#superhuman reader

[weirdthinkingdragon]

Imagine a zombie apocalypse happens with a superhuman experiment that manages to escape because of it. They find a human and latch onto them when they're surprisingly "friendly" (as in no injections or trying to capture the superhuman weapon). They pointed their weapon at the experiment, and the experiment only thinks it's like a sparring thing and uses their powers like they were trained to do, scaring the shit out of the survivor. They quickly become more naturally friendly when the weapon slaughters dozens of zombies in the blink of an eye.

Idk who I want to be yandere or who would be the reader lmao. The superhuman as a yandere would be great, but I LOVE the idea of the human who can easily manipulate the superhuman from their lack of social understanding be the yandere.

[slut4thebroken]

Urges

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Jason Todd x reader

Summary | The Lazarus Pit had some unexpected side effects.

Warnings | 18+, sexual content, smut, grinding, in public, humiliation, light dubcon, multiple orgasms, no female orgasms, so much come, like genuinely so much, angst?, fluff, Jay is secretly a sweetheart and a simp, obviously.

Words | 2.8k

Notes | Based on this. (Lol imagine that’s you know what all over him in the pic🫣🤭)

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

The pit didn’t just give him trauma— it affected his body too, giving him enhanced strength, speed, durability, and healing. But there was another, lesser known side effect. 

Honestly he hasn’t even thought about it for the past few years- always too focused on recovering from fucking dying, then on revenge and helping Gotham the way Batman couldn’t. But once it hit him… it hit him like a ton of bricks.

He doesn’t know where Batman or Nightwing were and why they weren’t with you, but there you were, the Batgirl suit even more flattering on your now mature body, making his cock strain in his pants. And you— you stupid little girl— decided to go after him alone. 

He tried to fight it, really he did, but when he had you pinned under him in a matter of seconds, he couldn’t help the way he pushed his crotch against you, trying to get a little bit of relief. 

“W- Get off me, you fucking creep!” You yelled once you noticed. He didn’t give you an answer because he knew exactly what would shut you up. So he took off the helmet and tossed it to the ground as your eyes widened. “Jason?” You said through a breath, making him growl at the sound of his name rolling off your tongue. He parted your legs, then settled between them and leaned over you as he rutted against your clothed heat. He only lasted a few seconds before the tightness of his pants became painful, so he leaned up to open them and pull his cock out. 

“What the hell are you doing?” You gasped, but there was no malice in your tone. Just pure shock and arousal. He leaned back down, shoving his face in the crook of your neck and inhaling deeply, not able to control the way his hips started rutting against you  just from your scent. You still wear the same fucking perfume that always used to make his cock fatten up in his pants whenever he got too close to you. 

He was panting against your neck now, his cock, trapped between your bodies, growing so incredibly sensitive that it almost fucking hurt. And his balls— god, he doesn’t ever remember a time in his life where they were this fucking heavy and full and aching. 

It wasn’t long before he was nearing his orgasm, especially when he focused on your breath on his neck and the way the swell of your tits felt against his chest. He choked out a moan, not able to control the way he started whimpering- so fucking desperate for relief. His brows furrowed, mouth open in a silent moan as his cock started twitching, then shot out rope after rope of come. He’s had enough orgasms to know that the way this one felt was definitely not normal. Even after a few years without it, it shouldn’t be this fucking intense and long. 

“God- what the fuck?” He whined, hips still desperately rutting against you as he rode out the endless orgasm. He could feel the mess through his own layers of clothing and he knew that your suit would be fucking wrecked when he was done. But it didn’t stop. He came for what felt like hours, listening to the pulse in your neck, smelling your perfume, feeling the delicate skin on his lips. 

“Fuck,” He whimpered, still rutting against you, but the friction was starting to lessen because of his cock being completely soaked with come. His balls just barely lightened, still feeling incredibly full and sore. When he finally, finally felt his orgasm fading, his hips slowed to a stop as he panted, trying to catch his breath. 

“Jesus fucking christ-“ You moaned through a breath. His cock twitched at the sound of your voice, never even having a chance to start softening before his whole body burned with need again. He leaned up to examine the mess, finding the entire crotch area of both of your suits completely soaked, as well as most of your mid sections too. He looked down further, finding come still dripping down the flushed tip all the way to his balls. His cock was so hard, it was almost visibly throbbing and his balls looked almost as full as they felt. 

“Jason?” You asked quietly, making his eyes snap up to yours with a growl. Your cheeks were pink, lips red and swollen as if you were biting them and he wanted nothing more than to shove his cock between them and make you drink his come, but even with the primal urges overtaking his brain, he couldn’t do that. Not to you. So with another growl he flipped you over, his come making a slapping sound as you landed. This time he kneeled over your legs instead of between them and he laid over you again to hold you still as started rutting against your covered ass. 

If he thought the smell of your perfume was intoxicating, it was nothing compared to your hair. He took a deep breath and let out a quiet groan, remembering how he used to be able to smell it when you hugged him. But back then it didn’t make him feel like this— it didn’t make his cock throb and it didn’t make him start whining. 

“Jason,” You suddenly said, trying to push yourself up, but his entire body weight was holding you down. He didn’t want to listen to your protests— to your rejection, so he placed a hand over your mouth, making you release a startled moan. 

“Shh, I’m sorry. It’s okay, I just- I need this, baby— need you.” You whined against his palm, the sound sending a jolt to his cock. 

It took every fiber of his being to not tear your suit and fuck your cunt- fill you up with load after load of his come until you milked him dry. But through those thoughts, he could hear a quiet voice reasoning that he wouldn’t be able to come back from that and he would lose you forever. And even though his cock was begging to be buried in a tight, warm cunt— in your tight, warm cunt— he knew it was true. So this would have to do for now. Just thinking about fucking you had him barreling toward his second orgasm. 

“Oh fuck- oh my god.” He whined, resting his forehead on your shoulder. His free hand was clenched so hard to keep from touching your tits, or anywhere else, that his fingers were starting to hurt.  

Despite him pinning you down completely, you managed to push your hips up a little, pressing your ass even harder against his cock. The action had him gasping out as he fell over the edge again. He couldn’t hold in the whimpers and moans as his cock twitched between your ass and his pelvis, spurting ropes of come into the tight space. His balls were practically throbbing— pulsing with each shot of come that left his cock. 

He continued rutting against you desperately, trying to get the most out of this agonizingly long orgasm. While he could feel some of his come coating his cock, it seemed like most of it landed on the small of your back that was arched as you held your hips up. The ache in his balls was already starting to alleviate, but they weren’t empty yet, so he sat up on his knees to continue, groaning at the sight of the entire lower section of your midriff covered in his come.

“Jason?” You asked quietly, but he ignored you as he lifted you onto your knees, pushing you down by your upper back when you tried to rise on your hands. 

“I’m sorry- Just one more, I promise, baby, one more.” He whined, positioning you how he wanted, with your legs squeezed together. The sight of his come rolling up your back into your cape had his cock twitching in need, so he slipped between your thighs and immediately started fucking you. There was enough come covering his length that the friction didn’t hurt, but honestly he could’ve used a little more friction, especially because the material of your suit had him sliding in and out easily. 

His hands moved to your hips, gripping tight enough to make you whimper so that they didn’t drift to your ass. Bucking into you as he desperately chased relief again, his eyes trailed all over your body, mostly focusing on your ass through the skin tight suit, but moving up your come covered back too. His balls slapping against your thighs with each thrust was almost starting to hurt, but he couldn’t stop— not even if he wanted to. 

“Oh god- I’m so close. Almost there, baby. Just one more I think— Just one more and I’ll feel better.” He choked out, bucking into you wildly. The sound of his wet pants hitting your wet suit was deafening on the otherwise quiet rooftop. When you squeezed your thighs together even harder, he let out a broken moan, cock throbbing, anxiously awaiting the pleasure. 

“Oh fuck-“ He groaned, cock twitching between your legs as his come shot out, painting your stomach. Quickly pulling back, he fucked his fist, watching as his come covered your ass and dripped down your thighs. “Shit,” He whimpered, when it just didn’t stop. It was less than his previous orgasms, but still enough that you were practically kneeling in a pool of his come. The last few spurts landed on his fist, dripping down his hand to the puddle on the ground as he panted, trying to catch his breath. 

Releasing his cock, he watched the way it still twitched pathetically, but despite that, he knew he was done. What he didn’t know however, was how he was going to clean all of this shit up. His cock was slick with his arousal, dripping down to his balls, adding to the mess on his pants. His hand and clothes were in a similar state. 

“Jay?” You asked quietly, making his eyes snap up to you. 

“Shit-“ He helped you up so you were sitting in front of him. The come that was on your stomach had rolled up to your chest, coating your tits, making him hiss as his cock twitched at the sight. You were practically covered head to toe in it. “I- Are you…” You flung yourself at his body, wrapping your arms tight around his torso in a hug. He tried not to focus on the way that his come would now be on his chest too. When you pulled back— way too soon, he thought with a frown— you slapped his arm, making him grab the slightly aching spot. 

“Ow- What the hell?” 

“You have a lot of fucking nerve to be asking me that when you’re the one who needs to start explaining.” You growled, crossing your arms over your chest with a scowl. 

“…You’re mad?” He asked sheepishly, watching your expression start to shift into one of amusement before you hardened it again. 

“You’re dead. What the fuck, Jason?” 

“I’m sorry. Can we just- go somewhere other than here and get cleaned up, then I’ll explain?” He asked, gesturing to the pool of come you were both in. A light blush painted your cheeks when you glanced at the mess. 

“Fine.” 

He took you to his safe house and apologized profusely, promising to clean your suit for you. Only once you were both dressed in his clothes and sat on the couch did you suddenly realize that Jason is in front of you. Jason who you haven’t seen in years, Jason who’s older now, but still just as pretty as the day you met him. Jason who you couldn’t save.

“How long have you been back?” You asked, trying to hide your emotions as you crossed your arms over your chest and cleared your throat.

“I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner. I had to… work through some things.” You tried to wait patiently for him to explain, but it didn’t seem like he was going to do that anytime soon, so you continued.

“Tell me what happened. I don’t understand how you’re here right now.” He sighed, glancing away from you. 

“Do you know what the Lazarus Pit is?”

“The thing Ra’s Al Ghul uses, right?”

“Yeah… He- put me in it. That’s how I’m back.” He muttered. 

“Shit- are you okay?” You’ve heard the stories of what it can do to a person and your chest ached knowing that he went through something like that. 

“I’m alive.” He shrugged with a dry chuckle. 

“I’m sorry.” You moved to wrap your arms around him in a hug, but stopped when he leaned back. When he saw your hurt expression, he rushed to explain himself. 

“It’s not you! I just- I can already smell you from here and it’s taking everything in me to not do something I’ll regret. Again.” Your brows furrowed in confusion but when you glanced at his crotch, your eyes widened in understanding. 

“I don’t understand how you can still be hard after that. Actually- I don’t even understand how that was possible in the first place.” 

“I didn’t know it was possible either… When I came back, I was different— stronger, faster. I guess that changed too.” He explained and you nodded in understanding even though it still barely made sense to you. “Plus the last time I came was like a week before I died so it’s been a while.” 

“Jesus- Jason, tmi.” 

“That’s tmi?” He scoffed in disbelief. “I just fucking came on you three times and that’s too much?” 

“Oh my god- stop.” You muttered, burying your burning face in your hands. “Why did you wait so long though? I mean, I’m assuming you had at least a little bit of time after you came back.” 

“The thought never even crossed my mind. Not until— until I… saw you.” He mumbled the last part so you could barely hear it, but you did. “Look, I’m really fucking sorry. I know it’s not an excuse to say I couldn’t control myself, but even then, I still shouldn’t have done it.” 

“You don’t have to apologize.” 

“Are you kidding? I assaulted you!” He exclaimed, making you roll your eyes. 

“Okay well maybe my mess wasn’t nearly as bad as yours, but if you’d bothered to check, you would’ve found evidence to the contrary.” His eyes widened slightly, lips parted in shock. 

“You-“ His eyes moved down to your pants as if he’d be able to see what you were talking about.  “I don’t… What?” 

“You’re so clueless sometimes, you know that?” You chuckled, giving him a small smile. 

“I’m not.. clueless. I was just distracted.” He muttered, a blush painting his cheeks. 

“Uh huh. I have a question.” You said, changing the subject. 

“Shoot.”

“Why me? I’m sure you saw plenty of other girls throughout the years so why did I make you break?” His lips curled up into a small smile and you couldn’t help but feel like there was an inside joke you weren’t a part of. 

“You’re so clueless sometimes.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You frowned. 

“Jesus- I don’t know what job you have, but I really fucking hope you’re not a detective.” He chuckled and you hit his arm again. 

“Shut up. Just tell me.” His expression suddenly dropped into a more serious one and you felt anxiety start to twist in your stomach. 

“Because I’ve had a crush on you since we were like 14.” He muttered. You stared at him in shock and when he turned to finally look at you, you could see the moment where he realized he wanted to backtrack. “Which is really fucking awkward if you have a boyfriend or don’t feel the same way because I did not think this through nearly enough,” 

“Me too.” You said, putting an end to his rambling. 

“What?” He choked out. 

“I’ve had a crush on you too. But since we met, not since we were 14.” 

“You did?” 

“Yeah… Why did you think I was so fucking awkward around you?” You chuckled, making him smile. 

“I don’t know, I just thought you were awkward.” He shrugged. “Do you… still have a crush on me?” He asked coyly, as if he was giving himself the opportunity to pass it off as a joke. 

“I wouldn’t have let you come on me three times if I didn’t.” You said teasingly, your smile widening from his reaction. You liked turning the tables, making him blush for once. “Do you still have a crush on me?”

“I wouldn’t have come on you three times if I didn’t.” 

[b1mbodoll]

Hoonie and dildo training <3

pairings: park sunghoon x f! reader

warnings: toys + anal + double penetration + oral + masturbation

sunghoon’s obsessed with splitting you open on huge toys and watching your pussy clench around nothing when he pulls the silicone cock out. 100% records your sessions and has brought up the topic of playing with your asshole too. when you finally agree he starts off with small and thin toys before working up to the largest dildo you own. likes to make you ride two cocks as he uses your mouth and once he’s satisfied with how fucked out you are, sunghoon fucks one of your holes while the other is still stuffed to the brim with the thick toy. and as much as he loves filling you up, he prefers to stretch you with big toys before completely removing them and jerking his cock over your gaping holes, thick globs of cum spurting onto them before leaking inside

[luridon]

Tedium

A story of a murderer and a man who can't die.

♡characters: yandere!regenerator x criminal!reader

♡warnings: MINORS DNI, blood, murder, captivity, masochism, unwanted and unrequited affection, gore, blood, violence, infantilization, black comedy, MINORS DNI

♡notes: setting with superhuman abilities, you aren't seeing much of that though lol

♡w/c: 1k+ | ♡masterlist♡

You stay calm as you angle your wrist, then plunge the blade into his neck.

Silver slips through pale skin, drawing red as smoothly as a pen with crimson ink. The blood that spills is so unremarkable you're almost annoyed. Hue, temperature, viscosity- every element no different from any other's. It would be lovely if its owner were just as normal.

Unfortunately, Raphael only blinks.

He tips his head despite the deeper tear the action makes, looking up at you through long lashes flecked with spots as red as his eyes.

His hand curls around yours. His hold is of a gentleness that you register as innate rather than weakness from blood loss, much to your disappointment. With a single, quick yank, he draws the foreign object from his neck, blood gushing over both your fingers.

It takes mere moments for the torn, stained skin to stitch smoothly together. A few more moments, and he laughs, his throat and its vocal chords already whole.

The blood on your hand paints his lips like rouge when he kisses it.

You hate his smile, the unbroken lips and the teeth complete in shape and number. You hate his face, every inch of skin and blood vessel still reflecting all the ethereal, spotless beauty of a marble statue's.

"It was a good try," he says cheerily, and you hate his voice too, so unaffected by your little act.

You want to punch him, but even doing so with the scissors between your fingers would only leave a mark on you. You sigh, hand going limp, the blades dropping.

You are so sick of this.

You turn to leave, only to be grabbed and dragged onto a lap. "Oh don't be like that, it was cute!"

You simper, leaning close and smiling sweet. "You'd be cuter dead."

"I can pretend again, if you'd like."

Your smile falls as ungracefully as dead fish. Your face turns back to one of irritation and disgust.

He had played dead weeks ago. The little hope that soared in your chest as he lay motionless on the floor lasted until you got the first doorlock open, whereupon he miraculously sprang back to life, declaring you heartless for leaving him on the ground. That had been the best sixteen minutes of your life.

Your fond recollection of that blissful quarter-hour is ruined by your unfortunate still-living seat shifting forward. You can feel the damp blood on his neck smear your shoulder and sleeve.

His lips brush against your cheek.

"Dearest," he mumurs tenderly.

"What?" you retort untenderly.

You can hear the laugh in the puff of air he exhales, yet another reminder of your failure. Damn regeneration. You curse his blood, his bones, his pumping heart and the lungs giving them air.

He twirls a lock of your hair around his finger. "Do you intend to cut my hair at all, or is only murder on the agenda today?"

Your hand reaches up to the top of his head and slides down, the stroke drawing a pleased little hum from him. His long, snowy locks slip through your fingers-

And you yank hard enough to hear a crack.

The position is uncomfortable, from the angle of his shadow. Disconcerting to most who'd catch even a passing glance. Wrong the way all snapped bones look wrong. And yet you find yourself counting.

And one, and two, and-

Another sharp crack ripples through the air as he snaps his neck back.

"Ouch," he says obligingly.

You release him and slump as you glare sullenly at the wall. His arms encircle your shrimped form, your arms dangling as you slouch and stare at nothing.

"Come on, you can make me bald again!"

"Once again. I was trying to lobotomize you."

"And you can do that again too!"

You glance back at him, unimpressed. He smiles brightly, the very image of an angel with his flowing hair and gentle eyes.

"You. Are a freak."

"And you," he cooes, "are adorable." He, of course, punctuates that with a playful bump of your nose with his own.

You lean away from him, breaking that small contact as though it matters when he's embracing you already. You resist the urge to spit at him, because he'd taken the last instance of it as an invitation to trade saliva through a messy, finesseless kiss. You had taken that as an invitation to clock him, which seemed to excite him more than the kiss had. Truly, there was no end to your suffering.

"Don't be so gwumpy, you really are cute, you know."

"Stop talking to me like a baby."

"How should I talk to you when you're acting like one?"

You shift your strength into your arms to hold his limbs tight to your body, and roll to the ground. He tumbles down with you, and you think you see him flinch from how he lands on the scissors. He's bleeding from somewhere as you shift him to his back, his half-cut hair fanning out behind him. With his light clothes and the red stains, it's like you're pinning a bloodied bird to the snow.

You tighten your grip around his neck, snarling. "How about you talk like someone about to die? How. Do I. Leave? "

He only grins at your tightening hold. You can feel the heat creeping up his neck, see the blood coloring his cheeks. Kinky bastard.

You drop him and stare at the door and its endless locks. The bio scan is easy enough- the man beneath you was all to glad to leave his DNA everywhere- but the other measures, now those were plaguing you. There was only so much lockpicking and thievery could accomplish with the sheer number and complexity of whatever puzzle hell that thing came from. If you had inhuman intelligence, you could have solved it. If your skill lay in metals or tech, perhaps that would help. If you were a pyromancer, maybe you could melt through. Alas, all you could do was inflict pain, and doors couldn't feel.

Fuck your power honestly. Good in combat? Usually. A quick distraction? Definitely. Useful for torture? Absolutely. Any help when stuck with a masochist in who-knows-where? Not. At. All.

You only pry your eyes from the door when you're pinned to the ground. Your captor looms above you, a knee between your thighs. The friction is as annoying as it is ineffective.

Raphael pouts at your empty stare. "I swear you love that door more than me, sometimes."

You clasp your hands together cutely under your chin. "I'd love if you opened it."

"Hmm. No, I don't think so."

You roll your eyes.

He sighs, fond. You're tempted to grab the scissors jutting from his thigh to stab his heart through his ribs, but that would only make one of you happy here.

He takes scissors and tosses them aside himself. A still-living body lays beside you. A bloodstained hand holds your own, and a head sticky with drying fluid leans against you as you stare at the ceiling.

"I hate you," you grumble, not for the first time.

"That's fine," he smiles, his breath warm, his fingers tight as you catch his gaze in the corner of your eye, saccharine and sickening.

"I love you anyway."

♡a/n: i drew him

[maranull]

Malenia beach episode headcanons?

She'd absolutely wreck everyone at volleyball even without eyes.

She could also show why dexterity is so heavily associated with water ;)

I wonder about your ideas 💕

Sure!

I think she wouldn't swim much in deep water though. Gold doesn't corrode in salt water (says a very quick search) but all the weight of three metal prosthetics would make swimming annoying to say the least.

She does like walking and running around in the swallows though.

She also likes rowing a lot so often she rents a boat and goes along the coast or maybe at some island that's visible from the beach.

The swallows are basically the only place she would accept a wrestling challenge from you (or play along to a surprise attack) cause tossing you around in the water is way safer than a floor.

Though one time she actually send you flying three meters in the air so she toned it down a bit after that.

As you said, she dominates at volleyball. (she casually wins 1v5s)

She's also amazing at Frescobol and will hit insane jumps and dives.

After showering she will theatrically complain about her hair so she can get you to comb them.

While not a fan of clubs (way too much noise), she really enjoys getting a drink and chilling at the beach at night. Just talking and listening to the waves and the faint music from the bar/club/whatever.

If she rented the aforementioned boat overnight, she might take you for nightly boat date.

That's all I got! <3

[fandomnerd9602]

I have a request son of omni man reader x tara carpenter

Y/N confronts Ghostface…

Y/N: leave my girl alone

Y/N pushes Ghostface, sending them hurling into the several walls…

Tara hugs her man tightly…

Tara: thank you baby

Y/N: of course, my final girl

[rogueshadow1124]

Frozen Love

Ice wielder¡OC!Blake Jones x Reader

Summary: Blake pushed it too far this time, Y/N was now scared, she didnt know what she wanted anymore. [Blake's speech in blue.]

Word count: 1032

Warning: possessive behaviour, mentions of blood/injury.

It had never been his intention to hurt her, Y/N knew. He had always been possessive, yes, but his love had been genuine. However, his fear of losing her had consumed him, turning his affection into something twisted and toxic. They were once inseparable, she was his light in the darkness, his anchor but one night he broke- Blake had always been somewhat distant, he needed his space but at the same time he needed a source of comfort.

He never meant for something so little and irrelevant to get out of hand, it was a small argument- Y/N had only asked why he had been going out from sunrise until the moon shone high in the night sky, she wanted to know how to help him, how to make him feel better but it all spiralled. 'This isn't working anymore...' that's all it had taken, she hadn't even been able comprehend what had happened when she was so suddenly pushed against the wall, a hand slamming beside her head, a stinging sensation tingling across her cheek as a blade of ice split through Blake's forearm and smashed into the wall that was only merely centermetres away from her, it had caught her porcelain skin by a thread.

His white hair cascaded down his shoulders like a frozen waterfall, his icy blue eyes held an ethereal and terrifying gaze, and his pale skin was as cold and unyielding as the winter's wind. Their argument had spiraled out of control, and in a moment of anger, he had terrified her. The fear gnawing at her insides twisted her vision.

"B-Blake?" Her voice trembles in a whisper, eyes stuttering blinks as she gazed up into his own cold and demeanering ones. She watched as he stood there, close in proximity not speaking a single word, his head twisted to hang to the side, leaning in closer to her as his free hand came up to cup her cheek, thumb running smoothly along the skin.

"You cant leave me little dove. You wont." He spoke hoarsly, barely even forming the words as his voice dropped low a heavy breath passing his lips and hitting the shell of her ear.

"Please. Blake you cant keep doing this-" her eyes immediately flickered towards the firm iced blade that had emerged from his forearm, a shiver running through her spine when she felt his shaky chilled breath hit her neck as his head fell onto her shoulder. "I-I cant do this anymore."

A single tear slipped down her cheek, her lip trembling as she stood there against the wall not even attempting to move from under his form that towered over her own. She trembled when she felt his stature begin to stand again from his folded position as to where he leant against her, his eyes seemed to now have a dark undertone, squinted as he started down at her before a small smile spread across his lips, the ice blade retracting back to beneath his skin where a bloodied mark was left in its place, both of his hands reaching up to hold her face.

"We can do this dove, we can." He nodded to his own words, hands shaking against her cheeks as he did so. "I wont leave ever again, I'll stay beside you. Forever."

"We- I cant keep doing this Blake. Not when I dont feel safe anymore, I feel like theres something missing." Y/N's eyes closed, more tears slipping down her cheeks and falling onto his hands to which they immediately froze into tear drops upon his pearly skin.

"What do you want from me Y/N?" His grip tightened, squashing her cheeks slightly making her wince from the pressure that he was now applying, a ripple of icy burning spreading across her skin, the cut on her cheek leaking blood as his grip pulled at the wound.

"Blake- you're h-hurting me." Her own hands came up to grip at his wrists, tugging in an attempt to free herself from the hold.

"Why do you want to leave me?" His face neared hers, nose touching nose. He squinted, eyes turning into slits almost making him look dangerous, but behind the deep blue orbs there was some form of torment hiding, he knew this couldnt go on, this wasnt healthy but he adored his beloved so much, she was his, he needed her and she needed him.

As Blake's grip tightened, Y/N's fear reached its peak. "I'm scared of you." she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. A flicker of pain crossed Blake's face. He released her and took a step back, his eyes haunted with a mix of desperation and resentment.

"Scared of me?" he repeated, his whole demeanor suddenly dispersing into a softer one, his eyes glaring down at his hands that were stained in her frozen tears and a smudge of her blood. He caused that, he hurt her. He went to take a step towards her but saw how she had staggered slightly in an attempt to get away from him, guild flooded his system, he never meant for it to go this far, not at all would he ever wish to hurt Y/N in anyway. "D-dove I'm so sorry."

"Please- I cant keep doing this."

"I-I love you more than anything, I cant loose you Y/N. You're all I have." He whispered the last part, dropping to his knees as he watched Y/N slide down the wall, head resting in her hands as her fingers gripped at her hair, a sob echoing from her lips.

"This isn't love Blake, it isn't." She spoke, her words falling on deaf ears, he didnt want to believe it- he didnt want her to leave, he didnt want to be alone, he needed her more than anything and deep down he knows she needed him too. Hoped she needed him as much as he did her.

"I love you." he crawled towards her, now ignoring her little flinch as he layed his hands on her knees, his white locks falling over his eyes as his head tilted down to look at her broken form.

[moontaeddybear]

 Soribada Music Awards

[gamerwoo]

Seventeen: The Xperiments (Part Twenty-Five)

Characters: Seventeen x female reader

Genre/warnings: superhuman/experiment au, angst, some fluff at the end but then more angst lmao, possible major character death [please read the warnings in the intro]

Word count: 3,007

a/n: i’m sorry it’s been so long since i’ve updated this series!!! but i promise the epilogue won’t take me nearly as long, i will try to have it done in a timely manner <3 but anyway, thank you to those who’ve kept up with the series despite my inconsistent uploading lol i’m sad it’s almost over but i loved writing it even though it hurt a lot in some parts (like this one) so again thank you for the love and support!!!

Previous | Next | The Xperiments Masterlist

Of course you were scared. All of you were scared. Hansol couldn’t even change the atmosphere because his own nerves had taken over. He was unusually silent as the van drove toward the place you all thought you’d never have to go back to. Half of you had panic attacks throughout the night knowing you were going back, but none of you wanted to back down, either. The other half of you were simply numb to the idea of going back. You, for example, had already willingly gone back into that place. You didn’t have as many bad memories there as the others did, anyway. But even someone like Wonwoo was stoic the entire ride, staring at one spot and making no noise.

Nobody made any noise, actually. The ride was dead silent except for breathing and the sound of the van.

Equipment was quickly brought to the house when Wooshik had called the emergency in. All of you were dressed in black clothing that was tight but flexible and breathable. It was thick, but they said it was to protect you. On top of that, you were all suited up with bulletproof vests. When the black masks were handing them out, it sent a chill down your spine.

The plan was so drilled into your brain that nobody had to say anything when it was time to infiltrate the lab. You and Seungcheol had to go directly to the basement, which involved a lot of crawling through air vents to avoid being seen. 

“The gas won’t affect you while we’re there,” Wooshik reassured you the previous night when he first mentioned the ducts. “It’s the prolonged exposure that gets you.”

So while you and Seungcheol navigated the vents to get to the utility stairs that weren’t often used, Wonwoo’s team was in charge of locating the new set of experiments and freeing them. Him, Hansol, Jihoon, Namjoon, and Wooshik were in charge of getting the experiments out of the lab. Everyone else was just there to protect those freeing the experiments, and to protect the new experiments. All of you would be connected through small in-ears similar to the ones you’d used for so long to help with translating. You lightly pressed your finger to it, and you could speak and it would pick up the sound.

The only thing that was said to you before you all split up still rang in your head. You’d never seen Wooshik look so…expressionless before. His tone was hard and made you shiver.

“Go in with the intent to kill, or they’ll kill you first.”

Being back at the lab, Jeonghan wanted to be sick. He swallowed the lump in his throat and followed Matthew as him and Jiwoo led the way to the roof with Mingi and Jungkook bringing up the rear. Junhui had silent tears sliding down his face as they looked down inside the building through the large windows.

“Okay,” Matthew spoke up.

Everyone lifted their heads. They all said their ‘I love yous’ the previous night, but each experiment still shared lingering looks and squeezed the hand of the person beside them.

This team was arguably the most dangerous team to be on, but required the most people. They were there for a distraction, hoping to draw attention from other parts of the building. If the scientists were preoccupied in one part of the building, maybe there would be less in the parts that Wonwoo’s team had to get to, so they’d have a higher chance of getting the experiments out. But it meant that Jeonghan’s team would have a lot of people on them trying to detain and/or kill them.

Matthew looked around at the group. He tried to stay composed, but in his eyes was a flicker of sadness and remorse for the experiments who had been dealt such a shitty hand in life. None of the black masks wanted to bring them back to the place that caused them so much trauma, or put them in such extreme danger. But they insisted. Still, Matthew couldn’t help but feel sorry for everything that led up to this moment.

“Are we ready?” he asked.

A few gave silent, single nods. A few murmured out, “Yes.”

“Get into position.”

The ropes were being set up with people hooked onto them to drop down. Chan could just use his wings to go in, so he stayed by the window where he was.

Everyone’s eyes were focused on the floor below the window. Hearts were racing. Jagged breaths were taken. Last minute silent prayers to whatever being may or may not be out there were made.

“Whenever you’re ready, Seokmin,” Matthew said.

Seokmin inhaled and seemed to hold it as he held his open palm out, slightly inside the window. All of the light in the building flew from its place and into Seokmin’s palm before he closed it.

“Go.”

Glass shattered as feet kicked through the windows and bodies descended the ropes. Chan jumped straight through the glass and spread his wings halfway to hitting the ground. Everyone else landed safely on their feet before the emergency alarms could go off.

And then it was complete and total chaos.

-

“Cheol; _____. How’re you two doing down there?”

You hear Wooshik’s voice in your in-ears, and it almost scares you from how dead silent you and Seungcheol have been. The only sounds you could hear were the clanging from the vents, and your breathing.

“Almost to the stairs,” Seungcheol paused to quickly report back before he continued on, taking the lead in the vents. “Is everyone still okay?”

“Alive,” someone you think is Soonyoung answered shortly, and you could vaguely hear loud noises in the background that you couldn’t distinguish. 

“And focus on staying alive, this isn’t directed at you,” Wooshik stated. “You two let us know when you make it to the source, okay?”

“Are you guys okay?” you asked him.

“For now. We’re working on opening the doors now. They’ve gone into lockdown.”

“Can you break the doors somehow?”

“Working on a short circuit with Seokmin,” Eric quickly replied. “Give us some time.”

“We’ve got some right now,” Wooshik sighed. “Check in when you can.”

The two of you continued to move as quickly as you could in silence, until Seungcheol finally spoke up after a moment, “_____?”

“Y-yeah?”

“When you said you could cover me…did you mean it?” he wondered, as if he asked you how you were doing.

You were taken aback by his question, stuttering, “W-what?”

He paused to turn and look back at you, “You seemed unsure. Are you okay?”

You stared at him, and you were sure you seemed unsure then, too. You finally let out a sigh and admitted, “I don’t know if I can handle a blast that strong. Honestly, Seungcheol…I don’t know if I can protect either of us.”

Seungcheol didn’t say anything as he considered your words, letting your confession hang in the air between the two of you. His eyes glanced down, and he inhaled and let it out in a soft hum. And then he looked back up at you with an expression you couldn’t quite place. He didn’t seem upset, though, which you found odd.

“I won’t blame you if anything bad happens to me,” he told you. “At least I’ll die beside someone I care about, and who cares about me. That’s all I could ask for.”

His words made you want to cry, and you felt like you were about to. You blinked back the tears that felt like they were beginning to burn your eyes.

“I’m sorry I got us into this,” you told him anyway, your voice soft and shaky.

He gave you a warm smile back and a shrug, “Don’t cry, _____. We’re doing a good thing. Even if we die, so does every white coat in this place. Even if we die, we won. Don’t be sorry about anything. Besides, you saved my life once, so I think twice would be too much.”

And then he turned around and kept going. But you stayed frozen in place, his words – especially the last sentence – hitting you so hard and so deep. But he was right, you had no time to cry or to sit there and keep talking. So you had to suck it up and follow behind him.

You finally reached the correct vent cover. Seungcheol crawled over it so you could get to it, and you dug your nails under the frame and pulled it up effortlessly. You laid it behind you as Seungcheol poked his head down to get a feel for the surroundings. But that was when you heard him yell, whipping your head around to see his feet leaving the vent like he’d fallen down on his head.

“Seungcheol!” you gasped, leaning over the opening to see what had happened.

Seungcheol was surrounded by white coats and men in black uniforms that looked like the SWAT guys on the TV shows you’d seen. They had on bulky vests like you, but they were also more broad and beefy than either of you.

“Get down here or we’ll kill him,” one of the white coats ordered.

You could see Seungcheol struggling. He tried to light his entire body on fire, yelling and thrashing, but nothing happened. Of course the white coats and their security were immune to your powers – they always had been. And they must’ve been preparing for this, so you knew nothing would work on any of them.

Except…

You swung your legs over and dropped down from the ceiling, landing in the middle of them. Immediately, you were restrained by the security, but you didn’t fight them.

Seungcheol watched you with desperation and fear in his eyes, calling, “_____, no!”

It was difficult for white coats to be immune to your strength. Not only were you always getting stronger, but it was difficult to come up with anything that would make it hard for you to manhandle them and throw them around like ragdolls. Even when the lights went out and you heard, “Doors taken care of,” in your earpiece, you fought off every single person who tried to hold onto you, just so you could get to Seungcheol. Despite the constant arms grabbing at you and trying to pull you away from each other, you held onto him with all your might and tucked his head under your chin.

“Brace yourself!” you warned him above the commotion.

And then you screwed your eyes closed and screamed. You didn’t see everyone who went flying backward and the directions they came at you, as you held Seungcheol to your chest. His hand went to his ears as soon as they were free, but he stayed in your arms.

Your scream stopped abruptly, and you opened your eyes to see the damage in the red of the emergency lights. Bodies were strewn across the floor – some unconscious, some injured from the impact, and some mostly unharmed – and walls were cracked from the force bodies were thrown at them. But you didn’t have time to assess the scene for long.

“We’re moving with the package,” you heard Namjoon report, and Seungcheol lifted his head to meet your eyes. For the first time that day, instead of seeing sadness or emptiness, you saw hope. “I repeat: we have all six and are going for the escape. Do you need backup for the retreat?”

“Let’s go,” you said as you released Seungcheol to grab his hand and lead him over the bodies and to the door to the utility staircase.

The two of you raced down them, even leaping over the railings on some occasions just to reach the basement fast enough, as you listened to the conversation going on in your in-ears. 

“We should be able to–”

“Does anybody have eyes on Junhui?” Mingi suddenly interrupted Matthew.

“No,” Jeonghan said shortly.

“Negative,” Jiwoo stated.

After a short moment of not hearing anyone speak up about knowing Jun’s whereabouts, Wooshik spoke up, “My team is under Namjoon’s care now. I’m coming for backup.”

As you continued to make your way to the basement, you asked, “Do you think Jun’s okay?”

“We can’t think about that now,” he replied breathlessly. “We have to focus. We’re so close.”

After you’d shoved the door open into the dim lighting of the cold, dank basement, it was Seungcheol’s turn to start dragging you behind him.

“This way,” he told you as he took the lead and started toward where the blueprints said the main unit was that all the pipelines in the facility stemmed from.

Honestly, the unit wasn’t as big as you thought it would be. You figured it would be some huge thing that was pumping out insane amounts of gas, but it was still larger than both you and Seungcheol standing at an arm's length from each other.

“We made it,” Seungcheol reported to his earpiece.

“Everyone on my end made it out,” Namjoon replied. “Seungcheol and _____, get into positions. Wait for our call.”

“Most of us got out,” Chanyeol said as he tried to catch his breath. “Matthew stayed inside to wait for Jun and Wooshik.”

“Everyone standby,” Namjoon ordered.

You and Seungcheol examined the unit, both of your hands shaking and clammy, and your hearts pounding in your chest. You had no idea how Seungcheol planned to blow this thing up – did you have to break it open or was he going to pelt a giant fireball at it, or what? But you couldn’t find the words to ask. How it was going to happen didn’t matter. What mattered was it was going to happen, and you were unsure of the outcome.

“_____?” 

“Yeah?”

You continued to look up at the unit, but you felt something warm in your hand and wrap around yours. You looked down to see Seungcheol’s hand – it didn’t feel as cold as yours did, but maybe he was using his power to make it feel warmer – before looking up at him. Despite the situation, he smiled warmly at you. Though you could see his eyes glistening in the light.

“Thanks for saving me,” he told you.

“I hope I can do it again,” you chuckled anxiously.

“Don’t worry about that. Everyone got out. We did it.”

You were silent, just staring at each other until he suddenly pulled you in for a tight hug.

“I love you,” he told you in a sob.

And then your own tears began to flow, holding him as tight as you could without hurting him, “I love you, too.”

“Seungcheol, do it now!” you suddenly heard urgently.

You and Seungcheol pulled apart and stared at each other like deer in headlights until you could finally compose yourselves. Seungcheol reached for his in-ear to reply.

“Wooshik?” he asked. “Did you find Junhui?”

“I’ve got him!” Matthew was the one to reply. “We’re out!”

“Do it now!” Wooshik repeated.

“I-is everyone out?” you asked.

“_____, do it!” Wooshik insisted. “Now!”

Maybe you were so terrified that you were stalling, or maybe the sick feeling you felt in your gut was more than just anxiety, but you asked, “A-are you sure…?”

“_____; Seungcheol,” Wooshik’s voice wasn’t as loud, but it was more intense, “blow it up.”

Seungcheol looked at you, somehow seeming so sure of what was going to happen next.

“Ready?” he asked.

Slowly you nodded, “As I’ll ever be.”

Seungcheol’s hands ignited while you wrapped your arms around him and prepared for impact.

-

The group looked each other over after rendezvousing a safe distance away from the lab. The rescued experiments had been knocked out and were being put away in a van to go to a safe place, much like the black masks had done with all of you. The other experiments were hugging and reuniting, telling each other they loved each other between relieved laughter and tears – except Junhui, who was knocked out cold while Namjoon tried to figure out what had happened to him since Matthew had no answers.

“That’s how Wooshik had him,” he had said. “He didn’t tell me what happened.”

He left it at that.

While everyone was rejoicing or working on loading things up, Matthew watched the building, waiting for the moment it would suddenly explode and go up in flames.

And as Minghao leaned over Jun’s body, rushed worried words flowing from his mouth as he held his hand, he suddenly stopped and looked straight ahead with vacant eyes, mumbling to himself.

“He...snuck away,” he said, barely even audible. “One left... Tanks...”

“Hao?” Josh was the first to notice, hearing his thoughts in his head that were much stranger than the others that were bombarding him.

Finally, Matthew’s head whipped around, “Who? Who snuck away? Yeol, do a headcount!”

“Minghao, who snuck away?” Namjoon wondered, being the closest one to Minghao. “Who was left?”

And then Josh let out a gasp, his eyes wide as his face went pale. He looked like he’d just seen something out of a horror movie happen right before his very eyes.

Eyes looked between Joshua and Minghao, trying to figure out what was happening.

“They...they didn’t…make it…” Minghao mumbled as his eyes filled with tears despite still not being mentally present. “Fire… Dead... Th-they’re dead...”

“Minghao?” Namjoon stared at him intently from across Jun’s body, leaning in as he tried to somehow get answers from him. “Who didn’t make it, Hao? What happened?”

Despite always being the calmest, the panic and urgency was clear in Namjoon’s voice as he assumed the worst. 

“We’re missing one!” Chanyeol reported in a panic. “Fuck, how could we miss one?!”

“Jesus Christ, who’s--”

They flinched hearing the loud explosion, cutting off Jiwoo’s question. The experiments and the black masks both turned their attention to the lab, watching the thick smoke clouds drift up to the sky, the scene reflecting in Minghao’s vacant eyes.

[dc-multiverse-week]

Earth-33: Earth 33 is an abnormal universe in comparison to other realities in the Multiverse, due to vastly different laws of physics and relative technological limitations it lacks a single, crucial element common to every other universe: superheroes.

[i-killed-a-prostutute]

Hi, hi beautiful people. I figured I'd try something a little different. This is a slight angst/comfort fic with one of my favorite human golden retrievers.

Some quick warnings just incase: crying, toxic relationship mentioned, phone checking, pet names, and eating struggles.

💧💧💧💧💧💧💧💧💧💧💧💧💧💧💧💧💧

“I’m home!” Clark call but you were no where to be found. He set his things down looking into the hallway. “Princess? You home?”

It was strange he was used to a warm greeting, always getting a welcome home kiss. He really liked nights when he'd come home while you were still cooking dinner…but not tonight.

Once he saw your shoes still but the door he ventured farther into the apartment. When he opened your bedroom door he understood why you hadn't met him at the door.

There you were on the bed curled into a little quivering ball. The blanket consumed you as you nested beneath it, and he could hear your sniffles.

Clark didn't wanna give you a headache so he left the light off, going over to the bed sitting on the side you were facing. He silently placed a comforting paw on your side, it did take long to spot your phone.

It was discarded, so he picked it up and put it into the code. It was still open to the conversation that hurt you like this. He felt bad gently rubbing your side, setting your phone on the bed once more.

The man of steel still in his suit from work laid on his side, kissing the top of your head, which bearly poked out from the top of the blanket.

“It’s ok, pretty girl.” he hugged the mass of blanket and partner kissing the top of your head once more "It’ll be ok…”

He smiled to himself as you reached from the blanket, wrapping your arm around him he gently reached in, pulling you even closer, letting you cry into his strong chest.

“I love you…" He whispered, petting your hair, "it'll be alright.”

His voice was so soothing, and after a bit, your cries turned to sniffles, then to whimpers, then you started to fall asleep.

Clark was as sweet as ever in your half asleep state, rubbing your back, kissing the top of your head, whispering little encouraging things to you.

When you woke up, it was the middle of the night, the bed empty, you missed Clark regretting missing your welcome home ritual. You also wanted to keep your mind off your phone.

Clark was in the small office off the living room, watching a show. You admired how he looked, whether he was in a skin-tight suit or sweat pants and a t-shirt to you he was perfect.

He had on headphones, his glasses on the end of his nose as he looked down at the monitor. His black hair was tossled, and his perfect blue eyes were focused.

You went over slowly putting your hand on his shoulders, not wanting to frighten him. Clark turned the chair, a smile appearing on his face. He patted his lap, the invitation opened, and like a good girl, you sat.

Clark thought you fit perfectly in his lap. With one arm, he pulled you closer, the other unplugging the headphones. Once, he had set them to the side and settled back against the chair you snuggled in.

You kissed his cheek, his chin, and neck earning a handsome chuckle. Clark looked away from the monitor to give you a kiss, which settled you down.

“How was work?” you whispered and snuggled into him

“Good, you wanna know the piece i’m working on?” he asked hugging you close and playing with a strand of your hair

“What?” You asked the first little smile, breaking from the fog that had clouded your brain since the hurtful words had been sent.

“The city's annual pet adoption event.” this made you excited remember walking around the event a few years ago

“Oh when's the photo shoot?”

“Tomorrow morning…You wanna come?” you nodded hugging him tightly he kissed the side of your head rubbing your back “ready for dinner?”

“Clark!” you whined hitting his broad chest “you didn’t eat?”

“Cause I knew you didn’t.” he fake glared up at you

“But i’m not hungry.” you mumbled, sinking back into him

Clark grumbled just picking you up and carried you off into the kitchen to find the both of you some food.

[selfcarecap]

Yes !!! I know it’s sometimes unrealistic but I wish stories were completely “blank” main characters. Like no race, no hair, no religion, or not too many descriptions. I obviously understand if you add a label prior to the story. However, reading a story that looks inclusive but then having things like the blush, hair, etc. is frustrating.

Yess like it’s completely normal that you naturally put something of yourself in there but you should notice when editing at the latest and change it if you actually want anyone to be able to read it. And there are so many things like skin hair height weight and I’m sure I’m not perfect either but I feel like at least blushing and hair are examples people have talked about so many times that honestly now you can’t reaally excuse it, especially when you write it in every single fic and it’s not just one instance that you didn’t notice to change. Like people read fanfiction to get a break from real life and then being excluded in that space too? Not funnnn. And I feel like the race thing is especially rampant so white writers need to do better (including me probably idk)!!! I want to write something entertaining for all the girlies not just those who look like me!!! And all you have to do for that is change a few words? Like that’s nothing.

[cyberexo]

FANTASTIC BYUN | A Byun Baekhyun Series

“You were supposed to die!”

warning: this series contains cursing, mentions & includes violence, detailed injury, and death.

an; this came to me in a vivid dream i had whilst i was unwell, quite confusing but i was able to untangle it and make it into something more. There’s some stuff such as enemies -> friends etc if you squint hard enough (you don’t need to squint, it’ll be obvious) enjoy!

FANTASTIC BYUN GUIDE POST

Four Baekhyun lookalikes, two fem & two masc; Reader, Bonnie, Ben, & Bennett (Fantastic Four) They don’t exactly look like Baekhyun however, they do have some of his artificial characteristics and powers (created by author)

Baekhyun is portrayed as this series villain, the imagery created here does not portray who he is in real life in any shape or form, it is all strictly fiction. He’s sort of like spider-man, minus the suit and mask, he has spider like abilities- shooting webs, instincts, & abnormal strength. The same goes for the characters mentioned above.

Baekhyun doesn’t know of the Fantastic Four, thinks he’s the only one around with such abilities, however when he does find out- (by a group of scientists who found the Fantastic Four first) he makes it his lifes’ mission to destroy you all, not wanting there to be anyone else on earth who could replicate his abilities, copycats aren’t his favourite.

Like any other normal person would, you wanted to live, first hiding away from him in sketchy corners of different cities, any place you’d think he wouldn’t look, eventually growing tired and deciding to fight back instead.. or maybe even convincing him to join you instead of killing you, what will he choose from this ultimatum? i don’t know (i do)

I hope whoever finds this interesting enough to give it a read enjoys it, thank you in advance! <3

FANTASTIC BYUN | ONE

[not-neverland06]

Kid?

Logan Howlett x fem!mutant!reader A/N: I haven’t watched X-Men since I was a child, so I can’t promise this is going to be canon-compliant. I haven’t watched DP & W either, I’ve just been influenced by that one gif where Hugh Jackman shakes his head like a dog. I feel FERAL Also, I am not good at superhero names or coming up with creative powers. So you’re a mutant with matter manipulation and they call you Flux. I mean, superhero names are inherently ridiculous so I think this works. (Don’t judge me, I’m just here for the sexy man) Summary: You walk in on Logan and Jean in a compromising position and feel your heart break. You really thought he loved you, you were so wrong. (Or were you?)

It was your own fault, you should have knocked before you busted through the door. You only have yourself to blame as you struggle to catch your breath and swallow down the lump in your throat. The image of Logan standing between Jean’s bare legs is going to haunt you for a while. Their faces will keep you awake at night, cringing at yourself while you remember the humiliating moment. 

You rush towards the door, a stupidly giddy skip to your step. You were a mutant, a superhuman, and getting a chance to talk to your crush should not have you giggling like a schoolgirl. Still, you’re blind to all logic when it comes to Logan. 

You turn the corner, spotting the medbay and nearly ramming into the door you know he’s lurking behind. Charles had told you where to find him. Of course, you hadn’t paid attention to the odd tone of voice when he had very clearly warned you to knock. All you’d heard was Logan’s name and you’d zoned out for the rest of the conversation. 

And, of course, you don’t knock. You grab the door’s handle and bust in, “Hey!” Your eyes widen and your stomach plummets with a depressing plop to the floor. Your eyes nearly bug out of your head when you see the way Jean and Logan are entangled in each other. He’s leaning over her, the muscles and veins in his neck pulsing with strain. Normally, that sight would have you nearly drooling. 

Instead, all you can see is the flush on Jean’s cheeks and the way her pupils are dilated with want. Her nails are digging into his back, bare legs twined around his waist. There’s no way to misinterpret this. No way for you to later assure yourself that this was all just a misunderstanding. 

The words stumble out of your mouth in a disjointed mess that even you can’t decipher. You stand there, jaw opening and closing like a fish out of water before you finally get it together. “Charles,” you stutter out, his name sounding like a question. You wince and finally tear your gaze away from them. “Sorry,” you chuckle, trying to play off your hurt as humor. “Charles needs us all for a mission.”

You don’t give them a chance to respond, you slam the door closed, ignoring what you think might be someone calling your name. 

You shake off the mortifying memory and groan. Your head falls into your hands and you grip at your face until the pain distracts you from the embarrassment. It’s not too hard to push it all down, to pretend what happened didn’t make your heart crumble away into nothing.

Maybe it’s because you’re a mutant that you’re so used to rejection. You’re used to constantly being disappointed by people around you. Your childhood was nothing but cruelty, your crush not liking you back can’t compare to half of what you went through. 

That’s what you tell yourself, at least, to try and pretend it doesn’t hurt as much as it does. You shove it down until you think you can’t feel that dull ache anymore. And when Jean and Logan walk into the room, looking more put together, you smile at Logan like you always do. It doesn’t turn down at the corners, your eyes don’t water. You take in a deep breath and look utterly unaffected. 

He sits down beside you and leans towards you. “I can explain-”

You cut him off and shake your head. “Forget about it. I should have knocked.” You turn towards Charles who wheels himself to the front of the room. You dismiss Logan and ignore the way his stare burns into the side of your head. 

Charles looks to Jean and Logan, a smile starting. Then his gaze drifts towards you and your chest deflates when you see the look on his face. He knows, the old miser probably coasted over your thoughts and he knows. He sends you a sympathetic look that makes you feel like a little girl who just got told unicorns don’t exist. “Jean, Logan, glad that you’ve finally joined us.”

Logan nods and leans back in his chair. But his eyes remain fixed on you and it makes you wish you could stab a fork into them. You let out a short, irritated huff of air and frown at yourself. Maybe you were a little more angry than you would like to admit. 

You blame Logan for that. You never would have fallen so deep into infatuation if you hadn’t believed there was even a sliver of a chance with him. Always speaking so kindly with you when he would barely spare anyone a second glance. Constantly doing checkups on you after a particularly harsh training session with Charles. 

Your mind runs over all the small things with him, everything you’ve done together. And you’re hit with a sudden nauseating thought. Oh my god, what if he sees me paternally?

You force yourself not to physically react but inside your throwing up and fucking freaking out. You feel a sudden spark of alarm from Charles and quickly do your best to fortify your mind so he doesn’t see your major mental freakout. 

You’re not that much younger than him. Well, it’s not illegal, your crush on Logan. But what if this entire time, when you’ve been falling harder and harder for him, he’s just been platonically taking care of you? You’ve seen him do it plenty of times for the younger kids, as reluctant as he is to admit it. 

You’re spiraling further and further into panic. So much so that you have no idea what’s even being discussed or what’s going on. You get onto the jet and have to ask Storm what you’re doing. She gives you a confused look but tells you nonetheless. Just some recon on a potential mutant trafficking ring. Nothing out of the ordinary, as depressing as that is. There shouldn’t be much violence, which is why your group is particularly small today.

You nod your head, moving like you’re in a daze as you throw yourself onto a seat. Logan sits beside you, an alarmed look on his face. “You alright, kid?”

The nickname, which is used to make your stomach flutter, makes you want to throw up. How have you missed it for this long? It was laid out so plainly before you. Of course, he doesn’t want you. Not when he has perfect Jean. Bile rises in your throat with a vicious ferocity when you glare over at Jean. 

There’s a sudden petty, vindictive rage fueling you. The type you should have abandoned in high school, especially now that you’re grown. Instead, you feel like giving into Logan’s idea of what you are. You feel like reacting to all of this petulantly. 

You ignore Logan and instead catch Jean’s eyes. Slowly, and with as much intention as you can force into your gaze, you look from her to Logan and then Scott. Her eyes widen and Logan scoffs beside you. She shakes her head minutely, silently begging you not to say anything. You smile at her and stand up.

You take a step towards Scott and Logan calls out an irritated, “Kid.” You ignore him and Jean eyes you warily as you approach. She stands like she’s ready to fight you and take the jet down just to keep you quiet. You reach Scott and can hear the way Jean takes in a sharp breath. 

“Scott,” he looks up at you with his brows raised. There's a pause before you speak. Dragged on too long for Scott not to realize you’re planning something. 

Jean takes a step towards you and you grin, “Mind checking my cuffs?” Scott gives you an odd look and his confusion only gets worse as Jean slumps onto the seat beside him. She’s not even trying to hide her relief. Scott shakes his head and holds his hands out, fingers gently probing around the cuffs on your wrists. The ones that keep your powers in check. 

You’re still new to welding them. And they’re too entwined with your emotions for you to just have free range with them. If you hadn’t had the cuffs on this morning, you’re afraid you might have just turned everything around you into nothing but dust.

“They look fine, Flux.” His tone betrays his thoughts. He doesn’t know why you’d come to him for this when it’s Charles who usually deals with it. But this stupid, petty little display wasn’t for poor oblivious Scott. It was for the woman sitting next to him. The redhead whose still drilling holes into your skull. 

You’ve got leverage over her that you’ve never had before. Scott wouldn’t take her little foray with Logan very well. And all it would take is a flick of your wrist to give him a very clear image of exactly what you’d seen. Then, her picture-perfect relationship would be over in a matter of seconds. You’re sure Logan would be more than pleased. But he doesn’t seem to understand that Jean just wants to have fun with him, she’d never choose him over Scott. 

“Thanks,” there’s a bite to your tone that you’re not used to. You usually keep your emotions relatively in control. That way you won’t have to wear these cuffs one day. But you feel volatile today. You’re channeling your hurt and turning it into misguided anger. 

You drop your wrists to your sides and stalk toward the front, hovering behind Charle’s and Storm’s chairs so you don’t have to look at the others. It doesn’t take long for you to feel the floor trembling under heavy booted steps. 

Logan’s arms rest on the headrest of the chairs, bracketing you in between them so you can’t escape. He leans forward until his chest is pushed against yours and you can feel every ridge of his muscled torso pressing into you. You try not to suck in a breath, try not to play into the cliche of instantly forgetting why you’re angry when you’re faced with those muscles of his. It is hard, though, because he’s so handsome and so warm and you just want to melt into him. 

“Wanna explain what the hell that was?” His voice is so low, whispering against the shell of your ear so only you can hear. You feel the vibrations of it against your back, his tone more gravelly than it should be. 

You glance over your shoulder at him, face placid and blank. “What? Just needed some help.” Storm looks over at you both and rolls her eyes. 

Logan opens his mouth to say something but she cuts him off. “Put a pin in the lover’s spat, we’re landing.” Using just a bit of your power, you push Logan off of you and head towards the back of the jet. There’s a slight jolt as you land and then the ramp opens up and you’re practically running into the snowy forest. 

You don’t know where you are, mainly because you weren’t paying attention, you just know it's fucking freezing. The leather of your suit isn’t doing much to help fight against the chill. Charles stays on the jet and reminds you all that this is only meant to be recon. You’re partnered up with Logan, and as much as it irritates you, you’re not stupid enough to argue against it.

You have to put aside your personal grievances for this mission. You can’t risk the safety of mutants because the guy you like likes another girl. Logan seems pleased about it, stubbornly staying by your side even when you make it clear you want space. 

You both linger behind the other’s as Storm leads you through the forest. Jean is being more touchy with Scott than normal. Either to assuage her own guilt or to rub it in Logan’s face, you’re not sure which. You nearly gag as you watch them whisper to one another, you glance over at Logan to see if he notices. 

You’re startled when you see him already staring at you. His lips tick up into something mischievous when he catches your eye. That smug smirk on his face as he leans in towards you. “Wanna tell me what’s got you so pissed off?”

You roll your eyes and tamp down the rising tide of anger. “Nothing,” you bite out, jaw clenching the longer you stare at the back of Jean’s head. You’re surprised you haven’t chipped a tooth with how hard you’re grinding your teeth together. 

He scoffs, not believing you for a second. He doesn’t say anything, just gives you an expectant stare. You can taste the words forming on your tongue, an irritating urge to just spill your guts overcoming you. Before you can stop yourself you blurt out, “I’m a little surprised that’s all.”

“Oh yeah, ‘bout what?” You hate how amused he sounds, the chuckle just lying in wait under his words. Like your anger is funny to him, like he didn’t just break your stupid fucking heart. 

You stop walking, not feeling as intimidating as you want while you shiver and huddle into yourself. He seems perfectly at ease in his leather jacket and beater, still refusing to wear the uniform. He leans back and looks at you with a fondness that you can’t tell if you love or hate. “You and little Miss Perfect.” You spit the nickname with enough venom to make both of your eyes widen. 

Logan rolls his eyes and takes a step towards you, again, Storm interrupts you both. “Guys, really?” Everyone turns around to stare and you will the heat in your face away. “Not the time,” she scolds and you brush past Logan to catch up with the others. 

You come upon a warehouse, it’s nearly camouflaged under all the snow. You see two guards waiting outside the metal doors and you all disperse behind the trees. Storm glances towards Jean who focuses on the guards. They drop to the floor and you wave your hands, their guns melting into puddles of metal. 

Logan and Scott move forward, sliding the large metal doors open. You wince at the loud screeching as the rust flakes off the sides. There’s a collective quiet as you all hold your breath, waiting for them to give the all-clear. Once they run inside and run back out, you and the others quickly get to your feet and rush into the warehouse. Logan closes the doors again as you make it inside. 

“No one here?” Storm checks. Scott shakes his head and you frown. That doesn’t make any sense. Why would there be guards if there was nothing inside?

Your question is, unfortunately, answered a minute later. You find a pile of metal crates stacked on top of each other. A large beige tarp covers them. You tug at the corner, letting the fabric slide off. Your eyes flutter with disappointment, “Guys! Over here,” mutants sit inside the crates. Each of them stares at you with varying degrees of mistrust and fear. 

As awful as it is, you’ve gotten used to these quiet depressing missions. There aren’t usually many mutants in one place. They don’t like to keep the product in one spot for too long. There are only four kids here. The youngest is eleven and the oldest is seventeen. There’s nothing physically telling about their abilities so you assume it must be psychic powers. 

They don’t want to come with you until you all give them a demonstration of your powers. Proving that you’re not just trapping them and taking them somewhere worse. You’re nearly out the door when Charles's voice rings loudly through all of your minds. 

You wince at the volume, hands coming up to grip at your hair as he shouts, “Behind you!” A gunshot rings out, something hot rips across your wrist and you gasp in pain. There’s a clatter of metal as your cuff drops to the ground, the bullet having destroyed it. Without them both, they’re useless. One won’t work without the other. 

You glance up at Logan, a panicked look on your face. You can already feel the tidal wave of power thrashing and building in your chest. It’s been so long with the safety net that you forgot how bad it gets without the cuffs. 

“We need to get you out of here!” He shouts over the gunfire. He herds the group behind a cluster of metal shipment boxes. It provides enough cover for you all to try and figure out an escape plan. 

You listen to the other’s worried voices, each of them trying to console the kids. You don’t know their powers yet. Don’t know what might go wrong if they get too scared and can’t control their abilities. 

You can’t speak, breaths coming short and fast as you clutch your wrist to your chest. You know it’s delusional, hoping that if you keep a tight grip like the cuff you might be able to control yourself. You can already feel the energy leaking out of you, the ends of everyone’s hair stands on end. The wall in front of you warps and cracks like it can’t decide if it’s liquid or solid. 

You grit your teeth and look only at Storm. “You need to get out,” you force the words out. It causes physical pain to try and keep everything at bay. You can feel pressure building in your forehead, pushing out until you think you might explode. 

“We’re not leaving you,” Logan snaps. There’s shouting going on behind you, a pause as they all reload their guns. 

“Wasn’t a question,” you grit out. You look towards Jean and there’s a moment where you both put aside your differences. You both know how stubborn he is, how much he’ll fight against leaving you behind. Regenerative powers or not, it's dangerous to even be close to your gift now. You can see them all straining against the ebbing flow of your powers. Their skin shifts unnaturally like you’re already altering the atoms of their being. 

This is why you’re only allowed to train with Charles and Jean. They can get in your head, shut it down when you can’t. You’re not sure you’re going to survive yourself. Logan glances between the two of you and practically growls at Jean, “Don’t you fuckin’ dare-”

His words trail off into an unintelligible slur as he slumps forward, Jean having knocked him out with her powers. Scott grabs him and grunts under the weight of his body. “I’ll cover you,” you gasp the words out. Anything but focusing on your powers causes physical strain that makes you feel like you’re being tugged in a hundred different directions. “Just get them out,” you nod towards the kids. 

Storm nods and you slip out of cover. It isn’t hard to push your powers in one direction, to solidify the air in front of you so the bullets ricochet harmlessly off. You listen to the whine of the metal door and wait for the others to be gone. 

“They’re in the jet,” Charles's voice rings out. “Don’t do this,” he warns. You can’t think of a response, you’re not even sure what you would say. You never thought you would be able to approach death this calmly, or that this would be how you die. It feels almost pathetic, dying because you lost control on a recon mission. 

At least those kids are safe. It’s not a bad reason to die. Just not great. You glance down at the other cuff on your right hand, the air around it fluctuates until it melts off your wrist like liquid metal. With the last barely there tether off your powers, you close your eyes and release the tidal wave. 

It feels like a dam exploding. It doesn’t leak fluidly from you, it rips through you like a hailstorm of knives. Tears apart anything in its path and rewrites the molecular build of everything in its path. Screams echo through the air as men’s bones turn into brittle dust and their hearts morph into something inorganic. You’re blind to everything around you, vision clouded by the horrific release of energy. 

You can feel warmth leaking down your face. Blood still pours from the wound on your wrist, and fresh blood from other wounds you can’t even feel. You don’t know when the screams stop, or when you’re finally drained. But you feel like an empty husk as you drop to the floor, your head bouncing harshly against the cement as everything goes black. 

“I’m gonna kill you,” Logan says with a grin, glaring at Scott even though it’s Charles who is holding him back. He’s got a firm mental grasp on Logan, keeping him locked into place while he focuses on the warehouse. 

They’re waiting for the all-clear. The others know there’s always the possibility that they’re going to be collecting a body. But none of them are willing to say that, not with the look on Logan’s face. His muscles look ready to pop out of his skin with how much he’s fighting against Charles’s hold. 

Scott backs away from Logan with a scoff. He stands near Jean, but she can’t take her eyes off the restrained man. Nothing had happened this morning, Flux had seen to that. Interrupting them just as they’d started. Seeing the way he’s acting now, she’s starting to believe that nothing is ever going to happen. 

He’d looked like he was about to dismiss her when she started making a move. She can see the anger on his face, it seems he’s only ever pissed off. But underneath that, as much as he hides it, she can see the fear. He’s terrified that they're going to walk in there and you’re going to be dead. 

Jean can feel the fear of the others as well. They’ve only seen you lose control once and that had almost leveled the mansion. Charles had stopped you then, but the loss of the cuff had been so sudden Jean just barely had enough strength to keep the others blocked from your powers. She didn’t have enough time to shut you down. 

Jean, as much as she’s tried to deny it and dismiss her suspicions, can’t look Logan in the eye and ignore it anymore. It’s never been her that he’s wanted. The way he trails along beside you, always prodding and poking until you’re pissy and mouthing off. It’s not done because he finds antagonizing people fun, it's because he loves seeing you all worked up and passionate. He doesn’t view you through the same platonic lens he does the others. You’re something else to him, something she doesn’t want to name, afraid of the bitter taste it will leave on her tongue. 

Charles slumps back in his chair and Logan suddenly lunges forward. He looks a little surprised by the sudden freedom of movement, but before any of them can stop him he’s running out of the jet. “Logan,” Jean tries to call after him but he’s already a distant blur. 

Scott sighs and starts down the ramp. “Come on,” he mutters. He’s the last one who should be coming along. If anything is wrong with you, he’ll end up being Logan’s punching bag. Jean follows reluctantly, she’s not sure she wants to see what’s happened. 

Your powers are too similar in their volatile nature. The way they rule you and come so close to destroying you when you use them too much, is too familiar to Jean. She doesn’t want to see you lying dead on the floor and be reminded of her own mortality. But someone needs to make sure Logan is stuck on a leash. 

They reach where the warehouse should be. It’s nothing but a pile of rubble now. Throughout the wreckage, Jean can make out odd pools of liquid, some writhing, others still. She can only assume that these had been the men shooting at them. She doesn’t see your body, none of them do. But Logan isn’t giving up. 

He lifts different pieces of metal and tosses them off into the forest. Jean doesn’t sense your presence anywhere but she doesn’t have the heart to tell Logan to give up. After a few minutes of searching, she almost tells him to quit. But she can’t see him anymore. He’s disappeared somewhere behind a particularly large pile of roofing. A moment later, Logan stands up. His jacket is gone, wrapped around the body in his arms. None of them are close enough to see if you’re breathing. And he doesn’t say a word as he brushes past them, just keeps going back to the jet. Ororo, Scott, and Jean all share a silent look. None of them prepared for the potential fallout that’s going to happen after this. 

The first thing you feel is two familiar bands of metal around your wrists. The comforting feeling of the cuffs is enough to have you sinking further into the pillows surrounding you. Then you hear the beeping in your ear, feel the cool blow of AC, and become startlingly aware of the fact that you’re in a bed you don’t recognize. 

You groan, eyes peeling open painfully as your lashes get stuck on your skin. You reach up to rub at your face but your arms feel too weak to lift. You give up on the thought, instead staring up at the ceiling and waiting for your vision to refocus. 

A throat clears in front of you and you nearly jump out of your skin. Sitting at the end of your bed, arms crossed and a fierce glare on his face is Logan. His feet are propped up on the small table beside you. He quirks a brow and gives you a sardonic grin, “Finally awake, princess?”

Normally the name would have you up and doing somersaults, but there’s something distinctly negative and disappointed lacing his tone. It squashes any and all butterflies in your stomach. You grimace as you try and sit up. Logan is up in an instant, an annoyed look still on his face as he helps you up. 

You can’t help your dopey smile at how gentle his hands are on you. Even pissed off, he treats you so kindly. Maybe it’s the drugs relaxing you, or the fact that you almost died, but you can’t remember whatever made you mad at him. You can only feel the slide of his calloused hands against your arms, the way you shiver under his touch and crave more. 

He pulls the chair closer to you with a loud scratch of metal feet on the linoleum. You groan at the loud sound and he huffs, throwing himself down in the seat. “How do you feel?”

Your head sinks back against the wall and you finally realize you’re in the medbay. It’s why everything smells so sterile. “Like I got hit by a semi.”

He barely lets you finish your thought before he spits out, “What the fuck were you thinking?” He doesn’t ease you into this at all and you frown. You’re not sure why you would expect him to ever beat around the bush. That’s not his style, he’s always been blunt. Even when others wish he wouldn’t be. 

“What else was I supposed to do?” You ask, voice weak. Your throat feels like it’s been ripped apart. Idly, you wonder if you had been screaming in the warehouse or if this was just general strain from the whole ordeal. 

“Not put yourself at risk like that.” He leans forward, voice stern and bordering on shouting. You know he’s holding back. As much as he wants to lay into you right now, he’s stopping himself from going completely out of his mind. You appreciate it, but you almost wish he would just yell at you. You wish you had a reason to resent him, to finally get over him. “Not have Jean knock me out like that. You don’t get to make those decisions for me.”

It’s completely inappropriate and horrible timing, but you can’t help but scoff at the mention of Jean’s name. Can you not have one conversation that’s not tainted by the mention of the redhead?

Logan’s mouth snaps shut and he glares at you in disbelief. You squeeze your eyes shut, not willing to face him as embarrassment washes over you. No wonder he always calls you kid. You’re not exactly acting like an adult. You’re being a brat and for such a stupid reason too. 

Just because you like him doesn’t mean he has to reciprocate. You can’t just force your feelings on someone. “Logan,” you whisper his name, “Sorry. I’m sorry-”

He cuts you off before you can finish. Some of the anger, but not all, has ebbed from his expression. He almost looks like he’s smiling. “Jean? That’s what this is about? Jealous or something, sweetheart?”

You sputter, shocked little noises leaving you but no words. After a solid minute of restarting a sentence you don’t know how to end you finally land on a squeaky, “Who?” If you weren’t so mortified, you might have just thrown yourself out the window. Out of every cop-out you could have gone with you chose to just pretend you didn’t know who she was. Maybe you could make this work, like selective amnesia. 

Your shame only builds as Logan laughs. You cover your face and wish you could bury yourself six feet deep and never come up. You feel two rough hands wrap around your wrists, tugging your own away from your face. You don’t have the energy to fight back, so you keep your eyes on his chin. Too afraid to meet his gaze. 

“Come on,” he mutters, gently nudging your chin up until you’re forced to look at him. You're caught off guard by the look in his eyes. You recognize it, but you’d only ever seen it directed at Jean. It’s the same way you’ve always looked at him. Pure unguarded want and desire. 

The hand on your chin drifts back, fingers tangling in your hair and gently resting on your jaw. He tugs you forward until your lips are nearly touching, breaths mingling with every exhale. “Only ever wanted you, darlin'.’”

The kiss catches you off guard. It shouldn’t, deep down you knew it was coming, but the intensity behind it, the way you can practically taste how bad he wants this, wants you, catches you off guard. You lean into him, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting yourself melt into his hold. 

His free hand drifts to your waist and clutches the flimsy hospital gown until you hear it tear. You part your lips, deepening the kiss so you can finally taste him. It’s cigars and whiskey, something you should hate but is entirely intoxicating when he’s holding you so tightly. Fireworks are going off in your mind, sparks darting between your fingers as the cuffs struggle to contain all the energy suddenly pushing out of you. 

He can feel you holding back, squeezing you like it’s a promise he can take it. Take everything you throw at him. You let go as much as your cuffs will allow you. Let the energy blanket you both so you can’t hear your heart monitor going off like crazy. So you don’t feel anything other than each other. You think you’re going to devour each other like you’ll just keep kissing until neither of you can take it anymore. You don’t want to let go of him, don’t want to lose this moment. 

But you have to breathe. You don’t get to just keep living the way he does. You pull away from him slowly, every part of you dreading separating from him. His forehead drops against your own, his laughter playing along your lips as he finally hears the monitor going haywire. 

You groan, flicking your wrist and shutting it off so it can’t betray how flustered you are anymore. He gently nudges you aside so he can sit beside you on the bed. You don’t waste a second before you’re draping yourself across his chest and siphoning his warmth. He chuckles, arms coming up to wrap around you. 

“Can’t believe you were jealous of Jean.”

“Shut up,” you snipe. You look up at him and glare, “How else do you explain what you two were doing?”

He leans forward and gives you a smug grin. “She came onto me, sweetheart.” Your face screws up in distaste and jealousy. She’s going to need to learn to keep her hands to herself. He seems to feel the way you tense up, he huffs in amusement and rubs your back. “Relax, you’re gonna blow your fuse again.”

You glance down at your wrists and nuzzle further into him. You can’t believe you could have been laying on him this whole time. You never want to use a blanket again, not when you’ve got him. “I’ll be fine now that I’ve got my cuffs.”

His hand stills on your bicep. He squeezes it before his hand drifts up to your chin and he tilts your face up again. “I don’t ever want to see that again.” You’re a little surprised by the sudden shift in tone, but you knew this was coming. 

“I had to, Logan. I either took you all down with me or I went on my own.”

Logan frowns and takes in a deep breath. You place a hand on his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. He smiles down at you, “Next time, take me with you. I’m not fucking dealing with Summers without you.”

You can’t help but chuckle. Your face grows warm and your chest expands with some odd gleeful feeling as he laces your fingers together. “Deal,” you whisper, still smiling at him. 

A/N: Okay, this might be shit, I’m not sure. I sort of rushed the ending because as I was writing this I had another idea for him. I guess I’m officially off my hiatus. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Can you write a college roommate head cannon for miguel O’Hara ( 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 he’s hot. That’s it, that’s 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. 

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. 

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. 

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. 

You sign onto the lease, desperately, hoping you've just been lucky and trying not to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

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? 

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. 

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. 

"You want it, hermosa? Tell me…. 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 was… 

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 . 

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. 

"O'Hara! Keep it the fuck down!" 

~~~

He's a biochem major, up to his ass in assignments and he still has time for societies, internships and tutoring. 

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. 

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. 

The absurdity would make you laugh if it wasn't affecting your sleep. 

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. 

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. 

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. 

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. 

"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. 

"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. 

~~~

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. 

After you successfully get through one long week, you decide to celebrate. That means a couple hours of mindless hedonism: your favourite movie, greasy food…. and your trusty dildo. Not at the same time, of course. 

Miguel's not home, and he's not tearing down the walls with some other girl, for once, so you decide to treat yourself. 

You've been going through a dry patch, and you'd hate to admit it, but he does sound good through the thin drywall. 

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. 

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. 

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. 

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. 

" 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. 

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. 

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. 

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 something…? 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. 

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. 

" Fuck," Your voice comes out muffled, but it makes him buck up into his fist all the same. " Need it… oh God, I-" 

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." 

He releases, sudden and intense, spilling white ropes into his boxers. 

" Fuck, Miguel…"

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. 

~~~

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. 

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. 

You laugh and joke, sometimes, and he surprises you by suggesting a movie one quiet night. 

He offers you his sweater to snuggle into, you eat your weight in greasy takeout, and your roommate seems like an actually decent guy?? 

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. 

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. 

"How was it?" You hear the click of a door and Miguel calls out from the hallway. 

You wince."...F-Fine?" 

You hear footsteps, as he gets closer. "Are you asking or telling me?" 

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. 

"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. 

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. 

You close the door, and all of a sudden he's there, mug in hand. 

" Fuck, man- " It makes you jump, as he squints and takes a sip of his coffee. 

"You look… wet." 

"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. 

"Are you ok?" He asks, unfazed. 

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. 

Gently, he pulls you aside to inspect the damage. "Mierda. This is pretty bad. You sure you're ok?" 

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. 

" Nothing's going right for me… and I've got my final project on there… I'm barely keeping up as it is…" 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. 

It helps, having him there: a steady presence by your side. Slowly but surely, your tears subside. 

"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 were…" You search for the right word. 

"...friends?" He offers, with a small smile. "You think I let just anyone steal my sweaters?" 

"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." 

~~~

You find that you enjoy being around him, and he feels the same. 

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. 

There is harmony in your household, for a while, and you almost look forward to coming home to him after class. Almost. 

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. 

What kind of person does that? Lull you into a false sense of security with Snakes on a Plane and pepperoni pizza? 

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. 

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. 

“Miguel? 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. 

All the wind is knocked from your sails, and you lose your train of thought. 

"Yeah?" 

"I…" You clear your throat. "I don't care who you fuck, but when I'm doing work-" 

"-I'm not." He chuckles. "There's no one here, hermosa. Just me. And you, I guess…"

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 falls…

"You're high." Your brow shoots up. "... you're high!" 

With a finger pressed to his lips, he grabs your hand and pulls you into his room, eyes darting around the hallway. 

"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-" 

"-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. 

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. 

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. 

"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. 

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. 

"Expect what?" He drags himself downwards, to rest his head by your side. 

"All…" 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. 

He manages to catch it, sluggish in his response. "...Is this what who sees?" 

"All the girls you fuck." It tumbles your of your mouth, before you can help it. 

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. 

"Huh. I guess they do." 

"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-something…"

"Katie." He hums. 

"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. 

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. 

"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' ." 

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. 

"Thin walls, Miguel." You clear your throat, sensing a shift in the atmosphere. Too far, probably. "Sorry, shit. I didn't mean-" 

"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. 

"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." 

"It was…. 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. 

"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-" 

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. 

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. 

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. 

"¿Paciencia, 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. 

He licks a stripe up your collarbone, soothing the blossoming hickeys with a hum. 

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. 

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. 

"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.. 

"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. 

"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?" 

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?" 

It makes you laugh, even though you hate to give him the satisfaction. 

"What do you want?" He kneads your thigh and pleasure pools at the base of your stomach. 

You mumble something begrudgingly.

"Hmm? Can't hear you, baby."

Louder, now. "...want to sit on your face, Miguel." 

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. 

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. 

And when you begin to move off, thighs sore, he doesn't relent, sealing his mouth on your pretty little hole. 

"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. 

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. 

"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. 

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. 

"That was…" He searches for the right word, and it's your turn to finish for him. 

"... 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. 

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. 

"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. 

"You've got a 9am tomorrow." He smiles with a hand underneath his head. 

"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. 

"I could tutor you, if you'd like."

…

"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

[ghost-with-a-teacup]

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐈𝐧 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader

Summary: Everyone at HQ was convinced there was something going on between you and Miguel. Just...no one knew what. But one group of spiders were determined to figure it out.

Warnings: None! Just a lot of goofiness and a whole lot of fluff :3

When you have a superhuman with superior senses, they’re bound to be perceptive to their surroundings. Now when you have an entire lobby the size of multiple football fields filled with superhumans with superior senses, very few things will go unnoticed.

It’s why people very quickly realize that you and Miguel have…something between the two of you. It’s just that no one is quite sure what.

Camaraderie? Maybe, you were one of the first spiders to join the society.

Friendship? Perhaps, but it was known that Miguel wasn’t one to do friends. Not with the amount of loss he has gone through.

A relationship? This one seemed the most unplausible. Miguel was, well, Miguel. Stoick, cold and calculating. Meanwhile, you were you.

You had a light that drew people in, kindness that knew no bounds and warmth like a fire on a cold winter’s day.

Everyone knew the saying ‘opposites attract’, but it was like comparing night and day with the two of you. Regardless, a small little group within the society were set on trying to figure the two of you out.

~

“Ain’t no way the two are together, she’s too good for him!” Hobie argues, his legs kicked up on the table in front of him.

“I don’t know, maybe that’s why they work together. Because she makes him better?” Miles says, but his tone of voice failed to hide his skepticism.

“I think you should just leave the two of them be. Besides, what happens if you figure it out or not anyway?” Peter says, feeding Mayday as he does. Immediately a chorus of arguments breaks out from the group.

“OKAY! Okay, forget I asked,” he says with a shake of his head, while Mayday just laughs at the commotion.

They spot the two of you walking into the cafeteria making conversation none of them could make out.

“Look at them,” Gwen says, “have you ever seen the guy happier than he is with her?” she asks, and Hobie snorts.

“C’mon mate, you call that happy? Mans got that frown tattooed on his face, can he even be happy?” he says, but they all continue watching intently.

You glance over to the table they were surrounding, and they all brush off your gaze pretending as though they weren’t just studying the two of you like specimens under a microscope.

You wave your hand, a bright smile on your face while Miguel only glances over for a moment before continuing to walk. You jog to catch up to him, grabbing a tray and picking up things you wanted for lunch.

They watch as they see Miguel pick up the empanada, the last one left. He pauses for a split second, holding it before turning to place it on your tray. Almost as though they were straight out of a cartoon, they freeze at the interaction.

You seem to be slightly surprised as you, saying something to him but he only brushes you off before continuing on.

“Did…that just happen?” Pavitr asks. Everyone at HQ was aware of Miguel’s fondness for the food (even if he did hurl one right at Miles when they first met), there was no way he would give one away so easily for just anyone, right?

“Somebody pinch me,” Gwen says, and Hobie jumps at the request.

“OW!”

~

Miguel never lets anyone help him out when he’s injured. That was just a known fact. He could walk into HQ battered and bruised and wouldn’t even look in the infirmary’s direction once. After depending on himself for so long, he wasn’t going to stop now. Besides, what were First Aid kits for after all?

The only way he was going to the infirmary was if someone dragged his unconscious body there themselves.

Well, unless you were there.

“Miguel O’Hara I swear to god, you better get your ass to the infirmary or so help me I will tie you up and drag you through the halls myself,” you say sternly as you both reemerge in the Lobby. The rest of the Spiders there continued with what they were doing, but their attention was zeroed in on you both.

“I’m fine,” he says, glaring at you as if trying to say ‘Just try’. Had you been anyone else, you would have backed down by now but you didn’t.

“You wanna test me right now? That was a nasty hit, I will not be letting it get infected under my watch,” you retort, and he puffs.

“This is nothing, I’ve dealt with worse,” he scoffs, and in an instant your finger shoots out, making contact with the side that got hit with the anomaly’s flames. Miguel can’t help the sharp intake of breath as the pain from the impact hits him.

Your eyebrow raises, an expression of disbelief on your face before it softens. Murmuring softly, you say something that only he can hear.

For a moment he studies your face before sighing, finally relenting. With a triumphant smile, you place a hand on the man’s broad back, leading him towards the infirmary with a gentle but firm hand.

There, Pavitr is laying in bed recovering from an awry mission of his own. The doctors had ordered bedrest for the next 2 hours at least. Superior healing or not, they were not going to risk it. So there he lay, slinging his golden bangles up and down bored before he hears the two of you come in.

“Mr. O’Hara-" a doctor’s voice can be heard, but he is quickly interrupted.

“She’s got it from here,” he says, Miguel’s tone final. A small “yes, sir” can be heard before footsteps fade away, the doctor’s office door closing once more.

“You know, you should really let the professionals help you,” your voice can be heard.

“You dragged me here, you can deal with the consequences,” he says, and you just laugh fondly before your voices quieten, murmuring too quietly for Pavitr to hear.

Curiosity builds as he recalls the conversation he and his friends had, and before he can stop himself he shifts silently to the side, just enough to be able to catch a glimpse of you both from the small gap between the hospital curtain and the wall.

There, Miguel sat on the bed, a disgruntled expression on his face but his eyes were soft as he watched you fuss over his side.

He only watches for a few seconds before pulling away, this being a clear invasion of privacy, and his boss’ privacy no less.

It wasn’t going to stop him from telling everyone else though.

~

“This is a bad idea. This is a really, really bad idea,” Miles says, grasping onto the ceiling like his life depended on it.

“It’s only a bad idea if we get caught, so Shut. Up,” Gwen says sharply, hanging from her place on the ceiling as they watched the fight from above.

Gwen had come up with the mighty fine idea of sneaking into a mission between the two of you. It wasn’t often that it happened, Miguel more often than not only went on missions with only Lyla by his side. But when he needed a partner, it was always you.

“Why did you have to bring me with you,” he whispers, “Miguel already doesn’t like me. He doesn’t need more of a reason to.”

“Because I needed backup and you can turn invisible. And let’s be real, Hobie would be laughing his ass off getting us caught, Peter would bring Mayday which would get us caught, and Pavitr is already on a mission, now shhh,” she whispers, turning back to watching the scene below.

You swung from pillar to pillar in the abandoned factory with practiced ease, a carefree laugh escaping your lips as Miguel stands on the ground fiddling with his watch.

“The anomaly’s last known location was here,” Lyla’s voice echoes out, and you let out a sigh.

“Why can’t villains have easy powers. Maybe a giant blob that is easy to take down? Why do they have to be so complicated? What’s this one again, a freaky shadow monster?” you think out loud.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Miguel retorts, glancing up toward you for a moment before turning back to Lyla. “Do a scan of the place, will you?”

“What do we say~” Lyla responds, and you giggle softly while Miguel huffs.

“Please,” he mutters.

“What was that?”

“Please, Lyla,” he says a little louder now, irritation growing in his voice.

“Already done,” the AI snickers, and he groans out loud as your laughter bounces off of the walls, a fist held out for Lyla to bump.

“The two of you will be the death of me,” he says lowly.

“Oh, don’t be like that, grumps. You’d be too stubborn to die,” you retort before tensing up, the hairs on the back of your neck rising with the familiar feeling of your heightened senses at work. The moment you sling yourself up is the moment a loud thud sounds out from where you once stood.

“Oh, I forgot to mention that the anomaly was in the far right corner,” Lyla says before disappearing.

“I really need to do a rewrite of her code,” Miguel mutters to himself.

In your previous spot emerges a dark figure, plumes of smoke emerging and dissipating from its form and allowing it to disappear into the shadows with ease.

With a simple nod, you get to work. Like a well-oiled machine, you work in practiced synchrony, bounding across the walls and slinging webs.

And just like that the anomaly is captured, the force field around it effectively trapping it for the ride back to HQ so it can be sent back to its own universe.

“That was…kinda lame,” you snicker, pulling off your mask

“Told you so,” Miguel says as he opens up a portal for you both, dragging the anomaly behind him.

“Don’t say that to me,” you pout.

“What, can’t handle the truth?” he retorts, a smirk playing across his lips as your bickering voices fade through the portal.

“…was that a smile,” Gwen asks as she watches the spot where they both had stood.

“Was that what it was?” Miles asks, a shudder racking through his body.

~

It was late at night at the HQ, and at this time everyone else had already gone back to their own universes. The few that lingered were the ones finishing up after a late-night mission.

Or, you were Peter B. Parker frantically searching through the kitchen for a bottle of milk for Mayday after a playdate with a select few spiders that went on for way longer than expected.

Mayday was an easy baby. Always happy and smiling, but that all disappears when she was hungry and you did not want a spider baby on a rampage.

“Alright, alright, give Daddy a few seconds to warm up your milk please?” Peter pleads as Mayday continues to babble angrily, crawling all over him.

She pauses for a moment, attention drawn elsewhere as she hangs off of her father’s back before leaping.

“Hey, lil spider!” You say with a laugh, catching her in your arms. “What are you doing here so late?” you ask.

“Playdate with Miles, Gwen and Hobie. Time really flew and she refused to leave until now,” Peter sighs tiredly, and you pat him on the back before putting her up onto your shoulders. “What are you doing here so late?”

You shrug, grabbing two mugs from the cupboard.

“Working late. Like you said, time really flew,” you say, but Peter knew that wasn’t the full truth.

“Working so hard that you need two cups of coffee?” he asks, holding out the bottle for Mayday to take, which is what she does happily as she snuggles up in her father’s arms.

“What can I say, caffeine doesn’t really work on me,” you grin, pouring the coffee from the machine. “Goodnight, Peter, Mayday,” you say, ruffling her red hair fondly.

And as quickly as you appeared, you disappear.

~

People didn’t often disturb the big boss man Miguel when he was working. Not if you wanted to stay on his good side.

It was even less often that someone barges into his room full of screens as he monitors the Archno-Humanoid Polymultiverse, let alone a group of them.

“We heard you talking to someone! And laughing,” Gwen says hesitantly as if she couldn’t even believe it herself. But she was invested in figuring out what the deal was between the two of you now.

“Well, do you see anyone around?” Miguel deadpans, his arms wide and gesturing around broadly. You could barely stifle the giggle as you sat on a beam high up on the ceiling, going unnoticed.

“W-well, no…But!” she says, and Miguel raises an eyebrow which makes Gwen shrink in her spot slightly before recovering. “But we heard you. There was someone here, wasn’t there?”

Hobie, ever the perceptive one tracks his eyes along the ceiling before spotting you swinging your legs with an amused look on your face. It seemed as though no one else had noticed though.

Miguel watches Hobie spot you and his eyes narrow in his direction, as if saying ‘I dare you to say anything’ to which the spider only raises his hands in mock surrender.

“No. There wasn't." He says, his tone final. "If that’s all you’re here for, I have important work to get to. So why don’t you go bother someone else, yeah?”

~

“I give up,” Gwen says, slumping in her chair. “We’re never going to figure it out.”

“Figure what out?” Jess asks, walking up to the group.

“Whether or not there is something going on between those two,” Miles says, nodding towards you and Miguel talking over in the corner of the room.

Jessica only hums, a knowing look in her eyes but she doesn’t say anything. Only asks a simple question.

“What makes you think so?”

“Everyone here knows that there’s something there, even if they want to admit it or not. She’s one of the few people he tolerates, they’re together almost all the time and he actually seems happy around her,” Gwen reasons.

“You could have just asked, you know,” you say, coming up on their conversation with an amused look on your face.

Their expressions range from flustered to simply amused and you can’t help the laughter that bubbles up as you make eye contact with Jess.

“And to answer the question,” you reach down your suit, pulling out a simple chain with a ring dangling off of the end.

“We’re actually married.”

The group goes silent for a moment, eyes wide as they stare at the necklace in your hands, trying to process your words.

Then, all hell breaks loose.

A/N: Hehe, I'm quite happy with this one :3 This is my first attempt at writing Miguel, sorry if I butchered him but I am absolutely hyperfixating on him after seeing ATSV in theatres yesterday.

Based on the prompt by @imslightlycreative though slightly changed :)) I hope you all enjoyed <3

Part two out now!! Read it here.