Yk Sometimes I Want To Just Yeet Myself And Then I Remember I Have To Keep Going So That I Can Watch

yk sometimes i want to just yeet myself and then i remember i have to keep going so that i can watch the final spiderverse movie

JELLY IF YOU KEEP WRITING SO BEAUTIFULLY ILL LITERALLY EXPLODE OH MY GOD 😭😭😭🩷🩷🩷

the color red.

Minors DNI-brief smut, x afab!reader, words ~500 ish?

A/n: heavily inspired by this GORGEOUS Toji fic by @/satogo-xp TY for the inspiration ♥︎♥︎

Miguel hated the color red. When the temporary blearing of being half asleep in the morning subsided and all that was left was searing red of his irises staring back at him, it always stirred deep resentment within him. 

Before the change happened, before...Spider-Man happened, his eyes were brown. Warming darkened rich umber that linked his mother and his brother to him, erased by that loathsome red. Stripping away an intimate part of him that carried his humanity. Reminding him that he wasn't normal. Reminding him that he was a freak. 

He hated the color red until he met you. The first person who gazed into his eyes like you were swimming in them. 

The first person who called them "crimson" instead of just red. 

The first person who made them the first thing they looked at when you looked at him. 

The first person who gazed at him and then at the bouquet of scarlet roses he bought for your birthday and told him they matched his eyes. 

The first person who couldn't get enough of them, couldn't stop whispering how beautiful they were, how beautiful he was, how much you loved looking into them when his body was slowly making love to yours, fucking you deeper and deeper into the soft Egyptian cotton of his sheets, buried in a sea of leather and woodsy spice of his cologne until your soul wrapped around his. 

Red. 

Miguel loved the color red. He loved it because because it reminded him of the bold merlot wine of the grapes you tasted on nights when you would sway in the kitchen and stay up laughing together. 

He loved it because it reminded him of that gorgeous shade of carmine you wore on your lips when you sat across from him in an elegant restaurant for your anniversary, bathed in romantic candlelight. 

He loved it because it reminded him of the cherry ribbon you had wrapped around your breasts that one intimate night, that playful look in your eyes as he slowly unraveled it and laid you back against the burgundy sheets.

He loved it because it matched the delicate garnet earrings he bought for you, knowing the next piece of jewelry would be a ring.

He loved it because it blended with the bleeding ruby of two beautiful sunsets: the one on the night he asked you to marry him, and the one on the first night of your honeymoon. 

He loved red because it signified the part of his life that you entered into. Despite losing that old part of him, it now represented a rebirth risen out of ashes, bringing you along with it.

He didn't love the color red until he fell in love with somebody who did.

Until you stepped into his world and proved his theory wrong that there wasn't a single universe in the multiverse where Miguel O'Hara was a happy man. 

Miguel loved the color red.

@1-900-venusluvs @thatone-writer

me after reading this

“AQUEL NAP ZZZ” — ft. dbf!miguel

you’re sitting next to him on his soft couch, leaning against his shoulder as he’s got his arm wrapped around you. the tv lights up both of your faces, as the sound of characters talking to each other on screen start making you sleepy. your eyes fight to stay open, closing every once and a while. miguel notices your silence and calm demeanour and turns his head, and to his surprise, sees your eyes shut.

“are you sleepy baby? hm?” he asks softly, stroking your arm as you open them up again from his voice, rubbing your face tiredly. “mhm” you mumble with a slight pout, nuzzling your face on his shoulder. “se te nota que estás cansada, pobrecita” he coos, as you shift your body down to rest your head on his lap.

he pets your head gently, reaching down to plant a kiss on your cheek. a smile creeps up on your face from his affection, “i love you” you murmur sweetly. he chuckles softly, looking down at you as he strokes your cheek. “te amo mas princesa. cierra esos ojitos, i got you” he reassures tenderly. “mmm, but i wan’ watch tv with you” you mutter in your sleepy voice, making miguel’s heart flutter. “yo también corazón, pero tienes que descansar. tomorrow we can spend more time together and do whatever you want” he says softly, brushing your skin.

you wiggle your body into a more comfy position, your legs huddled on the sofa as you adjust your head on his lap. “lay on my chest baby, s’ more comfortable” he whispers.

with his words, you lazily lift yourself up as he lays his back down on the couch. bringing you into his arms, your face nestles in the crook of his neck, placing your leg on top of him for comfort. relaxing against his skin, your tired eyes begin to shut again. he strokes your shoulder and thigh gently, his warm touch instantly relieving tension in your body.

he looks at you lovingly as you breathe against his skin; so peaceful and delicate. the closeness between the two of you never fails to make his heart beat faster, no matter how many times you’re together.

knowing how safe and trustworthy you feel with him is the best thing in the world to him. your ability to be vulnerable and comfortable no matter what is something he never takes for granted, especially considering you’re never like this with anyone else but him.

you fall asleep quickly, soft breathes escaping you as he holds you in his big arms. miguel smiles at how cute you look sleeping, trying to stay as still as possible, ensuring he doesn’t interrupt his pretty girl’s beauty sleep. :3

watched deadpool v wolverine and all i can say is

I'm imagining how Logan letting you see his claws up close for the first time would go and like not to be too tmi, but I do think Logan's claw slits would be soooo sensitive.

I could imagine him not really holding hands with you or letting you get too close to his hands in general until the two of you have progressed past something superficial.

The first time he lets you even get near his hands is when the two of you are lying in his bed. Your back pressed to his chest and his chin resting atop your head.

You've got one of his hands held by both of yours, running your fingers over his blue veins and tracing the divets and scars of his skin.

"How'd you get this one?" You ask, running your thumb over the rough line of skin, tilting your head up against his chin some.

His other hand momentarily stops its path where he'd been smoothing it down the soft of your arm.

"Think I was cutting up an apple," he jokes.

The two of you burst into a fit of giggles and he presses a kiss to the side of your temple, moving to speak before he's suddenly caught off with a moan so low you almost weren't sure what it was at first.

Logan doesn't even seem as though he's noticed as his brows remain furrowed and his body relaxed beneath you.

"What was that?" You turn to him, brows arched. You know he can already read the scheming expression written over your features.

Wordlessly, he pops his neck as he moves his hand upwards towards your face, pulling your hands along with it.

Balling his hand into a fist, he turns his knuckles towards you.

Your eyes catch on three small slits between each of his digits, only about half and inch or so long.

Cautiously, you run the tip of your finger down the length of one, earning a shiver from the man beneath you.

"Does it hurt?" You say quietly, nearly a whisper. Almost as if speaking too loud would startle the riveting atmosphere of the room.

You feel him shake his head 'no' behind you before he says gently, "feels good."

You give a slow nod at that, eyes glued to his knuckles.

"Can I touch them again?" You ask after a quiet moment passes.

Logan hums from behind you, "Go ahead."

You're careful in the amount of pressure you apply as you gently stroke the tips of your finger down each slit, relishing in the soft hums earned by the man behind you.

You can feel Logan's eyes watching you – as if equally enthralled with your newfound fascination of his mutation.

He lets you enjoy the delicate nature of it. A man so brutally threatening and deemed almost wild for the majority of his life subdued by something so seemingly trivial about the very thing that labeled him dangerous in the first place.

It's sweet to him.

"D'like it?" Your voice pulls him from his haze.

He seems to mull over his response, unfurling his hand to flex all five fingers in a spread palm.

"S'okay," he offers before unsheathing his claws, letting you look them over.

The lights from his room add a sparkle to their sharp tips, and for a moment, he finds his loathed despotion for them to be almost futile.

"They're pretty." You comment, meeting his hazel eyes in the metallic reflection of them.

He scoffs, "That's just cus' you're lookin' at yourself in 'em."

You feel him reach towards his beer on the nightstand. "I mean it." You click your tongue.

It's a sensitive topic for him, you know that.

Logan takes a swig of his beer, taking another look at his claws. He turns his hand back and forth before retracting them with a 'Shing!'

"Well, in that case," he flicks your temple with a chuckle, "Thank you."

"Can I see them again?" You pull his hand back into your own.

With a sigh, Logan unsheathes his claws for you again.

He takes another swig of his beer, mumbling "Brat."

SINCE WHEN WERE U ABKE TO PUT HEADERS ON UR FOLDERS