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marigoldenblooms · 1 month

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An Important Lesson - One-Shot

Pairing: Professor!Wanda x Fem!Reader (MINORS DNI - 18+)

Prompt: After years of rigorous study, you were nearing the end of your graduate program. Companionship had become a figment of your imagination, until your film professor caught your eye. Taking something from her desk, you hope you could catch hers- and you got more than you bargained for.

MINORS DNI - 18+

Tags: Who is Y/N I don’t know her, Dom!Wanda, Sub!Reader, Porn with plot, teasing, orgasm denial, vibrator use, thigh riding, Mommy kink, Professor kink (sparingly), no aftercare, slight dub-con, dumbification, praise, dom/sub dynamics, power imbalance (professor/student), age gap (Reader is 26 while Wanda is 34), brat taming if you squint.

A/N: Holy balls, I did not realize smut was so hard to write. Major kudos to all who seem to do it so effortlessly! I know I envy ‘em. This is my first foray into writing this kind of fic (my university’s spring break has brought a lot of writing firsts), so if you have any feedback I’d love to hear it! This is also vaguely proofread! Wanted to do some practice before the evental sex in Unica Sempter Avis (Because USA is certainly an Abbreviation of All Time), and other ideas I’ve got cooking up. I'd love to write another part to this, if y'all would be down! Thanks y'all again! Edit: An Important Lesson is getting a second part! Read a teaser here! >:)

Word Count: 2.5k - Read length: 9 minutes, 5 seconds. Pictures aren't mine, credit to their owners! ~~~

The pen hadn’t been worth stealing, and yet here you were.

Professor Maximoff’s classroom was overwhelmingly quiet, dark and empty with familiar rows of tables curved in a half arc around her desk, pushed off to the side. She’d always pace within the front few rows where you sat, and you’d have to crane your neck to keep her in view when you weren’t scribbling down paraphrases of what she said. She taught Advanced Film and Media Critique, which generally lended itself to analyzing the shit out of old TV shows. Maximoff was a difficult professor, but you weren’t looking for easy, especially in your graduate program. After a few years of working your ass off to make enough money, you’d wiped the floor with your bachelors and now you were vying for your masters, in your last few weeks of grad school. And you knew Professor Maximoff liked you, which didn’t make it so bad.

You knew other things about her too - for instance, there was no way she wasn’t a lesbian. Whenever you’d raise your hand her eyes would snap to you, and you swear her face would curl into a smile that was beyond professional. You’d catch her staring in your direction during exams on multiple occasions (to be fair you did the same when she wasn’t looking, but that’s besides the point), and you swear up and down that she winked at you during your midterm. She’d hold onto your hand a little too long when you turned in papers, and always offered ‘tutoring’ sessions which you humbly declined in the beginning of the semester, your grade being nigh perfect in her course. Between that, the short nails, tailored suits, and the rings- oh, so many rings- there was no way your professor wasn’t gay, and possibly had the hots for you. Your studies had been your priority over companionship for so long, And now, within a few weeks of your final, why not make a move?

Heist films had been the topic of last week’s lecture, and so nicking something small would be a good segway, right? You’d return it to her tomorrow after class, mention something flirty (perhaps about stealing her heart), and see where it went. If you were lucky, you’d have her number by the end of the course, and perhaps take the older woman to coffee after your final exam. You’d bring her to the movies, but that might turn into more of a lesson than a date.

As you’d pluck a pen from one of her desk drawers, you notice that it was slightly heavier than most. You clicked it once, then a second time- and nothing happened, so it went into your pockets. You’d move to exit the dim room, before a plaque caught your eye- her degree. It was neatly pressed into its frame: Wanda Maximoff, Masters of Arts in Film and Media Studies. You remembered her mentioning she was working on her doctorate, a proud grin sparking at that. Perhaps you’d get to know more about her dissertation and herself shortly. ------------------------------------------

Class went by faster than most, although it didn’t help that you were anxiously awaiting the end of Professor Maximoff’s lecture. She had worn a trim fitted sleeveless blouse and buttoned pants, both beautiful shades of burgundy. A myriad of gold rings decorating her hands as she’d motion with them through her talk. You’d have to keep your eyes off her fingers, nose deep in notebooks as you’d scramble to collect her words before your incoming final exam.

“And what is the significance of I Love Lucy’s laugh tracks?” Wanda would ponder aloud before your hand immediately shot up, the lone attempt out of your fifty or so classmates. She’d grin at you, “Yes, dear?”

You almost forget what you were about to say, holding onto the vestiges of it as you’d sputter, “Oh, uhm- yes, well, I Love Lucy didn’t have laugh tracks, mostly- they were the first sitcom to have a live studio audience.” Her eyes would crinkle with mirth, and you could tell immediately that you had the right answer. You tuned out her words as your mind would swim, thinking back to the weighted pen in your jeans pocket. The pet names were new, settling a joyous fuzz both in your mind and between your legs. It was things like this that had you on the back foot- this was your chance to get her back.

------------------------------------------

“And I’ll see you all in two days,” Wanda would return to her desk, sitting atop it rather than in the chair behind it. One of your classmates had asked why in an icebreaker towards the beginning of the semester, and if you remembered correctly she said ‘Just like the view from up here,’ or the like. If you’d been on the same track mind as now, you probably would have noticed how she stared at you during her spiel, a detail only discovered in hindsight. Now, you had all the pieces.

You pack up slowly, shimmying your belongings into your overly stuffed bag. Hanging back until there were few students left, you flag her gaze with a hand and an upturned smile, “Professor, I was wondering if I could..” Your words would halt in your throat, thoughts thickened and syrupy as she’d look down to you, head tilted a degree off kilter. Would it be embarrassing to admit you’d never been this close to her before? Her lips would be pursed, but would break into a wild grin, and you felt yourself melt right there. You weren’t a teen anymore goddamnit, focus- “Talk-” you’d squeak, clearing your throat hastily to camouflage the blunder, “Talk with you, after class. Professor.”

Her brows would raise, and you could almost see the cogs rotating in there. Her eyes would dart within the now-empty room, adjusting her position on the desk- and it’d become increasingly obvious (you can deny it no longer) that you were standing directly in between her slightly parted legs. This wasn’t how you were expecting it to go, but here you were. She’d start taking off her rings. “Of course, darling,” she’d tease again with a roughened lilt. Those damn pet names. “What do you need?”

“I think I have something of yours, Professor-” Your mouth would open a few seconds before you’d speak, and you swear she’d smirk at how she had you, devoid of any thought. Something about her had you smiling and kicking your feet, and boy did she know it. Without any further bravado, you’d pull out the pen, “I hate to say it, but I think you’ve stolen-”

“Oh,” She’d breathe, Wanda’s face tinting with a pinkish hue, yet her smile only grew larger. Her gaze would narrow, voice dripping with a sultry air that almost knocked you off balance, “I didn’t let you borrow that, did I?”

“No Professor,” you admit, beginning to launch into your story, before she’d shush you- shush you, words piling up into a lump in your throat.

“And do you know what it does, darling?” She asks, her tone a breathy whisper now. You swallow, shaking your head no. She fucking giggles. She takes the pen from your hand, clicking it three times, and it’d start to buzz. Oh, my god. It was a fucking vibrator.

“Too dumb to even recognize what this is? And I thought you were so smart..” She’d tease, a flush forming on your face in tandem with a shiver down your body. You open your mouth to speak, and yet her warm, calloused fingers would clasp your jaw shut. “Shhh, don’t want your pretty little head to even think, darling. How about Mommy show you how it works, hm?”

You’d nod immediately. She’d abandon the toy, clicking it off as her hands would slip beneath your shirt, and it felt like time had frozen. She was so soft, and your mind glazed over. Your breath hitched as she’d trail upward, palming your skin before running her fingers over your bare breasts. You’d watch as Wanda’s pupils would blow in seconds, a devious smile bubbling into view, “No bra?” She’d murmur lowly shaking her head as she’d start to knead your flesh, “Just couldn’t remember it, hm? My precious student, too busy thinking of me to get dressed, were you?” You nod again, a pitiful mewl escaping your throat.

“Yes- Yes, Professor..” You arch into her touch, although that bliss was short-lived as you feel her dig her hands further into your tits, sharper than you’d like. She’d tsk at your reply, and you look up to meet her eyes- oh, that was the wrong answer.

“Did you already forget my title, baby?” She’d ask almost tauntingly, her gaze sharpening as she’d shift her hands from your skin. You’d chase her warmth, dazed as your skin would flush and tremble, slotting yourself up against her. She’d run her thumb over your lips, crooning at your immediate submission. She could use that.

“It seems Mommy has a lot to teach you, dear..” Her touch would ghost across your exposed forearms, her feather-light touches only stuttering your breath further. “And I think you’re ready for your first lesson. Think you can handle that, darling? Keep your eyes on me,” Her hands would dig into your jeans, rougher against the hem’s fabric, “Think you can take this off for Mommy?”

“Please..” You beg, raising your hips to strip yourself bare, your glance trained on her. You don’t miss how her eyes darted down to your bare cunt, having slid off your panties too, or how she licked her lips at the sight of your slick. Her hands would hold your legs open, the cold lecture hall’s air chilling your exposed skin. Still staring at Wanda, you’d discard your shirt in the same breath, her jaw clenching as all of you felt the cool air. Feeling exposed, the urge to flee ebbed away some of your arousal. Were you really about to fuck your professor in her own classroom? Your focus was immediately drawn again as she’d capture your chin in her hand, pulling it harshly to meet her gaze. Her eyes were dilated, a thin sheen of sweat on her brow as she’d pant, both from your disobedience and your thighs rubbing against hers. “Look at me,” she’d hiss, taking your lips into a searing kiss. Your answer? Fuck. Yes.

Your cunt would grind against her leg as Wanda would pull your hips up and onto her thigh, grip bruising as your lips would crash together. You could smell her vanilla perfume as she’d tug at your bottom lip with her teeth, a familiar buzzing sound heard but not registered before you felt it on your clit. “Mommy- yes, Fuckin’ christ, there-” You’d keen, lurching back as Wanda’s hand would rest on your hip, keeping you from escaping her touch.

Wanda would groan at your words, voice a little breathier as her hips would stutter against yours, “There’s my good girl..” Teasingly, she’d circle your clit with the pen-shaped toy, gasping herself as she’d feel the aftershocks of its pulse on her clothed cunt. “Taking Mommy’s toy so well..such a sweet girl for your Professor-”

You’d rock your hips against her, the friction from her dress slacks and the vibrator’s pulse bringing you to the edge embarrassingly quick. Wanda wouldn’t notice your frenzied breathing or how you lost your rhythm, but she would hear your words; drawn between husky whines, “Mommy, please, I’m so close, fuck-” Your face would flush, legs beginning to tremble before the whole feeling was ripped away from you, Wanda’s grip leaving as the buzz would click off. With shaky breaths, your eyes would rise to meet hers- only to see a teasing grin. She’d pat your arms, gently coaxing you off of her thigh, the few sparks of friction from that not enough to bring you anywhere close to your release. You’d blink, thoughts thickened and reeling, brow furrowed ever so slightly for her- and Wanda loved it.

“You did so well for your first lesson, dear..” She’d croon, brushing herself off as she’d rise to her feet, leaving you on her cluttered desk. “But, Professor, I didn’t-” You’d begin and she’d silence you right there, hand rising to close your jaw shut again.

“And you won’t come unless you call me by my title, darling. You’ve received your correction for your first mistake- and for stealing from me,” You nodded slowly, absorbing her words as though they were molasses, and her smile only widened at how dazed she’d made you. “And if you disobey again when you’re with me, alone- then I’ll lower your grade by five points. Understand?”

If you were in any kind of fog before, you cleared it from your thoughts immediately. “Yes, very clear- uhm,” You pause, noticing the stain on her pant leg where your pussy had ground into the fabric, and you feel your face warm. Wanda would shift her stance and you’d look up- she leaned above you, a single brow raised. You’d swallow, keeping your eyes on her completely, “Yes, Mommy- I understand.”

“Good girl.” That was the right answer. She’d smile at you, her praise going straight to your cunt. Could she not have given you a few more seconds? Maybe you could’ve gotten off without her noticing. She’d interrupt your mind with a quick peck on the lips, and you felt your wits slow, swimming with thoughts of her mouth. Oh, that was why- couldn’t get away with anything if you didn’t think anything at all. Wanda’s grin would only intensify as she’d watch you dress, clothing rumpled from the haste it had been taken off. After a few minutes, you were back to prim and proper..besides your racing heart and flush whenever Wanda so much as moved. “This was great..” You’d murmur, pressing the wrinkles from your shirt, gaze flicking back up to Wanda’s- your professor still watching you with a smooth, secretive smirk.

“Of course it was, dear..but it’s still nice to hear you say that. Anything for my best student,” She’d wink at you and you’d fold, feeling your palms clam up. Since when were you this weak in the knees? She’d settle at her desk again, her hands clasped together on its wooden grain. You’d be taller than her now, with her sitting down- and yet there was an aura she commanded that you couldn’t outdo. You turn to leave without any further fanfare but her voice would seize you again, just as warm as her touch. “I’ll be expecting you after tomorrow’s classes, then? I think some…after-hours remedial work for my course would do you well.”

Were you really about to fuck your professor in her own classroom, again? You’d leave her hall with a bright smile, a reply, and a secret. Your answer? The same as before - Fuck. Yes.

And your secret?

You’d stolen the ‘pen’ again.

#bearrrwrites #minors dni #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda smut #dom!wanda #sub!reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #college au #one shot #smut fic #wlw ns/fw #god why was this so hard #once again #fuck it we ball

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saltoru · 9 months

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cw: talks of body image

whenever you critique and complain of your body, gojo always quips back with a lighthearted “then just give it to me”

the first time you had this conversation, you were both standing in your kitchen after breakfast. you were wiping down the countertops when you opened up to him about thoughts regarding your body image, adding in a few lighthearted jokes and comments along the way.

he took a swig of his sweetened coffee and eyed you up and down from the corner of his eye. "then just give it to me," he exhales, setting the cup down and giving you a small shrug. you stopped wiping and looked at him confused.

"if you're not going to appreciate all this," he dramatically waves his hands in front of you, "then give it to someone who will. i certainly will, so just hand it over anytime."

amused, yet still confused, you frown and say, "how is that even supposed to work-"

he cuts you off and says, "your body will still be with you, but starting now, i'll be in charge of taking care of it." he looks behind him and adds, "you know what, my body's feeling kinda thirsty."

you watch him fill up a glass of water, mouth slightly ajar from puzzlement.

he brings the glass up to your lips and lightly taps your chin. "here, drink up."

you glare at him with furrowed brows as you somewhat reluctantly take a sip of water. "wait, so-" you begin.

"from now on, i'll be in charge of caring for your body," satoru firmly says, bringing his hands to your shoulders to make you look at him. "so you can't make those mean comments anymore. it's not right to talk about other people's bodies, right? this one ain't yours anymore until you start appreciating it."

and with that, he places his hand on your back and ushers you to the bathroom because "my body's feeling a little dirty, needs a bath."

for the next couple days, you decide to entertain his little gimmick to see how far he takes it. within these days, he diligently scrubbed you clean, fed you good, frequently made you drink water, take you on walks, and decide your outfits. you heard a lot of "how's my body doing, feeling kinda sore?" and then he'd spend the next 15 minutes massaging an area you never said was sore. "my body's craving ice cream," he'd say, and get up to get you your favorite ice cream.

"why is your body's favorite ice cream also my favorite ice cream?" you ask him as he hands you the carton and a spoon.

"coincidence," he shrugs.

"i'm feeling blue today," he'd say as he would hold up your light blue pants next to you. "hmm maybe dark blue...no, definitely light blue, even though both looks so good"

one afternoon, he suddenly said, "my body would look so good in this," and brought out his favorite baby blue lingerie set that he got you on one of his business trips. (it wasn't on sale and there was no special occasion, he just felt like getting one for you) satoru quickly ushered you to room to put it on.

"why would you randomly put your body in lingerie at 2:35 in the afternoon," you ask, trying to sound annoyed but really, you can't help your heart from fluttering at his dedication to this

"because i look good and i can," he widely grins as he looks you up and down. "c'mere, i'm suddenly feeling cold and need to be warmed up." he pats his lap and opens his arms. you bite your lip to stop yourself from smiling too hard.

since the beginning of your relationship, he had always been touchy, but this level was touchiness from these couple of days is unprecedented. his hands always had a place on your body. it used to just be one hand on your thigh or just his chin resting of your shoulder, but lately, it's been both hands on your thighs and his chin resting of your shoulder while his hands ran up your shirt. "gotta show my body extra love," he'd say when you question him. "since the previous owner wasn't so good at doing so"

the first time this happened, it lasted around a week. you found his whole gimmick amusing until after a while, you wanted to choose your own outfits, when you wanted to exercise ("not if," he insisted before giving your body back to you. "when" ), and what to eat, and after a quick promise to appreciate your body, he gave you a quick kiss and "handed it back."

this gimmick hasn't happened in a while, but every once in a while when he hears you complain, he just shakes his head and motions for you to hand it to him.

#writing this kinda had me giggling #he's so sweet and fun #gojo x reader #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojo #gojo satoru x reader #gojo fluff #jjk x reader #jjk headcanons #jjk scenarios #gojo headcanons #gojo scenarios #just for fun #:)

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goldenlikedayl1ght · 6 months

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lover, you should've come over - m. schmidt

a/n: you guys should have seen this one coming! as always i appreciate any likes and reblogs and hope you enjoy :) warnings: suggestive themes, big angst, lots of talk about tattoos and pain and needles, mike having horrible anxiety and commitment issues, reader is mostly gender neutral except for one thing ! tattoo aftercare, hurt/comfort, kissing word count: 3.6k summary: you get a tattoo, and it terrifies mike. mostly because he realizes how much you love him. pairing: mike schmidt x gn!reader now playing: lover, you should've come over - jeff buckley "my body turns and yearns/for a sleep that won't ever come/it's never over/my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder."

Penny has done almost all of your tattoos, save for the stick and poke star you gave yourself while you were way too high to be handling that sort of equipment, and a few flash designs you’ve gotten for holidays. And usually, you keep it simple and easy, pitching a design idea and getting a finished stencil a few hours later.

But this time, you go into the shop a few months before you plan to get the tattoo and describe to her what you want. She’s shocked that you want a half sleeve—It’s a big step, she tells you, and it’ll mean sitting for a few hours while she does her work. It’ll be painful, and the design will take a few weeks to get made, because she wants to give you the best possible design.

She does good work. When you visit again in about three weeks, you put down a deposit and make an official date to get it done. October 9th.

You go home that night to your small, but warm home to find your boyfriend trying to make chicken parm. His goal all year has been to learn how to cook, not just to make things out of a box. You know a bit better how to cook, but you let him improve his skills, always providing helpful, gentle critiques.

Abby is worse at being gentle.

She’s brutal with her brother’s cooking, and even though Mike loves your gentle words, he appreciates Abby’s feedback, and just wants her to eat a full plate of food before bed each night.

Tonight, his food smells good. You mentioned about a month ago how you missed your mom’s chicken parm, and since then, he’s been reading and researching different recipes at work. Ever since he quit working at Freddy’s, he’s put down the book of dreams and has picked up cookbooks, working his way up slowly.

You tell him he’ll be making Thanksgiving Dinner in no time. You kiss his jaw when you say that, and later, he returns the favor by placing a kiss to your shoulder.

You go to him, standing in the kitchen, as he squints at the recipe book in front of him. He wears washed blue jeans, an old Foo Fighters tee shirt and a pair of blue fuzzy socks. A towel hangs over his shoulder as he mutters to himself, as he gets ready to put some garlic bread in the oven.

You’re still in your work clothes, though, it’s not as if you’re wearing anything fancy. Just a different pair of jeans, and a tee shirt with your shop’s logo on it. Your hair is messy, and you smell vaguely of dirt. The smell has become comforting to him in his time knowing you.

You step closer to him, a hand resting gently on his shoulder. He relaxes at your touch.

“Hey, Mike.” You say softly, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“Hey, how was your day?”

“Not too bad. The food smells pretty good.”

“You think so?” His voice is hopeful, especially since he’s trying to live up to your memories of the dish as a kid. It’s his way of thanking you for being so good to him while he’s gotten his shit together.

“Mhm. I’m gonna go wash up and have Abby help me set the table.” You tell him. You kiss his jaw quickly before heading off to the bathroom to scrub the dirt from beneath your fingernails. You wash your face and arms too and begin to realize how domestic this all is.

You never saw yourself having kids, and never thought of yourself dating someone who did.

And you still never think about having kids, but you did find yourself treating Abby as if she is your own. This has nothing to do with how much you adore her brother. Abby is just easy to love. You wonder if anyone’s ever told her that.

When your work boots find themselves at the end of your bed, you change into a muscle tee. You’re awfully fond of them. You find a pair of Mike’s fuzzy socks and slip them on too. You take a moment to stare at your shoulder in the mirror, imagining how it’ll look when ink covers it. Most of your tattoos are on your legs, and for a long time, this arm has been bare of any ink. You’ve been saving it for this project for years.

You go to Abby’s room and knock gently before entering. You find her painting at this aisle you got for her birthday. She’s been working on this painting for a few days now, and it’s turning out quite nice.

“Hey, Abs.” You say softly, and she puts her paintbrush down to give you this big, toothy grin. “Go wash up and help me set the table?” You ask.

“Sure.” She hums and starts to skip along to the bathroom, but you stop her at the door.

“And remember, even if Mike’s food is bad, what do we say?”

“Mm, this food is so good and not horrible at all!”

“Abby.”

She sighs.

“This is unlike anything you’ve made before, and I appreciate the effort?”

“That’s it.” You let her go wash up, and then go to set the table.

When Mike eventually serves dinner, you’re starved. You don’t care if it’s bad, or if it’s burnt, you know you’ll like it because you weren’t able to take a lunch break that day. But it genuinely looks good.

He cuts up Abby’s food and puts the plate in front of her before sitting down and looking to you two for a reaction. You take a bite, and you have to pause.

Did Mike really cook something not just edible, but… good?

Not fine, not decent, really good.

“Mike, this is—”

“Amazing!” Abby gasps, going in for another bite. His cheeks flush.

“You guys don’t have to pretend, it’s alright—”

“No, Mike, we’re not pretending, it’s really good!” You defend, going in for a second bite yourself. “Try it!”

He does, and he even looks shocked at the quality of the food he’s produced. And it sets the mood for the whole dinner, until you eventually blurt out,

“I booked a tattoo appointment for next week.”

“What are you getting?” Mike can’t ever admit this to you, but he adores your tattoos. He thinks the placement of them are all wonderful, even if they’re smaller. He likes to kiss them, to trace his fingers over them, to just admire them in the summer.

“It’s a surprise.” You tell him. Owning your own shop and being your own boss has its perks. You have no worries about people judging you for your half sleeve, deciding that you can just ban them from your shop.

Your conversation drifts off and you focus on other things. When you’re done, you and Mike begin to clean up with him, letting some of the pan soak in the sink. You sit on the counter, drying some of the plates as Mike rinses.

“Thank you for dinner.” You tell him.

“I’m glad you liked it.” Comfortable silence fills the room. “You’re really not gonna tell me what you’re getting?”

“I told you, it’s a surprise.” You smile softly. He dries his hand and steps between your legs. His hands land on either side of you, caging you in.

“Tease.” He mumbled, leaning forward, and kissing your shoulder. A hand goes to his hair, your fingers tangling in his locks.

“I’m not teasing, I’m just being a little secretive.” You tell him, playing with his hair. You’re a fan of the scruff he’s been growing out lately.

“Isn’t it gonna hurt?”

“Yeah, but I’ll take breaks and remember to eat.” You tell him. “This isn’t my first tattoo, Mike.”

“I know, baby.” He says softly, “I just get worried—”

“You get worried about me? And yet, when I’m worried about you, you ignore me but—” He cuts you off with a kiss, and your hands land on his jaw, the scruff tickling your face.

• • •

The ink swirls around your shoulder, a moth wrapping around your shoulder and reaching to the top of your arm. Vines wrap around the moth, as flowers bloom in different places. Your birth flower is one of them, as well as your mother’s. You also place Abby and Mike’s around the moth, maybe protecting it. Thorns poke out of some of the vines, and the ink covers your shoulder, and down to just above your elbow.

You got it done on a Saturday afternoon, leaving late enough so Mike could sleep in without having to deal with Abby, but being able to give them some time to relax together.

It takes a few hours, and by the end of it, you’re exhausted. As with all your other tattoos, you’re sore, but this is a new type of sore. You ache for Mike’s hands on you, to hold you and kiss your shoulders, even though he can’t kiss your left shoulder for a few days.

The second skin will remain on your arm for a day or two, and then you’ll have to go through the process of moisturizing your tattoo.

You have Penny take lots of photos of it before you head home, Mike and Abby both waiting in anticipation for you to come home and show them your new ink. You’re excited to show them, since there’s a connection to them in the art.

When you open the door, Abby runs to you and immediately starts to look for the ink in question. She gasps when she sees it, all wrapped up on your arm.

“It’s a moth,” You tell her, “With my favorite plants.” You crouch down to point out different plans in the works. “These are my mom’s birth flowers, they’re carnations.” You tell her, “Do you know what these are?” You point to another flower.

Abby shakes her head, resisting the urge to reach out and touch the fresh, raw flesh of the person she considers to be her caregiver.

“They’re lily of the valley flowers. They’re your birth flower.” You reach out and tuck hair behind her ear. Then, you point to the third flower. “And these? They’re honey suckles. They’re Mike’s birth flower.”

Mike watches your interaction, listening to your explanation of the tattoo. Suddenly, this anxiety pools in his chest. You’ve been living together for a few months, but somehow a symbol of him and Abby being engraved on your skin makes things all too real.

He could cry.

“Did you get the flowers because you’re a flower person?” You grin, knowing she doesn’t remember the title of your job.

“Botanist, you mean? Sort of, but you two mean a lot to me, and I wanted to tribute something to you guys.” You confess.

She grins and turns to look at Mike.

“I wanna be a tattoo artist when I’m older.” Mike is pale with anxiety.

He wants to tell you it looks good, that it’s brilliantly done, but he doesn’t find it in himself. He wants to run, to abandon this relationship at the door, to never speak to you again to avoid the fact that he wants you desperately and thinks he might marry you one day.

He walks off to the bathroom, and he’s unsure if it’s to throw up or to cry.

You’re disappointed, because you wanted him to like it desperately, since this tattoo is now on you forever, and you wanted it to be a tribute to him. It almost hurts you that he doesn’t love it. Or at least pretend to. Instead, his disdain is visible on his face, and you do your best to turn your attention back to Abby.

“Wanna help me make dinner?” You smile softly, and she nods.

“Did your tattoo hurt?” She acts gently.

“Yeah, but with a good artist it goes quickly, and they don’t aim to torture you.” You explain, as you begin to make mac and cheese.

As she sets the table, you turn back to her and ask, “Can you go get Mike for dinner?” She nods and skips along to your bedroom, where Mike sits on the bed, frustrated with himself.

“Mike?” She asks gently. “We’re making mac and cheese.”

“I’m not hungry.” He says softly, and Abby can just tell something isn’t right.

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t feel well..”

“Oh…” she suspects this is a lie.

“I’m sorry. Tell them I said sorry.” Tears prick Mike’s eyes. He’s unsure why he’s like this, and why he can’t just admire your tattoo and love you and tell you how much you mean to him. But he can’t. He gets the words out. He wants to love you so badly but something in him demands to not let him be happy.

He lays on the bed and tries to stay quiet as he cries.

• • •

Hours later, you sit at the table anxiously, your hands tapping on the wood, a cold bowl of Mac and Cheese on the table. You decide to get up to clean up dinner, and just as you do, soft steps creep out of the bedroom and into the kitchen area.

Mike stands and stares at the cold dinner that he feels bad for rejecting. He should just tell you what’s bothering him. Instead, his gaze turns and looks at you, doing the dishes.

“You didn’t have to make dinner.”

“You didn’t seem well, and Abby needed to eat.”

This comment sparks a much larger fire in Mike, and he isn’t sure why he’s angered by how much you care about his sister, his world.

“You aren’t her mom, you don’t have any reason to make her dinner or put her to bed—”

“Yeah, Mike, well, You’re not really her dad.” You glare. “I’ve taken care of her for months, fed her, made sure she’s taken care of, I’ve picked her up from school, and now suddenly, you’ve decided I have no right to just care about her? Fuck you, if you don’t love me anymore, then don’t take it out on your sister, talk to me like a god damn grown up and stop acting like a child.” You spit, angrily turning back around to keep doing your dishes so that Mike doesn’t see your red face or your tears.

With your back turned, he can see the moth on your shoulder blade, and he aches to trace the lines of your tattoos, kissing the skin around it. But cotton fills his mouth every time he tries to sew the gap between you two.

And your words strike him. He knows why you might think he doesn’t love you anymore, but he does. He loves you deeply and finds himself enamored with you, and yet he can’t even compliment this tattoo that you have obviously put a ton of time, effort and money into.

“I’m sorry—” You start, but he cuts you off.

“I think we should give each other some space.” The words hit you like a ton of brick, and you’re ready to get on your hands and knees and beg him, beg him to not leave, beg him to forgive you (for what, you don’t know), beg him to touch you, beg him to want you.

“What..?”

“I just think I need some space.” He said softly, leaning against the kitchen doorway. You want to ask if he’s hungry, to kiss away all the sadness in the worry lines of his face.

You nod, bite your tongue. He wants to hold you and tell you he doesn’t mean it.

“I’ll sleep on the couch.” You mumble, sighing softly. You also plan to leave early before Mike gets up.

Mike steps towards you, maybe to apologize. You step past him to go get pajamas from your dresser, not letting him grasp onto you. You don’t want him to apologize now. You want him to sit in his regret and you want to sit in your anger.

As you attempt to fall asleep that night, you pray Abby didn’t hear your conversation with him.

Both of you try to drift to sleep and salt streams from your eyes and into your ears.

• • •

A few days pass. Your tattoo starts to heal, and you take the second skin off your shoulder and arm and begin the process of aftercare.

You and Mike exchanged a total of about thirty words over the next few days. Abby noticed your angst towards each other and tried to get the two of you to make up. She figured that Mike was being an idiot, and just needed to apologize.

She was right, but he didn’t want to admit that to his kid sister.

It’s hell. You have to pretend that you don’t want to beg for his forgiveness, but you know that neither of you are blameless. Your pride tells you not to be the first one to cave. His anxiety tells him that you hate him.

When he gets home one afternoon from work, you’re napping in bed. He knows the couch isn’t that comfortable and he’s sure you’re home because you’d mentioned to Abby that you weren’t feeling well. You probably didn’t expect to still be asleep when he got home.

But you’re wearing one of his shirts. He kisses your head and leaves a glass of water and cold medicine on the nightstand, before going to make himself busy somewhere else, as if not to disrupt your rest.

He takes one last glance at you before he leaves.

One night, he comes home from work late. You take it as an opportunity to take a hot shower after putting Abby to bed and taking a few minutes to sit in the bedroom that you missed while sleeping on the couch.

Besides, your bones ached from that uncomfortable couch while you were spoiled, used to Mike’s warm bed.

You barely hear the front door open as you continue your nightly routine. You need to apply lotion to your tattoo, to keep it moisturized as it heals. But you find yourself struggling to reach your shoulder.

Mike watches you from the doorway of the bedroom, biting his lip. The bags around his eyes have grown darker since your fight.

He takes off his boots first, and then strips his top down to an undershirt, then takes off his jeans. If you weren’t so busy, you’d acknowledge how handsome he looked in just his boxers and a gray tee shirt.

The bed dips behind you, as he sits behind you. You stop what you’re doing.

“Give me the lotion.” He says softly, and with a sigh of defeat, maybe even a bit of relief, you hand him the lotion. He squirts some lotion on his hands, then begins to rub it into your skin. You shudder at the contact, and he feels tears in his eyes again. He missed you. “I’m sorry I didn’t say I liked your tattoo. I love it.”

“I’m sorry I said you didn’t love me, and I’m sorry I said you weren’t Abby’s dad.”

“But I’m not—”

“But you are her parent.”

“So are you.”

A silence fills the room.

“What happened on Saturday?”

“I got anxious when I saw Abby and I’s birth flowers on you. Like how much I loved you was just engraved in your skin, and I didn’t know what to do with it. I didn’t mean to push you away, I was just terrified. Terrified that you’re going to leave. Terrified that I won’t be able to protect you.” His voice cracks at the end, and he leans his head against your shoulder that isn’t inked.

Your head turns to kiss his head.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know..” he says softly, but a part of him doesn’t believe it. You and Abby, you’re the only ones who have stayed, the only ones he’s been able to save. He doesn’t know who he is without the two of you. “I’m sorry, I was such a dick.”

“Yeah, but so was I.” You tell him.

“I love your tattoo. I love all of your tattoos. All of them. I love kissing them. I’m desperate for this one to heal so I can kiss this shoulder again.”

“Thank you for helping me with it. It itches like a son of a bitch.” You tell him, a weak smile on your face. Tears stain your shirt.

“Can we go back to normal now? I’ve missed you.”

“I miss you so much.” You turn and wrap your arms around him, the warmth radiating from his body as he holds you close. You wonder if either of you will ever be able to let yourselves be loved.

You hope to let each other try.

You kiss him, salty tears mixing, as you hold him close. He’s careful of your tattoo, not wanting to scratch or hurt you. He’s gentle in a way that betrays him. He desires you in this way that transcends want or need, something that is vital, as if it were breathing.

Yet his hands remain respectful. Gentle. You’re the one that adjusts your position to be over him, as you gently push him back against the bed, kissing him deeper.

He decides he will marry you someday. That maybe the idea of being with you for the rest of his life isn’t scary.

Not when you kiss him like that.

#mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x you #movie!mike #five nights at freddy's #fnaf movie #five nights at freddy's movie #abby schmidt #abby schmidt platonic #mike schmidt angst #hurt/comfort #josh hutcherson

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stayinlimbo · 2 months

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the world is ending (but i'm happy you're here with me)

pairing: lee minho x f!reader genre: established relationship, fluff, hurt/comfort warnings: one (1) swear, mc is mentioned to have longer hair at one point, slightly unedited, lowercase intended word count: 1.07k note: i had a lot of fun writing this, so i hope you enjoy it too ♡

there comes a time in every girl’s life where the overwhelming urge to change her physical appearance eclipses all sensible and rational thought. as it turns out, you’re no exception.

“you’re going to laugh.”

“no i’m not.”

“you already are,” you deadpan, frowning at minho’s pitiful attempts to repress the growing smile quirking at his lips. your boyfriend has the audacity to chuckle at your words, pushing himself off the couch and gliding towards your stiff figure standing at the entrance of the living room.

“you can’t blame me, you look so cute and adorable right now,” he defends. an arm snakes around your shoulders and you relax slightly at his touch, wrapping your arms around his middle. “besides, it can’t be that bad—at least, not enough for you to have to hide from me.”

minho pulls you further into the warmth of his chest, the tender embrace sending a small shiver down your spine. his lips meet the side of your hooded head in a firm kiss, the extra pressure ensuring you would feel the loving gesture. the usual trail of kisses towards your forehead and cheeks is blocked, currently concealed by your (his) hoodie’s drawstrings working overtime to reveal only a small oval of skin.

the hood’s bunched fabric frames the top of your eyes and lips. you can barely see in front of you until one of minho’s fingers slips into the opening to try and take a peek at what’s covered inside.

minho is being nice; you look ridiculous.

and it’s your fault really. you should have known you couldn't escape your misfortunes that easily.

work for the past month has been hell: the road-closure of the usual route you’d take, tacking on an additional fifteen minutes to your commute. the early mornings you have to endure to clock-in on time. the “important” group project your boss delegated around the office. the unpaid overtime for said project. the same petty, passive-aggressive coworkers breathing down your neck and critiquing your every move because you made a mistake once—all casting insurmountable pressure on your already exhausted state.

you finally snapped when someone callously stole the lunch minho had prepared for you from the breakroom’s fridge.

you suppose now it was your brain’s attempt to regain some sort of control over the strenuous situation, but the impulse to cut your hair, try a new style, start fresh with your appearance bombarded every thought on the journey home. call it an impulsive thought, an intrusive thought, whatever—you needed to do something.

too bad the hair stylist couldn’t follow directions for shit.

“minho, i’m serious,” you whine, burying your face further into his chest. suffocating in the arms of the man you love doesn’t sound like such a bad idea right now. “she ruined my hair. how am i supposed to go out in public like this?”

“i can’t tell you if you haven’t even shown me yet. i’m sure it’s not as bad as you think,” he muses, chuckling at the vibrations tickling his torso from the muffled groan you release.

minho starts to sway the two of you back and forth at your silence. the rhythmic movement cradles you in a comforting hold, temporarily soothing your spiraling thoughts. he’s right; you’re going to have to show him at some point. might as well just get it over with now.

a defeated sigh escapes you. well, here goes nothing.

you step out of minho’s arms and pry the hood off to reveal your botched hair in all its glory.

uneven bangs, a completely different color than from when you left for work this morning, fall into your face and cover the top of your eyes. you can’t see yourself but judging from minho’s small hiss and surprised, contorted face, it’s not pretty.

and it’s not like you asked for anything outlandish: a standard cut and a new style of bangs was your definition of revamping your appearance. so when the stylist cut off a majority of your hair, it took everything within you to not immediately burst into tears as the salon’s floor and your lap splayed the once lengthy remains.

you don’t even know where she got the idea of bleaching your hair. now your wallet and soul are emptier than ever and there is nothing you can do except hope minho doesn’t ask you to turn around because the layers are downright atrocious.

“so? what do you think?” a wobbly smile makes its way onto your face. “not what you were expecting, right?”

you can’t help the tears welling into your eyes at his silence. he’s just…staring. certainly this can’t be the dealbreaker, right?

…right?

you’re saved from your inner turmoil when minho moves forward to carefully bring you back into his arms. the tears finally spill down your cheeks and onto his shirt, the comforting scent of minho flooding your senses once again. if you could hide here forever, you would.

“it’ll grow back.”

“i know.”

“you still look sexy.” he pinches your side, coaxing a watery laugh from you. his smile is infectious, and you can’t help but tearfully look up at him with one of your own.

you playfully guide one of his hands towards the back of your damaged hair, leaving it there. “so you’re not breaking up with me over this?” you tease, resting your head back against his chest. you don’t notice the subtle shift in your boyfriend’s gaze until he softly calls your name.

“i would love you even if you were bald,” he confesses quietly, squeezing you tighter to him.

you can’t help but snort into his chest. “yeah?”

“yeah. i will love you now until it’s long again. i will love you with any hair cut, color, style, anything. even if you hate it or one day regret it, my love for you won’t change,” minho assures, his sincerity echoing in his words.

“so if i dyed my hair pink tomorrow, you’d be okay with it?”

“do what you want, whenever you want.”

because it doesn’t matter to him what you do with your hair. you’re still you, his beautiful and resilient (and sexy) girlfriend. even as his hands run through the chopped, disproportionate strands on the back of your head, he finds you more and more enchanting with each passing day.

“i will be here for you. always.”

✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺

(“i still have to go to work.”

“just wear a hat.”)

────────────────────────────────────────────

liked this work? want to let me know how i did? please like, comment, and/or reblog; they are greatly appreciated my asks are always open ♡

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jojissalsa · 5 months

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Dangerous Game (part one)

you get a new job as a federal agent for the F.O.S, and now you're stuck dealing with the reckless D.S.O agent, Leon Kennedy.

Warnings: dom/older!Leon, sub!reader, slight age gap (reader is in late 20s, up to y'all), dirty thoughts, masturbation (f and m). this one is fairly tame. kinda.

WC: 2.8k

an: hey y'all!! i'm hoping to make this into a 3 parter, felt like my idea is a lil too big for just one fic, that's why this one is probably a tad more tame compared my previous stuff. as per usual, critique, reposts and requests are welcome! enjoy <3 (minors do not interact, go touch grass.)

Working for the Field Operations Support is fairly easy, you got a nice seat at the front desk as the receptionist, you’ve worked there for a good couple of years. Nothing crazy ever happened, and everyone respected you pretty well. Especially Hunnigan. Well, Ingrid to you, Hunnigan to your coworkers. You always respected her the most, always envious of her job. You initially applied for her job, but you could take being a receptionist. You could live vicariously through her, since she seemed to like you the most in and outside of work. Hunnigan was always so sweet, giving you a pleasant smile and a morning chat whenever she’d come in for work, bringing you lunch as you two got closer. That also opened the door to lots of girl talk, mainly about how stressful the job was sometimes. Hunnigan loved her job, truly, but it came with heavy challenges. A very heavy one would be Leon Kennedy, a D.S.O agent she’s worked with for a majority of her career.

You’ve heard some of the horror stories from her about the bioweapons, insidious cults and rich white guys that try to carry on Umbrella’s work but fail miserably every time. This time seemed a bit different though, more final for her. “Honestly, the guy is an idiot sometimes. Likable, but an idiot.” You snicker at how nice she’s being for how pissed she looks, angrily sipping her coffee from the breakroom. “I think you mean he’s a lovable dumbass, but I guess that works too.” You chuckle softly, stirring sugar into your own fresh cup of coffee. “Hey, I’m serious this time. I mean, come on, I’m getting older.” Hunnigan watches as you sit down across from her, a worried expression starting to take over your features. “You really think it’s time to call it quits?” “Maybe not quitting just yet, just maybe looking over a different agent. Spots are starting to open up y’know.” Your eyebrows shoot up at that, trying to hide your excitement as you look down to sip your coffee. “Well, maybe I can take your spot? I’m pretty confident, and I’ve done all the training.” She shares your new found excitement, reaching out to put her hand over yours. “I’ll pull some strings, okay? I think we both need a change of scenery.” Her sweet smile never fails to spread to you, you can trust her. She’s been your best friend, if you’re being honest, and you’re sure she shares the same sentiment.

It didn’t take long for those strings to be pulled, and soon you were standing in front of the President and a few other important men in nice suits, watching as you shake hands and smile awkwardly. Finally, you get a briefing on the infamous federal agent you would be helping. Leon Scott Kennedy. He’s got a good reputation with everyone in the room, saying that while he may have an “eccentric” personality, he’s a hard working man, compliments all coming from the President. You heard about it from Hunnigan and a few other agents that he saved his daughter from a deathly cult, and brought it all down in the same day. You could tell from his file that he clearly worked a lot, even if he didn’t get this job on his own violation. Sucks that he was forced into his life, but it’s good that he’s making it work. Seems like a good looking guy too, at least from the small picture of him clipped to the folder.

And now you’re waiting for that good looking guy to walk into your new office, setting down a few knick-knacks you had on your previous desk. You turn your head to the sound of someone walking in, your eyes widening as they set on the man who seemed to be searching for someone. Good looking was an understatement of the century. The way his blazer fits just right on his biceps, his light brown hair and piercing gaze that just speaks "brooding loner", if you weren't at work you'd have fallen to your knees the second he made eye contact with you. You try to reel in your awe as he walks up to you, dusting off your clothes to make you look put together. "So you're my new babysitter? Y/n, right? I'm Leon Kennedy." Just the sound of his voice is enough to give you goosebumps, but your name from his lips is like a drug that gets you hooked instantly. And just like that, something flips in your brain, you are so not gonna be professional, how can you? How can anyone handle themselves around this man? You shake his hand as he extends it for you, and the feel of his rough hand from hard work sends so many dirty thoughts through your mind, like how good it would feel with his fingers on your neck, or his palm pressed against your tit, or how thick his fingers would feel inside you- chill out, play it cool.

"It's great to finally meet you, Mr. Kennedy, everyone has told me a lot about you.." You make sure to say it in a sultry tone to make it obvious how much you think he's attractive, and he sure as hell catches it. "Good things, I hope." He chuckles, giving you a sly smirk. Oh he knows. Fuck. "Oh don't worry, it's been all good things, promise. Though, I have heard that you made Hunnigan’s job a lot harder." You tease, looking him up and down and matching his sly smirk. Two can play that game. "Sure, but I get the job done, no?" The way he says it is so damn sexy you're sure he's doing what you're doing. "I'm sure you get a lot of things done with that attitude, Mr. Kennedy." You act like you're being sarcastic as you cross your arms under your chest, but you know how he could make you cum with the brush of his arm. "Only one way to find out, right?" That one makes your eyebrows raise, your smile widening as you blush slightly. "Is that an invitation?" You drop your voice slightly, leaning against the wall. The curve of your body sends a shockwave of arousal through him, and his eyes narrow on your figure. "If that's what you think I meant then by all means." He's so damn smug and it just makes you wanna sit on his face to shut him up.

"Is there anything you wanna ask me? About myself, the job?" You try to sound professional and not desperate, but you feel like it's helpless when you're looking up at him and he's so obviously checking you out, his eyes taking note of every curve on your body. Like he’s studying it for later. "I think I have a pretty good idea from Hunnigan and the President, is there anything you wanna ask me?" His question makes your eyes light up, but you don't wanna immediately ask him on a date. Classy, that's who you are to your core. "I can ask you anything I want?" "Anything." You smile smugly, lowering your hand to take his, clearly inspecting his ring finger as you bring it closer to you. "Do you have a girl? I don't see a ring on your finger." You say it in an innocent yet flirty tone that he so obviously gets turned on from, considering how he chuckles lightly as he shakes his head before taking his hand away. "So observant. I guess that comes with the job, huh? No, I'm single." Always such a tease, I guess neither of you can help that though. "Really? I have a hard time believing that." You have a faux surprised look on your face, all in the name of trying to get him to blush. You're getting close, you can feel it. "Is it? I'm an old man, what can I say." That one gets you shifting your thighs, biting your lip as you think of just how much older. What kind of experience comes with that age? "Old man, hmm? You ever thought of being with someone younger?" You step a little closer, just barely invading his personal space. "Haven't met anybody that can keep up." He says it so nonchalant, but fuck if it doesn't light a fire that spreads throughout your body. God, it's so hard not to say you could totally keep up, doesn't matter how long he'd want it. "Keep up, hmm? What, does this job give you a lot of stamina or something?" Your question makes him smile at you confidently, and it gets you oh so excited. "Well, I meant that most women don't like that I'm constantly busy, but if you wanna be dirty minded about it, be my guest." He totally stumps you, and it just makes you giggle and rest your hand on his arm, letting out a lil “my bad” before letting it slip away. You're slick, cause you honestly just touched his arm to feel how firm it was, and oh my god. Like diamonds, kind of hard. You can't imagine how fucking good it’d feel wrapped around your neck- there you go again. Snap out of it.

“You're pretty funny, you know that? I’m gonna have fun talking to you. For work, of course.” He let out a soft laugh at your flattery, loving how you tried to soften the thirstiness of your words with a joke. It's cute, you're really trying to say he's not hot. “Trust me, Hunnigan got very tired of my jokes.” You scoff, cause honestly, who could get tired of this guy? “Sorry, but she doesn't know what she's talking about, clearly you're an A class comedian.” You make it sound a little sarcastic, but he doesn't seem offended in the slightest. He loves a challenge. “Yeah? Aren't you a sweetheart? You love to flatter.” Your eyes widen a bit, resisting the urge to squeal and fan your hot face like a rabid fangirl, simply looking away to try and take a moment away from his hungry gaze. “I mean, it's hard not to, Mr. Kennedy..” You sheepishly give him that win, you’ll take it since he called you sweetheart, and in that teasing, cocky fucking tone of all things. If Cupid was real, you’d probably have a million arrows in your back right now. He parts his lips to reply, but gets cut off by his phone ringing, taking it out of his pocket to see the President calling. “Shit, I gotta take this.” He sighs, clearly wanting to keep talking to you instead. “It’s just Leon by the way, no need for formalities.” You get a smug smile again before he starts to walk back to the door of your office, walking with him to let him leave so you could wave him goodbye. “I’ll see you around, okay?” You nod, your smirk not leaving as he waits for you to say goodbye. “I’ll see you around, Mr. Kennedy~” You and your teasing, it's gonna throw him into cardiac arrest. He shares your smugness before begrudgingly answering his phone, looking back to see you waving bye at him with your dainty little hand. Like you knew he didn't wanna end the conversation.

He couldn't stop thinking about you all damn day after your little exchange, could barely focus on his briefing or look anyone in the eye. Even when he got home, knowing he had to wake up supremely early for work, he couldn't get you off his mind. You weren’t like every corporate drone the D.S.O hires, nothing like Hunnigan either. Bless the woman, but he would finally have someone to laugh at his shitty dad jokes. No wonder you got the job. You were drop dead gorgeous to him, not daring to come close to any Victoria Secret model. The way you giggle when you're nervous, how you sneak touches or how forward you are. God, it took every fiber in his body to not grab you and fuck you in a storage closet. Or against the wall? He just towers over you, he could fold you like a lawn chair and you’d take every inch. Fuck, how did his cock get in his hand? Who cares, honestly. He’s too busy spitting in his hand, too worked up to get anything better to help him jerk off. He groans, thinking of how good your soft, delicate fingers you used to wave at him would feel wrapped around his dick, whispering in his ear in that sexy voice you have. He feels chills down his spine when he remembers the way you teased him, how you didn't even say his name. Cause you didn't wanna give it to him yet, that satisfaction. Jesus, you're gonna kill him before any bioweapon does if you keep that shit up. His hand gets faster as his thoughts keep speeding forward, thinking about how good you’d sound saying his name. Not Mr. Kennedy, Leon. He has to hear it, has to hear you scream it when you cum on his cock. He needs to know how pretty you’d look when you cum, clinging to his arms, maybe even digging your nails into his back as your legs lock around his waist. So fucking hot as you beg to have him fill you up. He cums in his hand, spilling out of his palm and down his happy trail. He lets out a heavy sigh, catching his breath as he comes down from his high. He's not even close to feeling satisfied, even as he gets up to go shower again. He needs you, and he knows you feel the same. Hard part is gonna be getting you, without all the stress of what your coworkers would say.

You honestly don't stray too far from how he felt that night either. The second you closed the door to your office, you sat down and processed everything. It was a lot, seeing a man that fucking fine and not being able to drop to your knees and take his cock in your mouth. You were close to sprinting to a bathroom and taking care of the issue, maybe even slipping a hand between your legs and just testing the waters. Literally. He made you so wet, and you could feel it your entire shift, even as you walked to your car. You could only imagine how wet you’d get if he actually did anything. If he talked dirty? Him telling you to cum would make you do it on the spot, no question. Fuck, if he touched you? You’d be screaming like a damn pornstar, waking up the whole building when he slides his cock inside you. It's all you can think about when you get home, not caring to take a shower when you do. You just plop down on your bed and practically tear your clothes off, desperate for relief. Maybe that’ll save your career, fucking yourself thinking about him. So you do, pulling your nightstand drawer open the second you’re naked, taking out ol’ reliable. You can't count on your hands how many times this vibrator was there for you, it was way more reliable than your parents or therapist. Or you could be addicted to cumming, that too. But who wouldn't be? It's not your concern, especially if it's because of Leon. You wanna hear him say the most degrading, defiling, depraved shit in the world but still praise you for it, praise you for putting out so easily cause you're such a good girl. If fucking him with no hesitation makes you a slut, then you wear that badge proudly. That title feels even better when you start moaning his name, your toy hitting that sweet spot which makes you move your hand faster, needing to cum so damn bad. It feels so dirty in the best way possible, thinking of how firm his thighs would feel under your hands as you grip them tighter every time he shoves his cock further down your throat. You can’t imagine how fucking hot it’d be to hear him order you to grind your wet cunt on his boot, holding your hair so hard that you can’t help but push your nose against his pelvis, making your clit nudge against his boot again. Hearing that cocky son of a bitch tell you to cum would be like the devil coaxing you to join him down in hell, too sinful to imagine without having the real thing. It doesn't stop you from cumming on your toy, whining as your legs shake, turning it off as you heave out breaths. You’re fine if you think about him every night, it's good material for your shower thoughts. You’re more excited for his upcoming mission, making you all giddy as you get ready for bed. You're gonna be insufferable. Lucky Leon~

#leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x fem reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon resident evil #resident evil smut #smut #older leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader smut #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy infinite darkness

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bobbile-blog · 4 months

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Not sure if anyone’s said this yet but now that we have Laterano events plural I’m fascinated by their (imo) very deliberate choice of protagonists, and there are almost a couple of layers of narrative going on there. I struggle a little figuring out how to get this into words but specifically I think they’re chosen to be people who can carry a narrative without contradicting the orthodox morals of the church. There’s a LOT of vaguely anti-authoritarian rambling below the cut so please kindly bear with me and my English major brain.

I can’t really start there though. One of the reasons this is so brain hurty is how deeply it’s woven into the storyline, so to start, I have to verbalize how Laterano and Arknights writing more generally is different from other, similar settings. Because like, I hear the words “morally negative church in a grimdark setting” and my brain immediately shuts off. Come on, that’s so far beyond low-hanging fruit, if you’ve seen any grimdark setting ever you know exactly what that looks like. And sure, it was fine the first two or three times you saw it, depending on your tolerance for that kinda thing, but it gets boring quick and even when it was new it was kinda uninteresting story-wise. “Religion is always fake because it inspires hope which means everyone who takes meaning from it is either a corrupt grifter or naive and misled” isn’t just edgy nonsense, it’s also basically useless as an actual critique. It tells you absolutely nothing except how to tune out a particular kind of story, and a story that tries to get you to hear less is doing its job wrong.

So, Arknights does something different. Instead of denying the premise of the church entirely, it actually takes it at its word. Laterano is, in almost every definition of the word, a paradise. It is basically unmatched in terms of actual quality of life, with its only competitors being the Durin cities and maybe Aegir, and is worlds apart from now much the rest of Terra sucks. More than that, though, the paradise is specifically tailored to the worldview of a religion with a strong central authority - when I say it takes it at its word, I mean the authoritarian bits too. Laterano is a city that lives in perfect order and peace because everyone follows the law perfectly and they all understand each other and never fight. Empathy is really important for this, as it allows for a believable amount of superhuman societal order. Laterano has very little crime, political drama, or quarrels in general. It’s the promises of a strict higher authority actually taken at face value: everyone follows the rules and that means they have effectively unfettered freedom, because they don’t want to break the rules and therefore they can do anything they want.

Laterano is specifically written to be a believable paradise in a setting that has none, so that when the story then turns around and criticizes that setting, it has significantly more weight. Even when the promises of paradise are taken at face value, there are still issues that cannot be addressed because the system is inherently flawed even in the imaginary scenario where it works. Even worse, the problems that poke holes in the imaginary perfect scenario are the same problems that they face in the real world, like “how do you deal with the interpretation of scriptures” and “hey there’s this racism thing I keep hearing about should we be worried about that or what”. Because of the way this imaginary perfect system works, we then look back on our real world in a new light and understand it a little better. It’s good critique.

Okay so how did we get here and what does this have to do with the protagonists? Well, this starts with Fiametta in Guide Ahead, because she’s a really weird protagonist. This is a cold take at this point but despite being the character on the front of the box, she has very little to actually do with the central conflict of the event. Most of the conflict is handled by Ezell first and Andoain second, and Fiametta mostly putters around putting holes in people until the finale where Andoain receives the answer he’s been looking for, he turns to explain it to the world, and he runs into the only person in the whole of Laterano who does not care about his motivations or his revelation. Her role, in other words, is to replace the climax of Andoain’s story with her own, and in doing so she makes it much harder to actually get a resolution and a meaning out of the story (this should not be taken as a criticism of her character, let me cook). Guide Ahead’s ending is hazy, with only small piecemeal resolutions to its conflicts, and for the longest time that was just the way the event was written and it stood on its own.

But now, Hortus de Escapismo is out and the monkey brain see patterns. Specifically, with the choice of protagonists. Because Executor is definitely different from Fiametta as a protagonist, but there’s one particularly important connection between the two, and that’s that as I mentioned in the beginning, they allow for stories don’t contradict orthodox morality. Fiametta we went over, as she’s uninterested in any of Andoain’s morality and just wants him dead. Executor, though, is purely focused on his mission and views the world through that lens. He only wants to achieve his objective, and while helping the needy is in line with the stated objectives of the church and he does do so when able, it’s secondary to his assigned task. He does change as he gets further into the story, and we’re not gonna ignore that, but we’ll be back to it later. What I mean is more that he is designed as a person who is able to lead a story that doesn’t contradict with the morals of Laterano. He sees the injustice and suffering around him, but that’s not his job, so he doesn’t need to solve it to have a complete story with a happy ending.

This is where it really gets complicated, so I apologize if I don’t explain this very well. I see this as us dealing with multiple layers of fiction: the events of the story, the perspective of the church, and our perspective as readers. Back to the first point - authoritarian institutions almost always use stories to sell people on their brand of order. Simple stories, simple enough that even calling them myths seems like overselling it a little, your “Saint George slays a dragon” kinda thing. This is the point of the second layer, the perspective of the church. I don’t really have an in-world justification for this layer - maybe you could make the argument that it has to do with Law’s perspective on things, but I don’t totally buy that - I think it’s more in a weird narrative transition space for people who don’t read very carefully. Regardless, Fiametta and Executor’s shared indifference to the questionable circumstances surrounding them is designed to let them tell a story to prop up the existing order. Their protagonist status and their missions are specifically constructed to allow them to ignore the suffering around them, and as such ignore the larger questions that might poke holes in the larger order. They’re both playing out the story of Saint George, where they go and find a bad guy and kill them and that’s all there is to it. The story is designed and told specifically for that “that’s all there is to it”.

But, as we said earlier, this is a good critique, and as such it intentionally undercuts this story with the third layer: what we actually see as readers. We are shown the suffering and the injustice, and then get to see our protagonists ignoring that to pursue their goals. This is what gives Guide Ahead’s ending its unique texture, which sets it apart from every other event with a vaguely unresolved ending. We have seen the actual issues with Laterano, and also watched our protagonist explicitly ignore them in favor of her own story. It’s unsatisfying in a way that only really makes sense to me if we as the readers have an understanding of intentional authorship. Whether it be Yvangelista XI or Law or The Actual Real Life Pope, there are issues here that we want to see a resolution to but people are choosing not to address them. Again, it’s good critique. Not only does it push the reader to unpack and understand the actual real-world technique, but it also helps blunt it. You have just seen a plot and protagonist ring uncharacteristically hollow. You then look around to see why that is, and you realize there are many things that should have been resolved that weren’t. The next time you see a story resolve with that same hollow-ness, you know where to look. Surprise! Harry Potter was propaganda the whole time. It’s okay, it was never good, you were just twelve.

I guess the last thing is where we go from here, because Executor’s story breaks this mold somewhat. In Hortus de Escapismo, he has to deal with a mission that isn’t actually bounded by his normal rules, and because of that he actually does have leeway to help the people around him. He starts as someone who is totally mission-focused, but by the end of the event he’s done a total 180 and is blocking Oren’s attack, which makes the mission harder but helps the non-mission-critical civilians of the monastery. He breaks from the rigid thinking of “kill the bad guy and that’s all there is do it”, and gives his attention to the people he isn’t supposed to see. I think this is an indication of the direction we’re going to be headed in the future with Laterano events. The events aren’t going to get better - they’re going to keep being just as morally murky and complicated as in the past - but the characters are going to get better at handling it, and when they do, they’re going to actually start to change things for the better.

Goddamn that was a lot of writing for 1 AM. I still have a. Lot of thoughts on this event with stuff like empathy and Lemuen and Federico being an autistic icon(my beloved) but I’m going to leave things there, I think, because if I write for any longer my phone is going to crash when I try to post this. Anyway if you actually made it to the end thanks for listening to me rambling and I hope that made sense. Cheers.

#arknights #arknights thoughts #hortus de escapismo #laterano #fiametta #executor arknights #I deadass had to ask folks to proofread this one #to make sure I didn’t sound like I didn’t sound off my rocker #also don’t mind my random Harry Potter slander that’s an entirely different rant

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aphroditesmoon · 10 months

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umm, you’re taking Gwen x reader? I have a request. Black cat reader who was best friends with Gwen and Peter but is the rival of Spider woman. Something or another happens and their identity’s get revealed

love it if we made it

gwen stacy x blackcat!reader (gn)

warnings: cursing, tiny angst, gwen's peter is alive here, reader has hair long enough to tie them (only description)

a/n: i rlly hope u like this!

°°°°°

A robbery happened on a Tuesday, 6th July 3AM sharp. A robbery in a golden jewelry store. A minute after that, the Pandora store next to it.

No one cared about the robbery, of course. People were too busy talking about the anonymous donation worth more than 15000 the next day to three different centres in need of them.

Gwen Stacy's mind however, is still stuck at a particular difficult nemesis, the black cat. She's never failed to capture a villain like this, never took this long. But again and again, with time, the annoyingly quick and sneaky cat escapes from her grasps.

It was probably obvious that she wasn't too enthralled by any of the breaking news today, all of them critiquing the infamous Spider-Woman for being unable to get her webs on the villain. Her mind was so full and blurry with different kinds of thoughts that she didn't notice her own best friend walking into class and waving at her.

You took your spot next to Gwen, creaking your chair loudly to get her attention. When she finally flinches out of hee daydream and looks at you, she's met with a knowing smile. "Sleeping? Its not even the first period yet." She shook her head and forced a smile out. "No, just dreading AP maths." You laughed at that. Gwen was good at maths, and all the stupid numbers and figures that came with it, that couldn't have been the reason.

"Well, whatever it is, I need you took a little alive for this gift im about to-" "Gift?" Her eyes brighten up immediately. You grinned at her and pulled out the small paperbag, waving it in front of her.

Gwen, impatient she is, snatches it from you and gets to opening its ribbons open. "It's not even my birthday." She mumbles. "Good, now you can't ask me for anything on your birthday." You settled it, earning a mischievous smirk from her. She knows, you would've given her anything if she'd only asked.

You revel in her suprised expression as she pulls out the golden bracelet, it was a waving design, two long whirling gold around in a circle, with a small blue diamond placed in the middle. "You are insane." She says, glaring your way. "What? Can't treat my girl?" The both if you turn slightly pink with those words. You should've just said your welcome. "The blue reminded me of you. A centerpiece around all the golden whirly shit." She lets out a small laugh, shaking her head. "I love it, thank you." You replied with a nod and your same small smile.

"This must've costed you a lot though, couldn't you have bought me a two dollars friendship bracelet." She joked while putting the gift on her right wrist. "Oh don't worry, I stole it." You say with your usual tone.

Gwen almost backtracked when you said that, before hitting herself awake in her mind, forcing herself to leave the Spider-Woman alter ego aside for today.

You were making a joke because you didn't want her to feel bad, you always did. So she rolled her eyes before repacking the box and the paperbag to put them under her table. "You'd be a shit thief." She concluded. You furrow your brows. "Well then, at least I'd get to see Spider-Woman." You teased while wiggling your brows.

"I wonder how many people became really bad burglars and thieves just to get her autograph." The last of your sentence became muffled ariund the sounds of other students as your teacher finally arrive, but gwen who heard it all to well only smiled at the thought.

▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎

School finished two hours ago, and neither of you saw or heard from Peter the whole day. He was probably at the lab again, as he always was so you didn't really bother. Gwen, on the other hand, wouldn't stop trying to get him to answer his phone.

She's pacing around the room with her phone speaker on while you're laying on her bed, messing with her giant flower shaped plushie while she loses her mind. "Maybe he left his phone at home." You reasoned. Gwen shool her head and kept trying. "He always lose his damn phone."

You frowned at her and decided you were done waiting. "Gwen, its over 10pm, I need to get back home, my dad will be worried." You say before getting up and taking your jacket from her coat hanger. "When has your dad ever even noticed if you're gone." She snaps, phone thrown on her bed in frustration.

Your eyes widen at the words and you scoff at her. She opened her mouth to apologize, immediately getting cut off. "Look, I don't know what spider has crawled up your ass these days, but we both know Peter's always disappearing these days, he's probably fine, and I'm going home since you're so worried over your friend that isn't in front of you." You ended the conversating as soon as it started, not giving her a chance to respond, you left her room, banging the door.

Your house was a few blocks away from Gwen's. When you're sure no one's around, you climb up quickly inti your room by the window, hands fast, some help from your claws. Tossing your backpack onto your bed, you changed into your suit without wasting time.

Gwen was right about something, your dad has long since noticed if you ever even came home these days. You jumped back out of your window, swinging upwards onto the roof instead of the streets.

You hopped from building to building, taking your time while enjoying the view. The lights. They were beautiful tonight, accompanied by the bright moon, staring down from above. Even the neon signs of Joe's Pizza seemed pleasant to look at in times like this. You wished you could've shared these kind of moments with Gwen, but you didn't want to think of her now.

You find a spot above a tall empty building, where the ciry lights seemed clearer, and the smell of trash and dog piss was further away. Pulling your hair up in a bun, you tied it over twice, fixing it so you'll be able to see better without your hair always on your face.

And what a fate, as you're tilting your head down whilst your hands fixes the hairtie, a robbery happens right in front of your eyes.

Your heart skipped a beat at the crime, until you remembered you were also a criminal of a sort. This was interesting to see. A crime done by someone other than the Black Cat, finally.

The pleasure was shortlasting though, when you had realized who was getting robbed. It was Peter. The masked man pulled out his gun, aiming it to Peter's face when he tried to run. "Run, and I'll shoot." His voice a mumble from below.

You move to stand up, backing away from any visibility, tiptoeing until you've reached the end of the building and hopped off, landing on your feet.

When you walked over the building to stand behind the robber, Peter's eyes involuntary widen, as if a warning towards another civillian. But you weren't a civilian, and when he takes in tbe suit and the masks, he realized who you were.

The robber gets annoyed when his eyes weren't on him anymore. "What the hell are y-" he spuns around towards you, receiving a kick to his stomach, making him fall on his back on the blow. You smiled at the victory watching Peter look between you and the fallen robber in confusion.

It seemed your victory didn't last long when a sling if webs shot againts your face.

You wretched the sticky web out of your face, growling in disgust. "Robbing an innocent citizen? That's low, even for you kitty." The annoying voice spoke. Once you manage tu cut the webs off fully with your claws. Regaining your vision, you sneer at the ghost-spider, standing in front of Peter, who's finding protection behind her. "Is being blind apart of being spider-woman? I didn't rob him, I saved him." The hero's eyes squint along with her mask. "You? Saving people?"

Your eyes actually widen in offense before looking towards Peter. "Tell her doofus! I literally kicked him for you."

Gwen swings her head back at him and he stutters in panic. "Wh-I mean, yeah, she did, technically...kick him." You fold your eyes and glare at her as she turns back at you. "See?" The two of you lock eyes for a minute long before she finally speak. "Peter Parker-" She calls him.

Both you and Peter frown at the name dropping . "-go home. I'll deal with her." The boy doesn't hesitate, turning his back and running way.

You snorted at her words. Always a show off. "You'll deal with me? How?" She tilts her head. "Like this." When you saw herbhand moving up, you move faster than her, snatching up her wrists in a tight grip as you push her againts the wall. "I might not have any venom on me, but try that again spidey, and I'll make you'll feel these claws for days." You see her physically wince at the words.

"You think just because you saved one man, that erases the 166 crimes you've done?" She asks sarcastically. You pout and pretends to think. "I think, I really don't give a fuck, but its nice of you to remember all of my crimes, definitely not weird and obsessive or anything."

She tries to speak again but you shush her when your eyes bore into the bracelet on her wrist. Firstly, who is stupid enough to wear their jewelry outside of their suit? Its like they're begging to be robbed. Secondly; "Where did you get that bracelet?"

Your nemesis lets out a 'huh?' You repeat yourself, sterner. "I bought it?" You scoff. "You couldn't have bought something I've robbed." She seems annoyed by your questions. Being accused of stealing by a thief is pretty hurtful. "I could've brought it before you robbed it, you know."

You hummed thoughtfully at her words before you spoke. "You could've, or-" Your grip on her loosens, "-We're both just really, really, stupid." Gwen cocks her head in confusion. "What the hell are y-" realization hit her then. "Oh my god, no."

"No? Are you sure, Gwen stacy?" She winced at the mention of her name. Her hands move towards your mask. "How did I never..." Her words trails off a second before loud voices of people coming your way was heard. You pull her back swiftly into an alley, putting yourself between her and the open space.

The both of you lean yourselves againts the wall, you feel her fingers slowly slips into yours and holds back a tired sigh.

Once the group of kids has passed the alley, you finally relaxed. Her hands try to pull aw

ay but you curl your own fists around it.

She spins you back to her and her free hand moves to graze over your mask. "I didn't want you or Peter to be involved like this." She murmed. Your own hand slids around her waste as you lean closer. "I don't think it's up to you, Gwen." She huffs. "You know what I mean." You say nothing, eye staring down at your intertwined fingers.

"Are you still going to get me arrested, spidey?" You could feel her glare from inside the mask. "What? Because I'm your friend, it all changes now?" You honestly ask. "Because I love you, and I know you and your heart, is why it's all different now. You're not who I thought you were, you can't be, the Black Cat I've thought of before was evil in my head, evil and cruel."

You say nothing, waiting for her to continue. "You're not evil, and you're not cruel." You raised a brow. "Then, what am I?" She's hesitates. "You're, with me. And I'm not going to let them take you, not anymore, whoever your secret identity is." Your mouth remains shut at that.

All the bad jokes and sarcastic comments dies on your throat. But your stubornnes always wins, "You didn't really seem to care much about me this evening."

Gwen groans loudly. "Come on, we'll go back to my place, I won't even look at the ground on the way home to shown you how much I'm paying attention to you now." You snort, a smile escaping you despite your efforts to remain upset at her.

#gwen stacy x reader #gwen stacy #ghost spider x reader #ghost spider #atsv #atsv x reader #across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #hobie brown x reader #miles morales x reader #pavitr prabhakar x reader #miguel o'hara x reader

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rainesntears · 2 years

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Papyrus And Selective Personalities: Every Example Of It So Far

An often overlooked character trait of Papyrus is selective personalities. What are selective personalities?

By selective personalities I essentially mean that Papyrus changes the way he acts around certain people, specifically his brother.

Now why this is could be lots of different reasons, however im not interested in discussing the specific intricacies of why he does it, but rather when he does it. So without further a do, i present to you, every example of Papyrus and his selective personalities!

What They’re Going To Do To Us

When with Sans Papyrus says that he doesn’t know whats going to happen after we’re captured.

However despite this when he’s away from Sans he shows a clear understanding of what will happen to us.

Ice Cream Or Snow?

During one of the phone calls in which both Papyrus and Sans are present Papyrus seems to confuse ice cream and snow.

When Papyrus is by himself though he shows to be perfectly capable of knowing what snow is.

Papyrus also is shown to know about ice-cream and considers it separate from snow.

Hotland Emotional Aura, Is It Negative Or Positive?

Papyrus claims to love Hotland in regards to MTT.

This doesn’t add up though, as he directly states later on that he dislikes Hotland.

That Giant Ball

At first glance it seems as if Papyrus doesn’t know what the sun is as he doesn’t seem to recognize it when with the gang.

However when alone he shows a pretty clear understanding of the sun and wind.

This doesn’t seem to just be Papyrus knowing about the sun but not what it looks like either, since he knows that it shines on your skin, and he also knows about the moon, which no other monsters really comment on.

Has His Bro REALLY Never Seen A Human?

Sans claims that Papyrus has never met a human, this is also backed up by Papyrus not recognizing Frisk as one when meeting them with Sans.

Despite this Papyrus clearly understands human anatomy and culture.

His knowledge of the surface world (seen in the previous entry) further support the idea that he knows about humans as well.

Labradory...?

When calling Papyrus (while Sans is present) in front of Alphys’ lab you’ll get some dialogue that suggests that Papyrus doesn’t know what a lab is.

After Sans leaves though you are able to get this dialogue inside the lab.

Papyrus clearly knows what a lab is here, as he mentions it by name and knows it involves science.

Puzzles

When dealing with Sans and Papyrus’ japes Papyrus treats his puzzles as if they’re the best around.

When his brother isn’t around he shows a strong sense of self-awareness in this regard though. He calls his own previous puzzles “awful”.

We know he means this too since he has a book on “advanced puzzle construction for critical minds” and critiques and offers professional advice on everyone else’s puzzles through out the game.

Grease Hell

Normally Papyrus rants about his dislike for Grillby’s.

However there’s an exception, Undyne will begin to state her fondness for the place, and Papyrus lies and goes along with it.

Papyrus, What’s Your Favorite Food?

During the Undertale Q&A when with Sans Papyrus claims that he doesn’t know his own favorite food.

This seems to be something he clearly shares with his close friends though as Flowey (his best friend) not only knows this but wonders why “no one else knows the answer to this stupid question”.

Off On A Vacation...

During the King Papyrus ending Papyrus and Sans will talk to you about how the underground has been. With Sans present Papyrus claims that they’re all just on vacation.

However when alone he specifically asks us not to tell Sans what he’s about to say.

He then goes on to express remorse over the death of his beloved friends.

Going On A Vacation

Papyrus and Undyne talk about going on a vacation together.

However Papyrus pretty instanly switches up afterwards and says that he would never go on a vacation for any reason.

Fl..who..ry?

Papyrus and Undyne talk about Papyrus’ “flower friend” and when asked about him Papyrus says this.

However he clearly hesitates and lies here. He confirms this afterwards too.

We know Papyrus knows Floweys name too because he started the “Flowey Fan Club”.

Closing Thoughts

This post wasn’t necessarily meant to be an in-depth analyzation like my previous one (and future ones in the works) it’s more so supposed to list and acknowledge the existence of Papyrus and his lying/selective personalities as I often bring it up with people not really knowing what I’m talking about. It’s unfortunate that this side of Papyrus isnt explored however, as it’s a very interesting trait and one that deserves more analyzing. I hope that the main take away from this post is that Papyrus is one of, if not, the most in-depth character in Undertale, and I beg you to PLEASE not water him down or prevent yourself from looking into his lore. With that said, always remember, Papyrus knows.

#canon papyrus #papyrus #deltarune #deltarune theory #undertale

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gavisuntiedboot · 1 year

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Blue raspberry (Gavi x Reader)

28 day writing prompt challenge - prompts are here

Day 11: Late night McDonald's run

Warning: mentions/ alluding to eating disorders! Mentions of being scared to eat certain foods! If you're not comfortable please don't read!

"Pablo, I'm here, but they won't let me come into the parking lot because they don't recognize my car, so you're going to need to come up to."

"I'm walking up to you right now. Pull over to the side."

You moved your car from in front of the barrier to wait as close as possible on the side of the road. Despite the fact that it was 9:15pm, there were still about a dozen fans waiting to see the players emerge, hoping to get photos and autographs. You saw Gavi's hooded figure emerge, and he looked for your car. You flashed your lights to notify him where you were, but you notified the fans as well. They ran over and swarmed him, making it almost impossible to get to you. He took a few pictures and signed a few shirts before security intervened, separating him from his loyal supporters.

He got into your car and threw his backpack over his shoulder into the back seat, sighing and sinking into the seat. There was a path for you drive between the fans, and so you left Camp Nou and the flashes of iPhones behind you.

"Great. Now my Ford is going to be all over Twitter. People will want to get pictures with Gavi's chauffer. I'll never have a moment of peace."

He let out a tired laugh and pulled his hood down, finally relaxing as you hit the road.

"First of all, you already stick out for driving this obnoxiously American car in the middle of Spain. And second, why didn't you just tell security you were here to pick me up?"

"Gavi, can you imagine if security just let random girls in if they said they were there to see you? You would have been kidnapped a long time ago."

You rarely ever picked up Gavi. Your relationship was still relatively new, and he didn't want you to be hounded by the press and by people on social media making unfounded and nasty comments. Plus, he usually had a ride. He often arrived and left with Pedri, who was all too happy to have some company on his way to work in the mornings. If not Pedri, then another member of the squad (or even a member of staff) was always happy to make sure he got to and from practice safely (and didn't get snatched by a random fan).

But today, he was just in the worst mindset. It was freezing in Barcelona, and he hated to practice in the cold. As usual, he was slipping and sliding around the field, even more than usual due to the rain of the previous night. He was cold and wet, and he was being constantly critiqued by the coaching staff because he was just not in top form today. To make matters worse, he was starving. He had been following Robert's "healthy diet" advice, but sometimes he got so fixated on not eating the wrong thing that he just forgot to eat altogether. He had finished some weight training and was ready to hit the shower and go home when he got the news from Pedri.

"The Adidas reps are coming over to get me fitted for some new boots. I wont be leaving until 10:30."

Gavi almost cried at the news that he was going to be held at the Camp so late. He was exhausted. He was cold. He wanted to see his girlfriend. And so he swallowed his pride and called you, asking you to rev up the gas-guzzler and pick him up, even if it meant being photographed together.

"Mi corazón, are you okay? You're giving off more distressed vibes than usual."

"Honestly, I don't know," he replied, turning to look at you. "I've just been feeling drained and down. Everything is irritating me and I just want to sit in bed and do nothing."

A moment of silence passed. You didn't know what to say. You understood how Pablo felt: it was hard living up to so much pressure and expectations, and even if it wasn't full-blown depression, it was enough to make you worried. You didn't want these feelings to start interfering with his day-to-day, because you knew that would just make him feel worse. You weren't a therapist, but you wanted to do whatever you could to provide him with a little bit of comfort.

"... do you want to go to McDonald's?"

"What?" He said, looking over at you with his eyebrows stitched together in confusion, like you had asked the question in a different language.

"Well I mean when I've had a shit day I usually find myself in the McDonald's drive-thru. Nothing makes me feel as good as a 9-piece nugget meal and an Oreo McFlurry. But if you just want to go home I can just take you home."

"I... don't even remember the last time I went to McDonald's."

"Are you being serious?"

"Yeah. I eat a lot at the club and have my macros tracked by the nutritionists there. And then usually I'm with the boys and Eric or someone else cooks. And I don't have a car, so it prevents me from coming here for a McChicken whenever I want."

You drove for a few more minutes before turning into the drive through.

"Welcome to McDonald's what can I get for you?"

You placed your order, going a little overboard and getting everything that looked somewhat appealing. You turned to Gavi.

"What do you want?"

"All that food was for you?!"

"Quickly."

"Um... maybe I just get a small fries. I don't want to ruin all the work I've done by pigging out."

You looked at Gavi with wide eyes. It was dawning on you how much he was actually worried about his eating habits for fear of being ridiculed by the club.

"For him can I get a large McChicken meal with a blue raspberry slushie and- M&Ms or Oreo?"

"What?"

"Hurry up Pablo or we'll be here all night. M&Ms or Oreo?"

"But I- fine. Oreo."

"And an Oreo McFlurry. That's all"

You left the speaker, waiting in line to pay, and you looked over at Pablo, whos cheeks were bright red. He was looking directly in front of him, avoiding eye contact with you.

"What's wrong Pablito? You just said you liked McChickens."

"I do amor, that's not the problem." He said, looking at you. You took his hand in yours and laced your fingers together.

"It's just been a long time since I let myself eat this kind of stuff. And I mean I know that one time will be fine but I just... I don't know how to not feel guilty for having fried food for the first time in like a year."

You brought his hand up to your lips and kissed it gently, rubbing the back of it with your thumb.

"Pablo, you guys just won the Spanish Supercup less than a month ago - and you were in top form might I add. I know it's hard to let yourself have simple pleasures, but you deserve to have things that make you happy every now and then. And plus, this meal is probably better for you than two beers."

He smiled widely, leaning over to give you a gentle kiss. You reciprocated, enjoying the feeling of his soft lips against yours until the car behind you honked, causing you both to swiftly pull away.

You moved to the window, pulling out your wallet to pay.

"Corazón, you don't have to pay for the food. I can get it."

"Oh my God Pablo Gavi?"

He had forgotten to pull his hood up, and now the man at the window looked ready to faint. Pablo panicked. He did not want to be photographed in this moment.

"Why don't you get something for him to sign for you?" You asked sweetly, and Gavi squeezed your arm, greatful for your quick thinking. The employee ran off to find something for Gavi to sign.

"I think my card fell in my bag. Pablito, can you open up my McDonald's app on my phone so I can get the reward points?"

The employee returned, hands shaking as he handed you a shirt and a Sharpie for Gavi. The app lit up Gavi's face and just before he gave you the phone, his eyes got wide.

"Bebe, why do you have 7,000 McDonald's points."

".... I'm sad often. Hurry up and sign the shirt."

You got your food and drove back to Pablo's house.

"It's your obligation as a passenger to eat fries out of the bag while they are hot, and occasionally feed some to me." You said playfully. He smirked at you, grabbing some fries and taking a bite.

"Fuck."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just forgot how good fat and salt are."

At Pablo's house, he tried to set the food on the table, but you stopped him, grabbing the bag and skipping over to the couch. You set the food out on the coffee table and dimmed the lights.

"Why do the lights have to be off for us to eat?" Pablo asked, sitting on the couch and putting one arm around you, pulling you close.

"Because it's more freeing. Don't look and hyper-analyze what you're eating, Pablo. Just eat until you're full."

You unwrapped the burger and handed it to Pablo, following quickly with your own food. You put on an episode of your favorite show, and you two just sat and ate and cuddled. After 5 or 6 episodes, the food was cleared, and you and Pablo had situated yourselves on the couch. He was laying in your arms, and you alternated between eating ice cream yourself and feeding him spoonfuls.

"Bebe, I have a question?"

"Yes mi amor?"

"How did you know I was going to like blue raspberry?"

"Because you have the taste buds of a 5 year old, just like me. Why? Did you like it?"

"I loved it. I'm going to go and buy myself one every time I score a goal."

"Can I get in on this deal? I also like slushies."

"Of course mi corazón. How else am I going to get to the McDonald's? You'll be driving."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Hey y'all! Hope you enjoyed this one. Inspired by my own late night McDonald's run (which actually tragically ended w me spilling half the food on the floor). If you haven't had a blue raspberry slushie from McDonald's (and it's available where you are) go get one. I have met so many athletes who have this mentality around fast food, and so I wanted to give a little bit of a different perspective. Anyways, I've really been enjoying this prompt challenge. I hope you are too. Please leave any comments or feedback here or in my asks, and see y'all later!

#pablo gavi x reader #pablo martín páez gavira #pablo gavi imagine #pablo gavi #pablo gavi fanfiction #pablo gavi one shot #pablo gavi fluff #gavi x you #gavi x reader #gavi fluff #gavi one shot #gavi imagine #fc barca #footballer #footballer imagine #gavisuntiedboot

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kooshours · 8 months

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knee pads - jeon jungkook x reader.

summary: in which you couldn't resist your boyfriend's delicious thighs in those knee pads of his... and he realized just how much you loved them. college volleyball player!jungkook x reader.

warnings: mostly just smut, thigh riding, smug jungkook, use of praise. 1.9k words.

author's note: this is my first post so if there's any advice or critiques i'd love to hear it! while writing the post, i was imagining him in knee pads like these (like bokuto from haikyū). happy reading :)

_______________________________________________

You absolutely loved your boyfriend. Having been with him for almost two years now, you knew everything about each other. At least that's what you thought. The two of you had met during your third year of high school when you had accidentally gotten hit in the head with one of his spikes. Painful, yes. But you would go through it hundreds more times if it meant being able to stay with Jungkook.

Although he was in college now, his burning desire to play volleyball had never died down. It was clearly visible by the way you were watching him play. You didn't get to watch him as much these days because his volleyball practices seemed to clash with your swim lessons. You both had gone to the same college, but having completely different sports were very time consuming for the both of you.

Although he had matured much from high school, he was still truly a goofball at heart. That's what you loved most about him. It's what made Jungkook himself. His thirst for victory, praise, improvement. Most of all, his competitiveness. He dripped with pride every time he would land a spike, which seemed to be every time the volleyball was tossed to him. Everyone on his team was amazing, but he was the only person you were focused on.

Your eyes trailed over every square inch of his body, but most importantly, those thighs. Though they were concealed by the kneepads he wore, watching eagerly for every tiny sliver of skin that would become exposed when he moved around was addicting. The kneepads, to you, were a huge bonus. It was something neither you or Jungkook had noticed before, but you really liked how they made his legs look.

By the time his game was over, your fingers were fidgeting with the hem of your black pleated skirt. You stared as Jungkook's eyes searched for you in the crowd, and the way they lit up when they had finally landed on you. You both shared a smiling wave before he followed Taehyung into the locker room to grab his stuff. You stood up from your chair, grabbing his jacket and walking downstairs to meet him when he exited the men's locker room.

When you arrived at the front door, it wasn't long until you were pulled into a pair of strong arms. You giggled when your cheek came in contact with his chest, and stood on your tippy toes to give your boyfriend a kiss.

"So, how did I do?" He asked as the two of you started walking out to your car.

"You did perfect, as always, Koo." You grinned lazily. The volleyball player seemed to be oblivious to the grip you had on the hem of your skirt, or the slight blush on your cheeks as you devoured the very sight of him.

It was only when you were halfway home that he noticed. When a particular jolt of the car caused the slightest whimper to slip from your lips. He looked over then, seeing the small grimace on your face as you tugged on your clothing and tried to squirm in the seat, searching for one spot that didn't send sensations through your lower half.

"What's wrong, baby?" Jungkook asked. His tone mocked concern, but you could hear the condescending undertone, and you knew you were finally caught. You shook your head, almost too embarrassed to admit you had attracted a dark admiration to the pieces of volleyball gear he was still wearing.

You grabbed at the door handle when the car was suddenly stopped. You stared at your surroundings, wondering when the hell you two had ended up at an empty grocery store parking lot.

"I asked what was wrong." He repeated, glaring at his steering wheel with a small smirk.

"I-I can't, Koo..." You mumbled.

"Oh come on, tell me what's running through that pretty brain of yours." You flinched ever so slightly at the sudden touch on the side of your face. His fingertips traced lightly down your temple, jawline, and to your chin. His fingertips tightened there, forcing your head to turn to meet his eyes.

"I uh, couldn't stop watching you during the match.." Your eyes were focused on your seatbelt buckle beneath you, trying to look anywhere but Jungkook as you admitted the last part. "Your thighs."

"You were..." He trailed off, feeling his lips turn upwards in a cocky smile. Jungkook's hand appeared at the seatbelt buckle, undoing it. "Come here, pretty girl." He tapped on one of his thighs. Shamefully, you moved in the car until you were sat on one of his thighs, your hands grasping at his broad shoulders.

He stroked your face lovingly, but the look in his eyes was enough to make you shudder. He pulled your face in, going in for what looked like a kiss, but his lips narrowly missed yours. He kissed at the corner of your lips, and trailed to your jawline, which he knew contained the spot that made you weak at the knees.

"Tell me more." He muttered against your jawline.

"I... I- fuck, Koo." You squirmed against his thigh, but the sudden friction of his knee pads sent a shiver up your spine, and you couldn't help the sound that escaped your mouth. At first, he had thought it was due to the kisses he was now trailing down your neck, but when he had shifted his leg to get a better grip on you, his lips froze against your collarbone.

His eyebrow cocked at the look on your face. "What's this?" Jungkook asked, eyes drinking up the expression on your face. Your bottom lip had rolled in between your teeth, and your eyes had been screwed shut. Your head was instinctively leaned into his left hand, feeling as if you couldn't sit up straight if he wasn't holding you.

"I fantasized about..." He had flexed his thigh when you didn't finish your sentence, and he knew for certain what you were thinking about when your hips reacted instinctively to the sudden movement. "God, Koo, I fantasized about riding your thigh!" You half shouted, shivering at the friction.

You couldn't stand the look he was giving you, so you grabbed his face and smashed your lips onto his in an attempt to get you to stop. One of his hands grabbed at your waist, lifting you up, while the other worked to slip his knee pad down off his thighs.

"With the knee pads on." You added, breaking away from the needy kiss with a gasp. His hands froze in their spot, and after a few beats of intense silence, he pulled the black material back up with a single tug. You both pulled each other back into the kiss seconds later.

A hot trail was left as his hands rested on your hips, kneading them. Your skin felt on fire, and every inch of skin he had touched had caused goosebumps to form. His hands maneuvered up your skirt, and your mouth opened with a moan as he guided your hips along his thigh. He took this chance to deepen the kiss, trying his hardest to keep his own sinful sounds at bay as he thought about the idea of you getting off with nothing but his thigh.

Of course he knew he had good thighs. Years of vigorous training had built tight muscles. He just didn't know you were that infatuated with them. He had never thought you would've loved to ride his thigh with his knee pads on. When the both of you broke the kiss to catch your breath, you buried your face into the crook of his neck.

"Look at the beautiful mess you're making on me." You hadn't realized your wetness had trailed down the rough fabric, you were only focusing on the growing burn in your lower abdomen. Your hips were now moving at their own steady pace, and you were trying your best to keep quiet.

His breath had migrated to your ear, where he softly bit on your earlobe. "So needy." He muttered, suddenly pushing your hips down with both of his hands. Any attempt to stay quiet flew out the window as you cried his name into his neck. One thing that swelled his pride more than anything else was hearing you cry out his first name in such a sinful manner. It sounded like a melody he always wanted to hear.

"You just love the thought of using my body to get off, don't you?" He asked, pushing your hips down once again. You swore you had seen a flash of white as the angle his thigh moved against your clit. You raised your hand to bite down on at an attempt to keep any dignity you had left, but you let out an audible whine as he forced your hips to stop moving.

"I want to see and hear you." Jungkook commanded. You shamefully pulled your head from his shoulder, making eye contact with him. He knew how embarrassed you got whenever he forced you to look at him, but that's what he loved about it. He loved how you grew so flustered.

You forced yourself to lock eyes with him as your hips rutted against his thigh, desperate to build up what he had just denied moments earlier. Once you had gotten too lost in the lust and heat of the moment, you had grown less and less ashamed.

"Koo, you make me feel so good..." You mewled.

"Yeah?" He asked, bouncing his leg ever so slightly.

"Yes, so, so, so good. I love you so much." He could already feel himself hardening painfully at the praise given as your orgasm was close to reaching its hilt.

"That's right, baby. You're doing so good. So beautiful." You had grown more desperate with his words, and your hips had started to lose the rhythm you had previously worked so long to maintain.

"I'm so close..." You trailed off.

"Come on, make a mess on my kneepads. I know you want to so bad, to show everyone who I belong to. You'd like the idea of that, hm? Everyone knowing that I am yours, and you're mine. All mine." Jungkook hissed.

"All yours!" You cried out.

"Cum for me, angel."

That was the final push that sent you over the edge into bliss. You had cried his name out in ecstasy, your upper body going limp in your boyfriend's arms, and your thighs spasming as you stained the black material even further.

"Don't go out on me now, not when I'm not nearly finished with you." His voice was distant, but there. There enough for you to know it was going to be a very long night for both of you.

~~~

"Jungkook, what's that stain there?" Taehyung asked, pointing to the stain that had appeared on Jungkook's kneepads magically. Jungkook feigned confusion, looking at them with mock shock.

"Don't know, it's probably food." The setter nodded at his explanation, not caring enough to push him anymore.

That game, he walked onto the court with the proudest smile on his face. You had choked on your water upon seeing the very visible stain on your boyfriend's volleyball gear. It had been about a week since those events, and he had been wearing his other pair of kneepads. Now that he was at an actual game, he decided to pull the soiled ones out and wear them.

Before the game started, his eyes met your widened ones in the crowd, and he sent a wink your way. That smug bastard.

#jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeongguk imagine #jungkook smut #jeongguk smut #bts fanfic #bts imagine #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #jungkook drabble #jeon jungkook smut

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jellybeans2099 · 9 months

Text

Release

Pairing: Miguel x Spiderwoman!reader

Summary: Miguel loves the way you taught him and you love the way he keeps coming back for more

Warnings: 18+ NSFW MDNI, oral (f receiving) , p in v, unprotected sex, cumming untouched, cum eating, dom/sub dynamics (if you squint), smothering, pure filth, reader is mean and Miguel likes it, this is a consensual exchange its just a bit fucked

Work Count: 1.5K

A/N: Not beta read. This is my first time posting something this smutty and I'm honestly very nervous to post it. If you have any questions or critiques please feel free to reach out!

Miguel, the leader of the spider society and the piece holding the multiverse together, had a lot on his shoulders. The stress of this job and the expectations that went with it had a major toll on him and his wellbeing. You however were never intimidated by him and his stature, often cracking jokes and lightly poking fun at him. He enjoyed it, he genuinely enjoyed feeling like he could indulge in being a little less in control with you. You didn't hold him up on a pedestal and you most certainly had no issues giving him orders when you worked on missions together. You met only once before your first mission together and from then he was hooked. Your easy going nature drew him in and suddenly you were all he could think about. He didn't mean for it to make him so turned on but it did and when you found out you had no problem letting him indulge his fantasies with you. You secretly wanted to have him under your full control, just to see how much he could keep under control.

Now it was months later and he found himself with both your legs wrapped around his head as he takes a long deep breath to take in your scent. The smell of your wet pussy, wet just for him, went straight to his already rock hard dick. The tip surely was angerly red and dripping precum all over his thighs. He could care less as you wail out his name hoping desperately to feel his tongue lick you out. And so he did, moaning and muttering like a mad man. His tongue licking slow long strokes from your dripping hole to your swollen puffy clit. You bite back a moan as you writhe your hips over him. He reaches up to hold your hips still.

"F-faster, I need you to go faster."

He then darts his tongue into you and you throw your head back. His swollen lips latch onto your clit and you're seeing stars. He savors you on his tongue, the familiar taste of you sending shock waves through his body. He will never get tired of the way you taste. Your hands instantly slinked into his hair and gave a hard pull. He groans, loving how rough you treat him while you chased your own high.

"B-be still Miguel, I'm gonna fuck your face."

Without an ounce of hesitation he lets go your hips and sticks out his tongue and lets you go to town. You start at a brutal pace, smothering him with your thick thighs as he struggles to breathe. You grind your wet mound into his face without care. Your eyes are screwed shut as his name spills out your lips like a prayer. He'd gladly die right now; pussy drunk with his face slathered in your juices listening to you moaning and muttering his name. The temptation to melt his suit away and give his hard on the much needed attention it craves is ever present. Maybe he will just to see how deliciously you'd punish him for it. He throbs as you begin to clench around his tongue.

"Mhm just like that. Fuck I'm gonna cum."

He can't handle it. The death grip on his hair plus the feeling of your oncoming climax on his tongue has him cumming untouched underneath his suit. Hot ribbons of cum hit the front of his suit as he groans into you. He's careful not to make too much noise so you hopefully won't notice. Times like this he's thankful for not making a more traditional suit. Sticky cum begins to drip down his thighs as your hips studder and you release right onto his face. He chases every single drop of you as he whines through both yours and his orgasm. You continue to grind your face into him to finish out your high. He feels so pathetic and he can't seem to get enough. He loves how small you make him feel. He's still hard as you slowly begin to disconnect from him and lay flat on the mattress. He continues to kneel at the foot of the bed while you begin to collect yourself and come back to your senses. You sit up on the bed and look down at him.

"Stand up and let me see. You honestly didn't think I didn't feel that shutter when you came. Dissolve the suit and let me see."

His face begins to burn in embarrassment as his suit slowly begins to dissolve. His dick is once again hard as a rock as he stands before you naked covered in his own cum. It was a game to him, do something small enough to make you just that little bit meaner and he's hard and leaking. You look at him with those cold, laser focused eyes and he feels himself twitch. You size up the mess he made in total silence making him even more desperate to touch himself.

"You really made a mess didn't you. It honestly turns me on seeing you covered in cum before I've even touched you. It almost makes me want to take care of you, almost."

He groans softly as you size him up. His mind begins to race at the possibilities of what you have in store.

"What do you have in mind?"

His throat going dry in anticipation for your denial. What he would give to sink his dick deep inside you and paint your walls white with his seed and watch as it leaked out of you mixed with your own juices. He knows you'll never let him cum inside you, but the thought that one day you might keeps this twisted little game of his going. You knew exactly what he wanted and yet the fun part for you was watching his eyes as he's denied countless times. You both now are locked in the heat of your twisted little game, both waiting for the other to give in.

"You look so delicious right now, I really want to fuck you. But you came before me and I'm sad you did that."

You slide up onto the bed and he quickly follows suit with you underneath him. You reach up to bring his face closer to yours and pull him in for a hot passionate kiss. You love the way you tasted on his mouth as your tongue licks his. His hands are on your waist holding you close to him as he trails his kisses down your face toward your jaw. Even in this moment he was overwhelming and your lust for him only made keeping control harder for you.

"But otherwise you've been so delightful to me. I feel like being a little nice."

You whisper in his ear as his fangs graze your throat and a shiver runs through his body. You can feel his dick lightly graze your clit as you bite down on your bottom lip to not loose your composure. While you were in charge in all of these interactions you wanted so deeply to give into your desires and let him ravish your body to his heart's content and you're a moaning writing mess.

"Whatever you want, just say the word."

You could hardly breathe as he continued to trail kisses down your chest, taking one of your nipples in his mouth and swirling it with his tongue. Your willpower was at it's last straw as you pull his face back up to yours. You reach down and take his dick into your hand and lightly begin to stroke him. His face is buried in your neck as he moans your name. He slides one of his fingers through your soaked folds and your grip on him tightens.

"Please fuck me. Cum on me."

Without another word he lines himself up with your entrance and carefully thrusts in. The warmth of you around him was already too much and he knew his orgasm was not far off and from how tight you were you weren't far behind. His pace was agonizingly slow, trying to savor this for the both of you. Your nails were digging deep into his biceps as you tried to hold off as long as you could. Both of you too addicted to the feeling of being on the edge to push it any further. His pace begins to pick up as you wrap your legs around his waist. The lewd sounds of your wetness filled the room, You could hold on no longer as you felt yourself begin to clench around him.

"I'm cumming. Oh fuck I'm cumming. "

H quickly pulls out and pumps his hot load on your stomach and chest all the while growling out your name. The feeling of it hitting your body was enough to make your orgasm feels like ages. You collapse onto the mattress utterly spent. You swipe a finger in his cum and lift the finger to your mouth, as always he tastes delicious.

"Careful now, I can pull another round outta me if you keep that up."

He watched you through hooded eyes as he catches his breath at the foot of the bed. You tried to laugh but your body was exhausted beyond all measure, You fall asleep shortly after he leaves the room to go get a rag to clean you up. When you finally come to the spot next to you is empty, the only sign the night has happened was the ache in your lower body.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara smut #miguel x reader #miguel spiderverse #miguel spiderman #miguel x y/n #spider man 2099 #miguel smut #miguel atsv #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x spiderwoman!reader #miguel o’hara fic #miguel o’hara fanfiction

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onceuponastory · 9 months

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artistic - bucky barnes x reader

Plot: After embarrassing herself in front of the very attractive artist, Y/N swears her night has gone from bad to worse. In fact, she couldn't be more wrong. Pairing: Artist!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader Warnings: Some swearing and a mention of alcohol. If I miss any triggers, please let me know! Notes: This is a part two to An Intriguing Stranger, which was based on a gif sent to me by @holacia3. Some people wanted Bucky's POV, so here it is! Read part one here!

As Y/N tries to think of something to say in response to the stranger's introduction, it's like time slows down. And the more time ticks by, the more Y/N wants the ground to open up and swallow her whole. And when she finally does speak, it's even worse. “Oh, my god. I’m so sorry.” Is what she was supposed to say. What she wanted to say. Instead, however, a mixture of words, of ‘sorry’ and ‘I had no idea who you were’ and ‘please don’t sue me’ comes out. More of a word vomit than a well thought out apology.

When James opens his mouth again, she expects him to curse her out, or even to actually sue her. Instead of a threat, though, she hears the complete opposite. Laughter. She raises a brow, curious about why he finds the situation funny, and what kind of artist would laugh at their work being criticised.

Honestly, Bucky wasn’t expecting to hear such a critique of his art tonight. And he definitely doesn’t mean to find it so funny. Or at least, he knows he probably shouldn’t. But after experiencing the perfectionism and fakeness of the art world, her brutal honesty is incredibly refreshing.

And it helps that she’s very cute too. In fact, he's never seen anyone like her ever before.

“Please, don’t feel the need to apologise. It’s totally fine.” He smiles. “That was my first real laugh of the night.” Y/N blinks in surprise, waiting for the other shoe to drop, the ‘but’ in his sentence to appear. And yet, it never comes, only adding to her confusion.

“What? But I just practically destroyed your life’s work!” To her surprise, he shrugs.

“Well, you were right, actually. My usual work is nothing like this. But unfortunately, it doesn’t pay the bills that well, and ‘isn’t the sort of work the galleries are looking for right now.’” He mocks, and Y/N stifles a laugh of her own. “One night it all reached a head, so I got very drunk on some wine and basically threw some paint at a canvas, like you guessed.” He nods. “And it definitely was a big fuck you to the art world and their standards.” He sighs, running another hand through his hair. “I didn’t even mean to submit it, but somehow I did, so I woke up the next morning to a bunch of emails and calls from a ton of galleries asking for the honour to display it.” He explains, before turning back to the painting. “I know it’s brought me a lot of success, but honestly? I hate this fucking thing.”

“So… no harm done?” Y/N asks awkwardly, and he smiles.

How does his smile make my stomach flutter so much?

“None at all. In fact, I admire your honesty.” He walks towards another painting, beckoning for her to follow with a move of his head. For a moment, Y/N holds back. Even though there’s no animosity between them both, surely there’s no way he actually wants to spend time with her?

Yet, he beckons her to follow him again once more, and Y/N’s feet start moving towards him before she can even think about it.

After all, surely this night can't go any worse.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

For most of the night, Y/N’s new artistic friend gives her a tour of the exhibition, occasionally commenting on the artwork and its creators. He also very quickly told her to call him Bucky instead of James, something which he insists only his close friends do. Despite how relieved she feels to be getting closer and closer to her new, extremely attractive artistic friend (especially since he isn't going to sue her), Y/N would be lying if she said this whole thing didn’t feel absolutely crazy, and that she still isn’t waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under her, her chance at spending time with the attractive artist over before it even began.

But as Bucky leads her upstairs, into the fancy reception that only a few moments ago she was so sure she would not be attending, Y/N realises that she’s not going to complain about spending time with her handsome and charming companion. And with Bucky by her side, she feels more comfortable, less out of place. It feels like this is where she’s meant to be. By his side.

The room is busy, heaving with journalists and other artists. Yet, Bucky moves his hand to the small of her back, sending a shockwave throughout her entire body. He effortlessly guides her through the room, leading her straight to the bar.

After grabbing her a drink, Bucky leans against the bar, taking her all in. Y/N feels heat rising in her cheeks, and she grins. He really is an incredibly handsome man.

“You said you don’t paint like that usually, so what is your usual work, then?” She asks, trying and failing to limit her staring. Bucky chuckles.

“The usual boring stuff, landscapes, portraits….”

“That doesn’t sound boring. I do like that kind of art, actually.” Bucky looks over at her, smirking.

“You know, I’d like to paint you one day. I think you’d make a wonderful piece.” He muses. Y/N almost drops her glass in shock, her cheeks burning even deeper. Bucky grabs a napkin, scribbling something on it. “I need to go mingle, but here’s my number. If we ever get separated, or if you would like to be a model for me....” He trails off, grinning cheekily. “Just call me.” He places his hand on her shoulder, giving her one last smile and a wink before disappearing into the crowd.

As he fades out of sight, Y/N pulls out her phone, adding Bucky to her contacts.

She might just take him up on his offer.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

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undermycoat · 9 months

Text

Jamie does not eat lunch alone. No, seriously. Most of the lads usually gather in the cafeteria together and eat, even Will Kitman stopping by sometimes. So, Jamie is very used to company while he goes absolutely crazy on some grilled chicken because he acts all composed on the pitch, mostly, but he’s usually fucking starved by the time lunch rolls around. That being said, he is completely unprepared for Roy Kent to shoo the rest of the guys away and take the seat next to Jamie — not that he minds, the other Greyhounds still eager to chat about Zava and Jamie decidedly not so. Still, he’s so unprepared that he actually looks unattractive for once, mouth hanging open, chicken half-chewed on his tongue.

Quickly, he swallows. “Did I do something wrong, coach?” Because why else would Roy break his sacred solo lunch time to speak with Jamie?

“You’re favouring your left leg,” Roy says. “We’ll stretch better before training tomorrow.”

Jamie knows he’s not talking about what they just got done doing outside. They finished their second private session that morning, and Jamie’s proud to say he’s gotten with the program quick as a whip. Roy tried critiquing him, but outside of basic form, Jamie was a certified trooper, and Roy found himself biting his tongue, much to his chagrin and Jamie’s joy. He takes another bite of chicken before nodding. “Yeah, alright. And I’ll stretch better before training tomorrow.”

Roy huffs and nods, but he doesn’t leave. Jamie sets down his fork. Stares expectantly at him. Still, Roy remains silent, though one of his hands rests on the table, nails scraping the tabletop in a slow back and forth rhythm.

“Anything else for me?” Jamie finally prompts.

The cafeteria has a quiet hum about it, a steady white noise that is the blending of various voices all speaking at once. Roy looks around, taking in the other visitors, but they’re all at other tables or by the doors. He turns back to Jamie. “I wanted to . . . apologise.”

He shouldn’t, because he’s sure Roy is either being or about to be very vulnerable with him, and Jamie’s not actually dumb and he’s certainly not dumb enough to take a wrecking ball to this thing that looks a lot like a friendship he can see being built brick by brick, but he’s so shocked by the admission that he blurts, “You want to apologise to me?”

“Fuck off,” Roy immediately snaps, but when Jamie just remains there, now twirling his fork between his fingers, he rolls his shoulders back, tilts his head, and continues: “I was a . . . a dick. About training.”

“What d’you mean?” Jamie asks. “Bit Spartan, yeah, but you’re a good coach, coach.”

Roy doesn’t acknowledge the compliment nor the backhanded part of it. “At Ola’s, you asked me when we’d start, and I smacked your food out of your hand, and that was a dick move of me.”

Jamie’s lips form into an ‘o’. Not a single ‘fuck’ in that sentence. Damn, Roy really prepared for this. He lifts a shoulder in a half-shrug. “Testing my reflexes, weren’t you? Don’t worry about it.”

“You flinched,” Roy replies, finally meeting his eyes. “You fucking put your hands in front of your face. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Reflexes,” Jamie repeats, but they both know it’s a lame excuse. He drops his fork, drumming his fingers on the table before reaching over and curling them around Roy’s shoulder. He can feel the way Roy tenses under his touch, but he leaves his hand there, lips curling at the corners and brows drawing together. “You’re a good man, Roy Kent. I appreciate it.”

Roy rolls his eyes, shaking off Jamie’s hand, but he’s not half as stiff as before, and he’s actually kind of shit at hiding a smile. That, or Jamie knows him too well, and isn’t that just a dream come true? He gives a pat to Roy’s shoulder one last time before Roy pushes himself up from the bench. “Finish your food, Tartt.”

“Right, right, coach.” Jamie goes back to his plate, and Roy turns to leave, but before he can, Jamie finds himself reaching out, though he never actually makes contact. Roy looks down at him, brows raised. Jamie swallows, though he hadn’t even picked up his fork again. “Uh. Thanks, though. I really do appreciate it.”

A pause stretches between them, and Jamie’s hand draws back to rest on the table. Finally, Roy nods. “‘Course.” And then he turns and he goes and Jamie watches his back until he rounds a corner and Jamie can see him no longer. Months spent being an absolute shit . . . Jamie’s mouth finally splits into a proper grin. He should’ve known. Roy’s eyes have been on him the entire time.

He bites the tines of his fork, the metal clinking between his teeth. Across the hall, he catches the eye of one of the chefs. “Agnes!” he calls, and she moves as if to rush over, but Jamie waves a hand, halting her action. “Great work on the chicken today. Fucking delicious.” Those who remain in the cafeteria all turn to look at the chef, whose face is quickly turning puce from the force of her blush. Jamie takes another bite and nods. “Yeah. I absolutely love it.”

because sorry but i refuse to let roy be another angry man in jamie's life, even if he is a man that can be very, very angry and they did throw hands a couple times. whatever. anyway that bit of the scene was so insignificant but it still itched at me to write this lol

#royjamie #ted lasso #jamie tartt #roy kent #my writing #100

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malanasims · 9 months

Text

Taylor Swift Eras themed Legacy Challenge

i wanted to put together two of my favorite things: the sims and Taylor Swift. so i came up with this 10 generation legacy challenge in which each generation is inspired by a different album. I created this challenge for the sims 2 ultimate collection since that is the game i normally play, but i am sure it can be adapted for sims 3 or sims 4. i also implemented the traits project for ts2 but you can easily do the challenge without it using different personality points. i set up this challenge so that each generation alternates genders but you can switch that up. i also chose first names for each generation based on references of the album. also some of the writing is very cheesy and has a lot of references because why not go crazy. this is my first legacy challenge so if you have any critiques let me know. the rules are not strict and cheats can be used as its a story-based challenge.

Debut- Gen 1: Mary

“Take me home where we met so many years before.

We'll rock our babies on that very front porch: After all this time, you and I”

You grew up in a small town where everyone knew each other. Your parents never had the greatest relationship and your mom was always with her best friend. Since birth you and her kid have been inseparable. Will you fall into the same patterns as your parents…or will you find a place in this world?

family/romance

LTW: reach golden anniversary

nurturing, jealous, loves the outdoors, great kisser, family oriented

marry your first love

have 2 children (at least one son)

formal wear is a little black dress

Fearless- Gen 2: Stephen

“You played in bars, you play guitar

I'm invisible and everyone knows who you are”

Your parents raised you well but something about the fact that they only ever knew each other scares you. You want to get out there and make a name for yourself. You know no ones coming for you on their white horse. You’ll have to be fearless to become a superstar: but for now all you have is your mothers eyes and her old guitar.

fortune/pleasure

virtuoso, charismatic, irresistible, ambitious, non-committal

LTW: become rock god

go on at least 5 first dates

have at least one daughter

date a fan

Speak now- Gen 3: Emma

“When Emma falls apart, it's when she's alone

She takes on the pain and bears it on her own”

You often felt overlooked by your rockstar father. He was always busy and you spent most of your time with your mother until her mysterious disappearance. You feel like you grew up too fast, and now you love to travel back to your youth and fantasize about castles and dragons. So you become an actress; a character. Will you break out of your fathers famously destructive patterns, or will you regain your balance on the tightrope and break out before fire can catch you?

popularity/romance

LTW: Become Icon

natural born performer, childish, bookworm, shy, hopeless romantic

your first love doesn't work out/ you break their heart

have at least one son

have a strained relationship with your father but a good relationship with your mother

meet your true love at a party and then never see eachother again

Red- Gen 4: Bobby

“How you took the money and your dignity, and got the hell out

They say you bought a bunch of land somewhere

Chose the rose garden over Madison Square”

You grew up in the starlight of your mothers fame. You two were always close but after suffering from the tabloids and the camera flashes you decide this life is not for you. You move out of the Angel City and start anew. Your mother has given you some funds and you build up a family home. You tell everyone you left because the city wasn’t right for you… but maybe it was partly to run from your playboy/girl ex who you know was trouble. Now you spend your life painting and searching for your muse. Will you stay paralyzed by time or finally begin again?

Knowledge/family

LTW: become visionary

artistic, eco friendly, night owl, loves the cold, loner

Have an on and off toxic relationship

Move out of your parents house

Settle down with someone nice

Have 3 children (at least one girl)

1989- Gen 5: Love

“You searched the world for somethin' else

To make you feel like what we had

And in the end, in Wonderland, we both went mad”

You grew up secluded from the world, surrounded by your mothers paintings. Your mom loved the environment but you couldn’t wait to get out of the woods and explore new places. Somewhere along the road, you fell into a rabbit hole of insanity: mascara running in the bathroom and rose gardens filled with thorns. You blow money and string lovers along. You have fantastic delusions until your wildest dreams turn into nightmares. Will you accept the help from your family and abandon your affinity for screaming, crying and perfect storms? Or will every day continue to be a battle?

knowledge/pleasure

LTW: Become space pirate

Insane, unstable, diva, adventurous, jealous

Join the adventurer career

Have 3 loves at once

Have children with multiple people (one must be boy/girl twins)

Lose money in poker

Reputation- Gen 6: Burton (the name is so bad help)

“I don't like your kingdom keys

They once belonged to me

You asked me for a place to sleep

Locked me out and threw a feast”

Yeah, your mother may have done a number on you, but who's counting? Maybe your twin sister… Everything you did, she just had to do better. In the wake of your mother’s madness, you turned to dancing. You found peace in swaying as the room burnt down. Your twin sister on the other hand hated how you were lit up every room you walked into, but you couldn’t help it. There's nothing she hates more than what she can't have… so she turned to sabotage. Just when you think that your life is perfect- you're at the top of your career and you finally found love- your sister starts a rumor that you cheated on your love. Your reputation as a famous dancer goes down in seconds. But to your surprise, your lover isn't reading what they call you lately and your relationship is stronger than ever. Will you get revenge on your sister and become exactly what you despise, or sit back and let karma take over?

Popularity/romance

LTW: Become world class ballerina

Party animal, irresistible, social butterfly, hot headed, unlucky

Be enemies with your twin sister

Never be unfaithful

Have a bad reputation

Have at least one daughter

Lover- Gen 7: Cornelia

“I’d be a fearless leader, I'd be an alpha type

When everyone believes ya, what's that like?”

You've always known you wanted to change the world. Who cares if you were overlooked and discouraged. Snakes and stones won’t break your bones. You never had a big family as your father walked away from his. Sometimes it gets lonely trusting the wicked, and your loyalty was often a fault. You turn to politics to combat your feelings of helplessness, but no one takes you seriously and you feel lost in the light. You have to start from the ground up with the help of your best friend. You start to build your picture-perfect life: the kids, the lyrical smiles and the power. Will you drive away your lover by searching for their dark side, or will you put aside your ways and find the daylight?

Popularity/family

LTW: Become mayor

Good, easily impressed, brave, unlucky, perfectionist

Fall in love with your best friend

Have 10 best friends

Have children (at least one son)

Folklore- Gen 8: James

“I had the shiniest wheels, now they're rusting

I didn't know if you'd care if I came back

I have a lot of regrets about that”

You grew up trying to meet the expectations of your politician mother. Everything had to be picture perfect, even your private life. So she set you up with the daughter of one of the most powerful families in town, Betty. At first you are skeptical, but over time you fall for her integrity and affinity for old cardigans. Along the way you begin to feel stuck, tired of the sensual politics and your mother’s watchful eye. That's when you meet August -the polar opposite of Betty- and some part of you has to know what she is like. You meet in parking lots and dive bars, but after Betty finds out, you realize that summer is dwindling. In wake of losing two girls, you turn to writing: poetry and sad prose. You get lost in your stories, but once you start to gain traction, you can’t help but wonder how different your life could have been. Will you rekindle your wild flame with August or go back to the peace you felt with Betty?

knowledge/ romance

LTW: Publish 5,000$ best seller*

Great kisser, coward, bookworm, brooding, commitment issues

Fall in love with Betty

Fall in love with August

Confess to cheating on Betty

Write novels

Move into a cottage by a lake

Finally choose the one girl

Have at least one daughter with her

Evermore- Gen 9: Ivy

“And the skeletons in both our closets

Plotted hard to fuck this up

And the old men that I’ve swindled

Really did believe I was the one”

You always resented your father because he abandoned the good life for a cottage in the woods and his stories. You don’t want that; you want power and wealth. You don't need love, just a fancy car. So you turn to crime, because it’s easy for you; you love the gold rush. You con men and no one will ever prove it. You marry rich men and inherit their money when their time runs out. But then one day you meet your match, a fellow criminal, and wonder if this life will really bring you happiness. But you realized this a little too late, and now you're forced to drink your husband's wine… but he was the wrong guy. Will you leave the life of crime behind or will you stay frozen in time?

Fortune/pleasure

LTW: Gold digger

Kleptomaniac, genius, charismatic, mean-spirited, rebellious

Go into the criminal career

Marry a rich sim

Fall in love with a criminal and have an affair

Have a son

Midnights- Gen 10: Snow

“And I don't dress for villains

Or for innocents

I'm on my vigilante shit again”

You knew your mom wasn’t the most ethically-correct person. You like to think you inherited her better half; but that isn’t entirely true. You are determined to be different, so you become a spy; you get the satisfaction of working for the good guys and the pleasure that comes with great wars. Being a spy is difficult though, and you never know when things could go wrong. You are constantly burning files and deserting old lives. But you’re a mastermind, nobody can deny that. You finally meet your perfect person, but it's hard concealing your true occupation from them. You have money and respect… But can all of that pay for someone to just know you?

Fortune/knowledge

LTW: Become head of the SCIA

Perceptive, disciplined, loner, proper, daredevil

Join the intelligence career

Move homes at least twice

The rest is up to you since it is the last generation

*50 new LTW mod can be found here

if anyone decides to do this challenge tag me! i'd love to see it

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whateveryouiguess · 9 months

Note

idk if you take requests but!! i think reader and miguel getting a pet together would be super cute :> i wanna see mr anger issues calm down for once in his life cause of a cute puppy or something

HIII i’m still deciding if i wanna take requests but. i couldn’t NOT do this. like cmon. hope this does the trick anon 🫶🏼

el perro dinero.

Also known as: Miggy O’ Hara and his inability to tell you no ❤️

Pairing: Miguel O’ Hara x Reader

Word Count: abt 1.5k

Warnings: None :) just lots n lots of fluff, maybe improper grammar on the spanish (im not fluent yet, sorry native speakers. feel free to critique me!!!) Not beta’d, I tried to keep this one gender neutral, I don’t think I used any pronouns but if Y/N throws you off, I apologize :)

Sunday Afternoon.

“Absolutely not.” He didn’t even need a minute to think before the words left his lips.

“Miguel!” You draw out the syllables of his name in a whiny response. It was a decent question, honestly: the two of you had been together for a steady two years, going on three, and having just moved in together, the topic of “next steps” in your relationship was pretty fair game! Miguel had mentioned wanting a family before—very vaguely, but it was something you two had discussed—and it seemed like the present was a good time to make those kind of choices together. Despite his hope for your future together, he had been vehemently against the idea since you first brought it up, but you couldn’t understand why! Maybe he’d had bad experiences in the past, or he just wasn’t that kind of person? Or maybe he had an allergy you’d never heard about?

“Amor, we can not get a dog.” He slices open the tape seal of the box in front of him, leaning his elbows against the countertop as he unpacks it. “We’ve just moved in, rent here is already ludicrous…” he rambles as he unpacks thin stemmed wine glasses from the neatly packed box. You sit across from him at the bar, admiring the view of his messy hair and black wife beater against his amber skin, cheeks rosy from all the back and forth from moving vans. The love of your life—too stubborn to use a dolly, like you suggested—stacking empty boxes on the kitchen floor and using words like “ludicrous” to describe the best idea you’ve ever had. “Neither of us are home often enough to take care of a puppy-“

“We don’t have to get a puppy!” You suggest enthusiastically. He quirks an eyebrow and fights a smile at your excitement. “We’ll adopt a grown dog, maybe we’ll find one who’s already trained. You know, a lot of people forfeit perfectly behaved dogs just because they-“

“Amor.” He walks around the kitchen island to ground your shoulders with two big hands. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words are stolen by the pang in his heart at the disappointment in your eyes. The same eyes he’d spend hours gazing into without a care in the world, hearts full and minds at ease. The hopeful eyes he’d have to let down easy.

“We’re not…Not right now, honey.” His voice is kind and quiet, but to the point. “I’m sorry.” He squeezes your shoulders tightly as you sigh in disappointment. Walking back to his station by the sink, he slides a few glasses into the kitchen cabinet and continues speaking. “Possibly in a few months, if we’re stable enough and we have the time-“

“Really?” Your tone perks up immediately. His back shakes a bit, laughing at your excitement.

“Possibly. It’s possible. Don’t make any plans just yet.” He presses a kiss to the side of your head, walking towards your shared bedroom. “Póngase sus zapatos,” he pulls a light jacket on over his shoulders, sliding a pair of sunglasses onto the neckline of his tank top. “Let’s go find some lunch.”

————————————————————————

Friday Evening.

Since moving in with you, Miguel has quickly grown fond of the ends of his days. Taking his new route to his new home, hopping the steps up to the third floor two at a time. Mind exhausted from a long day at work, heart pulling his body through the hall to you, like a Looney Tune drawn euphorically to a pie in a window. The sound of the key twisting the lock mechanism is like a Pavlov bell, and before he’s even opened the door, he knows the treat of your arms is waiting for him behind it. This time, however, when he swings the mahogany door open, he’s not flooded with the soothing scent of your favorite candle, or pulled into your sweet embrace: he’s greeted with an empty living room, and darkness.

“Amor?” He calls out, toeing off his loafers at the door, placing his jacket over the back of the sofa. “Estás en casa?” He says quieter, padding through the house in search of you. All is quiet in the apartment until he reaches the shallow hall leading to your bedroom. His blood freezes at the faint sound of crying, high pitched and seemingly pained. Bounding to the door, footsteps heavy and shaken, he swings open the bedroom door to find you hunched over on the floor, and he can only imagine the worst has happened. Although, now that he’s closer the sound of the crying, its much more high pitched than he knows your voice to sound. When he hears you mumbling over the crying, he knows he’s severely misunderstood the situation.

“Honey?” he calls quietly. Your whip your neck around and see him standing in the doorway, concerned and disheveled in his work clothes. The sight of your red face kills him, you look as though you’ve been crying. His eyes travel to your lap and finds the source of all the noise, and his tightly knit eyebrows unravel in realization. In your lap sits a small, shivering puppy, whining as you try to wipe its eyes clean with a wet rag.

“I—I didn’t…” you stutter. With the conversation you two had been having a few days prior, you didn’t want it to seem like you’d gone against the decision you both had made . Miguel figured from the size of the pup that he couldn’t have been even a month old, and was almost certainly betrayed on the side of the road somewhere. On the streets at that age, it would’ve either been left for dead or found by someone soft hearted enough to give them a second chance. “He was all alone, he was hurt,” you sniffle as Miguel kneels beside you. “I know you said no, and I’m sorry, but I…” the desperation in your eyes is enough to make him wish he’d never denied you. “I couldn’t just leave him there.” You’ve started to cry, really cry, and even with the stress of the situation, he can’t help but curl his arms around your shoulders and hold you as tightly to him as he can. “I’m really sorry, baby.”

“Hey, no, amor. None of that.” Miguel rubs his palms up and down your arms to soothe you, careful to avoid the sad babe between your legs. “It’s…it’ll be okay. Alright? It’s okay.” He lets go of you and leans back to get a good look at the puppy. He was a little thing, no doubt the runt of his litter, but still a bit fluffy. His fur was matted and dark, the spots you’d wiped clean a few shades of brown lighter than the rest of him. Even with his staunch, no dog policy, the puppy’s floppy ears and pointed nose pulled gently on his heart strings. she watches intently as you siphon water into the little guys mouth, dabbing a drop onto your finger, then letting him lick it off. Miguel couldn’t help but smile at how the little thing preened under your touch, hoisting itself up into the palm of one of your hands, gathering more of your warmth. The love that radiates from your eyes is almost motherly, and he knows it’s love at first sight for you two. Leave it to his lover to help the lonely pup—a helpless wret in their time of need, no home to return to and no means to make anew. Left behind, forgotten, just in need of a little love. Sounds familiar, Miguel thinks to himself. The puppy wanders across your leg towards Miguel’s territory, and as soon as he presses a small paw onto his thigh, a switch is flipped for him, his hand shooting out to help the puppy climb. Mierda. He’s silent as he scoops the baby up with one hand, inspecting it like a broken package. The sweet little eyes peering back at him dismiss the perma-scowl on his face.

“He kinda looks like you, Mig.” You observe humorously, your perception of the strong, frightening man as “cute” still baffling to him. He scoffs out a laugh and sighs, gaze never leaving the puppy wriggling in his hands.

“How much is pet rent?” He says dryly. You snap your head towards him, a new hope awakened in your eyes. He pretends not to see it, smug as always.

“Are we keeping him?” You ask timidly. Miguel sets the dog back down between your legs, it’s stubby little tail wagging ferociously, shaking his entire rear, as if in understanding. Miguel smiles slightly as he repeats himself.

“How much is pet rent?”

THIS WAS FUNNN 🤭🤭 I imagined the puppy to be a norwegian elk hound but if you imagined something else, lmk in the comments!! im curious lol :)

#miguel is 1000% that dad that didn’t want that dog at first but is absolutely smitten within two weeks of having it #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o hara fanfic #spiderman #spiderman 2099 spiderverse #miguel o hara x reader #miguel o hara fluff #miguel o’ hara fluff

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