peppopopopo

[peppopopopo]

jam filled freak

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #ball #a legit ball #rotund little thing

[peppopopopo]

mwah

#astarion #baldurs gate 3

[peppopopopo]

I think what needs to be explored more is weird vampire habit Astarion.

I don't even mean once he gains back his vampire abilities but this stuff he picked up over two centuries and doesn't realise mortals don't do.

Becoming like a statue for a prolonged period of time, fully unmoving, until Tav comes over and flicks him in the forehead to see if he's still in there.

Astarion jumpscaring Tav because he just appears behind them fully silently, probably out of the shadows too. At this point it's surprising Tav hasn't died of sudden heart death.

Prolonged staring - unfaltering, unblinking. Bonus points if it's at Tav's pulse point and they notice - and awkwardly try to cover up while jokingly calling him a perv.

Astarion being time blind - even more so than elves - because what even are ten minutes, a day, a week to someone who's immortal?

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #astarion x tav #yohoho

[peppopopopo]

the wandering painter, part one

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#aaaaa! #artists on tumblr #lob lob 🫶🫶🫶 #animated illustration

[peppopopopo]

Something about the idea of Astarion doing his laundry in the river by camp... his hair kept out of his face by a scrap of fabric that he's fashioned into a headband.... the legs of his trousers rolled up to his calves as he squats, barefoot in ankle deep water.

His expression is far too intense for someone who is only focused on scrubbing away stains. Eyebrows furrowed. Tongue peeking out. Eyes laser locked on that one stubborn drop of blood that doesn't want to come out of the collar of his shirt.

Sometimes, you come with him to do some laundry of your own, and he is not pleased. Not because he doesn't enjoy your company or anything, but because (Gods help you) you're doing it wrong. Which really just means you're not washing your clothes the way he would wash them. Too much soap (what??). Too much water (how?).

Too much force, you absolute barbarian, give those here!

He doesnt even ask. He takes your trousers right out of your hands mid-scrub and starts doing everything for you instead. Complains about how heavy-handed you were and demonstrates the proper way to go about it while you sit on a big rock and grin like a fool.

Yall, I want him so bad I look stupid.

#a #ahaha #aaaaaaa #astarion

[peppopopopo]

can yall imagine the giddiness you'd be feeling if you were with astarion? cause like... i'd never digest it, i just couldn't settle down.

imagine having that gorgeous gorgeous man, so very charming and special and attentive and fun and sweet as your partner. sometimes he seems unreal, an eternal and divine being with starlight in his hair and passion in his eyes. underneath the snarky, flirty, uncaring performance is a person so unique, so enduring, so unfalteringly strong in his persistence. amidst the horror and abuse he didn't go crazy, didn't lose that innocent and yearning spark. you'd look at those vivid and expressive eyes, hear that wavering and genuine voice, feel those tentative and soft hands and you'd be undoubtedly sure of the goodness in him; the goodness within his capability.

imagine looking at a person so deeply precious and knowing he's been hurt and used so much. imagine feeling nauseous at the thought. imagine knowing that despite that he's still brave enough to seek and receive affection and companionship - the things he's never known and yet he has enough courage to trust you to show it to him. you're his first and only experience with softness and boundaries and a person who has never had control of himself has given himself to you - given you the chance to teach him.

you get to look at that inhumanely beautiful person, so very clever and appreciative, and you know that he chose you. he holds you so tightly because you're the first thing he's had. you're the refuge, the kind word and hand he never thought he'd have. sometimes you look at him and get struck with the potential and power in him, and not the materialistic, ugly power. the power that lies within a person who has emerged from agony and given the world a chance to treat him differently instead of giving up entirely.

he's all that and despite his bravado, you know he doesn't see it. you know he feels a phantom rot within himself. you know that he could be the most beautiful person in the world, and he will - with time and love and healing. and you get to watch it happen. and he cherishes every second you spend by his side.

#astarion ancunin #bg3

[peppopopopo]

small town buzz

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#aaaa! #my fave :D

[peppopopopo]

A handsome elf prince to whom you will give your life 🩸

Inspired by this photo

SPEEDPAINT

#bros ethereal #baldur's gate 3 #astarion

[peppopopopo]

It had been a complete accident. Truly.

Mindlessly running your hand through his hair, the tips of your fingertips unknowingly brush against the tip of his ear, and it makes him groan.

Thinking it had been out of pain, you tear your hands away from his head, eyes blinking wide. "What happened? Are you okay?"

And instead of a scowl, you find that his cheeks are multiple shades darker than usual--almost pink. He mumbles something under his breath, then shifts his entire body around so that his face is buried into your stomach, arms locked around your waist. He says something, this time so muffled you can barely hear the words they're supposed to form.

"I can't hear if you're talking into my stomach."

He says it louder this time. "...good."

"What?"

Then, finally, he whips his head just enough to meet your gaze. "It feels good."

Your brows lift, and you slowly slip your hands back into his hair. "This?"

"No--I mean, that too, but--" he's flushing brighter now, and your eyes practically sparkle at how flustered he sounds. It's a rare occurrence, but Astarion at a loss for words is something you hold dear to your heart. "--my ears."

"Your ears," you repeat, hands slowly inching to the sides of his head. You carefully trace the shape of his pointy ears, watching as he practically shudders, melting into your touch. Even your own cheeks seem to heat. "Like that?"

He wordlessly nods, opting to bury his face into your stomach again to avoid facing the power he's just given you. And you use it well, gently massaging his skin with your finger pads, drinking in the way his body reacts to your touch. "Oh my god."

Hours later, when your head lays on top of his arm and he has you close to his chest, you smile up at him cheekily.

He notices the way you're struggling to keep in your laughter. "What?"

"What does it feel like when I touch your ears?"

He nearly chokes on his own words, horrified by how upfront the question is. "It--I don't know, it just feels nice."

"Nice is an understatement."

He groans. "Please, darling, this is humiliating."

And despite the way you continue to poke fun at him and the way he feigns annoyance, whenever the two of you are alone, he always opts to put his head in your lap, and you choose to knead your fingers through his curls.

#astarion ancunin #astarion x tav #bg3 astarion

[peppopopopo]

Okay perhaps this sounds odd but imagine Astarion starts to disassociate while intimate with Tav and so he uses their established safe word, only to be bewildered when Tav actually listens to him and stops and asks if he’s okay and tries to comfort him because nobody has cared that much before 😢

OH GODS WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME (i love it) warning for suggestive content :)

For as long as Astarion's been genuinely intimate with you, for no other reasons but simply because of the affection the two of you hold for one another, he has always been in control.

It soothes him, in a way, to be on top. And as much as he enjoys watching you come undone beneath him, there's a more frustrating reason behind why he always feels the need to be the one to push you down onto whatever surface he deems decent enough at the time. From above you, he can see every little twitch in your body, every shift in your expression, and most of all, he can control what's happening, unlike his centuries spent as a seductive tool for Cazador's own needs.

He knows you're not like those fools. He knows you're different, and you're special to him. But the gnawing voice in the back of his head always forces him to pull you in, to hold you closer, to make love to you.

It's fucked up in so many ways.

"I want to make you feel as good as you make me feel."

But when you look up at him with those imploring, loving eyes, the voice seems to go quiet. He swallows the dryness of his throat, unable to think of anything but how wonderful your touch feels on his skin, and he thinks he could drown in this forever. He's putty in your hands, whether he wants to admit it or not.

"Well? Don't be a tease just standing there, darling."

In what feels like minutes, he's a mess. He's making sounds he shouldn't be making, fingertips digging into your hips as if they're the anchors keeping him from finishing too early. He breathes heavily into the crook of your neck, groaning when you caress the sharp tip of his ear between your fingers.

The only thing keeping him from spilling is the impending embarrassment he'd feel for doing so this early on in the night.

Then, everything stops.

"You're so beautiful," you whisper.

They're only words. They're not ones he's heard little of---in fact, he's heard it too much in the past two hundred years. In an instant, memories of the nights he spent under strangers, forced to shove his mind into its darkest corners just to get through their own pleasures, flood his consciousness. The sickening taste in his mouth afterward, and the need to rub his skin till it goes raw were not uncommon. It was routine. A sick part of his life that he'd rather forget.

You don't mean it the same way they did. They only said things like that because that's all they could say. They didn't know him as anything but the husk of a body he resided in. He knows you are saying the words to him. Not to his body but to the very person he is.

But the word comes spilling out his mouth, and immediately, you freeze.

You actually stopped.

Of course, you would. You're you.

"Are you okay? Did I do something?" you reach to cup either of his cheeks, and he stares at you as if you're a star that's fallen from the sky. He blinks, slowly.

"I don't know, I just---" he searches for words. "--you haven't done anything wrong, darling."

You wait for him to finish patiently. Gods, he doesn't deserve this. He doesn't deserve you.

"I only remembered something I'd rather not," he plasters a crooked grin on his face. "It's quite alright. We can continue now if I haven't ruined the mood."

You pull away from him, and he fears you'll leave.

Moments later, you return with a glass of water. Wordlessly, you hand it to him, and he only stares at it, confused beyond belief. Only once he notices the way you gesture to the glass does he drink it, and you finally climb back into bed, lying down beside him.

"Come here," you open your arm, motioning him to come closer.

"Darling, as much as I'm all for experimenting, that's a strange position to have sex in."

You smile, shaking your head. You don't explain any further, only continuing to hold out your arm.

Hesitant though curious, he slowly lies down beside you, his head just above your chest and slotted between the space below your chin. With gentle hands, you pull him closer and toss the blanket over both of your bodies.

It's warm. Strange, but warm.

"You don't have to wear a mask with me," you whisper.

His eyes grow wide, and his chest stills. He doesn't have many tears left after 239 years, but there's an unfamiliar squeeze in his chest that tells him if he were still 39 and alive, he might have. Astarion wraps his arms around your waist, burying his face into where he can hear the steady beating of your heart.

Later, when your eyes begin to droop, he mumbles.

"Tell me I'm beautiful again."

"You're beautiful," you say softly. "With or without your pretty face."

You might be imagining it, but you feel him smile against your skin.

#astarion ancunin #bg3 astarion #oh man #astarion x tav

[peppopopopo]

Waking up to find that Astarion is missing after going out for a hunt the night before. Going on a search for him, only to find him sprawled out in the grass somewhere just outside of camp, basking in the warmth of the sun.

He came out of his tent at dawn to greet the sunlight and just dropped into trance after lying down to feel it. Might have even fallen asleep– a rather rare thing for elves to do at his age, even rarer for a vampire. He has one arm slung over his face to shield his eyes, the other folded to rest a hand against the soft, pale skin of his bare chest.

He looks so peaceful that you would absolutely hate to disturb him. Would definitely threaten the well-being of anyone else who dared to. So you don't.

You just sit a little off to the side (like a bit of a creep) and watch. Watch the rise and fall of his belly as he pulls in unneeded, soft breaths to take in the scent of the morning air. Watch as his head lulls to the side, letting you catch the slightest glimpse of one of his eyes. Pale lashes contrast with the rosy pink of his cheeks. It's a flush that spreads over the bridge of his nose, too. Down his neck. All the way to the points of his ears. He looks warm to the touch.

Your hands twitch at your sides. Breath catches in your throat at how ethereal your love is. He's beautiful to you always, of course, but there's something especially sweet about seeing him like this. Warm. Happy. The most relaxed you've ever seen him.

You wait there with him until he wakes. Until the commotion of the others in camp as they get ready for the day becomes loud enough for him to stir. His lips, pouty from slumber, smacking lightly as his arms reach out above him, back forming an arch as he stretches until his spine gives a nice crack. His little moan of satisfaction has your own cheeks going warm, and even warmer still as he catches your scent on his next inhale and turns to look at you.

Eyes glassy. Lids heavy. He gives two, hypnotizingly slow blinks as he takes in your form. Up and down. Studying you just as much as you were him only moments before.

There's this smile that comes just before he slips into that usual smirk of his. A genuine, awfully content little thing. The sight of which you will be replaying in your head an endless amount of times, perhaps for the rest of your life.

You can't even hear his comment on just how creepy it is for you to be watching him sleep because you're too busy trying not to swoon.

And the sound of his voice when he's just woken? Forget about it.

#astarion ancunin #baldurs gate 3 #astarion #astarion x tav

[peppopopopo]

I don't think enough of you are seeing the potential in letting Astarion drink from your wrist??

(Brief warning: this got a little more sensual than I'd intended? I think I am possessed.)

The way you could still sit as close as you want, plastered to his side even– one leg thrown over his lap while the other is outstretched behind him. It would take a little bit of maneuvering to get the angle just right, but once you do it, it quickly becomes one of your favorite ways to feed him.

You'd have a better view from this angle as well. Would be able to see the glint of bared fangs just before they sink deep into the tender skin of your wrist with a soft pop. To watch the shiver that rolls through him as the taste of you finally meets his prodding tongue– his throat working as he takes that first, careful swallow.

You trace up the curve of his spine as base instinct takes over. His body forms a shield as he hunches, pale digits digging into your outstretched arm as if you'd ever have the heart to take his meal away from him before he's anything less than sated. Happy.

Your fingers comb through the sweet little, silver curls at the nape of his neck, nails scrubbing at his scalp as a form of encouragement so gentle he practically purrs.

Gods, the noises he makes when he's enjoying himself. You can't help but squirm in anticipation when his breathing begins to pick up. Each quick inhale becomes choked off with a little moan of satisfaction– or a whine so high and strained, as if he's hurting in the best possible way. It's as if you taste so good that he doesn't know what to do with himself. His legs kick up a bit. The heels of his boots drag the ground before he settles back down. He jerks away and then towards you once more. Practically writhes in ecstasy. You have to turn your head away just to stare at something far off in the distance. A pathetic attempt to focus on anything else before you lose your mind.

Eventually, you feel your offered arm begin to grow colder. A slight tingle at the tips of your fingers slowly creeps its way up and prompts you to wiggle in an effort to lessen any discomfort. The movement pulls him out of his trance just a bit, and you can feel it.

The length of pause between each swallow starts to become longer. Every pull of your blood becomes a little more shallow, a little less desperate as he braces himself for the moment you say you've had enough.

Admittedly, you always wait a bit too long than is comfortable. It's really hard to ask him to stop when you can physically feel the satisfaction radiating off of him in waves, but you know you have to say something the second you feel that all too familiar floaty sensation begin to sneak up on you.

The moment your temple hits his shoulder, he's pulling away with a sharp gasp of unneeded air, a sad, little whimper escaping his open mouth before he has the chance to muffle it. It's only now that his eyes flutter open. A more vibrant crimson now that he's properly fed, all hazy and soft with a wonder that you'll never grow tired of seeing. He turns to meet your half-lidded gaze from where you're slouched against him.

It'd be so easy for him to slip, to give into the urge to clamp down and drink and consume until you've got nothing left to offer. Especially when you're hanging off of him this way, eyes filled with warm adoration and body so willing to let him take and take and take.

Oh, how he must be careful, now.

The vampire's eyes get a certain headiness that you know all too well, locked onto your own as he allows himself one last taste. You can only watch as he chases a rivulet of blood all the way down the length of your forearm, petal soft lips creating artful smears of crimson with each sloppy press, only to be cleaned away a moment later by the gentle swipe of his tongue.

Your thighs clench automatically around his waist in response, and if he notices, he thankfully doesn't tease you for it. Yet.

After so many feedings, he's really got the hang of biting you in a way that doesn't do any lasting damage. So, it isn't very long before the marks his teeth have left behind no longer weep openly. The familiar, dull throbbing that resonates from the twin punctures is soothed by the soft press of his mouth. Then, the cheeky bastard makes it worse by giving a harsh, cheek-hollowing suck.

It's your turn to whimper.

He pulls away with such a smug smirk. It'd have your eyes rolling if you had any sort of brain function left.

His fingers are now warm as they knead against the numb skin of your drained arm, wiggling it about for you, and bending it the elbow a few times in an effort to get the blood flowing. It's a small act of kindness that you find ever so endearing, and you thank him with a tiny smooch to the very corner of his jaw.

He thanks you right back for the nice meal, with a loving stroke of his knuckles against the side of your face. Gives you a kiss so eager that you're left in shock.

You can taste the copper you've left on his tongue as it swirls against your own, and can't stop yourself from deepening the kiss a moment later. You swallow down his responding groan like he swallowed down all those mouthfuls of your blood. Eager. Just a little desperate. Happy.

Anyway, what was the point of this post again?

#astarion ancunin #astarion #astarion x tav #oh #oh wow

[peppopopopo]

Villain hums thoughtfully as they circle around Hero, who's currently staring off, looking despondent.

"They should have come to rescue you by now." Villain speaks in a matter-of-fact tone, their eyes burning into Hero.

"They should have...I thought they would have by now." Hero looks to the ground, trying to fight the burning in their throat, the sting of their unshed tears.

It's been weeks since Hero was taken, and so far, their team hasn't even attempted to come for them. Hero kept telling themself it was only a matter of time, but the more the endless days and nights at Villain's hideaway blur together, the more they realize the truth. Help is not coming.

Villain lets out a noise of frustration and stalks towards Hero again.

"They should have by now! Where is your team? They're your allies, are they not?" Villain rakes a hand through their own hair, looking to Hero for an answer.

All Hero can manage in response is a half-hearted shrug. Villain's frown deepens, brows draw down into an expression of irritation.

Noticing Villain's anger, Hero looks up at them defiantly, trying to fight the urge to cry still yet.

"If keeping me here this long really bothers you, you can just let me go. I don't need you rubbing it in that my team isn't coming." They try to make their words as biting as possible, but they can't help the wobble in their voice.

Villain lifts a brow, surprised by Hero's words. "I'm not upset with you, and I'm certainly not complaining about keeping you to myself," their words were smooth and deadly, tone dropping as they spoke, "But your team? I have half the mind to tear them apart right about now."

Sauntering forward, they use their arms to back Hero in against the chair, leaning closer. "I'm furious at them for abandoning you to my devices. If I was any other villain, or if I was any less fond of you, do they even know what would have become of you by now? They don't care about your fate at all."

Lip trembling, Hero can feel the tears they fought against so much finally beginning to run at Villain's words. Sniffling, they try to hide their face, hide their weakness as their shoulders shake. They've been abandoned. The thought threatens to suffocate them as they try and hold back sobs.

"Oh love," Villain's voice was a soft coo now, spoken closer to their ear. A strong but gentle hand goes to Hero's wrist, prying their hand away from their face. Villain's face is inches away from them now, meeting their tearful eyes, looking at them with an emotion they can't place.

Villain brings a finger up, wiping a tear from their cheek. "Don't cry, love. You're safe here. I'll take good care of you since your hero friends evidently can't." They softly murmured and pressed even closer.

"But-" Hero tried to speak but was quickly cut off by a finger to their lips.

"Shhh...don't worry about it. I'll make sure they pay for the pain they caused you," Villain runs a thumb across their lower lip, fingers caressing their jaw. They tilt Hero's chin up gently, not letting them look away or hide their crying. They lean in close, kissing a tear away softly. Hero tries to turn away yet again and feels Villain's hand tighten ever so slightly, but they lean back, voice still gentle as they speak again.

"In the meantime, we'll make sure you're comfortable. You'll be staying with me for a while."

[peppopopopo]

miguel o'hara x reader (fluff) - please? → she/her pronouns!

miguel begs you not to get out of bed

By far the highest blessing you could receive in the morning is Miguel O'Hara's morning voice.

Deep, gravelly, and sparse, Miguel's morning voice always manages to send chills down your spine, especially when you're nothing but a hair's width apart from his chest.

You can feel his heart slowly beat against your cheek, his chest rising and falling to the sound of his breathing. Waking up to a face full of chest has been unexpectedly, one of the numerous highlights of your day.

Slowly, your eyes flutter open, and it takes you a moment to come to your senses. He smells nice, a reminder of the shower gel you keep in your bathroom for when he visits.

Miguel's almost too big for your bed; he takes up your space, barely fits the comforter, but you love him anyway. You really don't know how, or why Miguel chooses to sleep with you in your tiny little bed, but you don't complain.

"Amor."

His wording rumbles from the deepest parts of his throat, and you can feel the vibration of his voice against your ear. You squirm a little, tiny noises escaping your mouth as you make yourself just a little more comfortable.

"Mmmph... what time is it?" You murmur into his skin, savoring the warmth he omits.

Miguel lazily rests his heavy arm over you, running his abnormally large hand over your back. He presses a darling kiss into your hair, humming. It's only you who gets to see him like this, all sleepy-eyed and touchy beyond repair. You try to savor this version of Miguel as possible, knowing that he has to be someone else when he's at work.

Miguel keeps a single arm on you while you try to bend your arm in impossible ways, twisting and turning your limb to try to reach your phone on the bedside table. Eventually it works, and you manage to slip your phone into your fingers before you dislocate your arm.

"It's 9:23..." You breathe, sighing before turning your phone back off and placing it next to your pillow.

Miguel's pulling you in like a magnet, snuggling you like a puppy would a teddy bear. He's just too cute like this, hands and legs roaming around your body for something to squeeze. As much as you absolutely hate to let go of him, duty calls.

"Miguel... we have to go to work."

He can hear the distaste in your voice, reminded of the agonizingly long spread of cleanup, the idea of people bothering him, the mediocre food at the cafeteria. (Except for the empanadas, lmao)

Miguel doesn't want to go to work today, and he doesn't think you do either. Wearing a skin-tight supersuit just wasn't it today.

"Noo...." Miguel whines, strengthening his arms around you. You have to tap on his arm, just so enough air can find it's way back to your lungs again.

"Miguel, we have a job to do." You say, rubbing the sleep away from your eyes. You hear him groan into your hair, your mind practically going blank at the sound of his intense morning voice.

We mUST stay focused brothers, we must stay focused!!!

Almost like every morning, you begin your wrestle for freedom, pushing at his forearms wrapped tight over you. It's almost like you forget that Miguel's a superhuman Spider-Man. Stubbornly, he keeps his lazy stance, ignoring your tiny pushes and shoves.

"Oh my gosh, Miguel. Let me go. If you don't go to work, I will." You curse, squirming and kicking yourself in all sorts of directions.

He shakes his head again, eyes closed shut and nose still in your hair.

It was only a matter of time before you'd tire yourself out.

And you did.

Miguel's got the shittiest, most satisfied grin on his face, and all you can do is scowl at him. Still, he hasn't let go of you, and now you're convinced he wont let you go until the end of the day.

As much as Miguel was stubborn, you were too. You have a final ace up your sleeve, and hopefully it'll save both Jessica and the kids from disarray in the office today.

Miguel's face starts to melt down a little when you flutter your eyelashes at him, shoving your face into his chest and pressing a sweet little kiss between his pectorals.

It's like the satisfaction from Miguel transferred over to you, and Miguel is left speechless as you trail your way up to his clavicle, nipping and kissing at the surface of his skin.

"Let me go, please?" You ask, specifically in the tone of voice that you know Miguel loses his shit over.

His voice is hitched in his throat, ears turning scarlet as his grip around you starts to loosen.

"I... honey-"

The moment you reach his neck, Miguel know's he's done for, a chill running down his neck and back. It makes him all hot, his mind being wiped clean like a whiteboard. Just for the funsies, you kiss his pulse point a little, wrapping your own arms around his neck.

Utterly, Miguel melts, the sweetest, poutiest expression on his face like he doesn't know what to.

You win.

While you still can, you slip out of Miguel's grip, your feet finally meeting the carpeted floor. Miguel realizes your little act, grumbling and pouting to himself as he relishes the disappearance of your warmth.

"If you come to work, we can do more..." You tease, trotting off to your bathroom with a chuckle.

Reluctantly, the man rises from your bed, the boards creaking under his weight. (One day, he's gonna break your bed, somehow.) He follows after you, running his hand through his messy bedhead.

"Coming, sweetie."

© 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒂.

#miguel o'hara

[peppopopopo]

not an animal

the atsv writers upset me, so here you guys go

Miguel seemed to be sulking, he was quieter than normal today, almost mute. His conversations with you were minimal today, and you couldn't help but feel like that was rubbing you the wrong way. You were going to get to the bottom of Miguel's unusual quietness.

He was sitting down in your shared apartment, all cozied up under a blanket, reading one of his giant books. He was taking some time to himself. That was good, you thought to yourself. He could hear you approaching, but he didn't turn to look at you like he normally did.

You snaked your arms around his shoulder's slowly, so as not to startle him.

"Hi, Miguel." You whisper gently, your hot breath warming his cheeks.

"Hey." He responded quietly, shutting his book so he could properly look at you.

"Can I join you, big guy?" You hope he says yes, you felt like he had been distancing himself, which was never a good sign.

He nodded, and patted the plush cushion next to him on the couch, and you came over, slowly sitting down next to him. You didn't want to intrude on his alone time, but you couldn't keep yourself away from him.

"Is it okay if I come under the blanket with you?" He nodded, of course he thought in his head. You scooted closer to him, and he let out a sigh. He had silently been craving your touch, your warmth all day long.

He sat his book on the coffee table, and he wanted you to hold his hand, he just didn't know how to ask you. He hoped you would just get the message that he wanted to be loved on.

You came under the soft and warm blanket still sitting on the couch with him, you wordlessly roamed for his hand under the blanket, and looked at him, a soft smile on your face. He sighed again, and you could see how he sank into the couch more, you squeezed his big hands, and started to rub it, to warm them.

"Is there something on your mind?" You weren't sure he really wanted to talk, and you saw his face grimace, letting his head sink into the plushy couch. He decided to let it out, he had been holding it in all day long.

"..I'm tired of people thinking that I'm an animal."

You felt a wave of empathy smack you in the face, starting to gently stroke his hand, rubbing loving circles on his hand. You scooted closer to him, and started to hug him.

"You're no animal, sweetness."

"..I.. I know, I just.." His voice trailed off, and he hugged you back, leaning some of his weight on your body. You let him.

"You're human, just like everyone else." You rub his back, and you pull away, wanting to prove your words even more, incase the message wasn't getting to him.

"Can I kiss you?"

"Please."

He looked down at your lips, and you gently moved closer, your lips touching his as you started to gently kiss him back, and he held you like he was worried you'd melt away.

You both pressed close together, melting and almost molding into one. You started to slowly pepper kisses all over his face, now somewhat sitting on his lap. You kissed his eyebrows, his prominent cheekbones, his slowly growing stubble, his nose, and his lips, gently prodding his upper lip so you could kiss both of his fangs. You pulled away to look at him, cupping his face in your softer hands.

"I love you, don't forget that."

He had a small smile to give, holding one of your hands as he relished in the softness of you. You gave him one last easy kiss on the lips, and you were glued to him for the rest of the night.

#soft... #miguel o hara x reader #miguel ohara

[peppopopopo]

a sad, touch-starved Miguel with a very physically expressive reader (hugs, hive-fives, etc). slowly has a crush on them and has an existential crisis about it. But it all ends well with a heartfelt hug and kiss

- 🦩 anon (also, it's me, the pancake anon, just changed it to @anonymous-dofuramingo )

oh my goodness! 🦩!! i think about you sometimes i am very touchy with people i like (in a consenting way) so i’m thrilled to write this for you :)

overly affectionate happy reader, shy n stiff miguel o'harrrra

vending machine

It had been a very successful day thus far, Miguel was away from his screens for once, assumingly for a late night snack. Sometimes you got hungry too, so you’d find yourself at the nearest vending machine, getting the good stuff. He was already there before you, his back hunched over as he inputted the code he wanted, his big fingers hitting “F-7,” looking for a nice bag of those spicy chips he likes. He rarely indulges, being too busy to properly indulge himself.

He can hear you shuffle behind him, and he turns to look at you, his brows raising in mild curiosity. The sound of the machine working fills the room.

"Hello, Y/N." He peers down at you, now that you're directly in-front of him. He turns away for a moment only to get his snack. The light crinkling of the bag of hot chips fills the room, and the harsh smack of the vending machine makes the room go silent.

"Hi Migs," he moves out of the way for you, and he opens up the bag of chips as he quietly peers at you, waiting for the familiar light burning sensation in his throat to hit him. He always had to go for the spicier variant, because his spice tolerance was high.

You lean closer to him, which makes him swallow, watching as you get your own snack. He doesn't move though. Your eyes laser focus on the same button, you want the spicy chips, too. You feel his gaze, and you look up at him with a cheeky grin, one too happy for how late it was in the day. He didn't understand why you were like this.

"What?" He cocks his head at you, chewing as he greatly resembled an angry cat.

"Nothing, just am happy to see you." You respond easily, inserting your coins and waiting slightly impatiently for your own bag. He doesn't take the response as easy as you say it, like nothing. He figures you're just being your normal cheery self.. even at 11 o'clock at night.

You lean in too close and you nudge his arm, smiling a little too hard at him, which just makes him awkwardly grumble something in Spanish, feeling his face warm. In the dim lighting of the room, it wasn't noticeable.

"Oh.. you got the same thing, huh?" He stares at you as you bend over to get the bag, not daring to look at your backside. You turn to look at him, noticing he's looking away so as to be respectful. You smile at that, and grab your snack and the extra change you got back.

"Uh-huh, I like it spicy, too," you grin, popping the bag open. He assumes you want to chit-chat, so he forces himself to stay put next to you, even though you're driving him nuts on the inside.

"Mm.. I see." He quietly approves, and you both wander to the vacant seating room, you sit down before him, making the chair squeak. You lightly laugh at that, and he doesn't notice why you're laughing, he's too nervous thinking about what he should say to you next.

A chip crunches and you speak, "Miguel, why are you so quiet? Wanna talk to you." You dangerously scoot your chair closer to him, and your foot taps at his lightly in encouragement, snapping him out of his daze.

He stays quiet for a second too long, realizes he should probably respond.

"Oh.. tired." He was, but not really. With you around, he felt hyperaware of everything he said, how long he looked at you, how long it took for him to respond.. it ate at him like a hungry caterpillar.

"Ooh, me too." You nod, your non-eating fingers brush under your eyes, feeling the light puff of your eyebags starting to develop.

"Couldn't tell. You're easy to look at, like always." He subtly blurts out, and then his face goes flat like he had accidentally spilt. You just feel giddy, waking up a bit more, and you lean closer to him in your chair as you talk, you just want to be as close as possible to him.

"That's sweet of you, big guy." He only looks sheepish, and he has a near almost not noticeable smile on his face, and he nudges his foot back at yours.

"I can be sweet." That's all he says as he gets up, throwing his bag in the trash without even looking at it. You won't have that, you're not done talking to him, he hasn't said good-night like he usually does. You stop him in his tracks, wrapping you arms around his body. His body warms at the soft touch, and he doesn't pull you away like he usually would. It's private, everyone else is asleep or patrolling elsewhere.

"Don't go yet." Is all he hears, your face muffled in his back. You can feel his muscles scrunch up and you slowly process you're being touchy. He feels your face slowly pull away, prepared to hear a spew of apologies from you.

"Sorry. Touchy." Is all you say, and he turns around, giving you the look he reserved for you, only.

"You're fine, I like it when you are." He sighs, and he rubs a thumb on the side of your cheek, and it makes you feel fuzzy, and your eyes slightly twitch as he rubs close to your eyebags.

"Y/N, why aren't you sleeping?" He mumbles, leaning closer to look at your face. His hot breath lightly blows on you, and you think you might melt now. He wants to keep you in his arms until you fall asleep.

"I'm sleeping.." you grumble, and now his hands are full on touching your face, holding your soft cheeks.

"Don't lie to me." Miguel shakes his head lightly, not in a mean way.

"I'm not," you protest, you feel like he's sandwiching your face with his hands.

"You are," he smiles now, his eyebrows raising mockingly as he stares back into your eyes.

"Okay, maybe I am." Your lips flatten together, feeling embarrassed he's been holding your face for so long.

"Can I kiss you?" He asks quietly, leaning closer before you've even given an answer.

"You better," you lean closer, instinctively closing your eyes and he holds your face gently and tenderly, his arms slowly wrapping around your body, in an effort to make you stay put. You can feel his big fingers press into the curve of your back, trying to memorize it.

"Good-night," he whispers, after he pulls away, a sleepy satisfied smile on his face now.

#oh #oh man #it gives me warme™ feels #miguel o'hara

[peppopopopo]

Werebear Miguel O'Hara

no one will take him seriously with ears and a nubby tail

#miguel o'hara