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my-love-is-sunlight · 2 months

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One piece men hear you speaking Spanish for the first time

Ft. Sanji, Law, Ace and Zoro

SFW, swearing in spanish ;), drinking, gn reader

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Sanji

“MIERDA!” (Shit) your scream was followed by a loud thud of the pan hitting the floor

Sanji immediately directed his attention to you running while holding his breath

“Are you o-“ he was interrupted by you mumbling something he couldn’t quite understand

“Puta madre esta demasiado caliente” (holy shit it’s too hot) you hissed while holding your hand close to your chest eyes shut together tightly at the sensation of the sudden burn

Sanjis worried look was replaced by a intrigued one as he realized everything that you were saying was in fact not english, it was something he couldn’t understand

“Let me see that, dear” he offers you his hand and you allowed him to look at the burn, he examines it throughly, being very familiar with this kind of injury, then he lightly touches the harmed zone of your hand making you squirm again

“AY IDIOTA” (you idiot) you remove your hand from his hissing in pain yet again

Sanji fetches the first aid kit as you stand still in your place blowing at your hand in hopes the pain will suffice, he asks you to sit down and you follow his instructions as he cures your burn cautiously

“So” he speaks after a while “What was all that you were saying earlier?”

“Oh…” you realize you had never mentioned that English is in fact not your first language “It’s Spanish, mostly curses” you answer a little ashamed at your behavior

Sanji felt himself fill with excitement at his new discovery “You never mentioned you knew other languages” curiosity itched him at the thought of hearing your voice say things he couldn’t decipher

“You never asked” you offer him a smirk knowing exactly what was going trough his head

“Could you tell me something else that isn’t curses? My dear?” You think for a second before obliging

“Gracias por cuidar de mi, mi principe” (thanks for taking care of me, my prince)

Sanji’s face was completely flushed, hands shaken and mouth dry, the way your voice and confidence shifted as you spoke your native language left him breathless and falling for you all over again

“I could really use some spanish lessons”

Law

You watched the doctor who sat at his desk flipping trough a medical book, his brows furrowed, you couldn’t ignore his annoyed huffs and puffs he had been making for a while now, you decided to interrupt whatever he had going on

“What’s with you, captain?” You giggle at the way he’s basically assaulting that poor book flipping it harshly

“This stupid book it’s not in English I don’t understand a damn thing” he answers still looking for a page, a title, a sentence he could read, anything

You come closer and peak above him looking at the words filling the book, you stop Laws hands for scavenging the pages as you start to read, your touch making him shiver

“La anemia provoca síntomas como fatiga, reducción de la capacidad para realizar trabajo físico y dificultad para respirar”

Law looks up at you surprised before you explain “This is basically explaining what Anemia is” you flip the page “And in here it talks about the flu” you point at the book smiling kindly at your confused captain

He would never admit it but he was really impressed and a little star struck at the way your voice sounded in a foreign language

“What were you looking for in here anyway?” You ask while flipping the pages

Law had to pull himself out of whatever spell you had casted on him before answering

“I bought it two islands ago but didn’t check it until now” his statement made you giggle, specially as you noticed the big title that read ‘Enfermedades y sus Síntomas’ (sickness and their symptoms) in the front of the book in gold bold letters

“I can translate it if you want” you kindly offer which pulls at Laws heartstrings, you were always taking care of him, he answers by shaking his head

“Do what you want” you roll your eyes at your dismissive captain before taking some paper and a pen from his desk

“Didn’t know you were bilingual” the doctor says still a little taken aback at this new information about you

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me” you wink before walking towards his couch, but you were stopped by a tatted hand holding your wrist and a playful smirk

“What about you read it to me instead?”

Red settles in your ears and cheeks before your eyes run aways from Laws and smiling shyly

“Don’t think you can handle all that Captain” you were obviously referring to all the information that the book offered, but the implications of you speaking another language and making Law nervous was obviously there, making him also blush immediately and his hold falter, but he wasn’t gonna let you have this one

“No no” he says before making you sit on his desk “Think I’ll do just fine”

Ace

“ACE DETENTE” (Ace stop) you screamed at the freckled pirate that had tossed you over his shoulder and threatened to make you fall into the ocean at the beach the Moby Dick had docked for the day. What once started as an uneventful aternoon in the beach turned into a wrestling match between you and the commander to see who would fall into the water first, and you were loosing

“What was that now?” He maneuvers you making you land on your feet as he smiles ear to ear intrigued about what you just said

“I said stop” you answered him as you catch your breath

“I don’t think that’s what you said” he starts approaching you slow and steady making you walk backwards as to avoid another attack, you return the playful smile plastered on his handsome face

“Dije Ace detente, sordo” (I said Ace stop, you deaf) you allow him to hear your Spanish once more gaining an even wider smile

“You sound soooo attractive like that”

You aren’t good with flirting, Ace’s smooth talk always manages to make you blush and stumble on your words and he loves it

“Stop it” you say pushing him back now

“I didn’t really understood that can you say it like the first time again?” You knew he wasn’t gonna let this newfound thing live down, you roll your eyes at the back of your head before obliging in hopes he’ll let you scape the danger of the water at your feet. You stop pushing him before standing on your tip toes allowing you to whisper in his ear

“Si me dejas ir te doy un beso” (if you let me go I’ll kiss ya) his breath hitched and a shiver ran down his spine freezing him in place. You stand back to meet his gaze as he stays ogling you, red blush painting his delicate freckles. Taking advantage you tackle him making him fall flat on the ocean

Your laugh explodes meeting Aces ears, still in shock by your teasing he lays on the water admiring your beaming smile that shines brighter than the sunset behind both of you. All he ever wanted was to make you laugh, there was no better price.

You offer him a hand to help him stand up, he takes it before pulling you down to meet the oceans salted water, squeaking at the coldness meeting your body

“You got me” you beam on top of him as he keeps drinking your beauty, wordless and enchanted

“You gotta keep speaking more like that y’know?” This man was absolutely lovesick, everything that had to do with you he loved, it was concerning

“Like what? Spanish?” You asked still surprise at his persistence on the matter

“Oh so that’s what it is” the comment makes you laugh once more making Ace’s heart swoon in pride, he is the only one that makes you laugh like this and he wouldn’t have it any other way

“I can teach you some”

Zoro

The strawhats found themselves drinking another bar dry, stretching your legs after weeks on end at sea and giving poor Sanji a break of having too cook yet another night. You were seated next to Zoro as you watched Usopp tell yet another over the top story about your adventures in the grand line to some locals, the ambience was so warm and welcoming allowing you to indulge in drinking at peace, or so you thought that’s how it was gonna be

A man drunk out of his mind stumbles to your side slurring his word and babbling about kissing you or something, at first you try to laugh it off but the man persisted. The swordsman catches your annoyed and uncomfortable face as you try to keep the wondering hands of the drunken away from you, anger building up in him at every stupid word that left his mouth, but before he could intervene he sees you stand up

“Dije que no! estúpido, aléjate!” (I said no you idiot, go away!) You scream at the man before pushing him, making him fall onto the nearby table

Zoro lets go of the hold on his swords as he watches you fix your clothes before muttering “Maldito idiota” (Fucking idiot)

Whatever you were saying it was in a language he had never heard you speak, he thought you only spoke English like almost everyone else in the crew. There was something in how your voice shifted that left him wanting to hear more. You speaking a completely different language was something that had never even crossed his mind

As you sat back down and took another sip of your drink the swordsman founds himself intrigued

“So now we’re screaming in different languages?” He asks smirking at you, the alcohol pulling his big walls down allowing you to climb them right up

“You know I love screaming” Zoro lets out a deep laugh, thinking what to say as to make you say another thing in that beautiful tongue he had heard you speak

“Where did you learn that anyway?” You raise and eyebrow at him, surprised at the way he was making conversation with you, something he never did

“It’s my native language actually” he hums in response happy to know more about you before becoming a pirate

“Why so curious?” The question makes him stutter, caught red handed

“‘Just had never heard that language before” he lies trough his flushed face which you immediately catch and makes your heart clench, a smile tugging at your lips

You sit closer to him before you whisper, lips brushing his golden earrings tickling you “No me digas que no conocías el español, verdecito” (Don’t tell me you didn’t know spanish, greenie)

You giggle after feeling every single muscle on his body clench at your words as he now shone bright red. He takes a big swoon of his sake trying to drown the shyness out of him

You lay back enjoying the rest of the night, Zoro not being able to keep the way you spoke out of his mind ever again

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Of course I had to do this! RAAAH 🦅🦅🦅🇲🇽🇲🇽🇲🇽 Also ty for more than 1k on my first one of these, ly guys enjoy

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chunky-chee · 1 month

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Okay, so I know a solid 40% of the new Fantasy High was about Tracker "There's still deep attraction here" O'Shaughnessy, but HERE ME OUT

Gertie Bladeshield is the perfect woman for Kristen Applebees.

Cause, like, look, there was a lot of talk in episode 11 about impulsivity and chaos as an aspect of Kristen's character, mainly in how it's mirrored in Princess "Kristen if she had money" Naradriel, but it's also been a general focus this season, especially in how she often uses it to guard her emotions. Think back to "That's what you think", an incredible improv moment, but if you look at the big picture, Kristen's estranged parents make an incredibly inflammatory statement about her religion right after actively bullying her little brother, and instead of honoring any of the actual negative emotions she's being filled with in that moment, she pirouettes away. It's brought up in the adventuring party after this exact episode how Kristen is a cleric, a high-wisdom class that is naturally insightful, but uses these silly deflections to hold other people back from being insightful into her (hence Mac & Donna's lifetime insight disadvantage)

This isn't just limited to small moments, too. To take a broader look at the season so far, Kristen's chaotic, shrimp-jumping, wrangler-wearing, salsa-dipping, middle-school-campaigning, steel-workers-union-supporting bid for class president is often shown explicitly as a distraction from her existentially important job as the only cleric of Cassandra. Even when trying to earnestly apologize to Cassandra and prove to them that she's gonna prioritize her over class presidency, the only way she can articulate it is "You're the meat, mama." Her emotions are always guarded by some amount of chaos and impulsivity.

Now, how does that relate to Gertie "I've had a crush on you for a really long time" Bladeshield?

In both of the two scenes we've gotten of The Best D20 NPC (/j (but I do really like her)), Gertie has shown a pretty similar propensity for making bold, chaotic decisions in the heat of the moment. However, in my observation, these decisions do NOT come from a place of emotional suppression. Quite the opposite, actually.

Think back to her Grand Entrance into the narrative. Gertie, being one of the last people awake at Fabian's party, gifts her longtime-crush a jar of honey, something that connects directly to her passion/special-interest of beekeeping, in a homemade container designed as a pun on Kristen's last name. (in hindsight, the crush was very obvious) Then, in the middle of her infodumping to her about honey, Kristen's rich friend makes an incredibly dismissive remark about her good-natured gift. This obviously pisses her off, but unlike Kristen "That's what you think" Applebees, Gertie "I don't give a shit who's kid you are" Bladeshield lets herself feel those emotions very loudly, immediately starts a duel with possibly one of the most accomplished sword-fighters in the history of Aguefort, and declares him a life-long nemesis. She acts very brashly and impulsively, but in a way that doesn't hide her emotions, instead expressing them.

(I know there's a lot of talk about outbursts of anger being tied to Ankarna, but not only does the scene not really seem like foreshadowing to me, it's more interesting to see it through the lens of being Gertie's actual actions)

This trend continues with the 12th most noteworthy thing to have happened in episode 11 (which incredibly high acclaim), where after being explicitly asked to talk about bees by her crush, and being placed inches away from her face, kisses her on the lips. Now, excusing the albeit upsetting lack of consent, it once again shows Gertie acting very impulsively in a way that exposes her feelings to the people she likes. With these two instances of characterization being literally the only two scenes we get with her, it poses her as a very interesting parallel to Kristen, someone who shares in her willingness to make impulsive decisions, but differs wildly from her in the way she uses them to react to strong emotions.

However, does this really make Gertie the Autism to her ADHD?

(idk if Gertie really shows autistic traits, I just wanted to say that) Well, part of what Tracker a good companion for Kristen was that, as a fellow cleric, she naturally had very high wisdom, meaning she had enough insight to look past the layers of shrimp and salsa and engage with her on a deep level. However, clerics aren't the only class that cast spells with wisdom, so do rangers, including swarm-keeper rangers, which is a subclass that both has a good few abilities focused on spell-casting and was confirmed to be Gertie's subclass in an adventuring party. While her highest stat still could be dex (which, come to think of it, is a hilarious contrast to Kristen), there's no doubt that Gertie has a higher chance than most at being able to look past Kristen's barriers and see the complex hive of sweet, buzzing emotions underneath.

Hell, maybe that's where Gertie's crush comes from in the first place. Maybe, seeing this popular, proudly sapphic cleric be incredibly playful and chaotic on school grounds, she not only saw a bit of herself, but a little more. Perhaps, the type of mind that dedicates itself to allowing small, harmless critters to prosper even when no-one cares to join her club, is also the type of mind able to recognize when someone isn't allowing their truest emotions to prosper, making her wonder if they might have something to gain from sharing some of that chaos, using it not to hide, but to be free.

Or maybe it's just cause her last name has "bees" in it, idk.

#even if Gertie's crush gets played off as a bit #I love gertie so goddamn much #and she deserves more love #fantasy high #gertie bladeshield #kristen applebees #d20 fhjy #dimension 20 fhjy #fantasy high junior year #bladebees #beesbees #appleshield #gert's bees

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skxllz · 2 months

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I have luci brainrot :)

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“ are you seeing anyone? ”

a shriek ripped from the blonde's throat as the rubber duck in his grasp, that he was working on, went flying above his head. lucifer panicked, trying to catch it as it soared back into his vicinity, fumbling between his fingertips — but alas, it bounced off of his desk and landed on the floor with a weak honk!

blinking in shock, he whirled around, only to see you leaning against the doorframe to his office with a hand pressed to your mouth to stop the laughter that bubbled in your throat, from spilling forth. “ huh — wha- I- did- ” lucifer straightened his back, smoothing out the bottom half of his suit with a clearing of his throat. “ w-what was that, you were asking? ”

oh, he heard the question loud and clear; he just thought it was his imagination.

pushing yourself off of the oakwood frame, you lazily sauntered over to the king, only to take a seat on the edge of the nearby table he had piled with many versions of his favorite creation. even after moving into charlie's hotel, he still hasn't let up on crafting the little ducks he's so fond of.

after crossing one leg over the other, you tilt your head at him, “ I said, are you seeing anyone, your majesty? ”

as lucifer blinked, his pupils shrinking in astonishment, a blush appeared on his pale face, decorating his complexion to perfection. it was rather cute to see him so flustered from such an easy going question. as old as he was, you figured something like that wouldn't bother him — but alas, he's only ever loved one woman; and although he doesn't lack experience, it's been quite sometime since he's been asked out.

“ i- um.. you can drop the horrifics, y/n, ” he started off, glancing away from you, rubbing at his nape while bashfulness crossed his features. “ and, as of right now, I am not, no. ”

this intrigued you. your brows rose, lips forming a small circle, “ oh? ”

but you weren't the only one interested. lucifer has had his eyes on you since meeting you —which, of course, was when he met charlie's other friends; you just so happened to be closest to her, other than her girlfriend— and now wanted, out of pure curiosity and maybe slight hope, to know why you were questioning him on the matter.

his red irises darted to land on your figure, only to see you staring straight at him, seemingly in thought. even so, if it was unintentional, it left the elder to feel a fluttering in his stomach. “ why did you want to know? ” lucifer found himself speaking up, though nervously. his eyes were shifting, and his lips were twitching at the ends, lifting into a coy grin.

sure, he was the king of hell, he had no reason to be nervous — but pretty women as intimidating as you left him to feel helpless.

“ hm? ” you shook yourself out of your thought process, only to hum and look away; a small smile stretching onto your lips. “ oh, no reason... I just wanted to know if I had a chance with the king himself. ”

wait, what-

lucifer's mouth dropped open from your bold statement. did you really just say that so casually? I mean, shit, most people in hell were known for being so straight forward, but- you were his daughter's friend for hell's sake! he never thought you of all demons would take a stab at him.

and yet, the amount of confidence you radiated from that statement alone left him to salivate. he had to thickly swallow to contain himself.

you noticed the effect, of course, causing you to turn your head away and smirk, just for a moment. who knew the king could be so adorable?

“ well, ” you sighed, sliding off of the desk, pressing your hands down to the soft fabric of your skirt to fix it — damned thing. “ I'll be off; wouldn't want to keep you too long, your majesty. ”

the blonde blinked out of the small trance he was in. he wasn't sure why, but his body worked before his brain even could — and he was moving forward, reaching out to you, as you turned to leave. “ wait- ”

you paused, looking over your shoulder to the shorter male. “ yes? ”

“ uh- ”

‘ gosh, spit it out lucifer! ’

he gathered the courage; taking a deep breath, puffing out his chest, whirring back his shoulders- he looked pathetically cute. “ willyougoonadatewithme?! ”

.. what did he say? did he- just ask you on a date?

you were staring at him now, semi-shocked by the sudden question. it's no secret that, even though lilith has been gone for seven years, that lucifer was still not over her. for that reason, you figured it'd take time to wriggle your way into his hands, let alone his heart. so yes, the fact that he asked you on a date was like hearing adam himself announce an apology.

well, maybe not that rare, but still.

when the blonde started nervously laughing, you figured quite some time must've passed and you were now just staring him down like some creep. “ well, uh- is that- is that a no? ”

the way he looked dejected and frowned upon saying ‘ no ’ could've broke your heart to pieces — if it weren't for the fact that you knew you could make him smile again, it probably would have. “ no, lucifer- I mean, yes, but- ”

fuck, why are you stumbling over your words?

inhaling deeply, you turn towards him to appropriately answer; a smile curling onto your lips sweetly. “ what I'm trying to say, is I'd love to go on a date with you. ”

that made his face light up again. his dull eyes shined brighter than any star, and you swear he could beat even the cutest of puppies when it came to adorable-ness. “ really?! oh, thank eros! ”

“ ... the greek god-? ”

“ nevermind that! ” lucifer inhaled happily, taking a gentle hold of your hand. he lifted it to his mouth, bending forward, only to place a savoring push of his lips to the curve of your knuckles.

as he gazed up at you through his eyelashes, he cheekily grinned, causing your heart to arise in a flutter. “ I just... thank you for allowing me to take you out, darling. it's truly an honor. ”

grinning back at the king, you use your free hand to caress the tips of your digits over the rim of his hat. “ no, lucifer, the honor is truly mine. ”

#hazbin hotel #hazbin lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel x reader

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jeankirsteinsgrlfrnd · 2 months

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How would the aot boys react if they heard a rumor that reader has a crush on them

i heard a rumor….

eren jaeger is so nosey when he hears the rumor going around. he’s intrigued by your crush on him and he wants to know every little detail, of course by everyone else and not you. he gathers everyone’s opinion and saves you for last. he doesn’t beat around the bush; he tells you he knows that you’re crushing hardcore on him. he’s playful and witty, trying to get you all flustered.

armin arlert, bless his heart, tries to be cool about it. and he does a fairly good job you think. he often finds ways to get you two alone but he never makes a bold move. he asks if he can help you do things, tries to find common interests, etc. you know he knows because you find him trying to spend too much time with you, not that you’re complaining. he just lets things take their course.

jean kirsteins plays the disinterested, too-cool-for-you character. he’s damn good at it too. his actions and short replies hurt your ego and your heart. so, you give him the same treatment back. this, he’s not a fan of. he demands that you tell him why you’re treating him like this and you respond that you’re just dishing out what he is. that makes him go ‘oh’ and it results in a very around the bush way of telling you he has some sort of feelings for you but he was trying to repress it.

connie springer grins from ear to ear for days end when he hears the news. he was already crushing on you big time and now that you like him back, he’s convinced your soulmate. shamelessly, connie asks (it’s more of a statement) that you go on a date. you cant believe he knows. you want to just disappear when he confronts you but he doesn’t understand why. “am i coming on too strong? hold on, i can get weak in the knees real quick.”

levi ackerman acts like he doesn’t know about your feelings for him. his behavior isn’t much different than when he didn’t know- his eye’s just tend to linger on you a bit longer. his gaze makes you feel…violated. it’s like he’s looking right through you or undressing you with his eyes. hard to tell. he continues driving you crazy in various subtle ways until you can’t take it anymore and wind up confessing at him in a ‘why are you doing this to me’ moment. he just laughs.

reiner braun's interest is piqued, that's for sure. he's not so smooth about it, always turning into a flustered mess when he's around you. you, now beginning to panic he knows your secret, turn into a shorter flustered mess. your awkwardness makes all your friends laugh and they just tease you more, which causes more stuttering and the cycle repeats. eren's the one who finally sets you up, not able to bare any more of reiner's incoherence.

bertholdt hoover makes the brave decision of telling you how he feels. he doesn't pick the greatest time. he tells you in front of all your friends and that leaves you feeling a little pressured. so, you get up and drag him away from everyone. the two of you share a raw confessional in peace and quiet. it leaves your heart full.

zeke jaeger texts you as soon as eren tells him. he doesn't wait for any more clarification. the text reads, heard you're basically in love with me. I'll pick you up later: a man of his word, he comes and picks you up. you try to him he's ridiculous but he knows you're his future wife.

erwin smith does his best to avoid you. a crush is meaningless to him.but fuck, the way you look at him makes his heart stop. he's beginning to think that there's something wrong with him- he can't breathe when you're around him. one night, he has too much wine to drink and accidentally lets it slip that he knows. he decides he doesn't care anymore and kisses you on the forehead, leaving you confused about the way he feels about you.

porco galliard's too fucking cocky. he starts spreading the rumor himself once he gets wind of it. he tells everyone he knows, bragging about it over and over. the rumor makes it's way back to you and you want to cry. so, that's what you do. you know everyone knows, so he must know. porco catches you crying and is upset with himself for spreading it. he didn't know you'd be so embarassed, considering he ‘obviously feels the same way’

please go read my jean fic 🤍

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luveline · 9 months

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𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

spencer comforts you with facts and affection alike when you worry you aren't as pretty as the girls on his team. requested here. fem!reader, 1.6k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Photographs can't accurately capture how beautiful Emily Prentiss is. JJ and Penelope are both gorgeous too, but it's Emily who startles you. Her hair a cool black colour and curled around her demure face, the line of her nose and her deep, dark eyes. Her lips, picture perfect and painted a soft pink.

The prettier you find her, the more your heart sinks.

Spencer squeezes your shoulder. It's bold for him to do so in front of his friends (his family, really), he can barely show you affection in the grocery store without turning rosy. You preen at the touch, but the feeling of insecurity remains like an irksome gnat zipping around your head.

"We didn't think we'd ever get to meet you!" Derek is saying, a casual arm thrown around Penelope's shoulders, a drink in hand.

Rossi couldn't attend and JJ felt too pregnant, bringing your party to a solid six. It still feels like a lot of people to meet at once.

You hold the flute of your glass in a nervous hand, fingers stickied by condensation. You have a feeling that you're in trouble, all these profilers assessing your behaviour, nowhere to hide. "No, I'm," —you raise your voice to hide the funny tremor that's taken hold— "so happy to meet you all, I promise I've been trying!"

"Whenever she gets time off, we're on a case," Spencer says.

Emily smiles widely at your statement. It's such an open, friendly look, it floors you. You look down at your drink and blink.

You don't know it, but the team exchanges glances at your behaviour.

"So, do you enjoy your work?" Emily asks. "Or hate it, like us?"

Hotch laughs and moves his pint glass onto a coaster. "I think it's safe to say that none of us hate our jobs."

"I wouldn't blame you if you did. I can't imagine how hard it is, how hard you all work," you say. Spencer's hand drifts down your back. "But you have each other."

Emily does this thing with her eyes and if you weren't in a happy relationship, you'd probably be a puddle at her feet. "Too much of each other," she says jokingly.

She's gorgeous, and Spencer sees her every single day? You're nothing compared to her. Not smart, not strong, and nowhere near as pretty. You could never measure up.

"Would you, um, excuse me?" you ask, moving your purse from your lap and onto the table.

"You okay?" Spencer asks, looking up as you stand.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just gonna use the bathroom," you say quietly. You aren't, but if you were, you wouldn't really want to broadcast that anyhow.

You try not to wobble on the way to the bathroom. The weight of five pairs of eyes follows you as you leave, four of which are trained in the art of spotting lies. Everything isn't okay, and they know that, and by extension —all the effort you made tonight? Getting your hair done, your nicest clothes, your makeup and your perfume? It might as well be a huge blinking neon sign that says you're trying really hard, and it doesn't make a lick of difference.

You sidle into a stall, pulling the lid of the toilet down with a tissue and sitting on it heavily. Elbows on your knees, you hunch your back and hide your face in your hands, breathing in the smell of bleach through quick breaths. Water drips somewhere near the sinks, the cacophony of the restaurant hushed.

You've never felt naturally pretty. With Spencer, it hasn't ever mattered. He's never given any indication that he cares. But…

"Loser," you mutter to yourself.

"Hey, Y/N?" Spencer asks, his voice bouncing off of the tile.

You freeze. "Two seconds!"

"You're not really using the bathroom," he says incredulously.

"Says who?"

Spencer laughs, his tone wry, "I know you really well, you realise? Like, better than I know anyone else on the planet."

"Then you know I'm having an authentic pee and need my privacy."

"Come on out."

The ringing of the lock slotting free is like an announcement of your embarrassment. Spencer's standing a half a foot from the doorway, keeping his distance from the no man's land that is the ladies room. You're going to use it to your advantage, only he holds out his hand expectantly. When you take it, he pulls you out of the bathroom and firmly into the restaurant hallway.

You can't escape his concern, nor his hands as they cup your face unexpectedly.

They feel as nice as they look, deft fingers pressed to your skin like you're one of his puzzles to decipher.

"What upset you?" he asks.

"Nothing your friends did, I promise."

"But something." He smooths a hand down to your shoulders. He's not quite frenetic but certainly close to it, searching for a problem he won't find on the surface. "You're insecure about something," he deduces.

You cringe bodily. "I'm not."

"What is it? Is it your necklace? It really is nice, the colour goes with your skin. It's understated."

"It's not my necklace, Spence."

"Then what is it?"

"I just…" You pull his hands from your neck and collar to hold them, looking up into his melty brown eyes wishing he weren't so hard to say no to. "Feel like you could do better."

He frowns. It's a pout, and endearing, but not what you want to see.

"I love being with you, I just think, you know, you're so handsome, and you have all these pretty friends," you say.

"You think you're not pretty?" he asks. He sounds gutted, if a little confused.

"Not like her." Your voice quivers.

The first time you got upset in front of Spencer, he wasn't sure what to do. He ended up putting an arm around your shoulder, your brand new boyfriend out of his depth. You've both had some practice at comforting one another now, and any hesitance Spencer held is gone. He wraps his arms around you like he's afraid you'll fall over, the crease of his stressed brow smushing against the side of your face.

"Don't think that. Why would you think that?" he asks quietly.

"I know I'm not pretty like some girls," you say, surprised by the ferocity of his reaction.

"You don't know that, because it's not true. You're beautiful." He squeezes your side between his fingers, something contemplative about the way his thumb curls upward. "Do you know how many books I've read?"

"Thousands."

He hums. A hand grasps at the back of your neck. "Thousands of books. I know so much, especially about the human body. I know that falling in love can make some people feel the same effects as cocaine. Staring into their eyes can synchronise your heartbeats." He encourages your head back. "Butterflies are adrenaline and when I look at you I can't get them to stop, even if I know it's chemical." Spencer's eyes are lit with something you don't often see directed at you, a furious conviction. "What we think we know isn't always fact, so if you think you're not pretty…" He nods his head gently to the left. "There's only really one thing left to do."

Your heart feels like it's being juiced. "What's that?" you ask.

He grabs your hand and puts it on his chest. Fingertips to his breastbone, he holds it flat. Sure enough, even through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, you can feel the rapid capering of his pulse.

"It's like that pretty much any time I look at you."

"Spence…"

"I know it's bad," he says.

"Are you messing with me?"

"Yeah, I did a lap before I came to find you– No!" He laughs, giving you an admonishing look. "Why would I mess with you? How could I?"

"I don't know."

He dips in to kiss your frown. "You're so pretty," he whispers. "So, so pretty. You're the prettiest girl I've ever seen, no matter what you think."

You don't believe that you're the prettiest girl he's ever seen, but you believe that he believes it. He has no reason to lie to you, nothing to gain. He could've said, Hey, you're pretty, and left it at that. He could've been angry with you for leaving the table for something some people would say was superficial. But Spencer's your sweetheart.

"Do you want to go home, angel?" he asks, looking at you worriedly.

"No." You don't even have to think about it —you've done enough thinking. "I don't want to go home. Sorry, Spencer. I feel better." And you'll stay out all night if he's going to call you angel again.

"Well, let me know if you need me to tell you again."

The chances of you surviving such an ardent speech a second time are low. "I won't be doing that."

Spencer shrugs. "You'll let me know, even if you don't think so. You have a tell when you're upset."

You spend the rest of the night making up for your disruption (which Spencer's friends immediately dismiss without questioning), shepherding the crisper curly fries on to Spencer's plate because he likes them that way, and begging him to tell you what your tell is with subtle pleading glances and a hand on his knee. Nothing inappropriate, but affectionate nonetheless.

He doesn't tell you no matter how much you ask, and maybe it's the drinks or the way the scone light kisses his cheeks in a warm buttery light, you can't find it in you to be mad.

"Keep your secrets," you say, chin tilted upward. You're failing to glare at him, too much love in your eyes for it to be believable.

"You're beautiful," he says back, mirroring your expression playfully, before leaning down for a chaste kiss.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!! if you did, please consider reblogging, it makes a big difference to me<3 have a good day!

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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ddejavvu · 2 years

Note

This might be terrible, but Eddie and Steve relentlessly teasing you because they think the reader has a crush on someone but the crush is them and Eddie is just being pervy about it while Steve is making light hearted jabs like "I know who you like" and the reader freaks out a bit.

Sorry for the ramble 😅

part I | part II | part III | part IV

—

"Why so tense?" Eddie's ring-clad fingers grip tight at your shoulders, the heels of his palms digging into your neck. You tense at the sudden contact, his frizzy curls dangling over your face as he leans over you from behind.

Your shoes raise off of the sticky food-court floor, a sickening squelch coming from the soles. You stiffen under Eddie's touch, feeling his fingers prod relentlessly into the sensitive muscles in your shoulders. He has no idea what he's doing to you.

"She's looking for the guy," Steve offers with a sly smirk, "She's got a crush."

Your heart stops in your chest. Steve knows. Eddie knows. They know. You tense impossibly tighter at Steve's bold statement, and Eddie picks up on it, a shit-eating grin sneaking over his face.

"Oh," Eddie practically purrs, "Do tell, Harrington."

"I'm not telling you who it is," Steve scoffs, and your heart leaps in your chest: he knows who it is?

"Baby," Eddie cranes your neck up with a finger to your jaw, peering down at you indignantly, "You told him, but you won't tell me?"

The pet name sends butterflies swarming in your tummy, "I didn't tell him," You insist, "Honest! And- and I don't have a crush on anyone! You guys are mean."

You dismiss them huffily, poking at your pitiful pasta. You shouldn't have gotten spaghetti, the sauce is watery and the meatballs are dry. But it keeps you distracted from the hot water you've just landed yourself in, and you stuff your mouth so they can't get any further answers from you. The mischievous smirk on Steve's face had been wildly attractive, and Eddie's finger is still hooked under your jaw.

"Right," Eddie drawls, his well-manicured digit slipping beneath the strap of your bra and giving it a sharp snap to your skin, "That's why you wore your pretty pink one?"

"Dude," Steve grimaces at him, "You know which bras are her good ones?"

"'Course I know," Eddie boasts, "I pay attention."

To your tits?

Your cheeks flare with heat at Eddie's flirtatious statement, and Steve watches you squirm. He reaches over to swat Eddie's hand away. The metalhead sits down with a huff, propping his chin up in his hand and staring imploringly at you with his big brown doe eyes.

You're not sure which is worse. Steve's kind concern for your comfort, or Eddie's relentless banter. But then both happen at the same time, and you realize they're both equally terrible for your health.

"You know if you get a big dumb boyfriend," Eddie speaks, his voice soft to your ears, "You can't leave us in the dust."

"He's right." You know Steve will regret saying those words for the rest of his life, but he squints suspiciously at you, "We want you to be happy, and all. But if you stop coming over for movie night, we'll start a riot or something."

"A riot," You scoff, busying yourself by poking at your cold pasta, your voice downtrodden, "I'm not gonna get a boyfriend, Steve."

"Hey, don't say that!" Steve reaches out to swat gently at your shoulder, "He must be really dumb if he's gonna reject you or something."

He is, you think, watching Eddie's amused smile at your growing embarrassment, though concern hides behind it. Then Steve, who, bless his heart, hasn't ever picked up on blatant flirting, now claiming himself to be the pinnacle of stupidity.

Something is absurd about the situation, and you let out a snort, "Yeah, he's fucking brainless."

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington dialogue #steddie x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson dialogue

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loganlermanstanaccount · 9 months

Text

Rigor Mortis (part 4)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 3, Part 5

summary: You get your laptop fixed... eventually.

warnings: smut!! (finally lmfao) masturbation, mutual masturbation, tiny bit of voyeurism, recreational drug use, dry humping, etc 18+ Minors DNI

a/n: caught up to where the og oneshot ends so i wanted to switch it up!!

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 6.8k (still in shock i wrote all this lmfao, i'm strictly a <4k words kinda gal)

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

lips black and blue and gold.

You're frustrated. Bouncing off the walls, head spinning; and it's for a couple of reasons.

First off: you haven't managed to find a laptop. Money you've worked damn hard for, and you can't really afford a new one. With moving around, you've burnt through quite a bit of your emergency fund. Enough to convince yourself you'll be just fine with a pen and paper in class, and the Google docs on your phone when desperate. It might actually force you to go to the library instead of half assing assignments the night before, you think.

And there's your lab book, which you were smart enough to back up on your computer, but guess what? That's fucked; probably taken apart and sold for scraps by Miguel's mysterious friend , who you've conveniently never even heard of and–

"Just ask for an extension." He says, feet up on the sofa. Oddly enough, you've been doing that more often; spending time together. He's not holed up in his room as much, and spends time studying on the dining table, or pretending not to watch the soaps you've got on TV.

"You're overthinking it. Explain the situation, chula, and it'll be fine." He doesn't even look up, just throws the statement in your direction like the lazy pass of a ball.

You scoff, because he's right, and go back to overthinking. You think you can copy out the ruined half of your labbook by hand, and if you beg your OChem teacher for an extra credit project then–

"If I let you use my laptop, will you stop doing that?"

"Doing what?" You frown as he walks over, and reaches to gently pull your hands apart. He turns your palms over, pointing at the raw edges of your fingernails.

" That. " Mindlessly, you'd been picking at your fingernails, without even noticing. Looking up at him, he rolls his eyes.

"...is that a yes?" You nod, hesitant, and catch the hint of a smile as he pads off to his room.

When he returns, open laptop in hand, he thrusts it into your arms - and sits himself back onto the sofa. This time, he splays out facing you, avocado socks resting on your knee. You fight the urge to push him off, a small price to pay in return for his moment of kindness. He's been doing that more often now, slightly more touchy and maybe even… comfortable around you. Eyes flickering up towards him, you catch his. His brows knead together, and you return your attention to the screen just as quickly.

You're going through the motions, more or less, logging into your college's portal and drafting up quick emails to send to your lecturers. But it's when you open up a new tab, that you see something at the top of the screen and pause. Mouse hovering over an incognito tab, hidden in a nest of referencing websites and scientific journals; it's there. Bold letters, in all caps: WOMAN POUNDED BY BIG BEEFY–

You shouldn't. You really, really shouldn't. Once again, you look up at Miguel, and he couldn't care less; tapping away at his phone, only stopping to look at the TV. Nevertheless, you shift to hide the laptop screen from him. But you're not going to look, or anything. You know better than to take a look at your roommates porn habits, the stuff he drools over whilst he fucks his fist; a big, dextrous palm wrapped around his shaft.

You've done it. Clicked on the tab and nothing's exploded, as of yet. You turn down the brightness, with some shame, as if to make the paused video less explicit. But the image stays, a woman folded under the weight of the man above – in the middle of bullying his fat cock into her pussy. It's amateur; hot and sweaty and sticky, with only the woman fully visible. You suppose your curiosity's been sated, but you can't help but think…

…the woman. She looks like you.

Tilting your head, you can't help but see the resemblance. Not the exact same of course - but her hair is similar, body type, skin tone, eyes. It's not close enough to be weird, you guess, but it's enough that that thought stays - burrows into you like an earthworm into an apple. Scrolling down, you see other videos, with the same woman, other women that look like you - the telltale red bar of watched videos. Evidence, but not really, and it makes you heat up. Your mouth goes dry, and you look over to him: only able to concentrate on the hand he's got spread out at his belly, the brown flesh peeking out - and how it looks just like the one on the base of the woman's stomach in the video.

"...everything ok?" He's looking at you, suddenly; and you attempt to click over to your original tab, discreetly.

He doesn't seem to notice, padding over to your side and leaning into your shoulder.

"Yeah, no, I just…" All you can manage is a nervous smile. "The screen froze, so…"

"Oh." He gives the track pad a swipe. "Seems fine to m–"

He freezes up slightly, and you watch as his eyes flick up the screen. The laptop is eased out of your hands, and he gives a few quick clicks. By the time it's back in your lap, the offending tab is gone. Imperceptible, his jaw shifts.

"...Should be okay now."

You hum, a little amused at the display. He's seemingly unfazed, his little slip up notwithstanding, and leans back to lie up against you. Obnoxious, he splays onto the sofa cushions, his weight practically smothering you as you fight to push him off. You think he likes it – it's the only possible explanation – and gets off from watching you squirm. He seems desperate for a reaction, a child pushing boundaries and pressing buttons to see what exactly makes you tick.

And that's the second thing: it works . He's more touchy, and just as insufferable – jumping at any excuse to be near you, it seems. Miguel has a tendency to hover, follow you around the apartment as you talk aimlessly, and you do the same. You sit by against the doorway to the kitchen whilst he makes dinner; he floats around the door to your room when you try to study. In fact, you've spoken to your roommate more in the past week than you have in the past month; about anything and everything. Sometimes, he actually tells you where he goes during the day; off to lectures of his own, another tutoring session or his basically-an-unpaid-job of an internship. In your words, it seems like with the shit they make him do at Alchemex, he may as well be a full employee: with way fewer perks and a distinct paycut. It's almost as if they're paying for my degree, he says with an eye roll, practically hanging off your door frame.

He does that a lot, now: arms drawn upwards to lean from the oak trim. Especially during lazy mornings in - he'll hang on the frame, and move to tug at your heel, waking you up despite fervent protest. Ultimately, it's a kindness and you don't know how to tell him how much you appreciate it; as he wakes you up on time to get to the library in good stead. You're still waiting on that laptop, debating whether or not to bite the bullet; but for now Miguel obliges, letting you borrow his now and then.

He's not nice, you think his tongue is much too sharp for that; but he is kind, giving you some grace you're not too sure you deserve. It's more than what you've been given in a relationship of 4 years, and you don't know how to feel about it.

Well, you do. Your talk on the living room floor not so long ago flipped a switch and all of a sudden you're paying attention to your roommate; really, really looking at him. He is very, very pretty; with a tendency for lingering touches disguised as something else. And you're out of practice: horny, frustrated, stressed. With the way he touches you; a hand on your back to greet you, a squeeze of your shoulder to tease, bare legs across yours on the sofa; it's a lethal combo.

And here you are, headphones on, prepping to take a dildo. Incredibly self-indulgent, but you need it . You don't quite have the emotional stability for a one night stand (you think if someone touches you just right, you'll fall in love), but this dry spell has taken its toll.

It wasn't just after the break up, either. Mismatched libidos had felt like a steady death knoll. Realistically, you knew Jaime was always too tired after a placement, but it didn't make you feel wanted. You just want to be desirable and fucked within an inch of your life – was that too much to ask?

As a result, your toy drawer had grown: vibrators and dildos, clit-suckers and g-spot strokers; crude once said aloud, but all in search of something. With the stress of school and Miguel, Schrodinger's slut ; it's a wonder you haven't cracked it open earlier.

You're on the floor, its purple base suctioned to the hardwood and towels to cushion your knees. Lower half completely exposed, it's an art , porn on your phone to complete the visage. The screen is smaller than that of the laptop you're used to, only providing some stimulation. And so, as you sink down on its silicone length, you can't help but think back to the sofa - and the videos squirrelled away on an incognito tab. Miguel, hunched over and fisting his cock to someone that looks like you; maybe even thinking of you – although the jury's still out, on that one.

But you keep it close to your chest, rub your clit to the thought of it: you're his type, and maybe he'd fuck into you like the man on your screen. Broad, gorgeous shoulders and you wonder how pretty he'd look with scratches littered down his back, or hickeys sucked into skin: lips plump and messy and swollen.

"Oh, fuck," You say it under your breath, knowing that whilst Miguel is out of the house, it still feels odd to put your lips around the pleasure that thinking of him gives.

You speed up, the slap of thighs ringing out into your bedroom. The dildo is around 6 inches, sizeable; but you can't help but wonder how it compares to Miguel's. He might even be bigger; thicker, most definitely; and you bet his cock is just as pretty as he is. Oh fuck, and he'd tease; press into your hole just to snatch it away at the last second, rubbing persistent circles at your clit. You hear his voice in your head, the low grunts and groans you've memorised from all those nights he's spent with other girls.

"Miguel," You're moaning shamelessly now. "...f-fuck, please–"

There must be something electric in the way he fucks: with the litany of girls in and out of his bedroom, what keeps them coming back? He must talk them through it, whispering filth with his plush lips against their ear, and you wonder what he'd say to you. God , you'd give anything to hear it him say, just once, how beautiful he thinks you are; for him to wrap his hand around your neck and pull you close. You want him to fuck you; hard and deep and desperate.

With that, your pace quickens and you gush around the toy. A spasm of limbs, and you're clamping down on the silicone – an orgasm that leaves you breathless and heaving. You convince yourself it's the taboo of it: fucking yourself to the thought of your roommate, after listening to his grunts and groans for the past couple weeks. He started it … thin walls, and all that.

You ignore the want that lays stubborn at the pit of your stomach, riding through stuttering spasms as your orgasm winds down. You're touch starved, that's all, and Miguel's the closest warm body to latch onto. Nothing more, nothing less. Groaning, you shift, picking up your hips to gear up for another round. Just once more, so you know for sure.

Thin walls. The sound leaks into your roommate's bedroom. But with your headphones on, you can't hear the sounds that echo back: Miguel O'Hara, back home early, with an ear pressed to the wall and desperately pumping his cock.

~~~

"I'm not completely convinced, to be honest." You're in Miguel's car, tongue sticking out as you fiddle around with the dials.

His gaze flicks over, and bats your paws off the dashboard. Flopping into your seat, you watch as he turns up the AC and switches the radio, as if reading your mind.

"You really think I'd go through all this trouble?" He scoffs. "Bundle your ass out of the house and drive all the way here to…. do what exactly?"

"Assert dominance in our shared ecosystem." You say it with finality, and he scrunches up his face in confusion.

"...what does that even mean?"

"Like in that nature doc you were watching the other day."

"Well, the point was that spiders aren't hierarchical in the traditional sense. They form colonies that are… quasi-social, if anything, and–" He pauses. "Wait. You were paying attention?"

You shrug. "I thought it was interesting."

"Seriously?"

"...no, not really."

You laugh as he pulls over to park, in a space next to what looks like an apartment complex. It looks way nicer than your place, with sandy brick and hedges that look well kept. Your laughter peters off. Miguel looks decidedly not amused.

He opens the car door and clambers out as you scramble for the seatbelt. To your surprise, he opens the door for you; stretching out a hand for stability as you get out. When you both walk over to the intercom, your palm burns with his touch, and flexes with the memory of it. It's becoming a problem, his hands. You push down the beginnings of a hazy daydream. He presses a panel, waiting for the buzz.

"Lyla? Could you let us up?"

He waves demurely to the camera, and the receiver clicks. A cheery voice rings back.

"...Us? Who's us, Miggy? Did you finally find a girl that puts up with your shit?" Her voice is singsong, teasing. With a smile, you watch as Miguel bristles, speaking into the slick panel.

"My roommate, Jesus, Ly–" He says the next bit a little rushed, turning away slightly as if you still can't hear her loud and clear. "I thought we went through this, you can't keep trying to embarassmeeverytimeI–"

She talks over him towards the end, rapid-fire banter that you can barely make out.

"You never come and visit, except when it's 2am and you need to break into–"

"Once! It was one time! Déjate, ya está bueno ya–"

[Let it go, that's enough now–]

"Let it go? No, no, absolutely not… what is it that you always say? It's the principle –"

"Can you just fucking open the–"

"What's the magic word?"

He sighs, mouthing an apology to you. "Lyla–"

"Magic. Word."

He mumbles. "Please."

"Please what?"

"Please could you open the fucking door."

There's a pause, and rustling over the intercom. The door buzzes open.

In the elevator up, you keep quiet, trying your hardest not to burst out laughing. Miguel is visibly brooding; arms crossed and brow furrowed.

"Don't." He says, with a pout you almost think is cute. Almost.

"I'm trying really, really hard not to." You put your hands up, as if to surrender. "... Miggy."

"Fuck off." And then, a little softer.

"...I told you I have friends."

~~~

You leave it at that until you're in Lyla'a apartment, when she opens and ushers you in. She looks exactly the way she sounds: pretty, mousy features, with her hair in short, choppy layers. She's bundled up into a plush white robe; heart-shaped sunglasses sliding down the tip of her nose.

Miguel breezes past her, towards the murmuring voices you can just about make out in the front room.

"Lovely to see you too, Miguel." It's under her breath, but when she turns towards you there's a twinkle in her eye.

You introduce yourself, and she pulls you into a tight hug.

"I know," She says. It's ominous, but her voice is light and airy. When you separate, she flashes a wide smile. "Lyla. It's nice to put a face to a name."

"Uhh, sorry. What?" She ushers you further into her apartment as you speak, confused.

"Oh, Miggy talks about you all the time. Complaining , mostly, but in that way he gets when he's trying really, really hard to pretend he doesn't care. Like, he texted me yesterday and–"

"Thaaat's enough." You feel hands on your shoulders, and all of a sudden, Miguel is steering you away from her grip. You stumble into her living room, so bright and airy your eyes have to adjust to the light that floods in. Looking around, her apartment is gorgeous; a spacious open plan, floor-to-ceiling windows with a prime view, and lush furniture. Everything about it screams expensive – especially in comparison to your paltry place. Maybe the shock is visible on your face, but you're in awe. She can't be much older than Miguel, right? She looks about the same age, mid-twenties, not too far-removed from college… and it isn't quite adding up.

"How can she afford this? That's what you're thinking." There's a voice on the sofa that makes you blink. A young man with messy brown hair, a set jaw and 5 o'clock shadow calls out to you in between mouthfuls of pizza. "Lyla's… mmhgh… suuper fuckin' rich… mmfgh… that's how."

It's then that you notice there are other people here, sprawled out on the sofa set; boxes of takeout on the side tables next to them. Of course Lyla's rich: only 20-somethings with money to spare have matching sofas.

She's like Beetlejuice, or the Candyman, and pops up next to you when her name's said.

"I work in tech! With a cute little job on Wall Street, and a part-time one white hat hacking." She clarifies. " Ethical hacking."

She giggles like she's told a joke somewhere, and you nod – still not quite understanding.

"...and some side gigs that aren't as ethical." A blond haired man next to Mouthful-Of-Pizza pipes up. "When are you going to introduce us, Miguel?"

He's grumbling in the kitchen area, digging through the shelves for something. He returns with a bag of chips and dip in a container, flopping onto the zebra print throw pillows. Distracted, he waves a hand around the group noncommittally.

"Uhh, Peter, Ben, Lyla." He gestures to you, saying your name, and then to himself; tearing open the bag at the same time. "-and Miguel. All done"

"My turn for questions, now," Miguel says, pointing at Lyla, looking at the boys to his side. "Is she…?"

"...super high? Most definitely." Lyla giggles at Ben's words, for good measure.

"...right. Peter Parker, nice to meet you." He throws a thumb to the back of the sofa, where you notice a little mop of red curls peeking out. "And this is my little Mayday."

Peals of laughter erupt from behind him, and you notice grubby hands with a death grip to the cushion rest. Miguel leaps up, rushing to her side to help her up its back.

"Ayyy dios mio." He scoops her up carefully, "Buenas, Arañita."

Mayday is on his lap now, a little toddler of about 1 or 2, snaking herself around to hug Miguel's chest. She is certifiably the cutest thing you've ever seen: gap-toothed and giggly, with a smatter of freckles like someone's flicked a paintbrush across her nose. And with the way Miguel melts, you can die happy, knowing that you've seen the impossible: Miguel O'Hara, cooing and fussing over the little girl.

"Arañita?" You ask, to no one in particular.

"Itsy-bitsy spider." . ..is the sing-song, choral response from everyone but Miguel. They're mimicking his tone of voice, and he raises his head from May, looking around.

"I don't sound- "

"You do, dude." Peter sighs, tickling the little red head on the tummy; smiling as she collapses into bright laughter. "I don't have a nickname, and I've known you waaay longer than she has."

Miguel covers her tiny little ears, and says, "Eres un pendejo, Parker . "

[you're a dipshit, Parker]

The scraggly man sticks his tongue out in response, and May pulls at his hair for good measure. He yelps, and Miguel passes her over to her Dad. The scene is funny, for sure, but you feel it's warmth more than anything. God, you can tell they've loved and laughed with each other for years; the kind of friendship you'd kill to have.

"We just need whatever's left of her laptop, Lyla," He's blunt, batting away long forgotten chips and dip. "...and then we'll get going. Wish I could stay longer, Arañita, but I've got some work to finish off."

May makes grabby hands at him, and you melt. Who knows how Miguel can stay strong in the face of her big, round eyes.

He gets up to stand next to you, arms crossed. The height difference is stark: his tall, solid frame towering over everyone else. It seems like an intimidation tactic, but you know him just well enough to tell: he's trying not to be swayed by puppy eyes and promises of food.

"You just got here, Miggy." Lyla sighs. "We're going over prep for Jess', and we'll be two minutes, I swear."

"Oh?" His eyebrows light up. "I knew it! You were being evasive on the group chat, and Pete wasn't returning my calls…"

Huffing, he clasps his hand around yours, ready to storm out. "This is an ambush. A goddamn setup!"

"Wait, Miguel, I need my-"

"I'll pick it up later for you, okay?" It's said like an aside, so soft only you can hear it. With his hand around yours, it certainly feels more intimate than it should. And it seems like he realises a little too late, dropping your hand as your faces are mere inches away.

"Um, we should… we should go."

You look past him to the faces blinking at you guys, on the sofa. A pause, and then you're gulping down stubborn feelings to ask a question.

"Jess' ? Is there a party, or something?"

Lyla nods. "Yeah, and Miguel's meant to be picking up cake."

The man in question pinches his nose. "I can pick up the cake just fine. It's the whole… going to a party bit I'm not too keen on."

"Come onnn, you know Jess would love it."

"She'd love to blackmail me with some dumb shit I did drunk, that's for sure."

"It's her birthday, hardass ." Peter whispers that last bit, covering little May's ears like before. "She can have a little blackmail, as a treat."

"You're gonna say no to a surprise party ?" Ben echoes, shaking his head dramatically.

"A surprise birthday?" You light up. "Miguel, you have to go."

His stony demeanor cracks, for a moment. You latch onto it, hellbent on wearing him down. He's always got his laptop out doing work, or cracking open a little notebook to prep a lab. When he's not at home, he's at that internship, or tutoring, or planning a tutoring session. Work, work, work; and you'll be dammed if you let him rot away in a little cage of his own machinations.

"Come on, Miggy." You watch him bristle, prying at that little crack in the surface. This has to be done with finesse: present a challenge, and watch him scramble to prove you wrong. "You're telling me a couple of hours at a party's too much for you? That's it? "

"That's not–"

"S'what it sounds like to me." You shrug, a little smile on your face. The aim is to look as smug as possible; and it seems to be working.

His jaw shifts, annoyed. Lyla catches on, giving you a crazed smile.

"Even your roommate's gonna come." She says, an arm linked in yours.

"I am?" She gives you a little dig, and you're spluttering. "Y-Yeah, I am!"

You can see him fight with his own ego; but it's a one-sided affair.

"Fine. " He strains. "Two hours, max. And then I'm gone."

Lyla gives you a squeeze, and then wraps you both up in a hug he desperately tries to fight off. Ben slots around you guys, and Peter's last to join, with Mayday squealing on his shoulders.

Eventually, you get what's left of your laptop: a little thumb drive with as much as Lyla could save. You'd thanked her profusely, of course; trying to slither out of her vice grip of a hug, as best you could. She's absolutely batshit, the good kind; cryptic, and strange, but with a lot of heart. She makes you wonder, and they all do; just how did they become friends with Miguel? How do they fit?

The man himself seems a little different, as if reinvigorated by being around friends. In fact, you catch him smiling to himself on the drive home. It's sweet; to see a different side of him around people he's clearly comfortable with. If only for a little while, he sheds the heavy weight he seems to carry around.

Around the house, you notice he seems lighter – humming to himself whilst cooking dinner. That very day, you watch the little sway of hips as he stirs a pot; headphones in, singing under his breath. He can't sing for shit, of course, and he'd kill you if you ever uttered a word; but it's a sight you commit to memory, not knowing when next he'll be in such a good mood.

There's still the question of a new laptop in the air, but you feel more settled by the events of the day. You're a little less fucked school-wise, you've got a party to look forward to, and potentially a drunk Miguel to make fun of. He goes to bed early; and you can hear the quiet drone of a podcast from the other side of the wall. He drifts off to the sweet, dulcet tones of Top Ten Genetic Precursors for Early Onset Dementia; one of his favourites, you've determined.

All is well, for now. A tentative truce, and maybe, just maybe: you're finally friends with your roommate.

~~~

There's something about dramatic irony that seems to smack you across the face, every time.

You've come to somewhat of a understanding with your prickly roommate, and the stream of women in his bed seem to slow down, for a bit. He's hot, he's a whore; but he's sweet, with an eye for detail. He can read you with a scary amount of accuracy. Antsy and hungry from a long day? He leaves you scratching your head at his clairvoyance when you come home, chucking you a hot water bottle and a warm meal. You go to bed with a full belly, cramps abated.

He's still a prick, of course. Sarcastic comments, and a massive grump – but you've learnt to deal with that. Just a couple of days after a seemingly settled week; what you can't wrap your head around is the pounding music from next door, at fuck-off-o'clock . He shouldn't be awake, let alone interrupting your late night study session.

You're pissed, leaping from your desk to pound at his door. You're thudding towards his room, ready to deliver a well-deserved verbal lashing, and the door just… swings open. Empty; there's a window ajar and music pumping from speakers. Bachata and cheesy 90s R&B; which sounds suspiciously like his sex playlist.

Yes, he has a sex playlist. And it really has no business to sound as good as it does.

Nevertheless, you're resolute. If he's managed to sneak someone, at this hour, you decide he's going to get more than a stern talking to.

There's clattering in the kitchen, and you whip around; half-expecting the giggle of another girl. When you walk in, it's just Miguel, rummaging through cupboards: a half-naked thief in the night.

"Miguel?"

He pops his head up from a cabinet, with a half-eaten piece of bread in his mouth. Caught red-handed, you suppose; and he gives you a little smile.

"S'everyfin' – mmmfggh –" He scarfs the rest of it down. "Everything okay?"

You squint. "No. Not really."

He chuckles, a slight rasp at the edges of his voice. Dickhead – what exactly is so funny?

"You can't have your music so fucking loud, not when I'm studying. It's the middle of the night and–"

Dressed in nothing but a pair of gray sweats, he's busying himself with a sandwich on the counter; clattering around noisily like he doesn't have full control of his limbs. Which is…. weird, admittedly. You'd trust Miguel to slice a grape with a machete – his dexterity is usually unmatched. Not that you'd made a habit of staring at his hands, or anything.

"Are you even listening to me?"

He nods, attempting to keep a straight face, but the faux solemnity does nothing to hide that droop of eyelids and slump of his shoulders. You get closer, pushing him to face you properly.

"Oh, fuck," His eyes are a little red, hair messy and windswept. "Are you… high? "

Miguel O'Hara? High? You'd never thought you'd live to see the day, honestly. His eyes go wide, dropping his sandwich dramatically. And then he's got a big hand at your shoulder, pulling you closer with a finger pressed to his lips.

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

With the way he says your name it makes you light-headed. It's slow and careful, as if he's testing the way it feels spilling from his lips. And maybe, with the way he smiles, it feels good; tastes sweet wrapped around his tongue.

"I won't." You breathe, and then you're both giggling.

There's something about the way he looks at you, peering under heavy lashes; basically eye-fucking you in the space of your tiny kitchen. You feel bare in a little t-shirt and sleep shorts; suddenly exposed.

"You should…" He starts, cocking his head ever so slightly. "Join me, chula. "

It's soft; sinful, even; said as he coaxes you between his body and the kitchen counter.

You don't trust your voice enough to answer, legs already shaky, so you nod. Slight, at first; and then with a little more gusto as the idea of him and you on his sheets – intimate, alone – creeps in. He stretches out a hand, and you take it; led to his bedroom like a scene you've seen before. All those girls before you; led to the dragon's lair like damsels in a fairytale. Except in this one, you suppose, you're not waiting for a knight in shining armour to save you.

He sits you down on the bed, passing you a freshly rolled blunt. Passing it to your lips , more specifically; hand on your chin as he brings the lighter up to its end. Even prettier up close, all you can do is watch the press of plump lips, and pink tongue sticking out as he concentrates. As he leans in, there's a hand on your bare thigh. You inhale, deeply, and he hums with content.

"Good girl," He purrs, prying it from your lips to take a slow drag.

"You're a bad influence." You murmur, watching as his eyes flutter shut.

"You need to relax," He leans back, arm drawn lazily upwards. "This is helping."

"That's not–" Oh. You feel it now, a steady haze rolling over limbs.

Miguel quirks up an eyebrow, amused.

You repeat, slowly, "You're a bad influence ."

"Does it feel good?" You pause, trying to ignore his low tone; and the steady blaze that it ignites within you. Dragging your eyes to meet his, you see it: want, lust, something heavy that swirls behind them.

You nod, itching for another pull. As if psychic, he gestures for you to come closer; and your lips almost slot against his. He exhales, and you inhale; in the closest thing you've come to a kiss in months. It makes you ache for just a little more contact, for those pretty hands to slot between your thighs and–

"Is this all I need to do for some quiet around here?" He asks, lilting. If only he'd stop talking; interrupting your fantasy with that stupid grin of his.

You're shaking your head, laughing at the sheer gall .

"You're fucking someone new every week, O'Hara. Loud. Who was it the other day? Cathy, Kayla –"

"Sita, actually." He has a strange expression on his face. "And we didn't fuck. Just going over lecture notes."

"Sorry . Must have gotten mixed up with the half-dozen other girls in and out of here. Our apartment's not a brothel , Miggy."

He rolls his eyes, handing you the remnants of the blunt.

"...s'not my fault there isn't anyone fucking you right."

You scoff. "How would you know?"

"Thin walls. " It's cryptic. What the fuck does that mean?

You take a careful drag, and hand the blunt back – trying your hardest not to strangle him. It must show on your face as you tussle with the thought, because Miguel is staring; unabashedly, unashamedly. When you notice, it throws you off.

"... what?" Ready to defend yourself, you huff.

He shrugs. His expression is soft, reminding you of that night, not long ago.

"You look like a painting."

You practically short circuit. You've been complimented before, of course. Hot, by men trying to get into your pants. Pretty, sometimes. Beautiful, the other times. Whether it's been sincere, you don't know – but you're smart enough to not overthink it. It's hard enough to live a life, as it is; and you'd rather not be bogged down by what others think, how you look whilst doing it. And yet, you feel your body betray you; a steady bloom of heat at your heart, like you've been stabbed. So deep, it spreads like blood on the front of a blouse. Like a painting, he says. And you like the way he says it; how it sounds spilling from his lips.

Its implication sits heavy. Like a painting : hand-crafted, silken, soft –

He blinks, the crack of a smile on his face. And it ends in a fit of giggling, if you can even call it that.

"Stop fucking with me." You grumble, and he thinks the way your face scrunches up with disdain is cute. There's probably an implication there he should unpack in therapy – how he likes it when you shout and put him in his place – but he's much too high to care.

"M'not-" He quiets down, flattens his face into something resembling sobriety and gravitas. He gets a little closer, so close you can feel the heat of his body and flutter of lashes. With wide, dilated pupils, he stills - and it really doesn't help that he looks so pretty.

"Can't stop thinking about you, hermosa." His voice is low, slurred with the weight of the blunt he's taken careful drags of. Every word makes you feel hazy, drawn in by his lips. " Fuck, all the time."

"Hear your laugh in my dreams, sometimes." He circles your bare thigh carefully, without breaking eye contact. With a thumb on your chin, he brings you closer, and closer still. Gently, you close your eyes, expecting the press of his lips against yours…

…instead, you get a puff of smoke for your troubles. Reeling, you push him away. He collapses on the bed in a laughing fit.

"... now I'm fucking with you." Rumbling laughter, and you've got the wherewithal to be embarrassed – hand still resting on his bare chest.

A little cruelly, you push down, giving him an elbow to the ribs for good measure and he splutters with surprise – laughing all the same.

"Asshole." You slur, and he grabs your arm to pull you onto the covers with him. You paw at him wildly, wrestling amongst the table of sheets. It's not a fair fight, not really; the wide expanse of his bare chest feels solid, and he's probably got more muscle in his pinky toe than you do in your whole body. Miguel is strong , but plays along regardless, pinning you to the bed with his hands around your wrists - but lets you turn him over just as quick. You're both laughing, the blunt long forgotten but its haze blurring the lines. You straddle his middle, hips flush against his and he keens; head back and cheeks flushed.

"Fuck," It's quiet, said as he writhes below you and you try to pin his hands above his head. Maybe it's the weed, but he lets you: eyes low, breath steady. And you stay like that, for a moment; bodies laid against one another.

You don't know who starts it: the slow roll of hips, the swell of his cock bucking up against your heat. Regardless, you welcome it, letting the heat build up with the pressure at your clit. Your hips sway and all Miguel can do is watch.

Lips parted, head back; and you set a steady rhythm that washes over you both.

Humping against one another, you get more desperate and drag your hands to his chest for purchase. Underneath you, Miguel practically purrs – one hand on your waist and the other clutching yours at his chest.

"So, so pretty…" He sighs into it, wide palm pawing at your ass, shamelessly grabbing handfuls. By now, he's rock hard; and you feel him throb through the thin material of his sweats.

"Fuck, I can't–" You moan, ragged, the roll of your hips gaining speed.

Miguel coos, bringing a hand to your chin to pull you closer to the crook of his neck.

"Too fast, hermosa. S-Slow it down for me." He grips your waist, forcing the pace to slow. Your hips stutter against his, delicious pressure making you cry out. And, God, you're close; pleasure building up at your gut.

"Ohhh, fuck. Just like that, just like–" It's soft, whispered between the press of bodies like a prayer: reverent, intimate, a slew of garbled English and Spanish into the shell of your ear that goes straight to your pussy.

"A-Ahi, ahi–"

[t-there, there–]

Plush lips brush against your cheek, and you try so hard to not float away - with only his words to keep you tethered.

"... no pares lo que sea que estes haciendo–ohh-fuck–"

[don't stop what you're doing, oh fuck–]

The coil at the base of your stomach snaps, and you arch into his touch as he does the same. Miguel spills into his sweats, heaving with the effort. He can feel the clench of your pussy above, and he chases it in the aftermath; craning his neck to finally get a kiss. Limbs heavy, you still manage to swerve so his kisses land at your jaw. He's grateful for the contact anyway it comes and sucks careful hickies into the skin: at your neck, your collarbone, and anywhere else he can reach.

You sink into it, curl up on his chest like a housecat; his hands wandering the gentle slope of your back under your shirt.

Limbs heavy, you pry yourself from his hands ever so slightly. He strains to follow you up, snapping back into the sheets like an elastic band. Still, he kneads at your flesh - bare thighs spilling from your shorts.

" Miguel," You whisper, hand travelling past his neck to cradle his jaw. "Need more…"

You punctuate that last word with a roll of your hips. Wanton, conflicted; he groans .

"It's late, chula. " He says it slowly, hesitant – like he can't believe the words are coming out of his mouth. He's still high, lost in the whispy remnants of that blunt. You've never known weed to make someone more responsible, and you flop to his side, a little childishly.

Miguel makes sure to keep a hand wrapped around your waist, dragging his other knuckles up your exposed tummy so that it rides up to the swell of your tits.

"And you've got that 9am."

You cover your face with the span of your hands, grumbling. From between the gaps in your fingers, you repeat,

" ...and I've got that 9am ."

He traces lazy circles in your flesh. Maybe it's the blunt, or the afterglow of an orgasm; but you make him laugh, a gentle ache replacing the creak and shudder of gears.

"Idiot." He says, kissing it into your skin. And he burns from the touch, fleeting; like the warm flame from paper lanterns, or the flicker of a lighter against cool night air.

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@ilovemuppets @vauriz @bonbyon @aimno256 @ancientbeing10 @tvije @venus1224idkpleaze @neteyamsbulletwound @chickenjefferson-blog @maki-z @jasjasthings @aiyaaayei @hyp-oh-critical @tea-earl-grey-thot @sunset-euphoria @moonsio @akiras-key@szaplsdropthealbum@levanneisdumb @naiya-patel17 @Serostapesweat @strawberrymiguel @yumeeesss @errorundyne-exe @spear-bitch @redsoleily @marsissoswag @slezhara @ye4gerzz @adlct515 @nanam1 @indigocookie @cincocosas-blog @starguiders @path0logicalpeoplepleaser@funkyfishy@whoreloll@eugeab@tarjapearce@maddielikesmoths@egotaestical

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