepting two of his fingers âwhich are drenched in your juices. ââtoru, you gonna finish her off for me.â
gojo smirks, his fingers working in overdrive, as he adds another digit inside of you and you could feel yourself about to release. geto can tell you're close from the way you bite down on his fingers. âyou close? you gonna cum on satoruâs fingers as you taste yourself?â
you couldnât even respond, as your cum sprays all over gojoâs fingers and getoâs stomach. the boys both smirk at each other, as they hear your high pitched moans and see heaps of your cum spilling out of your pussy running down your thighs. gojo is in awe, his fingers still remain in you and he pushes them up lazily, trying to keep you plugged with your cum. you relax onto his fingers, letting him do as he pleases, as you try and catch your breath your body slumping onto getoâs.
âyou did so well,â geto praises in his air, lifting up your head off your chest, pecking your lips softly. âyou took both of our fingers letting us stretch your tight pussy, it felt good didnât it?âÂ
ây-yeah it felt so good sugu,â you sigh, turning your head to face gojo, as you pull him closer into you, âyou both felt so good.â
âyou wanna let us stuff you further?â gojo questions eagerly, his hard dick resting on your ass, as rocks against you.
âsatoru,â geto reprimands, shaking his head at his friends over excitement. but gojo shoots him a look shrugging as he presses his face into the crook of your neck, practically inhaling you.
âbut suguru, she wants us both to stuff her,â he argues, as fingers already go back to your sobbing cunt. âyou want that dont you?â he whispers, directly in your ear, slowly coaxing your pussy with soft strokes as he murmurs in your ear. âyou want me and sugu to shove our dicks right up your pussy, together.â
âi donât know if i canâŠâ you hesitate, your voice faltering, but you pull your lip between your teeth, closing your eyes as you think about taking both of them.
âcâmon pretty girl,â geto persuades you, forcing you to open your eyes and look at the teasing smirk on your face, âdonât think we donât know how slutty you can be. you know your greedy little cunt take both of us with ease, and you want it to, don't you?â you nod your head slowly in agreement, but geto shakes his, âno, we need to hear you say it. use your words. tell us what you want.â
âi want your dicks to stuff my pussy,â you admit, feeling your confidence grow as the smirk on getoâs face widens and you can hear gojo lowly growl in your ear. âi need it.â
âwell we have to give our girl what she wants, right sugu?â gojo taunts, pulling you off of gojo and onto his lap, his dick slaps against your pussy. âsuguru got to see your pretty face, before, so this time youâre all mine, okay?â gojo says to you, and you could hear geto kiss his teeth, but he obliges letting gojo have his way this time.Â
âyou ready for me?â gojo asks, waiting for your approval as he lifts you up slightly over his dick, he even looks over to geto he leans back against the couch, with his dick in his hand. you donât even answer gojo, sliding down onto gojo as you moan together.
geto fists his dick at the sight, âgo on satoru, fuck her,â he orders, his strokes increasing as he watches as gojo begin to thrust into you. your hands press down on gojoâs shoulderâs as you start to bounce on him, you lean forward whining straight in his ear, causing him fuck you harder.
gojo plays with your bra strap, pulling it and letting it release against your shoulder, âi donât know why youâve still got this on,â he complains, as brings his hands to the clasp of your bra, undoing it. your tits bounce as he pulls off your bra, and both boys smile at the sight. gojoâs fingers pull against both of your nipples, twisting and pulling at them causing you to cry at every tug. âso sensitive,â he mutters to himself, touching your tits inquisitively as he continues to toy with them, loving how with every touch your cries grow louder.
âitâs crazy how we stretched you so well earlier, but your pussy is still tight as fuck,â gojo comments, his words punctuated with every thrust. âi had all my fingers inside of you already, but your cock hungry cunt just canât seem to get enough.â
âis he fucking you good?â geto calls, feeling himself about to cum, as he rubs against his dick hard. you look over to him and smile, nodding quickly as you wrap your hands around gojos neck, clinging to him as his dick drives into you. geto stands up, coming up behind you pressing a kiss on your neck, âyou need me to help get you off?â
âshe doesnât need anything from you, iâm doing just fine,â gojo mumbles, but he lets you slightly raise up off of his dick and he smirks as he feels geto join him, getoâs dick presses against gojo in excitement as they wait in anticipation for you to enclose them with your pussy.Â
âdonât be nervous,â geto coos from behind you, nipping at your ear. you look at gojo and he gives you an encouraging nod, and you slide back down onto them hissing in slight pain as you feel them both enter you. âitâs okay pretty, youâre doing so so well,â geto continues to reassure you, pressing soothing kisses down your neck, his lips sucking at your flesh. you all pause as you fully take them both in, and you feel the pain subside smiling at gojo giving him permission to move.Â
geto follows suit, and you all move in tandem, fucking against each other. gojo places his hands on your ass, pushing your cheeks in pace with his movements whereas getoâs hands cup your tits, holding them firmly as he spreads his fingers over your nipples, rolling them.
âfu-fuck you two are too big, you canâtâ you whine, clawing against gojoâs chest. they were both drilling into you relentlessly, you couldnât catch your breath as every second you were being double stuffed with dick. tears spring to your eyes, as you cry out in pleasure, grinding down against them trying to get as much as them as possible.Â
âif only you could see how slutty our girl looks,â gojo says to geto, as he watches your head fall back, another moan escaping your lips. âher eyes are all glossed over, sheâs fucking crying, all slutted out on our dicks right now.â
âis that so?â geto mutters, he forces himself into you deeper, his back hitching up against yours, his clench on your tits tightening as he inches himself in your pussy, his hips slapping against you. âsheâs such a good slut, i knew sheâd be able to take us well, and look sheâs loving it, already creaming all over us, isnât that baby?â
you nod, your hand coming up to hold getoâs head as he nestles into your neck. you were losing your train of thought, you wanted to tell them how good they felt, how their dicks rubbing against each other in you was all you needed for the rest of you life, but when you open your mouth all that can leave your lips is incoherent words and moans.Â
both of them smile, watching as you come undone on their dicks. gojo gives geto a nod, and their hands trade places. gojos fingers coming back to your tits, rubbing and pushing them apart before lowering his head to your chest, nuzzling your boobs. gojo and geto were so close that some things between them didnât need to be spoken, and they were so close to you that they knew your body in and out. they knew when to push and pull, and where to suck just to get you cumming their lap.
âiâm s-so close, iâm gonna cuââ you try and speak out, but your mind is too far gone for you to finish. their dicks slip out of you as your bounces become sloppy, the pleasure too much for you but geto forces you back muttering reassurance in your neck. and the sudden contact causes you to cum, you release all over both them, but they donât stop their movements, their dicks driving into you still, pushing back in all the cum you were letting out.
âsatoru, we gonna give our girl one final stuffing?â geto prompts, and gojo nods, they both give you one final push and you could feel your pussy stretch as their cum sprays your walls. you wail out, the tears streaming your face as your body jerks forward, feeling their dicks go limp inside of you as you all pant in pleasure.
âthat was fucking amazing,â gojo praises, a blissful smile on his face as he leans back his head resting on his arms. you return his smile, your lips meeting his in a quick kiss, that he groans at as you pull away. you come off his dick slowly, all of your eyes staring at the ropes of cum that immediately spill out of your pussy as he unplugs you.Â
geto turns your head to face him, his dick still lodged deeply inside of you, he pulls you into a long kiss, his mouth smothering yours. he pulls your bottom lip between his teeth, roughly biting down on it before releasing you, his hand cupping your chin, forcing you to stare up at him âyouâre mine, my pretty slutty mess.â
âum sheâs ours,â gojo chimes in, but geto shrugs, not caring to listen to your other friend. geto, finally pulls you off his dick, and your pussy clenches around nothing, already missing the feeling of their dicks.
âyou too always know to take good care of me,â you exhale, exhausted your pussy sore about being stretched open by the two of them. geto pulls you back into his original hold, leaning back against his chest, and your legs stretch over gojoâs lap. but this time instead of innocent gentle touches, getoâs hands lazily tug at your nipples, and gojo caresses your naked thighs, his fingers flicking at your clit every now and again.
âthatâs what friends are for,â geto muses, pressing his lips against your cheek before saying, ânow satoru, are you gonna press play on this shitty movie or what?â
AN: ight so there you have it my FIRST FIC of kinktober, what do you guys think I need to hear all your thoughts since Ooooof this took me so long to write. so I hope it is worth it. also if you see my bias towards geto during this then LOOK AWAY, im sorry gojo stans but im a geto lover foreverrr. but yeahhh lmk ur thoughts stay tuned for my other kink tober fics which WILL be on time I promise smooches.
#stampedwithanEâ
#jjk x reader#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujustsu kaisen x reader#gojo x reader#geto x reader#gojo smut#geto smut#jjk fic#geto suguru x reader#gojo satoru x reader#gojo and geto#geto suguru smut#gojo satoru smut
14K notes
·
View notes
Text
LOADS OF FUN : TODOROKI x READER
SUMMARY: After moving into your first apartment together, Shouto seems more amorous than ever. You're not sure whyâbut when he comes home to you doing a load of laundry, more than your clothes are about to get tumbled. TAGS/WARNINGS: nsft (18+ only, minors please dni!), pro hero au, gn + afab reader, established relationship, fluff, emotional sex, table sex, cunnilingus, the shouto domesticity kink agenda goes absolutely crazy in this one lol (2.8k) NOTES: This piece is part of my pretty boy summer Shouto x Reader collab! Please go check out the other incredible fics people have written over the course of the summer; you will absolutely die over how good they are. This fic was also made possible through donations to the Fics for Gaza project. I cannot thank everyone who donated to one of the charities enough, as well as those who organized, reblogged, discussed, and got the word out. Lastly, I am so grateful for your immeasurable patience with me as I take time between fics to manage my workload, I hope I'm not too out of practice here lol. In summary: thank you, thank you, a million times thank you.
The sound of the door opening was hidden in the thump and glug of the washing machine starting its spin cycle.
Halfway across the house, you were obliviousâyou had the clean laundry spread out on the kitchen table, hunting through the pile trying to match one of Shoutoâs socks to another that seemed to have vanished into that mysterious void which opens somewhere between the laundry basket and the dryer. One of his shirts was half-folded over your shoulder, abandoned in favor of the sock search.
The rest of your things were still mostly tangled together on the table, warm and fresh and cottony, the few shirts youâd already folded sagging off the kitchen chairs.
It still gave you a little thrillâeven several weeks after youâd moved in togetherâto see Shoutoâs things twined up with yoursâhis enormous socks dwarfing yours, your sweaters clinging to the occasional piece of his hero suit that hadnât seen enough action to need his agencyâs industrial cleaners.
It all added to your sense of satisfaction with your afternoonâa frosty weekend day youâd spent cozy indoors, moving slowly and leisurely through some chores. A pot of soup simmered on the stove, and your favorite playlist worked itself through in lazy loops. Shouto was due off his rotation soon, and you hummed contentedly to yourself, entertaining pleased little fantasies of curling up with him for the rest of the weekend.
Which of course is when something moved in the corner of your eye. Your hum sawed up into a strangled screech, and you whipped around, flailing. Shoutoâs sock launched itself full force at the intruder before you even registered youâd thrown it. In your shock, your leg caught against the table and you went stumblingâ
âright into a pair of warm hands that caught you about the waist.
Your hands were on the manâs shoulders to push him off before you realized you recognized the touchâand that youâd caught sight of a distinct mop of scarlet and white hair as youâd whipped around.
âShouto! Again?â you scolded reflexively, even as your heartbeat stuttered out of its wild kick into high gear. You tipped your head back to stare your boyfriend in the face, shoulders slumping in relief, letting him take some of your weight.
Shouto peered down at you, that tiny scrunch between his brows that indicated concern. âAre you alright, love?â
Your heartbeat pounded thunderously in your chest. âIâmâfine. But my god we need to get you a bell. I almost peed.â
Shoutoâs mouth shifted minutely into something that might not have registered in anyone elseâs face but was most definitely a regretful downturn on his. He looked even more unfairly beautiful than when heâd left you this morningâa little flushed and windswept from the unseasonable cold, that full mouth pink and pretty.
Your mind flicked momentarily off and back on like a circuit breaker, the way it always did when you had to process Shouto.
Youâd understood he was once-in-a-generation levels of beautiful before youâd even met him, his face staring up at you from the glossy pages of various tabloids over the years. But in person, even after years of knowing him and several more dating him, Shoutoâs appearance still managed to cross all the wires in a personâs brain. His features were an incomprehensible blend of aloof and elegant, sensual and warmâlike a cold masterpiece of a marble sculpture had suddenly found himself with a consciousness and human desires and miles of warm skin.
âI did not mean to startle you,â he said, his voice low and warm. He sounded sincerely regretful.
You knew he hadnât meant toâyouâd long suspected his silent tread was habitually ingrained in him from years of hero work. And, in your most private and ungenerous thoughts, you suspected from years of making himself unobtrusive in his fatherâs home. The thought sat sour in your mouth, like a slice of pickled lemon.
You resisted making an equally sour face, shoving the thought away to make space for the reflexive flush of pleasure seeing Shouto always brought you.
âWelcome home, Sho,â you said instead, smiling up at him. Shoutoâs hands moved on your waist, sliding gently beneath the hem of your tee-shirt to rest on the skin there.
He was still in his hero uniform, and as usual you felt a little goofy in comparison, in nothing but a tee and a well-loved pair of fraying sweatpants, which were this afternoon decorated with little flecks of soup from a brush with the pot.
But Shoutoâs eyes were warm where they rested on you, and that perfect mouth crept back into a contented set. His long fingers smoothed over your skin as he watched you, thumb brushing your hip. He did not look like he found you at all goofy.
In fact, as his eyes dropped down to your ankles, slowly dragging back up to your face, you rather thought he looked a little appreciative. He even took a rather ungentlemanly step back, still holding you, to better take in the whole picture. His eyes wandered over the swell of your hip, the lines of the shirt against your chest, before darting to his own shirt, still folded over your shoulder.
His fingers flexed tellingly on your waist, and those heterochromatic eyes were both a little bit darker as they flicked back to yours.
His obvious regard made you feel warm. You shifted on your feet, shuffling.
âI was justâdoing laundry,â you said for something to say, your mouth feeling kind of dry. Something about him always made you feel sort of shy and light-headed, even after all this time together. âAnd I made soup. I was thinking we could eat on the couch and watch one of those horrendous old All Might films?â
Shoutoâs eyes darted to the stove, then beside you to the pile of your laundry, lingering for a long minute. His long lashes dipped, almost fluttering as his gaze traced over the tangle of your things together. His eyes flicked back to you. He was still for just a moment, watching you assessingly.
And then all of a sudden the world spun in front of your eyes. The hands at your waist lifted you clean off your feet, and you let out a startled âoof!â as you found yourself laid out in the pile of laundry on the table, sheets and sweaters bunching beneath you.
Shouto moved over you, stepping between your spread thighs, right at the edge of the table.
âYou have no idea,â he intoned in a deep, delicious tone that went right down your spine, âwhat it is to come home to you like this.â
You wondered at that, feeling a strange combination of confusion and flattery, when Shoutoâs mouth descended onto yours. His mouth was soft and sweet and insistent and absolutely perfect. The table groaned as he laid some of his weight out over you, pinning you into the laundry as he kissed you.
Your fingers clutched at him immediately, curling in his silky-soft hair, cupping his face to yours. One of Shoutoâs own hands shifted to your thigh, holding you against him as he pressed himself harder into you.
You heard yourself making little gasps of appreciation as Shoutoâs mouth moved down to your neck, laving hot kisses down your throat. You reveled in the feeling of him over you, broad and strong, his shoulders blocking the glow of the overhead light, casting shadows over you.
Heâd been a lot like this lately, ever since youâd moved in together. Heâd been adequately amorous before, of course, and blessed with a pro heroâs strength and unflagging stamina. But a few weeks after youâd moved in together youâd actually decided you needed to reactivate your gym membership given the amount of incredibly athletic sex you were suddenly having over almost every surface in the house.
One of the only spots yet to be touched was the table though, which Shouto seemed determined to rectify at this very moment.
He pulled back from you, his mouth flush from your kisses, looking a little entranced as he stepped out from between your thighs. You made a little noise at the loss of weight and heat over you, but Shouto caught the fabric of your sweatpants, gently but determinedly tugging them off of you. Your underwear was tossed right over one broad shoulder as Shouto went to his knees, and then his mouth was right back on you.
A wave of wild heat licked up your stomach at the noise of appreciation he made before sealing his mouth over you, strong fingers clutching your thighs to keep them apart.
âOh my god!â you said, pleasure zinging right up your spine with the first lave of his tongue over you. âShouto!â
Shouto let out a deep, pleased hum, two long fingers sinking into you embarrassingly easily as he worked your clit with his mouth. Your back arched and you could feel your clothing shift with you, Shoutoâs shirt balling up under your shoulder blade, still half-draped over your shoulder.
âOh, oh!â you heard yourself saying as your fingers twisted in the clothing, shuddering with every lick and suck of Shoutoâs perfect, amazing, talented mouth.
He worked you with the expertise of long, dedicated practiceâeverything about him calculated to drive you insane. One moment he was excruciatingly soft, mouth slack and the touch of his tongue as fleeting and light as the brush of a butterflyâs wing. Then the next he was sucking relentlessly, teasing firmly with the tip of his tongue as his fingers played with you.
Your first climax hit you mortifyingly quickly, and Shouto seemed to know it before you did. His grip tightened on you, holding you down as you bucked against his mouth. Shouto looked more than a little smug as he got to his feet again, unbelting himself and laying back out over you.
He kissed you some more, the taste of yourself always a sort of shock to your system. But Shouto never seemed to mind, and if anything only seemed hungrier for you, mouth pulling at yours like he meant to devour you.
You felt the touch of his hand between your thighs as he lined himself up, then sank into you easily, groaning appreciatively like heâd just sunk into a hot bath. He bit carefully at your neck, one large hand pressing your stomach down to keep you pinned against the edge of the table where he wanted you.
âI always want to come home to you like this,â he intoned into the skin of your neck, his mouth sucking dizzying patterns into your skin. âAlways.â
You could barely think past the slide of him inside you, thick and full and blissfully exquisite. He really was the most perfect man on earth, and he always felt like it too.
You barely managed to blink your eyes open to watch him, trying to catch his meaning in his face. Shouto watched you back, those blue and grey pinned on you like he couldnât bear to look away from you as he moved inside you.
âYouââ you panted out, trying to cling to the thoughts threatening to wiggle out of your grip. âWhat do youâ? Of course youâll always come home to me.â
Shouto bucked into you harder, the slap of his hip against the bottom of your thigh echoing loudly over the burble of soup on the stove. His eyelashes fluttered, mouth softening, and a realization struck you almost dizzy.
Oh, he really liked that.
You suppressed a wave of giddiness, charmed and helplessly pleased that he seemed to like the idea so much. Was that why heâd been so especially ardent this past month? Was it really because youâd moved in together?
Shoutoâs arm hooked under one of your legs, drawing it up firmly over his shoulder so he could press even further inside of you. He looked so good like that that you nearly lost the thread of your thoughts, especially when his next thrust felt like that. Your eyes nearly rolled back in your head.
âAh!â escaped you. âFuck, Shouto. Like that, please!â
Shoutoâs thumb pressed down on your still-sensitive clit and he had to dig the fingers of his other hand into the flesh of your leg to keep you from bucking him right out of you with the way you squirmed. Sweet fucking gods he was unreal.
Shouto fucked you harder, the sound of your skin slapping together obscene in the quiet of the kitchen.
You tried again, struggling to watch his reaction with the way you wanted to throw your head back and babble nonsense instead.
âYouâll always come home to me,â you repeated, gratified when Shoutoâs grip on you tightened, a soft sound escaping him. âYou want me right here for you?â
âAhâyes, love,â Shouto panted, staring down at you again. He looked like he knew what you were doing but didnât care. âYes,â he hissed.
âJust like this?â you prompted, trying not to slur the edges of your speech when he gave another particularly mind-bending thrust of his hips. His chest rose and fell heavily and he looked a little wild-eyed, gazing down at you.
âLike this, for me,â he said. âIn my home, in our homeââ
You could hear the table squeal and groan with the force of his next thrust, and then you had to grip the sides of it to steady yourself as he fucked you, looking blissful. Your nails scrabbled at the edges of the table, caught in between a million sensationsâthe glorious fullness of Shouto inside you, the gentle grind of his thumb against your clit, the way he looked all flushed and beautiful and panting and wantingâ
You squeezed your eyes shut, too overcome with the sight of him to look at him anymore, but it was no use. Your entire body trembled as you came, and Shouto let out a low swear at the way you clenched up around him, hunching over you and pressing himself so impossibly hard against you as he came too.
He slumped down against you, weighing you into the soft-smelling cotton of the laundry you were now definitely going to have to rewash. You could feel his chest rise and fall as he panted, his breath tickling the skin under your ear. He left an unbearably soft, sweet kiss just under the lobe, at odds with the near-wild way heâd just been fucking you.
You warmed, petting through his hair with a helpless affection.
âWell now I know what time I should always do our laundry,â you said.
Shouto huffed into your neck, but you could feel a tiny smile curve his mouth.
âIt is not just that,â he said, but did not elaborate for some minutes until you elbowed him gently. He peeled himself off of you just enough to look down into your face. âIt is the thought of our life together. Our clothes piled together. You in the home we chose and we madeâŠâ he said, trailing off.
But you thought you got the sentiment. It was about how easy it was, how uncomplicated. A safe place to come home to, no expectations, just soup and a pile of sweet-smelling laundry and someone happy to see you. It was something far away from what he'd grown up thinking a home was, possibly something heâd thought heâd never haveâsomething you were determined to make him realize now that he always would.
You let your fingers pull through his hair again, smiling up at him. âI am going to have to do our laundry again, though,â you teased. âIn case that interests you.â
And despite what heâd just said, Shouto did in fact look a little too interested. You watched his mismatched gaze trail over to the closet that opened onto the washer and dryer. A contemplative look snuck across his handsome face, carefully curling the corner of that plush mouth.
âThere is another place we have not yet broken in,â he said slowly, voice dipping low. He looked down at you with an earnest expression completely in contrast to what he was suggesting.
You couldnât help but laugh, and that was all the permission he needed to pull you up, gathering you up in his arms and layering a fat handful of laundry on top of you. His belt buckle rattled loosely beneath you where he'd barely done it up in his haste, and you laughed harder when he turned off the stove as you passed it.
Though it turned out to be a needed precautionâas neither of you found yourselves free to sit down to dinner for several hours yet.
#todoroki x reader#todoroki shouto x reader#shoto x reader#shoto x you#todoroki x you#todoroki x y/n#shouto x reader#shouto todoroki x reader#bnha x reader#mha x reader
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
*squints at notes and notfis and new followers* hello sapphics i see u and i am waving to you with gay undertones i hope you're doing well!! i can only assume you are here bc of my Last Night at the Telegraph fic and first of all !!!! and second of all !!!!!
I uh. admittedly don't have a lot of other sapphic fics (but man do i have a lot of sapphic wips) HOWEVER i do have a gay book!
it's not exactly the soft gayâąïžhowever it is nitty and gritty and about a badass lesbian who is the human equivalent of a puzzle missing every single edge piece (but it's okay she's trying her best)
if you're interested, A Penchant for the Ordinary is available on amazon here and is only 3 USD on kindle! it's a fun way to read more gay novels and support your local queer <3
#is it a perfect professional grade book? nope! is it a grade a realistic lesbian? YES#anyway hi hello i hope you enjoy your stay at my blog and if all goes well i WILL have the second half of the last night at the telegraph#fic up tonight#that is if i stop writing tumblr posts and start writing fic#ALSO another lesbian book is in the words rn. and as i plotted out plot today i promised myself i'd turn my attention to it#so i'm gonna try (emphasis on try) to give update snips every week starting next week#will this go well? probably not but at least it'll keep me writing#ps if you search ''a penchant for the ordinary'' on my blog you can find some snazzy fanart <3#and you can find even more snazzy fanart if you go to my instagram (vi.writes.words)#this entire post is just one big plug for my work but hey#a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do#no but really it is a delight seeing so many new sapphic followers i love you all#and i'm like 2 away from 500 followers which is ABSOLUTELY MAD#(in a good way)#it's also available in amazon in a dozen and a half other countries if u need one of those links just dm me#bc the link i linked here is for us amazon but i have it for a bunch of other countries as well
1 note
·
View note
Text
i keep you clean; you surrounded me
in which husband!spencer reid spirals after realizing he can't be your daughter's hero forever.
angst, fluff warnings/tags: this fic is about spencer's past addiction, and how he's afraid it will impact his relationship with his daughter, conversation about alcohol, this is a fix-it fic for my life, ends on a hopeful/positive note, lots of self-loathing from Spencer, uses the phrase "shooting up", PLEASE do not read if this is going to upset you!! PLEASE!! fem!reader a/n: this felt healing in a way for me but that might not be your experience reading if you also have issues with a parent with addiction so please tread lightly and make the right choices for you. CHOOSE YOUR MENTAL HEALTH OVER MY DUMB FANFIC I CAN'T STRESS THAT ENOUGH!! and ily
âDaddy?â
Adaâs not asking for you, but you look to her anyway. Sheâs squeezed between you and Spencer on Rossiâs swing, and her cheeks are still feverishâremnants of a recent and rather hysterical fit of giggles. She has a glass of lemonade between her little hands (youâre trusting her with a big girl cup, if only because itâs not your glass or your house) and she peers into it intently. Her little grass-stained feet kick. Spencer pushes the swing back ever so slightly, for her entertainment.Â
âHuh?â
She holds her glass up for him.Â
âOur drinks are the same color.â
âThey are,â he nods. âDo you like yellow?â
Ada shrugs. Itâs exaggeratedâone of her favorite moves as of late. âItâs okay.â
Spencer glances at you like he always does when he sees glimpses of you in your child, eyes sparkling as if her opinionated and bluntly honest nature is in any way reminiscent of you.Â
âYeah, I agree. Yellow is just okay.â
She leans against him and heâs quick to accommodate her, affectionately brushing his knuckles over your bare shoulder as he slings his arm across the back of the swing.Â
âDaddy?â
âWhat, lovebug?â
You smile, letting your head fall back and your eyes close. The sun is warm on your face.Â
âMommyâs drink is red.â
Nothing gets past her. Rossi had pushed the drink into your hand almost the second you stepped through the door, insisting it would go well with lunch. It sits otherwise untouched on the glass table.Â
Spencer hums. The swing rocks gently.Â
âThatâs because sheâs not having lemonade like us. Sheâs having a grownup drink.â
âOh.â
You think thatâs the end of it, that sheâs satisfied with the answer, until another moment passes, and her voice, sweet as the tinkle of little fairy bells, is posing a very loaded question.Â
âWhy donât you ever have grownup drinks? Me and you always have the same.â
Spencerâs already looking at you, brows drawn as you sit up. Your eyes, open now, go wide, and you shake your head slightly to signal you have no idea how heâs supposed to respond either.Â
His hand goes to Adaâs hair, gently scratching her scalp as his eyes dart over your face. You can see the gears turning in his head. This is one of very few things he clearly didnât read about in any of the literature on raising kids when you were pregnant.Â
âI⊠some people donât like grownup drinks.â
Itâs an inadequate answer, especially coming from Spencerâjust this morning he explained to Ada why the sky is blue. Rayleigh scattering. Blue light scatters more than any other kind of light. Which then led to an impromptu lesson on oxygen molecules and other basic chemistry in the car on the way here.Â
So there are standards.Â
âWhy not?â
You interrupt, unable to watch Spencer flounder any longer. âAda, why donât you go see what Henry and JJ and Uncle Dave are doing? That looks fun, right?â
You gesture down the yard to where JJ and Rossi are teaching Henry to play cornhole.Â
She looks at you with big brown eyesâthe set of them, the colorâthose are all Spencer.
âCan you and daddy come?â
You straighten out her dress and take the half-full glass from her little hands, setting it next to your own on the table.Â
âIn a minute. Go ahead.â
Spencerâs hand slips from her hair as she pushes off the swing and bounds down the yard. You make sure she arrives to her destination without incident, before scooting closer to your husband and taking his vacant hand.Â
âSpence?â You ask quietly, leaning in to try and insert yourself into his eye line. He doesnât look away from Ada.Â
âThat was bad.â
âIt wasnât. She doesnât understand. Itâs fine.â
âI didnâtââ
He looks down, lips pressed together, and your heart twists and drops like overripe fruit from the vine as you realize his eyes have glossed over.Â
âBaby,â you whisper, relinquishing his hand only so you can rub his back. Your other finds his knee, drawing as close as you possibly can. âItâs okay.â
âHow am I supposed to explain it to her?â
A tear falls, making a dark splotch on the fabric of his pants.Â
âYou donât have to. Sheâs only five. I guarantee sheâs already forgotten all about it.â
âI will. Iâll have to tell her one day. She thinks Iâm perfect, how am I supposed toââ
He stops himself, voice tightening to a halt. You watch him hold back a cry like you havenât seen in years. Itâs an old, familiar ache for you. You canât imagine how it feels for him.Â
âSpencer,â you coo. âShe adores you. She loves you so much. Thatâs never going to change.â
His nose twitches.Â
âIâm going to disappoint her.â
âHow? How are you going to disappoint her?â
âI think itâs pretty disappointing to find out your dad is a junkie.â
His tone isnât particularly harsh but the words are like a slap anyway.Â
âSpencerâŠâ For a moment you donât know what else to say. Itâs not a secret that heâs ashamed of that chapter in his life, but you had no idea he was contending with this much self-loathing over it, even after all this time. It seems like such a distant point in the rearview mirror that the two of you almost never need to talk about it anymore. âYou are not a junkie. Itâs been, whatâa decade?â
âI donât want to have to tell her what drugs are, let alone that I... she thinks Iâm the smartest guy in the world, and one day Iâll have to tell her that drugs are extremely dangerous, and I was shooting up for four months anyway. No matter how I try to explain it to her the ultimate takeaway is going to be that Iâm weak and I wasnât smart enough and sheâs never, ever going to forget that. How am I supposed toâI canât be a role model for her. I fucked up so badly.â
Your chest aches, somewhere deep and hollow, as he leans forward, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes, only for a momentâbefore Ada shrieks and his head snaps back up. Henry is chasing her with a worm. Spencer watches on, tears still leaking from his eyes and expression otherwise neutral. Itâs bittersweet to hear him express such deep insecurity about the thing heâs best at in the world, even as those parental instincts kick in and heâs setting aside his own feelings to keep an eye on her. Heâs never trusted himself. Heâs never seen himself the way you do.Â
âBaby, you are her dad and she loves you. Her love for you is not contingent on your past. You are so, so good to her. Thatâs all she knows, okay? She doesnât care what you were doing when you were 25. She cares about whether youâll be home for dinner, and if youâll play dolls with her, and if youâll tuck her in. Thatâs all she needs to love you.â
JJ wrangles the kids and after a moment Spencer looks down again, brow furrowed deeply as drops like rain dot his lap, but he hardly makes a sound. You lay your cheek on his shoulder. âAnd until sheâs old enough for the whole story, which involves a lot more violence than I am comfortable with her being subjected to right now, you donât need to explain it to her. You have time.â
âShe wants to know now.â
âShe also wants icecream for every meal. But I canât make her understand why thatâs a bad idea. What she wants and what she needs and what she is capable of understanding are all different categories. I know you love answering all her questions, and youâre a really good teacher, but you canât make her understand something as complex as addiction.â
Spencer sniffs.Â
âDevelopmentally sheâs only really capable of understanding the world as it exists in relation to herself.â
âExactly. So give her some time, and give yourself some time.â
âWhat if she asks again?â
âThen⊠you say you donât like how it makes you feel. And tell her to clean up her toys. Condition her to stop asking.â
Spencer stumbles over a teary laugh he hadnât been expecting. You sit up straight, holding his face between your hands and encouraging him to look at you. His cheeks shine with tears, but you wipe them away tenderly.Â
âYouâre perfect to her,â you whisper, pressing a kiss to one cheek, âand youâre perfect to me.â He cups your elbow as you kiss the other and looks at you with so much sheer adoration you could get all choked up, too.
âWow,â he sniffles, and takes a deep breath, pulling you into him, âI donât deserve you.â
âOf course you do,â you mumble into his shirt, eyes fluttering shut as he presses three kisses to the curve of your neck where heâs buried his face.Â
âI could be canonized as a saint and not deserve you.â
Sainthood. You ponder that.Â
Saints have to live virtuously. They also have to be dead.Â
You hold him a little tighter. You like him exactly how he is: technically imperfect. Probably not getting into heaven. Still venerable. Very much heroic. Alive, and with you.
âIâm really glad youâre not a saint.â
He chuckles. His hand slides up your back, and then side to sideâa path itâs made time and time again which has only ever led you to wonderful, perfect places.
âMe too.â
#spencer reid fic#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid angst#spencer reid x you#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds imagine#criminal minds fic#criminal minds fanfic
1K notes
·
View notes