Make It Worth It

𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 ; “𝐝𝐮𝐦𝐛 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬”

had this silly little thought where you ask miguel a bunch of questions about the multiverse

miguel o’hara x gn!reader

warnings ; this is stupid, miguel is confused, mentions of pregnancy/having a kid, my spanish knowledge is below zero so i used google (feel free to correct me)

“ what did you just ask me? ”

“ i asked what would happen if two people - ” you were pestering miguel with questions about the multiverse for the past hour or so. at first it was a basic conversation regarding what were canon events and how are they established, how the portals work and all the other boring stuff.

“ i heard you the first time. just- where did you get that question from? ”

“ don’t tell me you’ve never wondered how it would work if for example we were to have a kid. like, we’re from different universes. i’m just curious what would happen to the kid in this predicament. ” if you were anybody else he would probably just glare at you and go on with his work but due to your position in his heart he just stood there, absolutely mortified at the example you just provided.

in all honesty you weren’t even that much into the topic but being able to bother miguel just a little and watch him scrunch up his nose whenever you mentioned something that would probably classify you as mentally deranged was your favorite hobby.

“ dios por favor dame fuerza*. no, actually i’ve never thought about that. also that example was really uncalled for. ” he thanked his past self for making the office so dimly lit. if it was any brighter in here he’s 97% sure you would be able to see how his neck and ears go all red.

“ so you admit you don’t know what would happen? ”

“ sí, ahora ¿podemos cambiar el tema?* ”

“ okay, okay… there’s actually one more thing i was curious about. ” miguel only sighed and looked at you with an unimpressed expression.

“ should i be scared? ” at this point he had no idea what to expect, in fact he kinda expected anything. and his imagination was not helping him. you looked up at him with those big pleading eyes that at the same time were full of mischief.

“ if, for example, we were to start dating, would that make me you know… kind of a pedophile..? ” there was an awkward silence and the look he had was to be described only with the sentence “what the fuck”

“ what on god’s green earth are you talking about? ”

“ i mean, you’re from year 2099 right? and im from 2023 in my universe. so that would kind of suggest that technically i would be in my 40s or 50s when you were born right? that just… kind of weird to think about i guess? ”

that, he did not expect in any of his wildest scenarios.

“ i’m going to lose my fucking mind. ” he slumped forward hiding his face in his hands.

“ aw come on miguel! it’s a genuine problem i’m thinking about here! ”

* god please give me strength

* yes, now can we change the subject?

Scarlet Witch #5 by JSway Art

OSCAR ISAAC as SANTIAGO “POPE” GARCIA in TRIPLE FRONTIER; (2019)

One year ago today, The Goldfish (Moon Knight) gave me Problems (brainrot).

I'm not ready to see Miguel O'Hara on my screen once the new Spiderman movie comes out how am I expected to stay calm when there's a feral 6" something man making growling noises and speaking in oscar Isaac's voice it's just not fair guys

He is so yummy 😋

Hiking vacation with boyfie Sukuna

Pairing: modern!Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: fluff + smut Warnings: 18+, lots of fluff and some smut, outdoor sex, praise. All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don’t interact. This is super self-indulgent because I am on vacation atm and I can’t stop thinking about Kuna being here with me aaahhhh!!! ♥️

Being on a hiking vacation with your boyfriend Sukuna would include:

+ Holding hands with him the whole time during your hiking tours. Or he has one arm around your waist and his hand in your back pocket.

+ He looks so hot in his muscle shirt and hiking shorts and boots, showing his muscular arms and calves and his sexy tattoos.

+ He is so tall and so strong next to you, making you feel so safe and get butterflies just from looking at him.

+ His sexy smirk when he offers his hand to help you climb over a fallen tree or a slippery rock.

+ When he drinks water out of his bottle, looking so sexy when some droplets run down his chin, and you see his Adam’s apple bop enticingly.

+ He hands you the bottle afterward, always insisting you drink something too, even when you complain because you aren’t thirsty. His satisfied smirk, when you take a sip anyway, making him look so smug that you roll your eyes and have to get on your tiptoes to kiss that grin off him.

+ Sukuna always walks on the side of the hiking trail where the slope is. Swapping places with you by wrapping his strong arms around your waist and pulling you to the other side so he can take the more dangerous path. Making you smile because he is so protective.

+ When he smirks and puts a finger under your chin, and tilts your face up so he can slowly lean closer and kiss you. Making your heart race because you can feel his smile during the kiss, and it’s so sexy.

+ Long, slow tongue kisses while he holds you close.

+ Taking selfies where Sukuna stands behind you, tall and buff, hugging you tightly from behind and winking at the camera while he presses a kiss to your neck.

+ Sukuna laughing about the weird looks he sometimes gets from older people because of his face tattoos.

+ Sukuna giving your hand a gentle squeeze and leaning down to murmur in your ear how happy you make him. Telling you that he used to make fun of people who went hiking with their special someone, calling them boring. But now he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

+ Sukuna being so grateful for you and the life you give him. Thanking you for the way you love him. Being so smitten with how soft you are with him. Telling you in such a tender voice how deeply in love he is with you and that he wants this forever.

+ Strolling through town in the evenings after you return from your hike of the day, looking like the biggest lovebirds when you hold hands and laugh together about all the stupid little jokes you make and the shit-talking Sukuna does about all the other people.

+ Holding hands on the table during your dinner dates and only having eyes for each other. Deep, meaningful glances into each other’s eyes and lots of flirting. Sukuna leaning across the table to kiss you and tease you affectionately about giving him such hearteyes.

+ Riding him on your hotel bed later on, basking in the way he moans beneath you. And when your legs are sore from walking all day, Sukuna helps you ride him, lifting you up and down on his cock while he tells you how good you are for him, watching your face the whole time because he loves seeing how cute you look when you cum on his cock.

+ Going on a two-day hike with him and spending the night in a beautiful meadow in the mountains. Lying on a picnic blanket to watch the night sky, your fingers intertwined with Sukuna’s, your head resting comfortably on his chest.

+ Talking softly to each other and sharing slow kisses that gradually grow more intense.

+ Sukuna rolling on top of you, deepening your kisses and slowly undressing you, covering you with his tall, muscular body to keep you warm even in the chilly night air of the mountains.

+ Your naked bodies moving against each other, lips and tongues caressing as you gasp into each other’s mouths. Sukuna loving you with his hands and lips while you stroke his hard cock, until both of you can’t take it anymore and need more of each other.

+ Making love under the stars. Your hands in Sukuna’s pink hair and your legs around his waist, hearing his low moans against your ear, feeling him roll his hips into you, fucking you so deep and so good that you start crying.

+ Looking up at the stars sparkling in the night sky behind Sukuna’s broad shoulders while he makes slow love to you.

+ When you see a shooting star, your only wish is to always call Sukuna yours, to always be this close to him. And somehow you know at that moment that your wish will come true.

AAAAHHH I AM SO IN LOVE WITH HIM 😭😭💗💗 I was going insane because I couldn’t stop fantasizing about boyfie Kuna going on vacation with me, so I had to write all those thoughts down. I hope you enjoyed them too!!

Thank you so much for reading! Comments and reblogs would be super nice 💗

Sweet Nothings [Santiago "Pope" Garcia]

Summary: It's never easy choosing between your feelings and your friendship. In other words, Santi has to decide if he wants the new guy in town to snatch you up or if a friendship will have to be ruined.

Pairing: Santiago Garcia x best friend!reader

Warnings: Angst, Best Friends to Lovers, Santi being an idiot, Benny being a little shit, touching, lots of yelling, Angst with a happy ending, mentions of Santi getting shot, one sided love not really

A/N: scraped endless drafts because I had to look at it from so many angles. 3rd Commission of the year thank you so so much🥳 so sorry it took me so long, had to deal with a lot of bullshit at school and the depression it brought me. I really do appreciate the support you guys bring❤️✨ this one is for Alex (please link your username because 1am here am I'm sleepy as fuck to try and find it at the moment)

He’s an idiot.

He wants a taste.

You’re murmuring a quick answer to Frankie’s question with your mouth full of a blueberry cupcake. Then you take a sip of some beverage Benny ordered. You hardly pay attention to whatever Ben and Frankie are bickering about, eyes too drawn to your book.

But Santi’s paying attention. To your mouth. To your lips. And he wants a taste. He’s an idiot who wants a taste.

“Santi, hermano, come on. Help me out here.” Frankie groans, exasperated while Benny’s mischievous grin flashes brightly.

“Hmm?” Santiago hates having to take his eyes off you. His thigh brushes yours under the table. It maddens the flutter of his heart. The only indication that you took notice was the brief glance in his direction and a tiny smile before your gaze returns to the words on your page.

No doubt whatever the little shit said only said it to grate in Frankie’s last nerve and it is working. And by extension, it’s getting on Santi’s last nerve because he hates it when Frankie starts complaining.

Before he even has the chance to tell them both to be quiet and eat their pancakes (mostly because he hadn’t been listening to a word they said), you chime in, without even looking up from your book, “He wants you to tell Ben that he’s an idiot for thinking that mint chocolate-flavoured stuff are better than caramel-flavoured stuff.”

Santiago raises an eyebrow. “Wait, you’ve been listening this whole time?”

He doesn’t understand how you can be drifting between two worlds. The real life and your book. Usually, you prefer the latter, especially when you’re out in public. Too often, he becomes jealous of the characters in your books. You pay far more attention to them than you do to him.

“It’s hard not to.” you mutter, taking another bite of your cupcake. “Not with that mind-numbing chatter.”

It’s hard not to laugh at your sardonic quip. He revels in these little moments. The tidbits of chaos in your eyes that spark from time to time. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means Benjamin has the inability to shut the hell up and enjoy a good meal on a quiet morning.” You put down your book with the most disgusted look on your face. “Also, mint chocolate? Really, Ben? I bet you like the taste of toothpaste in your coffee as well.”

“Oh, fuck off!” There was a chorus of laughter that sparked Ben’s scowl. “Leave my coffee out of this. It has nothing to do with anything.”

“Your coffee has everything to do with this.” you shoot back, nose wrinkling as you smile.

Frankie’s laughing harder with each second at the exchange. Benny crossed his arms, shrinking in his chair. “God, she sounds exactly like the jackass sitting next to her.”

Your gaze shifts to him, smiling. That knowing look as you let him in on your thoughts. He returns it with a grin.

He’s a moron.

I know, right?

The little moment that you both share as you peer into each other’s minds is one of many that will be cherished. Santiago shook his head, chuckling as he watched you roll your eyes and return to your book. To your own little world. You lean back on your chair, smiling.

There was nothing Santi loved more than watching you be at peace in your own little world. Hardly anything draws you out for too long. Not even him, but he doesn’t mind. As long as you’re happy there because this world doesn’t give much to live for, to dream for.

But you?

You’ve always given him something to dream about. 

“Hermano.” Frankie nudges (kicks) him under the table and Santi has half a mind to wring his neck from where he’s sitting. 

He’s got that shit-eating grin from where he sits, along with Ben. Will doesn’t smirk but simply gives him that look. Like he knows exactly what those two are thinking and he wholeheartedly agrees.

It’s not the first time they caught him staring. It certainly won’t be the last. Nor will it be the last time they’re going to give him shit once you’re out of the vicinity. Frankie gives him the hardest time because he has pried the most information out of him.

Pendejo–

“I said–” Will starts, and it takes a second for Santiago to realize that it was him who spoke. “Are you coming to the game tonight or are you preoccupied? Again?”

Preoccupied is code for ‘trying and failing to ask you out’. Emphasis on failing. Dismally, in fact. He’s blown them off so many times to spend nights at your place, just trying to get the words out.

But all that happens is that his hands start sweating while his heart rattles violently in its cage and he stares at the back of your head while you’re preparing the popcorn in the kitchen. Or he stares at you when you’re watching a movie. Or when you’ve fallen asleep on top of him. No words come out.

He can’t tell you. He just can’t. Because what if you say no? What if he loses you–

God, he doesn’t even want to fathom the thought. But he’s going to keep trying anyway. He doesn’t know how many nights he’s going to spend at your house just trying to ask or tell you how he feels

Before he can answer, someone calls your name.

Then your eyes glance up and–

Oh.

Oh, how they light up. And oh, how his stomach drops because who has the power to yank your head out of that book with such ease?

“Oh, hey, Jax.” You grin sweetly at the man who dared to walk over to the table, to all five of you.

Santiago has seen him before. He’s new in town. Moved a couple of months ago and he’s steadily been making himself acquainted with the locals.

The man is tall. Blond hair in a half bun, baby blues to match, and a jaw that could cut diamonds. He’s tall, built in all the ways that make the women giggle and whisper. He’s got a friendly face and attitude and it doesn’t help that he’s so… nice.

It doesn’t help that his attention seems to be focused on you.

“Fancy seeing you here.” Jax smiles before his eyes glance at Will, then Ben and Frankie. Then finally, they meet Santiago’s. The man gives a genuine nod, acknowledging all four of them. “Hello.”

And just like that, the boys are tense. On a razer’s edge and he seems to clock in on that. Good. Santiago wants him to know that he’s not welcome around here– around you. Frank and Will nod back, trying to be friendly, trying not to make a scene. But Santi stays as he is. Stiff as a board. Silent as a stone.

“Hey, man.” Ben plasters a bright smile, but it feels more like he’s baring his teeth. “How are you doin?”

But –heavens forbid– you’ve put the book down.

Santiago stares at it, failing to mask his shock for a brief moment before he masks it when you stand up. You introduce him to the boys. Pleasantries are exchanged but Santiago doesn’t say a word. He leans back on his chair, eyeing this man, Jax.

Those baby blues falter when they find the heat in the eyes of Santiago “Pope” Garcia. And he takes much pride in how he takes a step back, more out of self-preservation. He realizes that he’s looking at four hungry wolves, rather than men.

Only, you follow and go to stand farther away than all four of them would like. You and Jax talk like you’re old friends– buddies. Santi’s fist threatens to break the mug at how you touch this guy’s shoulder and offer a nod and he smiles right back, touching your elbow. Both of you just touching and something aches and burns and threatens to claw its way out of Santi’s chest to tear this man to pieces if he keeps doing that.

When the conversation looks like it’s coming to an end, Santi is jolted in his seat when Jax leans to kiss your cheek and you do the same, waving him goodbye with his two friends, who have their beverages in hand.

Santiago doesn’t want to plan yet another murder. 

But it is damn tempting.

“Want me to make pasta?”

He hums absentmindedly, drumming his fingers on his thigh. Eyes glare out the window as he waits for the traffic to move. It’s slow. Agonizing to be trapped in the car with you.

He still thinks back to the man at the cafe. Jax.

He hates how you were around that guy. He doesn’t think he’s seen you like that with him or anyone else. You don’t let them touch you like that. You don’t let guys kiss your cheek like that.

Santiago has had to bear watching you with previous boyfriends and even a fiance one time and it was one of the most agonising things he has ever gone through. During those days, when you were with someone, he always opted to go back to Columbia so he doesn’t have to be near you. Some days, he wished he would catch a bullet in his head there because it would hurt less.

You say something. He doesn’t hear. But he can’t seem to bring himself to ask you to repeat yourself. Instead, he gives a curt– “Yep.”

“Santi.” The cut of your voice makes him flinch and his gaze flicks to you. Your eyes are narrowed. Makes his hackles rise. “You just agreed to let me put olives in the salad.” 

He hates olives.

His expression twists in disgust. “No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.” you counter.

“No, I didn’t.” He’s pretty sure he didn’t.

“No, but you should’ve been paying more attention to me.” You face forward on your seat, crossing your arms and slink one knee over another.

Your dress rides up a little, revealing more of your thigh and Santi thinks his blood might boil more because of that than the fact that you’re poking at him. He grits his teeth, facing forward too. His hands clasp the steering wheel tightly.

“What? You mean like how you pay attention to your new friend?”

He didn’t mean to let the words out. But he can’t stand the silence. Can’t stand to let you win this round. He feels a storm brewing and it is going to chew him up and spit him out if he’s not careful.

The lack of your response makes him realize he made a dumb move. He reveals his entire hand. Fucking idiot–

“So that’s what this is about?”

His mouth seals shut. Eyes fixed forward in a scowl that might burn a path through the cars in front so his can move. His teeth might shatter if he doesn’t loosen his jaw but he could care less. It would be easier to deal with than having to explain himself.

He doesn’t say anything. Neither do you. Not when the car moves. Not until he reaches your place and gets out of the car. It’s a torturous stalemate for now, but you hold the upper hand and you don’t realize yet.

You follow, slamming the door. “Santi, we were just talking. I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“C’mon, we both know what he was doing.” He’s in your house, beelining for the kitchen to open a cupboard. A bottle of tequila awaits him. He pours himself a cup.

You’re silent as he throws his head back, downing the shot. “Okay, what’s your problem?”

His nose flares, eyes shifting to meet yours. “My problem?”

“Yes, your problem.” you counter sharply, pointing a finger in his face. “You do this every time you see me talking to Jax–”

“No, I don’t!” 

“Yes, you do.”

He hates how your voice remains level while his reaches new heights. He does not understand how you remain calm when he feels like he’s boiling over. You’ve always been so annoyingly exceptional at pushing his buttons to the point where he almost can’t decide between two urges; to yell at you or kiss you.

He wants to choose the latter. Every time. And every time he has to choose the former.

Santiago wants to hurl the bottle of alcohol against the wall. But all he does is run a hand through his curls, letting out a frustrated groan. “God, you’re so blind sometimes! Not every guy who walks up to you has good intentions!”

“So?” you counter. “Why do you insist on acting like this?”

He rounds the counter, eager to get away from this fuming mess before it implodes on his face. But you’re just as eager to follow. 

“Like what?!” 

“Like you’re jealous, Santi!” you snap, finally raising your voice to match his. “You shut down every time you see me with a guy. And what’s worse is that you take off and head back to war because you can’t stand to see me happy!”

And something cracks within him as soon as that happens. He stops in his tracks immediately.

You don’t think for a second that he would whirl on you in a split second. But he does and the silent violent rage that comes with his close proximity frightens you. Even if the urge to kiss you threatens to burn him alive.

“Do you want to know what a jealous boyfriend looks like?” He takes a step towards you, and another. You don’t resign to his simmering rage, your expression remaining impassive, even as he backs you into the kitchen counter.

He wants to show you what a jealous boyfriend looks like. He wants to show you how much he hates not having your attention on him at all times.

There is nothing that can make him understand how or why he’s so drawn to you. He’s known Frankie longer than you. Benny and Will nearly just as long. They get on his nerves nonstop, but never to this extent.

Never to the point where he wanted to tear himself from the inside out at the thought of telling you how much he yearns to put his lips against yours, yet the mere thought of you turning away from him the minute he says it instantly seals his mouth shut.

He remains at that crossroads. He wonders if you’re there with him, trying to decide which path to take. Do you know that this time– this time he’s wading into dangerous territory? Do you know that he hopes it’ll lead him to you?

“You don’t see it, do you?” You don’t say anything. He chuckles dryly. “You don’t see how much it hurts when you’re with someone else–”

“How do you think I feel when the guys talk about your informants?” you harshly interject, eyes burning like dark flames. “You don’t think it hurts when they joke about how pretty they all are?”

Those fuckers. Why the fuck would they tell you that?

His shoulders draw in, ears burning with shame, even though he knows he’s done nothing wrong. He’s never slept with any of his informants. Yes, there is a pattern. His informants are women. Beautiful women. But he doesn’t sleep with them.

Not when he’s constantly thinking of you. This last job, getting rid of Lorea, all he could think about is getting that money so he can make a better man of himself. For you. All for you. That’s why he was so determined, so driven. Not by greed, as everyone thinks. But by love.

He did it because he loves you and he would do it all again if it meant it would give him the slightest chance.

He feels himself careening towards the point of no return. He takes a steady breath, eyes fluttering shut. “Do you know how much I wanted–”

But it’s like no matter how much he tries to choose his words carefully, they all lead him back to the definitive truth. The one truth he’s always tried to keep under heaps of soil, in the deepest grave he could dig.

It is unearthing and unbinding itself from every restraint, every chain and rope. Finding its way to you.

You wait for him to keep going. Only to be met with silence and it does not sit well with you.

He feels your hand graze his chin. The soft caress sends him spiralling further and further away from his sanity. “Wanted what?”

How many times has he let you touch him like this –like you weren’t his best friend? Too often, that line is blurred and the singular question of “what are we?” hangs in the balance. Taunting him every time his knee brushes yours under a table. Haunting him with your scent when you stand too close.

When his eyes flutter open, he falls right into the deep end. Whatever restraint he’s been clinging to all this time, it snaps as easily as a twig.

He inches forward, pushing against you, pushing past that line, pressing his lips against yours.

His hands grasp your arms, pulling you closer. He couldn’t bear it if you decide to draw away when he’s just getting the taste of you for the first time, and maybe the last. But you don’t. You don’t move away, you don’t push him away.

He takes another kiss. Then another. He can’t get enough. Years of orbiting around you and he realizes how starved he is after only having you in small doses. Each kiss feels like an overdose. It feels like it will kill him, but he doesn’t care. He wants more.

“You.” he rasps sharply against your mouth. “Wanted you.” You don’t stop his hands from cupping the back of your neck, angling your head as he quickly amends, “Want you.”

A weak moan escapes you as he touches you, a sound that melts right through his ache. He brings you closer, letting you sigh into his mouth, your hands slipping through the curls of his hair, wondering how he could’ve gone without this for years.

“Oh, Santi…” you peck his lips as he does to yours, nudging your nose against his. “You’re such a fucking idiot.”

But you’re giggling. You’re laughing and it makes him weak at the knees and when you draw him close, closer until your lips meet his again–

It’s like he’s learned a new meaning to breathing again.

He starts to laugh a little too, at the ridiculousness of it all. The record number of years he has gone without telling you how he felt seemed silly now. He was worried over nothing.

“For the record…” you murmur into his mouth, grinning. “Jax is gay.”

Jax.

Tall blond, baby blue-eyed, who’s got the women giggling and whispering Jax.

Santiago is momentarily stunned by the revelation. It doesn’t correlate. He thought that… No, because Jax was all over you. Constantly talking to you every chance he got. Touching your shoulders, your arms. Smiling sweetly as he speaks. Kissing your cheek to say goodbye. It never occurred to him that Jax might just be friendly. That he might not be attracted to you.

He groans, frustrated more at himself than anything. “Oh, for fuck’s sake–”

You’re laughing when you kiss him once more, wrapping your arms around his neck while he’s muttering curses in his native tongue. Yet he smiles as he walks forward. His mouth slinks against yours while you walk back against his steps until your knees hit the couch and you both fall back.

You’re still laughing, half moaning as he draws the zipper of your hoodie open to plant kisses along your neck, your shoulders as he mutters “tu puta madre– idiota–”

You’re still laughing because you’re overjoyed. Filled with such warmth because finally–

“Pendejo–” he’s still murmuring curses into your mouth, though they’re more directed to himself for being plain stupid.

Finally, he has you in his arms the way he wants. Finally, the boys are really going to dig into him for saying something.

“No way he’s gay.” he whines, pulling his head back to look at you with a stern expression. “Did he tell you that?”

“He’s been checking you and Frankie out since he got here.” you explain, smiling and shaking your head. “Wanted to know if either one of you is available.”

Santiago clicks his tongue, cheeks heating heavily as he shakes his head. “Get outta here.”

He feels stupid. Blinded by jealousy. Throwing tantrums like a petulant child over nothing. He should’ve come clean a long time ago. 

When his mouth meets yours, he comes to one final conclusion.

He really is an idiot.

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Miguel O'Hara: Random Horny Thots #1

NSFW - @guruan made me do this (not really I saw the drawing and it gave me thots) Based on this drawing.

----

Miguel is anything but subtle. You walk into your shared flat and see him sitting in a chair with his legs spread wide and hands behind his head. His soft cock, still more than impressive in its size, out on display for you to admire.

He tells you he wants you to try again. Despite him not being your first sexual partner, you hadn't been able to actually take him all the way. He was too big...he was far too big.

He knew it, that's why when you would tell him to stop all the other times you tried to take him. So many times he'd been hovering over you, bulbous tip of his cock pressed against your little hole, unable to get any further than that. He could get that fat head just barely inside, but any further would rip you to shreds.

So now he's letting you do it. It doesn't take long for him to be fully erect. He tells you all the time how much he fantasizes about the day you'll finally be able to take every inch he has to offer. So it makes perfect sense that when your dripping and needy cunt is hovering over his wide girth, he's at the ready, leaking precum down the sides of him in anticipation.

"Just take it slow honey, you can do it." He'll say, holding onto your hips for stability and guidance, not making any attempt to push you or make you uncomfortable.

When you get the tip in, he's already making rough groans and trying to stop himself from bucking his hips upward. You start lowering yourself, feeling the burn of the stretch. Miguel is being so soft, not like he is with anyone else you've seen. He's moved one hand up to cup your cheek and brush his thumb over you gently.

"You're doing so well, such a good little girl for me, keep going, I know you can take it."

You wince, lowering yourself further. He's stretching you out, filling you one inch at a time as you keep going. You start to sweat, unsure if you can continue. You drop your forehead onto his, breathing so heavy it's like you've run a marathon, and you've still got more than halfway to go.

"I...I don't think I can." You feel involuntary tears start trickling down your cheeks. "Miguel, it's so big I can't do it."

"Sh, honey, sh." He tips up your chin, "let me kiss those cries out of your pretty mouth hm?"

He hums into your mouth, doing what he said he would. Continuing to whisper in between the kisses that you're such a perfect girl, such a pretty girl taking him so well. You keep going, getting lower and lower until you're fully sitting on him, and he's all the way inside.

You're panting as you melt into him, feeling so full you swear your insides are rearranged at this point. You can feel your tummy bulging against his abdomen, and he's actually smiling - it's a furrowed brow grumpy man smile but a smile nonetheless - , telling you how proud he is that you managed to take him all the way.

Who needs organs anyway?

----

Any of my blurbs can be used as inspo for a fic. Please tag me for credit. Thank you!

Blorbo thought of the day #5

Repetition: (Marc Spector x reader)

A/n: a little fluffy blurb 🥰 Starts with angst but Marc provides comfort and it’s lovely because he is lovely.

Warnings: (Reader has some abandonment / self-esteem issues, canon typical allusions to Marc’s past, implied off-camera sexy times) Not proofed!

GIF by @anhandfulgirl18

“You a’right?” Marc asks you in his gruff morning voice as your sigh billows dolefully against the bare expanse of his chest. The room is golden hued with sunlight, bright and easy, and your mood as you wake certainly does not match it.

“Bad dream,” you explain curtly, deepening the niggle in your brow. “Just thinking.”

Marc crushes his chin to his chest in an attempt to get a better look at you. Smooths a warm, broad hand down your bare back, the gnarled patterned sheets pushed down around your middles. “What dream? What are you thinking?”

You stiffen, snapping out of your gloomy mood a little as you realise that you’ve been awake for a mere 30 seconds, and yet you have already managed to make his voice sound like that. Despondent. Taut with concern.

Your head still resting on his chest, his heartbeat thudding steadily beneath the shell of your ear, you let your fingers dance lightly over his pec, trailing in slow, repeating circles, round and round. “It’s just….” The words feel too big to come out, like there’s a traffic jam in your throat when you try to say it out loud.

It’s stupid. You know it is.

“What?” Marc encourages, whisper soft, his voice and his hands as gentle as the slip of fresh golden sun into the room.

You push yourself up. Lie on your front next to him, propping your chin on your fisting hands. Despite the tension roping through you, looking at Marc instantly makes you smile, even if the gesture itself is a subdued, somber sort of thing.

You reach up and ruffle his thick, dark strands with the rake of your fingers, fondly combing the tendrils back from his forehead, and he hums for you, low and soft.

God. This man. He always looks especially beautiful on a morning. The mussed, chaotic curls. The shadow of stubble darkening his jaw. The way he fans his long lashes, attempting to blink away the bright morning, always a complete snuggle fiend and wanting to lay in the dark with you just a little longer. The glisten of his Magen David pooled in the hollow of his throat, bobbing there as he swallows. His skin bare and warm and his natural scent not yet polluted by his morning shower.

You don’t think you could ever tire of this sight.

“It’s nothing. Not really. It’s just… Every now and again I get this… horrible gnawing feeling. Like one day you’ll… I dunno. Get bored of me?”

That wakes him up, and for the second time this morning you feel guilt writhe your belly. Marc, meanwhile, looks at you with a pure concern. Gaze flitting over you. Examining you as though you’ve been severely wounded - and he’s only now seeing it. “What do you mean?” He moves, the surprise animating him, and he shifts his elbows backwards to prop his torso up. His necklace elongates, settling into place in the valley of his shapely chest, and his mop of curls flopping once again over his forehead. “Honey. How could I ever?”

You play with a little bit of lint on the bed covers, suddenly intent on it. Retreating away from Marc’s intense, searching stare. “You know. You could. Maybe. From the repetition of it.” Your voice cracks like sun-baked earth - as though the golden morning has already dried you out. “You could get bored. Waking-up next to me every day? Hearing me talk about the same stuff all the time? Fucking me, over and over.”

At that comment, Marc’s brows knit and raise in the middle. His tongue fleets along his lower lip, his mouth turning down at the corners. God, those puppy dog eyes of his never get old.

“But you know I love fucking you over and over, shortcake.”

You shake your head softly. Self-conscious around him, and you have no idea why. “Marc.”

With the wet way you say his name, Marc turns immediately on to his side, still propped up on one elbow, his muscles popping as they bear his weight. And, his freed arm just as immediately is reaching for you. Fingers trailing down your back. You look at him and he looks pained. “Did I… Did I do something to make you think that-“

“-No.” Shit. You shouldn’t have said anything about it. Marc gets so in his head about these things. Always blames himself, as though, if you’re insecure, it means that he isn’t doing a good enough job of loving you. In fact, that could not be further from the truth. “No, Marc. I promise. It’s…” You sigh out a long breath. “It’s just how I feel sometimes. Like eventually, you’ll realise you want someone else. I mean, if I were you, I’d get tired of me too, you know? Sometimes it just feels… inevitable.” Your final word is so heavy that is weighs the tears that pool in your eyes, and yet, even through the blur, you risk a glance up at Marc again.

His palm comes to cradle your cheek. His eyes shine steadily on you. Even glint with an unexpected amusement, despite the situation, which you don’t yet comprehend.

“Baby. Do you never think about who you’re talking to, huh?”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it. I love repetition. Same thing, over and over? Fucking heaven.”

Your insecurities press you to dispute his statement, and your mouth even drops open to counter him; but, actually, when you think about it…

Marc?

This guy?

The guy who eats the same thing everyday for breakfast, except on Saturdays? Who does all of his tasks in the same way, in the same order, every time? Who watches the same three movies on repeat any time he gets a chance? Who buys four of the same shirt so he rarely has to change it up?

“Yeah. Okay,” you concede. “But, why though?Because it’s… easy? Convenient?” That’s not what you want to be for him.

Marc caresses your cheek with his palm again, gaze flitting fondly over your face. He frowns, like he’s never really thought about the why before. Because it had never really occurred to him to think about it. “No. Not exactly. I guess because… It makes me feel… safe.”

“Safe?”

Safe. Is that what you are to him?

“Yeah. Safe like…”

Not like home. Not like the place that never was; safe.

Safe, like the jumper you knitted him, maybe. Safe, like repeating stitch after repeating stitch wrapped around him, keeping him warm.

Repetition as comfort. Routine as the home he never had, built for himself, block by block.

Like that, maybe? Or, like something else?

You swallow harshly. “Safe like… boring?”

“No,” Marc says calmly, still thinking. “No, baby.”

Then, he moves. Crawls on top of you until his nude body is covering yours, boxing you in all safe.

You see the effort plainly in his face. See from the weight in his brow that he’s painstakingly searching for the right words. That he’s reaching for a way to make you get it. Searching for something which he knows for certain you’ll truly understand. “Safe like…” A lightness settles over Marc’s face as he lands on the very thing. Something you can both understand. No chance of misinterpretation. “Safe like… how Steven makes you feel, you know?” Then, he cocks his head to the side, a slow drag of a smile inching, lopsided, over his plush mouth. “Except, in a less brotherly way. Obviously.”

You can’t help it. You tear up. You know what Steven means to Marc. That Steven represented the first time Marc had felt loved. Protected. That Steven made you feel that same way too. “I really make you feel like that?”

Marc’s eyes glow softly with a smile, crinkles appearing around his eyes, since he’s finally beginning to make you understand. “Yeah. Now you’re getting it. And hey. You’d never get sick of that, would you?”

You wouldn’t. “Never.”

“Good.” He presses a kiss to your lips. Buries his face in your neck, lips sliding tenderly down the column of your throat. Holding you tightly, his body covering you. He kisses along your collarbone, his tongue laving there. “I’ll never be bored of you.”

“Promise?”

Marc props himself up on his forearms, boxing you in either side of your head and nuzzling the tip of his nose against yours. “In a thousand lifetimes? I’d love you over and over and over and over.”

Finally, you submit a watery smile to him, releasing your sadness and your fears and your tension. Wrapping your arms around him and pulling his mouth down to yours for a deep, tender, loving kiss.

“Well,” you suspire when you break for air. “Then I suppose I like repetition too.”

“Oh yeah?”

You kiss the tip of his nose and his face crinkles with a delicious smile. “Yeah. Because I wanna wake up beside you every single day, Marc Spector.” He smiles in awe at you, eyes glistening with unadulterated adoration and you kiss along his jawline. “And sometimes Steven or Jake too,” you add as an aside. “That I’ll allow.” Marc’s face splits into a beaming smile. “Now, kisses for you all.” You grasp his face in your splayed hands and plant three kisses in turn. One on the cheek, one to the centre of his forehead, and one on his lips, which is all for him.

Marc’s eyes flutter closed as your kiss puckers against him. “Now, get off me, will you?” you tease fondly. “I’ll get us some breakfast. I’m gonna need you fuelled-up.”

“What for?”

“For all of the repetitive fucking we’re about to do.”

Marc flips obediently on to his back, folding his arms behind his head and baring himself entirely to you as you sway -naked- towards the kitchen. “Oh, is that right?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“I’m glad you’re feeling better, shortcake.”

You are. You’re feeling much better thanks to Marc and the way in which he loves you - which, you’re discovering, never gets old.

“What are we having?” he asks as you begin to raid the cabinets.

“The usual.” you glance towards him, a smirk on your mouth. “I mean. If that’s okay with you.”

He smiles softly at you in return. “The usual sounds perfect.”

It’s funny.

Marc always did love a little repetition.