#this is MY head cannon fuck you

[thesleepyengineer]

You can pry aroace hunter from my cold. dead. hands.

#toh hunter #aroace #aromantic #asexual #the owl house #toh #this is MY head cannon fuck you #Huntlow and aroace hunter/willow can coexist #Fight me. #QPR

[sarcasticscepticles]

Raphael is the funniest antagonist in the game to me, he's a powerful devil trying to steal your soul and speaks to you in rhymes that he probably practices in the mirror, he has his own incubus that says he's a bottom only and bad in bed, and then you can call him out. You can go and rob him blind and then kick his ass in his own house.

You can ask some guy he had you kill if he wants to help you kick his ass, and if you convince him he'll go 'yeah sure I bet you'll win' while Raphael is standing right there.

#bg3 raphael #bg3 spoilers #bg3 #He sings his own theme song #Actual cartoon villain #I've seen his new hair color and my new head-cannon for it is that he dyed it after finding a single grey hair #When Harleep takes Raphaels form he keeps the original brown color just to fuck with him #Wicked witch of the west energy except Dorothy is just some rando who fell from a tentacle ship and has a brain worm for ruby slippers #I saw a reddit post that described him as a sleazy cars sales man and the black hair really sells that image now #Only thing I wish in game is that you could spare him after beating him and make a deal with him in your favor #come full circle with Tav pulling a 'You still have the unconditional freedom to choose the only option you have left'

[cowchickenbeefpork]

Takes everything in me to not believe and spread the internalized homophobia Ed nygma hc but the fact his only three relationships with women had the first one be a attempt of being normal and being traditionally masculine, the second one be a repeating of that, and the third having having so many fucking similarities to his past close friendship with Oswald, a gay man in love with him is….. certainly a choice to say the least

#gotham #nygmobblepot #edward nygma #gotham fox #gotham 2014 #THE DEMONS ARE TAKING OVER AGAIN #” why are you referring to Oswald and Lee as similar” you don’t get me. #Before anyone says I’m defending what he did toward Kristen I am not. It’s like a more fucked up falsettos situation to me #“It’s like that because fox is homophobic” I DONT CARE. LET ME SPEAK MY TRUTH #besides the mere idea Ed thinks Oswald is straight for a while is hilarious I want it cannon so it will be IN MY HEAD

[aplaceinhell]

hey guys so I have a hazbin theory (it might be a little silly but I've been kind of sick the past few days so just humour me)

so we all know how those little dots under angeldusts eyes are actually eyes, right?

we'll hear me out but what if

What if those black spots on fat nuggets back were also actually eyes?

there is no reason this might be the case, but they're kind of eye shaped and also I think it would be really cool

#Yeah basically my sole reasoning for this is it would be cool #But yk what? #Fuck you it's a fun lil headcannon #Just a silly little headcannon #And also I just feel like they would be eyes #Those are just the vibes okay #This is a head cannon based on coolness and vibes alone #As all good head cannons are #Anyway thank you for humouring me ig #Hazbin hotel #Fat nuggets #hazbin hotel headcanon

[fizzytoo]

there’s a severe lack of sims w fangs on the dash

#this is me putting thoughts into my moot’s heads like it’s their own idea 🌀🌀🌀🌀 #🌀🌀🌀​you wanna make hot sims w fangs so fucking bad 🌀🌀 #🌀🌀🌀 you’re making a hot sim w fangs right now 🌀🌀🌀🌀 #🌀🌀🌀 you’re putting fangs on your ocs and it doesn’t have to be cannon🌀🌀🌀 #*fizzyspeaks

[words-put-together]

Clothes shopping - Avatrice AU

[set between S1 and S2; Ava has never had the chance to go shopping for clothes, Beatrice is there to help]

Despite knowing Ava had been confined to a bed and cared for by nuns since she was a child, she never really thought about how much that could affect small, everyday stuff, such as clothes shopping.

Beatrice had set out with a specific plan, an estimate amount of clothes they should get, and an idea of what shops to go to, where they would most likely have the type of clothes she liked.

So, when she noticed Ava was no longer trailing behind her in the store and instead stood frozen in the pants section, she frowned in confusion.

“I don’t know.” Ava said as she approached her.

“What?”

“I don’t know how to buy clothes.” Ava said, with a bitter, disbelieving laugh that felt like a small, sharp needle sinking into Beatrice heart. “I don’t know what things go together, what I should wear to not draw attention like you said or if I should just get what the mannequins wearing-“

“Ava” Beatrice called, placing her hands on Ava’s shoulders. “Forget what I said, just get what you like.”

Though Beatrice meant well, that sentence just seemed to break whatever wall was holding Ava together.

“I don’t know what I like.” She whispered sadly, her eyes shimmering with tears.

“Ava…” the hold Beatrice had on her arms seem to loosen, before hesitantly sliding her hands down to pull Ava closer, hugging her at the waist.

In turn, Ava buried her face in the crook of Beatrice’s neck, the lingering smell of her shampoo making Ava’s mind go blank for an instant. They stayed like that for a while, like the world seemed to fade around them and not even Beatrice was aware of the odd looks people gave her.

“I’m sorry.” Ava sniffed after a while, taking a step back to look at Beatrice, only to find her staring with so much concern and care that Ava couldn’t help the wide smile that spread across her face. “I’m crying over clothes out of all things, after so many people got hurt, killed at the Vatican and it’s stupid-“

“It’s not stupid.” Beatrice cut her off, gently using her thumbs to wipe away the trace of tears on Ava’s face, her hands lingering a little longer as Ava leaned into her touch. “It’s not stupid you- we have a lot of stuff going on, so it’s not stupid if you want to cry it’s- it’s ok.”

It seemed to hit her too fast and too hard that, because they were so busy trying to find somewhere to hide, neither of them had time to just stop and think and feel for the loss of the battle, of their sisters, of Mary…

“It’s not stupid?” Ava asked, almost in a childlike way.

“If you care about it, it’s not stupid.” Beatrice finalized, taking a hold of Ava’s hand and leading her to the exit. “Let’s go. We’ll figure it out.”

“How are we gonna figure it out outside of the store?”

“You’ll see.”

<>

Though Ava wasn’t sure how an ice cream cone would help them, she was not one to deny free food, so she decided to keep her questions to herself, at least until they’d sat down to eat.

Instead of answering, Beatrice just started to subtly point at people, asking Ava what she thought about their outfits. At first Ava was hesitant, unsure of what to say and afraid to upset Beatrice because what if what she said was ugly was something Beatrice would like?

Eventually, Ava became some sort of fashion god, eagerly pointing out clothing items she liked and all but dragging those who wore things she wasn’t particularly… fond of. Beatrice tried her best to remain impartial, as to not affect Ava’s opinion, yet she couldn’t hold back her laugh when Ava started to make loud bird noises when a tall, elegant woman walked by with a white feathered coat.

“Do you feel better now?” Beatrice asked, as they walked back to the big department store.

“Yeah, I mean…. I know what I don’t like.” Ava giggled. “Thank you, for everything really. You could’ve just bought whatever you wanted and make it two, you know?”

“And have you complain about using button up shirts all day?” Beatrice teased, giving her a light shove.

“Button up shirts?! Is that what you like to wear?” Ava asked, a little in disbelief. “Not that it’s bad, it actually suits you perfectly but it seems so-“

“Uncomfortable?” Beatrice finished, getting a sheepish nod in return. “I think it’s fine, but you don’t strike me as a beige shirt kind of person.” Ava just gave her a small nod in agreement, sighting before entering the store.

“You can look around at everything, take your time.” Beatrice encouraged, when she noticed Ava was still rooted at the entrance.

“What about you?”

“Oh well, you can look around on your own or you can come with me to the underwear section and help me look for the cotton-“ before she could finish, Ava was walking past her and into the infinite pants section.

<>

To Beatrice’s surprise, Ava is a lot more organized when shopping than she is in almost every other aspect of her life. She’d gotten two shopping bags: one for clothes she really likes and one for clothes she like but isn’t totally sure about.

“Now the problem is if they’ll actually look good on me.” Ava says as she drags Beatrice to the fitting rooms.

“Anything would look good on you.” Beatrice argues, and though she really didn’t meant to say it out loud, it’s true, so she fights down the urge to apologize and simply looks away. Ava’s cheeks feel impossibly hot, but she laughs it of and gives Beatrice a gentle shove before entering the fitting room.

Much to the shop workers dismay, Ava spends the next two hours putting on a fashion show for Beatrice, who sat in the fitting room opposite to Ava’s, getting her another size if it didn’t fit right and putting the clothes back in its hangers once she was done.

Beatrice had never been one to care for clothes, but seeing Ava’s confidence grow with each outfit, and her wide smile every time she threw open the curtain made her change her mind. Suddenly, she was very interested in what colors and cuts and patterns would suit Ava best, taking the advice of the girl in charge of the fitting rooms, who was kind enough to tell her coworkers not to kick them out after Ava’s fifth excited yell.

In the end though, Ava was only sure about a certain amount of clothes that wasn’t nearly enough of what she would need, considering they would be staying for a month, at best.

“We can just come back next week.” Beatrice shrugged, carrying the five bags full of basic stuff like underwear, socks and sportswear, plus shirts and pants for herself. “We also need to get some shoes.” She added, more for herself than for Ava to hear.

“But you hate shopping.” Ava pointed out with a slight pout.

“I hated shopping with my mother.” Beatrice corrected after a while, getting a wide, almost disbelieving smile from Ava. “It’s a lot better with you.” She added with a small, shy smile, making Ava stop right in front of her and throw her arms around Beatrice, despite the three bags she herself was holding.

“Thank you, Bea.” She said, low enough for only her to hear. It was an awkward hug due to the amount of bags they were holding, yet Beatrice couldn’t help but miss it once Ava stepped away.

From then on, every week or so they took an evening off from training and work, at first going to different stores and shopping malls in search of clothes, but later just to try new foods or look around, without really needing to buy anything.

It was on one of those days, after sharing a waffle topped with three different ice cream flavors, chocolate syrup and rainbow sprinkles, that Ava proposed an exchange.

“I’ll get something that I think you’ll like and you get me something.” She was basically buzzing with energy, already looking around the shop in search of something for Beatrice.

“What if you don’t like it?” Beatrice asked with a frown. She’d watched Ava try on million different things and she could certainly say she knew what she liked, but she was still not sure about having to buy something for her.

“Of course I’ll like it, Bea.” Ava reassured, taking her hand in hers and dragging her foward. “Let’s meet back here in 15 minutes?” Beatrice nodded absentmindedly, her mind too focused on Ava’s soft hand in hers.

Ava bolted right into the men’s section, as if she already had an idea of what to get, which Beatrice thought was unfair, but really sweet. Beatrice just walked around the store, not really looking at anything in particular, until a particular memory popped in her head.

Fifteen minutes later, they met at the entrance of the store, their hands hidden behind their backs.

“You first.” Beatrice said, and Ava took a small step forward before handing her the bag.

“If you don’t like it I can take it back but I really think this color would…” Ava spoke as she watched her open the bag, but stopped as she saw Beatrice’s lips curl up into a smile.

“It’s perfect.” She said simply, running her hands over the soft fabric of the blue sweater.

“Really?” Ava asked, looking into her eyes as if she could spot any trace of a lie.

“Mine looks small now.” Beatrice said, a little deflated, handing her a smaller bag in return. Ava didn’t reply and instead yanked the bag open, taking out a simple, blue hat and holding it out like it was some sort of trophy. “You’re always complaining about the sun hitting your eyes and your face getting all red so…” Beatrice explained, and though it wasn’t really needed because Ava was really happy with the hat, the reasoning behind it only made her cherish it more.

“Thank you.” Ava said, putting it on before giving Beatrice a quick kiss on the cheek, making both of their faces redden.

#you know which hat #and you know which sweater #there might be a part 2 because SOMEONE HAD TO CUT AVAS HAIR RIGHT #it’s an au but it’s cannon in my head #ava silva #ava x beatrice #avatrice #save warrior nun #warrior nun #sister beatrice #wlw #alba baptista #kristina tonteri young #fuck netflix

[afarcryfrommymain]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Far Cry 5, Far Cry: New Dawn, Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Faith Seed Additional Tags: Kidnapping, Ficlet Collection, Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition, Inspired by Dungeons & Dragons Series: Part 1 of Tales from Another World Summary:

First part to a bundle of fics (varying sizes) to a dungeons and dragons au for Far Cry 5. There isn't truly a main character in this so take that as you will.

It really is short so if you don't want to go to ao3 there's the whole thing under the cut. This whole this is an experiment so let me know what you think, constructive criticism is appreciated. 

They say she appears when you are at your most vulnerable, she whisks you to her brothers and you do not return the same. Something changes about you, something is different now.

He's trudging along, worse for wear, escaping imprisonment from the beast of the mountains, he prays to his God that what he had to do will be forgiven. He prays there is hope where he is going.

He heard of a safe haven from the angle, the beast, and the Baptist, no one warned him of the siren that stands in his way now.

In the distance he hears... bells? No- chimes, hooves crunching in the dirt, and a woman humming. Mist surrounds him and floating lights dance in his vision. A feeling of calm engulfs him, he almost doesn't notice the ever-present feeling of unease gripping his soul. It tells him to run, to hide, to get far away from it. He can't, he instead turns to the direction of the humming.

A woman with long blonde hair, and green eyes approaches on a white horse. She wears a white dress that almost floats, she looks ethereal. A gentle smile plays on her face.

Are you lost, little dove?

Her voice coos to him, and he almost cries, he is lost. Of course he is. There is no map, no compass, he can't eve see the stars. He tells her this, and she looks at him concerned. This feeling is the most comfort he's been given all day.

She reaches out a hand to him in response.

I can make sure you never feel lost again. All are welcome in the Bliss. All can be found in it.

He hesitates, even as he feels the joy he feels scared, why is he so scared? What could possibly be wrong? He asks her what the catch is. She giggles, like the very idea of there being a catch is silly. Her laughter is like bells.

So long as you have faith, you may walk the path without fear. Without pain.

Her hand is still outstretched. He is injured, and sore, and so so fucking tired. If all it takes is to walk...

He takes her hand she floats up, and he flies with her. Pain leaving him as he flies.He takes her hand she floats up, and he feels himself flying with her. He closes his eyes as he does, at peace.

He is never seen again.

#far cry 5 #faith seed #fc5 faith #my writing #i wasn't lying. It is short #she's fucking stealing people off the side ofthe road.l #lIke they're lost cats or something #except you don't kill cats like that #pray for my man btw he got away from Jacob only to be fucked over by Faith poor thing. #he has no name yall can give him one if you'd like. Just calling him "the guy' in my head #this barely does anything dnd esc tbh and I know that it's just dipping my toes in it. Showing small changes #yes she's still barefoot. Cannon event type shit

[doodleodds]

BAM here’s some old train!palace stuff! It’s just thumbnails for a comic i never got around to finalizing,, but yeah i guess its bonus content now lol. now you can see how most of my nonsense starts xD

#i love taking lines from cannon and twisting them to fit my own purposes :) #i also love goro unapologetically getting to say that no! he WONT settle for just changing shido's heart! he still wants to kill this mf!!! #ooOooOOoh but the moral high ground- FUCK THE MORAL HIGH GROUND LET GORO KEEP HIS MURDEROUS TENDENCIES #goro hasn't and won't ever share the pt's morals and he's made it this far. like hell is he gonna squander his kill shot if he gets one #.....anyway i was originally going to end this with a 'just let me do this for you!!' line from goro to akira #like. it went from solely vengance for goro's mother in his head to vengeance for the lives shido made him take (& akira's) as well #so now destroying shido and destroying himself is like pennance almost. which i know isn't a new concept in goro redemption arcs #but like. selfish self destruction just gets me so good sometimes ok???? #anyway yeah uh enough rambling lol. is half of that even connected to this comic? not really but i was thinking about it so there it is lmao #cowardlybean this is mainly for you since you like the au so much ^^;;;; hope it lives up to the rest of it lol #maybe delete later? we'll see

[annihilatius]

The Karl Heisenberg boss fight on VOS might be the most bullshit thing I have ever experienced in a video game thus far

#v.txt #resident evil #you thought mother miranda on hardcore was bad??? HajahahhshHahhHahhahsgshahaa HAHAHAHHA NO. #i was going thorigh this thinking it was easy as hell and jesus i was humbled fast #no matter how manu times i destory his weak spots it enebr feels like im doing any damahe to him #HE JUST NEVER. FUCKING. DIES #i got so close before i just snapped #i was doing so good even tjoigh i was dying and he was charhing at me when i had nothing to stall him out with #so i was going to hit him with my cannon #....................and i missed #and thats what killed me #for reference i have been trying to kill this piece of shit for an hour snd a half #and i have only managed to last longer than 3 minutes no more than 3 times #oh yeah snd mind you this is PHASE ONE #where for no fukcing reaosn you CANT HEAL #and on VOS difficultly if you die if you get hit head on woyh something twice and blocking just postpones the inevitable #i just sat there wiyh my head in my hands so fucking infuriated #shaking and unable to think cognitively because i was so hungry #and i still am by how many spelling misyakes im making #at least on mother miranda rven if it was complete horseshit there was still some strategy there #i kept dying over easily preventable things or my guns were just too weak #meanwhile on heisenberg missing ONE shot will kill you and you just have to suck it up because once Again YOU. CANT. HEAL #oh but you wanna know the potentially worse lart thogh...??? chris's section is probably going to be even worse #because his weapons do 270 and 100ish damage a shot respectively and the average lycan has like 4000 health #at least i know now that the mother miranda boss fight cant be any worse than it was before because now i have my infinite ammo s.t.a.k.e

[hauntingblue]

Fucking crocodile!!!!! YEAAAAHHHH!!!!

#fucking soru and the like. die #-luffy rn actually #hancock could just turn the admirals into stone and win. like she is that girl #in my head she is head full of thought of luffy and she just starts throwing hands (or legs) instinctively #well nvm maybe she couldnt because they resist her charms. whatever...... #OMG A SECRET BOAT #but oars just sitting there... i would be smashing marines left and right.... but i guess im just built different #these bitches have been under the sea for like an hour #the aim on these cannons are abismal. like damn #well goodbye helmeppo goodbye koby they were in there right #ON HIS FACE???? OMG OARS #shirohige i need you to do quick work of the admirals and let luffy save ace letsgo come on #he doesnt look too good.... #GARP DO NOT STEP IN #THERE IS A LINE AND ITS RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU. DO. NOT. TOUCH IT. #talking tag #watching one piece #episide 475

[cassaloopa]

Just got angry again at the Duffer Bros over Eddie cuz I realize I want a Friends-style sitcom with all the older kids moving to Chicago and living in the same building. It’s literally perfect.

Nancy and Jonathan are totally Chandler and Monica.

Steve and Eddie are Ross and Rachel no doubt.

Robin is an eccentrically brainiac Phoebe and Argyle is an adorably stoned Joey

And they could have a whole Scooby-Doo element where they solve bullshit mysteries while driving around in Eddie’s van and Robin insists on getting them a dog that they can’t actually have in their apartment but sneak in anyway and Steve is fully in love with it.

WHY DID YOU BREAK UP THE DYNAMIC D.BROS WHYYYY 😭

#it’s my head cannon now so fuck you #you can’t take this from me #they could have a coffee shop/book store they worked at #and Robin could join a shitty jazz band #and Eddie could play at dive bars #steddie #jancy #stranger things #cass says random shit

[batsarebetterthanpeople]

I'm literally so lazy that I do too much. Like I know how to make a sketch from scratch I do it often enough but instead you'll catch me taking my clothes off, putting on my Jack wig and stache and my strap on and posing for a camera so I can just trace myself because I don't wanna make a sketch.

Anyway Jack and Stede might be a little skinny in the next divorce court poster but also I may over compensate and they could be a bit bigger than they are who knows, not me. Still holding out to strike a perfect balance.

#don't read the tags unless you want to I'm not your dad #do I give Jack a coke head body since I made it cannon he pops pills like crazy? idk. #not saying that I have a body indicitive of cocaine use but also I was on an adhd stimulant med through my formative years #which has fucked up my metabolism to this day and is also the only reason I graduated high school #and also on a 52 year old man yes it is indicative of stimulant use lol #alexa play rumors by neffex

[curioscurio]

Have u finished losh 2006 yet or are u still watching bc season two………. Still some of the gayest stuff on TV

JUST FINISHED IT AND FELLAS... lads is it gay to be a robot and program a holosuite scenario of you dying dramatically in your crushes arms while being called a hero, then going down a corruption arc and straight up murdering the biggest villain of the season and taking his place only to be called to the side of good once again when said crush goes into ur mind to rescue you by unconditionally believing in your humanity. And you hold him in your arms paralleling the first episode of the season while your crush (fused together with a clone of himself) calls you his hero while completing your narrative arc of your emotions further strengthening your bond to humanity?

Wild that they let Brainy straight up murder Imperiex on what is essentially a children's show but I feel like it helps bridge that gap between Season 2 Brainy and the way they characterized him in Supergirl

ALSO THE SEARCH FOR SPOCK THING THEY DID LMAOOOO i loved it!! Unsurprising though as Wil Wheaton voiced Cosmic Lad haha

Definitely found myself wishing for a crossover episode with Teen Titans, but I guess I gotta go read the comics for that haha 😄

#after being mostly a fan of marvel a lot of my life i watch a few seasons of supergirl and suddenly im a dc stan #also big boromir vibes AHAHHAHA has a corruption arc dies in the arms of your hero #i am looking respectfully #i wonder if i need to tag this as spoilers #losh spoilers #losh #also looks at wil wheaton looks at data looks at brainy looks back at data looks back at brainy boring holes into wils head #sorry im a sucker for robots having human feelings trope #also im rambling some more but i really do think brainy goes through some amazing character development in supergirl #emotionally that is #i love brainy x nia endgame but also the guy has a Type tm and its superman #i think he gets with kara at some point but im ignoring it unless its the universe where brainy is a girl and is wives with kara which is #aparently cannon. cannon that the director dox female brainys wife was kara in that universe #anyway what a fun and fucked up little guy he is. im putting him in my jar of characters i think are cool #not that kind of jar you understand. thats a different jar #long post

[trans-estinien]

emet/hyth for the ship bingo!

ok technically this is for azem/emet/hyth but it applies to all of them either way. im so normal i can be so normal i like them a completely and reasonable amount.

#THEY LIVE IN MY HEAD RENT FREE AT ALL HOURS #I JUST. OUUUUUUUUGHHHHHHHHHHHH #THEY ARE A PAIR DO NOT SEPERATE!!!! #for the 'i need this to be cannon' bit i dont care at all if they ever confirm it but it will ALWAYS be cannon in my heart #like. like. oughg. logiuhgohg.oguhiug g.oghuioghiogg. i have many many many many feelings about them #even if you dont go the polycule route and just go with emet/hyth. sill so many fucking feelings. so many. so fucking many. oughg.gh oghuig

[luciusime]

Apartment 21C, And The Fucker That Lives There

Bad things happened, but they weren't as permanent as Dylan thought they would be. Well, except for the arm. Fuck Monsters, and fuck loosing an arm. Spoilers, of course.

There are tags explaining what this is, but they're at the bottom. I recently finished the audio recording for a book called Fuck Monsters, which you can find on Reddit, YouTube, and Amazon should you feel like checking it out yourself. I liked it alot, made me laugh and then almost cried because how could you do this to my meow meows for real. Now that it's over, I'm writing a sorta fix-it comfort fic. I need them together and whole again. Also my AO3 iffin ya wanna read it there.

The ceiling of Dylan's new apartment is white, except for a little brown spot on the roof he tries hard not to look at. The walls are white too, and as much as he'd like to fill them with something, he really can't think of a single thing to put on them. The floors are bare too; once upon a time there might have been a rug or two, one at the door to clean shoes before you took them off, and one in the bathroom to catch water when you got out of the bath, but even though he'd moved in almost a month ago, he hadn't gotten around to going to any stores but the grocery and liquor ones. There's a tiny voice in the back of his head telling him he should be doing better, living better; but there's a louder one that yells that shitty bourbon is the answer to all of his needs.

He has the basics from his last apartment: the couch, which was brand new when it made its way to his last apartment so now it's mostly fine; his king sized bed, which was a nice bonus from the hazard pay from his last job; his dresser, which served as a kind of bookshelf for a few titles he'd picked up while at a general store getting groceries; all the stuff that went in a kitchen and a tv. All in all, everything he'd need for his "indefinite leave" which headquarters was miraculously paying for.

He hates it.

He hadn't been without a job to do in years, so he'd almost forgotten what he did before. But when he did remember, he discovered it was just more drinking. 'cept he'd had friends to drink with before all this. 

He puts his current read down on the coffee table beside him and carefully sits up, taking a moment to lament his redeveloping ability to roll off the couch before standing. He walks over to the kitchen and grabs a half empty fifth of…something, hell he doesn't know. He'd peeled the sticker off the bottle for some perceived slight while he was shit faced, and he never really bothered to look at the bottles when he bought them, only the price. Sadly, while headquarters covers his apartment and minor living expenses, booze is not among their list of covered necessities. Either way he steadies the bottle against the counter and pops the cork out, tipping his head back as he empties some more of the bottle down his throat. He sets the bottle down as he turns to the fridge.

His hand grasps the handle of the fridge, except it doesn't, and he sighs as he reaches out with his left hand. That too had been a problem for the last two months. Forgetting, feeling it when it wasn't there, face planting into doors and walls and floors when he slips up and forgets. Stopping his falls, of which there were many, had become a serious problem. He almost broke his nose the last time he'd fallen over one of his shoes that he'd left on the floor. He got more careful where he left his things after that.

Looking into said fridge, nothing strikes him as particularly appetizing. There's some sliced pineapple, milk, leftover take out, and some lunch meat. He's about to close the fridge without getting anything, but his rumbling stomach reminds him he hasn't actually eaten anything that day, so he grabs the lunch meat and closes the door with his hip. It takes some maneuvering, but he's eventually able to get his bag of lunch meat and his bottle of booze in his hand before he makes his way back over to the couch. Upon looking though, he decides the couch isn't really where he wants to be, and so he retreats to his room.

His room is dark, the blackout curtains drawn over the afternoon sun and the lights off from when he had left it that morning in a burst of surprise energy to go running. He doesn't bother turning the lights on as he walks over to his desk and sets his goods down to start his "lunch".

By the time he's done, it'd been an hour and he's thoroughly smashed. He'd gone slow with the rest of the bottle, purely because he hadn't had anything to eat that day, and because he literally could not tell you if he'd had water in the last 72 hours, so the buzz is pleasantly spread across his body and not giving him much nausea. His bag of lunch meat had run out about 5 minutes in though, so there he sits at his desk with an empty fifth and a plastic bag of nothing.

His bones creak as he stands and moves over to his bed, sprawling out as far as he can. He lets his hair dangle in his face as his eyes drift closed. For a long while he just sits there, feeling all together as pleasant as he could. It might have been seconds, it might have been minutes, but it was nowhere near hours when for the first time in 2 months, there was a knock at Dylan's door.

At first he doesn't get up, very sure that it's a door to door salesman or something of the like, but then the door is being pounded on and refusing to be ignored. Before he could get up though, the pounding stops, and a tapping on his window starts. Dylan might not have been on an assignment, a hunt, in a while, but two months is in no way enough time to erase the instincts and paranoia that had been pounded into his body during his time as an exterminator.

He crouches low to the ground, slipping the replacement he'd gotten for his beloved gun out from under the bed as he slowly backs up towards his bedroom door, intent on putting as much space between him and whatever was at his 4th story window as possible to buy him some time to think. Well, he was backing up, until another pounding starts at the door, and seconds later more tapping comes from the glass of his window. For a moment he feels something brush across the back of his head, sliding over his shoulders before entering his ears, a whisper of a whisper. He shakes it off and continues out of his room, intent on locking himself in the windowless bathroom so he can call someone from headquarters to make sure they were doing something about the current situation outside of his apartment.

Halfway down the hall however, he freezes as a voice rings out from the front door. It's scratchy and low, like years of smoking makes a voice. It isn't loud, but it projects across the threshold of his doorway nonetheless.

" I know you're in there you motherfucker, open up Dylan," and hasn't he been longing for months to hear that voice one more time, his alcohol addled mind whispers as yet again that force slides over him and into his ear. Once more he bats it off, but this time there's more than just a whisper, and Dylan thinks this might be the point at which he's lost his mind.

" I know this is overwhelming Dylan, but I promise you can open the door, no harm will come to you."

He's gonna scream, he thinks to himself as tears well in his eyes and his mind fumbles over itself to provide any and every monster it can think of that could mimic a voice like that without previous contact with the owner of the voice or someone who had met that voice. He thinks about any and every encounter he has had in the last two months, and the answer he comes up with is emptier than his work email. He grips his gun tighter as he slides down the hallway wall just around the corner of the living room.

More sounds come from the front door, this time not accompanied by the hellish knocking on his window. He buries his head in his knees as once more those voices come from his door. He pulls his arm in so his gun is pointing straight up and his elbow is resting on his knee. He wishes he had his other hand to better block off the noise.

Not real, not real, not real, not real, not real, not REAL, NOT REAL, NOT REAL.

" I promise this is real."

Softly, ever so softly, that same energy comes around him again, this time accompanied by a second less familiar one, and he doesn't know whether that should frighten him or reaffirm that this is, in fact, a monster come to torment him one last time now that he's down on his luck. The second one doesn't hurt though, no, it's just as gentle as the first as they roll over his mind and begin to show him things, to tell him things.

An image of that day, that horrible day, starts to play in his mind. It's from the eyes of someone else, thrust right into the center of the cluster of parasite ridden bodies, and as soon as he heard that smooth voice, like aloe over a burn, he knew that this was a memory from Theodore. He ripped free the first time, crushed Athena and watched as her look of gratitude shifted to nothing as she became a fine mist, watched as Theodore's win became temporary, then nothing at all as the world went black and all that Theodore was was ripped from his chest and made to be a part of the thing. 

Suddenly he's looking at himself, whole except for the wounds to his legs, and at the sight of those he can feel a slight pang of regret that isn't his own. Memory Dylan was propped up against the wall looking on at the destruction and creation wrought around him, and then he was once again subject to Sandra's plan. As memory Sandra slipped away from memory Dylan, part of him wants to beg her not to go, to stay with him as the end came about, but this was only a memory. He felt as that ever steady presence slipped over the thing and found Theodore.

As soon as Sandra started talking he can see Theodore from above, from behind, from in front, from below, from so many impossible angles it makes his head begin to hurt, and then just from above again as that first energy, one he's beginning to grow frighteningly fine with, settles on the best direction to view from. 

Sandra of the memory explained the plan to Theodore, going as fast as she could now that she was fading almost as quickly as her words could come. He understood just as fast, and once more he was a witness to the prowess of his former teammates. In that moment, for a brief second between bouts of grief, horror, and rage it's enough to make Dylan feel stupid, once more inadequate in the face of their genius and ability, and then he's just sad again. The second energy, one he's having to fight not to put a name to in fear he'd be gravely wrong, slides down his skull and over his back in what he thinks is supposed to be a comforting motion. Really it just sends a shiver down his spine.

As memory Theodore ripped himself free from the being's control with the help of memory Sandra, there was no sight or sound, only feeling as he boldly lashed out once, then twice as Dylan failed to hit the first time. Then a third, final lash to close the portal for good. As the world began to fade, Dylan felt as his two closest people began to do so as well, wrapped around each other so as not to truly die alone. 

What Dylan had missed as he was leaving, and the clean up crew had missed as they were coming in, was a single little light, a pure gold wrapped in brilliant silver, drifting down from the air and settling into one of many cracks and crevices of the building, one that no one had bothered to check. Slowly the one light became two, and then none at all. For a moment Dylan thinks they had finally died and found rest, but then the world started spinning, gnashing against reality in little, unnoticed ways. 

2 months, 1 month to wake up and realize they weren't dead, though it was a little longer for Sandra, and another to use that discarded, unnoticed mystery meat to make new bodies. Dylan looks up from his knees and to the door, and with all of his heart he wants to tear it open and gaze upon those two faces, but he knows what monsters are capable of, and he had taken Sandra's ashes back home for her and watched as those things tore Theodore to pieces. But as that familiar energy runs over his mind and the second slips over his body, he can't really seem to bring himself to care. He hasn't had a purpose in two months, nothing to keep him going besides the knowledge that to end himself with the last thing headquarters had authorized him to take would be giving them too much.

As he rips the door open and lays eyes on those two faces, identical to his memory, he reasons that it doesn't really matter whether or not the two outside were monsters, because really, what else does he have to live for. They're frowning as he looks at them, probably on account of the fact they can read his mind and his thoughts were pretty self-deprecating, but that doesn't even matter as he tries to wrestle them into his arm. They eventually start helping by wrapping him in their four perfectly working arms, and he starts crying in earnest once he's surrounded in their very real warmth. If he didn't know that his neighbors were at work he was sure that they would be peaking at the spectacle happening in front of his door, but there's never anyone around during the afternoon. 

One of them, Theodore he thinks, backs them into his apartment and kicks the door shut. Then in a move that is entirely Theodore, he's being hoisted into the air along with Sandra and startled out of his tears. They begin moving towards the couch, but all his mind can think about is how it's too small to comfortably fit them all in a way they could remain touching. He needed them to stay touching. He yanked on Theodore's hair slightly to get his attention before motioning towards his bedroom door. He feels Theodore slip over his mind and is grateful he won't have to talk as his breath stutters over a tearful sob. He gets the message loud and clear, and steers them towards Dylan's room. 

Theodore softly dumps Sandra and Dylan onto the bed before moving to climb in on Dylan's right. Sandra tucks her head into the left crook of Dylan's neck, pinning his arm to his side as she throws hers over him, and Theodore warps as much of the two of them as he can reach up in his arms. Dylan cries for the next 10 minutes, and the two just let him. No judgment, no probing, no words. When he's finally done he keeps his head buried in Theodore's chest so he doesn't have to look them in the eyes. Sandra runs her fingers through his hair softly as Theodore taps little nonsensical rhythms into his cheek. They don't talk, not that night, they just sit there and enjoy each other's company. Dylan hopes they never leave him like that again.

Fuck Monsters, and fuck being alone

#i just finished the youtube audio recording for this book called fuck monsters #it was really good #and i had like this whole list of tags when i made the draft for this post this morning when i finished the book #but tumblr is so very dumb #and they got deleted #but #the book is by a redditer #u/RehnWriter #or Rene Rehn #Rene Rehn #and the youtube recording is by Jordan Grupe Horror #Jordan Grupe Horror #and these are my newest blorbos #my little meow meow #Dylan #Sandra #Theodore #who is my favorite little rat bastard #im gonna give you a couple head cannons while im here #im pretty sure Dylan is the oldest and Theodre is the youngest #Sandra is the middle one #being somewhere in her mid to late 30s but not yet 40 #where as Dylan feels 30-40 something years old #and gor reasons i cannot properly explain but would be happy to ramble about #Theodore is mid to late 20s #also for reasons i could ramble about #i think Dylan's parents are no contact or dead

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Can you write a college roommate head cannon for miguel O’Hara ( 18+ f!reader)

ik you asked for HCs but I have no self control... my bad, anon!

College Roommate!Miguel O'Hara Headcanons

(AO3 Mirror), Main Masterlist

pairing: College Roommate!Miguel O'Hara x f!reader

summary: Miguel is your roommate. And he’s hot. That’s it, that’s the tweet.

warnings: 18+ as fuuuck. F-receiving oral, using toys, masturbation, voyeurism (-ish), grinding, praise, service dom (idk?) Miguel, recreational drug use (reader and Miggy smoke a blunt). Minors DNI

a/n: I am a firm believer that modern day Miguel listens to 90s rnb, back when men were men: unabashedly, unashamedly down so fucking bad for their partners. he just gives me those vibes!!

edit: I'm writing a full fic for this! Rigor Mortis, college au fic, read here.

wc: 6k

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

I'm thinking you become roommates but he's your last choice. 

Very last minute: you have a big falling out with your now ex-boyfriend, and the plans for flatsharing next semester goes right out the window. 

So all the good places are taken, and you're going apartment-hunting, but everywhere's either too expensive, too dirty, or there's a predatory clause hidden in the lease: shitty landlords and blaring red flags in 9pt Times New Roman. 

When you stumble upon Miguel O'Hara; a student in private accomodation who, lucky you, is in need of a roommate; it feels like a godsend.

Rent is affordable and he's nice enough; refusing to grunt more than a few words to you, but is clean, organised, and from what you can tell, is barely in the apartment. 

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

You give a thousand mile stare at the blank document in front of you. A bullshit paper due in exactly 12 hours. Yes, you left it until the final stretch, and yes, it's 10k words. Very doable. You're not fucked. Nope.

You blame it on the banging from next door. Paper thin walls; obscene noises. Cries of Yes Miguel and Just like that, daddy have been plaguing you for almost an hour. His stamina must be superhuman, the way the woman in his bed has been howling. Howling may seem extreme, but she sounds like a dying cat: cock drunk and babbling over Miguel O'Hara? 

Your new roommate had been nice enough. Quiet, unassuming, and seemed more than absorbed in his schoolwork. So you didn't expect him to unashamedly fuck the girl he's been tutoring for the past week. It all clicks. The "perfect roommate" turned out to have one teeny tiny little flaw: loud, obnoxious sex, well into the early hours of the morning. 

On autopilot, you're clicking through tabs on your bed. Perhaps you're a prude, but the sex noises are abrasive, excessive, to the point of parody. Persistent, Miguel's low voice reverberates in the walls of your bedroom; making heat pool at the base of your stomach. 

"You want it, hermosa? Tell me…. such a pretty girl… like that?" It's muffled, but his voice is unmistakable. Low, greedy, heavy with want. God, the last time someone's spoken to you like that was… 

You shake your head free of cobwebs. No. You're not rewarding him. You can't . Your roommate is shameless, and inconsiderate, and really fucking annoying . 

The smacking noises increase, coupled with banging on his side of the wall. Resolute, your face hardens. From where you perch on your bed, you slam the wall with the side of your fist. 

"O'Hara! Keep it the fuck down!" 

~~~

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

The only times he'd be in the apartment really was an impromptu session, and you didn't notice at first, but it became more obvious as the semester went on.

As a so-called tutor, he only seemed to pick the prettiest girls - they would twirl their hair on your kitchen counter and bat their pretty lashes at him when they didn't understand. Favours for a couple of friends, is his only response when you ask. 

It felt like you'd open the door to a new girl every week and you are baffled. Donned in makeup and short skirts, they'd waddle in asking for Miggy, or drop off half-finished assignments whilst craning their head through, trying to catch a glimpse of him. 

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

Not that he's not absolutely gorgeous, but he's so quiet you would never have thought he had it in him: to have a revolving door of women lining up to lay underneath him. 

This time, her name is Sarah: pretty little thing in Miguel's Advanced Math class.  She perches on a stool, wearing a tight dress that is wholly not appropriate for a tutoring session. She's one of his regulars, if you can call it that, and has been failing for at least 2 semesters. You flash her a smile as you pad through the kitchen, searching the cupboards for a snack. God, she is gorgeous; dolled up for another long session with Miguel, no doubt.

"Where's he gone?" She asks politely. 

You shrug. "I couldn't tell you, sorry."

"It's okay… I'm just a bit stuck." You almost snort and catch yourself. For some reason, you didn't think they actually did any work, merely a pretense for the… cardio later on in the day. 

You glance at her sheet of paper, scribbles in purple pen with large swathes crossed out. Leaning over, you scan the page.

"Right here." You point and she follows with a manicured finger. "You fucked up with this integral and I think… yeah, I think that messes with the whole thing."

Her eyes light up as she follows you, explaining with a piece of cookie hanging out of your mouth. She's definitely smart, just a few little mistakes here and there that you're happy to point out. Thanking you fervently, she rushes to correct it. 

"Ah, it's no problem. I get mixed up with it too." You smile and notice Miguel by the doorway, watching with a strange look in his face. You roll your eyes as you walk past. What a fucking weirdo. 

"Thought I was the tutor?" He croons.

You raise an eyebrow, voice low as Sarah is engrossed in her work. "...I don't want to fuck her, Miggy , if that's what you're worried about."

A little cruelly you push past him, shoulders clashing against one another. Is he smiling ? For now, you blame your perpetual tiredness when you think you catch the hint of a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

~~~

You're a light sleeper, and it all makes for a tired, delirious combo. You sleepwalk through the day, scramble to finish assignments and whilst it's not all O'Hara's fault, you can't help but blame him for a lot of it. 

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

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

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

It was a joke gift; given to you by a friend for your birthday. An obnoxiously purple dildo with a suction cup at its base. Aptly named Hugh, due to its - ahem - large stature. Standing tall at 7 or 8 inches, far bigger or thicker than any partner you've taken in the past. Sitting around a small diner booth with your friends and opening the bag to reveal him, had been quite the experience, for sure. 

It wasn't your fault you had gone through a dry spell in the past few months. With work, with school, with relationship issues, you hadn't had the time or energy to sleep around. Not that you were desperate for drunk, lackluster sex, followed by an awkward dance of ubers and shitty coffee in the morning. Like many, you preferred to do it yourself. 

Laptop open, you ease yourself onto the toy, already slick with lube. Prepping yourself with your fingers had been quite the task, tabs open to something on a lewd website. It's cheesy, but you didn't really like the bright lights and plastic of usual porn. The moans felt too fake, the sex devoid of any real passion. So you found a couple of independent creators; couples, mostly; carnal fucking with fervour only borne from real love . It's embarrassing to admit it, but your favourite parts are the little kisses and touches in between, or light laughter after a rough session. As if to say: it's okay and I'm still here. 

On your screen now is a longtime favourite video, a broad man bullying his fat cock into his partner. You can't help but think he looks like Miguel, not as pretty but tan with strapping shoulders, and large hands that wrap around the neck of the girl in the video. 

" F-Fuck," You breathe, sinking down onto your toy. You bet Miguel's palm on your throat would be deliciously rough, and you imagine how he'd fuck the brat out of you like the man on your screen. 

What hadn't occurred to you, however, was that the thin walls went both ways. Whilst you were quieter than many of the girls Miguel brought home, you were fairly shameless with the moans and curses that fell from your lips. Headphones on, you were blissfully unaware that Miguel had slipped into the apartment some time ago. The slap of your thighs to the floor, the desperate whine as you roll your hips over the toy - he can hear it all. 

Miguel has a conscience, so he does feel some amount of shame when he slips a hand down his trousers and presses an ear to your shared wall. He closes his eyes and bites down lusty groans, fisting his cock to your pretty noises. Noises he's been wanting to hear from you for months, now, imagining it was you underneath him instead of his usual partners. 

He times it just right, squeezing around his tip in time with the steady slap just beyond the wall. Are you fucking yourself? On your knees, hands flat on the floor, churning up your insides with a toy… or maybe ass up, dildo attached to something…? He almost cums with that mental image, wondering what you'd look like on your knees for him. Is the dildo as big as him? He knows you, knows you'd want it to hurt - for his cock to stretch out your pretty pussy when he cums deep inside you. 

All things he thinks about with a hand around his cock, and he's already close. But he wants to cum with you, listening intently for the signs. 

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

He speeds up, wondering what it would be like to have your thighs shake underneath him, what it would take to have you babbling and begging for more. How would he break you? Maybe on his cock, where he'd watch you squirm as you take his length. Or on your knees, choking around him and licking up his cum. Or, God, thighs wrapped around his head, riding out your high with his mouth sealed on your clit, crying for him slow down, for him to-

" H-Harder, Miguel, please." 

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

" Fuck, Miguel…"

He fucks his fist through it, overstimulated from the way you say his name. It feels like the only way it should be said; spilling from your mouth, haphazard and desperate. Like honey, like treacle; sweet things he didn't know he had the capacity for. He lets that feeling wash over him, panting, bringing his forehead to rest on cool wall. 

~~~

He's hot. He's smart. He's a whore.

A total blindspot for you, and no matter how much you can't stand him; you still find yourself stealing glances whenever he's home. 

And he does seem to be home a lot more, often choosing to study on the dining table rather than his room. It's like he does it on purpose, using the warmer weather as an excuse to wear tiny tank tops and loose gray sweats - showing off the muscles of his broad back and arms perfectly.

Funnily enough, when he's not around those girls, he's bearable - seems to have grown a couple of brain cells in those short few days between sessions. 

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

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

You had fallen into an easy routine: O'Hara leaves a flask of coffee for you to snatch up in the morning, hair damp from the shower and all, and you meet him with netflix and instant noodles in the evening. A push and pull that works in the little space - much smoother than your rocky beginnings.

After a truly shitty day, you come home to a quiet apartment. Almost sleeping through an exam, forgetting lunch, missing the bus home, and having to trek back through pouring rain in a thin coat. Everything that could go wrong, did, and you are left with the pieces. You trudge through the living room into the kitchen, the wet squelch of socks on laminate floor haunting every step. Shedding your limp outerwear, you lay the contents of your backpack onto the kitchen counter: clumps of loose paper, the damp leftovers of a textbook, bleeding ink. Your main concern, however, is your laptop slick with rain water. 

With baited breath, you put it on the slab, and press the power button. A click, a stuttering whir, and the screen flickers on. Then, just as strained, it putters off. Dead. Completely dead. Your legs almost give out, and you lean on the counter to steady yourself. Half of your life was there; including the final project that would make up a good chunk of your grade. It takes you everything not to collapse onto the floor right then and there. 

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

You wince."...F-Fine?" 

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

You clear your throat, desperately trying to keep your voice steady. "Fine. It was fine. I'm just… it was fine."

Back still turned, you fumble around with the wet contents of your bag, hoping he doesn't notice. 

"Long day?" He says warmly, head poking into the kitchen. Haphazardly, you spare him a glance from behind your shoulder. He's dressed in a sweater that fits snug around his chest, rolled up to expose his forearms, and loose sweats. In his hands, he drinks from a cheesy mug - your mug, donning a stupid pun. He looks warm. Cosy. Domestic. For some, reason it makes your heart sink even further. 

Long day? "Something like that." You manage to squeeze out. There's a pregnant pause as he comes closer. Rummaging blindly through a cupboard, you try to hide behind its door. If he sees you like this, now, you don't know if you'll be able to hold it together. 

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

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

"You look… wet." 

"That's because it rained, Miguel." Snapping at him, your tone is biting. You're tired, stressed and in desperate need of a cry, but he is unrelenting in his gaze. 

"Are you ok?" He asks, unfazed. 

There's a lump in your throat and all you can do is nod with a tight expression.  His eyes flicker towards the counter and you shuffle, trying to cover up the mess. And then you watch it happen; initial confusion, a flash of realisation, and then worry; all in the space of a couple seconds. 

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

He's got a hand on your arm now,  The dam breaks and you crumple into tears in the kitchen floor. Of course, he comes with you, rubbing your back as you blubber through the details. 

" Nothing's going right for me… and I've got my final project on there… I'm barely keeping up as it is…" All he does is nod, face tight with something you can't quite name. It must seem pathetic to him, you think, shamelessly crying on the kitchen floor, complaining to your poor roommate. He can't leave you like this, because he's a decent person - but internally, he must think you're going crazy. 

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

"You could've asked me to pick you up." He hands you some tissues off the counter, and watches as you mop up the tears. "I would've come, if you called."

"I didn't… I didn't think we were…" You search for the right word. 

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

"First of all," It makes you laugh, despite yourself. "You offered. And second, I've seen what you do with your friends, and I don't know if I have the energy for it."

"Ouch." Bashful, he rubs his chest like it aches. He sits a little close to you, knocking your shoulders with his own. "I know this girl who's crazy good with computers. I could ask her to take a look, if you'd like? Might not be able to save it but maybe we could recover the files?"

"...I'd like that, to be honest."

"Muy bien ." He leaps to his feet, palm stretched towards you to help you up. "I'll run you a warm bath or something. You're creating a puddle and it's going to ruin my floor."

"Our floor, asshole. I pay rent here, too." 

~~~

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

You can't help but compare him to your shitty ex who you were planning to move in with: and even with his quirks, Miguel is better in every way. 

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

It doesn't last long, because of course it doesn't. You'd thought you'd come to a tentative ceasefire, able to casually rib and joke with each other - takeout and B-roll movies aside. He leaves you leftovers from food he makes, you turn down your music when he's studying, and he even woke you up the other day when you had slept through your alarm.

Beyond the wall, his music is loud: a playlist you recognise as the one he puts on to (unsuccessfully) mask the noise of his usual late night adventures. Cheesy love ballads, heady RnB that leaks into your own room. You'd rather die than admit his taste in music isn't horrible, but it usually means a long, long night for everyone around. With finals around the corner, there's no way you can let this stand. 

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

Absorbed in your own work, you hadn't even realised he had someone over; let alone was gearing up for obnoxious sex. You'd bang on the wall, but you feel like you guys are past that: crossed a threshold of intimacy that means you can shout at him up close and personal. 

So you stomp over to the hallway, banging at the door to his room. In the short trip there, you've worked yourself into a frenzy. How many times have you told him to keep it down? That it was rude and inconsiderate to flaunt his sex life in your face; to fuck other women so loud you were practically involved? There was something about the little smile he would give you afterwards, when you catch him shepherding his latest out the door in the morning - like he gets off on it, enjoys it, when you react. Even when you think you're over it, he still manages to drive you absolutely crazy. 

“Miguel? Open the fuck up!"

You're still fuming when the door opens with a click, and Miguel appears in the sliver of the doorway. He opens it so that his frame is half swallowed by the door, top half peeking through with a lazy hand in his hair. And of his top half, he's bare from the waist up, black band of his boxers sitting low on his v-line and loose sweats. 

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

"Yeah?" 

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

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

There's something about the way he says it, lazily, as if it's his first time saying those words - wrapping his tongue around your name to see how it fits. If it fits, how it tastes. His relaxed posture, the way his hair falls…

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

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

"Shhh! You can't-" Now, he gets close, whispering like he's saying something he shouldn't. "You can't tell anyone. "

"I won't." You breathe. His face is serious at first, and then you're both giggling. You've never seen him so carefree, and it's nice to see Miguel walking around without the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He's still holding your hand, pressed close, and you see him drag his eyes up and down your figure. "You want do something you'll regret…?"

"...I've got a 9am, tomorrow, I really-" 

"-shouldn't?" He finishes, dragging his hand up your bare arm, pupils blown. He gets up to your shoulders, tucking your hair behind your ear. It's sinful, the way his touch is gentle but gaze heavy - violent in the way he practically eyefucks you. You feel bare, in little sleep shorts and a t-shirt.

He steps back, lounging on his bed, and makes for a half finished blunt by the adjacent window sill. Sighing, you sit by him, sinking into the mattress. He pats you closer, dangerously close, and you comply. One arm curled by your waist, the other brings the blunt up close and you wrap your lips around it. When Miguel brings a lighter to the blunt, you lean into it, knuckles brushing your lips. 

You take a drag, long, heavy, eyes closed. And when they open, you're met with his own. Maybe it's the weed, maybe it's the heady atmosphere, but you swear his eyes are low and deep with lust.

"Good girl." He rumbles, cupping your chin and tracing a thumb to your lips. He separates, bringin the blunt to his own lips before leaning back to pass it to you. As quick as he gets close, he pulls away; leaning back into the expanse of his large bed. And he looks good, head drawn back and the curve of his tan arm drawn upwards. Tufts of hair from his chest, the trail that leads down suggestively - and without inhibition, you basically drool over him. God, there it is. You feel it kick in and let it wash over you. 

His music, long forgotten, blends into your downy haze. You want to sit in his lap, rest your head on his chest. You get it now: if this is the view all those women he tutors get to have, then you finally understand. 

"Come closer, hermosa ." You barely register the nickname, only focused on the way he says it, the delicious way it rolls off of his tongue. You nod, and shuffle closer. His siren song sounds sweeter, somehow, up close. 

You pass the blunt between you both, and watch it dwindle to the last dregs. Lying down next to him, he clutches your hand and takes the butt between his fingers, letting its flames die as you watch. You giggle and his gaze softens.

"I didn't expect this from you." You look up to see an upside-down Miguel, hiding a smile. 

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

"All…" You gesture vaguely. "This. Don't even think I've been in your room for this long, before."

His room looks exactly how you'd expect it: tidy and modest, a row of trophies neatly lined up on a shelf, a telescope pointing out towards a window. There are posters by his bed; science related, mostly. You tilt your head in the direction of one of them.

"Is this what they see?" You mumble to no one in particular. 

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

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

He tilts his head too, looking at the poster and you watch the sharp lines of his jaw besides you. Even at this angle, he's so pretty. 

"Huh. I guess they do." 

"It's not very romantic, is it?" You blink, oblivious. Your question is met with a noncommittal shrug. "What was her name last time? Cassie, Clara-something…"

"Katie." He hums. 

"Katie." Ignoring the twinge of disappointment at his quick response, you hope it's the weed and not jealousy that made you pretend to forget her name. 

You sit up on your haunches, tracing the valleys and mountains of his bare chest with a leisurely finger. You try not to notice the way he shivers at your touch. 

"I could hear everything. Every, 'Yes daddy'," You feign a moan by curling your lips into an O-shape. You bring your other hand to your hair, head tilted back with exaggerated movement. "And 'right there, Miggy, right fuckin' there' ." 

Technically, you're making fun of him and laughing, expecting him to follow. But he doesn't, head back and eyes boring into you - only bringing a hand to press yours at his chest. 

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

"I hear you too." He says softly. "I heard you, the other day."

Head filled with cotton, it takes a moment for his words to really click. So he elaborates, lacing his fingers with your own. 

"Fucking yourself, hermosa ." He says it lazily, like the vulgarity of the act doesn't register.

Your eyes widen in horror. How much exactly did he hear?

"...and I heard you say my name." 

"It was…. i-it wasn't like that-" Fuck. You can't think straight as it is: and his voice is low and silky, rubbing circles on your hand close to his chest. Even now, he oozes confidence, the steady thump-thump of his heart giving away nothing. 

"Hmmm? Then what is it like?" You blink at him, unable to answer. "You're a hypocrite. You complain about all these women I supposedly fuck, but then-" 

He pulls you closer, so that your lips almost touch his. "-you lock yourself in your room, touching yourself and thinking about your poor roommate. What am I meant to do with you?"

A pause, and in your daze, you can't breathe. For all your theatrics, it's too easy for him - to prod and tease, and for you to chase after him. You move to kiss him, but he grabs your chin at the last second. "Not quite. I want to hear you say it."

"Fuck- " You crumple, hiding your head in the crook of his shoulder. Even in your haze, the nerves bubble up from the base of your stomach. "Fuck me, please , Miguel."

He places a hand on your thigh, leading you to straddle his middle, other hand wrapped around your waist. He grinds your lower half into his, leaning up to bring your lips together. 

He tastes sweet, greedily lapping up your moans in the clash. You're not thinking, not really, lost in the heat of his body, desperate and eager when you kiss. To contrast, Miguel cups your chin, pulling you away for air whenever you sink too deep. Somehow, he still manages to look smug, taunting you with a flash of his little fangs whenever you separate. If you weren't feeling the effects of that blunt, you may have had the means to be embarrassed at how much you want him - needily grinding against him and pawing at his chest. 

It's too slow, too leisurely, like a punishment; and he refuses to give you what he knows you want. Your whines betray you when he finally slips a hand down your shorts. 

"¿Paciencia, hmm?" He grabs a handful of your ass, clothed cock catching on your clit. It rips another moan from you, which he happily swallows with another kiss. "Patience, princesa."

You hump against one another like teenagers, your hands planted by his head for purchase. Hips moving of their own accord, you chase the relief Miguel provides: with his hands kneading your ass, length catching at your clit, and teeth nipping at your bare neck. 

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

Fuck, how can he be so casual ? You don't know if it's the weed or something else, but he is in his element, hand dipping down your back to graze at your pussy from behind. He hisses when he realises how wet you are, swiping his fingers down your slit and taking them out to pop them in his mouth. 

Now, flushed and face hot with embarrassment, you look up at him with big doe eyes. It makes Miguel feel guilty for stopping you so close to your climax. Beautiful : lower lip hooked under your teeth, plump and swollen and kissable. He'll make up for it later: a promise he whispers into skin. 

"You're soaked." He cups your cheek to press a kiss to your forehead, and all you can do is whine. His gaze dips down, to the swell of your tits in that thin shirt.. 

"What did you think about when you touched yourself?" It's soft, said in the warm press of your bodies; hook-shaped and hazy and you fit like you were made for one another. The thought lingers, plants a dangerous seed that makes you forget that the man underneath you is your roommate : unrepentant whore, Miguel O'Hara. 

"You." You've seen it first hand, he eats hearts for breakfast; and yours is on a platter for him to devour.

He laughs, deep and rumbling, hands resting on your waist. "I know that, baby. You don't have fantasies? Fuck yourself to the thought of someone touchin' you just right?"

Not just someone, him, you think. Your voice dies in your throat at the way he looks at you. "Just… n-nothing really-"

He hums, grinding your hips onto his. "Speechless, I can't believe it. Is this what I need to do to get some fucking peace around here?" 

You roll your eyes, "Don't be a dick, Miguel. When I shout, it's because you deserve it."

"...there it is." Eyes shining, his face stretches into a shit-eating grin. Wide, unabashed, unambiguous. "You back with the living, sweetheart?" 

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

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

You mumble something begrudgingly.

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

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

Lowly, he groans, shaking his head. "Mierda… of course you do."

Expertly, he helps you take your shorts off, dragging the thin material down your thighs. You clambers upwards, wrapping them around his shoulders, watching intently as he kneads the soft skin. It's tentative, at first, and you place your hands on the headboard to perch just above his mouth. 

He licks, diving in with the flat of his tongue: a long upwards stroke that ends with him sucking your clit. Moaning, your hips jump and he chases your pretty pussy up, large palms pushing you back down. He concentrates on your bundle of nerves, lips around your clit like a man on a mission.

And, God, does it feel good; he watches and learns from your every movement, committing your body to memory. His moans vibrate deliciously, tension building at that spot faster than your mind can register it. Then, you clench around nothing, gushing into his mouth whilst he eases you through it. The noises he makes are obscene; one leg off the bed and a hand snaked under his boxers. He's getting off on it; watching you crumple and sob around his tongue. 

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

"Miguel.. fuck-" After your first orgasm, it surprises you when he continues, tongue fucking you with fervour. He presses you close, impossibly close, and your body fights against his ministrations. Heat, everywhere, and it's too much. The haze of the blunt begins to wear off and you are left with biting clarity. You want more of him, deeper; drunk off of just his tongue. 

You card your hands in his hair, and he moans: deep and wanton, with his eyes fluttering shut. He wants to look, to watch you when you cum on his tongue for a second time. Back arched, the curve of your tits peeking through a tiny top, fucking yourself on his face. He wants it hard , wants you to take control and use him to get off. 

"Right there, fuck… "

Like you can hear his thoughts, you press yourself down harder, riding the deep ridge of his nose for relief. Miguel complies and leans into it. He eats you out like a man starved and the carnality of it all brings you to a second peak. You cum once again, legs wrapped tight around his face. Head back, he laps it up readily. 

You separate with a wet pop, and Miguel looks blissful : fucked out and panting, wiping the slick off of his face with a forearm. Exhausted, you lean back onto the mattress beside him. 

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

"... good. " Scarily good. So good you won't be able to see him around the apartment without remembering what he looks like trapped between your thighs. 

Gently, he turns to cup your cheek and bring your lips to his. It starts off sweet and deepens rapidly, making that thread at the pit of your stomach tighten, again. He grabs your thigh, bringing it closer, and you feel his length poking your stomach. Fuck. 

"You haven't…?" Your hand makes for his trousers, and he stops you. "I want to, Miguel. Want you to feel good too."

His head sinks into your shoulder. "I know, baby, I know. Not like this. Not yet."

You nod, still wrapped up in his arms. You haven't even fucked, and it feels more intimate than it should. 

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

"I've got a 9am tomorrow," You repeat, sighing. "...and my life is falling apart. I'm failing half of my classes as it is."

He turns to you, lazily. 

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

…

"That's not fucking funny, Miguel."

_

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Miguel taglist: @d1lf-loverrr, @afro-hispwriter @ilovemiguelohara @weedxgirlx420 @ladydovahkiin180 @aaliyuh3 @sweetanimebakery @vvitcxen @rosecoloredlenses708 @daikondal @magikmina @impettywhenyouare @alonelygirlsuicidenote @plushyplants @javi0ca @rheeves @starrfruit @nikirikii @marsbars09 @foxglove-grove @mimooyi @crosshairclown @dead-by-light @kynamitedessert @naarra @wanderlustingcastaway @sagejin @cookielovesbook-akie @tangerineloverrr @gobblegluckgluckgod @wolfiepirate @jxxey3 @ebrysteria @elliemm @manchuria @youngghostpeachslime @weasleybuns @ilovemuppets @vauriz @bonbyon @aimno256 @ancientbeing10 @tvije @venus1224idkpleaze @neteyamsbulletwound @chickenjefferson-blog @maki-z @jasjasthings

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edit: the full fic xx

#i am very very close to making this a full fic #(implying that this isn't alr basically a full fic lmfao) #miguel o hara x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #across the spiderverse #kat_writes😼 #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara headcanons #spiderman 2099 masterlist #spiderman 2099 x reader