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queerponcho · 11 months ago

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AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

ABSOLUTELY FUCKING BEAUTIFUL OH MY GOD HOW I MISSED THIS STORY

Your middle-aged, loser Genetics professor who has a dad bod <3

Part 8

Miguel usually starts his days off by preparing a dark cup of coffee immediately after finally peeling himself out the bed. With droopy eyes and a five o’clock shadow, his husky figure stumbles into the kitchen, thirsty for caffeine. As he waits for the machine to do its magic, he’ll maybe run his hand through his dark, peppered, slept-on hair or take a moment to clean his glasses with the fabric of his sweats. Once the cup is prepared, the fresh scent of grinded coffee beans in the air, he’ll lean against his kitchen counter, sipping happily from his world’s best brain mug. He’ll relax for a moment, thinking about the material he’s planned for the day. Once he’s done, he’ll wash his cup, and start getting ready.

He left the suit about three years ago, taking up the job as professor of genetics and biochemistry at around the same time.

He’s been happy with his life here. It’s quiet. It’s peaceful. It’s simple. Everything he wanted. All the domesticity that was missing in his life had been rediscovered once he hung the mask. It’s the best decision he’s ever made.

He didn’t think things could get better until you came along, this gorgeous, smart, funny, sweet person that had him wrapped around their finger.

So this morning looks a little different, and every morning since he’s met you, for that matter.

Miguel gets up from bed faster now, with you on his mind. Once he makes his way into the kitchen for his fix of coffee, he’s reminded of the dream, possibly a pornographic one, he had about you. He’s like a horny teenager all over again, with an ache between his legs that, now, only you can inflict on him, and it’s there every morning.

Miguel now uses the time that it takes for the coffee to drip to shoot you a ‘good morning’ text, accompanied by multiple heart emojis. And of course, he takes a little longer to get ready in the mornings, just because he wants to make sure he looks his absolute best for you. <3

Today, while sipping on his café, he remembers the conversation from the night before, Miguel sharing his favorite books with you and yours with him. And then he remembered the things he shared with you about his past life; how amazingly you took the dump of lore. Only a higher power would know what anyone else would’ve done or said after hearing things like that. He smiles to himself as he thinks about your one and only question/response to it all:

“Are you happy?”

The response itself was all that he needed to see if his feelings for you were valid, and these feelings have become the strongest thus far. Miguel doesn’t want to jinx it, but he thinks what he’s feeling is something a tad bit more serious than a simple crush, and that both excites and terrifies him.

While he gets ready for the day, he then thinks about the conversation prior. He meant everything he said last night about not having sex, but at the same time, he would want nothing more than to show you how much of a good man he can be to you, both in daily life and in bed. Even though he’s hard at the very thought of you, he also wants you to feel safe more than anything. Being with you is far more important than the needs of his dick.

The fact that you’re his student also sort of weighs in as well. Getting caught in a professor/student scandal on the last week of classes before you receive your masters would be disastrous. Thankfully (and surprisingly), no one has been suspicious of y’all this semester.

Honestly, Miguel is just looking forward to Summer, because for him, that means he gets to take you out and enjoy you every chance he gets.

For the last few days of classes, you tend to your exams and Miguel busies himself with his own work. You guys haven’t really been with each other, with the exception of passing each other in the halls. It hasn’t been easy on you at all, and even more so on Miguel. Let’s just say his office door has been spending more time locked than unlocked, and not to score papers. Thankfully, the walls are thick.

The day you take Miguel’s exam is the very last day of classes, and at this point, both of you are antsy to not only see but just feel each other. The tension in the air is thick, the text messages have become spicier, and on multiple occasions have the phone calls been so close to just becoming pure phone sex, but you and Miguel had to keep your distance. Just for this week, and afterward, y’all can do anything you desired.

But for now, you have to settle for the small touches and occasional eye contact during the exam. That night when he dropped you off at your place, you half joked about him giving you a perfect score purely out of bias.

“I would never. I take my exams very seriously, for your information.” He responded smugly, his hairy forearm on the door of his car where the window would be. “Besides, you’re far too smart for that.“ His voice softens toward the end of his sentence, that lovesick smile he always gawks at you with on his face.

“I’m serious, Mig. I want an accurate grade.” You match his volume, leaning down onto the car window, face to face with him.

“Mama, I promise. I’m sure you’ll get a perfect score anyways, but on the off chance that you don’t,” he leans closer to, his breath on yours, “Maybe I’ll just have to give you more private sessions during the Summer.” You chuckle against his lips once they meet yours.

“You’re such a horndog.” You chuckle out softly. “Only for you.” He mumbles, unable to keep his mouth off of yours. Miguel really was hot n bothered by you all the time, but honestly, you wouldn’t have it any other way. He’s your little loser after all.

The glances and “accidental” brushing of hands had definitely occurred before and during the exam. Emotionally, it kind of took y’all back to the beginning of the semester, when the feelings were first bubbling. Alas, you had to stay focused. Compared to your peers, you practically flying through it. Even though you spent half the time mingling (and towards the end, making out) during them, the tutoring actually helped in the end.

When it was time to submit your exam, you gave him a knowing look. All Miguel does is give you a smile, but one that was genuine and sweet. One that reassured you in the sentiment that he was going to score you accurately.

At the end of the day, you didn’t even care about what score you got, as long as Miguel nor you get in trouble. That’s all that mattered to you.

It’s later in the day, and you’re in your dorm. Tomorrow is your big day. The day you walk along the stage and take your master’s in your hand; physical proof of your knowledge and hardwork. You were also thinking about Miguel and what he’s up to, but what’s new.

You were thinking about how after your graduation, Miguel will no longer be your professor, and you his student. You would just be two people who were absolutely crazy about each other, and you were looking forward to that.

You get a text from Miguel.

Missing my baby. Just thinking of you.

Aw, I miss my big teddy bear, too. What you up to?

Finished about 30% of these papers. Need to take a break, though. What if I came and picked you up?

And go where?

Home

I’m already at home, ya goof

I mean my home, but you absolutely don’t have to. We could go to the library or whatever you want.

No! I’d love to come over.

You sure?

Of course, I wanna see what other books I can steal from you

Only in this for the books, I see. Ouch.

Don’t be dramatic, you know that’s not true

Do I?

You gonna pick me up or not?

Putting my shoes on.

He had you kicking your feet. You were unsure if it was a good idea, but that didn’t stop it from being an extremely enticing one. You were just worried about someone seeing you enter his home, but otherwise, you would love to see where he lives, despite making the deal about not seeing each other until after graduation. This whole time, you’ve only gotten familiar with his office, and that’s only one small part of him. You just couldn’t wait any longer, and besides, classes are technically over.

“So you’re half spider?” You and Miguel relax in his living room. You scour his book shelves while he makes you a drink. His place is exactly how you imagined it. It’s sharp yet warm, like him.

“I know, not the most exciting of confessions.” Miguel’s sarcasm seeps through his speech, and it makes you chuckle.

“I’m being for real, I think that’s amazing and all, but I’m glad you chose to leave that life.” Your eyes are still on the spines of his books when you start to hear heavy footsteps coming your way.

“Me, too,” Miguel wraps his arms around your waist from behind, pressing a kiss on your head, “or else I would’ve never met you.”

“Aren’t you lucky?” You playfully comment, getting on your tip toes to kiss him, his pouch rumbling against your torso from his chuckling. “Definitely. Without you, I was starting to lead on a pretty lame life.” Miguel chuckled at himself, knowing that although going to teach classes and back home and repeat was a pretty peaceful life, he also knew it could be a boring one at times.

You lean your back in exaggerated astonishment, “Why would you say that? You’re the coolest person I know, and not because you were spider-man,” you run your hands up and down his chest as you list off his cool factors, “You’re a genius, you’re a family man, you’re funny, you’re also an Austen man, what more could I ask for?”

Miguel looks down at you, his muse, his angel, his everything. “Thanks, mamita. I’m proud to be your choice. Making me feel like the luckiest man in the universe.” You’re enjoying this little romantic banter between you two, and Miguel loves it.

“However, that last one is a secret between us. Can’t have people knowing that their exSpider-Man enjoys classic literature.”

“Speaking of which, have you gotten to the end of pride and prejudice?” You take his hand and lead him to the couch where you both plop down and find a good cuddle position. Miguel is the perfect amount of warm even though he wore nothing but sweats, meaning his dad build was out in all of its glory. It took everything in you not to pounce on him. Miguel wasn’t much help either, When he’s sitting down and you’re sitting in between his legs and he brings you in close to him to hug you. He’s all kissing your neck and playing with the waistband of your pants with his hand because truly he wants to eat you out so so so bad and is extremely so hard by the intimacy, but he knows tonight is not the night.

“I’m not finished yet, but I’m close.” He mumbles against your skin.

“You know what would be a great idea?”

Miguel stops what he’s doing and braces himself. “Oh God. What?”

“If you read whatever you have left of the book to me.”

“You want me to read it? Out loud?” You nod your head eagerly, and Miguel was absolutely cooed by the request. “Like I’ve said millions of times before, I love the sound of your voice.”

“Para ti? Claro Que si, mi vida.” And so he went and grabbed the book and his glasses, settling back into his position under you, and began reading in his soft, silky voice. You listened intently, the words falling right out of his mouth, making music to your ears. For Miguel, this was an honor. He’ll take glances down at you and sees that you’re in total awe of him, latching onto every word he recites. He hadn’t done something like this since, well, Gabriella.

This is the life he wanted. The life he had been living the past three years had served him well, but Miguel felt it. He felt it was time for another chapter. He was so certain. He’s decided he wants this every night.

Miguel reads on, simultaneously rehearsing what he’ll say in his head. He then takes a long pause on a page. You can feel his belly hitch. “Everything alright?” You ask softly. “I’m okay. More than okay.” He sounds as though he might get emotional, but doesn’t.

Miguel looks away from the book and into your eyes. You two are in his home, on his couch, cuddling with a book, and the school year has come to an end. Miguel needs to say something and feels it was a good moment to share it.

“You,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper, “I love you.”

The words send your heart rate to oblivion. “W-what?”

“I love you.” Miguel says this so matter of factly, like he’s never been so sure of something in his life.

You had to make sure what you heard matched what he said and it did. You only have one response to this, and tears well up in your eyes before you can even say it, “I love you, too.” You attack Miguel in kisses, and both of you relish in this monumental moment in your relationship.

“I adore you”, “I worship you”, “I’m so proud of you,” and more “I love you”s fall from Miguel’s lips, making the tears well up in your eyes again and your heart swell even more.

Miguel continues to read for you, savoring the special memory you both will now share for a very long time. Sometimes, he’ll just stop mid paragraph just to say it to you again, that he loves you, and you say it back. Both of you are giddy little kids, telling each other how much you love the other. At some point, you can feel yourself start to fall, and Miguel sees it, but he proceeds. The mixture of his lulling voice and the soothing sensation of his rising and falling tummy was the perfect combo for sleep. Once you’re completely out, Miguel turns off the lights by voice command, and lays a blanket over you. He holds you tight against him, as if you could disappear at any moment, and plants a kiss lovingly on your forehead. He whispers ‘te amo, mi vida’ before slumber takes him over as well.

You can feel a light gently shed on your eyelids. You’re not fully conscious yet, drifting between the states of awake and asleep.

Your fingers flicker with life, and you think you feel something rough. Your eyes crack and you’re met with a blurred figure. Your vision focuses and you make out a face, your fingers lingering on the jaw. Your lips curl at this face. The closest thing in view is a pair of dark lips, parted and inspiring deep, low snores. Taking account of their breath, you feel the inhaling and exhaling of his stomach against your front side. You lift your head slightly to get a better view of the person you currently lay on top of. Tousled black hair, dark eye lashes that ornament sleeping eyes, thick brows lacking the tension creases that would otherwise be there, and some missing glasses, which now sit on a side table. The sight was sweet enough to make the coldest heart melt. You take a moment to just observe his breathing, his relaxed state, and start leaving small, ghostly caresses on his face, absorbing each line and shape of his rugged complexion. The outside world finally makes its presence known with a few chirps of birds, and your attention goes to a window and that’s when it hits you: you’re still in Miguel’s place, and you both had fallen asleep on his couch. At last, you gain enough consciousness to realize that, for the entirety of the night, you had been held the same way a child holds their most beloved teddy bear by your exprofessor, now lover.

No, you two didn’t have sex, just like how it had been discussed a few days ago. You were both still clothed, yet, somehow, this feels even more intimate than when y’all eat each other’s faces.

Your attention is stolen back by the snores of the man below you, which makes you stifle laughter. You could honestly lay there watching him for hours. Your eyes glazed over every inch to ingrain the perfect mental image of this soft moment.

A few more seconds pass by before his snoring pattern comes to an abrupt halt and his eyes flutter open, landing on you. His watch goes off in a small, irritable beep. His tired eyes lift as he smiles at the view, despite the noise. This was something that he’s dreamt of waking up to every day.

“G’morning, sleeping beauty,” you softly speak, leaning down for a kiss on his forehead, “You sleep good?” Your voice is sweet, the moment seconds before leaving it honey-like.

“Morning,” his hands that wrapped around your waist unravel and rub your back, “Mhm. like a baby. Don’t think I’ve slept like that in… well, ever.” An early raspiness spills from his lips and its deep enough to make your insides flutter. “Me too.” You reply, gazing into each other’s eyes before sharing one or two good morning kisses on the lips.

“Can you confirm something for me?” You continue, and Miguel raises an eyebrow.

“Was I dreaming or did you say the L-word to me last night?” A giggle leaves Miguel’s mouth. “Yeah, I did, and I’ll say it again.” He says in his low voice.

“I love you.”

A/n: I’m back girlies, did u miss me?

<3Taggies<3

@safixiovi @mukeovernetflix @mochikisses @miguels-cock-piercings @miranexx @bunnibitez @deepdiveintothedeephive @faretheeoscar @sillygardeneggperson @librababe99 @sariespi @little-lovelace @monstersimp @oharasfilipinawife @obi-mom-kenobi @hyjionie @maomaimao @pomakori @pinkhelados @mochimoqa @princesatracionera @queerponcho @walmaerts @froggygal @yaysposts @koko-1025 @kikaaauu @lauraolar14 @anotherprettyprincess @kaidxra @farrowroyale @pigeonmama @exactlyyoungchaos @fayeofthenightingale @s4dow

@hartsucks @amberbalcom14 @wait2nourh @tatooieve @helen-j-magnus @cl3stevu

@mintssanctuary @ghost-lantern @snails-doodles22 @tinythebunni

#thank you so much for sharing ur talents #miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #across the spiderverse #atsv #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel x you #miguel o’hara fanfiction #miguel x reader #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara fluff #fic rec

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queerponcho · 11 months ago

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SUCH A BEAUTIFUL STORYYY i cant wait to see where this goes!!!

I Think I'll Keep You 4

a/n: Thank you for your patience! More to come for this story, it's only the beginning! Finally got my new computer which will make writing much easier and more fun!! Love ya!

w.c.: 8.3k NSFW MINORS DNI rated p for plot

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

His eyes widen and he has to fight back more tears right then and there. You’re taking him to the hospital after all he’s done? After all he said? “Oh…” He mumbles, standing there ready to follow your lead. He’d follow you anywhere at this point. “I couldn’t sleep so… and I assume you couldn’t either.” You comment softly. The exhaustion written on both your faces. With midterms and classes, bad sleep and the emotional tug of war this week, you’re both due for a nap. But his hand needs to be taken care of first. He can’t keep walking around in pain like that.

“Does it hurt?” You ask as the two of you start walking down the hall. “No… it’s not that bad.” He mumbles, pulling his hoodie on and clenching his hand painfully in the pocket. “Don’t lie.” You say. Something you feel like you keep saying. Why is it so hard for him to just be honest? Even with himself. “It… it does hurt. A lot.” He finally says in a sigh, both getting to the elevator and going down in silence to get to the lobby. He’s looking down at the floor. Exhaustion etched on his face like yours. But you keep an eye on him. Observing his body language. All the things he’s not saying with words. He seems sorry. He seems heartbroken like you. But it’s hard to trust him after everything.

The two of you get to the lobby, hearing the rain pouring on the windows. The white noise of the rain would be soothing if it didn’t mean you had to walk out in that storm. “My car’s on the street.” You pull up your hood, keys jingling in your pocket. He just looks up at your face, nodding softly. He just wants to hear that you forgive him. That you don’t hate him.

You both head out, quickly marching down the walkway to your car. Each shielding yourself from the assault of pouring rain as you rush to the car already running. Finding warmth and safety inside away from the rain. As soon as you can see through the splatters on the windshield, you’re driving off, through the city streets to get to the emergency room. There’s no one on the roads this time of night. And you’re hoping there won’t be tons of people in the emergency room once you get there.

“Hey so um…” He starts, after a bit of silence, driving through the city streets. “I… I’m-”

“Let’s just get there, okay? Let’s just go and get there and…” You sigh, the words falling off. Not wanting to cut him off but also not wanting right now to be when you both have this conversation. He swallows thickly, nodding and falling back into the quiet of the warm car. Clenching his fingers in his pocket and bouncing his knee gently in anxiety. You notice it out of the corner of your eye. You seem to notice everything about him.

…

“...his hand, he’s been having swelling and bruising for a few days now…” You explain kindly to the receptionist once you’re both in the waiting room, standing at the front desk. Miguel standing a bit like a lost puppy behind you, listening to you talk to the receptionist there. “Alright, the doctor can take a look once she’s done with another patient. If you can just fill out these forms and have a seat, it should be about 30 minutes.” She smiles and hands you a clipboard and a pen. “Thank you. And could he please get some ice or something?” You smile and ask. The woman nods politely and going to grab an ice pack from the other room. You both start walking over to the waiting room area, looking over the form in your hands. Taking a seat by the fish tank and settling in to wait a little while. Miguel sits right beside you, running the good hand through his dampened hair from the rain. He glances down at the form in your lap. Then up at the side of your face. Wanting to reach out and touch your skin. Kiss your cheek. Remembering what it feels like to melt into your arms. Thinking of all the ways he can beg for, earn your forgiveness. Just as he’s about to speak- “Here you go…” The receptionist is there, an ice pack outstretched for him to take, breaking him out of his thoughts. He forces a smile, taking the ice pack and setting it over his hand. “Thank you.” He smiles gently. Watching the woman walk away.

He looks back, watching you write down his name on the form. Thinking he can probably do this himself. Before he can interrupt you’re asking him for the information.

“Birthday?” You ask, ready to fill it in. “You don’t have to do that…” He mumbles softly, reaching his left hand over to you. “You can write with that hand?” You ask him skeptically, raising your brow. It’s his right hand that’s out of commission. “We need this to be legible, I’ll just do it.” You wave him off and he sighs in sleepy defeat. Although he’s too tired to even care at this point. He’s more grateful that you’re even here right now, that he’s even here right now. That you’re helping him like this, let alone talking to him.

“October 13, 2001.” He sighs, watching your neat handwriting fill in the little lines. “That just passed…” You mutter in realization, writing the date down. “Why didn’t you tell me when it was your birthday?” You sigh, looking up and gazing straight ahead at the empty chairs across the room. “That was like… two thursdays ago…” You grumble. “Sorry…” He sighs, not knowing what else to say for it. He didn’t tell you because he didn’t think it mattered. His mind is a mess. You look over at him, seeing the look on his face. That he really is defeated. Not his usual self. “It’s fine just…” Your words trail off. The silence heavy between you two.

“You can tell me stuff like that.” You suddenly say much more confidently. Looking over at him, making him meet your eye. And he swallows hard, not knowing really what to say. “You were leaving the next day and I didn’t want to distract you…” He admits softly.

“Your birthday is not a distraction… it’s special.”

Special?

He nods, averting your gaze. Thinking to himself. There’s nothing special about him.

“Place of birth.” You ask. “Uh… New York…” He replies softly, shaking those thoughts away, adjusting the ice on his knuckles. Bearing through the ache that comes with the cold on the hot swelling. You write down the information, continuing on. He’s quiet beside you, only answering when you ask him for information. Because his mind is occupied mapping out things he needs to talk about. He wants to apologize again, for real this time and explain himself. That’s the least he can do. Even though he feels like he’s 10 years old again for some reason. Feeling like you’ll be upset with him no matter what he says. No matter what he does. And he deserves all of it.

“Emergency contact?” You ask. Distracting him from his thoughts. “Uh…” He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Like your mom or dad or something…” You encourage, ready to write down whatever he chooses. “I… don’t want them to call my dad…” He admits softly, staring at the sheet on the clipboard. “So your mom then?” You assume, readying yourself for the contact info. “No…” He mutters, shaking his head, leaning back in his seat. Looking up from the form, you look at his face. Not quite knowing how to read it right now. You know he doesn’t like to talk about his parents at all. You’ve only heard about his brother and that’s it. But you didn’t think I’d be so bad that he doesn’t even want to call them in case of an emergency.

“Okay… that’s okay we can figure out something else.” You offer softly. For some reason, instinctively, wanting to protect him right now from whatever it is he’s feeling. When it comes to his parents at least. “Yeah…” He mumbles, staring down at the ice on his hand and folding the corner of the plastic, fidgeting.

You sigh. Not really wanting to get into everything right now. Just wanting to get back to your dorm and sleep. He needs sleep too. This week has been hell. So many weighted moments pass between the two of you. Silently sitting and listening to the bubbles in the fish tank constantly going. The bubbles disturbing the still waters surface and yet infusing the water with all the oxygen the life within needs. Disturbance pumping life into the already living. The living need disturbance to know they’re alive.

He hears the sound of the pen scribbling on the clipboard. Tired eyes looking over to your lap. The emergency contact. A lump in his throat watching you fill in your name, your address, your phone number. All for him. All of this for him? How could he even begin to deserve it? He feels a huge rush of relief and watches the pen tip move across the paper. Until it gets to “Relationship:”

“The doctor can see you now.” The receptionist suddenly says, bringing you both out of silence. Grabbing the clipboard, your keys, phone, standing up and ready to get this done and get out of here. Although there’s a part of Miguel that feels this is a last goodbye. Like things will never be the same after tonight. Maybe that’s a good thing.

…

“Alright, so the fractures are here… here… and then a smaller one there. And we’re going to go ahead with the plaster cast so we can make sure everything lines up nicely.” The doctor says, pointing and gesturing to the x-ray on the wall. It’s been about half an hour now of x-rays and examinations. He has two broken fingers and part of his wrist is compromised too.

“We’ll see how you do with the cast and have you come back in a couple weeks. There should be no reason for surgery if all goes well.” She says. Nodding to the two of you and grabbing some paperwork from the drawers in the room.

“Will he have any sort of pain relief while this is going on?” You ask, concern on your face. Miguel can see it. It makes his chest hurt. You’re such an angel and he’s such a dick.

“Yes, I’ll put in the prescription for painkillers and some antibiotics and you can pick it up tonight… I can send it to the 24 hour pharmacy pretty close to your campus if that works?… I recommend starting it as soon as you can and it will really help with the swelling.” She nods and writes down a slip for his prescription. “Thank you.” You smile and take the slip, Miguel soon following with his own quiet ‘thank you’.

“I’ll be right back and then we can get this cast on, okay?” The doctor clicks her pen, taking her computer and leaving the room to go get the supplies to make up Miguel’s cast.

If it were darker in this room, you’d be falling asleep. But the fluorescent lights blind you. Sitting in the chair next to the exam table, unable to resist resting your head on the table Miguel’s sitting on. Looking down at the almost finished document on the clipboard. Deciding what to write. It’s stupid, it shouldn't matter that much. It doesn’t matter so much if it’s just for his emergency contact; just that the information is in there. Girlfriend? No. Partner? Probably not. Where do you stand? More importantly… Where do you want to stand with him? It’s not just his decision at the end of the day and you’re trying to stop letting him call most of the shots. What do you want to be? Do you want to be his girlfriend? Do you actually want that? Or has his behavior over the past month and a half shown you that he can’t be a good partner even if he wanted to? It’s late; you’re tired; why must you make this decision right now when everything is still so fucked up? Closing your eyes, laying your head on the edge of the table, you’re playing a dangerous game. Will you be able to open them again once you pass the threshold?

“I’m sorry.” He says. Coaxing your eyes back open, looking over at him.

“Miguel-”

“Please… I need to say something…” He insists softly. Not looking at you, staring at the floor, trying to keep that list in his head. “... a lot of things…”

He sighs, rubbing his good hand down the fabric of his sweatpants, nervously. Like all the sentences he’s thinking are the most idiotic combinations of words strung together. You watch him a bit wide eyed, just waiting for the words to come out.

“I’m sorry for the way I acted. What I said. It was the wrong way to go about this… everything.” He sighs. Trying his best to be honest and hoping you won’t throw it back in his face. Why is that always his first thought?

“I was a jerk. And then when I tried to… apologize I just… was an even bigger jerk.”

He admits. Glancing over at you to see your reaction. Feeling an odd sense of ease at the soft expression on your face. You’re really listening.

“I was not drunk on Sunday. I promise you. I went to a stupid party and… had a few beers but nothing… major.” He explains. Checking off the boxes in his head. All the things that went wrong, all the things he needs to apologize for. You look down and back at him. Feeling both satisfaction from his explanation and regret over this entire situation.

“And Dana… she’s… always hanging around me and… but I didn’t do anything with her on Sunday. I tell her no and she's still just all over me and... I’m not sleeping with her, I’m not sleeping with anyone. It was just you.” He says, looking in your eyes. And you believe it’s true. That’s the thing you regret. Jumping to conclusions the moment you smelled Dana’s perfume on him. That probably wasn’t right to do and there was no reason for it. But his response to it all was still uncalled for.

“I don’t want you to hate me. Please… I don’t think I can take it. But I know I deserve it.” He whispers. Looking away, staring at the linoleum floor.

“Can I tell you something… personal?” He suddenly asks. His eyes locked on the checkered pattern on the floor.

“Of course…” You hum, giving him your full attention. This is a big deal. Getting him to share this much. Connecting with him like this after feeling so far away. He swallows hard. Thinking hard. Why must this all be so hard for him?

“I’ve never really been in a relationship before.” He admits softly. You’re shocked to say the least. He’s always been the player type and had girls all around him. But never a relationship? Not even in high school? Seems impossible for someone like him. “Hm…” You hum. Mostly to let him know you’re actively listening. And not judging.

“My parents um…” He starts, fidgeting anxiously. “Ever since I was little… like since I was born… my parents always… cheated on each other?” He admits. You’re stunned into silence and he keeps going…

“It wasn’t like… an open marriage or anything…” Your face softens in sadness hearing his admission. Your heart snapping in two. “Now that I’m older I know the language but… as a kid I never understood.” He explains. A thoughtful look on his face like he’s thought all of these things a million times but never uttered a single word about it out loud.

The correlation between the two admissions is becoming more clear. Never having a relationship because the one relationship he’s supposed to look up to, his parents, is filled with betrayal and distrust. “I’m not saying… that that’s an excuse I’m just… I-I don’t know…” He sighs, shaking his head.

You just listen and watch him in silence. Feeling three things. Honored that he would share this with you. Responsibility to keep this information guarded. And heartbreak, thinking about that kind of pain, and that he feels the need to explain all of this.

“You ever think about like… getting too comfortable and then… when everything goes to shit… that’s your own fault right?” He asks more directly now, looking over at you. Maybe he does want an answer. “Like when you tell yourself that someone really cares about you… and then turns out they don’t. Not as much as you think?”

“No. I don’t think that’s your fault.” You finally speak now that he wants an answer. Genuinely. He looks in your eyes. You want to hear more. It’s the most he’s ever opened up to let you in his head.

“I can’t let myself feel that way.” He sighs. Looking up at the ceiling and letting out a deep breath. You know this is really hard for him.

“You think I make you… feel like you can’t be comfortable?” You ask softly, trying to clarify, trying to understand him.

“No you… make me feel… very… comfortable.” He admits in a sigh. Like the words keep getting stopped but he pushes through, forcing them out. The words would be impossible if not for his efforts.

You pause, thinking about what he said. Remembering when he said you made him feel steady. That moment meaning so much more now. You make him feel comfortable but he can’t allow himself to feel comfortable?

“And when you started… trying to tell me how you were feeling…” He sighs. “I just panicked and…” His words trail off, you take a deep breath. Remembering Sunday night, asking him about Dana, about the beer, on the cusp of telling him you were falling for him. That confusion and anger. Remembering what he said about messy feelings, about not ruining what you two had. When he said you weren’t supposed to happen. It all makes a lot more sense now. "I don't know what I'm feeling... I don't think I ever really know."

“I think that’s why I usually only… spend one night with someone and then… it’s over. I’m an asshole, I know… I wasn’t thinking of you that first night. At least not at the start.” He admits. Which makes sense. He feels guilty knowing he’s never been fair to his partners or himself. Plowing through any sort of feeling that might arise. But when you came along, that all became much harder. Not harder; impossible. His feelings for you were impossible to ignore. “But you’ve never left my mind since then.”

“You’re the longest I’ve ever… stuck with someone I guess. Or that you’ve stuck with me.” He says softly. Stealing glances at you, fearing your reaction just a bit. You’re shocked to say the least. A month and a half? He’s really never gotten closer to anyone else before?

Being his. That’s what you’ve thought of all this time. Because that’s how it always was. He would ask you to be his, tell you to admit it and you always said yes, you always complied. Because you wanted it to be true.

“Are you afraid that if you and I were together… that I’d cheat?” You ask, being careful around his feelings. Thinking he must be afraid to go back to those feelings brought by his parents. When they cheated on each other, they cheated him too. You want to treat his feelings with sensitivity unlike everyone else it seems.

He’s silent for a few moments. Thoughtful. “Maybe. Probably.” He admits. Which is reasonable if he’s been dealing with those kinds of trust issues since he was a little boy. “But I think I was… just scared to lose you. Like losing you is scarier than not having you at all.”

“But I couldn’t not have you. I couldn’t.” He sighs. “I was selfish and I’m sorry.”

He stares at the floor, all regret and heartbreak. So many things laid out in the open. You almost don’t know what to say. Almost.

“Miguel…” You address him, standing up and stepping around the small room for a moment. Then focusing back on him.

“I forgive you.”

He instantly looks up at you. He could cry. Relief in the purest form shot right into his soul.

“I can’t relate to your feelings with your parents and… everything. But that doesn’t mean I can’t understand. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to understand.” You say softly. He nods in understanding. His heart feeling a lightness he hasn’t felt since… ever.

“Being with you made me… feel confident and… wanted? I guess… no one’s ever made me feel that way before.” You admit. Sharing your own confessions. His eyes follow you every step around the room as you pace and speak. He’s surprised to have caused you anything but pain.

“I really liked you… even before all this started… even though I didn’t even really know you,” You sigh and chuckle softly at the thought. Knowing you fell in love with him when it felt like he wanted no one but you. And that might have been true but you were in love with the idea of him. The idea that someone like him would be in love with you.

“But I realized that the image of you that I have in my head is nowhere near who you really are. And I think you did the same for me.” You explain. He nods, knowing that’s exactly right. His first chapter with you is an unreliable memory.

“So I forgive you.” You nod. And he just looks up at you in awe. Like his heart will explode. He’s never felt this way before. Ever in his life. Is this what it feels like to be in love? To fall in love? Has he been falling all this time and now he’s completely fallen?

There’s a knock at the door. An interruption to this discussion but your words echo in his mind. And he never wants to forget them. “Okay, ready to get started? We’ll do this nice and quick and you guys can be on your way…” The doctor smiles, wheeling in a tray of materials and supplies. “Thank you” You smile and nod, moving over to make room for the doctor’s supplies; standing next to where Miguel is sitting to watch the process; mainly out of curiosity. You keep an eye on Miguel’s face. Seeing he’s still deep in thought. It’ll take more time to understand him, but tonight is a good first step.

You watch the doctor start the process, absorbing the information she’s explaining, the instructions for care and the longer term things. Follow up appointments and such. You make sure to listen because Miguel doesn’t seem like he can listen very well right now.

You watch his uninjured fingers still fidgeting with the hem of his pants. And for the second time you want to protect him. You want to make him feel… comfortable. You realize. That’s what he needs.

You reach across, taking his left hand in yours. Causing him to look up, squeezing gently as his fingers eagerly lace with yours. And it’s like all of a sudden he can feel the table under him, he can hear the doctor’s voice, he can feel the sleeve going on his arm, he can feel the pain in his hand. To get out of his head and come back into the real world around him. That’s what you’ve always done. You’re like an escape and you didn’t even know you were doing it. He didn’t even realize. Imagine how things could be if he just opened up. If he wasn’t afraid of how you’d react. If you’d put him down, chastise him for his feelings. Like he alway has been all his life.

“Miguel?” You hum, to get his attention after the doctor's attempts. The noise of his thoughts muting at the sound of your voice. “Hm?”

“What color do you want?” You ask softly, gesturing to the doctor holding out samples of the cast wrappings. Your thumb rubbing gently over the back of his knuckles. He can feel that too. “Oh uh… I don’t know.” He shakes his head slightly, feeling so overwhelmed in both good and bad ways. Overwhelmed with his feelings of love and fear. “You could get blue for the team colors…” You suggest with a soft smile, thinking of his soccer uniform, looking over the options that the doctor has laid out. Treating him with tender care, wanting to do it, no matter the things that have happened. It’s all in the past now. He smiles softly at your cute suggestion. “Yeah sure, blue is good…” He nods a slight smile at the doctor's kindness and patience. She nods and gets to work. Wrapping his cast up and letting it all set and harden. The blue material going from his fingers nearly up to his elbow.

“Alright, your 4 week appointment is all set, and you have the slip for the prescription. Come back if anything happens, or if you have any questions just call the non-emergency line.” The receptionist says. A kind smile on her face, looking up at the both of you, two kids tired out of their minds, hanging onto life and each other by a thread at this point. “Thank you very much.” Miguel nods with a smile. His injury now supported, already feeling less like it’s just hanging off his body.

You hand over the clipboard. Realizing you never decided on it. The relationship. Because it’s complicated. And you figured a blank line is better than a scribble of eraser marks.

“Have a good rest of the night… or morning I suppose.” She nods. Because yes, it is 4 a.m. at this point.

Leaving through the automatic sliding glass doors, stepping out into the very early morning. A soft glow of the imminent rising sun lighting up the sky. But it’s still very dark out. The birds haven’t even started to wake up and beckon the morning. He walks up beside you as you both head into the parking lot to get to your car. It’s still sprinkling slightly, some far away thunder rolling.

“How does it feel?” You ask, looking over and seeing the blue material on his arm peeking out from his sleeve. “Feels better than before… still hurts.” He sighs, taking a few longer strides and reaching the driver door first. Opening it for you. “Do you want me to drive?” He offers softly. “No, you only have one hand.” You quickly refuse.

“I can drive with one hand… and you’re tired.” He insists gently. “You’re tired too. And you have broken fingers.” You smirk, winning this, getting into the driver's seat. He huffs out a breath of laughter and relents, closing the door after you and walking to the passenger side.

“Take this…” You flail the prescription slip in front of him. His eyes blinking tiredly and he traps the piece of paper between his good fingers. Brow furrowing in focus and reading the information. It’s a bit blurry since he doesn’t have his contacts in. “Let’s go get that acetaprofin…” You sigh, turning the car on.

“Wait, what did I say?” You look at him, a smile tugging at your lips.

“Acetaprofin?” He asks with a smile. “You mean acetaminophen? Or ibuprofen. I think it says acetaminophen on the sheet.” He can’t help the giggles that erupt in his chest. Beyond exhausted, the both of you. “No! I said that! I said acetaminophen.” you giggle, looking over at him, watching him starting to lose it with laughter.

“Nooo you didn’t…” He teases, wiping his eyes from laughing. “You said acetaprofin which is like… some acetaminophen and ibuprofen hybrid.”

“No I didn’t. Gimme that!” You snatch the paper out of his hand and point to the drug name on the sheet. “A-ce-ta-min-o-phen.” You sound it out as he’s giggling, not even looking at the paper, he’s looking at you. “I know what it says. That’s not what you said.”

Your eyes light up watching him smile and laugh. “Maybe not.” You admit, smiling. You can’t help but laugh yourself. It’s not even that funny, you both know that. But you’re both so tired, everything is funny. “Well science boy, maybe you should do your thesis on acetaprofin…” You joke.

“Yeah, I’m sure Alchemax would love that. A thesis on combining two drugs that do pretty much the same thing…” He sighs, the both of you coming down from a laughing fit. Sitting in your running car, in the corner of the emergency room parking lot, in the middle of the city, at four in the morning.

“Hah…” He sighs. That laughter was much needed. For both of you. “Y’know… we don’t have to go get it now. We can just go back to school. I can get it myself another day.” He says. Knowing you’re both exhausted and feeling bad for keeping you awake for so long. Although he does enjoy spending time with you again. Feeling like he doesn’t have to put his shield up. It’s harder to do when you’re not having sex. When he’s just being purely himself. It’s a new feeling.

He feels a little strange. Not just because he’s running on fumes but because of what he told you. But you don’t seem to be treating him any differently. If anything, it’s just making him feel a little closer to you. He’s never felt something like that before. Like you could be… someone he confides in. The first person on his mind. That’s what’s happened for the last month and a half anyway.

“No way… we’re getting your damn acetaprofin if it’s the last damn thing I damn do.” You protest, putting the car in drive and pulling out of the parking lot. On a mission. A mission of pain relief.

“Picking up for O’Hara?” You say at the pharmacy desk, the old woman behind the register typing into the old computer to bring up the prescription. “Date of birth?” She asks, looking at the two of you over the edge of her glasses. Miguel steps forward to answer.

“08/13/2001.” You state before he can. A satisfied smile on your face for knowing his birthday now. Even if he didn’t tell you the day it was happening.

“It’s just been sent in… I’ll make it up for you.” The old woman says, her New York accent quite thick. And she moves around slowly to go make up his prescription acetaminophen and antibiotics. “Okay thank you.” Miguel smiles. The two of you having to wait some more this morning.

…

“Strawberry or Cherry?” You sigh, holding out two packs of twizzlers in front of him. The two of you migrating to the candy aisle and looking through the endless sweets. “Strawberry obviously.” He nods, pointing at the pack, keeping his cast wrapped arm close to his chest, a sign to you that the pain is in fact bothering him. “Obviously.” You nod. Totally agreeing.

“Ha. I had to give my brother the heimlich once with one of these.” You cringe and hold up a box of Lemonheads. “Oh no, really?” His eyes widen, meeting your eyes. What if that had been Gabriel?

“Yeah, and then my mom banned them from all the kids…” You giggle, putting it back on the shelf and looking at another candy item. He grins at the thought, imagining what your family must be like. After all the little things you’ve told him. Your parents and siblings. It’s like a different world he’s never stepped into before.

“This is Gabriel’s favorite…” He nods and points to a box of warhead hard candies on the shelf. “We used to have competitions” He smiles, looking at you. “Oh the ‘see who can hold it in their mouth the longest without spitting it out’ competition? I know it well…”

“Mhm.” He nods, enjoying feeling like he can be similar to you in some way. He does love Gabriel a lot and hearing the way you’ve always talked about your own family makes him feel good. Even if his own family doesn’t feel like much of a family at all.

…

“These lights are so bright.” You huff, crouching down and looking in the makeup aisle. Miguel leaning against one of the shelves and trying not to fall asleep standing up. “Which one… on my skin?” You sigh, grabbing two blush shades, standing up with whatever energy you have left. Holding them up to him. He blinks tiredly and takes the two small things from your hands, walking right up to you and holding them up to your cheeks. “What am I looking for?” He asks, holding each one on the sides of your cheeks. Your eyes closed.

“Just for… which one matches best for my undertooooones…” You drawl with eyes still closed, feeling the backs of his fingers on your cheeks. “Undertooooones…” He echos softly and teases. “Hmm…” He hums, looking back and forth and then just looking at your face. Your lashes, your lips. Feeling like he could just kiss you right now. It would be so easy to just peck your lips.

“So?” Your voice brings him out of his thoughts. “Uh I think this one… I don’t know. That one is pretty.” He sighs, ignoring the urge to kiss your lips. Knowing he probably shouldn’t. But he wants to. Your eyes flutter open, causing his heart to flutter at the sight. Your hands coming to grasp his wrists. The two products in his fingers. Looking down at the one he chose. “Yeah, I like that one.” You nod and he adds it to the small pile of candy and miscellaneous things you’ve both picked out around the store.

…

“Mm this one is good…” Miguel holds a bottle of shampoo over to you. Letting you smell it. “Coconut Milk and turmeric…” You mumble, reading the scent on the bottle before clasping your hands over his hands around the bottle and smelling. The rim of the bottle touches your nose, getting some soap on there. “Ah- yeah it smells good” You giggle, shampoo above your lip. “Oh no sorry…” He laughs, the two of you deliriously tired. His other hand comes up to wipe the soap off, rubbing over the ridge of your lip and getting it off. All while you’re both quietly giggling among the shampoo selections.

“Are we being too loud?” You giggle, whispering and looking up at him. There’s no one else in here it’s so late but still you’re both giggling endlessly in the aisles. “Probably…” He whispers, putting the shampoo back on the shelf. The two of you standing close, huddled next to the shelves and aimlessly looking around waiting for his prescription to be ready.

…

“I didn’t know they sell vibrators at the drug store…” You comment. Wandered into the aisle of sexual health and products. Staring up at the row of vibrators on the top shelf, kept in those plastic cages. Needing the employees' help to unlock it. “I guess… maybe people need it… for medical… things.” He sighs behind you. Like zombies, the two of you.

“What kind of medical things?” You raise a brow at him, turning around to face him. He takes a closer look at the boxes, lifting one toy and reading the back of it.

“Mm… neglected clit disease?” He jokes, looking up in your eyes. A smug look on his face and a smile spreading over yours. His eyes gleaming watching you laugh. “Stupid boyfriend syndrome?” He adds. “Yeah possibly…” You nod.

“Boyfriend with broken fingers disorder.” He smiles a goofy grin, holding up his cast and shrugging. His poor broken fingers. Boyfriend.

“Yeah you’re right… it’s on the rise…” You laugh softly and nod. He nods, reading the back of the box and turning to look at the other models on the shelf.

Your eyes scan over the side of his face as he turns. Wanting to reach out and run your hands through his hair like you’ve done so many times before. But it’s never been like this before. Just the two of you like this. Like friends. But there’s something extra obviously because you’ve seen each other naked more times than you can remember. But being away from him was like rehab from an addiction. An addiction to him, the feeling of him, the way he can make you feel.

You roll your eyes and smile. Turning to leave the aisle. He smiles that same grin. Watching you start walking, he looks down at the box in his hand. Piling the vibrator on the stack of items in his arm with a smirk on his face. Among the candy, makeup, shampoo and miscellaneous things you’ve both picked out, the sex toy like a cherry on top.

…

He smiles watching you huff and sit down on the floor. Right in the middle a different aisle. Paper and stationary on one side and birthday cards on the other. Tilting his head and looking down at you on the floor. Sharing your exhaustion. “How does it feel?” You ask and he walks over, sitting down in front of you, criss crossed and facing you. Setting the items down on the floor too.

“It hurts…” He admits, not feeling the need to lie about it. Not anymore. You nod and yawn. Looking over and seeing a pack of black sharpies. Leaning over to grab it.

“Can I write on it?” You smile and brighten up at the thought. “My cast?” He grins and watches you. Your excitement.

“Yeah a little message or a doodle” You pull open the pack of markers. Planning to just pay for them on the way out. “Fine, just no dicks, okay?” He teases and you feign disappointment at his request. He scoots closer to you as you hold out the sharpie for the blue material on his arm. “Hmm…” You think of what to write or draw for your masterpiece. Since he’ll have it on there for a few weeks you want to make it count.

He’s just smiling, watching your pretty face as you think of what to write, his arm draped over your lap and your fingers dancing over his upper arm to hold it in place, pen in hand.

You start shaking your head and he can tell you’ve thought of something. “What?” He grins. “No… nothing.” You smile, shaking your head. “Come on… do it. Whatever you thought of, just write it.”

“No I can’t.” You smile nervously, looking up in his eyes. “Yes you can.” He replies in the same tone. Gesturing to his cast. “Write it.”

“Close your eyes.” You demand and he does so. His eyes fluttering closed. A smile on his lips. You debate it for a second. The thing you thought of was originally sort of supposed to be a joke but it could also not be a joke at the same time. You don’t want to make things awkward or more complicated. Shaking your head, you decide to just do it. Maybe he’ll laugh. The felt tip scratches on the hardened blue material. He waits patiently with eyes closed until finally…

“Done.” You sigh, already feeling embarrassed. But it’s on there and it’s permanent. His eyes flutter open, searching the cast on his arm. Eyes scanning over the black cursive letters. Just one small word.

Mine.

His eyes lock on the word. Reading it over. Over and over then looking up at you. After all that’s happened, all he said, all that went on. You know and he does too, that you’re being very generous with your heart. As you’ve always been.

“I like it…” He hums softly, nodding and looking back down at the writing. After seeing that slight blush of embarrassment on your cheeks.

Is this all he’s ever wanted? To be yours. And for you to be the one to make it so? All the times he made you his, all the times he claimed you, took you, those times don’t compare to this one. This little word, written by your hand, from your mind, your heart. He won’t take it for granted.

“I should’ve just drawn a dick…” You shake your head and smile. The tension dissolving then. Meeting his eyes for a moment. Unable to hide the bit of embarrassment. You don’t want to repeat patterns of the past. But you also want to be honest about your feelings. “Fine, you can draw a dick.”

”Really??!”

“No!!” He laughs. “I was just kidding!”

“No, you said it so I can do it!”

“No no no, I take it back!” He refuses with a smile, shaking his head and laughing, his eyes locked on your smile. Again, he just wants to kiss you. To kiss you again after feeling like it’s been forever since he’s had the chance. “Come onnnnn…” You smile and he shakes his head, wanting to take your face into his hands and kiss your lips. It almost makes his heart sore, knowing that he really shouldn’t do it. And he’s trying to be careful. Holding so tightly onto this olive branch.

“Let’s go see if it’s ready now, yeah?” He suggests, needing to change the subject for his own sake. “Fine…” You whine, watching him rise, accepting his hand when he stretches it out to you to get up from the floor.

…

You both watch the old woman scan the items and the prescriptions. Rolling your eyes at Miguel’s smirk when she scans the vibrator, taking off the protected cage around the box. The woman having absolutely no reaction to the item. She just doesn’t care, not at this hour and probably not at any other hour either.

You look for some money to pay for the makeup and the things you picked out but before you can he puts his card in the machine, reaching his arm around your waist to press the numbers. His chest pressing to your back slightly. You watch the thick black card go into the machine. The numbers going in and the ding when it accepts easily. “Thank you, have a nice night.” The woman says, her voice low and gravelly but she’s been kind overall.

“Thank you.” Miguel nods and grabs the bag off the counter after taking his card back. “Thanks!” You smile and start walking, with him right beside you. “Where’s the receipt? I can give you some cash for my things…”

“Don’t worry about it.” He assures. Shaking his head and holding the bag of items in his good hand.

“If you say so…” You sigh, walking beside him as you both leave the drug store. “Thank you…”

The sun is just starting to light up the early morning sky now that it’s about 5 am. Birds starting to chirp. “I need to sleep.” You sigh, getting in the driver's seat. And Miguel in the passenger seat with the bag of things on his lap. “I can drive if you want…” He offers again with a yawn, stretching his back slightly, his head against the headrest. “No it’s fine, it’s only a few minutes…” You assure him, buckling up and starting the car to get back to the dorms.

You start driving, pulling out of the parking lot and turning through the city streets. There are a few cars out but nothing compared to the morning rush to start in a few hours. The city slowly starts to light up with the sun. It’s not even over the horizon yet, just lighting the sky with anticipatory sunshine. He’s stealing small glances at you as you drive. Feeling funny inside. He doesn’t know quite how to place this feeling. It doesn’t feel bad, he knows that much.

“So it says… take two of these… and one of these morning and night.” You read the prescription bottles for acetaminophen and antibiotics. Standing at the door of his dorm room, in the doorway and giving him the slip from the doctor to have. “Thank you.” He nods softly, genuinely. Although that one thank you doesn’t even cut it. He doesn’t think so.

“I can’t believe we literally stayed up all night doing that.” He sighs, walking into his dorm. Glancing back at you and trying to be subtle, wanting to see if you’ll follow him inside. Only wanting you to do it if you want to. You follow him in, replying in similar disbelief, not noticing his glancing and watchful eye. “I know, well we had to wait so long for everything.” You huff, sitting on the edge of his bed and grabbing the bag of things when he drops it next to you.

You grab the pack of twizzlers and watch him take the prescription bottles to swallow his pills. Eyes widening in realization when he takes a pair of round framed glasses out of a case on his desk. He puts them on, reading the small print on the bottle. And you try to suppress the biggest smile. He wears glasses? How did you not figure this out? Regardless, he’s adorable.

“Do you need any help?” You ask softly. Watching him trying to maneuver the lock top with one hand, eventually trying to hold it between his knees and undo it with his good hand. “No thanks, I got it.” He looks over at you, instantly doing a double take seeing the way you’re smiling at him. Or the way you’re obviously trying not to smile. What’s got you smiling all pretty like that?

“I like your frames…” You smile and comment, his cheeks instantly reddening when he realizes that’s why you’re smiling. Looking over at you like a deer caught in headlights and the top of the bottle finally pops off, he flinches trying to keep the pills from spilling all over the floor. “Oh, thanks.” He smiles bashfully, feeling a bit embarrassed but he can’t help stealing glances at your face when you're smiling like that.

You smile softly, feeling a bit sympathetic to him having to learn a whole new way of doing things. Only a little bit though since he is the one that punched his own locker in.

“Sorry if your sleep is fucked for the rest of the week…” He clears his throat, getting some water to swallow his pills. Turning for a second and trying to stop the hot blush on his cheeks. You’re the only person who’s ever made him blush like that. Just by looking at him. You watch him from the bed, biting and pulling the strawberry licorice candy, the only thing you’ve eaten all night. “It’s fine… it needed to be done.” You nod. Not feeling resentful or upset with him. It was your choice to show up after all.

“Well thank you” he smiles over at you, situating a few things before walking over to the bed, sitting next to you on the edge and grabbing a piece of candy for himself, biting a piece off and sighing, flopping back to lay down on top of the blankets. You do the same, mirroring his action, laying down on your back and biting your candy as well. The two of you just lying in silence and exhaustion.

“So… we can be friends right?” He suddenly asks, you look over to see he’s on his side facing you. You take a moment to think. Friends is better than what’s been going on for months. You roll over too to face him, biting your licorice and thinking. “Yeah… I think so.”

He smiles softly, nodding with relief.

“Just don’t lie to me again.” You say and his expression turns serious, understanding. “Just be honest with me and I’ll do the same. Tell me how you’re feeling. I’m not the kind of person to… judge you for your feelings, y’know?” You say like it’s some casual thing. Not seeing how it’s affecting him. But he could cry if he let himself. He feels like he’s dreaming.

I should tell you how I’m feeling. I should tell you that I’m in love with you. I love you. I love the way you speak to me. The way you make me feel. I love the way you care for me. The way you think of me even when I can’t think for myself. The sound of your voice, the feeling of your hair between my fingers. The memory of your heartbeat against my chest, your fingers on my back, your breath on my neck. The look in your eyes when you’re laughing; your smile. The tone of your voice when you sigh my name. I thought I wanted you to be mine. And that might have been true. But I wanted to be yours all the more.

But he doesn’t say any of that. He just nods and smiles softly, grabbing another piece of candy and stealing small glances your way. Laying beside one another as the early morning goes by, the exhaustion overtaking the both of you in time. Soon you’re both asleep. 5 am. 6 am. 7 am and into the morning. Catching up on the lost hours. But not regretting a single moment of this night. 8 am. 9 am. 10 am. 11 am. Noon. Morning classes are long passed and forgotten. Sleeping beside one another on top of his soft blankets. Not even the daylight through the window could wake you from this slumber.

To be continued...

Reblogs and comments very much appreciated!!

Taglist (hopefully I got everyone let me know if you want to be dropped/added):

@miguels-cock-piercings @queerponcho @club-danger-zone @bossva @softcrayon

@nommingonfood @bruhhvv

@jessies-unrelagated-thoughts @mauvecherie-writes @haveclayeveryday @kimivixen

@jadeloverxd @chiikasevennn @mvlanchqly @resident-cryptid

@x0tw0d57 @vampyboys @miguelspriscilla

@francesca-the-1st @migueloharasbbm @razertail18 @laysmt

@tojiragdoll @maiyart @wazawazooo @mun-2996 @marshhbs

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#miguel ohara #miguel spiderman #spiderman 2099 #miguel spiderverse #artists on tumblr #miguel o'hara x reader #smut #miguel ohara smut #miguel ohara x reader

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queerponcho · 11 months ago

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ABSOLUTELY DELICIOUS

Private Dances [3]

Club!Blue Jones X F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? • ko-fi • request info • series masterlist •

A/N: A massive thank you to the amazing @midgardian-witch for being so wonderful and proofreading this nonsense AND for hyping me up AND saving my ass with switching tenses (why am I like this?) Another huge thank you to the epic @lonelyisamyw-0love for tipping my ko-fi, this series is especially for them💚

Warnings: overuse of italics, sub!Blue, there's some power dynamics in here because reader is a dancer (but like Blue is so lovesick), swearing, oral (f! receiving), Blue being a little shit, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

There are 5 main ‘stars’ in the club: Peach, Trixie, Songbird, Sweetie Pie, and Crystal. Crystal is usually the favourite but is currently in Blue’s bad books for reasons unknown to the reader. Reader is a backup dancer that Blue has named Lion.

Word Count: 3329

A Great View of the Hall

This was going to be a problem.

Scratch that.

More than a problem.

You stare at the half open garment bag hanging on the back of your door as if your glare could fix a hole in time and space.

Blue held stupidly lavish events every three months or so, a big excuse to close the club to all save those who were ready to pay big bucks. And boy, were there a lot of clients willing to throw their cash around.

Shows, and food, and gambling, and drinks, and everything dialed up to fucking eleven.

All the staff’s outfits were new, usually fitting some theme that Blue had chosen on a whim, and none of the dancers ever got to see what they were going to be wearing until it was literally time to get dressed. Not that that was a problem. That was normal. Routine. The same as always.

The problem was your outfit. Your dress. It was fucking blue.

There was only one unspoken rule every time he threw these fucking events, and that was that the main stars: Peach, Trixie, Songbird, Sweetie Pie, and Crystal, were the only ones in blue. Not you.

Gorski must have given you the wrong dress. There must have been some kind of mistake. You shake your head, trying to shake yourself free of the vice like grip of anxiety that was taking hold of your heart.

Simple fix. Simple.

You grab the garment bag, zip it back up and leave your small room to find the Madam. She was, unsurprisingly, busy. Helping others fix their costumes, all a dark purple, directing others into position on the floor or stage behind the scenes. The doors had already opened for the ‘exclusive’ guest, the party ramping up into full swing.

She tuts when she sees you, “What are you doing? You’re not ready?”

“I was given the wrong dress.” You swallow, seeing some of your fellow back up dancers out of the corner of your eye in their wine purple corsets and short frilly shirts.

Gorski frowns at you, unimpressed. “Not another one.” She mutters under her breath, almost too quiet for you to hear. “Let me see.”

You hold the bag out to her and she tuts again, not even bothering to open it. “Here,” she flips white paper card tied around the hanger's neck, ‘Lion’. “This one’s yours.”

“No, it’s-”

“Mr Jones oversaw your clothing. I am not having any more arguments about outfits today.” She says, her voice clipped. She only ever used ‘Mr Jones’ when she was stressed and pissed. She turns to raise her voice curtly to another dancer before looking back at you. “Any other problems?”

Despite the pause she gave you it was clear she would only accept one answer.

You manage to bite your tongue and shake your head.

“Good.” She dismisses you with a wave of her hand, waiting until you are nearly out of the backstage rooms for her to call after you, “and hurry up!”

The dress is long, almost trailing on the floor, with a slit on the left side that ends just before the fullest part of your hip. There is an ornate chain holding both sides together at your upper thigh, a tiny golden lion dangles from the chain, it’s just enough to keep the dress from exposing you while you walk. Which is a small blessing as there is no way you can wear any underwear without it being on show.

You growl deep in your throat, your mind replaying snippets of your last encounter with Blue. His arms around your waist as he practically sobs into your stomach.

This must be some kind of twisted punishment, a way to put you on show in front of everyone. It wasn’t like you could outwardly disobey him in front of clients and his goons, there was no way you would be able to wrap your fingers around his throat, squeeze, and make him crumble.

You check your makeup in the small mirror and adjust the dress. It’s a bright, royal blue, with a plunging neckline and small over the shoulder straps. The material is soft, comfortable even. And you hate it. Hate that part of you likes it. Hate that he picked it.

Hate, hate, hate it.

At least you could maybe blend in with the ‘stars’, they’d be in the exact same dress and colour.

Somehow you manage not to scream profanities the second you walk into the club. The music is loud, the stage occupied while others serve drinks to the patrons, seated and watching. There are some talking in booths, girls in their lap pretending to be interested in their conversation, while others gamble with dancers on their arms, egging them on.

All of them are in the same dark purple. Which isn’t surprising.

The problem is Trixie, the first star you spot. Her dress is shorter, the neckline a queen ann cut, and the colour is a dark navy. You see Peach next, her dress the same as Trixie, then Songbird and Sweetie Pie. All of them dressed in mirror images of each other. You stand out sorer than a thumb.

Exactly what you would like to not do.

The realisation makes you freeze, the anxiety from before growing monstrously and taking root, fixing you to the floor. You’re going to be sick, you’re going to-

“Ah, Lion.” Blue grins wickedly as he snakes his hand around your hip and pulls you close to his side. “I was looking all over for you.”

You glare at him. If looks could kill he’d already have bullet holes in his chest.

He chuckles at your stare. “Feisty as ever,” he brushes the tips of his fingers along your jaw, pressing softly against your chin to tilt your head to the side so he can place a soft kiss to your cheek. “Behave.” He whispers, his breath hot against your skin.

The underlying threat is there, clear as night: or else.

You plaster the fakest smile on your face, practically a sneer, and his grin widens.

“Oh, much better Lion, much better.” He nuzzles into your neck for a second, the briefest touch as he breathes deeply and sighs contentedly.

You stiffen as a flush of heat runs along your skin from where he touched you, racing downwards.

“Come, I’m just speaking with some old friends,” he guides you to the table, slightly secluded from the main hustle and bustle, but still with a good view of the stage. He keeps his arm around you, his fingers playing with the little lion on the chain.

Somehow you manage to resist the urge to slap his hand away.

There are three other men seated, two you recognise as regular patrons of the club. Highrollers, dangerous. The third you’re not familiar with, but his suit is sharp and his eyes are vicious.

To your surprise there are no other dancers at the table, no one doing their best to fawn over any of these men. You swallow, the anxiety sharp as it cuts in deeper.

Each of them has their own guards, a far distance away but obvious to spot and surely ready to snap into action at a moment's notice.

This was all very, very not good.

Still, you manage a polite, and pretend sincere, smile as Blue introduces you to them. Astonishingly, all three stand to greet you, take your hand as you offer it to them (Blue subtly flicks your arm to remind you, whispering a brief ‘manners’ into your ear) and kiss the back of it.

Blue keeps an oddly reassuring hold on your side, only letting go to push your chair in for you when you sit. The place where his hand rested is oddly cold without his touch.

He sat as close to you as he physically could, draping his arm over the back of your chair as he continued to talk with the other men.

After a few minutes his hand began to wander, moving slightly to stroke your upper arm absentmindedly and seemingly not noticing the little shiver that ran through you at his touch.

You wish you were paying more attention to the conversation going around you, wished you could.

His touch was more than distracting, maddening. The infuriating way he drags the back of his thumbnail over your skin in a lazy stroke. The stupid little smile that was plastered to his face whenever he nods to the conversation, his eyes glittering. He must know what he’s doing. He had to.

You gave him little sideways glares, doing your best not to completely scowl at him. Frustration burned hot along your veins and you clenched your hands into fists under the table, pressing them into the edge of your seat.

A waiter came to deliver fresh drinks, moving quietly and quickly as he places the glasses down in front of Blue and his ‘friends’.

“What do you want, Lion?” Blue’s velvet soft voice caught you irritatingly off guard. He smiled when you didn’t answer straight away, enjoying the little dance of confusion on your face. “To drink?” He leans towards you, still smiling.

“I…” you swallowed, unsure of how to answer, if this was really some twisted game he was playing.

His grin widens, seemingly appraising you for a moment before he looked up to the waiter. “Lion’ll have something sweet, just like she is.”

You were going to hit him.

One of the men chuckled, he had dark eyes and a full beard and was sitting directly to your right. “Sweet is she?” He leaned slightly closer to you, placing his elbow on the table. “How sweet?”

He gave you a sugary smile that perhaps could have been charming in another situation.

Blue’s gentle touch on your arm tightened, pulling you towards him a fraction.

The other man chuckled politely at his reaction, “What? You can’t expect me not to want a taste. You’re practically flaunting her to us.” He gestures as he speaks, his hand a hair's breadth away from touching your cheek.

He’s lucky in that respect because you’re pretty sure he would have lost a finger or two if he’d actually made contact.

“Am I?” Blue smiles, all teeth.

The man chuckles lightly, but swallows, a hint of uncertainty in his voice the next time he speaks. Subtle, but there. “Well… yes.”

Blue waits for a moment, just letting the others' words hang in the air. He blinks twice, shaking his head a minute amount. Such a little gesture shouldn’t feel so… vicious.

Your stomach twists, a feeling that had started to fade into your memory. You’d forgotten how dangerous he was. With all the things he’d let you do, the power he’d let you have over him, it had become so easy to fall into that false sense of security.

You lean slightly into Blue, resting your head on his shoulder and threading your fingers through his, forcing him to loosen the grip on your shoulder.

He looks down at your face, his eyelashes practically kissing his cheeks. There’s an oddly soft expression that passes over his eyes. There for a moment before it’s gone.

He looks back to the other man, his tone lighter this time. “What’s wrong with a little showing off?”

It’s almost as if the whole club breathes a collective sigh of relief.

“Nothing.”

All four go back to their conversation as if nothing had transpired.

The waiter brings you a bright pink cocktail that’s too sweet. But you slip at it anyway to save the poor man from Blue’s ire.

You attempt to slip away during Trixie’s big performance, while Blue is saying polite goodbyes to the gentleman at the table as he sends them off with other girls.

But he keeps your hand firmly in his the whole time.

It’s only then that you notice someone at the far side of the club, their gaze on you like a sense of creeping dread. It’s Crystal.

At first you think she’s scowling at Blue, until realisation dawns that it is in fact you that she is looking at.

The expression is so fierce that at first you can’t take notice of anything else. It’s only later that you realise she was wearing a dark purple dress.

“Trying to escape?” Blue’s voice makes you jump. He’s leaning close, his lips practically touching your ear and grinning.

You frown at him. “Trying to.” You look back to the side of the club, Crystal is gone.

He laughs. “Silly little Lion.”

“Careful.”

He bites his lips together, still smiling, clearly overly amused by your reaction. “And why would I want to be careful, hmm?” He brushes his fingers along your jaw. “Maybe I want your claws to come out?”

There’s a light flush to his cheeks that isn’t from the alcohol, his eyes dark and pupils dilated.

He lets you look over him for a moment before he squeezes your hand and places it in the crook of his arm. “Come.”

He glances at one of his guards, gesturing with his head and practically communicating telepathically before he guides you across the room and down the corridor to his office.

It’s cooler once you’re out from the sea of people in the club, quieter, even though you can still hear the echoing bass of the music.

You’re not sure why you let him lead you; why you walk in step with him without question. The idea of it alone should be enough to get under your skin.

“Why am I wearing this dress Blue?”

“You can take it off if you prefer.” He purrs.

You glare at him. “That’s not what I mean.”

“What do you mean then?” He raises his eyebrows at you, practically giddy with glee.

“The colour-”

“Do you not like your dress?” He fakes a look of disappointment, “I’m hurt, Lion.”

You pinch his inner elbow and he laughs as he flinches a little in surprise. He squeezes your hand tighter in the crook of his arm.

“You know what I mean, Blue.”

“I do.” He opens his office door with a little flourish before he ushers you inside.

“It’s not-” You gasp as he grabs your biceps, pushing your back up against the door and using the force of the push to shut it.

He kisses you roughly, groaning as he presses himself close to you but breaks it before you even get a chance to react. “You drive me insane, Lion.” He mutters against your mouth. “Insane.”

He strokes your cheek softly, resting his forehead against yours. “Can’t think about anything if you’re not near me.” He presses his lips to yours again, soft and sweet before trailing down along your jaw and to your neck.

You shiver, jumping under his touch as he licks and kisses, lightly scrapes his teeth over your skin.

When you react he groans softly, rubbing the heavily outline of his erection against your thigh.

Your breathing hitches, your fingers tightening on his shoulders. Your body reacts without your permission, pressing closer and craving more of his touch.

He leaves a gentle kiss on your collar bone before he sinks to his knees, looking up at you through his long lashes. “Want to take care of you, Lion…” He waits a moment, watching your face intently, seemingly measuring the seconds via the rise and fall of your chest. “Want to make you feel good.”

Painfully slowly he runs his hands up your calves, pushing up your dress as he goes.

You swallow as you watch him, how he gazes up at you looking so soft and pliant. Part of you wants to stop him, to force him back and regain control. But another deeper part recognises his submission, realises that the control is already all yours.

He kisses the side of your left knee, pressing close as he drags your dress higher and higher, the smooth scrape of the fabric leaves goosebumps in its wake.

He gasps softly as he finally lifts it over your hips, revealing you completely to him. Languidly he runs the very tip of his forefinger down the centre of your mons until he brushes your clit.

He seems mesmerised for a second as your body jolts under his touch.

You bite into your bottom lip to stop yourself from making a sound, but still your rapid breathing echoes loudly in your head.

Blue shuffles forward, closing his eyes as he licks a board, flat trail through your folds. He moans loudly, his eyebrows pinched together as he tastes you. Heat pools and twists in his belly, spiralling downwards to his throbbing cock as his movements get bolder.

He presses his tongue deeper, just teasing your entrance as his licks grow firmer, sinking down to the very edge of your core before working his way back up to your clit.

Your muscles tense, legs weakening as your body starts to fight your mind for complete control.

“Blue…” You mutter, your voice strained and desperate.

He groans loudly, doubling down on his efforts as he keeps lapping at you desperately.

The sound of his zipper being opened barely registers to your ears as he fumbled with it, pulling his cock free in a rush and hastily jerking himself in time with his licks.

You moan quietly, unable to stop yourself as you grab hold of the back of his head and press him closer. Your hips buck, grinding against his warm, wet and eager mouth.

Blue whines, his eyes rolling back as you take hold of him. His breathing hitches and he gasps once, a weak Lion escaping his lips in a needy, desperate plea before he swirls his tongue around your clit, sucking it into his mouth before doing back to those long, long licks.

He buries himself between your thighs, single minded in his need for your pleasure as he rocks and moves with you, his fist a blur on his own length.

You dig your fingers of one hand into the wood of the door, the other into his short hair, rolling your hips to chase the delicious friction of his sinful mouth. Heat coils tightly in your stomach, your thighs start to shake as he moans and licks, smearing your wetness all over his face.

This time the moan that leaves you is loud and wrecked, pleasure pulling at every part of you and overriding any other possible thought.

You tense, shaking as you come, your head thrown back and pressing against the door.

Blue whines as your sweet release hits his tongue, as your muscles squeeze and quake and flutter on his tongue.

He jerks his wrist twice, watching your face eagerly as you cry out, and comes a second later, spurting hot thick ropes all over the carpet and office door. Some splashes onto your calves.

He slows his hand in time with the gentle rock of your hips, only pulling his mouth away when you slump back and your grip on his hair lessens.

He stares up at you with large, dark eyes. The entirety of his lower face shining with your slick.

Your breathing calms, your heartbeat slowly returning to normal as you keep your eyes closed.

Blue breathes deeply, glancing down briefly and noticing the drops of his release on your legs. He tuts and leans forward, darting his tongue out to lick your skin clean while simultaneously not giving a damn about the mess on the door.

You let out a little yelp of surprise as his warm tongue touches your skin, but he places a soothing hand on your thigh, stroking soft circles as he works.

You’re not sure what to expect when he stands, but it certainly isn’t the soft kiss he gives you while stroking your cheeks with his hands.

“Come to bed with me, Lion.” He mutters, his voice soft and eyes closed.

Thank you for reading!

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @whatthefishh

@romanarose @strangerhands @saturn-rings-writes @lonelyisamyw-0love @queerponcho

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#blue jones #sucker punch #blue jones x reader #x reader #blue jones x you #x you #blue jones x female reader #x female reader #blue jones x f!reader #x f!reader

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queerponcho · 1 year ago

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Reblog if you're not homophobic

Every url that reblog’s will be written in a book and shown to my homophobic dad.

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queerponcho · 1 year ago

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thank you sm for the reblog!!!! and YEAH OMG- I might write another part with him being more in focus hehe but YEAH they‘d all be a fucking wreck🙂‍↕️🤌🏽

Please

A/N: Hi hello, girlies!! I am back from my lil break hehe. I've been working alot and organising my shit and i finallz have time to post smth again ㄟ(≧◇≦)ㄏ This is just a little oneshot I really enjoyed writing hehe<3

moonknight x f!reader

warnings: sexual tension, first person perspective, the tension could be cut with a butterknife lmao

1700 words

“Are you serious??” I ask my mom incredulously. “You’re really gonna make us sleep apart?? We aren’t the ones getting married! I thought this rule only applied for the groom and bride?” we had barely stepped into the house and the stressed energy was messing up our newly engaged mood. Of course we haven’t told anyone about the engagement due to the focus being on my sister. I didn’t want to take any of the focus off of her but it was really hard to keep it for myself. I love the boys and I would kill for a chance to show off the pretty crescent shaped yellow diamond-ring they had got me. It’s so beautiful and I’d have never taken it off if it wasn't so obviously an engagement-ring.

“Oh honey, you’re gonna be fine! Please just do this- for your sister? It’s only for three nights-”, “Three nights????” I whisper-yelled. My mom and I were in the study and were tryna keep our voices down since Marc was in the kitchen with the groom and my dad. My sister was somewhere ticking off last-minute tasks with her bridesmaids. I would be with her right now if I hadn't just flown in from london…I am secretly kindof glad to be home first though. I had talked with her on the phone before coming here and she sounded really stressed. As soon as she gets here I won’t be able to leave her side. Arriving early provides me with sufficient time to show my boys around the neighbourhood and my childhood-home.

“Ay mija porfavor! It's three damn nights! Stop behaving like a teenager and make a sacrifice for your sister. Por dios…” without waiting for my answer she makes a swift exit out the door making sure to avoid looking at me so I can’t keep the dispute going. She certainly knew how to end an argument.

I follow her to the kitchen, wiping the pissed off expression off my face before anyone can spot it. As I enter I see the beautifully tanned, dimpled face I love so much doing his absolute best to keep up small-talk with the future husband of my anxiety-riddled sister. He sees me and his eyes immediately hone in on me, practically begging me to save him from the current discussion about the latest tennis match. You decide to grant him his wish and slide over to his side of the kitchen island, your arm circles around his waist and you tighten your grip on him and smile when he completely gives you his full attention.

“Hi baby” I say with a sweet smile and turn to the groom to properly say hello and take the lead on the casual conversation. Marc moves me in front of him swiftly and circles both his arms around my waist, he quickly kisses my temple and continues to listen in on the conversation, once more taking his favoured role as a spectator.

The polite conversation is cut short by a nervous call from a bridesmaid to the groom. Apparently they needed a last minute decision on the song since the artist of the initial choice had been cancelled a few days before.

Marc and I quickly made our way up the stairs to my room so I could fill him in on the “separate bedroom”- Situation. “So this is where you had all your awkward phases, huh?” “Excuse me? I never had awkward phases. I have definitely never ever worn 4 layers of ripped tights thinking I had made a huge fashion discovery, nah- never…”

“Mhm okay- seems like a really specific example, cariño” Jake moves behind me and softly kisses my neck, littering quick gentle kisses all over. “Amor- profa. The door- my mom” Right on cue I hear my moms platform house-shoes make their way down the hall. I push Jake off of me and he stumbles into the dresser completely bewildered by my actions. “Niña!! ¿Dónde estás? Your sister needs you!” I lean out the door to answer. “Okay mom! Just lemme change out of these clothes!” “¡Pero ponte las pilas!” “¡¡Ay ya mamà!! I’m coming!!” I yell back as I hear her walk back down the steps.

I take a frustrated breath and turn to my luggage to unpack it as quickly as I can, desperate to find an outfit that is cute but also comfortable in case I wanna fall asleep in the cab on my way over to my sister.

“What the hell was that?” oh…oops. “Shit- Jake I am so sorry, I swear- I didn’t think- are you hurt?” I worriedly reached out to him to check him.

“Physically I’m not, but emotionally I might be” he says in a joking tone, clearly thinking my reaction was more funny than hurtful but he still wanted to know why I’d done it.

He leans back against the dresser and I move to stand between his legs and reach up to give him a quick peck on the lips. “I’m sorry baby- It’s just my mom has never really seen me be all like, close with anyone like this. Like, she knew I’d had partners but like, if she met them the most I’d do in front of her is like, hold their hands…I’m sorry I freaked out.” I look down as I tug on my fingers feeling the anxiety crawl up my throat.

“Ay cariño, it’s alright. Just so you know, I wouldn’t want your mom to see me casually kiss your neck either. We should save that for when the door is closed, okay?” he hugs me back into him and I snuggle into his firm chest and nod.

“About that, you kinda owe us, you know- for body slamming us into the dresser and breaking our ribs and stuff.”

“Woooooww you’re lying so hard right now. I did not nearly shove you as hard as that.” I giggle

“Oh? Are you minimising my pain? Bold move for someone that's gonna have to share a bed with me tonight.” he grins and moves his hands down to my ass to give it a firm squeeze, which makes his wolfish grin only worsen.

As he is moving in on my collarbone to lick and kiss it I lose my train of thought. I was gonna say something wasn’t I? There was something important…

He makes his way up and nibbles on my earlobe, biting it and sending a beautiful ache down my spine by doing so.

He moves me backwards until my legs hit my bed and gently lays me down. As he keeps going I feel the sensation of my soft sheets underneath me and I am reminded of a dreadful conversation.

“B-baby- can *mnnh* can you ple-ease sto-p” he lifts his head, his glossed over, hungry eyes piercing into mine as he licks his wet lips. Ugh he is making this so much harder right now. I take a few deep breaths and form the words. “W-we have to sleep in separate rooms-” “he blinks and his deep and sultry voice is quickly replaced by a worried English man. “Whot why??- Did we do something wrong?” he backs away and sits back on his shins. “Nono! No sweetie you-you were perfect. God you were- fucking perfect but my- my mom wants us to sleep separately for the next three nights-”, “three nights????” “i know baby-”, “but we just got back from a mission yesterday- We haven’t spent a night together in like 2 weeks-”, “I know love- But mom she, she insisted. She is saying it’s cuz my sister wants it that way but I'm pretty sure she just doesn't like the thought of me in bed with a man I haven't married. Especially cuz I’m pretty sure my mom has just outright refused to consider that me and my sister might have an active sex-life…”

“Right and we can’t tell her about our engagement yet…this blows” Marc says exasperatedly and slumps down on the bed. “I know babe.

Let's just do this. It's just three days and then we can head back. And remember we got those first class tickets for our way back…they have those big bathrooms in the firstclass part of the plane…” I look at him and bat my eyelashes and run my hands up his thighs, feeling him tense under my grip.

“Mmh beba, don’t promise things you can’t follow through” Jake rakes his eyes over your face in a dark gaze. “Mmh baby have I ever broken a promise?” I lean forward, resting my weight completely on his thighs, our lips almost touching. Jake looks up at me through his lashes and he almost melts at the intensity of me. “...no, you would never” he breathes. I move my head next to his and move towards his ear, my lips ghosting over the shell of it and I can see the goosebumps rising on his neck by the soft contact.

“So, all you have to do…is be patient” I punctuate my statement by softly nibbling at their earlobe. I part away from him and before I can stand up he grabs my wrist. “Oh, luv you can’t expect us to hold through for 3 days without a touch from you or getting at least a little taste of you now and again. It's been weeks- I-” I look at his pleading eyes and before I can say anything he continues. “Look what you do to us-” He pulls my hand and places it on his hard crotch. And oh god was it hard- “by merely being in the same room with you-” he whines and I feel myself pitying Steven and his needy state. He slowly grinds against my palm as I stare at him trying really hard to argue with myself why this can’t continue until I’ve watched him cum at least three times-

“HIJA- WHERE ARE YOU??” I basically lunge myself off the bed and sprint towards the door, throwing my entire weight against it to keep it from being opened. “Coming mami!! Five minutes!” I breathe out from relief when I hear my moms shoes click-clacking down the hall and back down the stairs. I move away from the door and look back at Steven…He looks delicious. His hair; a mess and he is resting on his elbows, his knees spread apart, making it impossible to look away from the bulge protruding through his fitted slacks. “I’m not sure I’ll make it through these three days either, to be honest…”

a/n: hope you all loved it and stuck around eventhough i haven't been very active lately. love you guys and pls like, comment, reblog if you liked it!! I love getting to read your reactions and feedback<33

#moon knight #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley #lovely peopleeee #writing lovely comments #ponchoreplies

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queerponcho · 1 year ago

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Please

moonknight x f!reader

warnings: sexual tension, first person perspective, the tension could be cut with a butterknife lmao

1700 words

I follow her to the kitchen, wiping the pissed off expression off my face before anyone can spot it. As I enter I see the beautifully tanned, dimpled face I love so much doing his absolute best to keep up small-talk with the future husband of my anxiety-riddled sister. He sees me and his eyes immediately hone in on me, practically begging me to save him from the current discussion about the latest tennis match. I decide to grant him his wish and slide over to his side of the kitchen island, my arm circles around his waist and I tighten my grip on him and smile when he completely gives me his full attention.

“What the hell was that?” oh…oops. “Shit- Jake I am so sorry, I swear- I didn’t think- are you hurt?” I worriedly reached out to him to check him.

“Physically I’m not, but emotionally I might be” he says in a joking tone, clearly thinking my reaction was more funny than hurtful but he still wanted to know why I’d done it.

“About that, you kinda owe us, you know- for body slamming us into the dresser and breaking our ribs and stuff.”

“Woooooww you’re lying so hard right now. I did not nearly shove you as hard as that.” I giggle

As he is moving in on my collarbone to lick and kiss it I lose my train of thought. I was gonna say something wasn’t I? There was something important…

He makes his way up and nibbles on my earlobe, biting it and sending a beautiful ache down my spine by doing so.

He moves me backwards until my legs hit my bed and gently lays me down. As he keeps going I feel the sensation of my soft sheets underneath me and I am reminded of a dreadful conversation.

“Right and we can’t tell her about our engagement yet…this blows” Marc says exasperatedly and slumps down on the bed.

“I know babe. Let's just do this. It's just three days and then we can head back. And remember we got those first class tickets for our way back…they have those big bathrooms in the firstclass part of the plane…” I look at him and bat my eyelashes and run my hands up his thighs, feeling him tense under my grip.

“Mmh beba, don’t promise things you can’t follow through” Jake rakes his eyes over your face in a dark gaze. “Mmh baby have I ever broken a promise?” I lean forward, resting my weight completely on his thighs, our lips almost touching. Marc looks up at me through his lashes and his usual tense expression melts away at the intensity of me. “...no, you would never” he breathes. I move my head next to his and move towards his ear, my lips ghosting over the shell of it and I can see the goosebumps rising on his neck by the soft contact.

“HIJA- WHERE ARE YOU??” I basically lunge myself off the bed and sprint towards the door, throwing my entire weight against it to keep it from being opened. “Coming mami!! Five minutes!” I breathe out from relief when I hear my moms shoes click-clacking down the hall and back down the stairs. I move away from the door and look back at Marc…He looks delicious. His hair; a mess and he is resting on his elbows, his knees spread apart, making it impossible to look away from the bulge protruding through his fitted slacks. “I’m not sure I’ll make it through these three days either, to be honest…”

#moon knight #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #teasing the boys #could cut the tension with a knife #ponchosworks<3 #moon knight fanfiction

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queerponcho · 1 year ago

Text

AHHHHHHHH I AM FERAL

Private Dances [2]

Club!Blue Jones X F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? • ko-fi • request info • series masterlist •

A/N: A massive thank you to the amazing @midgardian-witch for being the best and proofreading this nonsense and another huge thank you to the wonderful @lonelyisamyw-0love for tipping my ko-fi, this series is especially for them💚

Warnings: overuse of italics, sub!Blue, choking, biting, hand job, there's some power dynamics in here because reader is a dancer (but like Blue is getting his ass handed to him), swearing, Blue crying, p in v sex (Blue fucks another dancer at the beginning), please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 2679

Trixie was bent over the arm of the velvet sofa in Blue’s office, sharing its colour with the name of its owner.

He hadn’t even bothered to fully undress himself or her. Just hiking up her short skirt (the same one she had been wearing for her routine half an hour ago) and pushing her underwear to the side while he unzipped his fly.

She felt good, she always did. Warm, tight, and the sounds she was making alone, enough to make a porn star blush, should have been doing it for Blue.

But they weren’t. And it was the fucking seventh time in barely two days.

Every time he tried to get off it just didn’t work. He’d tried all the classics, combinations of his personal favourites, different dancers, different positions, different times of day, anything he could think of.

He got hard, sure. Hell, that was the problem to begin with, he was horny. Fucking desperate to come. It just never happened.

“Blue, fuck, please!” Trixie’s moans increased, getting louder as she neared her high.

He picked up his pace, thrusting harder, tightening his grip on her hips and slamming her back to meet his; trying to satisfy that itch that just would not be scratched.

He snarled, closed his eyes, and - you with one hand on his throat and the other wrapped around his dick squeezing as you bit his lip until it bled. His blood on your mouth as you kissed him possessively, laying claim to him as he came; ruining him for anyone else.

Trixie screams as she comes, snapping Blue annoyingly back to reality.

It feels good, the way her cunt squeezes and flutters. Usually, that would be more than enough to bring him to his peak, to make him pump her pretty pussy full of him. He just can’t get there.

He sighs in frustration, sweat on his forehead as he pulls out and quickly stuffs his painfully hard cock back into his trousers.

Trixie breathes hard, a little dazed and shaky as she stands. There’s a little frown of confusion on her face, any hope that she hadn’t noticed Blue’s lack of orgasm quickly dissolving.

He doesn’t know why it bothers him so much. But it does.

“Get the fuck out.”

His voice is hard and cold and Trixie doesn’t need to be told twice.

He sits on his desk when the door closes and runs his hands over his face. This was getting fucking ridiculous. He was Blue fucking Jones for god’s sake. He couldn’t let anyone, especially you, one of his dancers, his property, do this to him.

He breathed out roughly and stood again, his mind made up. It was just a little blip, nothing more than that. He just needed to show you who was boss, bend you over and fuck you until you begged him to stop. That would fix all of this.

You sigh loudly as you finally find the correct gloves. They’re a deep scarlet, the only remaining matching pair that goes with the outfits of the seven other backup dancers. When Gorski told you they were in the tiny storage closet on the upper levels you had to bite your tongue to stop the groan that had threatened to escape.

The storage closet was a mess to put it politely, random junk just dumped in there when there was nowhere else to put it. It was only because Blue had wanted Song Bird to have eight backup dancers for the routine, when for the past three weeks it had been seven.

The gloves are a little battered, but nothing that would be noticeable to the patrons of the club, not when you were up on the stage anyway.

You catch your reflection in the full length mirror that is jammed a little haphazardly in the corner. For a second the gloves in your hand look like blood.

You put away the things you pulled out as best you can, not such an easy task in the mayhem mess, and turn to the door.

Your hand barely grazes the cool metal of the handle before it’s wrenched out of your grasp as it’s flung open.

Panic grips your heart and you visibly jump back just about managing to keep the little yelp of surprise that wants to escape quiet.

And when your eyes land on the figure in the doorway, you’re more than glad you did.

Blue glares at you, his eyes dark and shining in the dim light. He has a small, tight smile on his face. One of those practised expressions he wears at the club when he’s charming customers.

He closes the door behind him, not taking his eyes off you and stalks forward, expecting you to back away.

You hold your ground, annoyance fizzling in your blood at the gall he has to try to intimidate you and for a second you forget yourself. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He pauses mid-step, blinking before he tries to pull that mask of superiority back on. “That’s not a very nice way to greet me now, is it?” He spits.

“What are you doing here?” You repeat, your tone firm and fierce, unimpressed by how he bristles and tries to square up to you.

“I own this place, and everything and one in it.” He leans close, his hot breath hitting your face. “I can go wherever I like.”

You hold his gaze for one long moment before you swallow and step ceremoniously to the side, planning to walk past him.

Blue matches your step, blocking your path. “What are you doing in here?”

You hold up the gloves. “For Song Bird’s routine.”

He stares at your hands for a moment, picturing you in the backup dancers' outfits. His throat bobs as he swallows before he grits his jaw. He had to focus. Had to get you out of his system.

“What do you want, Blue?” Your voice is firm and sure, covering up the spike of uncertainty that has settled in your chest.

He pauses, finally glancing up from the gloves to your face. Though now that he is looking directly at you it feels worse, blistering to be under the intensity of his gaze. He licks his lips. “You.”

You stay quiet.

“Just you.” He repeats, taking a step forward and placing a hand firmly on your shoulder. He pushes you back into the row of hanging clothing forcefully and leans close as the gloves slip from your hand. “You know, I thought you were just a scared little Bunny I could have some fun with, but you’re not.” He growls.

You swallow, fear swimming in your stomach, mixing with a dizzying haze of emotion.

“You’re… dangerous. A Lion in rabbit’s clothing.” He mutters, tracing his fingers lightly along your jawline.

Instinctively you smack his hand away.

He grins at your gall. “You know… I’ve hurt people a lot more important than you for less.” He whispers.

“Then why don’t you?”

Blue pauses, his expression frozen on his face like a tableau, a tiny spark of uncertainty flickers into life behind his eyes. “I don’t… want to right now.”

“Liar.”

He scowls. “Listen-”

“No, you listen.” You grab a hold of him, placing your hand firmly over his mouth and pinching his cheeks.

His eyes widen, darken as arousal burns along his veins.

You have no idea what’s gotten into you, why you’re doing this again. He could kill you on a whim, a snap of his fingers and a flick of his head would be all it took for his goons to empty their clips into your chest.

Still, it seems like you’re in too deep now to change directions.

You push him back a little, giving yourself some breathing space. “You don’t want to hurt me because you want me to hurt you.”

He swallows, his throat bobbing. His hands still at his sides, making no effort to even wriggle out of your hold.

You lean a little closer, echoing his teasing tone from before. “You like it.”

There is the tiniest hitch of his breath and it’s all the reassurance you need.

When he doesn’t respond quickly enough for your liking you squeeze a little tighter, feeling the imprint of his molars through his cheeks as you nod his head up and down.

“There we go, did no one teach you it was rude not to answer a question?” You loosen your hold on him, revelling in the red impressions left on his skin. It shouldn’t thrill you, shouldn’t excite you.

You trail your fingers along his jaw, running your thumb over his plump bottom lip and he shudders, closing his eyes for a second as he fights the urge to grab your arm and pull you closer.

Instead he darts out his tongue, swiping it lightly over the tip of your thumb and groaning.

“Did I say you could do that?”

The snarl in your voice makes his eyes snap open, makes him open his mouth for a frantic apology.

The second his lips part you push your thumb inside, pressing down on his warm tongue to silence him.

He startles, eyes going wide for a second as he grabs hold of your wrist instinctively. But the second his mind catches up with your actions he doesn’t pull back, only presses closer.

He groans around your thumb, running his tongue along the length as he pushes his body flush against yours, grinding his aching cock against your leg.

He’s so hard, throbbing as he rubs against you. A small whimper echos from his throat.

You bite your lip, a wave of arousal washing over you at the sight. “You’re so pathetic, you know that?”

He moans louder, frantically nodding his head as he thrusts his hips, sucking on your thumb for all he was worth. He squeezes your wrist, wrapping his other arm around you to hold you in place.

You pull your thumb from his mouth suddenly, smearing his salvia on his chin and grabbing hold of his throat as you push him back away from you.

Blue whines, his forehead pinched in distress and hips bucking aimlessly, trying to seek out that delicious friction again.

“Can’t keep your hands to yourself, can you?” You growl, loosening his tie and roughly pulling it free as you undo the top three of his shirt buttons. “Fucking pitiful.”

“S-sorry.” He mumbles, biting his lip as he gazes at you.

You smack his cheek lightly and he groans, the sensation striking down to his cock like lightning. He’s dazed for a second as you manhandle him, too wrapped up in the feel of your fingers digging into his skin to even have one coherent thought.

You twist his tie around his wrists, binding them harshly before you gather the last of the material and wrap it around your right palm.

He gasps as you step behind him, your chest pressed against his back, and grab hold of his neck, pulling his wrists up in the process. The material digs in, makes his skin sing and fingers throb. It’s like he’s died and gone to heaven.

Blue bites his lip again, trying to keep some of the obscene sounds to a minimum. He feels dizzy, lightheaded as you squeeze his neck and use your free hand to slide down his chest to his trousers.

The amount of times he’d tied up others, whipped and beaten until they’d crying and begging and pleading. It had felt so good, so right. But this… god it was nothing compared to this.

You sink your teeth into the side of his neck and he keens, his back bending. He gasps, shivers and tries to breathe deeply through the wonderful pain, but your grip on his neck tightens, pulls him back further under your control. And he nearly comes on the spot.

You bite harder. Niping and sucking at his skin, only soothing with your tongue for the briefest moment.

He squirms under your hold, pressing up against your mouth and whimpering nonsense.

He cries out when you unbuckle his belt, unbutton his trousers and unzip his fly. His heart thuds under your hand as you let his trousers fall to the floor and push his boxers down his thighs.

“Please, oh god,” he whines when you squeeze especially hard on his neck and then gasps when you wrap your hand around his leaking cock. “Lion,” he stretches the word, rolls it around in his mouth desperately as you jerk your hand, your pace hard and brutal. He follows with his hips as much as you let him, tightening around his neck and pulling him back against you if he moves too much.

“Lion, please!” He sobs.

You break your mouth away from his bruised skin to hiss in his ear. “Look at yourself, look at how pathetic you are.” You tug his neck, forcing him to look at himself in the floor-length mirror. He lets out a sob as his own reflection stares back. How flushed his skin is, how desperate his eyes look. The way he barely struggles. How hard he is, leaking and throbbing under your hand.

“Lion,” tears build at the corner of his eyes, “please.”

“You’re wretched, despicable, barely worth the energy it takes me to make you come.” You sneer.

And Blue screams.

The knot in his stomach twists, liquid fire running along his spine as your words push him violently over the edge. He comes hard, spurting all over the floor. The force of it even hitting the edge of the mirror as he jerks and bucks and cries under your hold.

For a moment it’s like he’s floating, light and far away from himself. Warm and safe under your touch.

You loosen your grip around him instantly, worried for a second that he’s passed out and then silently hating yourself for enjoying that idea so much.

He stumbles a little without your firm hold, but you guide him back to sit on the edge of a large box.

He breathes deeply, spaced out as you slowly unwrap his tie from around his hands. His wrists are red, fingers off colour. He shivers slightly, his trousers still around his ankles. You pause, questioning if you’d be able to get him standing to do them back up without Blue falling over.

Instead you turn to pull out a long, fluffy coat that had been used in a dance months ago to drape around him.

He softly grabs your forearm as you turn, the touch a stark difference from earlier.

“Please,” he looked up at you, his eyes hard and voice weak. “Don’t go.”

The silence seems to hang for a long second.

You swallow and take the coat off the hanger before wrapping him up. You squeeze his hand and move closer to him, intending to just stay a moment, but he grabs hold of your arms, pulls you closer still and buries his face into your stomach.

He stays still for a moment, his fists tight as he hangs onto your shirt.

You don’t know what to do, your hands hover in mid-air and… then his shoulders start to shake as he cries.

“Hey, hey,” you lightly touch his head, running your hand through his short hair. “Hey,” you soothe and he looks up at you weakly.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles between sobs.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you squat down to his level and stroke his cheeks. There’s a whirlwind of emotions fighting in your chest.

He shakes his head. “Did I… Did I make you angry?”

“No, no.”

“Did I disappoint you?” His voice breaks at the last word, fresh tears streaming over his skin.

You lean forward, kissing his lips gently, then his cheeks.

He swallows, hiccuping from the sobs he’s trying to fight back. He kisses you back softly, reverently, his hands warm and gentle on your arms and back as he holds you close.

What the fuck had you got yourself into?

Thank you for reading!

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