Summary: You are forced to marry the brutal King Miguel O’Hara because your kingdom's land is dying, and he’s the only one who can help you. However, it’s your wedding night, and he failed to inform you that he has to make you cum in front of his court so the marriage can be approved.
Tags: Miguel O’HaraxFem!reader, marriage of convenience, magic, both Miguel and the reader have their own magic, reader can “read” people's emotions, voyeurism(to an extent), reader can’t orgasm with penetration alone, dislike to lovers. Tags for smut: p in v, creampie, Miguel has to please “reader”, reader gets praised a lot, titty sucking, reader gets worshipped by Miguel. Word count: 7.8k
A/N: I've been meaning to post more, but life happens. So I hope you enjoy this one, lovelies!!! I have more stories to come<333
Masterlist
Kinktober
Most girls would be ecstatic as their servants helped them into their wedding gowns and sent them off to their betrothed. However, you couldn't care less. You're basically signing your own death wish.
You want nothing more than to curl up by the fire in your workplace with your mages. Instead, you're forced to get married to a King whose brides mysteriously end up dying after 5 years.
“All for the sake of the kingdom,” you murmur as your veil is fitted into your head.
“Oh my sweet girl,” you turn your head to the sound of your mother's voice, and it takes you everything in your power not to cry. Your mom has been your rock throughout this whole ordeal. She has mainly been the one telling you not to go through with this, but there's no other choice. The land your kingdom is on won't last that long. Your people have already been experiencing famine, your crops are dying, and children and adults are getting sick.
You had no choice, but Miguel's land is the only Kingdom near yours that's actually thriving, and the only Kingdom that wants to help yours. You'll think about this some other day, not right now as you spend your last few moments with your mother. “Hi, mama.”
“How are you feeling?” she says as she walks over to you and wraps you in her arms. “I'm okay, I've been better, I'll tell you that.”
“You'll be okay, you hear me? No daughter of mine will die at the sake of a man. You are strong, you hear me?” as she pulls back, you take note of the tears in her eyes and dab them away.
“It's okay, I'll be fine, I swear.”
•°~°•
Once the pianist begins playing, you know it's your cue to walk down the aisle arm in arm with your mom.
You ignore all of the guests and look straight at your soon-to-be husband through your veil. His back is as straight as a rod, and his shoulders are so broad in that suit of his. His hair is gelled back and to the side, and if you weren't so afraid of the unknown of what's to come, you would actually call him….handsome.
Once you reach him, you take a deep breath, looking at your bouquet before raising your head to meet him. The priest begins to say the words that will bind the two of you forever, and it takes some real self-control not to edge away from your soon-to-be husband. After this, O’Hara will send the best of his mages to your land so that your people will prosper. So that your people won't starve, your kingdom's magic is so drained that not even you and the royal members can satisfy it.
“You may now exchange rings.” You remove your left hand, let go of your bouquet, and raise your hand for him to take it. The second his hand comes in contact with yours, a shiver runs down your spine. You then grab the ring from him to place it on his finger.
“You may now unveil and kiss the bride,” O’Hara lets out a breath before lifting your veil. His eyes roam across your face from your eyes to your nose down to your lips. You wait for him to move to you, not the other way around. His left hand hovers over your face before it rests on your right cheek, and his thumb strokes your face. He then wastes no time pressing his lips against yours.
You purse your lips together, giving him nothing.
You won't let him get the better of you, apart from his wives mysteriously dying; he's known to have a harem of women and you'll be damned if you'll kiss him back.
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“My bride isn't what I was expecting,” Miguel says out loud to himself as he makes his way to accept congratulations from the King and Queen of neighboring kingdoms. Now, while he has seen you once or twice prior to this, both of you knew there would be no love involved in this marriage. As usual, this is just another political marriage, a favor that both of y'all need. You need his crops, food, best mages, and he needs access to your magic for….personal reasons.
Truly, it's a win-win situation.
After making his rounds throughout the room, he walks over to the table solely for you and him. Miguel tries not to salivate at the sight of you. Your dress is white off the shoulder with a plunging neckline that shows just the right amount of cleavage the rest of the dress flows downwards into a pretty train. Apart from that, you truly are a sight for sore eyes.
The way the candlelight shines on your skin beautifully. Not to mention your plump lips and your defiance. Immediately, when he pressed his lips against yours, he tasted it. You didn't let him in. He's not surprised in the slightest who would want to marry someone whose wives mysteriously die after 5 years of being wed?
Shaking his head as if to shake away his thoughts, he reaches you in two strides, hoping to “try” and enjoy the ceremony with his new wife.
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You watch with guarded eyes as O’Hara, the King of Nueva York…your husband makes his way in your direction, standing a few feet away from you.
“Must you look like you are about to enter the lion's den?” He jests.
You twirl your wine glass twice before answering him. “I'm not the one with 3 dead wives behind me, O’Hara.” His laugh sounds like warm honey, sending shivers down your spine. When you look over at him, he has a wide grin on his face as he looks down at you. “So you believe the rumors, too, huh?”
You give him a perplexed look. “Well, how can I not? I would be a fool not to take them into consideration since I am now married to you.” You hold up your ring finger for extra measure. “And not to mention the surplus of women you have in your harem, am I expected for you to leave our wedding night just to find you in bed with another woman the morning after?” You say, making sure to hold eye contact with him as every word falls from your lips. He sighs before he speaks. “And you believe that rumor too.”
You raise your eyebrows expectantly. Was he not listening to the words that you just said?
“Trust me, you will find no women roaming around the halls of our home from now on and until the near future…and I expect that to be the same for you,” he said, the last few words slowly as if he’s hesitant about your reaction to it. You need some form of liquid courage before you answer him, so you gulp down the rest of your wine. “This is a loveless marriage; you can’t expect me to actually remain faithful to you. You're a man who has rumors of bedding any woman who will give him attention, you can’t expect me to believe your words—a man’s word at that.” Your words affect him if the tick in his jaw is anything to go by. Miguel takes an extra step closer to you, and because you’re sitting down, and he’s not, the height difference between you, and the sight of him looking down at you so intently is making you short-circuit. Your magic is thrumming in your veins, almost giving off a light humming sound.
You hope he can’t hear that.
He leans in with a hand resting on your table and his face mere inches away from your face. He speaks through gritted teeth. “You have my word, Mrs.O’Hara, that I will not fuck anyone who isn’t you, so long as we are bound together in this holy matrimony and I will advise you to do the same otherwise, I can show just how evil I can be” His confession suprises you so much you have to fight the urge in you not rear your head back. You will not show him that you are frazzled by his words, not in the slightest. “I am only here for the safety of my people and my people only. I’m afraid I cannot offer you what you are…seeking.”
“I’m not asking for love, Mrs. O’Hara, but for respect and for us to reach common ground. This doesn’t have to be a horrible marriage.” Your eyes flicker from his and towards the crowd. You catch a few of them looking at the two of you, weary that you hope there aren’t any mouth readers in here. It would be quite the trouble if people found out what you were saying.
While waiting for your response, he takes a seat and ushers one of the servants to fill both of your glasses with more wine. Once it arrives, he pretends to take a sip, hiding his next words behind the glass and speaking low enough only for you to hear. “And in an effort to make this marriage less daunting for both of us—” He pauses just to take a sip of his wine. “I will not touch you tonight, there is no need for us to consummate our marriage….at least not tonight.” Your head whips towards him so fast you almost give yourself whiplash. “I am not the evil monster they claim me to be—” He pauses ever so slightly as he fiddles with his wine glass. “Despite my previous words, I mean, but we can just make something up so the courts can be satisfied.”
You try not to dwell on the fact that he’s choosing not to use his new profound authority that he is now your husband, by making you do this, “Fine, that works for me. I will begin to make my rounds.” You get up from the table with haste; you will not praise him for doing the bare minimum either.
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You're in the ballroom, greeting the neighboring kingdom’s King and Mistress Eugene and Simone as you feel a light tap on your shoulder. You politely excuse yourself to turn around just to come face-to-face with your mother. “Mama, I thought you had gone home.” You utter those words so fast, you didn’t even realize the horror that’s etched across her features. Immediately, you draw your magic into her. You were given the ability to calm others with the lightest of touches and have them do as you please, only for a brief moment. That also means you can sense someone's emotions if they can’t conceal them, and right now, your mother is worried beyond compare. Glancing around the dimly lit black and gold ballroom, you try to make note of any private area where you can speak to your mother.
You make sure to look her in the eyes as you speak so your magic can truly work. “We’re going to go into that room, and you’re going to tell me what's wrong, okay.” She nods before you gently grab her arms, whisking her out of the room away from prying eyes so you can speak to her privately.
You do a quick sweep of the room, surveying to make sure you don’t feel any heightened emotions while being in this room, before you turn back to face your mom. “Mama, is everything okay? Why-”
She cuts you off. “I’m so sorry I failed you. Please, it’s not too late to back out of this—we’ll figure something out, I swear-” It’s then your time to cut her off because you have no idea what she is talking about. You shake her arms gently to ground her and to stop her from moving around too much. “Mother, slow down, you’re scaring me. Just breathe, okay.” You help her catch her breath to get her to speak at a normal pace. “I overheard one of the people of Nueva York speak of their marriage customs, a-and it’s disgusting. They said everyone would watch as you both consummated the marriage, and to make sure that this marriage is truly real, they changed the regular bed into a magical one. The bed will glow—or shine some light to show that you have reached….your peak.” You try to digest this as much as possible, but you can’t help it as you try to understand the last few words. “As I reached my peak?” You question the words as they come out slowly, as if you are trying to understand them yourself.
Your mother replies with a hasty nod. Mentally, you curse yourself because you were so focused on something else that you completely missed the emotions pouring out of your stupid husband. Whenever you're in big spaces, you block out everyone else's emotions. It’s hard and takes a lot of work, but you manage. So how did you miss it? How did you miss his deceit as he spoke to you? There's no way he didn’t know about this, and over your dead body will you keep quiet about this.
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Miguel looks around his ballroom, trying to catch sight of his new bride. Ever since you stormed out with your mother, he’s been concerned. And not because people started giving him looks because his wife has disappeared, leaving him alone to deal with everyone.
No, no, that’s not the case; he just really wants to know where his wife is, that’s all. But he would rather you stormed out with your mother than with another guest…a male guest to be exact. Miguel is not a patient man, never was, and never has been, so he takes matters into his own hands and decides to look for you on his own.
Disappearing down the hall, he’s about to start opening random doors when one of them unlocks, and you storm out. He’s not sure what has happened from then to now, but he’s sure you didn’t have that murderous look on your face before you left. “Your court is just as disgusting as you are if you think for one second that I’m going to let you touch me. You ask for my trust, but you spew lies before our reception can even conclude.” Miguel's eyebrow furrows as he tries to understand what you're saying. “I have no idea what you're talking about, and would you lower your voice?” He says the last words through gritted teeth and takes a step forward. “Don’t tell me to lower my voice, you lied to me, gave me false hope, and all for what with a hope that you can get your dick wet-” Putting up his hands in defence, he cuts you off so he could truly understand what’s going on. “Speak slowly, I can assure you that I have not done what you think I’ve done. What did my court say to you?”
He watches as you let out a huff, drawing out all of your air in your lungs before speaking again. “They didn’t say anything to me, but my mother overheard them talking. In order for my people to receive what was agreed, we have to consummate the marriage and prove to your court that we are suitable for each other. Not only do we have fuck in front of them, but they will know if I cum. You and your court's customs are sick, I-”
Miguel has to cut you off before you go any further. “I truly have no idea what you're talking about; that marriage custom hasn't been used in hundreds of years. Tonight we were supposed to consummate our marriage, yes, but it wasn't supposed to be seen by others. I was going to have someone stand outside our doors. It's the only way they would truly be satisfied. I didn't speak of a magic-infused bed.” Before Miguel continues, he pauses, making sure to say his words gently.
“Are you sure your mother heard correctly? It's possible-”
“Don't do that, I believe my mama wholeheartedly, and I didn't feel any deceit coming from her if someone forced her to say this.” Miguel thinks it over for a second before dropping it. He is confident in your ability to read emotions. Hell, he needs to be if he's to use your magic to help him determine who's been killing his wives.
•°~°•
“Well, my dearest wife, it seems like someone is already trying to prevent us from getting married.” As you stare up at him, you can't help but notice the tic in his jaw. “Well, how do you expect me to just go along with this. My people, we need food, we need help, and no one except for you and your kingdom was willing to help us. O’Hara, this union needs to work my people-” You stop in your tracks when you feel your emotions reaching an all-time high. A lot of people are depending on you. After the death of your father, you and your mom have been running this kingdom for as long as you can remember, and the fact that there's only one other kingdom that is run by a woman is concerning. Maybe the nearby kingdoms are doing this to see you fail. Each meeting with the courts and their fellow kings forces you to stand your ground and showcase your abilities more than a king should. And all because you're a woman.
You feel an arm squeezing your forearm, and you reach out into his emotions to see if there’s any deceit. But there isn’t, he’s calm as he can be, which is a stark difference from yours. Forcing yourself to remain calm, you count down to one, lightly shaking your hands out as you do.
You're about to say something else when a hand closes around your wrist, forcing you to stop moving. “Just relax, I'm sure there's something we can do before the consummation ceremony.”
“There should be no consummation ceremony, O’Hara,” you say through gritted teeth.
“We'll figure it out. I'll ask my people to see what they know. We only have less than an hour before that happens.”
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For the remainder of the ceremony, you follow him as he walks around to speak to his court. It was clear no one wants to fess up, but it’s also clear that no one wants to talk to him while you're with him. They give you sideways glances and up-downs; their hatred for you was as clear as day, and one would be a fool if they missed it.
The hate dripping off from O’Hara’s court is almost suffocating.
By the time you spoke to your mother and wished her and the rest of the guests attending your wedding farewell, it was time for the consummation ceremony. O’Hara, unfortunately, gathered nothing. Nothing to prove that those on his court were in the wrong, absolutely nothing. You thought his court feared him; if they truly did, would they have really gone behind his back like that, and on his wedding day, no less?
It is clear that you won’t be safe here; there will be people in his court trying to embarrass and belittle you every chance they get. Quietly, you follow your ladies in waiting, one from your own kingdom and one from his, to a room to get ready. You didn’t even have the chance to speak to the man before you both were whisked away in opposite directions. Your curls are now hanging down your back, and there are mini gems etched into your hair now. They've retouched your makeup again, adding some sort of shine to your lips and blush to enhance the color of your cheeks.
The ladies help you out of your wedding gown and into a shift that is basically see-through. You’re practically going to be walking through the hallways naked for everyone to see. But as the ladies in waiting continue to get you ready for the night to come, you look up at the woman whose name you still do not know. “If you don’t mind me asking, what is your name?” You look up at her in earnest, genuinely trying to get to know her, but she looks taken aback at your words.
Now you wonder if you said something wrong. In your kingdom, all of the royal members in your court, including yourself, know the staff's names. Is that not how they do things here?
“Did I say something to offend you-”
She immediately begins shaking her head. “N-No, my lady, you have not offended me; it's just that no one has asked for my name before. I'm just taken aback, that's all.” You and your lady-in-waiting, Eliza, share a look. “It’s Tasha, my lady, but please call me your lady in waiting; there's no need to call me by my name.” You let out a sigh as she begins to fuss with your hair that’s already perfectly fine. “Does O’Hara not know-”
“No, no, no, my queen, of course he does know my name, it’s just that none of the past brides have paid me any attention before. But please do not worry, and for what it’s worth, I’m sorry about tonight. Strangely, after all of these years, there’s a consummation ceremony.” Her last few words ground you, bring you back to reality if you will.
“Thank you, Tasha. I am just as shocked as you are.” You allow them to finish, get you ready, as your mind works at 100 miles per hour. You're not even sure of how this is supposed to go. Is his court really going to sit back and watch the two of you have sex? You give yourself a quick once-over in the mirror before making your way out the door.
It’s now or never.
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When you walk into the room, you immediately take in your surroundings. There are at least 5 members of his court sitting in a row of chairs. Before you do anything else, you use your magic to determine the emotions that are radiating off of his court. Trying not to make it look obvious, you quickly scan them, making sure you hold eye contact with them long enough to show them that you mean business, but not to be disrespectful.
Well then again, you are now their Queen.
So if anyone is in the wrong, it would be them, not you.
So far, everyone's emotions seem normal. There's a sense of urgency; someone's excited, and you almost blanch as you feel that emotion. Someone is nervous, someone is feeling arrogant, you almost roll your eyes at that emotion, and the last person is….oh, you can't feel this person's emotions. Someone in here is completely sheltering their emotions. It's almost as if they aren't feeling anything, but you know that's not the case. But you won’t be able to know who it is for sure until you can speak to them.
You would consider it to be a very large room if it weren't for the sheer white curtain that's splitting the side of the room in the middle. Your eyes dart around the room, looking for your husband when you hear someone clearing their throat from behind you.
You turn around at the sound and come face-to-face with your betrothed. You look up at him, meeting his eyes before soaking in the rest of him. His hair is wet and pushed back away from his face as if he just ran his fingers through his hair. He's wearing a loose white shirt with the laces undone and a pair of pants to match.
He looks decent. With a sigh, you avert your gaze because he looks more than decent to you. But you won’t tell him that at all. You practically jump when you feel a finger underneath your chin, guiding your face to his. “Get on the bed, Mrs. O’Hara,” he whispers against your lips.
“Who do you think-” You begin to speak, but he lets out an exasperated sigh. “Please, Mrs. O’Hara.” If you weren’t so in control of your emotions, you would’ve reared your head back in surprise. Taken aback by his ability to have manners, you give him a curt nod and make your way to the curtains. You part them and reveal a queen-size bed with white sheets and gold accents. You make note of the way the bed is facing away from the thin sheet if you are positive this prevents the people watching from getting a full view of everything.
Hesitantly, you sit on the edge of the bed, unsure what to do next. Your position as queen hasn’t even been a full day, and you’re already on shaky ground; the last thing you want to do is upset them further.
You turn in the direction of the sound of O’Hara speaking to a few members of his court. “I'm sure it is a surprise to everyone that we are honoring past traditions, but this union with my new bride seemed like the perfect time to bring back past traditions, but with a new twist.” He then shakes each member's hand and passes through the white curtain.
Your gaze locks with his, and you watch his throat bob as he swallows. He walks up to you until there's nothing but an inch of space left between the two of you, and just like earlier in the evening, you find yourself looking up at him. “This is the most that I could do on such short notice. Hopefully, there are no more surprises from my court.” He pauses before continuing. “ —but it feels as if I already signed my demise by just saying those words.” You continue to watch him, using this moment to feel out his emotions, and once again, just like last time, you don’t feel any negative emotions rolling off of him.
“Are there any rules I should know before we do this?” You question as your eyes dart across the room for anything that can help you in this situation. You’re about to consummate your marriage with a King whose wives mysteriously die after 5 years of being married to him. When he notices your eyes wandering, he is quick to guide them back to his face with a tilt of your head. “Don’t worry, you're in good hands, Mrs.O’Hara. My job here is to quite literally please you, and if I fail at this, both of our kingdoms are at stake.” You can’t help but nod at his words; there's nothing the two of you could’ve done to prevent this from happening.
“So let’s give them what they want. They want a show, so let’s give them one.” You watch as a smirk appears on his face. Without wasting any more time, he leans in to close the distance between the two of you, but you rear your head back just before his lips can touch yours. You both may have to come to a truce right now at this moment, but you won’t give in that easily.
Inching yourself further on the bed, you don’t stop until your back touches the plump satin pillows. He quirks his eyebrow, not being able to mask his surprise quickly enough; you can practically feel it radiating off of him. “Oh…is that how you want to play?” He gives you a calculated stare. You watch as his eyes make their way down the length of your body. Slowly, he walks to the front of the bed, unfastening the ties of his shirt, then pulls it over his head. Stopping at the foot of the bed, he drags his eyes down your body once again before he kneels on the bed. Right before he can reach you again, you're pressing your feet against his chest to stop him.
With a slight shake of your head, you say, “You have to work for this, Mr. O’Hara.” You try not to fill yourself with too much pride as you catch a glimpse of a tic in his jaw. If he wants to make you cum he’s going to have to work for it, and no, it’s not going to be easy, but you're not going to just let him spend minutes fucking you knowing that you can’t cum from that alone. You tilt your chin up a little further; you are now his Queen, you will not be embarrassed by this. Keeping your voice low enough so your words can only be heard by him, you say, “I can’t cum from just penetration, Mr.O’Hara, you will have to—” He cuts you off.
“That won’t be a problem for me, just relax and let me take care of you.” You give him a brief nod and watch as he grabs your foot that's on his chest and places a kiss on your ankle. With his eyes never leaving yours, he places a kiss on the inside of your leg, starting from your heel and stopping in the middle of your thigh. Your shift is now bunched up right below your ass. If he were to push it up a little more, he would reveal your pussy. The ladies in waiting thought it would be better if you didn’t wear any undergarments tonight. You draw out a breath as you lock eyes, gods, above. Is this really happening right now?
Without wanting to delay this any further, you raise your hips in order to let the shift pass over your hips. Miguel then does what he did to your left leg to your right leg, and then finally, he spreads your thighs apart and places a kiss directly on your cunt. He takes his time eating you out slowly, and he drags the tip of his tongue from your entrance to your clit. He does this over and over before he begins to suck your pussy. You lose track of how long he spends in between your thighs, but by the time he leaves your pussy with a ‘pop’ sound, a thin sheet of sweat makes your nightgown cling to your skin. Your breaths are laboured as you watch him rise on his knees and undo the laces on his pants. Shamelessly, you take that time to admire his body. You hate to say it, but the way his arms flex as he loosens his pants is doing something to you.
You practically roll your eyes as the thought passes your mind. He's probably doing this for show, and here you are like a deer in headlights, mindlessly gawking. You're not sure what he plans on doing next, so you wait patiently until he makes the next move. Since he is the one who has to please you, the ball is in his court.
As he gets back on the bed, he is now fully bare and his thick cock glistening as the light shines on it. His tip is red, and a small bead of precum is spilling from it.
He then grabs you by the waist, right below where the shift is, and begins to lift it upwards. “Lift your arms up for me, Mrs.O’Hara.” You're sure he's doing this to annoy you, but you feel him drawing out your new last name, and you are certain he says it loud enough for his court outside to hear. You lift your arms, and he tosses your shift closer to the sheer curtain.
You let out a yelp when he moves backwards, only to grab your thighs and pull you down to meet him. Now his thick, veiny cock is resting against your wet pussy.
“A warning would've been nice.” You say as you pinch his arms that's now caging you in. “ I already took away their ability to see us. The more sounds you make, the better they won’t really believe us if they can’t hear anything.”
The words leave your lips before you have the chance to take them back. “Will you be making any sounds then?”
You watch his brows furrow as he looks down at you. “Do you want me to be vocal when we fuck? Most women—” He pauses his sentence as if realizing that it's not wise to talk about his past endeavors with women while he’s about to be intimate with you. Briefly turning his head away, he says, “—I’ve heard that some would rather if a man is on the quieter side.”
You speak your next words slowly. “Well, I am not most women, it would be best if I weren’t the only one being vocal. Well, that’s if you are even able to please me in the first place.” You know you are playing with fire, but you can’t help but add to the flame.
He says nothing and leans down, resting on his forearms as he presses a kiss on your neck. You move your head to the side to give him more access, and he greedily accepts. He makes his way down your body from between the valley of your breasts to stop right at your pelvic bone. He then moves back up and places a kiss on each of your breasts before sucking gently on each nipple.
You can't help but let out a hiss as he grazes your nipples with his teeth, hardening them into points. He then rears back and rests on his knees, and once again, you find him slowly taking you in. Does he not know how intense his gaze is?
If you weren't strong enough, you probably would've forced yourself to hide your body from being under his gaze for too long. But you are strong enough, and you aren't going to let him get to you. Honestly, if anything, his gaze makes you want to jut out your breasts a little more by arching your back.
But you don't.
You stay right where you are.
He then takes his cock in his hand and smears the precum along your clit. He moves his cock around in circles against your clit; the action is creating almost the perfect amount of friction. But he doesn't keep going, he stops and slowly drags his cock down until he finds your entrance.
You feel every inch of him, and it almost feels like you can feel every vein etched on his cock as well. He might have one of the biggest egos you know, but he certainly isn't lacking. You think he's thicker than any partner that you've previously had.
Your back arches as he lets out a breathy “Fuck” the deeper he gets. Oh gods, is he still not fully seated, yet you already feel so full you're not sure how much more-
You reach up and grab onto each of his forearms. “F-Fuck O’Hara, wait, you're too—” your words get lodged in your throat. Damnit, you didn't think your voice was loud, but the snickering from the men behind you is saying otherwise. But as you take in the expression of the man on top of you, there's not a smirk on his face, and he certainly isn't laughing. He stares at you almost carefully.
Emphasis on ‘carefully’.
“This is fine, I can work with this.” You nod, and he nods back, looking down at where your bodies are joined. He slowly begins to move. He rests a hand on your waist and uses his other hand to push your thighs further apart. O’Hara continues to move slowly, moving his hips as he works in and out of you. Slowly, without even releasing, he begins to sink deeper and deeper into you. Now, when he pushes himself back in, he’s buried to the hilt with his pelvis meeting yours. A few of his curls fall into his eyes, and without thinking, you gently push them away, tucking them behind his ear. His hips slow mid thrust, and his eyes dart to yours and give you another quick nod.
“For someone saying they are going to be vocal, you sure are doing the opposite,” you say breathlessly.
“Well, your highness, we are just getting started.” With just your luck, your words spark, maybe even ignite something within him because now he won’t keep his mouth shut. Leaning forward while still working his hips, he latches onto one of your nipples. Removes his hand from your waist to play with the other nipple, flicking and rolling it between his fingers. He leaves your breast with a ‘pop’ sound, and you're forced to look down at him.
“Do you want me to let you know how well you taste, Wife?” You expect him to wait for you to say something, but he doesn’t; he keeps going. “Do you want me to tell you how long I dreamed about tasting you since the moment you signed the papers that made you legally mine?” He says through gritted teeth, urging his hips to go faster. Your chest is moving up and down rapidly with every breath that you take. A sheen line of sweat is forming on your skin, and he's making your bodies glide against each other.
O’Hara’s heavy breathing as he continues to thrust into you. It’s not long before you can feel the moans falling from your lips. You've tried to keep them concealed as much as possible, but you’re afraid you might give yourself a busted lip in the process. Still, to at least keep some form of your dignity, you are trying to keep them as low as possible, so only he can hear them.
You feel his hips slow down before he pulls out completely. “Turn around and spread your legs wide.” Breathlessly, you do as he says, while trying to gather yourself, you take in a deep breath, but before you can fully relish in the moment, he’s entering you again. “F-Fuck O’Hara.” Immediately as the words fall from your lips, you regret them; you really don’t want to let him know how much your body is being affected by this. But after all, isn’t this the whole point? He’s supposed to fuck you well enough till you cum, so his court can approve your marriage. You hear him laugh behind you. “Don’t worry, you can take it, right?” He says with a slightly mocking tone.
You’ve made up your mind that you’re not going to play this game with him. The quicker you cum, the quicker you can get this over with, but you can’t get there unless you let go.
At least for tonight.
Arching your back until your breasts are pressed into the sheets, you push your ass into him, meeting his thrusts. Flipping your curls to the side, you look over your shoulder to look him in the eye. “Fuck me harder, O’Hara, you can do better than that, can’t you?”
This earns a smack against your ass, and he reaches a hand over your waist to finally play with your clit. The bed is moving with each of your thrusts so much that a pillow falls onto the ground. You can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the finish line. That familiar pit in your stomach builds as he continues to rub your clit. This time, you moan freely into the sheets, over your shoulder, making sure your mouth isn’t covered so he can hear you, but right before you can reach your peak, he’s urging you to flip over again to face him.
Letting out a displeased groan, you reach down and guide his cock back into your aching pussy. “Please, I need my husband inside of me.” You whimper, and you watch as he looks at you questioningly, and you feel a spike of confusion rolling off of him. You can feel his want to say something, but you shake your head ‘no’, he doesn’t need to know that you’re letting your mask slip just for this moment.
He gets the memo…or at least you think he does as he trails one of his large, veiny hands down your body and begins to speak to you. “My wife is so beautiful, how the fuck did I get so lucky?” He reaches over, grabs a pillow, and places it right above your ass, and his thrusts pick up again, and it’s not like the pace he’s had from before; now he’s giving it to you hard and fast.
Leaning down on his forearms again, he holds himself with his mouth hovering right above yours, just a few more inches, and your lips would touch. Then slowly you feel him drag one hand down to your clit, your body jolts at the contact.“My wife is so pretty, tell me you're so fucking pretty.” You want to question him, but you don’t, so you just repeat after him. “I’m so fucking pretty,” You pant into his mouth in between moans, and he hums in approval.
“You’re so fucking perfect, and I get to say that ‘you’re my wife.’” You whimper at his words as you stare into his eyes. You're unsure of what you should say or do, so you do nothing. You sit back and let your husband please you until you’re cumming on his cock.
The circles he makes on your clit increase, and you can feel your body jolting slightly as you reach your orgasm. “M’cumming—” Is all you manage to get out before you begin to feel your legs shake. “I’m g-gonna cum inside my wife's pussy—” You dig your heels into his back to keep him in place as your moans echo throughout the room.
“That’s it, baby, milk my cock.” He encourages, and you feel his cum spilling inside of you. You’re surprised when he moans into your ears, loud enough that you're certain his court heard him.
.
.
.
.
You both lie there catching your breath, and you slowly open your eyes. You didn’t realize it, but at some point while you were cumming he pulled your hand to reach the headboard. The light it emits is beautiful. It's a soft red hue that fills the room now. The red is so soft it can almost be considered pink.
Before you even have the means to say something to O’Hara, claps, which are slow to start, can be heard on the opposite side of the room. Suddenly, it feels like a cold bucket of water was thrown on you, but you mask it with indifference and slowly begin to urge O’Hara off of you. Thankfully, he complies and removes himself from you slowly, and that earns a hiss from him.
You begin to look for your shift that's probably lying somewhere on the ground, so you can put it on. Your legs ache from holding them wide for so long. You don't even bother looking at yourself in the mirror because you know your curls are a mess and there's probably a red hickey on your neck.
O’Hara is the first one to dress, and he does it in front of the sheer curtain so that they can purposefully see him get dressed. As you feel his cum sliding down your legs, you oddly have the urge to push it back into you, but you're not stupid, so you ignore it.
Grabbing your hand, he leads you through the sheer curtains to face his court, and they sing praises to both of you until they file out one by one.
O’Hara clears his throat before he speaks, looking unsure as ever. “Are you alright? Back there I-”
“Let us forget it. What's done is done; we both got what was needed for the sake of our kingdoms, and I wish not to speak of this night again. If you will”
He runs his fingers through his damp hair and looks around the room before his gaze settles on you. His ‘unease’ and ‘confusion’ are bothering you. It’s practically clawing at you, climbing up your body until it can sink its nails into you. Goddammnit, does he not know how to control his emotions at all? You take a step back from him and fiddle with your fingers as you try to tune him out. “Control yourself and your emotions, O’Hara.” You seethe at him, practically baring your teeth as you speak. You expect him to back away from you, but he takes a step forward. “My emotions? You can feel them right now?” He questions.
“Yes, I can, and you’re making it unbearable just to stand in the same room as you. There’s no need for you to be ‘uneasy’ or ‘confused.’” As the words leave your lips, he’s taking another step towards you.
“Are you sure that’s all I’m feeling right now?” He questions with a tilt of his head.
“How dare you question my abilities?” You say, and your voice rises an octave. He has some nerve.
Shaking his head, he pulls you closer to him by grabbing your shift placing your body against his. “Dig deeper. I am feeling much more than confusion and unease” Reluctantly, you listen to his words and dig deeper so you can see whatever he’s putting down. It makes no sense why he is trying to get you to learn his emotions. But as you look into his eyes and use your magic to find what he’s asking of you, you realize he was correct. His desire and need barrels into you easily, pushing away his ‘unease’ and ‘confusion’ to the side as if they were never there. Rolling your eyes, you pry your shift out of his hands and untangle your body from his.
He’s a man, of course, he would still be turned on you just had sex with him.
“This conversation is over. Have a good night, O’Hara.” You turn to leave, but his words stop you briefly before you can walk out the door.
“I just need you to be careful, wife. My enemies are now yours, and I have quite a few.” You say nothing and walk out the door; you know this already. You just have to survive the first 5 years of being his wife and hope that his enemies can’t get to you first before you have a chance to figure out who they are.
At first, it was innocent. He had never intended to learn your routine, or the way your nose would scrunch up when you read something funny.
He never should’ve known what days you washed your hair when you showered.
Never should’ve known your comfort tv show
Or your favorite type of wine
Or the type of ice cream that you ate on especially rough days after work.
But he did.
Miguel was out on patrol one evening. He sat atop a building and scanned the night with his impeccable vision. His gaze landed on you.
You were laid on your couch watching tv so casually. You lived on the upper levels of a high rise building. You expected total privacy, so your guard was down completely.
You looked so innocent to him, so normal.
You were wearing sweatpants and a tank top. Your hair was damp, as if you’d just taken a shower.
He watched with intrigue as you lifted your hand and reached over to the coffee table to pick up an almost empty glass of red wine.
You polished it off, still unaware that a masked man watched you from the shadows.
The show you were watching ended. You picked up the remote and turned the tv off.
He watched you toss your empty glass in the dishwasher and trudge to your bedroom.
He snapped out of a daze and drew his attention back to the dangers of the city below him. Below you.
A small part of Miguel became obsessed with how obscenely normal your life seemed.
He knew he’d never be able to lead a life so calm and casual.
Was he jealous? Was he infatuated? He didn’t know.
He returned the next night, a little earlier than before.
You were in your kitchen leaning against the counter on your phone.
Your brow was furrowed in concentration. He watched you set your phone down and move some things around on your counter. You pulled out a knife and a cutting board and some vegetables.
He watched you cook for a long time. He found himself smiling at you taking bites of ingredients.
His eyes were glued to you as you scooped some pasta onto a plate and sat down to eat by yourself.
Miguel realized you lived alone. He felt a newfound sense of purpose in protecting you, keeping you safe from the crime hundreds of feet below your beautiful apartment in the clouds.
You finished your dinner and cleaned up the kitchen. Then, you walked down the hallway to the other side of the apartment that he couldn’t see.
He briefly considered swinging to another building for a better vantage point, but he needed to give you at least some privacy. He knew you were safe so long as you stayed within your four walls.
You eventually returned in a set of pajamas and plopped on the couch. Your face was clean.
A few days later, he switched it up. He visited you in the early morning instead. He heard the distant blaring of an alarm.
You slowly walked down the hall. Your hair was a mess, and you looked a little disheveled. He chuckled to himself. He found you adorable.
You went through the motions of making yourself a quick breakfast and coffee, seemingly in a bit of a rush. He watched you stick everything into a to-go container and run back to your room.
You emerged wearing a matching gray skirt and blazer with heels.
You grabbed your things from the kitchen counter, slung your purse over your shoulder, and marched out the door.
Weeks passed. He began visiting more frequently.
Your apartment sat vacant for several days. He began to grow worried.
He dared to move closer to your window. He told himself he was concerned that you were injured, or worse.
Before he knew it, he found himself in your living room.
It was surreal standing in the place that he’d only seen through panes of glass for so long.
He dragged a gentle finger along the back of the couch. He read the labels of the wine sitting on your counter.
He put one foot in front of the other and quietly opened your bedroom door.
It was empty.
Messy.
The bed was made but the quilt was wrinkled.
Clothes were strewn on the floor.
He knew you; you were not the type to leave things this way.
Something was wrong.
He heard keys jingling in the front door.
Miguel swung up into the rafters, poised and waiting for the intruder into your home.
He heard the familiar sound of your footsteps. You walked in and stood beneath him with a suitcase looking exhausted.
You reached up and unclipped your hair. You dragged the suitcase behind you and let it fall flat on the floor of your bedroom.
You pulled your shirt over your head. He averted his gaze.
You nearly dragged yourself to the bathroom.
He heard the shower turn on.
He returned to his original vantage point on the other building. He had been too close. He had seen you. Really seen you.
And he felt his heart flutter in his chest.
Your face was more beautiful than he’d realized. Your eyes were captivating. He wanted to look at them for hours.
He wanted you to look at him, to see him too, the way he had seen you.
You came out of the bathroom and went back into the bedroom. You didn’t emerge for the rest of the night.
He swung through the city thinking of nothing but your face.
He couldn’t go a day without visiting.
There was something about you that he found intriguing. Your life seemed fine, but a familiar sense of loneliness permeated your apartment. He knew it too well.
He found the building where you worked. He listened to you deliver presentations and delegate tasks to your staff calmly and confidently.
You consumed his every waking thought. Every time he closed his eyes, he dreamt of you smiling back at him with love in your eyes.
He could never bring himself to contaminate your perfect life with his destructive touch. You were normal, young, successful. He felt as though he ruined everyone who had the misfortune of crossing his path.
He would have to keep his distance. Love you from afar.
One evening, you came home a little later than usual with bright pink cheeks and a smile from ear to ear.
You were on the phone with someone, and you held it to your ear with your shoulder as you set your things down on the counter.
“I don’t know… I really like him. I have a weird feeling about it. Like a good feeling.” You said.
He furrowed his brow, listening more intently.
“I got super close to him and waited for him to kiss me, but he never did. He’s so shy,” You chuckled.
A wave of emotions flooded over Miguel. Jealousy, anger, sadness all at once. He wanted you to be happy, but he wanted to be the one to make you happy.
“I’m seeing him again tomorrow.” You smiled. “We’re going to see a movie. I’ll let you know how it goes! Bye, love you.” He watched you hang up the phone and start your usual evening routine.
Tonight, your demeanor was so much different. You were almost floating.
Miguel’s heart ached.
You kept that lightness in your step for days.
Suddenly, your routine was all wrong. You’d get home later, no longer making dinner cause you’d eaten with him. You’d take longer showers, wake up earlier, spend longer on your makeup.
He wanted to hate it, but he couldn’t. He’d never seen you this way.
Miguel began to miss you. The memory of your face up close began to fade from his memory.
You walked in the door earlier than you had in weeks. You slammed the door closed behind you and dropped your things on the floor, not even bothering to see where they landed.
A look of concern painted Miguel’s masked face. He cocked his head as he watched you collapse onto the couch face first. Your body heaved as you sobbed.
He began moving a bit closer.
You looked up to take a breath and noticed the masked vigilante sitting on the roof of the building across from you.
Your face was red, your eyes swollen from crying. Without thinking, you opened the door to your balcony and looked at him with a curious expression.
He suddenly landed in front of you with surprising agility. You stared up at his hulking figure and blinked the tears from your eyes.
He reached a gentle hand out to wipe a stray tear from your cheek.
A warmth flooded your body. You knew how incredibly dumb it was to all but invite a stranger onto your patio. A genetically enhanced, 6’10” stranger at that.
Despite your more logical brain trying to find a way back to its perceived safety, you kept your feet planted firmly.
You had no idea what to say. What was there to say?
“You saw me crying?” You asked quietly.
He nodded. “You look heartbroken.”
You took a deep breath and crossed your arms, suddenly aware of how unkempt you looked after crying your eyes out.
“It’s…dumb.” You shook your head. “Relationship problems. Or, lack thereof.” You tried to chuckle.
“There are much worse things to cry about,” he said. He turned his head to the skyline.
“There are…” you agreed. “I forget that sometimes. I stay home too often. I forget how fortunate I am.”
You took a step over to the railing and began to lean against it. He shot an arm out and stopped you.
“Relax,” you smiled. “I’m not going to jump just because someone broke up with me over text.”
“Sorry, instinct.” He retracted his warm hand. It was hard to tell, but you thought he might be smiling underneath the mask.
You stared at each other for a long moment. An alarm went off in the distance, drawing his attention. He perched on your balcony railing.
“Take care of yourself.”
He was gone.
You watched him swinging from building to building until he was out of sight.
Your thoughts spiraled in hundreds of directions. You spent the rest of your evening googling everything about the man behind the mask.
Obsessed was an understatement. You spent the next day at work reading article after article about him. You watched news clips and indulged in the candid videos of him saving the people of your beloved city.
You felt your heart thud in your chest as you fell for him.
It was a naive idea. Surely thousands of people in the city had a crush on him. What made you so special?
But then you remembered his gentle hand on your cheek, and you’d almost fall all over again.
miguel o'hara fucking you in a headlock to relieve his stress. ¹⁸⁺
tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, choking, headlock, rough sex, miguel has a big dick, unprotected p in v sex, nipple play, creampie, basically pwp heheh.
masterlist
he had been dealing with it all week—villains ripping through dimensions, endless vigilantes chasing, peter b. and lyla yapping his ears off, and no sleep.
he stalked into your shared apartment late. his spider-suit ripped at the shoulder, mask disheveled and torn—showing his crimson eyes flaring with pent-up rage and frustration.
and you were on the couch just mindlessly scrolling through your phone, perched up prettily in nothing but his oversized tee and pair of short shorts, not looking up till you can feel his larger figure looming over you.
“hey baby–” you smiled, immediately cut off when his massive hands yanked you up by the waist effortlessly—spinning you around, bending you over the couch with your face down, making you gasp.
your eyes rolled as his thick forearm hooked your neck instantly. his bicep felt like iron against your throat—locking you flush to his bulging pecs.
“miguel–” you choke out.
“shhh… i need this, sweetheart,” he growled, fangs seething out as he scraped it against your earlobe, down to your neck.
meanwhile, his free hand worked its way to his suit, pressing a button of his chemically bonded suit, quickly making him bare.
his cock already achingly hard—dark mauve tip glistening with precum, the veins that laced his length pulsating as all the blood in his body centered down south. he stroked it once, twice, before ripping your dampening panties to the side roughly.
slamming his cock deep inside you, making you cry out his name. your unprepared slick walls fluttering—shocked by the sensation and his girth.
“fuck,” he grunted. he didn’t let you get used to his throbbing cock as his hips snapped brutally, no mercy—each thrust making your ass ripple against his hips. balls slapping wet to your clit, causing your walls to tighten up around him even more.
you choke out incoherent words as the arm around your neck tightened. feeling dizzy as the oxygen and blood inside you start to deplete. fingers weakly clutching the cushions as you try to find something to hold on to—as if doing so can relieve the addicting pressure around your neck and lower stomach.
“fucking take it, baby,” he groaned against your ear. previous stress melting into pure lust and instinct, fucking you deeper and harder. his free hand now found the hem of his shirt that you’re wearing, yanking it up to let out your bouncing tits—pinching your hardened and sensitive nipple, making you drool out moans and spit into the headrest.
his pace now was downright feral as he heard you struggling to rasp out his name. too cockdrunk and head empty. only filled by the pleasure and how cock is practically hitting every spot inside your cunt deliciously. dragging in and out thoroughly.
you clenched harder when his fingers found your clit. middle finger perfectly circling the bundle of nerves, spreading his seed and your own all over your cunt.
“gonna come–” you gagged.
“come for me.”
his hips snapping harder—bullying your poor cunt and choking you tighter.
you pulse out—letting out the most blinding orgasm. walls clamping him down like a vice, body jolting in his arms as you let out the most erotic cry he’s ever heard.
“fuck–! such a fucking tight pussy–” he moaned, pumping relentlessly till he found his own climax. cum spilling deep inside you, painting your walls white.
he kept fucking you through your orgasms. eventually unwrapping the arm around you and slowing down just the slightest before finally pulling out his cock.
the image in front of him was a sight to behold. his seeds drooling out of your fluttering hole, his t-shirt sticking all over from the sweat, body still trembling and hips jolting, and mumbling out incoherent words.
“can’t even speak?” he scoffed. his own chest heaving as he calmed down from what just happened.
you glanced back at him, a small and weak smile on your face.
“can you do that more often?”
a/n: inspired by this art @kryptidfiles sent me 🫦 ty jae for making want to write this. also this was something i wrote in between the peter fic. let's just pray i can get that done soon.
tw: mature themes, explicit sexual content (18+), secret/forbidden relationship, emotional intimacy, slight angst, near discovery, sneaking around, brief panic/stress, afab reader, mention of venom bonded reader, thunderbolts reader.
summary-they know they shouldn’t be doing this—different teams, different rules—but that doesn’t stop them from stealing one quiet night together in the tower. soft moments turn into something deeper, something harder to walk away from… until the team comes back too early, and suddenly everything is rushed, hidden, and at risk of being exposed.
The Tower’s residential floor is hushed, like the building itself knows better than to make a sound. You’re leaning against the wall outside your room in those tiny sleep shorts and Joaquin’s faded Air Force tee, sleeves rolled up, hair falling in your face. Venom’s quiet tonight—just a soft, warm pulse in your chest, like he’s decided to give you privacy for once.
The service elevator opens with the softest chime. Joaquin steps out—hoodie up, sweats, backpack with the wings slung low. He sees you and stops, that slow, guilty grin spreading across his face like he can’t help it.
You push off the wall, arms crossed, trying (and failing) to look stern. “You’re late, Torres.”
“Traffic in the sky,” he says, stepping closer. “Plus I had to dodge three separate security sweeps just to get in here. You’re welcome.”
You roll your eyes but you’re already smiling. “Take your shoes off before you track dirt everywhere.”
He laughs under his breath—quiet, fond—and kicks them off, nudging them neatly against the baseboard. “Better?”
“Much.” You tilt your head down the hall. “Come on. I’ll give you the tour.”
He falls into step beside you, shoulder brushing yours. “The famous house tour. I’ve heard legends.”
You snort. “Shut up.”
First stop: the common lounge. Big windows, city lights painting gold streaks across the floor, the sectional nobody ever uses unless they’re half-dead after a mission.
You gesture lazily. “Living room. Where the team has forced bonding sessions and I sit there thinking about how much I’d rather be with you.”
Joaquin slides his arms around your waist from behind, chin resting on your shoulder. “I think about you too. All the time. Even when I’m supposed to be paying attention to Sam’s briefings.”
You lean back into him, voice dropping. “That’s dangerous, you know.”
“I know.” His lips brush your ear. “But I can’t stop.”
You turn in his arms, hands on his chest, pushing him gently toward the next doorway. “Kitchen next.”
You palm the door open. Stainless steel, fridge humming, the faint smell of coffee lingering.
“Here’s where I hide your stupid beer so Yelena doesn’t steal it,” you say, opening the fridge to show him the last two Modelos tucked behind the oat milk. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
He reaches past you, grabs one, pops the top with his thumb ring, offers it to you first. You take a sip, hand it back.
“Comfy couch in there too,” you add, nodding back toward the lounge. “Good for… crashing. Or other things.”
His eyes darken just a little. “Other things sound better.”
You laugh—soft, breathless—and keep walking, pulling him by the hoodie strings. “Training bay.”
Lights low, mats still out from your earlier session, faint smell of sweat and rubber.
“Gym,” you say. “Where Bucky tries to kick my ass and I remind him I’ve got backup.” A tiny black tendril curls around your wrist for a second—Venom saying hi—then vanishes.
Joaquin steps closer, backing you against the padded wall. “You ever think about sparring with me? No symbiote. Just us.”
You tilt your chin up. “You’d lose.”
“Probably.” He grins. “But I’d enjoy it.”
You duck under his arm, slipping away down the hall. “Last stop.”
Your bedroom door slides open. City glow spills across the unmade bed, your tac gear half-folded on the chair, one of his hoodies (another stolen one) tossed on the floor.
You turn to face him, backing toward the mattress. “Bedroom. Where I miss your stupid face, check on you on the news when you’re gone. Where I wonder if we’re ever gonna stop doing this.”
He closes the distance slowly, hands finding your hips. “We should stop. This is wrong on like… every level. Different teams. Different rules. If they catch us—”
“I know,” you whisper, fingers curling into his hoodie. “But I don’t want to.”
He exhales, forehead dropping to yours. “Me neither.”
You tug him down onto the bed with you. “So stay. Just for tonight. What’s mine is yours. Door’s locked. Team’s not back till sunrise.”
He kisses you then—slow, careful, like he’s memorizing every second. Hands gentle under the tee, tracing the faint black lines where Venom rests, warm and approving but staying out of it.
You both pause at the foot of the bed, still fully clothed, the door sealed behind Joaquin. Neither of you speaks for a long second. You just stand there, breathing the same air, close enough to feel the heat rolling off him after the flight.
You let him tug you forward until your knees bump the mattress. He sits on the edge, thighs spread, and pulls you between them so you’re standing in the cradle of his legs. His free hand finds your hip, thumb tracing the hem of the tee where it skims your thigh. You rest your hands on his shoulders, feeling the tension there, the way his muscles flex under the hoodie like he’s still braced for takeoff.
“I don’t want to rush this,” he says quietly, looking up at you. “Not tonight. I want to remember every second.”
You nod, throat tight. “Then take your time.”
He starts with the hoodie. Pulls it over his head in one slow motion, dark curls falling messily back into place. The undershirt clings a little from sweat and altitude; he peels that off too, revealing the lean lines of his chest, the faint scars from wings and crashes, the way his skin glows warm in the low light. You trace one scar with your fingertip—light, reverent—and he shivers, eyes fluttering shut for a heartbeat.
Your turn.
You lift your arms. He takes the hem of the tee and draws it up inch by inch—slow enough that the fabric drags over your ribs, your breasts, your shoulders—cool air kissing your skin in its wake. When it’s off, he lets it fall to the floor, hands settling on your waist again, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. No words. Just the soft hitch in his breath, the way his gaze darkens as he looks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again.
You step out of the shorts next—simple, no ceremony. Just slide them down your legs, kick them aside. He watches every movement, eyes tracing the faint black veins curling along your hips and thighs where Venom rests, quiet and content tonight. One tendril flickers briefly across your skin—like a hello—then fades.
He stands long enough to shove his sweats and boxers down in one go. Cock already hard, flushed, curving up toward his stomach. You both pause again, naked now, inches apart, hearts hammering loud enough to hear in the quiet.
Then he’s guiding you down onto the bed—gentle, deliberate. You lie back first, sheets cool against your spine. He follows, settling between your thighs, weight braced on his forearms so he can hover close, forehead to forehead.
“I love you,” he whispers, like it’s the only thing left to say.
“I love you too,” you breathe back.
He kisses you then—slow, deep, tongues sliding together in lazy strokes while his hand drifts down between you. Fingers part your folds, finding you already slick, swollen, ready. He groans softly into your mouth when he feels how wet you are, circles your clit with the lightest pressure, just enough to make your hips lift.
You reach between you, wrap your fingers around him—hot, thick, velvet over steel—and guide him to your entrance. He notches there, pauses, eyes searching yours in the dim light.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmurs.
“It won’t be.”
He pushes in slow—agonizingly slow—so you feel every ridge, every vein, the blunt stretch as he fills you inch by thick inch. Your breath catches; your nails dig into his shoulders. When he’s seated deep, hips flush to yours, he stills, letting you adjust, letting you feel him throb inside you.
“God,” he chokes out, voice wrecked. “You feel… like home.”
You clench around him on purpose—just once—and he hisses, hips jerking forward in a helpless little thrust. Then he starts moving—long, languid rolls that drag him almost all the way out before sliding back in, deep and steady. You meet him on every downward glide, ankles locking at the small of his back, pulling him closer, deeper.
His mouth finds your throat—open kisses, soft bites, the scrape of teeth that makes you arch. One hand slips under your lower back, tilting your hips so he hits that perfect spot on every slow stroke. The other threads with yours, pressing your palm to the mattress, fingers laced tight like he’s anchoring you both to this moment.
It builds quiet and inevitable—heat coiling low in your belly, thighs trembling around him, breath coming in soft, broken gasps. He keeps the rhythm steady, unhurried, grinding deep circles at the base of each thrust that press him against your clit until sparks dance behind your eyes.
“I’m close,” you whisper against his ear.
“I know,” he breathes. “I’ve got you. Let go whenever you want.”
You come like that—quiet, shuddering, face buried in his neck as your walls pulse and flutter around him in long, rolling waves. He follows right after—hips stuttering, low groan muffled against your skin as he spills deep inside you, warm pulses that seem to last forever.
He doesn’t pull out.
He lowers himself over you carefully, arms wrapping around your shoulders, face tucked into the crook of your neck. You hold him just as tight—legs still locked around him, fingers stroking through his damp curls, soothing the tremor in his back.
Neither of you speaks for a long minute. Just breathing. Just feeling him soften slowly inside you, still joined, still close.
The first pale gray of morning seeps through the glass wall, turning the room soft and hazy. Joaquin is still inside you—soft now, but neither of you has moved to separate. His face is tucked against your neck, breath slow and even, one arm slung heavy across your waist, the other curled under your head like a pillow. Your legs are still loosely wrapped around him, ankles crossed at his lower back, holding him close like if you let go the spell breaks.
You’re tracing idle patterns on his bare shoulder with your fingertips, memorizing the texture of his skin, the faint freckles scattered there, when the distant sound of voices filters through the Tower’s corridors. Doors opening. Footsteps. The low murmur of debrief chatter.
Then—louder, closer—John Walker’s voice, sharp and impatient, echoing down the residential wing.
“Hey! You up yet? We’re back. Debrief in twenty. Get your ass moving!”
You freeze. Joaquin tenses against you, head lifting just enough for his eyes to meet yours—wide, alert, the sleepy softness gone in an instant.
Another call, closer now. “Yo! You deaf or something? I’m not dragging you out of bed myself.”
Your heart slams against your ribs. The team’s home. Early. Too early.
Joaquin’s already moving—careful, quiet—sliding out of you with a soft, reluctant exhale from both of you at the loss. The sudden emptiness makes you ache in a way that has nothing to do with the physical. He rolls off the bed in one fluid motion, grabbing his sweats from the floor, yanking them on while you scramble upright, sheets pooling at your waist.
“Window,” you whisper, voice barely audible. “Now.”
He nods once, snatching the collapsed wings backpack from where it landed last night. He slings it over one shoulder, zipping it just enough to secure, then crosses to the massive floor-to-ceiling glass in three long strides. You’re right behind him, naked except for the rumpled sheet clutched to your chest, heart in your throat.
John’s voice again—right outside your door this time, muffled but unmistakable. “Seriously? You better not be ignoring me. I’m giving you ten seconds before I—”
You palm the hidden release panel beside the window frame. The glass panel slides open with a near-silent hiss—emergency egress, thank god for paranoia. Cold morning air rushes in, carrying the faint metallic scent of the city waking up.
Joaquin turns back to you, eyes searching your face. For one heartbeat he just looks—like he’s memorizing you all over again—then leans in, cups your jaw, kisses you hard and fast and desperate.
“I love you,” he breathes against your lips. “I’ll find you soon.”
“I love you too. Go.”
He steps out onto the narrow ledge—forty-seven stories up, wind whipping at his bare shoulders—and the wings snap open with a metallic whir, red-and-white panels unfolding like a hawk’s spread. He gives you one last look—soft, aching, full of everything you can’t say out loud—then leaps.
The rush of air swallows him. He’s gone—diving into the gray dawn, vanishing between buildings before anyone can glance up.
You slam the panel shut, heart hammering so loud you’re sure it echoes. The room still smells like him—sweat, jet fuel, sex, the faint trace of his shampoo on your pillow.
The door hisses open without a knock.
Ava phases straight through—ghostly for half a second, then solid again—eyes scanning the room like she’s already expecting trouble. Her expression is tight, worried, the way it gets when someone’s been off comms too long.
“You okay?” she asks, voice low but sharp. “Walker’s about to break the door down. Said you weren’t answering.”
You force a casual shrug, turning away to grab the discarded tee from the floor, pulling it on quick to hide the flush still on your skin, the faint red marks Joaquin’s mouth left along your collarbone.
“Yeah. Just… overslept. Rough night.”
Ava’s gaze flicks to the rumpled bed, the open window panel still cracked a fraction, the faint breeze stirring the curtains. She doesn’t miss much. Ever.
Her eyes narrow. “Window’s open.”
“Needed air,” you say, too fast. You palm the panel closed again. The seal clicks. “It’s fine.”
She studies you another beat—long enough that your pulse spikes—then nods once, slow. “Debrief in fifteen. Don’t make Walker come get you. He’s in a mood.”
“I’ll be there.”
Ava hesitates, like she wants to say more, then phases back through the door without another word.
You exhale, shaky, leaning against the glass where Joaquin disappeared. The city sprawls below—endless, indifferent, swallowing secrets like it always does.
Somewhere out there, he’s flying low, staying off radar, heading back to whatever safehouse Sam has him stashed in.
“Come back soon.”
The Tower hums around you—alive now, team voices filtering in, alarms distant, life moving on like nothing happened.
sneaking around with him is definitely a top tier thing, especially his dumbass escaping through the window at the end lmfao he’s too damn fucking cute
Summary: You don’t want to put your wedding dress into storage, cue your perfect husband making you feel better.
Warnings: no use of y/n, cursing, bad Spanish (like extremely, embarrassingly bad), smut, fingering, cunnilingus, PinV, dirt talk, little plot, married couple. (Let me know if I missed any)
Word Count: 3.8k
a/n: (at the end)
divider credit! @uzmacchiato
“Hmmpf,” Joaquin groans as he rolls over to face you. When his arm reaches out and finds nothing, his brows furrow in confusion. He swears you were just there.
“Cariño, vuelve a la cama.” He whines softly out into the room.
“¿Dónde estás?” He attempts to lift his head to look but struggles with the rising sun peaking in through the curtains. “Por favor, ven.” He exclaims, falling onto his back in a huff of annoyance.
“Mami,” His voice is still rugged with sleep as he lies there for a moment. Then another groan leaves him as he pushes himself to sit up. He rubs his eyes to clear them. Looking down at himself, he sees the sheets tangled around him while left cold and empty on your side of the bed.
Over his right shoulder he sees the closet door is ajar and the suitcase, which from what he remembers, has yet to be unpacked, is empty. His brows furrow as he turns to face forward again, a whine clawing its way from his throat.
“Baby!” He calls louder this time, hoping you’ll come back so he doesn’t have to get up out of bed.
When no response comes, Joaquin grunts before kicking the sheets off his body. Now only in his boxers he stands, bare feet in cold wood, and slowly makes his way to the hall, continuing to rub the sleep from his eyes.
“Baby,” he tries again, with little effort. The wood panels under him creak slightly under his weight, he’s yet to find the silent floorboards. Each step wakes his mind up a little more.
"Hmm?" Your voice is soft as it drifts from around the corner. Joaquin perks up when he hears you. The sound soothes the worry that was thumping just below his annoyance at your absence.
He calls your name so sweetly that on any other occasion than now, you would have melted.
“What are you doing?” Joaquin scratches his head as he rounds the corner to face you. You’re sitting on the carpeted portion on your hallway floor, your wedding dress draped over your thigh. Joaquin stops in his tracks when he sees you sorrowfully slumped over yourself.
”Wa—What’s the matter?” Once your posture registers in his mind, he makes his way to your side. Slowly crouching to a crisscross position directly next to you, being mindful of your dress.
There's a frown on your face, and a new wave of concern overtakes Joaquin. His hand gently cups your face to encourage you to look at him. You do, slowly, and his frown deepens.
“O—Oh—hey, hey, what's going on, love?” He sees the tears gathering in your eyes. You pull back slightly to quickly wipe at your face.
“No—Sorry, it’s just—" You sigh softly, fingers lightly tracing the fabric of your dress. "I'm sort of sad to be putting it away.”
Joaquin watches as you glance at the open closet and hums thoughtfully. He lets you continue before saying anything.
”I don’t want to put it in there. It’s too pretty to be hiding away in that sad little closet.” You complain, biting the inside of your check between each sentence.
”Is it just going to sit in this dark closet for the rest of my life? Never to see the sun again?” He can hear the sniffle you let out.
“Oh honey. ” he coos. “It won’t stay in there forever.”
”But it will, Joaquin," you pout. “This dress means so much to me. I love it with all my heart, but when will I wear it again? There’s no place I can wear it where it won’t be weird.”
Barely a moment of silence goes by before, “well, I can think of a few.” Joaquin nudges your side before leaning in to peck your lips.
Oh yeah?” You ask, and you roll your eyes, taking his hand as he offers it to help you stand up. You make sure to take your dress with you up onto your feet.
"I'm thinking sometime in our room, on our bed." His smirk grows slowly. And it’s only after he glances down at you that you realize what he’s insinuating.
”Joaquin!” Your body heats up at the connotation.
”Maybe we recreate our wedding night?” His smile is sly, but his tone is genuine. “You all dolled up for me, nervous and ready, me taking this dress off you with my teeth." He would have continued if you hadn't shoved your hand over his mouth.
”I was there, I remember.” You roll your eyes with a huff. His own hand lifts to yours and pulls it off his mouth so he can kiss your palm slowly.
There’s a stretch of quiet contemplation. You look down at the dress that's now hanging over your arm and then back to the closet behind Joaquin.
“And after that?” You ask, looking over Joaquin’s shoulder with that same frown from before.
He takes your face in his hands and points it towards his face. There’s a smile gracing his lips, one that tells you everything will be okay.
“Once every couple of months we take it out and make a night of it. Soft, loving, sweet, and all the things. It’ll keep the dress in use and remind us of why we’re here, in case we forget. We’ll have dinner, maybe dance to the song we did on our wedding night, and then I’ll carry you to bed and make love with you until the sun rises," Joaquin suggests.
It should sound crude, but the way he says it so sincerely, with such love, it sounds so intimate, so nice. Your smile creeps up on you as you watch him.
”What do you say, mamita?” He leans down to capture your lips in a tender kiss. You hum against his mouth.
“Hmm, enticing." Your lips purse in an attempt to hold back your smile while you pull back slightly. ”But we agreed that today we would get back to work.” You nudge his chest away from you.
“Ahhh, come on,” Joaquin says, and he reaches out to grasp your arm to pull you back. He lifts the dress out of your arms before leaning down to kiss you. This time you don’t pull away from him when it’s over.
“Baby, we talked about this. I have to get back to work, and so do you! Sam’s gonna kill me when he finds out.” You tut, letting him kiss you between every couple of words.
“When he finds out what? That I love my wife? He definitely already knows already.” Joaquin nips your bottom lip with a grin before stepping back to look at you.
His eyes travel between you and the dress, and the cogs in his brain turn with ideas. Ideas so vivid he has to suppress a groan clawing its way up his throat.
“If we are staying home another day, why not go out with a bang? Pun intended.” You grimace at him slightly, but that doesn’t deter him.
“And how would we do that?” Your raised eyebrow makes his smile grow. Joaquin’s hand trails down to the hem of the shirt you’ve got on. His fingers play with it, teasing it up bit by bit.
"Well, we do have this lovely dress you were wanting to wear again. Maybe we will make a night out of it tonight?” Joaquin suggests as his hand gropes at your hip.
“You just woke up." You scoff with a laugh. “Oh my—oh my god, are you hard right now?" You ask, pushing the arm holding your dress away from him. His head drops to the crook of your neck. You laugh louder. ”You are!”
"Hmmhhf." Joaquin makes a noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper into your shoulder. “I'm just so in love with my wife. You could turn me on while doing nothing.”
Your hand reaches up to brush through his bedhead. You hum, racking your nails across his scalp.
“S’that right?” You ask, and his hand moves from your hip to move the dress from over his arm into his hands.
“Let me help you put it on?” He asks, voice grave with sleep and lust. “Just want to see you in it. Don’t do your hair or makeup.”
”It’s 7am, Joaquin.” You huff out a laugh.
“Good. Means I can take my time.” He takes a step back and holds the dress out. “What do you say, hmm?”
Wanting him to suffer, you take a moment to pretend to think it over. In truth, after he kissed you the first time, you were determined to stay home. But you had to make sure one person in the marriage looked responsible. After a beat you roll your eyes, feigning irritation.
He smiles and moves to set the dress down over a piece of furniture. Immediately he’s back on you, hands smoothing over your sides, lips attaching to yours. His hands scale up your torso from beneath the fabric of your shirt, and he pushes gently up against it to motion you to put your arm up so he can pull it off.
It’s discarded on the ground. Joaquin takes no time groping at your chest, eyes lingering over your bare body.
“As much as I want to cover you in kisses now, we have a dress to put on.” Joaquin breathes out.
You’re quick to drop the rest of your clothes and let Joaquin gently unzip your dress. He’s careful about it. He makes sure not to snag the zipper on anything and handles the fabric like it belongs to a queen. Joaquin moves to kneel in front of you. The dress, ready for you to step into while Joaquin holds it out for you.
“I like this angle.” You smirk as you lift your leg to step into the dress.
“Don’t worry, we will be returning to it.”
Once you're in, he stands and makes his way behind you. His hands take their time lifting it up your body and straightening it out where necessary. He then takes hold of your shoulders and spins you around.
“There you go, look just as pretty as on our wedding night.” Joaquin smiles while looking you over.
He leans in slowly, as if cherishing the breath you both share, and kisses you. It starts carefully, almost restrained, but turns eager and devouring when you let out a content noise, dangerously close to a moan. Joaquin sucks the sound into his soul. His hands grasp your hips to keep you steadily against him so his greedy mouth can claim yours.
You don’t quite know what’s happening, but all of a sudden Joaquin's hand grasps your chin to lift your head. He tugs your head to a tilt to allow his lips to find your neck. The second he’s sure your head won’t move, he lets go to feel up and down your waist. Soft lips move aggressively over your skin. It doesn’t take long for the rugged teeth hiding beneath the velvety pink of his lips to make an appearance.
“Tan guapa,” Joaquin mumbles into your skin before he sucks it between his teeth. “Mi hermosa esposa,”
“Mi guapo esposo,” you moan softly and bite back a smile. Joaquin pulls back from your neck and watches you with heavy, heated eyes. A deep groan rises through him as he gazes at you. He pecks your lips before returning to his work.
“Me gusta cuando hablas español. It makes me so hard.” He moans into you and then nips at your neck.
Joaquin wastes no time bruising the skin below your jaw and the skin above your collarbone. His lips move as though your body were fire, and he’s a man dying of frostbite. If he sits still for too long, the heat will dissipate. He handles you with an edge that makes your skin burn. You have to squeeze your legs together to relieve the ache. But the second Joaquin catches on, his knee pushes between to separate them and presses hard against your heat.
Once he’s satisfied with your neck, he pulls away to look at your face. He smirks when he sees the desperate look in your eyes. He watches as your eyes trail down to his neck. He knows what you want and he knows you know you won’t get it.
So instead he leans in to devour your tongue. His knee continues its pressure, and Joaquin can’t help but groan at the sounds it coaxes out of you. You fight for dominance, so badly wanting to taste and feel the inside of his mouth, but Joaquin holds his ground.
When he finally pulls back, his knee comes with him. He whistles low as he gazes at your silken lips, protruding in a pout.
“Look so pretty, Mama," Joaquin rasps out before guiding you backwards to press against the door of the closet and then slowly sinks to his knees.
Strong hands reach below the skirt of your dress to grab at your thighs. Before his fingers can trail up to the hem of your panties, you take hold of Joaquin's shoulders.
“You have to ask first.” Your breathing is heavy. There’s a pause as his eyes lift to meet yours. His gaze is almost fond of the thought of the fact that you think you have any say over this situation. He’d be damned if he doesn’t get to taste his girl. But he loves you, so he bites.
”Mami, please,” Joaquin tries.
”Hmmh…” You let out an unconvinced noise. “Please what?” He scoffs, cocking a brow at you.
“Are you serious?” He asks with a huff of a laugh, your hands still holding his shoulders.
“Please what?” You repeat.
Joaquin just about loses it. You’re convinced his groan is half out of desperation and half out of the fact that he lost the control he possessed before. He takes a second to breath before meeting your eyes again.
”Can I please eat my wife out?” He pouts as his hands move up to gain a tight grip on your hips. You grin down at him and let go of his shoulders.
“There you go.” You praise. “Of course you can.”
The grip on your hips relents, and Joaquin instead uses his hands to lift your skirt and allow his head under. When his eyes land on your panties, his hands are quick to follow. Now, grumpy, you got your way, Joaquin tugs them down your hips and past your tights. He helps you step out of them and sighs with content once he’s face to face with your bare body.
His hands glide over your tights, wanting to bask in the feeling and scent the enclosed proximity provides. Although the thought of taking his time kissing up from your toes to your mound and back again to make you beg for him sounds appetizing, Joaquin can’t hold himself back any longer.
Lightly, he presses a lazy kiss to each hip. Then a leisurely one to the top of your slit that makes you shiver with need. Joaquin takes that as a sign to continue. His hand reaches to take hold of the back of your thigh and lifts. He slips one of your legs over his shoulder to meet your center.
“Mierda, you’re dripping already?” Joaquin asks with an amused hum. If he could, he would have made you look at him when he said it. But even without the torture of having to hold his gaze, just his words alone make you quiver. He doesn’t care for taking his time anymore, too desperate to taste you on his tongue and feel you against him.
Joaquin's hot breath fans over you, and the next second his tongue traces a long stripe from your clit to your entrance and back again. His tongue laps at you desperately. While he feasts, a hand reaches for your ass to hold you up against him while the other steadies the leg over his shoulder in a tender grip. He can feel the tremors in your legs when his lips suck your clit and laughs into you at the moans you let out. The sound sends firework-like sensations up your body, making your back arch and pelvis press closer to his face.
The leg dangling over his shoulder digs into his back, your body instinctively pulling him closer. Of course he obliges. He makes long strokes with his tongue that feel illegal. When he finally circles your entrance with the tip of his tongue and pushes in, you mutter out his name in a helpless plea for more.
And he does just that. He lets go of your leg and lets his thumb trace slow, tight circles around your bud of nerves while his tongue flattens and presses into your leaking hole.
“Joaquin,” you moan. “So good, so fucking good.” You gasp as his thumb presses harder into you.
It’s a mess of saliva, slick and unrestrainable sloppy need. Even from under the muffling dress you can hear your own wet squelch with each pass of Joaquin's tongue. You whimper while your legs begin to feel like jelly. Barely able to hold yourself upright, you lean into the door, hoping your knees won’t give out with each groan that leaves Joaquin's mouth.
Joaquin’s thumb is circling while his tongue presses as deep as he can. His nose bumps his thumb with every lick. You feel your own mess dripping down your thigh, but you're too lost in the sensation of Joaquin suffocating on your heart. He couldn’t be more at peace.
Without missing a beat Joaquin slips two fingers into you in place of his tongue. He maintains the pace now, moving to wrap his lips around your clit and suck hard. You arch impossibly closer and moan as his fingers curl just right.
Your hips rut into him, meeting each thrust of his fingers. Joaquin sucks your clit harder and starts swiping his tongue with the suction. It sounds obscene, but it makes you moan louder.
”Fuck—shit shit—I'm gonna—“ You let out a whiny moan as he lets out a strangled noise into your center.
His fingers don’t let up. He pushes and curls and then sucks and flicks over and over until your tights begin to shake uncontrollably. Your eyes glaze over as you reach your peak and let out pornographic sounds into your apartment. Your vision blurs and all your ability to control yourself flies out the door when Joaquin grunts and groans into your trembling body. Your hips robotically thrust to his fingers, and your hands have a metal-like grip on his shoulder over your dress. The fingers continuing to glide in and out of you are squeezed by your pulsating heat and Joaquin’s own hips thrust into nothing needily. The thrusts of your hips slow as Joaquin does. He makes sure to help you ride it out as long as you need before gradually pulling away.
When Joaquin’s sure you can stand on your own, even if shakily, he brings your leg gently off his shoulder for you to do so. His head finds its way out from under the skirt on your dress. He moves the fabric to meet your eyes. His brown ones, eager to please and love; yours tired and pleased.
After a moment to catch your breath, you speak.
“Bedroom?” You ask, still panting. Joaquin runs his tongue over his teeth and uses his fingers to wipe at his mouth before licking them clean. Breathing heavily, he stands while simultaneously straightening out your dress.
”Bedroom.” Joaquin grins mischievously. He moves before you can process what’s happening. He sweeps you off your shaking legs, his arms support you beneath your knees along with your back as he darts for your shared room.
You let out a yelp of surprise and cling to his neck. It makes him smile and press a kiss to your head.
“Now for some real fun, mi amor," Joaquin says.
——
Three rounds later, your wedding dress is discarded on the floor of your room along with Joaquin's boxers. Joaquin has you pressed under him as he gives you everything he promised: slow, honest lovemaking. The lights are dim, but some sun peaks through the blinds Joaquin didn’t shut all the way.
Joaquin ruts into you desperately. Like a man starved of any sensation of touch. His face is pressed to your shoulder as his hips roll. You moan and your hips lift to meet his.
”Nnnnngghhh—” Joaquin moans out as his pace speeds up. "Nnmmmh—Mami, please—fuck—you’re so good, squeezing me so tight.” You moan in response.
“I love you, Joaquin—mmhhh—need it." You shudder with each whimpering word.
Your hands intertwine over your shoulder, and he presses down onto your hand with each jolt of his body. Your free hand reaches to grasp his face. You pull him closer and let your lips mold to his.
Now with your lips locked, your hand moves to trace down his chest and feel his warm skin under your fingertips. He groans and pulls away just slightly.
”So beautiful nnnghhh—and perfect—ahhhnng,” His hips stutter as his eyes glance down to your bare chest, covered in sweat. "Dios, yo también te amo."
“My husband.” You grin up at him, body desperate for release.
“My wife.” He smiles down at you, chasing his climax.
“Together?” You ask, letting a moan slip out after.
"Always," Joaquin breathes out. He grits his teeth as his hips gain momentum. His pelvis grinds against your clit with each roll while you curve upward, slick body meeting slick body. Your face contorts with a breathy whine, and Joaquin leans down to swallow the pleasure straight from your lips.
You let him kiss you as you fall apart around him. You coax the orgasm out of him as your body vibrates and quivers with your peak. Your hand tightens around his, and your hips halt their movement. Joaquin continues pushing, helping elongate both your heights for as long as he can before his body gives out.
You squeeze every last drop of him into you with one final cry of pleasure. His thighs twitch with his last thrust. He moans into your open mouth before pulling back and collapsing next to you.
He laughs in relief as his heart rate evens out. Your breathing is slow as you lie with your legs still spread and your eyes closed in bliss. Joaquin perches up next to you with his chin in his hand, watching you with a satisfied grin.
“That good?” He questions. You hear the cocky smile on his face.
Without looking, you use your hand to push his face away from you. But he swerves and laughs. You drape your arm over your eyes but also smile.
“You had your fun, now let your poor wife sleep.” You feign a pout.
“Oh, how could I say no to my perfect wife?” Joaquin beams, leaning down to kiss your bare shoulder.
a/n: Something took hold of me I don’t know what it was. First time writing for Joaquin so sorry if it’s ooc. Anyway more stuff on the way!
that boy was STARVING for his wifey 😩 tbh i probably got a kink for this but him going underneath the dress does something to me and is definitely one of my fav things ever
Summary: It's your and Joaquin's anniversary and he forgot. He knows he messed up but can he still make it up to you?
Word Count: 1840
Warnings: Joaquin forgets the date, sad reader and sad Joaquin 🥺
Prompts: A game of chance:
Hurt/ no comfort & "I think we need some time away from each other, I'm sorry"
A/N: Hey lovelys! I got this prompts at the writing challenge from the lovely @elixirfromthestars and wanted to write something different than I normally write. I hope you still like this even though it's not a fluff fanfic! Check out her writing challenge, it's such an amazing challenge and she is such a great writer!! 🫶
Divider made by @saradika-graphics
Masterlist
Joaquin should have been at the restaurant about 30 minutes ago. It was your and Joaquin’s two-year anniversary and he was late. The waiters walked past your table every few minutes with a slight frown on their face and you quickly put on a smile and said “He’ll be here soon.” But you weren’t even sure if it’s true, you just hoped so. You kept looking out of the window, at your phone and back to the door, hoping that Joaquin would walk in soon.
You opened your and Joaquin’s messages but there was no new one. You looked at the messages from this week, or the lack of it and your smile started to drop even more.
Lately Joaquin has been distant, he barely texted you when he was away, he stayed at the base longer and when he was in your shared apartment he didn’t talk much. He kept saying that he is tired or that he has to train more for missions. You understand that but you also miss him. You started to miss how he would text you some random things during the day or just to check in with you, you miss how he always talked about his day while cuddling with you and you miss how he would always immediately hug you when he gets home.
You thought that today would be different, that Joaquin finally has some time for you, especially because it’s your anniversary. You wore the dress that you knew he loves so much. You thought that he would finally hold your hand again and look at you with that smile that you love so much. That he would tell you a stupid joke just to make you laugh or tell you a random story. But the time passed and he still wasn’t there. Maybe he was stuck in traffic? Maybe he got caught up with something important? With every minute that you waited you began to get more sad but you also began to worry, so you decided to send him a message.
“Hey, babe. Is everything okay? I’m waiting at the restaurant, please let me know if you’re still coming.” You texted with a shaking hand and put the phone away again. After you waited for about an hour without a message from him, you sent him another one and called him, but he didn’t pick up. Your hands were shaking and you weren’t even hungry anymore. As the waiter walked past your table again, you decided that you didn’t want to wait any longer. After you paid for your drink, you went outside and drove home.
Joaquin was still at the base, going through some mission reports.
“Don’t stay for much longer and enjoy your date night with your girl.” Sam said as he left a few hours ago and Joaquin only nodded as his eyes were still fixed at the computer in front of him.
But the time passed and Joaquin was so focused on the computer that he didn’t look at the time, he didn’t even hear that he got a message from you or your phone call. After a while Joaquin stood up to get something to drink, and his gaze landed on the flowers that he bought for you. Suddenly he remembered and quickly reached for his phone to check what time it was.
“Shit, no no.” He mumbled as he saw your messages and your call. Then he checked how late it was, two hours, he was two hours late. Joaquin realized and a gut feeling started to spread through him. Joaquin quickly reached for the flowers and his keys. He didn’t care to turn off the computer anymore, he just needed to get to you. When he was in his car he tried to call you, but you declined the call. Joaquin was frustrated, not at you, but at himself about forgetting about the date. He drove fast, not caring about the speed limits, he just needed to get to the restaurant and hoped that you were still there. When he finally reached the restaurant and ran inside with the flowers in his hand and shaking hands, Joaquin’s smile dropped when he couldn’t find you. And it dropped even more when the waiter told him that you had left. Joaquin walked back to his car, knowing that he messed up, he messed up so badly this time. Then he started to drive home, hoping that you were there.
After you got home you immediately changed out of the dress and into something comfortable and sat down on the couch. As you sat there you just couldn’t hold it in anymore and a few tears started to escape your eyes and then you started sobbing. You heard the sound of your phone and saw that Joaquin was calling you, but you just couldn’t pick up.
A while later you suddenly heard Joaquin open the door and how he walked in.
“Carino?” He shouted and you heard how worried he sounded. You wiped away some of your tears when he suddenly walked into the living room with the flowers in his hand. His gaze softened when he saw that you cried and he slowly walked closer.
“I’m so sorry Carino.” Joaquin whispered and placed the flowers on the table by the couch. Then he knelt down in front of you. It hurt him to see you like this and knowing he was the reason for making you cry. Joaquin was about to reach for your hand, but you moved away and slowly shook your head.
“Baby?” He whispered with a shaking voice.
“I’m so sorry, I was looking through the mission report and forgot the time. I know this is not an excuse, but I just got so caught up in it.” Joaquin tried to explain and for a moment you didn’t say anything and wiped away another tear.
“You’re always caught up with something.” You whispered and Joaquin didn’t know what to say.
“Lately you have been so distant, it feels like everything else is more important than me.” You said with a shaky voice and Joaquin wanted to reach for you, but he didn’t because he wasn’t sure if you wanted that right now.
“Baby, that’s not true. You’re so important to me.” He whispered with hurt in his voice.
“Then why are you so distant lately? I know that the missions are important and I’m so proud of you for being the new falcon, but I just miss you, I miss us.” You said.
“I’m so sorry, for making you feel like this. I never wanted you to feel like this.”
“But you did.” You whispered and then there was a silence between the two of you. Joaquin felt hurt, knowing how he made you feel. He loves you so much and never wanted to hurt you. You suddenly stood up from the couch and Joaquin stood up as well.
“Being the falcon, it’s a lot and I just want to be good. I don’t want to disappoint Sam or the people that need me, that need hope and someone to save them.” He started to explain with a shaky voice and your gaze softened for a moment.
“You won’t disappoint them, you’re such a great falcon, an amazing superhero.” You said and gave him a short smile. For a moment Joaquin had a soft smile on his face but then you reached for your bag and your phone charger.
“Carino, I know I messed up. I’m so sorry. Please, let me fix this.” Joaquin said nervously.
“That’s not so easy Joaquin.” You said and Joaquin’s eyes began to get glassy as he heard you say his name instead of a cute nickname.
“I think we need some time away from each other, I’m sorry.” You said and walked to the door, you reached for your jacket that was hanging beside the door. Joaquin followed you to the door and watched how you took your jacket.
“But it’s late carino, and dark outside. Stay the night I’ll sleep on the couch if that’s what you want. You don’t need to drive anywhere right now, if you don’t want that.” Joaquin quickly said in panic. Joaquin knew that you don’t like to drive that much, especially not at night. For a moment you hesitated and thought about his offer. Joaquin looked at you with a worried but soft expression and then slowly reached for your hand. You didn’t pull away this time and let him take your hand but then you shook your head.
“No, I think we both need some space right now and time to think.” You said slowly.
“Okay, but can you at least text me when you’re somewhere safe, please?” Joaquin asked because he needed to know that you’re safe. He hated the fact that he was the reason that you were so upset that you needed space from him.
“Okay.” You whispered and slowly let go of his hand and then reached for the door. Before you walked out you turned around to him one more time.
“Bye, Joaquin.”
“Bye, I hope we can fix this.” Joaquin said and you nodded. Your nod gave Joaquin some hope, because that was a good sign, right? Then you turned around and opened the door. Before you could walk out Joaquin needed to say one more thing.
“I love you carino.” He whispered with a shaky voice but you didn’t say it back and it hurt you so much not to say it back, but right now you just couldn’t.
As you closed the door behind you Joaquin stood there for a moment frozen. He knows he messed up. He loves you so much, but he gave you the feeling that you’re not important. He started to walk around the living room, frustrated at himself. Joaquin needed to fix this between you but first of all he needed to give you some space because that’s what you need and he didn’t want to make the situation worse by crossing your boundaries. It’s your anniversary and he ruined it, he felt so bad. He nervously and patiently waited for your message but even after he got it and knew that you were safe, he just couldn’t sleep.
You weren’t feeling much better either. After you arrived at a friend’s place and told her everything, you went to her guest room and laid down on the bed, but you couldn’t sleep. You still love Joaquin, but you were also feeling hurt. You knew that he felt some pressure about being the new falcon, you wanted to be there for him but he had pushed you away and started to be distant. But you knew that he was really sorry about how he made you feel, still you needed some space before you can talk to him again.
You both lay awake that night hoping that your love for each other is strong enough to fix this again.
Summary: Santi doesn’t celebrate his birthday. You celebrate him anyway.
Tags: established relationship, fluff, domestic!Santi supremacy, soft!Santi hours, man has seen too much war let him have a cupcake
Wordcount: ~950
A/N: This is slightly late, but listen, it’s still Oscar’s Day somewhere in the world so it's counts 🫢I felt like writing a little birthday thing with my favourite man, so here we are. Consider it my humble offering to the Oscar Isaac / Santi Garcia agenda 💜
You wake up in Santi’s bed even though you technically have one of your own. It’s been like that for a while now. Your apartment is literally across the hall, same floor, same building. When you first met him it had seemed almost ridiculous how easy it was to run into each other. Shared laundry room, the hallway, the quiet late evenings when both of you came home at the same time.
One night turned into a drink.A drink turned into conversation. Conversation turned into… well.
Now most nights you end up here anyway.
Last night had been no different. You’d fallen asleep tangled in his sheets, his arm heavy across your waist, the quiet comfort of someone breathing beside you.
When you try to slip out of bed in the morning, he barely stirs, his arm tightening around your waist almost by instinct.
“Wake up, Bello Durmiente, it's almost 9 am”
You kiss his shoulder and finally get off his grip and pad across the small apartment barefoot, glancing once toward the bedroom door before heading into the kitchen.
That’s when you notice today's date on the calendar. You remember when you circled the number with a purple heart. Santi’s birthday.
Your chest warms at the realization. There are a lot of firsts at the beginning of a relationship. First mornings waking up together. First time learning exactly how someone takes their coffee. First arguments that end in quiet apologies and tangled hands, half-whispered in the dark, skin warm against skin, both of you pretending you’re still a little annoyed while neither of you is really trying very hard to stay that way.
And now this. His first birthday since you became us.
Santi isn’t the type to celebrate birthdays. You learned that early.
“Just another day,” he’d shrugged when you had asked.
You hadn’t pushed. When you’ve seen the things he’s seen, lost friends, lost years, the weight of surviving when others didn’t, celebrating the passing of time can feel complicated.
But still, you want today to be a little different. Nothing big. Nothing loud. Just… warmer. A little special, as cheesy as it may sound.
You place a small plate on the kitchen table. A cupcake from the bakery down the street. One slightly crooked candle you managed to find in a drawer.
It looks a little ridiculous. Perfect.
“Santi!” you call softly.
A moment later he appears in the doorway, hair rumpled, wrinkled t-shirt, eyes still heavy with sleep.
“Yeah?” he murmurs.
You are lighting up the candle in that moment.
“Feliz cumpleaños.”
He stops. For a moment he just looks at it. The cupcake. The candle. The tiny flame flickering quietly between you. Then his gaze lifts to you.
“You did all this?” he asks, voice a little rough.
“It’s not exactly a parade.” You shrug. Something soft crosses his face.
“I told you I don’t really celebrate it,” he says.
“I know.”
You step closer, plate in one hand, the other resting lightly on his arm.
“But it’s your first one with me,” you say gently. “And I wanted to make it a little special.”
Silence settles between you, full but not heavy.
Santi studies the candle for another second before exhaling quietly.
“You’re gonna make me sentimental before coffee,” he mutters. You grin.
“Make a wish.”
He looks at you again. A slow smile pulls at the corner of his mouth.
“I think I already got it.”
He leans down and kisses you, soft and lingering, the candle flickering beside you.
Minutes later, the cupcake is gone and the kitchen smells faintly of coffee and sugar. At some point you ended up between his arms, your back against the counter while he leans over you slightly, hands braced on either side of your hips.
He’s studying you again.
“What?” you ask. He exhales softly through his nose.
“You’re dangerous, you know that?” Your eyebrow lifts.
“Dangerous?”
“Yeah.” His thumb traces slowly along your wrist where it rests against the counter. “Making a man want things again.”
The words land deeper than you expect. You study him for a moment, the quiet honesty in his eyes.
“Good,” you say softly. That gets a small laugh out of him.
“Good?” he repeats.
“Yeah,” you shrug. “Because I plan on making this birthday memorable.”
His eyebrow lifts slowly. “Oh yeah?”
You lean in just enough that your lips brush the edge of his jaw when you speak.
“It’s our first one,” you murmur. “Firsts matter.”
For a moment he doesn’t move. Then his hand slides to your waist, pulling you closer until there’s barely space left between you.
“You know,” he murmurs, voice lower now, “most people start with cake.”
“We had cake.”
“That tiny thing doesn’t count.” You smile.
“Well,” you say, fingers curling into his t-shirt, “I guess we’ll have to improvise.”
The look he gives you then is slow and unmistakable.
“Careful,” he murmurs. “I may ask for special wishes to be granted. It’s my birthday after all.”
“Exactly.”
You kiss him before he can say anything else. The kiss starts slow, but Santi’s hand tightens at your waist quickly, pulling you closer. He breaks it just long enough to mutter against your lips:
“You’re really leaning into this birthday thing.” You smile against his mouth.
“You have no idea.”
His quiet laugh vibrates against you as he pulls you impossibly closer, already guiding the two of you out of the kitchen.
And somewhere between the first step toward the hallway and the last trace of frosting on your lips, Santi decides this might actually be the best birthday he’s had in years.
Falcons know how to fly, not how to skate.
Joaquin apparently was not aware of that when he invited you on a date to the roller rink.
You were a bit apprehensive at first, not having skated much—if at all—in your life. But Joaquin was convinced it would be so easy to learn, and that all he needed was a minute on his own to get the hang of it before he could sweep you onto the rink with him.
That was ten minutes ago.
You've spent the last few minutes laughing until your stomach ached, holding onto the outside railing of the rink to stop yourself from toppling over. Joaquin had been wobbling all along the edge of the rink like a baby giraffe learning how to walk—feet swaying like he had a pair of two left ones. He was struggling to get his footing, his balance, to stand for just a second. From afar you watched not being able to contain your laughter, and he only sent you playful glares with a smile that said you're next.
It didn't take him a minute to get the hang of it, it took him almost twenty. And he learned just enough to keep his balance and skate at a steady pace. By then he took your hand, not wanting to spend another minute without you, and pulled you into the rink with him despite your hesitation. You made him pinky promise not to let you fall, and true to his word he didn't. There were a few times you stumbled, but Joaquin kept you at his side to catch you every time before you were even close to falling.
Soon enough you both were able to do a few laps around the rink while only holding hands, getting bold enough to even let Joaquin spin you a few times. And every time he did, he effortlessly pulled you toward him by the end to steal a kiss—or two. Needless to say, for the rest of your rollerskating date, Joaquin would find plenty of opportunities to get many more kisses from you.
It seems fate has decided that both my beloved Mon and my dear Jen get to go on a rollerskating date with Joaquin!! 🛼🪩✨ Thank you so much for sending this in for my sleepover my lovelies @thelomlbuckybarnes & @late-to-the-party-81 !! ♡♡♡
this is so cute! 💞 a roller skating date is definitely on my bucket list, even tho i know i would fall on my ass multiple times like joaquín 😭 my poor baby trying hard to skate then bust his ass many times but then he did it! 🥺
Glassy eyes, murky senses that swam in a sea of low moans right next to your ear. So close you could feel his lips brush your earlobe every time his hips snap back in place, feel the wave of heat radiating of his bulked body, where muscle ripped, contorted with every move. Caramel skin, tanned, a shimmer of sweat draped across his godly body. Your nails had clawed into his forearms that held him above you, caged around your torso.
His thighs against yours, supporting the way he was rolling into you; it had your toes curling, crinkling the expensive satin sheets you two were ruining. And down to the last nerve ending in your body, you could smell him, sense him. He had a way of intoxicating any room he walked into, a pull on you when you so much so as glanced into his hazel pupils.
“Don’t space out on me, mi carino.”
A hushed chuckle rings in your head like a sweet melody. A rush of adrenaline, butterflies in your stomach like you were a girl again; it had you muffle a high pitched whine.
“m-m not spacing out.”
Meekly you stutter out a few words, tripping over how the tip of his cock was nuzzling into the depths of you so close, so, so eager to bury himself as close to your heart as he could.
“I know mami, just playin’ with ya. Feel good?”
He didn’t need to ask, the puddle under him, the slick his knees were coated in where more than enough evidence, but he needed to hear more, needed it from you. He loved that little hiccup in your voice when he was hitting deeper than you’ve ever known, when his love was making your heart jump too quickly for your brain. Sweet thing, gentle little soul that made him whole.
“Y-yes ‘s good.”
“Yeah, y’feel so fuckin good, too, baby. You’re so pretty, I ever tell you that?”
He pulled back, voice distancing as he put all his weigh onto his knees, your weak hands willingly detach from his arms. Canting your hips up, dark locks of hair sticking to his forehead as he threw his head back, exposing the supple skin of his neck, littered with purpling marks you had sucked onto him; little roses of your love.
“Don’t answer tha’, I know I could never do justice to your fuckin beauty.”
Arm under your knee, hooking your leg onto his shoulder with ease. Seeing stars was an understatement; it was like he was sending you through the entire galaxy, isolated in sound until his voice was the only thing you heard, his blooming touch a sinful sensation.
“S-so sensitive, aren’t you, dios mio, can feel you fluttering around me, mami. Y’gon cum all over me’gain?”
His lips find yours, sinking against the rosy softness, chest to chest. You could feel every inch, throbbing, just for you with every kiss, could feel that he loved you. His hand locked with yours, pushed back first into the sheet; thick fingers that enveloped yours into a sense of safety you could never imagine to live without again.
“Close.”
A quick whisper for the split second he pulled away.
Oxygen rushing out of your system, replaced by the lit wick of a firework, creeping through your veins, up your spine, tingling until your brain was fogged. A broken moan flows over, free hand digging into his back, defined and firm under the touch of your finger pads. It wouldn’t be the first pair of redish scratches left on him, leverage for the way he had you seeing hot white pleasure.
Lips locked, you feel an intense orgasm wash over you, blind heat in your lower tummy coiling into overcharged release, making your gummy walls all sloppy and messy.
“D-dios mio…”
Miguel’s voice pitched up, eyes clenched shut, lashes fluttering as his eyebrows contorted.
Warnings: Eventual smut, Pinning, Teasing, Alternating POVs, We are moving to the club house, oh wait HQ...
Summary: Looks like you will be helping around at HQ! This is the start of something new!
Chapter: 4 <- ///////// -> Chapter: 6
Series Masterlist, ATSV Masterlist
Lighting tingles in his hands as your smaller ones hold onto his. Helping him?
Your eyes shine, and it's that same cheerful warmth he's been dreading to get closer to, but as you hold his hands in yours, he feels his talons flexing, straining beneath his skin as if they want to emerge and pull you even closer.
Before that can happen, he pulls away, muttering, leaving only the dull buzz from your touch. "No way that's happening."
Watching your face fall makes his insides ache. Great, now you're going to start pouting …
"But ... it would be good for everyone to see the real you."
The real him? He looks over at your pleading eyes ... you don't even know the real him …
"You don't know me." The words slip out before he can stop himself. He turns away from you in a huff, mentally berating himself for being that blunt. When he turns back, he half expects to see you frowning, but instead, you're smiling and have stepped closer.
"Well, I can't wait to find out more .”
Miguel feels his eyes widen for a second before going back to a scowl. Damn you, you always know exactly what to say to get him to crack. "Fine ... how do you plan on ... helping me ... "
Of course, you practically light up. "Well, I figured we could work on your image, like PR!" you exclaim.
Miguel sighs... The last thing he wants is someone down his throat ... but at least it's you ... And he figures he might as well keep an eye on you, considering you have turned out to be quite the detective.
But deep down, he just knows he's going to regret this.
To say you were thrilled about this whole situation would be an understatement; it was going to be a lot, but you already work in close quarters with Miguel, so how bad can it be? And you already have plenty of ideas for how he can change his image at work, so those should be easy to translate into his superhero persona for the public. And since Miguel is determined to keep an eye on you to make sure you're not suspicious or a spy, he got you two out of work for the week.
Of course, he made up some story about doing research out of the city. It was pretty startling to see the lying happen right in front of your face. Usually, you're the recipient; you can’t help but puff your cheeks out as you watch him. How many times has he lied to you this effortlessly? No wonder it took you so long to figure out…. But you can address that later.
Trying to help Miguel's superhero image, you decided it would be best to start closer to home and start with the members of HQ. So the questinars to the other spiders went out, and the results were about what you expected.
A bit cold, very direct, Hard worker, and needs to take some personal days. The boss man may be misunderstood.
And others opted to draw grumpy faces. And there was something in there about a chase? They apparently had a lot to say and lots of ideas. So much so that it has turned into interviews and chat sessions. PR suddenly moved more to HR.
A knock at your door has you popping up from your computer to see Peter, or well, Peter B, technically at your doorway. Though Miguel originally gave you the grand tour, Peter has been the one to show you the social in and outs of HQ and help you figure out who's who.
“Sooo, how's our little spy doing? Figuring out ways to bring down the big bad Spider-Man?”
Of course, that gets a laugh, “Don’t even joke about that, you know Miguel is suspicious! I wish he would just learn to trust me a little." You sigh, resting your head on your desk in your little office that you're sure at one point was a broom closet. It’s where Miguel felt comfortable keeping you, out of his office, but just close enough to do quick peek-ins. Though every time you go to talk to him or ask a question, he’s gone.
Peter comes in and sits on your desk, giving a quick look at some of the submitted papers. “Well, you did find out his identity. I would be wary for a few days, since it would take him longer. But I can tell you good.”
You give him a confused look, “Really? You trust me already? I figured you would be suspicious, too?”
Peter shrugs, “nah,” He nudges you and gives a wink, “I have that spidey sense to help me figure it out. Miguel doesn't, so just give him time. It took me and Jessica months!”
You chuckle, “Well, I’ve been patient this long.”
Peter eyes you, clearly wanting to ask something. So you take the bait, “You have more for me?”
“Just a question, really, why are you so determined to get close to him?”
It takes you by surprise for a second before you're smiling, “He has kind eyes, and he can be brash but always helpful at work… I just think he would be a good person to be close to…” You look up to see Peter leaning in with a smirk. “A friend, obviously."
“Oh yes, of course, obviously.” Peter taps on your desk, “So I’m guessing you're getting lots of ideas from everyone? We tend to be a bit opinionated group.”
“Lots of ideas! I just need to pitch them to the boss, but he seems to be rather busy, so I haven’t been able to catch him.”
Peter grins, “You should try the training rooms, most days around this time he’s in there to relieve some stress, I imagine that would be a good time to catch him.”
Miguel after a workout? Relaxed? Not so on guard? SWEATING!
"It' s perfect!” and you were out of your office in a flash! Even Peter had to do a double-take as you spirited out.
It was during your sudden little sprint out that you realized two things: you are not much of a runner, and you don’t exactly remember where to go, so it ended up being you wandering around the endless sea of spider people. But right as you were sure you were going in the right direction, you were stopped.
"So who are you exactly?" the young person asks, eyes expectant. You stare back at them, noticing they look very familiar...
"You're those kids who snuck into Mig's office?" you ask, pointing at them in shock.
"And you're his girlfriend!" one teen shouts, jabbing a finger at you as the others nod in agreement.
Mig's girlfriend. You feel something start to race in your chest, then you take the kids by surprise and burst out into laughter.
"Mig and I are co-workers," "Friends!"
"I didn't realize he had friends other than Jess and Peter."
"Yeah, I noticed he doesn't come across as friendly, but I think he just needs a little nudge."
"More like a shove..." says the tallest one.
You give a huff, putting your hands on your hips like you have seen Miguel do numerous times, "Well, looks like I have my work cut out for me."
All the kids laugh as if what you were saying wasn’t completely serious, then they all get suddenly quiet. You feel their eyes shift from you to something behind you. When you turn your head, you see a huge shadow towering over you. As if summoned by all the talk about him, Miguel suddenly appears behind you, his face permanently annoyed. However, his glare is not at you but at the teens.
"Don't you all have something you should be doing?" He growls
Gwen smiles , " Well, we were all just getting to know the newbie. "
Miguel looks between you and the kids, "You all should be getting back to work. "
You give him a nudge and greet him with a frown. "Miguel, be nice.”
His expression shifts from a frown to surprise at your scolding. Miguel considers your words for a minute, then slips into his brooding pout.
"Fine. Get back to work ... Please .. "
Collectively, all of your jaws seem to drop.
Miles leans into his group in a terribly concealed whisper, "Did...that actually work?"
"I think so? He literally just said "please!" Gwen responses
"Maybe the direct approach was the key all along ... " Pav looks at the ground, seeming to be contemplating this new power he’s observed.
"Or it was the person directing?" Hobie smirks.
All the teens turn to you, and your cheeks burn. Are they implying Miguel actually listens to you? You glance quickly at Miguel, who mumbles under his breath before starting to walk away.
The teens giggle before saying bye as you rush up to Miguel with a big grin. "Those kids are pretty great, huh?"
Miguel gives you a sideways glance, "Bad influences."
You take offense. "Who? Them or me?" you challenge, but he just ignores you as he keeps walking.
As you walk with Miguel to his office, other spiders greet you warmly, welcoming you to the team. Their friendliness makes you smile, but Miguel stays huffy and more annoyed than usual.
Once in his office, he stops at his desk, looking you up and down before sighing, "I understand you have... ideas ... "
You light up, "Oh great, so Peter must have talked to you! I was hoping I would catch you during your workout!"
Miguel lifts a brow. You redden. "That's not what I meant," you say. Miguel replies, "He just said you had ideas for improvements."
"Oh, well, I was talking to some other spiders, and watching some videos, and I have ideas on how to help fix your image," you explain.
He pinches the bridge of his nose. "I thought this was going to be about HQ improvements," he sighs.
"Oh, I have those too. But I figured baby steps," you insist. Miguel seems to almost growl as he frowns at you, but you just smile.
"So I think you need to work on your communication skills, like when you save people, so you don't yell at them," you suggest.
"I do not yell!"
You hold up your hand in defence, "Wow, hey! don't yell at me, grumpy pants."
You watch as he grinds his teeth. "Fine...How do I improve…”
"Well, I figured we could role-play a little."
He looks bewildered, "How do you think of this stuff?"
You just shrug it off, "Corporate training videos, you ready, Mr. Hero?"
"No ... "
You ignore his protest as you grab. His arms move him in front of you. "So we are going to pretend you just saved me." As you talk, you hear him saying grumpy 'no's, but you just ignore them. Sure, it's awkward, but it needs to be done to learn!
Miguel looks down at where you have placed yourself on the floor, "You're not giving up, are you?”
You look up with a wide grin, "You know me so well."
Of course, he relented. So let the play begin.
"Oh, thank you so much for saving me!" You reach your hand out towards him.
He gives you a glare, "Well, I didn't, so save it." As soon as he sees your glare, he sighs, then he puts his mask on and grabs your hand.
"No problem, you can go now."
Well, that's not going to fly ...
As he helps you up, you 'trip' and stumble colliding into his chest, which feels like a wall ... a warm, sexy wall . "I'm so sorry .. guess I'm still shaking a bit ... "
It's quiet, and you think he's just going to be huffy again. But he doesn't, his hands go to your shoulders … then slide to your arms, staying there. Instead of feeling strange, it felt like reassurance.
"It's fine ... just ... I'm here now ... " You look up at his mask, startled by the softness in his voice. His grip gets tighter, then he lets go… "But… I can't always be… so be careful."
It wasn't perfect, but it was sincere, and you couldn't help but smile at him.
"Now what? What's with the face?"
"It's just ... I think you should stay honest, like this. I think if you showed this side, it would go over well."
You hope he considers your words, but like he always does, he keeps his mask on.
MIguels heads on a swivel as he walks into Alchemax. You figured him out, so maybe others are on his case? Miguel glares at everyone as he walks to his lab. They are all idiots ... but he just can't be too careful. If his cover is blown by others, this could be bad… devastating. Miguel had finally convinced himself to trust you as much as he can, but it’s still a risk. With this work, you can’t really trust anyone… though you have been helpful, and with his monitoring of you, it hasn’t set off any alarms. He just still can’t fathom that you pieced it all together… and despite his best efforts, you're even closer than ever.
He takes his time walking through the lobby, scanning everyone through his tinted glasses; he has to stay alert no matter what.
"Wow, who are you glaring at?" Your voice nearly makes him jump out of his skin as his talon pops out from sheer instinct. Of course, looking at you, you're just laughing, also so endlessly entertained by him.
Miguel clears his throat as he retracts his talons, hoping it was unnoticed by the others.
"So you really don't have that spider sense, huh?"
Great, you're starting to learn his secrets.
Miguel feels his face get hot, "Who told you about that?"
"Everyone at HQ knows about it. They said-”
Miguel quickly covers your mouth and pulls you close to whisper in your ear, "Lower your voice, people will start to get suspicious!"
You lift your brow, confused, before you pull his hand off your mouth. "The only suspicious thing is how you're acting, so chill out. Coffee?" You put back on your smile and hold up the coffee you must have made for him. It's going to be terrible ... he just knows it …
With a sigh, he takes the coffee and gulps about half down just to get most of it out of the way. Miguel tries not to make a face as he says thank you while walking.
"So is that why you're all pent up? You think people are suspicious?"
"Do you blame me? You figured me out, maybe others are catching on?"
Of course, you just roll off his concerns like they are nothing, "Nobody gets to see you enough to figure it out, so relax, huh?"
You two walk closer to the lab, and Miguel can no longer hold the nagging question in his mind. "How did you figure it out?"
He noticed you seem to pause for a moment, like you're carefully considering your words before just settling on a response. "I'm just special, that's all."
He doesn't understand how, but maybe you really are just special.
For the rest of the day, work is mostly the same, except he's extra hyper-aware of you and your movements around him. It's not like you're doing anything in particular, but it's just odd that you don't even seem to act any different; it's all business as usual with your playful friendliness.
Miguel looks over at you, seeming to hum as you organize samples. He finds his mind wandering if you do this at HQ as well, he can see you typing away with a smile as you hum some cheerful tune. A smile curls to his lips; he bets you don't even notice it, just being so cheerful all the time.
Lost in thought, he doesn't notice his watch beeping until you're lifting up one of your own. Miguel practically jumps from his seat to catch your wrist to look at your watch.
"Who gave this to you!"
You look almost quizzical before offering a coy smile, "Jessica, of course, we both think it would be a good idea for me to be kept in the loop since you tend to be so secretive."
Miguel rolls his eyes. Of course, Jessica would approve of you getting a watch. Probably told you all about it. Well, when he gets back, he's definitely dismantling the dimension-hopping; he doesn't need you winding up lost or worse.
He lets go of your arm but is quick to point his finger in your face, "We will talk about that later. I gotta go."
This is exactly what he has feared; now you're involved, and who knows how much of a pain in the ass that's going to be? Well, this is his fault; he should have lied and not told you… Why did he have to be so weak in that alley… As he goes to leave, he suddenly feels your hands reaching out and catching his hand. Miguel's body and mind instantly freeze at your touch. Turning towards you, he looks into your eyes, so focused on him. It’s that intensity you give off that's what makes him act so weak; he just can’t think around you. All reasoning goes out of the window, and he just feels his body… aching.
Though his insides are a twisted mess, he’s sure yours is just steady, and you squeeze his hand with a smile, "Be safe! And remember to be nice."
Of course, you end it with a wink, making him want to chuckle and crumble into pieces.
Miguel manages a nod. He really shouldn’t promise you anything, but he can always just do what he knows how to do.
prompt: day 10, wrapping their biceps with cute ribbon (swap).
summary: doing a trend with Miguel turned spicier as you can't help but please yourself on his huge arms!!!!
tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, established relationship, kissing, cursing, afab!reader, bicep biting, bicep riding, nipple play, praising, pet names (carińo and pretty girl), READER IS THIRSTY AND IS A FREAK!!
wc: 1.1k words.
a/n: UGHHHHH i can't help but feel things whenever i see this man i swear! also inspired by a tiktok i saw like a few days ago. ENJOYYY!
main masterlist ┊Galentines Party masterlist
The both of you were spending the weekend lounging lazily with each other. Miguel, shirtless with his laptop in his lap, muttering soft curses of frustration he likes to do under his breath as he worked.
While you… You just doom scroll through TikTok. Your legs draped on top of his, head half set on one of his shoulders, as you scroll mindlessly.
Then you passed an interesting video.
“So… this is a trend now,” showing him your phone. It was a video of a guy. His bicep is wrapped in a pink ribbon, before he flexes his arm, resulting in the ribbon snapping.
He glanced over from where he was, looking away from his laptop as he focused on your phone screen instead.
The video loops.
And Miguel watches it once, then twice.
You saw his lips twitch the slightest. “…That is ridiculous,” he scoffed.
You hummed, sitting up straighter as he put his laptop away and opted to wrap his arm over your shoulder now. “It’s hot,”
He looked away from the phone, giving you a deadpan. “Seriously?”
You shrugged, “I appreciate a good bicep!” tone in faux surrender.
He grinned wider now, his arm squeezing you tighter. “We both know your favorite is mine though,” he mumbled, warm breath fanning across your cheeks, making you feel hotter inside the cold bedroom.
“You could do it,” tilting towards his face, as if you’re challenging him.
His brows arched slowly, a smug grin still etched on his face. “Could I?”
“I mean… You have the arms for it…” tracing his other arm, batting your eyelash innocently.
That got his attention immediately.
He tilted his head just a little, and a few minutes later, you were kneeling beside him in bed, a stray pink ribbon you found in a drawer in your hand.
Miguel extended his arm without protest, his other hand raking through his curls as he watched you, laser-focused on the bow and his bicep.
You leaned, wrapping the ribbon around his bicep. Fingers brushing his golden-brown skin, appreciating the way the muscles twitch as your touch lingered a beat too long.
“You’re way too focused,” he suddenly broke the silence. You didn’t glance at him, still captured in the way the silk wrapped around his strong arms prettily. Tongue sticking out unconsciously, making him let out a soft chuckle.
“You’re enjoying this,” you muttered.
He huffed another quiet laugh. “Well, you’re acting like this is something that is so important.”
“It is,” you hummed, smoothing the perfect bow, twirling the ends with your fingers in an attempt to curl it.
He felt his jaw tightened, before dropping his gaze from your adorable face to the perfectly tied ribbon.
“Cute,” you beamed, proud of your work.
He looked up to you again, before brushing your cheek with his other hand. “Perfect.”
You smiled brightly at him. “Now… flex it!”
Rolling his eyes playfully, he began to relax on the bed. Lying down, propping his head on his other arm, before flexing the ribbon wrapped one.
It didn’t take more than three seconds till it snapped. Clean, sharp, fluttering to the sheets.
You gasped, in awe with his strength—and how delicious his arm looked, making you bite your lower lip, eyeing his biceps, hell, his whole body now like it was your last meal.
He exhaled, eyes locked on you, and how your eyes seemed to unable to hide the sheer desire in them.
“Like what you see, didn’t you?” his voice low and sultry, making you snap your eyes on his, before gulping with a small nod.
His gaze flickered to your lips, before you met him halfway. Practically throwing yourself into a heated kiss, making him groan against your lips.
His mouth followed yours perfectly. Angling his head just so he can slot his lips better against yours, deepening the kiss.
You moaned when he nipped your lower lip, giving him access to explore your mouth with his tongue. Tracing each cusps of your molars, before meeting your tongue and tangling it.
The both of you began to pant, not wanting to separate from each other, even for taking a breath.
“Mig–” you breathed out, before getting an idea.
You pulled back, making him tilt his head in a questioning gaze. Finding his arm, you relaxed it on the bed, before tracing your fingers up and up—kissing them all the while.
You held his gaze, before biting down on his bicep, making him flex it and let out a deep guttural groan.
“Fuck…” as he felt his sweats tightening.
You hummed, before you sat up, swinging a leg over his still-flexed arm. Sliding your still clothed heat along his forearm, going up towards his thick and bulging muscle.
“What are you–” when he felt your seeping juices through the thin shorts of yours, before you began to rock experimentally against his arm, the friction sparking hot.
“Holy shit…” as if he was in awe. Miguel’s breath caught, like he didn’t believe what was happening before his eyes.
His eyes darkened when you began to pleasure yourself on him. Face contorting in a beautiful expression of gratification—brows knitted and lower lip between your teeth, making his own urges spike.
Miguel then flexed his arm instinctively—the hard ridges pressing against your clit making you gasp. Eyes rolling to the back of your head as you chase your climax harder.
“Miguel…” you whimpered, eyes locking on his blown-up crimson ones. His own skin began to flush as though he was the one being satisfied.
He watched, transfixed, his other hand finding your thigh and stroking it softly.
“Use me… take what you need, carińo,” free hand tracing up your sides and finding the sensitive peeks of your hardened nipple. Brushing it once or twice over your tank, then suddenly tugging the neckline down, pulling on the sensitive buds, making you let out a sharp gasp.
He flexed, relaxed, flexed his arm again. The change of pressure on your clit made you dizzy as your moans grew louder.
Your own hands found his chest now. Propping yourself up for balance. Chasing the heat, your breaths began syncing. “Come on, pretty girl… feels good, huh?”
You nodded dumbly, unable to string words as the pleasure took over you quickly.
Then, the tension finally snapped. You come trembling on his bicep, soaking through your ruined shorts, riding the climax slowly.
He watched in awe as you began to sit off of him. A string of wetness connecting his bicep to your cunt, making him let out a soft chuckle.
You can’t help but grin, chest still heaving as he pulled you on his arm, kissing your cheeks repeatedly.
“God, I love you,” he sighed against your temple, making you giggle.
Pulling him to another deep kiss, though softer now.
“Love you too… you’re gonna start doing more trends with me now?” you teased.
“If it ends that way again… I’ll be stupid to decline.”
this was supposed to be a sweet prompt but... can't help it SORRY.
pairing: fem childhood bestfriend!reader x falcon!joaquin torres
synopsis: you haven’t seen joaquin torres in years, your paths becoming distant after he went off to the military. but when he comes back into your life there’s two concerns, your feelings towards him and when the hell did he get so hot?
warnings: not proofread (but lowkey lmk if i have a dumb ahh typo..), reader and joaquin want each other BAD, fluff & smut, reader has attachment issues, (ONE) use of y/n, reader’s father is not present, reader can’t understand spanish, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap), tit play, clit rubbing, sex on couch, soft sex!
a/n: i didn’t really intend for this fic to be so emotional and developed LMAO. this fic is not too related to the song the more i think about it…. but hope you guys like it ❤️
were you delusional or was that joaquin torres?
summer had fell in new york, and like every year you found yourself being dragged back to miami. back to home, where memories of the sweet laughter of your mother and teasing from your brothers made you ache with a feeling that was familiar with moving a 1,000 miles away.
growing up in miami had blessed you with a wonderful childhood. you mostly remembered weekend trips to beaches and running around with your partner in crime: joaquin torres.
born on the same day, literally born in the same room (your mothers were the bestest of friends), the universe ensured that joaquin would be by your side every day of your life. well at least for eighteen years.
it’s been five since you last saw him. but now here he stands, all smiles and charm with a sign that reads your name in bright print in the middle of the miami airport.
“joaquin?” holy shit. actually holy shit. when he left for the military, he was less built. less…..
less hot.
you’re actually almost agape in the middle of the airport. your feet refuse to move. the inky hair that fell onto his face, the all too tight shirt that hugs his biceps, that stupid glint in his eye before he caused trouble was all making your heart beat double time.
to be fair he always was cute. cute in a nerdy way. cute with his ruffled hair and glasses. cute yes, but not fucking jaw dropping hot like he is in the airport right now.
joaquin lets out a distant chuckle before connecting the space between you two. feet catching speed as he runs toward you. when he reaches you he’s slightly winded.
“hi.” you’re still in shock, but you throw your arms around him, his wrapping around your waist. he drops the poster with your name on it with a soft thud.
“i’ve missed you.” you say with a sigh. emotions poured through you.
joaquin had been there for every part of your life. your awkward phases, which mostly included odd clothes and boy band posters. to bad friend groups and even worse boyfriends that left you crying to joaquin. it was nice to have him back.
“missed you too.” joaquin says, his thumb rubbing your temple. he gave you the lightest peck on the crown on your head before pulling away.
———————————
a hello after five years and now you find yourself hopping in his passenger seat as he puts your suitcase in the trunk.
you thrum your fingers nervously across your lap, admiring his car. a new development because in high school, joaquin torres was not the driver. you distinctly remember the constant rides you’d give joaquin, you were practically his chauffeur.
“are you ever gonna get your license joaquin?” you said, eyes looking over from the road to eye him. you had picked him up from soccer practice.
“no that’s why i have you. plus this way you can never get rid of me!”
you shoved him playfully with one hand, joaquin yelling a “hey!” at your sudden antics.
the trunk closes with a thud and joaquin makes his way to the driver seat.
“before you say anything your mom told me to come get you.” he flashes a shit eating smile.
“figured. don’t think air force sergeant joaquin torres has time to stalk an old friend.” the both of you chuckle.
he pulls out of the airport parking lot, the drive back home is filled with a comfortable silence. before it was broken by joaquin.
“so why’d you never call?” you stayed silent.
“you had my number y/n, you could’ve-“
an incoming ring from joaquin phone stopped him. thank the lord because in truth, you couldn’t answer his question. you just got scared. that’s why you never called. because the night before he left, joaquin ki-
joaquin picks up the phone, clicking buttons on the screen between the two of you. your moms voice echoed through the car, waking you from your thoughts.
“hey you got my girl yet? did you forget her?”
“of course i do! she’s my girl too why wouldn’t i?” joaquin answers, mock hurt in his voice. he looks over to you laughing.
his girl. huh.
“hi mom!” you yell out.
“oh sweetie! how was new york? wait forget that! did you like my surprise?”
“do you mean joaquin? of course i did mom.” you flashed a smile to him.
“thought you would! it’s been so long, and i don’t know why you never called him you know he-“
“okay okay! mom let’s talk about this later we’re almost home.”
“sure sweetie okay. —wait, i forgot to say! joaquin you’re staying with us too!”
“wait wait you didn’t have to do that-“ joaquin butts in.
“like hell i didn’t! your stuff is already there plus your mom’s so busy with the party-“
“what party?” you and joaquin say in unison.
“shoot! nothing—just get home and rest up. sweetie show joaquin your brother’s room. i gotta go but i’ll see you two soon!”
the sound of her hanging up played as soon as you opened your mouth to say bye. you and joaquin bursted out in laughter.
————————
you got home two hours ago, opting for a shower before diving into bed. god you missed your bed and the comfort of home. joaquin is right across from your bedroom, and you can hear him snoring.
what a bum. you guess some things never change.
“your rooms a mess.” you say, looking into the void of his room. there are three different piles of clothes, paper scattered throughout the room, and you swear you can a mouse squeaking.
joaquin just smiles nervously at you, scratching his head.
“i’ve been busy….with soccer and i don’t have any time to clean.”
“joaquin i literally walked in on you yesterday taking a four hour nap, and you didn’t even have practice.”
“a guy needs his sleep! you either get in my room or go back home.”
you really needed his help with your physics final so you thugged it out. he was still the smartest guy you knew even if he did have a messy room.
the plan was to sleep, eventually heading out with your mom for dinner. but a text message from her changes those plans.
momma: I won’t make it home for dinner, still doing some very ~special~ things for you and Joaquin. The two of you should go get dinner.
you: okay :( come home soon!
your mom is really bad at surprises. in fact your could already guess that both joaquin’s mom and your mom were probably back at his childhood home, giggling and setting up whatever party this is.
but dinner with joaquin is still a win, you didn’t get to catch up with him yet.
you trod over to your bed grabbing a pillow before heading to the room across from yours. you open the door, the light from the hallway now illuminating the room. you throw the pillow at the sleeping figure.
joaquin isn’t even under the covers, he’s sprawled across them.
“how tired is he…?”
you throw the pillow at him, hitting him square in the back of his head.
joaquin wakes up, all drowsy, voice groggy.
“…huh..?” his head dips up before immediately falling back down.
your heart would’ve done a backflip in your chest because of joaquin’s cuteness, but you were too hungry to care.
“let’s go out joaquin, my mom says she won’t be home for dinner.”
he doesn’t move. so you take your slipper off your foot and throw it at his head. that does the trick.
“ow!”
“i told you to get up dumbass.”
“i forgot you get grumpy when you’re hungry….” joaquin mumbles.
you put your other shoe in your hand threateningly.
“what was that?”
“nothing!”
—————————————
“making up for all those years of me driving?” you say as joaquin hops in the driver side.
“maybe im just trying to get on your good side after you threw a shoe at me….”
“it was a slipper!”
“it hurt!”
“drive before i show you something that really hurts.”
yeah maybe joaquin was right, you do get a little hangry. but for him, that’s one of the things he loved about you.
“hold on! we have to figure out where we’re eating first.”
the decision should be relatively easy because neither you or joaquin are picky eaters. but it ended up being harder because both of you had no idea where to go. the two of you eventually decide to eat at of all places, a mcdonalds.
yummy greasy food to end your long trip. why the fuck did you agree to that?
you’re regretting your decision when joaquin slides across from you, passing you your soggy, sad looking, mcchicken.
“thanks.” you sigh loudly, slumping your head against the table. you scarf it down within five minutes and then immediately put your head back down again. joaquin is still eating whatever greasy burger he got.
“what’s gotten you so grumpy?” he asks, mouth half full.
“bad food.” you eye the mchicken wrapper like it personally offended you. well it wasn’t really just the food, it was also the fact that joaquin looked devastating good. and he literally just woke up all of fifteen minutes ago.
god how could someone be so hot all the fucking time? and how could you still feel this way after so long? you had a crush on him all of middle school and highschool, and you felt like the same girl.
you might have matured and “blossomed” (in your moms words) but you were at the core still the same.
you need a drink.
“can we get a six pack after this? we can sit in the back of car like we used too.” you ask joaquin, looking up at him. to joaquin you look awfully dangerous looking up at him like that.
he chokes on his food.
“—shit!—yeah sure okay.”
“okay you can stop the car now.” joaquin says, making it your destination; a remote hill overlooking the beach.
“this is a good spot wow. how’d you find it..?” you know you’re the only who drives him, so how he found this spot is beyond you.
“heard about it from some friends. now cmon let’s go!”
the rest of the night you two sit in your trunk, drinking some old beers from your fridge (you hoped your mom wouldn’t notice they were missing), laughing and talking about life.
“yay!” you’re excited, but your cheer comes out half hearted because of the pure exhaustion in your body. joaquin notices. of course he does.
“cmon let’s go. you’re getting tired.”
“no…! just hold on…wanted to talk to you.”
joaquin hearts melts, he’s glad to know that after all these years, after all this time of not messaging him and ghosting him, that you still care.
you’ll always care about joaquin.
“we can talk in the car.” he says with a slight smile.
joaquin holds his hand out to you. you take it and head back to the car.
time pasts by quickly, mostly because you slept for most of it, but eventually the two of you make it to the spot.
joaquin opens the beer bottle with his mouth, taking a sip before handing it back to you.
“so….how’s new york?” he asks.
you laugh at such an awkward question, but you realize he has every right to ask. because you were the one who ghosted him, who didn’t message him for years.
“uh….well new york is nice. sometimes i miss home, actually not sometimes, always.” you take a large sip from the bottle, because you know the reason why you miss it so much. you miss joaquin. you always have.
you hand the bottle back to him.
“what do you miss?”
“this. all my friends are here, you’re here—“ you stop yourself. taking a deep breath. “—and my whole life is here. i liked new york at first. but it’s not the same as home. do you feel the same way about dc? or i guess you’ve been around so much but—“
joaquin laughs at how nervous you’re getting. he makes eye contact with you, and you swear you could get lost in his eyes. every part of him is painstakingly pretty.
“hey calm down, i get what you mean. i always miss miami, always miss my family. but i think i’ve missed you the most.” joaquin takes a sip before handing the bottle back to you.
something unfurls between the two of you then. like the confessions of missing each other unearthed something, something that went unspoken.
“i’m sorry.”
“for what?”
you laugh, then take a large sip from the bottle again.
“for never messaging. i was young and dumb and i was holding this huge grudge against you—and by the time i realized it was dumb, it was too long. i felt awkward messaging you again, so i just—i just didn’t.” you sigh acknowledging the stupidity of your actions.
joaquin figured the grudge you held against him had something to do with the kiss he gave you before he left, that and his confession. or his lack of one.
“i was stupid. i never should’ve stopped messaging you joaquin, because i really missed you. half of the reason new york was so hard was because i didn’t have you.”
joaquin’s mind races.
—————————
five years ago
joaquin was shipping out. soon.
the news came unexpected, although he was training since graduating to join the force, he thought he had more time. more time to be with you.
both of you knew he was going to eventually leave miami to go join the military and pursue his dreams. joaquin wished to tell you how he felt before he left. wished to maybe ask you out on a date, get to see you all flushed and pretty when he would kiss you for the first time.
because truth is, he’s been enamored with you since you two were kids. he’s been in love with you for over twenty years, and he’s known it, even as a kid.
he knew it when in third grade he had you a clump of dandelions on valentine’s day. he knew it in fifth when he held your hand for the first time walking home from school. he knew it in eighth grade when you beamed at him brightly when you got an award for star student.
by high school he was going to tell you, ask you out. but most years you a boyfriend, and he knew how you saw him. god you literally called him your best friend every week.
so when the date came, he knew he had to tell you. and he was gonna do it tonight, at his farewell party.
joaquin knew his family wouldn’t let him go without a celebration, but these parties always seemed to go long into the night. the noise of the party finally got to him, and he found himself outside on the porch.
he’s looking at the faint stars in the sky, trying to think of a way to get you out there with him, but you suddenly appear before him.
“hiding at your own party?”
“guilty.” joaquin flashes a nervous smile. he’s laughing, trying to ease the way his heart is beating impossibly faster.
“why?” you take a seat next to him, your eyes search his, trying to decipher his mind.
“got too loud.”
that’s not entirely true. well it was loud in his house, but he just couldn’t stop thinking about you. couldn’t stop staring at you laughing with his mom, thinking about what a good girlfriend you would be. joaquin also couldn’t stop thinking about kissing you. fuck. thats all he thought of for the past couple of days.
“joaquin.” you give him a knowing look, you know when he’s not telling you the whole truth. always have.
like the time he broke your favorite jacket, and he said he had just “forgot it at practice.” or the time he wouldn’t tell you what he got on his lit essay, because you had gotten way better then him and he felt too embarrassed.
“fuck it.” joaquin takes a deep breath, and he closes the gap between the two of you. he pecks your lips, hands trembling. this was not the way he wanted tonight to go.
he panics at your lack of reaction, quickly overthinking.
“fuck i’m sorry—i shouldn’t have done that. i’ve been thinking about doing that all night.” he fails to mention that he’s been thinking about kissing you for the past ten years.
“do you like me joaquin?”
he’s taken aback. “what?”
you steady your voice, meeting his eyes as you ask again. “do you like me?” when joaquin doesn’t respond you speak again, “is that why you did that? or is this some joke to you?” your steadiness fails, your voice cracking as your eyes well up.
you like him. god you love joaquin. but he’s always been surrounded by girls, surrounded by horrible guy friends you’d never feel safe around, and you’re so scared. you’re scared to love him.
joaquin did love you, that’s why he never dated. but there always girls that wanted him, girls that stuck by his side like glue. he never entertained them, never put these girls over you, never gave you any reason to resent him, but you did.
you don’t know why you asked him if he was joking, the moment it came out of your mouth you regretted it. but it was easier to pretend the kiss was nothing to him then confront the fact that he loved you, and you loved him back.
you stand up, getting ready to leave him outside.
joaquin stands up immediately, trying to get you to stop. “no—it’s not that. look just let me—“
you leave before he can say anything.
when your mother is ready to leave the party, it’s midnight. but you wish everyone a good night, and say your final byes to joaquin.
the encounter between the two of you was only what? two three hours ago? you couldn’t remember but you knew one thing, you would say bye to him. maybe bye forever.
you pull him in for a hug, you wrap your arms around him tight. his pull tentatively around your waist, unsure if this was right.
“please don’t forget about me and please be safe. i’ll really miss you.”
“i could never and ill always miss you.” his head rests on your shoulder, and his arms tuck you tighter into him. everyone misses how he sneaks a kiss to your shoulder. his attempt to fulfill his wish before he left, to let you know that his feelings are real.
the tears fall and you quickly pull away, wiping them before joaquin could notice.
the goodbye is teary, and everyone in the room starts crying at your farewell.
—————————
joaquin had zoned out.
“joaquin…hello? anyone there?” you wave a hand in front of his face, giggling.
“what—huh? i’m listening i swear! just zoned out!”
“it’s okay. it’s been a long night.” you take another sip, reveling in the slight buzz.
“yeah…it has.”
“let’s go swim.”
joaquin is taken aback. “what? where?”
you motion to the ocean in front of you. “hello?? the beach? cmon let’s go!”
you’re up and running before joaquin can stop you. you’ve had what three beers? two? he didn’t think swimming was the best idea especially when you were buzzed.
“hey stop!” he calls out your name as you run down the rocky hill.
“too slow!”
you reach the coast, and pull your sleeping t shirt and shorts, shivering at the miami cold.
joaquin just stares at you, clad in your underwear and bra, stepping into the ocean.
“are you gonna come in? the water feels nice cmon!”
“fuck it.” he whispers, before stripping down to his boxers. joaquin misses how your eyes trace his body. eyeing his defined muscles that weren’t there when he left.
joaquin takes a step in the water and immediately yells at the temperature.
“it’s freezing!”
“no you just have to get in!”
you laugh as he tiptoes into the water, shivering. you splash him a little, yelping when he splashes you back.
joaquin comes right to your place in the sea, and your head tilts up to meet his eyes.
you realize you’re in your bra and underwear, and you almost blush because joaquin hasn’t seen you like this. not willingly anyways (he doesn’t know how to knock.)
and maybe it’s because you haven’t drank in so long, but you feel much more bolder then you would.
“when did you get so…hot?” you barely whisper the last part.
“what?”
“the muscles, the abs? and you changed your hair, plus you’re much more flirter then you were five years ago.”
“flirty?” he quirks an eyebrow incredulously.
“you were never flirty. i saw you with the cashier! and then that lady at the airport!”
“that wasn’t flirting!”
“liar!” you giggle.
“liar? oh i can show you flirty all right.”
his arm wraps around your waist, hand coming to cup your cheek.
and at the feeling of his hand cupping your cheek so softly, you dee that maybe tonight you don’t have to be scared. just feel. feel the way his thumb slides against your cheek, the feeling of his arm grabbing you tighter. feel the way your heart beats faster when joaquin glances at your lips.
“i’m glad you’re here.” he says breathlessly.
“me too.”
“please don’t distance yourself away from me. ever. i can’t lose you again.”
your breath hitches and joaquin rests his forehead against yours.
“joaquin….”
he lifts his head, meeting your eyes. “and i forgive you.”
“for what?”
“earlier. you said you were sorry, and i forgive you.”
“thank you joaquin—it means a lot.”
“would you forgive me too? wait im sorry—that sounds weird. just forget it—“
“are you talking about the night before you left?”
he sighs, pinching his eyes shut, he’s ashamed of himself. “yes. i shouldn’t have. and i should’ve told you that i liked you instead of letting you go.”
“you liked me?”
joaquin gives a sad sort of smile, dissapointed at your doubt of his feelings. “of course i did."
you shake off his confession, but internally your heart beats fast, and you feel your stomach churning. he liked you. and you liked him back.
you think about how tonight you wanted to let yourself feel. feel the way his body feels against yours, feel the way your heart races and how the tips of your ears flush when joaquin is near. maybe tonight you'll let yourself feel the love you have for joaquin, allow it to exist. and maybe, after all this time, let joaquin know it's been him for years.
you take a deep breath for confidence before barely breathing out, "do you still do?"
joaquin is taken aback a little by your boldness. but he's grinning when he says, "always have, and always will." he tucks your hair behind your ear, grin growing deeper when he sees you melt at the action.
"joaquin?"
"hmm?"
"i forgive you. i shouldn't have run away that night. i should've let you explain yourself." you pause again, building the courage to speak your mind. "but tonight i don't want to. i want you joaquin, and i think i'm not scared to admit that anymore."
joaquin understands that when you say you were scared to admit that you liked him, it wasn't because you were embarrassed of him, but because of your complicated relationship with love.
he had been there when your parents divorced. when your father had been exposed for a cheater. you were only fourteen.
joaquin had then watched you break up with every boyfriend you've had when they told you they loved you, or them breaking up with you because you were too "difficult to date". joaquin then promised to love you slowly, so honestly and reverently, that when the time came to confess his feelings, you couldn't deny their existence or run away.
after all these years of guilt, he had kept his promise to himself all this time.
joaquin nearly cries at your confession and asks what he's been wanting to for years.
"can i kiss you?"
you nod in response, and instantly you feel joaquin's lips on yours, feather soft before moving against yours. it's nothing short of perfect, his hands cupping your face as your hands splay against his back, your lips moving in time against his.
the kiss remains innocent for a bit, but then joaquin bits down softly on your lower lip, eliciting a quiet moan from you. sparks of want flow through your body, to your core.
he's testing out the waters, testing out how much is okay, and grins like an idiot when you grow shy quickly from just a nip.
"i've been wanting to do that since that night."
you smile, "well you certainty made up for that kiss."
"cmon let's get back, your mom's gonna be worried."
—————————
you return back home with sandy hair and damp clothes. you're shivering when you enter the house, joaquin following close behind.
"well where did you two go?" your mom laughs, chuckling at your damp figures.
you greet her with a tight hug, it's only been a year but the feeling of being away from her for so long is still heavy. after you pull away joaquin greets her as well, and you can hear her teasing him like usual.
"we just came back from the beach. kinda regret it now im all cold." you say.
"well why don't you and joaquin wash up? i'll be down here watching a movie if you two wanna join."
the two of you head upstairs, and as you watch his figure from behind you get the urge to feel his lips on yours again. you wanted him to bite your lip again, let him leave lingering touches that bring heat to your core. you stop him when he reaches the top of the stairs. he turns around at the feeling of your hand on his wrist.
this time you take initiation, taking a step towards him before standing on your toes and meeting his lips. it's nothing but a small peck but yet joaquin's heart stutters.
"sorry. i just had to do that again." you smile and look away bashfully.
he doesn't reply, instead pulling you in for another kiss that steals the breath from your lungs. you let out a suprised gasp before melting into his kiss.
he pulls away with a smile, "i like you. did i tell you that already?"
you laugh, "yes you did. but i do too so it's okay."
—————————
the rest of the night is filled with longing gazes and lingering touches from joaquin. he certainly knows to get you worked up, his hands brushing your waist when getting past you in the kitchen, or how his eyes never leave yours as you catch up with your mom. your heart was racing the entire night.
you and joaquin sit in the living room, laughing at one your favorite movies. you're lazily sipping on a glass of wine as your mom does the same (but she's on her third glass).
on the tv, one of the characters throws a shoe at another’s head and joaquin laughs, remembering when you did the same to him just hours ago.
he looks at you asking, "remind you of anything?" he's smiling brightly.
“okay that was deserved!” you laugh, recalling the moment from earlier.
the three of you laugh, and your mom gets up soon after. “i’m gonna head to bed, i’ve got a long day ahead of me tomorrow.” she says shaking her head, still laughing from earlier.
“oh okay. good night mom!”
“good night!” joaquin says.
you wave goodnight as she heads up the stairs.
she leaves you and joaquin alone, and you can feel the tension between you and him. you’re reminded of earlier, and your things are suddenly clenching close, rubbing against one another.
earlier, you had been on the center coach with your mom, joaquin sitting on an armchair. he moves next to you, and you swear you can feel him eye your closed legs and how your things rub against eachother, trying to quiet the ache of your core.
“what movie you wanna watch?”
you don’t really know. hell you haven’t been thinking about movies the entire night. just joaquin, and his lips, and his hands on you—
“hello?” joaquin calls again.
“oh—yeah. uhh something funny?”
he clicks through the movies when guardians of the galaxy comes up. he scoots closer to you, so close that your knees touch.
his face is inches away when he asks, “guardians of the galaxy sound good?”
your eyes swat down to his lips, before you quickly meet his eyes. you feel deranged because it’s only been a day, and here you are: thirsting over your best friend you haven’t seen in five years, who coincidentally just kissed you like two hours ago.
you let a breathy yeah in agreement.
the movie starts and you curl your legs up on the couch, your knees resting partly on joaquin’s lap. you forget momentarily about the ache of your pussy, how that if you joaquin checked, you were probably dripping wet for him. you were now immersed in the gang of space rebels, unbeknownst to you though, joaquin’s jaw is clenched, falling apart at your proximity to him.
it’s midway through the beginning when you feel it. a light brush of your thigh, close to your knee. joaquin’s hand stays there for a minute, then brushes closer, and closer. every brush your breath hitches, and it’s when his hand reaches dangerously close in between your thighs, by your core when you say his name.
“joaquin…”
joaquin looks at you from the dim room.
“is this okay? do you feel this too? i’m not insane right?”
you laugh softly. “you’re not crazy. i feel it too.”
his hands reaches up, cupping your jaw.
“may i?”
you don’t respond, connecting your lips to his in record time. his tongue enters your mouth with ease, and he nips and bites, easing out little whines from you.
you pull away, looking at him to ask, “touch me?” your eyes give joaquin the same look he saw in the fucking mcdonald’s and he really considers fucking you nice and slow on the couch right there.
“your mom. she’s upstairs. we can’t.”
you groan quietly. “by her third glsss of wine she’s dead to the world. trust me i know.” you give him your most serious look. “plus, she’s not gonna see if she comes down, we’ll hear her. we just have to be quiet.”
joaquin looks at you again, considering your proposal.
“what about us? i don’t want this to be a one time thing. i don’t want us to be—what’s the word? sex buddies or whatvever. i want you.”
you peck his lips, smiling softly at his worried state. “joaquin. i do too. and this isn’t the last time.” you pause, stoking his jaw. “we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to joaquin.” another pause this time. “i just want you. so bad.”
at your confession his lips slam against yours, hungry, desperate for you.
his hands are wandering, just the way you like, but not enough, they’re still polite. so you nudge him towards the correct direction, guiding his hands towards the hem of your worn sleep shirt.
“you want it off?” joaquin asks. you nod fast in response.
joaquin takes his time slipping the shirt off, teasing you, well mostly himself. he wanted to savor this moment. when the shirt reveals your tits to him he sighs.
“so beautiful.”
joaquin’s hands immediately reach out to your now revealed tits, hands moving to cup and pinch your tits and your erect nipples.
“fuck come here.” he pulls you on top of him, and you feel him though his gym shorts. he’s painfully hard.
you want to help him, but before you can say anything his warm mouth meets your nipple. he suckles gently, moaning quietly around you.
you feel the vibration and you slap your hand around your mouth, unsure of your ability to control yourself. you could try to control your noises, but you couldn’t control yourself hips grinding against joaquin’s dick.
his tongue circles your bud, sucking gently before leaving kisses in between your breasts to move to the other. his worship leaves you breathless, moaning into your hand as your grind on him.
joaquin feels you, and his hand pulls the thin material of your shorts to the side, rubbing your clit through your soaked panties. he chuckles at your wetness but doesn’t say a word.
the pad of his thumb gives a direct rub on your clit, and you double over in pleasure. it’s hard to be quiet, especially when joaquin times how his tongue circles around your bud to every rub of your clit. it had hardly been five minutes and you were sure you were gonna cum like this.
“joaquin…i think im gonna—“
he wordlessly kisses you at your words, knowing whats coming next. his thumb rubs again before you’re groaning with his tongue in your mouth.
you ride out your orgasm by grinding your pussy down on his cock, and you shake in your post orgasm nerves.
you pull away laughing. “that was really good. fuck!”
joaquin laughs with you. “you’re really hot when you cum kissing me.”
“oh?” you eyebrow him, before you kiss him again. pulling away once more to ask, “let me ride you?”
“hell yeah.”
you don’t bother pulling joaquin’s shorts all the way, pooling at his ankles. you just decide to pull your shorts to the side, too desperate for the feeling of joaquin dragging against your walls.
“condom?” he asks.
“no it’s okay, i’m clean and im on birth control. you?”
“well im not on birth control but i am clean.” he smiles brightly at his joke. you just smack him playfully on the shoulder. you move to pull your shorts to the side when joaquin stops you.
“wait wait—take your shorts off. please. wanna see your pussy.”
you quickly obey, throwing the shorts off to god knows where. joaquin pumps himself, eyeing your bare figure before him.
“fuck you’re pretty. you always were by the way. even if i never told you.”
you smile bright, and you can tell joaquin wants to go on, but he’s stopped when you take hold of his cock, stopping his hand that’s slowly jerking himself off. you insert his cock in your entrance before slowly sinking down.
the stretch is a pleasurable kind of pain, one that takes your breath away and has you wanting more as you take more of his cock.
“oh fuckkk.”
“joaquin oh my god. hah..”
he starts mumbling nonsense in spanish, groaning the words filthy against your neck. when you’ve taken him all the way the two of you groan.
“move please. wanna feel you.” joaquin asks.
you comply, moving your hips up and down slowly.
“i’ve waited forever to feel you like this.” he continues on, mumbling in spanish once more in the crook of your neck. you lose it when he kisses your neck sensually, whispering words you can’t understand with each one.
“mm me too joaquin. oh shit!” your hand slaps against your mouth when you grind just right, his cock hitting your precious g spot.
“you gonna cum?” he groans, trying to keep as quiet as he can.
“mhm!”
“fuck yes, please cum for me. i’m so close—“
you cum at his word, moaning when he cums in you.
the two of you groan against each other, holding each other tightly. you stay like that for that abut before joaquin breaks the silence.
“groot dies?!” he groans, looking at the tv screen (he’s still inside you too).
you just smack joaquin on the shoulder again.
thank god for liquid courage and a newly hot joaquin.
—————————
hope you guys like it! this pic took me ages to write so i’m glad it’s finally done! if you would like a p2 at the party lmk! i definitely could write it 😛😛😛 please reblog, comment, and like if you liked this!
the beach scene is my favorite part, definitely a scenario i wish to experience with my future man 🙂↕️
the fact we’re smashing while ‘guardians of the galaxy’ is playing in the background is wild and joaquín shocked at one point while balls deep is crazy lmfao 💀
𝔰ummary: the one where you dump your sleazy, no good, boyfriend of two years before going on stage to sing for fifty people. You cross paths with the lead guitarist of a band, enamored by his charm and wits- thinking he might be the guy you need.
𝔞uthor's note: the pb&jj hyperfixation is too strong i needed it to consume me whole so I wrote a fic.
𝔴arnings: swearing, excessive use of the f word, drinking, smoking, use of marijuana, use of a switchblade for defense, mentioned frenching, implied smut, mentioned big age-gap not reader or joaquin, joaquin is a NERD, reader went as padme for halloween, reader likes star wars, joaquin speaks spanish (lmk if i translated anything wrong!) non-sexual shirtless-ness (?), sm pop culture references.
wc: 9.4+
9:56 PM - THE DEAD MAN'S FLOAT
Joaquin pushes open the back door of the bar they were performing at that night, with the amount of times they'd been invited to play here he knew his way around like it was a second home. He emerged out of the establishment and out on a wide street that overlooked the spirited city below it. Speckled with bright lights, bursting at the seams with life, the bustling streets full of music, traffic, and people that kept the city alive.
The Dead Man's Float was a speakeasy turned jazz bar in the 60s, turned moshpit in the 80s, until it was once again restored as a music venue where aspiring bands performed- in hopes to make it out of the restraints that were resto bars and places like these; to tour around America and sell out stadiums with fans that would relay their lyrics back to them- a conduit to each song's underlying meaning.
Joaquin shared that dream with Bob Reynolds who was once a shy little boy that lived across the street from him. Bob came over to his house whenever his parents fought, which was incredibly often. So much so that instead of putting out four plates for Joaquin and his sisters- his parents knew to add another one for Bob.
He had an annoying talent for rhythm and a penchant for carrying drumsticks everywhere he went even since they were children. Together they performed The Cure and Radiohead for Joaquin's parents who crossed the border when Joaquin was born in hopes for him to someday become a successful businessman, or maybe a neurosurgeon- but no, Joaquin didn't share the same dream. Joaquin wanted to be a rockstar, and he wanted Bob there with him every step of the way.
Like most big names in the industry they started small. Performing in middle-school school talent shows, once even winning 2nd place and receiving a trophy their school bought from 5-Below that meant the world to them.
In Junior High, they met Peter Parker and Johnny Storm. Not by chance, but purely by circumstance. Joaquin and Bob went to prom without dates, the night proved to be too dismal for them to sit on their asses and watch as the boys in their class danced with the popular girls so they decided to go up to the roof of the school. There, they were met by Peter whose date stood him up for one of his teammates in the Academic Decathlon, and Johnny who was up there trying to hide from a couple of guys who he's pissed off after keying their car (in his defense they slashed the tires of his car first).
Long story short, all four of them were locked up there until way past midnight. That was until a security guard found them and sent them all home.
From then on their bond grew closer. It started as a simple hangout at Peter's house, and then another, until Joaquin found out Johnny played the bass and Peter played the keyboard. That same day, PB&JJ was formed. A silly amalgamation of their initials to form the beloved sandwich spread combo that billions of people around the world loved.
Joaquin's father always told him that in order to be seen wholly, you needed to be loved. That was what PB&JJ was to them and what they wanted it to be for the world. Seen and loved, despite everything.
Like military grade precision, Joaquin fishes out a squashed pack of Marlboro reds from the pocket of his bomber jacket and lights the other end- waiting for it to be set ablaze.
Right when it did however, a deafening collision of a door being flung open at such a force that the sound of impact made Joaquin almost drop his cigarette to the floor.
The sounds of arguing followed by expletives made his head turn to the direction of the sound. He sees a woman walking into view and a man hot on her trail. The man grabs one of the woman's arms but she pivots on her heel and yanks her arm away, shoving the guy, and pointing a switchblade at his throat.
“Go fuck yourself, Russo!” The woman shrieks. “I'm sick of you and your bullshit! Every damn day I've gotta pick up after you like you're not a grown-ass man! ”
The man slumped exasperatedly. “You know it was never like that, baby! I fucking swear on my dead mother's grave.” The man argues swiftly, looming over the woman who stared up at him furiously. When he gets too close she shoves him away once more, this time he nearly fell on his ass.
He scoffed, glancing to the side. “Why won't you believe me huh? It's not like you're the fucking Virgin Mary, not when you keep coming back to me once you've run outta weed with your mouth and legs wide open!”
The woman snapped, she grabbed the man's shirt and pointed the knife right at his jugular. Joaquin didn't know whether he should be in awe or pissing his pants in fear, his lips parted and his cigarette long forgotten.
“Pack your fucking shit up and leave!” She yelled at him, eyes ablaze with fury. “I don't ever wanna see your cheating ass ever again!”
Joaquin should interfere, then again the woman looked like she got herself covered.
“And go where huh?” The man wonders. “Go fucking where? ”
“Not my fucking problem, Billy.” She replies, resolute. “You can go back to your side piece, I don’t give two shits, you figure it out. I'm sick of solving your problems for you. You're 31 fucking years old. Fucking act like it, dickwad.” She lets him go, forcefully tugging his shirt downwards so that he falls face first onto the pavement with an embarrassing thud.
“YOU'RE GONNA REGRET THIS BITCH!” The man yells, pulling himself up whilst walking out of the alley.
“FUCK YOU!”
The woman walks away, switchblade in hand. The door slamming in her wake.
It takes Joaquin a moment to process what he just saw.
“Hoooooly shit?” A voice suddenly sang from behind Joaquin, partly in shock. “What was that about?”
Joaquin turns around and he sees the rest of his teammates clad in their performance attire- denim shorts, baseball caps, and boxy polos. Their faces were lit up by the neon red sign illuminating the hallway to the backdoor, they positioned themselves beside Joaquin comfortably.
“Some chick just threatened to slit some guy's throat before she broke up with him.” Joaquin recounts the last few seconds that flew past him with a grin on his face. “It was so cool.”
“Hot.” Says Johnny, sniggering. “If a woman did that to me my dick would probably explode and then I’d die from asphyxiation. It would single-handedly be the best way to go out.”
Peter recoils, his face twisting into a sour expression. “Ugh, Jesus, Johnny.”
“Nah, the best way to go out is fighting bi-pedal crocodiles on a bullet train, free diving over a bridge and into a vat of toxic chemicals full of… piranhas probably.” Bob chimes in, raking a hand through his overgrown mousy brown hair- leaning against the door hinges.
“I concur.” Says Peter, confidently. “Getting your arm chomped off would be better than playing the wrong chord.-”
“-Sound familiar, Johnny?” Joaquin asks, turning to look at Johnny as annoyance flits across his soft features. The rest of them laugh.
“Dude! Jesus, let it go! It was one time! ” Johnny reasoned loudly, “I told you, my hands cramped. I was doing pull ups the entire da-”
“-Your ass did not do a single pull-up, you were on the couch the entire day man!” Joaquin argued before taking a hit of his cigarette. “Hey, how about this- the day you actually do a pull up call me and I'll give you a million dollars.”
“You're such a heckler man,” Johnny whined. “Jus- gimme that.” He says, pulling the cigarette out of Joaquin's mouth before he could do anything.
“Dude what the hell??? Not even a warning?”
“Too bad.” Johnny teased, sticking his tongue out at Joaquin who was now ticked off.
“I swear, if the night ends with someone having a cigarette burn stamped to whatever part of their fucking skin I'm not playing nurse anymore.” Peter warned, eyeing both of them.
“You guys, 10 minutes.” Bob says, staring at his phone. The rest of them straightened themselves up, Johnny taking one last hit before handing the cigarette back to Joaquin. “Ready to get these people's socks knocked off?”
Joaquin smiled, exhaling a large cloud of smoke. “That's what we're here to do.”
“And have a good fucking time doing it.” Bob chimes in naturally.
“Hands in?” Peter asks, looking at the rest of his teammates who in turn exchange looks.
“Why not.” Joaquin says, filling the gap between them with his hand, followed by Bob, Peter, and Johnny. “Peanut Butter Jelly Time on three. One, two-”
“-Peanut Butter Jelly Time!”
“Dorks.” Johnny says in turn, causing Joaquin to trap him in a headlock, ruffling his styled hair. Peter tries jumping onto both of them, cheering, while Bob shoves them all inside.
𝜗𝜚⋆.🎙₊*˚
9:59 PM - THE DEADMAN'S FLOAT
You were sick and tired of dealing with Billy Russo's headassery. For a year you've deluded yourself into thinking that he'd mature, that you needed the weed hookup. But where has that gotten you? Crying over some insensitive, self-absorbed, man-child that doesn't know the difference between you're and your.
You wanted to give yourself a tracheotomy with a scalding hot ice pick every time you said the words “I can fix him” outloud. How stupid has this man made you, really?
Was the switchblade anywhere close to necessary? Yes, and you'd absolutely die on that hill.
You storm into one of the backstage rooms where the rest of your band was, platform boots kicking the door open. They froze instantly, conversations halted, their heads snapped up to look at you expectantly.
“Well???” Yelena demands, swinging her legs off the couch to sit up. “Have you done it?”
“I dumped his ass.” You replied with a shit-eating grin and they all screamed in a piercing, discordant chorus that made you wince.
Kate leaped up from her chair and started jumping, Gwen who sat on the chair beside Kate painting her nails stopped mid-stroke to whoop in glee. Ava stood up as well, the popcorn bowl she was eating out of fell to the floor in the process- popcorn scattered all over the floor.
“Thank God!” Says Kate, rushing over to trap you in a hug that knocked the air out of your lungs, your eyes widening. “We thought you'd never do it!”
“Neither did I, until I finally snapped out of it.” You replied humorously as Gwen swooped in and embraced you too.
“Good fucking riddance to that asshole.” Ava jeered, licking her thumb free of salt. “I thought I'd have to see you stick your tongue down his mouth forever.”
You scrunch your nose, chuckling in disgust. “That all changed tonight, if only I'd done it sooner. Poor you, what you must've been through.” You crooned, pouting your lips at Ava who laughed from her spot.
“You're finally free of that guy!” Gwen squealed, letting go. “I feel like this is a good reason to get shitfaced after our set, on me!”
Yelena fakes a confused look, tilting her head. “Aren't you like 12? Who told you you could drink anything other than kool-aid?”
“Hilarious, Yelena. I'm shaking at how funny that is.”
You laughed as you walked over to your bag to get ready for the night, grabbing your eyelash curler to curl your lashes. Gwen settles down to finally finish painting her nails a vivid fuchsia.
“I honestly think it's a great idea,” Kate appended, hopeful. “We've been making bank after a couple weeks of successful gigs, it beats spending it all on thrift stores and guitar picks all the time.”
“Speak for yourselves.” Ava chirps winking at Yelena who snorted, smiling. “Count me in.”
“Me too,” Yelena says. “As long as Serena van der Woodsen over here is paying.”
Gwen playfully scoffed at Yelena's comment. “Kate?”
Kate hummed, placing her elbow on top of your shoulder. “In honor of you breaking up with your shitty boyfriend and waking the fuck up, I say why not.”
“Babe, you gotta say yes.” Ava pleads, whirling around to look at you- one eye with eyeliner and one without. “I haven't had a beer in ages.”
You frowned, outlining the curvature of your lips with a lip-liner. “You and Yelena stole a couple of beers from the gas station last Tuesday!”
“Emphasis on last, it's been a tiring week!” Ava reasoned, albeit weakly.
“Yeah, come on!” Gwen insisted, shaking you by your shoulders. “Say yes, you're gonna make us so happy.”
“Yes, so incredibly, indescribably happy!” hollered Yelena who was at odds with her hair- fluffing it up for more volume.
“Fine, yes.” You say, your lips threatening to curl up into a smile as you reapplied some lip gloss. “Let's get shitfaced!’
The rest of the girls cheer loudly, loud enough to make you wince but you didn't mind it. It was the objective to be the loudest possible in the room, to take up the most space, to be seen, and to be heard. That was how Static came to be. All your songs were supposed to make the person listening to them want to stand up and start bouncing off the walls or if not maybe a fierce head-bang.
In the midst of your many conversations, MJ appears and knocks profusely on your door. “You guys were supposed to be on like, yesterday! Let's go!”
“What's Static without us being 10 minutes late?” You say, sliding on a silver arm cuff. “Besides, looking this good every damn time takes effort and a lot of q-tips.”
“I'm gonna set a timer on you guys I swear.” MJ replies, frowning at all of you positioned in front of the largest mirror in one of the backstage rooms still getting ready despite having been here since 6PM. “Being late is like, not respectful at all.”
“We're a rock band, Em, not wine moms going to a PTA meeting.” Yelena shot back, smudging her blue eyeliner all over her upper and lower lid.
“Not yet.” She reminds all of you. “I think wanna-be and failing is more suitable.”
“Don't pray for our downfall MJ, we can't lose the best fucking band photographer there is.” You whined, glancing back to look at her as she shot you with a shrewd smile. “No one can make me look as sexy as you do.”
“You're already sexy enough without my help.” MJ jokes, making everyone laugh. You blew her a kiss from your seat, watching her return it.
Gwen stood up first, embodying the theme for your performance, lace and leather. “Has anyone seen my drumsticks?”
“On the couch.” Everyone replied in practised unison.
Gwen fishes out her drumsticks from the recesses of the couch cushions. “Thanks guys!”
“Ava pass me the hairspray would you?” Kate asks before Ava flings the bottle across the room, Kate catches it and tames her flyaways with a thin layer before chucking it towards Yelena who needed it to keep her hair volumized and pointy.
“Who else needs it?” Yelena wonders as she shrugs on a lace up leather jacket.
“MJ probably does. She's just gonna be standing there, frowning at us the entire time we get ready- might help if we give her something semi-permanent.”
“You guys are the worst.” MJ concludes, watching everybody stand up from their seats. All dressed and ready and looking like they just popped out of a 70's girl rock band moodboard.
“We love you too, Grouch.” Ava teases, grinning, as they all passed by her on the way to the stage where their instruments were already positioned. They see the crowd gushing to each other, some holding drinks, some not.
You climbed on stage first, basked in the harsh orange and green lights from above the stage. It didn't take long until the audience spotted you and the excited conversations quickly turned into a deafening uproar of cheering and screaming. A grin spreads across your face.
“Everybody feeling good tonight? Yeah?” You ask the crowd, eyes combing through all the people staring back at you, still rowdy as ever. “We sure hope you'll feel great as hell, we're Static.”
The rest of your band appears right as the audience cheers once more. Gwen settled behind the drums- tossing a drumstick in the air before twirling it between her fingers, Ava slings her stratocaster across her body, Yelena started plucking her bass, Kate fiddled with the keys on her keyboard.
You turned back around, they all looked at you expectantly, excitedly. Gwen starts the cue, all the instruments explode in a cacophonous motley and so does the crowd- teeming with enthusiasm and spirit. You grab the microphone stand and the microphone and start singing the intro to your song- Asterisk, forgetting about whatever transpired 10 minutes ago, ending things with Billy. You focused on singing, on performing with your best friends, living out your childhood dream and proving your mother wrong.
Yes, you smiled at that.
You don't notice however the four men standing next to the stage gawking at all of you performing, jaws slack, eyes wide.
Joaquin whirls around, befuddled, finding Bob who had the same expression plastered across his face. “Dude, you said we were next in the line up.”
“We were,” Bob defended. “Ricky sent me the official line up last night, I swear I saw us next to the numbers 10:05. I don't know what's going on.”
“It's like, 10:08 right now and there's another band performing on stage when we should be up there performing on stage.” Johnny chimes in, gesturing towards the stage adamantly.
“No shit, Jonathan.” Joaquin snapped.
“God, you sound like my sister.” Johnny whined, wincing like it was a painful reminder.
“I didn't know your sister suddenly transformed into a five-foot-eight Mexican man with curly black hair since we last saw each other."
They hear shuffling.
“Ow! ¡¿Que coño?! ” Joaquin seethes, rubbing his arm. What the fuck?!
“Bob, dude, you probably got cross-eyed or something and got the times mixed up.” Says Peter, trying to find a rational explanation to things as he always did.
Bob huffed, placing his hands on his hips. “Our name was huge, so was the time. It was pretty hard to miss even if my eyes did decide to fuck me over.”
“That's it, I'm finding Ricky.” Johnny declares, storming off. “He can't fuck us over like this when we've been performing here since before Peter's popped his cherry.”
“And by cherry you mean-” Bob asked as Peter trailed after him.
“His live performance cherry.” Jonathan explained, walking off. “What do you think I was talking about?”
Bob then turns his attention to Joaquin who stood in the same spot quietly- whose presence had seemingly lapsed from the conversation a while ago. “Dude, you coming?”
Joaquin doesn't turn to look at Bob anymore, his eyes couldn't be torn from the sight of you singing on stage. Eyelids glittering, dark red lips hovering over the cross-hatched pattern of the microphone, the lace camisole you wore hugging your frame snugly.
“She's the girl I saw earlier… with the switchblade.” He tells Bob. “The one that dumped her boyfriend.”
It takes Bob a second to process it, for a moment he forgot what Joaquin was talking about. “Cool, turns out she's the lead singer of the band that stole our time slot.”
“Uh-huh.” Joaquin enunciates, still observing you and how you moved about the stage, how the crowds could not be silenced as they watched you. “Who would have thought, right?” Joaquin finally turns to Bob, grinning ear to ear.
“Yeah, man.” Bob chuckled, amused by Joaquin's dazed yet wonderstruck expression. “We need to go though. Ricky… the schedule… it's all kinda urgent, you know?”
Joaquin blinks profusely, almost like he just reset. “Shit- right, yeah. Let's go.”
Bob hooked an arm around his shoulders as they followed Peter and Johnny's trail, through a staircase, a curtain, and then they heard the sound of Johnny's voice.
“What do you mean there's been a mix-up man?” Johnny demands, face all knitted together and sour. Ricky, a short stout man covered in patchwork tattoos stands helplessly in front of Johnny and Peter.
“I'm saying there's been a mix-up in the lineup! I don't know how any simpler it can be!” Ricky answers, just as loud. Joaquin and Bob make their way to the group assembled in the middle of the room, stage.
“Ricky, what the hell happened?” Joaquin asked, disconcerted.
“You guys don't understand the absolute shitstorm it was to organize tonight,” Ricky started, livid. “I mean Jesus H. Christ, I've got Racket and Amaranthine cancelling because Racket's drummer apparently stole some of Amaranthine's equipment and set it on fire- now they can't bear to be in the same venue as each other so I had to call some other contacts to fill in the spots-” Ricky explained.
Peter looks over to the rest of them, languidly. “We were his second choice.”
Bob and Joaquin both let out sounds of disapproval, it was almost comical had it not been the bombshell that was the harsh betrayal from one of their oldest friends in the industry.
“Sorry I gotta say this, but fuck you man, we've known you since we were all 17! Have you no regard for the steady brotherhood we've formed over the years, I wouldn't put it past you since you're what, pushing 30?” Joaquin says, masking his upset with a hint of humor that was expected of him.
“I'm 28, asshat.” Ricky replies quickly, they all laugh. “and dude secondly? You guys have been performing here for like a couple of years now, you're a familiar favorite, you're going on tour in a couple of months- sure. But I had to make a choice.”
Johnny scoffed loudly, looking off to the side. “A choice? Dude, this is just like the Titanic where Rose chose to go back and find Jack when she was about to be rescued! It's a no brainer! It was critical to the plot of the movie! We're your no brainer, Ricky.” says Johnny, grabbing Ricky by the shoulders and looking at him straight in the eye.
This was where Ricky laughed at them, taking them all aback. “Look, honest to God? I was gonna put you in, no doubt. But when Static hit me up saying they were in the area, dude I had to say yes.” Ricky explained plainly. “They're new, they're big, they're loud.”
“You're not sacking us, are you?” Bob asks before Joaquin could even open his mouth.
Ricky makes a sound of disbelief. “No! What?! Come on, I could never sack you guys. You're my guys! You're PB&JJ!” He pauses. “It's just- Static is the biggest thing right now, talk of the town. New people's always good for business.”
“Oh so it's all about the money for you, is it Ricky?” Peter chimes in this time, eyes narrowing at the shorter man.
“Not necessarily.” Ricky says, making them all let out disgruntled sighs.
Joaquin rakes his entire face with dread. “So that's it then, we aren't performing tonight but at least we're performing on Thursday.”
“Actually they'll be in town for a week and Grapefruit, Tramp Stamp, and Over My Dead Body have secured spots so-.”
They all let out a groan, Bob ran a hand through his hair, Peter turned around and started walking aimlessly, Johnny placed his hands on his knees- staring at the floor. They couldn't believe it.
One of the stage crew wearing a communication headset ushered Ricky over to the side for a moment before he left. Ricky turns to look at all of them. “Look you guys, I'm sorry I didn't contact you sooner and I'm sorry I forgot to send you guys the updated lineup but I'll make it up to you. I promise!” with that they watched him jog out of there.
All four of them were standing there, speechless, nearly motionless.
“Look, it'll be fine,” Joaquin tells his bandmates who looked up at him dismally. “Sure, we just lost our biggest venue but we've got a couple of other performances this week. We've got the rooftop bar, the wedding, the Music Box. Let's not let the fact that Ricky just put us on the fucking back burner wreck our vibe.”
“Yeah, fuck him. We were what gave this place life; he'd be nothing without us.” Johnny adds angrily.
“Exactly, I mean come on. This whole place would've probably been just another lame event hall after its reconstruction.” Peter points out almost impudently, crossing his toned arms over his chest.
Bob asks, “What do we do now?” He looks around at the rest of his bandmates.
“Wreck Ricky's Car?” Johnny says right off the bat.
“Get In-N-Out?” Peter says at the same time.
“Both of those sound so good to me.” Joaquin replies, shaking his head.
“So why not both?” Johnny suggested with a wicked grin.
“Nuh-uh,” Peter frowns, cutting the air with his hands. “I'm not spending the night inside a holding cell ever again.”
“I concur.” Says Bob.
“Again, it wasn't a ghost that kept jangling the lock to the cell, it was just the stupid cat.” Joaquin explains, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“That police precinct was definitely haunted.”
“Come on, let's get outta here. I'm starving.”
𝜗𝜚⋆.🎙₊* ˚
7:15 PM - THE BOY'S APARTMENT - THE NEXT EVENING
Tonight might just be one of the best nights of Joaquin's life and he didn't even know it yet.
No, it wasn't because he found 5 dollars in one of the pockets of his jeans shorts while doing laundry this morning, it wasn't because he got the last chocolate & custard tart in the bakery a block away from their apartment, and it definitely wasn't because he made it in his train on time right before the doors shut.
Their apartment was buzzing with life as it always was; Johnny was playing Mortal Kombat with a couple of his friends from MIT- yelling at a decibel that warded off any pigeon that tried to perch on their fire escape, Peter was scribbling on the back of no doubt yet another new skateboard with paint pens from the dollar store, Bob was reorganizing the takeout sauce drawer taking into account their spice level, acidity, and sweetness. A song from Heroes was being played through the speakers, not loud enough to be disruptive but not quiet enough to be dismissed either.
But he? Well, he just came back from the gym. He saunters into the apartment with a half-full bottle of blue gatorade and his duffel bag, his body buzzing all over like he was a live wire. He turns to close the door but the door knob dislodges from its place. Joaquin sighs, staring at the hole before forcing the doorknob back in.
“Hey man, are you still on that?” Joaquin says, acknowledging Bob who momentarily paused his arranging to dap Joaquin up in the typical fashion.
“Yeah, I never realized how much sauce that charcoal chicken place gives us every time.” Bob replies. “Can't really complain though, we use it on absolutely everything.”
“Not to mention the amount of spicy ranch packets Johnny stuffs in his pockets every time we go there.” Joaquin chuckles, leaning against the kitchen counter. “and all the other shit he's stolen in other restaurants and… hardware stores…”
“There's no way you're supporting the amount of money they're charging for a roll of duct tape! That's crazy.” Johnny yells from the couch, turning behind him to glare at them. “At the end of the day it's still tape!”
“Stop tryna justify your kleptomaniac tendencies to us.” Peter called out. “We know what you are and we love you for it.”
“Yeah man, we support you no matter what.” Joaquin snickered from the other side of the room.
Johnny rolled his eyes at them. “You guys are so mean, sometimes I find myself asking why the hell am I still even in this band.”
A moment later, Peter walks by, placing a jar full of quarters down in front of Johnny. In front of it was a piece of paper with the words “saying they're leaving the band but never doing it jar.” Johnny digs inside his pockets, muttering indecipherable insults before he drops a couple quarters inside the jar. Bob chuckles.
“Riri called me, saying she's hosting a party tonight with Shuri and a couple of her friends at her apartment.” Says Joaquin, walking over to the couch. “We should go, especially after what happened last night.”
“YES! That is exactly what we need.” Johnny declares, pausing his game and tearing off his headphones. “Joaquin, you're a genius.”
“What time?” Peter asks, capping off a paint pen.
“At 8,” Joaquin answers. “So we leave at 8:30.”
“Why are we leaving so half an hour late?” Bob asks, joining the group in the living room.
“If you get there on time there'll be no other people there except you, her, and Shuri and then she's gonna make you set up the snacks with her because Shuri's too busy curating her party playlist when we know she made it the night before.” Joaquin cited off the top of his head.
“What's so bad about that?” Bob contradicts, raising an eyebrow slightly.
Joaquin turns to the rest of them. “She also told us to bring ice because her fridge is busted and cuz Xialing's bringing the booze.”
“Oh my god, this party is gonna be better than I thought!” Says Johnny, in pure elation. “There really is someone up there looking out for me.”
Peter's head glances at the clock across the room. “Are we trying to hit the last subway trip? The one on the 16th is under repair, the last trip is at like 9:00.”
“So? We'll just get ice from Delmar's,” Bob answers him like it would convenience them, until it doesn't because the realization hits him like a truck. “Except… he's on the opposite way.”
“DIBS ON THE SHOWER!-” Joaquin yelled at the top of his lungs as he started bolting towards their shared bathroom.
“-NUH-UH MAN-” Johnny huffed, leaping off the couch and jumping over the coffee table in attempts to block Joaquin's path but Joaquin was too soft on his feet and made it into the bathroom first- shutting the door right in Johnny's face.
“Goddamnit.”
𝜗𝜚⋆.🎙₊*˚
8:37 PM - OUTSIDE RIRI WILLIAMS’ APARTMENT
“Holy shit, this party looks sick.” Peter exclaims with a little bounce to his step as their eyes dart up towards the second floor of the apartment in front of them. Differently colored strobe lights flickered inside the apartment. It was packed, so packed that there were people scattered across the fire escape talking, laughing, eating, smoking weed, there were people hanging out on the balcony talking to people from across the street also on their balcony.
The thrumming and thumping of the beat from the song blaring through the speakers could be heard from where they stood, and it only grew louder and louder until they were able to discern the song was the remix of The Days. They enter the apartment building, dancing past a group of people talking by the stairwell.
“Riri sure knows how to throw a party.” Bob comments, as they avoid the couple making out at the top of the stairwell.
“Hey Matt, Foggy.” Peter greets, nodding at the duo leaning on the hallway wall. “Is Karen with you?”
“Nah, she and Jessica left a while ago. Riri sent them off to get more beer.” Matt answered. “You with the gang? Congrats on the tour by the way you guys, that's amazing.”
“How does he do that???” Johnny gasped in awe.
“Dude, he just does.” Foggy answers. “I've been around this guy to know not to question his methods.”
Matt laughed, pearly whites contrasting his glasses. “What's up, Johnny?”
“Not much man.” Johnny replies, dapping Matt up, still shocked.
“We'll head in,” Peter says, cooking his head to the direction of the door where more people had spilled out. “It was nice seeing you guys.”
Foggy nodded. “Bye guys.”
“See ya.” Says Matt. “Yknow, figuratively.” He added as an afterthought.
They dodge a couple people carrying surfboards out of the room, ducking as they passed by. They bid goodbye to Foggy and Matt for the final time and finally make it inside. It was as crazy as a party that someone who has lived in Chicago their whole life it was packed with more people they didn't know than people they did. People were playing beer pong, others were dancing, others were simply talking, others were hooking up.
They instantly spot Shuri behind the DJ booth along with America Chavez who Joaquin and Bob greeted. Peter spots his childhood friend Ned and disappears with him like they were never there, raving about “Dorky Space Nerd Shit” according to America. Then, Johnny spots a girl in a gray halter top and a tight silver pencil skirt and follows her away like a lost puppy.
“Seems like your gang's gone, ‘mano.” America yells over the speakers, noticing how Peter and Johnny have disappeared.
“I'm not surprised.” Joaquin yelled back, grinning. “How's college been?”
“I hate it, I can't believe I didn't just go backpacking in Europe and fall in love with a foreign girl in a bookstore or something, I dunno I haven't seen Before Sunrise.” America replied.
“Come on!” Joaquin makes a face in disbelief. “I've been putting you on that movie for years!”
Bob taps Joaquin's shoulder, gaze focused faraway. “Dude, they've got chicken nuggets AND curly fries.”
“Oh my god, let's go.” Joaquin replies without missing a beat. “Guess I'm seeing you around.” He says to America.
“Uh-huh, go enjoy the food but make sure you save some for the rest of us.” America giggled, earning a pointed yet lighthearted look from Joaquin before he bids goodbye to Shuri as well and runs off to follow Bob who was stealing barbecue sauce cups. They load up on fries and nuggets and fish out PBRs from the cooler with half-melted ice.
They plop down and start eating right away.
“-I mean I'm just saying that Katniss Everdeen, Rhea Ripley, and Brittany Murphy as a trio could probably actually kill a silver back gorilla.” Says Bob, shoving a nugget coated in barbecue sauce into his mouth.
Joaquin nodded. “Rhea Ripley could come from above, Katniss from every other direction, and the sight of Brittany Murphy alone would send the gorilla into a coma.”
“You get me man.” Bob answers, satisfied.
“But,” Joaquin says all of a sudden, biting into a fry. “Try Rhaenyra Targaryen after she lost her youngest and oldest son on the same day.”
“Yeah that gorilla shouldn't have even bothered to wake up that morning.” Bob deduced, taking a sip of his beer. “You think Peter and Johnny's doing alright?”
Joaquin pursed his lips. “Oh yeah no doubt, they'll be fine.” He takes his PBR can and lifts the soda tab, only for it to start spraying fizzy beer all over his shirt. He curses and drops the can to the floor in the process.
“God fucking damnit.” Joaquin seethed, tugging at his Smashing Pumpkins shirt as a giant wet stain bloomed from the center of the fabric. “Im gonna find some tissues… or a sink and some soap.” He tells Bob, who stood up with him.
“I'll be here when you get back,” he promised Joaquin.
“Sit tight man,” says Joaquin, walking off before he pivots on his heel and looks back at Bob. “And don't steal my fries!”
“No promises!” Says Bob as he waves at him before Joaquin turns back around to find a bathroom. He weaves past the party-goers, says hi to a couple people he knows, opens way too many doors and sees things he would pay good money to unsee.
Finally, a guy comes out of a room at the end of the hall, Joaquin sees a sink and immediately books it. When he reaches the door, all of a sudden someone appears on his left flank.
It was a girl wearing a stained halter top and a midi skirt. But he knew that girl, he recognized her. Except what he remembered was leather, lace, and smudged black eyeshadow. It had been you, you were the lead singer of Static, the band that yanked their remaining nights at the Deadman's Float away from them.
“You gonna use the bathroom?” You asked him apologetically, shaking him back to reality. “I'm kinda in a crisis right now, some dick spilled kombucha on me and now I smell like baby vomit.”
His mouth twitched at the corner unexpectedly, stifling a laugh. At this you can't help but frown.
“What?” you ask him, narrowing your eyes.
Joaquin blinks, facing you properly now. “Sorry, no it's just that the beer I got was shaken… I think- and it hosed me down so now it kinda looks like I peed on myself.” He explained, earning a laugh from you. A sound that lifted Joaquin off the ground for a few precious seconds. “So yeah I kinda do.”
You are given a better look at his situation, nearly his whole chest and torso was wet. You snort, Joaquin is startled by the sound, almost delightfully. “Too bad, that's like the best band ever. Now they're drenched in… what is that- Pabst Blue Ribbon?” You laughed, looking back up at him with a grin on your face.
“How did you-” Joaquin wonders, amazed.
You shrugged. “Some of my fondest childhood memories involved PBR, including picking up a shit ton of them around the house.” You tell him with a tight smile on your face.
Joaquin does not say anything, he only nods as a sign of understanding, politeness, remorse.
You quickly find a segue. “But, lucky for us they've got a washer and dryer in here.” You say, beckoning him in the bathroom with your head. He follows you in shutting the door behind you.
The bathroom was small, there was a shower, a sink, a bathroom caddy, and lo behold- a washer and dryer. You take it upon yourself to fire up the washing machine, fiddling with the settings as Joaquin lets you take the wheel since you look like you knew your way around.
Then you finally figured it out and the water started filling the drum with water. “Okay, hand me your shirt.”
Joaquin forgets where he was for a moment until he remembers why he was here and what he was doing. “Oh, right- yeah.” He shrugs off his polo, setting it aside and takes off his shirt. He hands it to you just as you put the detergent in.
You throw it inside along with your halter top and you shut the door, pressing start.
Now here you two were, top-less, watching your shirts spin around inside the washing machine. Joaquin couldn't help but think he should introduce himself to you, it would be wrong if he didn't. So he does.
Until he chickened out. “So uhm, did you know that in some scenes in Empire Strikes Back the asteroids were just potatoes?”
You couldn't help the addled giggle that evades your mouth. “What???” You ask.
He visibly swallows and folds his arms in some attempt to cover up his bare chest from you. “Yeah- cuz there was this scene where… The Millenium Falcon had to fly through an asteroid field. They were just painted potatoes attached to a rig an-and they were filmed in front of a blue screen.”
You take a good look at this man now. You look at his grown out curly ebony hair, his crooked teeth, the countless beauty marks strewn across his face, and his eyes that looked like they sparkled underneath the fluorescent bathroom lights. There was something so tantalising about him, you just didn't know exactly what.
“Well, I do now.” You tell him. “It's funny how I've watched that movie 9 times and never noticed.”
He lights up. “You like Star Wars too?”
“Dude yeah, I went as Padme Amidala three Halloweens in a row in high school.” You tell him. “I love Star Wars.”
“No kidding!” He grinned. “I went as Luke Skywalker… once in the 6th Grade but nobody recognized me so my best friend and I went as Han Solo and Chewbacca.”
“So which one were you?”
“Chewbacca.” He answered dead-on, making you snort and duck your face trying not to laugh.
“I practiced all the sounds he made too. Angry, excited, melancholic...”
“Really!?” You asked him. You furrowed your eyebrows, entertained.
“Yuh-huh.” The man says to you like he was proud of himself.
“You should do it right now then,” You tell him, standing up straighter. “show me what you got.”
He opens his mouth before laughter overcomes him, hiding his face for a moment before turning back to look at you with flushed cheeks. “Nah- Nah, I won't, I'll fuck it up. It's been years since I've done it a-and first impressions matter.”
“Exactly, so you should do it!” You insist with glee, slapping his arm with the back of your hand. “Come on!”
“Promise you won't laugh?”
“I promise.”
“Okay.”
“Not really, actually. I might just- let out a giggle here and there but… No laughing. I promise.”
With that, he opens his mouth and does the shittiest Chewbacca impression you've ever heard, and at first you don't know whether to laugh in amusement or laugh of second-hand embarrassment. So you stood there, clamping your lips together at some shitty attempt not to laugh.
When he doubles over to laugh at himself, a hand of yours flies to your mouth to prevent yourself from laughing even more. There he was, openly laughing at himself out of pure embarrassment and you were there, shoulders shaking. When he surfaces he has tears welling at his eyes.
“Do you want some notes?” You ask, looking at him as he recovers from laughing his ass off.
“Uhh, sure.” He says. “Hit me.”
“Maybe try not to sound too much like a sad, creaky door hinge?” You suggest, shrugging. He nods, breaking into a wider grin that shouldn't make your stomach feel this deceitful.
“Gotcha.” He nodded. “I'll try and keep that in mind the next time a girl asks me to do a Chewbacca impression. I haven't had many, believe it or not.”
“Really?” You exclaimed. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Yeah, you were the first one. Actually.” He snorts.
“I'm Joaquin.” He says turning to you, you turned to him as a result. His hand was out in an attempt to introduce himself the proper way. “Torres.” He adds. something clicked in your brain.
Your expression morphs into something entirely new. “Wait- Joaquin Torres as in the singer and guitarist of PB&JJ?”
It was his turn to be surprised. “Yeah, that's me.”
“Dude! I went to one of your shows in Orlando you guys were so fucking good.” You gushed adamantly. “I knew you looked familiar!”
Joaquin tries to ignore the warmth spreading across his cheeks and the way his ears were buzzing. “Woah, what? Respectfully? No, holy shit- we're nowhere near you and the rest of Static. You guys are amazing!”
You stopped in your tracks, donning a cheeky grin. “Ahh, so you've heard about me.”
Joaquin opens his mouth to say something but immediately thinks against it. Instead he settles for: “yes, I have.” He says your name back to you, so delicate and considerate that it almost sounded like it was sacred.
“Hopefully nothing boring.” You say, letting out a humorous exhale.
He is quick to shake his head. “Nah,” he began. “Just that you guys are the next biggest thing, that you guys are killing it. Which- I can't lie, you really are. You've been to 10 states and you were only formed two years ago?”
You couldn't help the warmth that spreads across your cheeks. “Nuh-uh, who said that? That's… that's a lie. The first part, that is”
Joaquin pulls his body away from you slightly. “Hey, I am but a humble messenger of the masses.”
“What about you? You guys are going on tour, plus, I heard you guys are making an album?” You say, turning the topic of conversation about him.
“How do you know that?” He asks, raising an eyebrow. “Also, one upping each other is not gonna work.” Joaquin giggled.
“We've got 8 minutes on the spin cycle, 10 minutes to dry.” You pointed out. “What else do you wanna talk about? I would appreciate it if you wouldn't suggest we go out like this.”
“I would never!” Joaquin says, deeply offended. “Oh shit, you should have my-”
You noticed his polo on the ground, your politeness overcoming you. “Yeah, you dropped your-”
The both of you crouched down to get it and as a result, your foreheads collided, the collision enough to make the both of you lose balance as you seethed and cussed. You drop to the ground unceremoniously, Joaquin was able to catch himself on the sink beside him but still fell on his ass.
“Oh my god, are you okay??? Holy shit- I am so fucking sorry-” Joaquin babbled apologetically as you assuaged your forehead.
Your eyes were still screwed shut, still wincing as you sat on the bathroom floor. “Yeah- yeah i'm fine- jesus sorry about that I was-”
“-No, no it was my fault I shouldn't've thrown it on the floor-” Joaquin cut you off as you cracked an eye open, the spot on your forehead still sending shock waves of pain through your brain you were surprised it didn't crack.
This is when you feel something hot trickle down to your lip. Blood.
“Damnit.” You say, wiping your nose with the back of your hand.
“Oh my god, you're bleeding.” Joaquin says, on the verge of a panic attack. “Oh my god- okay… okay-” he says standing up and clampering around the bathroom like a baby deer who has just started to walk.
You crack your eyes open to see him open the mirror and pull out a jar of cotton balls. “These should work, right?” He wonders, sinking back down to the floor.
You couldn't help but smile. “Thanks.” You tell him, taking one to wipe the excess blood dripping from your nose.
He sits back down beside you. “Jesus, this is so stupid- it's all my fault.”
“-It's fine, really, it just hurts like a bitch.” You complained, opening both eyes now to realize Joaquin was closer than you had realized, staring at the middle of your eyebrows, guilt-stricken. Your faces were merely inches apart. He didn't seem to notice how close you were to each other, how your lips were feathering atop each other’s, his breathing erratic, yours steady- your heartbeat like someone banging their fists on a snare drum.
“¡Carajo!, I am so fucking sorry- it looks really red. I'm gonna go get you some ice-” Damn.
You stop him before he stands up, grabbing his arm. It startles him, his nervous system being set on fire. “I think I'm gonna live, I'll be fine. Really.” You insist, looking at him ardently before chuckling. ”The least you could do after nearly cracking my skull open is to stay with me.”
This stuns him, almost like he realizes you were right. You think you were, you didn't know, you still couldn't shake away the pain that emanated from the spot of your forehead. He sits back down slowly and now he's closer to you than before.
“I'm really sorry by the way.” he says quietly.
“Are you? I actually didn't notice.” You reply, making him laugh which in turn made you crack a smile of your own.
“You've got to let me make it up to you, really. This is going to haunt me for the rest of my life, I already know it.” he explains honestly. “And this must've been incredibly… disturbing to you as well.”
You frown. “You don't have to.”
“But I want to.” He says in return, looking into your eyes like he wanted to make sure you heard it. “I really want to. I caused this, I should deal with it the proper way, the right way.
You can't help but laugh. “Why? You honestly don't owe me anything.”
“I know I don't, but I was raised better.” He says to you. “It's my fault, let me make it up to you.”
Was it bad that you shut him down for trying to apologise for something he did the right way? Were you truly that accustomed to Billy Russo and his immaturity that when an actual man shows up and does something the way it should be done you refuse to let it happen?
Before you could answer someone slams the door open, your and Joaquin's heads snapped up to see a group of girls with smudged makeup and flushed cheeks pause in their tracks when they see you.
“Uhhh, occupied?” Joaquin mutters to fill the quiet. You snort.
“Woops! my bad!” The girl who opened the door giggled obnoxiously. “GET SOME GIRL!”
With that they shut the door, the impact was loud enough to make you and Joaquin flinch. He laughs through his nose, grinning.
“Dude, aren't you freezing?” You ask him, making him turn to you. “It's the middle of September and that window never closes right.” You say, pointing at the window half-shut and half-open on your right above the bathtub. How Riri could afford an apartment with a bathtub was beyond you.
“I'll be fine.” He says. “I grew up in Florida so I've never wanted to be as cold as I am now. Shirtless in a bathroom with this really nice girl I just met at a party whose head I nearly smashed a hole into while watching the washing machine spin because our shirts got spilled on.”
“She can't be that nice.” You emphasise, smirking.
“No, she is. She didn't laugh at my Chewbacca impression.” He pointed out. “I feel like she'd be able to give me more tips on how to improve if we actually watched the films and she gave me direction on the spot, y'know?"
You scoffed playfully, shooting him a look.
“How do doner kebabs and a Star Wars marathon tomorrow night sound?” He asks you. “If you're up for it… of course. On me.”
“They sound amazing.” You say to him, grinning.
“Great!” He says to you, relieved to the highest degree and grinning twice as big. “It's a date.”
You snort, dissolving into a giggle. “Of course it is.”
“It is though, isn't it? Kinda? Partially? ” He asks you, wobbling a hand in the air.
“More like a repercussion dinner.” You say.
“Then you better order the biggest damn kebab you see…” he pauses. “Or not, get whatever you're feeling! I'm more than happy to pay.”
“Uh-huh,” you sang, eyes wide. Your cheeks huet from all the grinning you did tonight. “So this is the chivalry they were talking about in the bible.”
“Didn't you know? I'm mentioned by name, Joaquin Torres, Jesus even patted me on the back and people planted a thousand olive trees in my honor.”
His jokes were so corny that you didn't stop yourself from laughing anymore, you couldn't. The pain betweem your eyebrows cluldn't compare to how your cheeks buzzed with warmth. Frankly, you hadn't laughed this much because of a man in a long time.
“That's so stupid.” You say whilst laughing.
“Hey! I'll have you know-” Joaquin's argument was short-lived when the washing machine beeped signifying the end of your stay.
You crawl over to the washing machine and open the hatch, tossing Joaquin his shirt and retrieving yours. “Oh my god they smell amazing.”
You look back at Joaquin putting on his shirt, his muscles flexing showing his toned forearms. “You're right, I feel like I'm in a field of flowers right now!” He says right before his head pokes through the hole like a gopher peeking out from underneath the ground.
You quickly avert your gaze and wear your own top. When you did you stood up and unplugged the washing machine in the very back.
“Well, I guess this is it.” You tell him, watching him shove his hands inside his jean pockets. “It's been lovely watching the washing machine do its magic with you.”
Joaquin chuckles walking up to you. “Yeah, I'm still really sorry about your nose by the way.”
“You're good, don't worry about it so much Joaquin.” you assure him, boxing your arms in front of your chest. “It'll heal eventually, and when it does it'll look like I didn't get headbutted by a guy at a house party.”
“Had to make you remember me somehow.” Joaquin shrugged, smiling sheepishly.
“I don't think you needed to give me a nosebleed to do that.” You tell him on the contrary. You're looking at him looking at you and you can't help but get the feeling that he wanted more from you, more time? More conversation? You were unsure. All that you knew was that you wanted the same thing from him but you couldn't for the life of you say it out loud.
You were no better than a middle-schooler getting to hold hands with the boy she liked.
You didn't know how someone that looked like Joaquin could be so clumsy and awkward and be such a nerd. It was endearing in a way that it drew you to him, the delightful surprise that he didn't turn out to be what you thought he was going to be.
“So I'll see you tomorrow night?” You say to him, the first one to break the silence. Joaquin clears his throat, bristling in his spot.
“Uhh, yeah-! Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow night. Definitely.” Joaquin says to you. “My bandmates can survive one rehearsal without me.”
You make a face before you chuckle. “So I guess we're both blowing off our bandmates tomorrow.”
“They wouldn't mind.”
“Not in the slightest.”
You giggle as you watch him walk towards the bathroom door to lead you out, he opens it and allows you to go out first. You've taken three steps when he stops you in your tracks.
“Here,” he says, handing you his button up. “In case you- you know… get cold. You know Chicago.” He grinned.
“Are you serious?” You ask him in mild shock and awe. “You're giving me this?”
He nodded. “So you know… we have a reason to meet again.”
"The kebabs weren't enough?"
"Just take the polo... please?" He pleads as if some last attempt at making it up to you.
You raise an eyebrow at him as he shuts the door behind him, his eyes still not straying from yours- an impish smirk breaking free from his lips. You both walk out of the hallway that leads towards the bathroom. You look at him again, basked in blue and neon green lights; his salient features looking more prominent and enthralling.
You stare at the polo in your hands, checkered baby blue, pearlescent buttons, worn- but taken care of. You decide to wear it.
“See you around?” You ask him, shrugging it on.
“Sure hope so.” Joaquin replies, hopeful. You remember that.
You turned around and started walking the other way, off to find your friends, get a drink maybe, but you didn't know what made you look over your shoulder. Joaquin was walking away as he should be, off to find his friends as well. You mentally chastise yourself for turning around and you begin walking away again- quicker.
What you didn't know, naturally, was that Joaquin too fell victim to the pull of turning back around to look at you. He watched you walk off wearing his polo, disappearing within the sea of partygoers, only hoping everything goes right the next time you meet again.
Genre/Warnings: Tommy and Maria aren’t together, fluff, a bit of shy!Tommy, flirty!Tommy, oblivious reader because it’s relatable and I love that trope, help. I just realized cash doesn’t exist halfway through writing this. oh well. we’ll imagine they have tabs and trade for stuff down the line or smth.., kinda proofread
A/N: I’m using this gif for another fic and it gave me an idea. Idk how good this is gonna be cause it’s spur of the moment..
Gif source
———
You’ve been in Jackson long enough to call it home now. Long enough to have knick knacks in your home. Long enough to have friends. Long enough to stay out every once in awhile.
Which is how you’ve ended up at the Tispy Bison a few times. Which is how you’ve met occasional bar-man, Tommy Miller.
Tommy was handsome. With his broad shoulders, raven colored curls and a thick mustache. With his big hands and that smile that always toed the line between charming and boyish.
He was nice too, sweet. And definitely a little flirty. He flirted like it was casual, like it was just part of who he was. It may have actually been with the way he sent you and a line or two. Or when he sent you a smile across the bar if you were there with friends. Or when he sent you a wink down the bartop if he saw you waiting. Or it may have been when he started giving you free drinks.
Now that routine started small.
First, it was occasional. Tommy said it was because you needed a little pick me up after a bad day. For some reason, he was good at telling if you had a bad day or not. Then, it was something to keep the cold away during the winter. Then, it was during his limited downtime if he saw your drink was low. He’d linger and chat during these instances. Finally, it was a “just cause” sent your way, with a little wink and a knuckle tapping against the bartop in front of you.
It got to the point where you were barely paying for your drinks, if you paid at all. If Tommy let you pay.
You thought Tommy did this for everyone. You thought everyone got a free drink and a wink from the handsome bartender. These thoughts were encouraged when you walked in on a quiet night at the Tipsy Bison and overheard Maria scolding Tommy over the free drinks he was giving out. It wasn’t hurting business, per se, but he can’t just give out free drinks to anything that bats their lashes at him.
You don’t bat your lashes at him. Maybe other girls do and that’s how they get their free drinks.
Despite the scolding, your free drinks never stopped. Even when you overheard a disgruntled sound from Maria if she was behind the bar with Tommy, which Tommy ignored. He didn’t even glance over at the woman, he just kept pouring your drink with a twinkle in his eye.
One day, you finally realized it was only you that Tommy gave free drinks to.
It wasn’t a busy night at the Tipsy Bison, but it wasn’t empty either. The bartop was half full and most of the tables in the center were taken, with a few stragglers lining the walls. Conversation filled the building idly, not too loud and not too quiet.
You’d just finished your first glass of beer. You barely even set the glass down before familiar fingers were grabbing the glass, brushing yours in the process. You watched Tommy fill your glass up with the keg behind the counter, up until a little foam dripped down the side. Then, he was back in front of you with that charming smile and your drink.
“On the house,” Tommy said as he knocked on the wood in front of you with two quick taps. “As always.”
“Thank you,” You followed up with, as always.
You sent him a small smile before taking your first sip, which left a little foam on your upper lip. You watched as Tommy opened his mouth to speak, but then his attention was diverted to the presence that appeared beside you. You glanced to the side to see two women there, a bit younger than Tommy and attractive. You paid them no mind though as you wiped the line of foam from your top lip.
“What can I get y’all?” Tommy asked, moving to the side so he could give the women his undivided attention.
The women ordered their drinks and Tommy got to work make their concoctions. You can hear them chatting and giggling beside you as Tommy’s back is turned. When he turns and slides the drinks across bar to waiting hands, he expresses their payment.
“No free drinks for us?” One quips, batting her eyelashes.
“Now, y’all know I don’t do free drinks around here,” Tommy says easily, but doesn’t move as he waits for some exchange of currency.
You can practically feel the sigh from both of the women as they exchange their forms of payment. Then, they’re off with muttered words meant for their little bubble.
“So…,” You start with a knock against the wooden bartop with your knuckle, a bit of a nervous tick. “No free drinks, huh?”
“You know Maria’s been on my ass for that,” Tommy points out with a light chuckle.
His back is to you as he wipes down the area where he made the women’s drinks. And you get to watch his shoulders tense a little as you continue on.
“Am I the only one you break that rule for then?” You ask before taking another sip while you wait for Tommy’s answer.
The man stops wiping and turns, rag squeezed in a clenched fist. You see a little panic and nervousness in his dark eyes before he approaches and leans a forearm on the wood in front of you. He’s trying to appear cool, sly, calm and collected, and you almost laugh.
“Would that be such a bad thing?” Tommy’s voice drops a tad as he says that, testing the waters. He cocks a brow at you, smiling.
“Hmm..,” You pause for dramatics, looking away and tapping your chin with your pointer finger for good measure. You can see Tommy tracking your movements with attentive eyes. Then, you look back his way, “Not entirely.”
“Not entirely?!” He sputters, eyes wide and brows up. “What does that mean?”
“Why am I the only one that gets free drinks?” You counter with your own question, avoiding his. You tilt your head a tad at him, assessing his reaction.
“Well, I-uh-,” It’s Tommy turn to look away, nervous. He leans back from the counter, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck while he avoids eye contact like a shy teenager with a crush.
Oh? A crush.
“Tommy Miller!” You gasp, being mindful to keep it quiet so you don’t drag attention from nearby patrons. You lean forward and slap a hand on the bartop in front of him. “Do you have a crush on me?”
Red crawls up Tommy’s neck, fills his cheeks, brushes across the bridge of his nose, and settles into the tips of his ears. He giggles, actually giggles. He looks back at you, nervous and almost shy. And his hand comes forward to scrub at his jawline while he grinds his teeth.
You see the way his shoulders rise as he breathes in before opening his mouth to speak.
“Yeah,” Tommy breathes out, a bit of a crooked smile growing on his face. “Yeah, I do. Is that alright?”
“Is that alright?!” You echo, bewildered he would even ask that. Your voice goes a little more even as you continue, “Can I be honest?”
Tommy nods, but you can see how your question had added fuel to his nervous fire. Nervous about your reaction, and nervous about being rejected by his crush.
“You are literally the most attractive man in all of Jackson,” You start off strong. You move to set your glass of beer aside so you don’t knock it over while you begin to talk with your hands, a reason Tommy had liked you in the first place. “You’re funny, very sweet, extremely easy on the eyes.” You give him a little wink. “You’re honest and hardworking. You do way too much for this community and expect nothing in return, from working here to construction and your almost constant patrols, along with the counsel. I mean, I’m surprised you haven’t collapsed from exhaustion yet. You really need a break, Tommy. You just have, probably, the most honest heart there is in this community and it’s very admirable.”
Tommy’s at a loss for words. He merely blinks at you a few times. During your little heart-driven monologue, his hand had fallen onto the bartop and rested just a few centimeters from yours. It didn’t move towards yours. You weren’t even sure if Tommy knew that your hands were that close together.
“That’s-,” Tommy stuttered. “I don’t even know what to say. I never would’ve thought you felt the same.”
“I do,” You shrugged, trying to play off the blush starting to color your cheeks now. “And if you, uh, asked me on a date, I’d say yes, by the way.”
“Really?” Tommy asked, like he couldn’t believe your words.
He couldn’t help but lean forward, eager for your response. He almost looked boyish with the way he looked at you.
“Really,” You nodded.
“That’s-,” Tommy went to answer but was called by a whistle off to the side. He looks back at you, that eager expression still on his face. “Let’s plan something after I’m done here, yeah?”
“Yeah, that sounds nice,” You answered.
“Good- great!” Tommy smiled wide at you, his dark brown eyes twinkling in the orange lights of the bar that hung above.
Before Tommy completely turned away, he surprised you by grabbing your hand and bringing it up to his lips. He pressed a warm kiss there, his lips slightly chapped against your knuckles. Tommy, like the devil he is, kept eye contact while he did so. Then, he set your hand down like it was glass, before turning away to deal with his customers.
But not before giving the bartop two quick knocks with his knuckles before you.
❝ I’m your biggest fan ! ❞ ft: streamer!miguel ─ ♡
tags: 18+ so please MDNI ! , small angst? gn!reader, ooc, Oral (m and r receiving) , fingering , orgasm play , small part of mouth fucking , switch!miguel , switch!reader , belly bugle , angry sex , teasing , unprotected sex(wrap it up) and actual plot?? omg pxtch ur approving !!
this isn’t proofread , and Miguel has glasses cuz why not ! ◞♡°
You knew that dating a streamer would probably be difficult, especially a famous one. knowing how parasocial their fans could be, it’s safe to be cautious.
That’s the reason why Miguel hasn’t told anyone about you, well in this case. His fan base. He truly hates it, but he rather you be a secret than you being revealed and possibly in danger due to random strangers online.
It is difficult for the both of you, you can’t really go to his room when he’s streaming unless he takes a break which isn’t very long anyways. After everything y’all cuddle each-other on his bed, wishing that you can be seen to the world but it’s for the best right?
Though, the more you think about it. The more days that has pass you wonder, do you have to be a secret? Yes you understand that his fan base can be crazy and really weird, but it’s not his fault plus you can handle it. So what if they’re mad? Their feelings shouldn’t be first before you.
It has been a couple of months since you became official. Yet he couldn’t find the courage to tell everyone, he doesn’t like to admit it often but like every other streamer out there likes the attention he gets from his fans, the comments he gets on his looks and the fan edits. He’s enabling it, even if he says nothing about it.
One night, you two cuddle on his bed. Him holding you tight. His head on your chest as his legs wrap around you. He waits for you to embrace him back, after a while he lifts his head from your chest “honey? What’s wrong?” He asked.
“Do you love me more than your fan base?” You asked him , he pulls back from the embrace and looks at you with surprise all over his face “of course I do!” You rolled your eyes not believing him “then tell them about me! You know I don’t like it when they flirt with you and you play along knowing that I’m in the room next to you watching the stream!” You snap back at him.
He fell silent, looking away from your eyes knowing you were right. “I do love you, I truly do. I’m sorry, I’ll stop playing along okay? I’ll ignore them. I’ll tell them about you!” He looks at you again as he pleads with worry plastered all over his face, his eyes filled with guilt.
You sighed and held his face. “You better you idiot, I love you.” You grumbled but you couldn’t help but break a smile. He smiles and kisses your neck “I love you too!”
The next day In the late afternoon he was streaming yet again doing his usual gaming session as he talks with his viewers, but here’s the twist. You convinced him to let you give him a blow-job under his desk, you were happy same was he. You weren’t exposed and you could please him, double win!
you teased his bulge underneath the sweatpants he knew you loved. Moving your hands against his member through the fabric, feeling it twitch. You look up and see Miguel face growing warmer and his leg starting to shake.
You giggle and smile, he shoots you a small grin and gives you the green light then he focus back on the game. You roll your eyes and lick his cock through his pants tasting some of the precum that leaked from his tip.
You gently pulled the sweatpants down, just enough for his cock to slip out and reveal itself to you. Your hands grasp his cock, thick and leaking for just for you—not some random fan.
You get yourself mad and jealous by the thoughts that formed in your head, so you lick his tip and take his cock in your mouth. He lets out a gasp as his thighs clench around your head, he looks flustered hoping no one heard him.
When no one was really paying attention, he quickly looks down and watches you bob your head up and down on his cock, looking at him with those beautiful eyes of yours. He bites a moan back, closed his eyes and took a deep breathe trying to remain calm for the stream.
Each time he had to pretend he was okay for the stream, he continued playing his game as he was trying to control his breathing and not letting out a moan. He glanced at you, and he could feel you smile around his cock. His focus went back on the stream as he had a smile on his face. Your hands sneaked to his balls, fondling them causing a jolt to Miguel.
You could see him melting, his mouth slowly becoming wide. Eyes fluttering, he closed his mouth shut, his glasses slipping off of his face. letting out a small whimper instead. The feeling of his cock in your throat as your hands massage his balls becomes too much.
Miguel acted like he was on his phone doing something important, he clicked his tongue and told the chat that he had to do something real quick and he’ll be back. He turned off camera and muted his mic.
He checked no one could hear him nor see him, he let out his moans freely. His head immediately fell back to his chair. his hands went to your hair “you tease…! you did that on purpose” he gasped out causing you to giggle and pull your mouth off of him “maybe, maybe not” you smiled and went back to work. Your hand still massaging his balls as you sucked him off. “Imma get back at you for that—-ohh fuck! Just like that!” His teasing voice turned into a moaned.
Miguel began bucking his hips slowly, testing the waters. You relaxed your jaw and gave him the green light, he whimpers “let me know if it’s too much okay?” He started thrusting into your mouth, letting out moans.
He lifts his head up to see you again before putting his head back against the chair, eyes rolling back into his head as he moved his hips into your mouth. You enjoyed the sight of him feeling the pleasure and him being vocal about it, you tapped his thigh and he stopped. He looked at you, flustered but nervous “what happened—did I hurt you?” He asked but you smiled “no silly, I just don’t want you to cum in my mouth. Needs to be in me”
He chuckles at your words as he lifts you up on his lap “pervert” causing you to laugh and nuzzle your nose against him making him smile and recuperate the action. It was a soft moment, you guys kissed hands all over each other, his hands on your hips as your hands on his face. He pulls you closer like he physically couldn’t be away from you, the kiss grew more sloppy.
Then he grabs you and stands up to put you gently on the bed, spreading your legs open. Before he went to feast, he heard someone gift a sub with the bot saying the message out loud “where are you? Come back bro” you rolled your eyes at the stupid message but your smile dropped as you see him getting up. “Baby? Where you going?” He mumbled and looked away “I do have to continue streaming.” You grabbed his jaw before he could go further and made him look at you.
“You better not leave me like this to go back to your stupid fans. They can wait.” You glared at him, causing him to whimper. “Now you come back here and eat me out like it’s a thanksgiving meal or so help me.” You scolded him. Miguel thankfully got the memo, he spread your thighs open and started eating you out. His tongue in your entrance as he holds your thighs apart stopping you from closing your thighs on his head.
He removed his mouth from you, licks his two fingers and shoved it inside of you causing you to gasp. He curled his fingers up, rubbing your g-spot making you arch your back and moan his name out. “that’s it, moan my name like that.” He smirked, as he started at your facial expression. “You like that? My fingers in you, hitting that spot?” He leaned up and whispered in your ear looking at you with a smug expression.
You scoffed but you couldn’t help but moan louder. “Fhuckkk yesss!” You leaned your head back against the pillow as you feel Miguel fingers thrust inside of you. He pulls you in a deep kiss, his tongue fighting dominance with yours. You clenched around him moaning out” Miguel—I’m gonna!” You thrashed around feeling the coil in your stomach about to snap but he pulled his fingers out causing you to lose the sensation.
“You—!” Miguel shushed you with his fingers and slowly pushed it in “cmon, be good and clean them for me.” You smiled at his audacity and took his fingers in your mouth and licked them clean, tasting yourself as you look at him bitting his lip watching you. “It’s payback for doing the same for me earlier.”
“I was not that mean” “yeah you were” you both shared a laugh together “just so you know, I’m your biggest fan.” You told him as you flipped him on his back and got on top of him, he raised his brow at your words “is that why you wanted to do this?” You looked away with a smug look on your face “maybe, maybe not. Maybe I wanted you to get caught so people can see im yours.” He laughed as he pulled you down to him.
“I’m laughing but it ain’t funny” his face turned serious, “you can’t just do that, you know that this is important to me. It’s quite literally my job. I know got the problem with me not showing you but baby, I’ll do it.” He sighed. You fell silent and kissed him “then do it.” You ordered him
He growled “I see where this is going.” He warned and kissed you roughly “had fun? Teasing me like that like a common whore? Well you’re gonna get punished for it.” He grabbed you and pushed you on the bed and put you on your stomach back arched just for him. He thrusted his fingers inside of you, moving them as fast as he could with no warning. Miguel was an expert with his hands so he can easily get you to break. You moaned out “shhhitt! Miguel—fuck! I’m gonna — ! “ your thighs clenched as you were about to reach your climax , he pulled his hand away leaving you wet and needy AGAIN.
You turned around to give him a glare mixed a look that asked “why?” Miguel noticed your glare and he couldn’t help but chuckle “What? You think you deserve to cum after what you did?” Miguel shook his head as he smirked “you’ll cum when I tell you too , and that’s not gonna be anytime soon.” He slapped your entrance harshly.
You whined in response “I’m sorry! Please, I need you.” You turned your head to look at him, trying to give him the puppy dog eyes to change his mind. He growled in response “such a needy slut huh? All because I haven’t shown you attention for how long? A couple of hours?” He shot back with a teasing tone.
Even though he was angry, his cock couldn’t hide his true feelings. It was hard and throbbing, precum leaking out of the tip as he took in the sight of you on your stomach, back arched and your hole begging for him. you were desperate for him.
He roughly pulled down his sweatpants and rubbed the tip of his cock against your entrance causing you to whine “cmon , be a good whore and beg for it.” He spoke smugly. You whined “please—! I need you in me, I need your dick! I need your dick in me—“ he didn’t even let you finish as he pushed inside of you with a quick thrust with his hands on your hips.
You can hear him let out a groan as he bottoms out, Your head fell against the pillow as you felt your legs go weak. Miguel hand sneaked underneath you, moving his hand to your stomach and pressed down on the bulge he was making. “look at that , so full because of me.” He whispered in your ear with a pride tone. He put a pillow underneath you so you can feel every inch of him inside you.
He didn’t even start slow, he started harsh and unapologetic. He angled his hips to hit your g-spot causing you to gasp out and cry out his name. You could feel each thrust he makes due to the pillow and it makes the simulation so much better.
He kept moving at that gut wrenching pace that Is quickly making you see the stars, he started moaning too, his harsher side going away as he started kissing your body. “So—so good! God damn, you’re so tight!” He gasped out, moaning your name like there’s no tomorrow.
“I’m gonna—! Come!” You moaned as you came around his cock, falling onto the bedsheets. Miguel didn’t care, he kept moving chasing his peak. “Please, let me come inside” he begged in your ear. You turned your head around to look at him “you’re supposed to be angry at me” Miguel chuckled and shook his head “I can’t, not when you feel this good.”
Miguel thrusts became sloppy as he went faster, his moans grew higher pitched. He didn’t realize that his glasses was slipping off his face until it hit the back of your head causing both of you to laugh.
“Oh my god I’m so sorry!” He apologized as he quickly put his glasses back on, you were laughing against the pillow and you lifted your head to look at him “you gotta fix your glasses baby!” You booped his nose causing him to laugh again.
“Anyways!! Where were we?” He asked with a smiled and before you could respond he went back to pounding in you, feeling you clench around him made him moan. He licked and kissed your neck, preparing you for his bite. “I’m gonna come, are you close?” He asked as his thrusts grew sloppy once again, you couldn’t really respond due to the only thing coming out of your mouth was muffled moans against the pillow. you just simply nodded frantically.
“I’m gonna—!” You gasp out, Miguel bit into your neck as he thrusted faster into you whining loudly. His eyes closed shut as he chased his high, his cock hitting that special spot inside of you making you come with a loud moan, soon after Miguel came inside of you. Filling you up with his seed.
Once he was sure you came, he stopped with the movement and he pulled out of you then flopped next to you on the bed. He looked at you and smiled as he fixed your hair “you’re so beautiful, I love you so much.” Miguel snuggled closed to you. You giggled, kissed his head and fixed his glasses from falling again “you really gotta fix them” making him nod and smile. “I love you” he repeated and you kissed him and spoke “I love you too” against his lips. Miguel tried to go further but you giggled and push him back “Nuh uh mister we gotta clean up.”
After you guys cleaned up, miguel turned on his camera and unmuted his mic, finally you were in front of the camera for all his fan base to see. He kissed you Infront of them, and once he pulled back he looks at the camera and says “by the way, they’re my biggest fan.” He smiled at you warmly and full of love then turned off the stream.
tag list — @ultravioletrayz , @lazyjellyfish300 , @miss-tarja , @teenidlegirl , @fairlyang , @cupcakeinat0r
a/n — oh my god this took way too long. And this is basically the longest thing I wrote, and I lost half of my writing so many times HOPEFULLYYYY it’s okay! and yes I’m working on all the requests and the fics that I promise !!
PXTCHED, AMOR! I’M SO SORRY FOR BEING LATE TO SEXY PARTY BUT I’M HERE NOW AND THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR TAGGING ME! 😭🤍✨
literally cannot imagine streamer!miguel without glasses, it just makes sense 🙂↕️ i’d probably be this bratty if i wasn’t into video games too lmao but i’ll still tease his dumbass 😛
notes: gender neutral reader, your POV, established situationship. this was inspired by a drawing i made of my own self insert and miguel, but the short below isn’t written with her in mind.
Spider Society is a hell of a lot quieter with the Spot finally handled. You find yourself surprised each time you walk the halls, despite months having passed. It’s by no means empty, but compared to the over-crowded chaos from before, it definitely feels vacant.
It’s left you slightly bored, admittedly.
You’re on your way to check in on Miguel (who is indisputably dying of boredom, with so many less people to micromanage), meandering down the emptiest hallway yet, when you heart a short ’psst.
You’ve hardly any time to turn and look for the source when Miguel catches up to you and grabs you firmly by the wrist, and even less to process what’s happening before he’s pulling you alongside him into a supply closet.
It’s a cramped little room. Miguel has to crouch under a shelf loaded with cleaning product, and, you, in turn, end up trapped between the wall, a broom, and his chest. You lean back as best as you can, heart pounding between your ribs—both from the adrenaline and the view.
You’ve been close to Miguel before. Closer to Miguel, even. In positions entirely more compromising than the awkward, looks-like-he’s-scared-to-touch-you, half-hover thing he’s doing right now. Which is almost hilarious, but you’re still just as flustered as you would be otherwise, so you deign to stand very still and breathe as quietly as possible instead.
Miguel tightens his grip on the door knob and peers through the slatted metal window. You can’t quite see his face in this position, and you’re not sure if you want to.
“Yo, Miguel! Wait up!”
Miles’ voice is distant, but you hear it nonetheless. You turn your head to also look through the slats, see nothing, then finally dare to crane your neck up at Miguel. He’s got a sour look on his face—it’s both a relief and a disappointment.
“You hide from teenagers now?” you ask as innocently as possible. Miguel glances down at you unimpressed, then turns back to the window.
“When they want me to be their 2099 tour guide, I do,” he says, annoyed. This close to him, you can hear his voice in his chest, too, and you can’t help but shift farther against the wall with a steadying breath.
“Is this about you owing Miles?” you ask.
You were there (if peripherally) for Miguel’s apology to Miles, after everything was said and done. You’re sure Miguel meant he “owed him” things more in line with teamwork, assistance, and knowledge than inter-dimensional sightseeing, but… If anybody is allowed to pester Miguel O’hara, it’s definitely Miles Morales.
“What do you think?” Miguel asks dryly. He stiffens suddenly—he must be hearing something you can’t. You wait with bated breath, unsure where to focus your eyes, caged as you are between his chest and his arm.
After a moment that feels like a lifetime, Miguel sighs softly and relaxes (as much as he can, considering who he is). You softly drum your fingers against the wall behind you, waiting for him to speak.
Is it hot in here? It feels hot in here.
“So… Why am I also hiding?” You feel the need to whisper as you look up at him, trying not to seem nervous. Miguel meets your eyes momentarily, but averts them quickly back to the door.
“I saw you, I panicked. I don’t know,” he explains poorly. It brings you little relief to know he’s also nervous.
You nod slowly. “… Okay.”
“It…” Miguel tilts his head near-imperceptibly and sighs, “… Wasn’t my smartest move.” You can’t help but smile.
“Not really.” “Sh. They’re wrapping around.”
Your sentences overlap with each other, and Miguel gets way into your space as he shifts to tighten his grip on the doorknob and shield you from the window.
Like that’s going to do literally anything! You instinctually reach up to keep him from suffocating you between the wall and his chest, hands bumping rather un-romantically into his abdomen and hip. “Miguel—“
“Stop talking,” he hisses, cutting off your desperate plea. Your lips snap shut as a hot flush races up your neck and cheeks. You can’t tell if you’re more angry than flustered or more flustered than angry—or maybe both? Can you be both?
He has a very commanding presence, one side of you reasons. No, you’d just do whatever he wants, says the other side. You just hope the pounding of your heart blends in well enough to Miles and his friends’ footsteps as they run past laughing that Miguel doesn’t hear it.
(Maybe you want him to hear it? Maybe you want him to know what this is doing to you? Either to get the embarrassment over with or so he does something about it; you’re too strung-up to care.)
You’ve no doubt the group cracks a few jokes as they pass by, but you’re too busy staring at the least attractive part of Miguel’s collarbone to hear them. It’s hard work when there is no “least” attractive part of his collarbone to look at.
As they retreat down another hallway, the tension in Miguel’s shoulders slackens. He slowly lets go of the doorknob, hand drifting somewhere to the wall beside your hip as he squints out the metal slats of the window. His movement gives you the space you needed to rest your hands more surely against his ribs and the top of his hipbone.
You let Miguel listen for them to leave. That must be the only thing he’s thinking about right now, you reason, because you can’t fathom a world in which he’d otherwise get you into this position without apologizing about it in that stiff way he does, or committing to pressing you into the wall and kissing you until you’re dizzy.
He must finally, finally, deem it clear; the warm exhale of his sigh brushes against your ear and you bite the inside of your lip hard. Whatever control you’d managed to reign in over your pulse is gone. This might as well happen, you think, risking a glance up at Miguel.
He’s already looking at you. Great. “You seem nervous.” Miguel’s voice is flat but his inflection is light in that way he uses when he’s teasing you. When he’s being a jerk.
“Huh?” It comes out weak, like you’re dying. He quirks an eyebrow.
The beginnings of the plan you had to pretend nothing was happening fizzle away. “I mean, you’re making this all seem pretty high stakes,” you stammer. It’s a poor excuse, you know he knows you aren’t nervous about hiding from a bunch of teenagers.
“Uh, it is high stakes,” he plays along, turning to properly face you. “I’m not going to show a bunch of kids around Nueva York.” Miguel runs his hands down your arms; slowly, gently, to catch your elbows, to prompt your hands up his chest and to his shoulders. “I’m busy.” He smiles as he steps closer; that unfairly handsome flash of teeth that had you honest-to-god swooning the first time you saw it.
“Busy,” you repeat after him. Your attempt to sound doubtful comes off more dazed than you want it to.
“Mhm.” Miguel has you properly pressed against the wall now, hands settled firmly but not uncomfortably on your waist as his eyes roam your face. “And you?”
“…I’m actually kinda caught up hiding from teenagers, sorry.”
“Very funny.” Your flustered laughter makes Miguel miss your lips twice before he finally hits his mark with a smile of his own. “You’re making this difficult,” he complains with no bite.
You tug him closer by his neck and kiss the corner of his lips through a giddy smile. Now that you’re sure where this is going, the blood rushing to your head is more pleasant than overwhelming. “You dragged me into a supply closet, Miguel. There’s a broom poking my armpit.”
He gives your waist a squeeze and kisses you firmly, tilting your head back just by stepping closer without dipping down to meet you, forcing you onto your toes. “Can you stop talking?” he asks, pulling away just enough to speak, breath light against your face, “I’m trying to kiss you.”
This time when you coax Miguel towards you he’s polite enough to duck down and support the arch of your back. Next time, you both barely have enough wits about you to stumble upstairs to his apartment.
this is stupidly cute 🫶🏼 hiding in a closet with that beefy mf whose ass is too big to fit is a scenario i often daydream about so ty lovely author for writing this cute fic 🙂↕️💞
stormborns
germansingergirl
