#vete a la chingada

[enha-cafe]

oh look at that i suddenly hate white men all over again

[arachnid-party]

lord help me.

[n-u-b-e-s-n-e-g-r-a-s]

Ve a terapia y vete a la chingada también.

[sofmoth]

Good Men Die Too

DO NOT BOTHER INTERACTING IF YOUR BIO IS AGELESS OR YOUR BLOG IS BLANK.

thank u @strang3lov3 for your editing assistance (as well as the encouragement to actually write this) and thank u @sweetenerobert for so kindly beta reading<3

also posted to AO3 by me (@sofmoth). link here.

divider created by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

tommy miller (the last of us) x reader. WC: 8.5k

18+ ONLY. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED ON SIGHT.

HEED ALL WARNINGS:

DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. no outbreak AU, early 2000s AU. reader is an 18 year-old high school senior, tommy is a 20 year-old high school senior (held back twice in 8th grade), football player!tommy, cheerleader!reader. tommy speaks spanish, reader speaks and understands spanish (for translations, click the AO3 link and see ending notes). semi-protected sex (no use of condoms, reader is on birth control), PIV sex, loss of virginity, multiple female orgasms, multiple instances of sex. porn with plot, porn with feelings, the feelings are reciprocated but never said out loud. implied gun violence, gun violence confirmed. tommy is insecure and doesn't want to end up like his dad (not super doing anything to prevent this). relationship is implied but never explicity acknowledged between them. teenagers fuck and if you can't handle that, that's a you problem (play w ur mama not me). once more for the cheap seats, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

You stand well down the hall, leaning against the lockers, slyly peeking the twenty feet up at him. You’re watching him carefully slip something into his locker. You know that shape; it’s the same shape that sent his father to prison. One of his friends saunters toward him, saying something in eighth grade-level Spanish and signaling with his hand. You can see his eyes glow as you watch him deny, vehemently, that he does not, in fact, have what his friend is announcing.

I saw you.

You see he’s chosen once again to not wear the uniform, not the slacks, not even his football jersey. Definitely working after last period. The white t-shirt he wears makes him look smaller at this angle, but when he turns in your direction the breadth of his shoulders obviously matches his brother’s. He slams his locker shut, raises his chin a bit, and his eyes meet yours for one scorching second before he smirks and looks away. You feel your back melding with the steel.

It’s gonna be a long fucking day.

Your face feels hot until lunch. You decide to sneak out to the football field, picking a spot at the top of the grandstands with a clear view of the parking lot. There he is. Hanging around a Ford Taurus with a few other guys, all of whom graduated when he should have. He’s sitting on the hood of the car, smoking lazily. One of the guys sneakily hands a tiny red package of something to someone who definitely does not attend the school, tucks the wad of green into his pocket. You can see him look back at the other guys and shake his head, wave his hand dismissively. Your fingers curl around the chain link fencing keeping you from falling off the back edge, your breath leaves your chest. You don’t feel like going back inside when the bell rings, content to stay up and out of his sight to watch. But he goes back in, so you do too.

You pay no attention the rest of the day, drawing a few scattered laughs when the teacher snaps at you for daydreaming. Last bell finally rings and you hurry out front, rolling and tucking the waist of your horrible plaid skirt up and in twice as you walk. You know when he’ll be walking out, strategically unlocking your bike at that moment. You can feel his gaze on the exposed skin of your thighs, keeping your eyes down as you situate yourself on the seat.

“Tommy! Deja de mirar y métete al mierda auto. Tengo que darle el bebé a Martina.”

“Vete a la chingada, Joel.”

Mission success.

You glance up as you pedal past, making a point to raise your hand to Joel as you cross in front of the car. He nods and waves politely, Tommy pointedly looks away. You remember Martina, Joel’s fiancé. They graduated together when you were in sixth grade, at that point still two years behind Tommy. Joel got Martina pregnant a few years later, and by that time you were in the eighth grade. Tommy had managed to stay in exactly the same place. The baby definitely isn’t a baby anymore. Maybe it’s different when it’s your kid.

You pedal just a bit behind the car, enough to stay out of the way as you watch Joel pull off. You shrug out of your blazer, stuffing it into your backpack and pushing up the sleeves of your stiff dress shirt. It isn’t weird for you to follow them– you live right across the street. Besides, it’s not like Tommy is going to be there anyway. That’s the whole reason Joel picked him up, they’re definitely going to a job. You still allow for quite a bit of distance before you finally begin making your way home.

By the time you do make it home, Joel’s car is still in the driveway. You drop your bike off at the side of your garage, walking slowly around to your front porch. You can hear an argument, a small child crying. You see Joel and Martina hurrying out, Martina carrying the toddler. You can still hear the argument over the engine rumble as they leave.

“¡Nos estás destruyendo, Tomás! ¡Tienes veinte años! Mira a tu hermano, él–”

“¡Nunca seré como Joel, mamá! ¿Cuándo vas a ver eso?”

Your shoulders twitch as their front door slams open and shut again, Tommy storming out past his truck to the other car, jacket in hand. You hurry inside; that argument was none of your business. You gossip. You still peek out your blinds as the beige Mercury roars to life, Tommy whipping out of the driveway in reverse. He’s on his way to find trouble. Make trouble. You’re sure you’ll see his face on the evening news, but you still hope you won’t. Five o’clock rolls around, and you sigh relieved when you don’t.

— — — —

Today you opt not to take your usual spot to stare, instead choosing to patrol the hallways. You see him, leaning against a locker and talking to a freshman girl. You tune in carefully, they’re only talking about her brother getting benched for his grades. Tommy is almost wearing the uniform, khaki slacks fitting his thighs mind-numbingly perfectly. Only God knows where his blazer is. His sleeves are rolled up, his tan forearms seemingly glowing golden in the combination of fluorescent overhead lights and early-morning sun streaming through the huge windows. You make a point not to look at him, instead allowing his gaze to follow your movement. If this is how he wants to do it, fine. You’re good at this game.

You are not so good at dodgeball.

Forty minutes later, you find yourself in the nurse’s office with an ice pack pressed gingerly against your zygomatic bone, and you can feel the bruise forming. You pick at a loose thread on the hem of your gym shorts, sighing through your nose. If it had been anyone else, you’d probably be thinking what a fucking dick. But it was Tommy who launched the rubber ball directly into your skull with far more force than necessary, Tommy who immediately covered his face with his hands and turned away in embarrassment. So instead you find yourself thinking he noticed, he cared. You will get him back, though.

The bell rings and you change back into your uniform in the bathroom, scribbling a short note on some scrap paper before scurrying down the hall. You slip the paper through the slats in his locker, turning sharply around and walking back to the office. You’ll sign yourself out for the day, forge your mother’s handwriting, probably won’t be back for a few days.

— — — —

It’s been three days of Tommy stealing looks at you as you sunbathe in your front yard during the afternoons, lingering a bit too long outside the car before entering the house. Three days of Joel averting his gaze as obviously as he can, three days of you catching a glimpse of Tommy gripping his cock through his pants where he thinks you can’t see. Three nights of you, knuckles-deep in your own pussy, wishing it was Tommy’s strong hands instead. You’re going to make it happen. First he needs to admit it. Whether to you or himself, it doesn’t matter.

You ride your bike to the school in the middle of the day, locking it to the tall fence surrounding the football field. It would be easier if you had bothered going to your classes- you wouldn’t have to scale said fence- but you do it anyway. You climb up in the grandstands, taking the same place as before, scouring the parking lot. There he is.

You press your forehead to the chain links, sighing. You watch him smoke, and this time he’s sitting on the hood of the Mercury. He’s wearing his jersey today, like every other football player on Friday. If you’d come to school today you’d be wearing your borderline-skimpy cheer uniform, and you wonder briefly if you’d have more luck if you were wearing it now. He flicks the butt of his cigarette away, lights another one. It looks like he’s fiddling with something in his other hand, you can see him shaking his head.

He looks up, locks eyes with you as he exhales. You find yourself doing the same, melting into the fencing. He slides off the hood, places his cigarette between his lips and tucks his hand into his back pocket for a moment. Tommy clears the fence in two hops, his bouncing walk carrying him swiftly and effortlessly up the metal stairs to you. You turn a bit, hiding the yellowing bruise as you play with your long sleeves. He sits a few feet away, leaning back into the fence. You can see him looking you up and down and you smirk a little.

“Me gusta todo negro. Reina de la noche, ¿verdad?” You laugh. You can see him smile.

“That’s not gonna work on me. Nice try, though.” He scoots a bit closer, pulls the paper you’d slipped into his locker from his pocket.

“So. You owe me a black eye?”

“It’s only fair.”

“Hm. And I couldn’t help but notice there’s also something about some kissing.”

“Yeah. Why, you come to collect?”

“Maybe.”

You tuck your knees up to your chest, resting your chin on them. He flicks his ash away and drops the butt through the fence, eyes scanning your face.

“I really am sorry about the dodgeball. I wasn’t aiming for you.” You roll your eyes.

“That makes it all better, thanks.” He huffs.

He slides steadily closer, close enough to hook his finger through the loops of your shoelaces. He tugs them a few times, all a lopsided boyish grin as you tap him with your toe. He looks so young like this. His grin drops and he swallows harshly.

“You know I suck, right?” His voice is low, you shake your head.

“Not to me.”

“My dad’s a convicted murderer, he’s waiting on death row right now.”

“You’re not him, though.”

“My brother is leagues ahead of me. He’d already started his business when he was twenty. I’m still a senior in high school.”

“Tommy.”

“All I’ve got going for me is football. I’m a liar, I steal, my friends are drug dealers. You…” He laughs softly, looks away and licks his lip. “You’re better than that. I know you get up to shit too but it doesn’t matter, you’re still good. I’m not good.” You rest your hand over his on your shoe, tracing a vein with your pinkie nail. Your voice falls to a whisper.

“You’re the only version of you I’d want.”

He searches your face for a moment, you can’t tell if he came up empty. When he speaks his voice is soft.

“Do I have to get the black eye first? Or is it like an IOU situat–” You cut him off, pressing your lips firmly to his. 

Your fingers rest against his neck, his other hand comes up to cover yours. You can feel him touching your stupid fucking purity ring. You move your hand farther back to the nape of his neck, his soft curls gracing the pads of your fingertips as you thread them in. His tongue in your mouth makes your chest feel hot, your ears fill with the sound of television static as he squeezes your thigh. The taste of his cigarette makes your head feel fuzzy, and you don’t notice until he pulls away that you’d forgotten to breathe. He swallows, chuckles softly.

“So does that count as one or like… ten kisses?” You huff out a laugh, roll your eyes.

“I’ll let you know after you win tonight.”

“What happens if we don’t win?”

“You’ll get your black eye.” Tommy laughs.

“Shit, okay. We gotta win now.”

He cautiously laces his fingers into yours, you close your eyes and lean back into the fence. You sit in silence together for a few minutes, Tommy ignoring whatever bell rings.

“You want a ride home?” Slick motherfucker.

“No thanks. Weather’s too nice. But maybe tonight.” He raises an eyebrow.

“Alright. Just let me know.” You squeeze his hand gently.

“You should get back to class.”

You dodge him as he leans in, smirking as his mouth falls open. You stand and stretch, arms above your head, yelping a little as he grabs your waist and pulls you between his legs. He presses his face to your chest and inhales, hands climbing your back. Your head drops backward and you feel your fingers tangling in his hair. God, you’re weak. You force yourself to pull away.

“I’ll see you tonight.” You turn quickly and practically run down the steps.

You climb back over the fence as gracefully as you can, unlocking your bike and pedaling over to Tommy. He looks down and laughs, shaking his head. You wave up at him as you pass, smiling to yourself as you leave the parking lot and head home.

— — — —

Joel was nice enough to offer you a ride back to the school for the game, but you suspect Tommy had something to do with it. You deny twice, just like you were taught, and graciously accept the third time.

“You managing okay with your mama being out of town?”

“I’m doin’ okay. Fridge is stocked, if that’s what you mean. She’ll be back on Sunday anyway.”

“Alright. If you need anything you can ask any time. A ride, a meal, anything. We’re not hurtin’ and I’m happy to help.”

“I appreciate it, Joel. Thank you.” He pulls up to the locker room and you climb out, tugging your skirt into place. “Tell Señora Miller I said hi.” He laughs.

“¿Cual señora?” You grin, ducking to look at him.

“Tu madre.” You shut the car door and wave as he drives off.

By the start of halftime you’re up two touchdowns and a field goal. He really doesn’t want that black eye. You decide to sneak off to the bathrooms, not sure if you need to piss but definitely needing a cigarette. You’re a bit surprised to see Tommy around the dark corner of the small building.

“Shouldn’t you be in the locker room?” He jumps a little, laughs softly.

“Scared the shit out of me. Yes, I should. Shouldn’t you be sittin’ pretty on the track?” You flip him off.

“Yes, I should. But I needed a cigarette.”

“Fair enough.” You sit down next to him, tucking your legs under yourself.

You pull a half-smushed cigarette out of your bra and place it between your lips. Tommy stares at you, exhaling his smoke slowly. You groan. You’re not sure where your lighter is, but it’s definitely not in the band of your spankies anymore. He flicks open his Zippo, holds it out to you and you lean in, looking up at him through your eyelashes as you inhale. You exhale through the corner of your mouth, looking at your lipstick on the filter. You can hear him swallow, see him ash his cigarette out of the corner of your eye. 

“Me gusta ese color en ti.” His voice is soft.

“Again, that’s not gonna work on me.” 

“Se vería más bonito todo jodido.”

“Ay, para.”

You stub out your cigarette, grabbing his face and pulling him in. He kisses you aggressively, lacing his fingers through your hair. You whimper as he bites your lip and pulls you onto his lap, sliding his hand up the back of your thigh to your ass. You pull away a little, running your thumb over his lip.

“This is so juvenile.” Tommy snorts a laugh, shakes his head.

“Who gives a shit?” He kisses across your jaw and down your neck, your eyelids fluttering.

“Slow your roll, Miller. We’ve only got ten minutes until third quarter and you still have to go put your pads back on.”

You kiss his cheek, climbing off his lap and fixing your skirt. He stands, looking down at you and shaking his head.

“You sure shake that head a lot.”

“Just hard to believe you sometimes.” You scowl.

“Fuck is that supposed to mean?” He holds your face in his hands.

“Cool it. It’s not a bad thing.” Your eyes roll. “I’m serious. Stop tryna tease me or piss me off or whatever you’re doin’. It’s not gonna work.”

You lick your thumb, reaching up to swipe it over his cheek. He swats at you gently.

“Leave it. They’re not gonna bench me for having a little lipstick on my face.”

“Whatever you say. You still oughta hustle.”

“Fine. Hey, you think any more about that ride home?”

“I’m still thinking. Find me later, I’ll let you know.”

You practically bounce back to the track, sitting and tucking your legs. One of your squadmates discretely hands you a makeup wipe and her tube of lipstick.

The end of third quarter proves enough to get Tommy and one opposing linebacker both benched. The linebacker went after Tommy, Tommy didn’t appreciate it. Helmets came off, a few blows landed, coaches pulled them apart. You watch him moping on the bench, an ice pack held to his face the same way you did on Tuesday. He turns to face the cheer squad, lands on you. You wave at him from your hip, one corner of your mouth quirking up as he waves back. One of the junior varsity girls giggles something about him waving at her, you almost tell her to shut the fuck up.

He doesn’t want you, bitch.

— — — —

The game finally ends, and you end up losing by one field goal. You mill around outside the locker room, waiting for Tommy to come out. When he does, his hair is wet from his shower and you see he’s rocking the beginnings of a serious shiner.

“Well, we didn’t win. Guess I’m about to have two black eyes?”

“Nah. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Since we made out earlier does that mean we’re square on the kisses?”

“Only if you want to be.”

“Let me give you that ride and I’ll let you know.”

He wraps his arm around your shoulders and guides you through the parking lot to his truck, opening the passenger door for you. Señora must have needed the Mercury. You climb in, smiling softly at him. He tries to leap over the hood and you laugh, covering your mouth as he nearly falls. Your head tips back against the headrest, watching him as he plays it off and slings himself into the driver’s seat. He looks over at you, eyeing you up and down. You turn your head to face him.

“Like what you see?”

He doesn’t say anything, resting his elbow on the shoulder of your seat. He rests his other hand high on your thigh, stroking the skin delicately.

“You gonna answer me?” It comes out weaker than you mean for it to.

“I think you know the answer.”

He brushes a bit of your hair over your ear, taking a lock between his fingers. You force your shoulders to relax, exhaling slowly through your nose. Tommy squeezes your thigh.

“Let’s get you home.” You can only nod.

He turns in his seat, starting the truck and resting his right hand back on your thigh. You’re on edge the entire way home, your chest feels hot and your hands tremble in your lap. Tommy’s hand slides up your thigh a bit, you feel your cheeks warming. He parks in your driveway, looks over at you.

“Let me walk you up?” You give him a small smile.

“Sure.”

He climbs out, walks around the front and opens your door for you. He offers his arm and you step down, shutting the door behind yourself. He holds your hand as he walks you up to your porch, sliding to your waist as you stop. You lean up on your toes, holding his face gently. You kiss him softly, feel his hand come to rest on your bare bicep. You lean back, look up at him.

“You can come in.” He smiles, shakes his head a little.

“I don’t wanna impose.”

“You should come in.” He chuckles.

“Alright.”

You stoop and pull the key from under the mat, unlocking the door and gesturing him inside. He steps in, looking around as he hangs his jacket on the coat rack. You lock the door behind you, leaning back against it to watch him.

“Make yourself comfortable. I’m gonna go get changed real quick, I’ll be right back.” He nods and smiles with half his mouth, kicking his shoes off and claiming a spot on the couch.

You don’t close your bedroom door all the way, leaving it open enough to give Tommy a bit of a view and to see him sneakily looking back at it. You keep your direct gaze averted, only watching him from your periphery. Out of habit you press the play button on the disc player atop your dresser and strip out of your uniform, lingering absently near the door.

God damn, will you grow a pair?

You look at yourself in your mirror, wishing for a moment you had prettier underwear. Something lacy, something sexy. Something that isn’t so plain or simple, something to make him want to want you. The string of dying Christmas lights above your bed casts a splotchy pastel glow over everything, and you’re hoping it ups the appeal. You close your eyes, shaking your head as you sit on the edge of your mattress near your pillows. You thank God your mother had finally caved and bought you a full; your old twin most certainly wouldn’t accommodate the two of you.

Now or never, pussy.

“Hey Tommy, can you come back here for a second?” You yell up the hall, peeking to watch him stand and shake out his hands. He seems almost nervous.

The floor squeaks softly under his steps, the doorknob rattles as he places his hand on it. He pushes the door open, keeping his eyes down. You pull your legs up, tucking them to your chest and resting your arms on your knees. He steals a glance and his grip tightens.

“Come sit with me.” Your voice is soft, much softer than you want it to be. He looks up at you finally and you see him swallow.

He enters fully, shutting the door and walking slowly over to you. He sits, adjusting his legs open a bit. You can’t help yourself, looking down at his crotch and quickly looking back up.

“I let you drive me home. You decide whether or not we’re square yet?” One hand drifts to his thigh, tracing over the inseam of his jeans with your nail.

“Yes I did.” He slips a finger under your bra strap, your breath catches as he tugs it down over your shoulder.

“What’s the verdict?”

“I think you still owe me a few.”

Your legs spread without a thought as Tommy pushes you onto your back. His hands are warm on your bare sides, his rough calluses keeping you from floating away. He slots one of his knees between your legs, you gasp as the denim meets the gusset of your panties. His nose presses to the hollow of your neck, hot breath moistening your skin. You feel lightheaded, reaching up to knot your fingers in his still-damp hair, tugging when you feel his teeth on your shoulder. You can feel his chest rumble against yours, the kissing on your neck growing near-frantic as you grind against his leg.

He pulls away quickly, sitting up and practically ripping his shirt off. He leans back over you equally fast, pushing one of your legs aside. You feel him push his hand down into your panties and everything that follows is involuntary; your back arches up into his chest, your eyes cross. You feel his cheek against yours and you want to cry, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and dragging him closer to you.

It takes you a moment to realize he’s following the music, his thick fingers pumping in and out of you steadily in time with the guitar. You feel yourself starting to tremble, breath quickening as your eyes roll back.

“Damélo, princesa.”

You motherfucker.

It feels like you’ve been hit by a train, black and white spots dotting your vision as his pace slows and he shushes you softly, mumbling something you don’t have the energy to decipher. He withdraws his fingers and you can feel him starting to lean back, wrapping your arms around him tighter and pulling him back. He kisses your cheek.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere. Just gotta get this fuckin’ belt off.” He pulls away gently and you sit up.

“Let me.”

Tommy raises his eyebrows, holds his hands up. He sits back on his heels, displaying himself for you. You wet your bottom lip, leaning up and kissing him. You tangle your fingers in the hair at the base of his skull, feeling his hands resting on your neck as your other hand tugs at the leather tucked around his waist. You’re shocked by yourself for a moment, at the ease and speed with which you manage to undo the buckle. Tommy seems equally surprised.

“Now I don’t know for sure, but that little ring tells me you haven’t done this before. On the other hand, you did that a bit too well. You been holdin’ out on me?” You roll your eyes.

“You’d like to shut the fuck up before I change my mind.”

“Duly noted.”

You wrap the buckle up in your fist, winding the leather around your wrist and pulling it away from him. You drop it to the floor; it hits with a satisfying thunk. You feel bold now, resting your fingertips on his fly. He tilts your chin up with one finger, nods in encouragement. You smirk, pushing him onto his back. He folds his arms behind his head, watching you. Pinche vaquero. You unbutton his jeans, unzipping them slowly as he reaches down to pet your hair. His knuckles glide over your cheek and you lean into them, eyelids fluttering.

“¿Te gusta, princesa?”

You gnash your teeth at his hand, gasping as he swiftly threads his fingers into your hair and tugs your head backward.

“None of that now. Need you to be sweet, alright?” He loosens his grip almost immediately, you nod and lean down to the waistband of his boxers.

You kiss his skin softly, smiling to yourself as his chest rumbles. He tangles his fingers back in your hair, seemingly more as an anchor point than for control. Fuck. He smells like Irish Spring, your eyes rolling back behind your closed lids as you slide down and kiss his bulge.

“Carajo, princesa. Either this isn’t your first time or you watch too much porn.”

“Less than you, pendejo. I’ve gotta steal your WiFi to do it.”

“Pendejo? You’re in for it now.” You yelp as he sits up, practically lunging at you and knocking you back.

He pushes you down into your mattress, you giggle as he nips at your ear. He props himself up, off of you, stroking your cheek with his thumb as he looks over your features. His frown lines are soft, already-dark eyes now black in the light. Something hidden deep behind them. Let me in.

“Eres la chica sobre todo hermosa que he visto en mi vida.” He whispers, barely audible.

“I’ve already told you–”

“Es la verdad.” He kisses you slowly, sweetly.

You exhale shakily, mouth opening against his as your back arches and his hand snakes under you. He unclasps your bra deftly and for a moment you feel a stinging in your chest, something like anger that you didn’t get to have him first. You suddenly feel his palm on your bare breast, inhaling sharply at the sensation.

“Take off those fuckin’ jeans.” You feel dizzy, watching as he maneuvers the denim off his legs and onto the floor.

He presses his nose to your sternum, sighing raggedly as he pushes his hips against yours. You cover your mouth with your hand, your attempt to stifle your moan ruined as Tommy moves your wrist away from your face. He pins it to your pillow, his other hand still under you and squeezing your ass. You drape your free arm over his shoulders, his forehead coming to rest gently on yours. He’s almost pulling you in, pelvis steadily rolling into you.

“Jesus Christ, I’ve gotta fuck you.” He sounds close to begging.

“Please.” You will beg, you don’t care anymore.

He hooks his thumbs under the waistband of your panties, raising his eyes to meet yours and you nod. He tugs them down, borderline whining as you’re exposed.

“Dios maldito, princesa.”

He does whine now, dropping your panties and pressing his lips to your knee. He curses under his breath, shoving his boxers off before pushing your thighs apart. He situates himself between them, taking your left hand and inspecting it as he slides his cock slowly up and down through your folds.

“Tell you a secret?” His voice is a whisper.

“Anything.” Your voice quivers.

“Kinda always wanted to do something like this. Sorta fucked up though, isn’t it?” He looks you in the eyes as he removes the silver purity ring, placing it gingerly on your nightstand.

“You know that’s why I want you.”

He drops your hand gently, kisses you firmly. You gasp against his mouth as you feel the head of his cock splitting you open, your breath quickening as he pushes further in. You wrap your arms around his neck and press your lips to his chest, whimpering into his skin as he holds the back of your head, shushing you softly. He groans as he bottoms out, the sound rippling in your ear as if through water.

“Buen trabajo, princesa. Maldita sea, joder.” He shushes you again as he slowly pulls out, reentering just as slowly.

“Fuck, Tommy. Oh my fucking God.” Your vision is fuzzy, hands cold and face on fire.

You knot your fingers in his hair, legs burning from the distance they’re spread. He rolls his hips into you evenly, keeping a slow pace with the music as Chino Moreno serenades you both. Your thoughts flutter around the idea of giving Tommy road head, riding him in the backseat of the Mercury, him eating you in the bed of his truck. You tug his head back and he whimpers, kissing you roughly as the aggressive vocals suddenly quiet. He takes your wrists in one hand, pinning them to the pillow above you as his pace begins accelerating. You pull experimentally, testing to see how tightly he’s holding you. He eases his grip, doesn’t remove his hand.

“Just tell me to stop or slow down and I will. Don’t wanna hurt you.”

“I’m okay. You can go faster if you want.”

“I wanna fuck you through this mattress. Do you want it faster?” You nod and he nudges your chin up to look at him.

“Sí o no, princesa.”

“Yes.” He kisses you again, cradling your cheek.

Oh, fuck. He’s been granted permission, now fucking into you at tempo. You gasp, pulling your wrists free in earnest, nails finding purchase on his back. He hisses, biting your lip and groping the flesh of your waist. You pull away, pushing your forehead against his chest and moaning brokenly. You nearly scream as his fingers circle your clit, tears beading in your eyelashes from the stimulation. You feel yourself trembling, sinking your teeth into his shoulder as the rubber band snaps.

“Cosita sensible, ¿no?” He doesn’t stop, teasing the sensitive nerves with his fingertips.

The tears finally fall, your hips jerking into his hand as you’re immediately hit with a second orgasm. Your chest feels tight, cheeks hot. He pulls his hand away, kissing you softly before slowly pulling out. You whine involuntarily at the sudden emptiness, Tommy shushing you as he slides up to lean against your headboard.

“On my lap, princesa. Want you to try something.”

He takes your hand as you push yourself up, focusing on keeping your breath steady as you take your place over his thighs. He kisses you sweetly, his thumb grazing your cheekbone as he strokes his cock.

“I want you to sit on it. Think you can do that?” You bite your lip, looking away and back quickly.

“I can try.”

“That’s my girl. I’ve got you, just take your time.”

My girl.

He holds your hips gently as you shift up, squeezing reassuringly as you begin lowering yourself onto his length. Christ, he’s thick. You whimper, biting your hand as you pause.

“You’re doin’ good, baby. Fuck, you feel good.” He whispers, removing your fingers from between your teeth and pulling you close to his chest. “I’ll do the rest, just relax for me.”

He pushes up into you slowly, moaning softly as you dig your nails into his bicep. You gasp sharply as he snaps his hips once, burying himself inside you. He holds you there for a moment, kissing your forehead before exhaling raggedly.

“You’re okay, just gotta get used to it. Fuck. Gonna move you, alright?” You nod, out of breath and your limbs weak.

He rests one hand firmly on your hip, the other around your waist as he slowly guides you to grind on him. You sigh, eyes rolling back at the sheer fullness. You don’t feel totally conscious, arms snaking around his neck seemingly with minds of their own. You become vaguely aware that Tommy’s hand is no longer moving you, instead suddenly feeling him squeezing your thigh. Your legs are shaking, all sound around you is dulled.

“Hey, come back to me.”

You shake your head, the movement of your hips stopping and you force yourself to focus.

“You still here?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” Your voice nearly fails you, your words airy and barely audible.

“I guess now’s a little late to ask if you’re on the pill.”

“I am, sorry. Wasn’t even thinkin’ about it.”

“S’okay. Look at me, baby.” You blink hard, tilting your face up.

God must be real.

He looks beautiful like this. His hair is mussed, the now-dry curls sticking out from around his ears and tipping onto his forehead. The freckles across his nose seem to create constellations. There is nothing hiding behind his eyes anymore. There he is.

“God damn, I’m close. I’m gonna fuck you like this, okay? Just relax, you can take it.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, fucking up into you fast and hard. You yelp, melting into him as he holds your head against his neck, one arm encircling your waist. His breathing is jagged, you feel him press his lips to your shoulder as he attempts to stifle a moan. You can feel his hands twitch, pressing closer to him.

I’ll never get close enough.

He gasps sharply, thrusting hard one final time. You cry out, practically jumping as he holds your hips down to his. He wraps his arms around your torso tightly, dragging his nose up the side of your neck. His breath comes out trembling and heavy, his entire body now twitching against yours. You try to focus on the fading guitar riffs, eyes closed as you attempt to calm your racing heartbeat.

The disc player clicks a few moments later, a soft chhh as the CD stops spinning. You swallow, leaning back to look over Tommy’s expression. He kisses you softly, brushing your hair over your ear before tipping his head back against your headboard. You laugh a little, he raises an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Either you love Deftones or you only fuck with music playing.” He rolls his eyes, smiles.

“I live with my entire family. The only time I get any privacy is when I have music on.”

He pulls out of you slowly, rolls you carefully onto your back. You run your fingers through his hair as he rubs your bicep with his knuckles. He finally begins to look around your room, taking in the decor and dirty laundry scattered about your carpet. He points at one particular heap on the floor.

“You should wear that tomorrow. Look good with my suit.” Oh fuck. Fuckin’ homecoming.

“Your suit? Or Joel’s?” He rolls his eyes and you smirk. “And how exactly do you know what you’re pointing at?”

“My suit. And I live with two women, I ain’t blind. C’mon. I’ll buy you a corsage and everything.”

“Pick me up at five then.”

— — — —

He kisses you goodbye in the morning, lingering in the front door frame far longer than necessary. Promises he’ll be on time, he’ll probably even be a little early. You giggle at him, kissing him one last time before shutting the door behind him. You watch out the blinds as he backs out of your driveway and re-parks along the street gutter in front of his house, raising his hand to your house as he walks inside.

By 4:30 you stand in front of your mirror, severely second-guessing yourself. You feel like Angela Bettis in Carrie, and you could vomit from the nerves. At 4:50 a knock on your front door scares you out of your stupor, rushing from your room to answer it. You put an eye up to the peephole, exhaling shakily and adjusting your stole. You smooth the fabric of your dress, hoping you didn’t stain it with the sweat from your palms. You pull the door open, greeted by Tommy’s impish grin. He’s hiding his hands behind his back, fidgeting a little. Joel stands behind him with his arms crossed, holding a digital camera.

“Hey. You’re early.” Your voice is soft.

“Told you I would be. I hope it’s okay that Joel—”

“Yeah, it’s fine. Come on in.”

You stand aside to allow them entry, swallowing as you close the door. Joel looks around for a moment, Tommy reveals his hands. He holds out a little plastic box, a corsage of a peony and baby’s breath within. You grin and laugh airily, taking it and turning it around in your hands.

“Told you I’d get you one.”

“Hey now, don’t be puttin’ it on yet. I gotta turn on the damn camera.”

“Hold the red button, pendejo. Told you a million times.”

Tommy rolls his eyes and smiles sweetly down at you.

“Te ves bonita.”

“Tú tampoco estás mal.”

Joel takes a few photos of the two of you, nodding approvingly every other shutter click. He walks out behind you and Tommy, taps on your window after Tommy helps you into the truck. You crank it down, eyebrow raised as he takes your hand.

“He does anything to hurt you, you call me. I know you can take care of yourself but boy would I love to get a lick in, too.” You laugh, squeezing Joel’s fingers.

“I’ll make sure to. Thanks for taking the pictures.”

“Anytime, kid. Y’all behave tonight.”

You look over at Tommy, holding his face in his hands as he rests his forehead against the steering wheel.

“Oye, pinga. Te estoy hablando.”

“¡Lo sé, maldita sea!”

You cover your mouth, holding in your laughter. Joel winks to you, thumping the base of the window and stepping back. You crank it back up, waving at him as the truck roars to life and Tommy pulls away. He rests his hand on your thigh, absentmindedly stroking the fabric with his thumb.

“Hey, you okay?” He blinks hard.

“Yeah, fine.” You shrink into yourself.

You inspect the corsage on your wrist, run your finger over the petals on the peony. You reach the one red light on the way to the school, Tommy squeezes your thigh gently. You look over at him.

“Wait for me in the bleachers, okay? I gotta do something real quick when we get there.”

“What is it?”

“Nothin’ you gotta worry about. Just gotta grab something.”

“Please don’t be dealing tonight.” You look away, covering your eyes with your hand.

“Hey, no. I’m not. Promise. I just left some shit the other day, I’m gonna grab it and put it in the back. Then you can shake as much ass on me as you want.” You huff a weak laugh.

“Not really my speed.”

“Then we can just sit, that’s fine too.”

The light changes, Tommy reaches over and brushes your hair behind your ear as he accelerates. He rests his hand back on your thigh, barely touching it.

“I’m not gonna start anything, just gonna have a good night with my girl.” You nod, placing your hand over his.

“Okay.”

— — — —

It’s nearly midnight. The dance ended hours ago, and as promised Tommy didn’t start anything. Now, you find yourself sitting on the lowered gate of his truck bed in a decent-sized crop circle with twenty or so other people milling around. A few of the underclass girls have proven they can’t handle their alcohol, and you try to tune out their retching as you watch the bonfire someone made. Tommy had wrapped his varsity jacket around your shoulders not long after you arrived, your stole not nearly enough to keep you from shivering. You hear footsteps coming toward you and look in their direction, seeing Tommy coming your way and offering a cigarette. You take it and place it between your lips, meeting the burning end of his and inhaling.

“Havin’ any fun?”

“It’s okay.” You lower your voice. “I know some folks but I don’t really run with anyone here.” Tommy hums.

“We can head out soon if you want?”

“I’m not gonna stop you from having a good time with your friends. We can stay.” He nods, takes his cigarette between his fingers and kisses your forehead.

One of the football players calls him over, he looks at you and you nod. He kisses you quickly, jogging off. You sit alone smoking for a moment, staring up into the sky at the stars. The shuffling sound of a group of drunk tenth-grade girls headed toward you pulls you back. You flick your ash away, eyeing the JV cheerleaders. Same fuckin’ bitch. The one who got it in her head Tommy had waved at her leads them, and she looks pissed.

“You fuckin’ slut.”

“I know you’re not talking to me. Not 27 hours ago I was still wearing my purity ring. When’d you get rid of yours again?”

“Bitch!”

She screeches, grabbing your arm and yanking so hard you think for a moment she must have dislocated your shoulder. You fall, hitting the dead ends of the corn stalks and shrieking. You lay face-down for a moment, eyes closed. You can hear a few of the guys yelling, the JV bitch screeching again as a senior girl grabs her. There are several voices around you, and you pick out Tommy’s, but you can’t quite understand what he’s saying. You open your eyes slowly, losing sight of his dress shoes for a moment before six shots ring out, everyone around you screaming and hitting the ground. He reappears before you, lifting you gently and setting you inside the cab. He shuts the door, his yelling muffled. The driver door slams and you jump.

“We’re goin’ home.” You can only nod; he sounds furious.

You stop in town on the way back, Tommy jumping out to make a call. You watch him feed the dimes into the payphone, watch as he paces around, stretching the cord to its limit. You can’t tell what he’s saying but his free hand moves wildly. He hangs the receiver back on the hook, scrubs his hands over his face before lighting a cigarette. He looks down at the sidewalk briefly, climbing back into the truck.

“What did you do?” You can’t bring yourself to make eye contact with him. He exhales slowly.

“Don’t worry about it. Everything’s fine.”

“Tommy.”

“Nobody died.”

You lean your head against the window, pull his varsity jacket tighter around yourself. The two of you are silent for the remainder of the ride, and you let yourself out once in your driveway. You walk up to your front door in a daze, walking into the house and back to your bedroom. You sit on the edge of your bed, looking down and noticing your corsage was crushed at some point. You can feel hot tears stinging your eyes, the mattress sinking next to you. You can’t help yourself, leaning into Tommy’s side as you begin to sob. He shushes you softly, wrapping his arms around you and stroking your hair. You finally catch your breath, wiping your face with the back of your hand and pulling away from him carefully.

“Hey. Look at me, princesa.” You force your eyes up to meet his.

“Tommy, just tell me. What the hell did you do?” He pinches the bridge of his nose, laughs awkwardly.

“The guy who invited that little girl, Liam? He started… mouthing off, calling you a slut and a whore and all that shit.” He swallows. “I shot up his fuckin’ car. Made sure no one would say anything but I swear to God I didn’t hit anybody.”

You flop back, staring at your ceiling. You can feel more tears forming, Tommy leans over you and brushes your cheek delicately.

“Everything’s okay. Promise.” You chuckle weakly, a few tears slide down over your temples.

“Bitch crushed my fuckin’ flower.” He rests his forehead against yours, a cut-off laugh escaping his throat. He kisses you softly.

“That’s what you’re crying over?” His voice is low, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“It’s special.”

You place your hand over his wrist, squeezing a little. You close your eyes, listening to the sound of his breathing.

“You’d thought I sent that bitch to hell, didn’t you?” You laugh, covering your mouth and rolling half away. You wipe your eyes again, reaching over and ruffling his hair.

“Can’t say I woulda been very upset if you had.”

“Damn, tell me how you really feel.”

“You don’t wanna know.”

You sit up, shrugging off Tommy’s jacket and hanging it from the post at the foot of your bed. You toss your stole to the floor, slipping off your corsage and resting it carefully on your nightstand, kicking off your heels as you lean over to rest your head on your pillow. You close your eyes, feeling the bed shift as Tommy scoots up behind you.

“Y’know you oughta cut that hair soon. They’re gonna start dress coding you.” You lean back into his chest as he wraps his arm over you.

“Fuck them. I’ve been thinking about growing it out anyway.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Don’t see why not. I think I’d look good.”

You smile, holding his palm against your cheek as he strokes your arm with his other hand.

“That’s not a dealbreaker then?” His voice is soft, you hum quizzically.

“You’re just growing your hair out.” He snorts, you feel him shake his head.

“That’s not what I meant. I mean… somebody starts talking shit and I— ”

“No.” His lips press to your shoulder blade.

“I’m just like my fuckin’ dad.” His voice trembles..

“No you’re not.”

He pushes his face against the back of your neck, exhaling slowly. You hear a siren wailing in the distance and he tenses, relaxing only as it fades.

“Don’t know how many times I’ve gotta tell you I’m not a good man.” 

“You’re good to me.”

“Ain’t the same, princesa.” You pull away enough to roll over and look at him. “My mom was right, I’m the one tearin’ everything apart. You deserve someone good, someone better than me. God damn, maybe if I was more like Joel—” You shush him.

“No, I already told you. You’re the only version of you I’d want.”

He caresses your cheek, rests his forehead against yours. He kisses you softly, you run your fingers through his hair as he squeezes your hip. He kisses you more urgently, you grab his tie and pull him closer. He moans deep in his chest, palming over your tits and rolling his hips into you.

“God, we’re fucked up.”

“I don’t care.”

He pulls away, frantically unbuckling his belt and pushing up the skirt of your dress. You inhale sharply through your teeth as his tongue hits the fabric covering your pussy, eyes rolling back as he kisses over your thighs.

“Vamos a quitárnoslas, princesa.” You whimper as he nearly rips your panties off, throwing them to the floor and pulling your hips to meet his face.

You gasp, hips bucking into his mouth as his tongue teases your clit. You feel your eyes starting to water, breathing becoming erratic. You could scream when he finally stops teasing, holding your thighs over his shoulders. You knot your fingers in his hair, grinding against his tongue as you reach down to find his hand. He laces your fingers together, you whine as he hums against your skin.

There’s something about finding out after the fact, about not knowing he was packing the entire night. Something about knowing he used it in defense of you. You feel yourself gush against his tongue, he moans and squeezes your hand. He doesn’t stop, kissing and sucking your clit even as your tears begin to fall. He only stops when you pull his hair, tugging his head away.

“God, I need you to fuck me.” He leans up over you, kissing you as he unbuttons his slacks.

You taste yourself mixed with the remnants of his earlier cigarettes and you pull him closer. Your head tips away and your back arches as he pushes into you, digging your nails into his forearm. Immediately his pace is unrelenting, his hand on the back of your neck keeping you from hitting the headboard. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, hook one leg over his hip as he fucks you into the mattress.

This is what he needs.

It’s almost animal; his breath is heavy and ragged, the way he holds you is not tender. He holds you like he wants to own you, biting your neck and shoulders like you’re meat.

You don’t care. If you could do the same things to him, you would.

“Joder, princesa. I’m gonna—” You yelp as he slams his hips into yours, biting his shoulder aggressively through his shirt fabric as his chest heaves.

You can feel him shaking, releasing your teeth and stroking his hair gently. He stays over you for a long moment, nose pressed to your throat. He sighs deeply, pulls out of you slowly and lays on his side next to you. You roll to face him, tugging your skirt back down. He smiles, rolls his eyes as he readjusts his slacks. He rests his hand on your shoulder, tracing small circles with his thumb. You lean over and kiss him sweetly, he brushes your hair away from your face.

“You really don’t care that I’m a bad man, huh?”

“Good men die too.”

“So?”

“I’d rather be with you.”

AN: thank you for reading, this is my first tommy fic so i hope you all enjoyed♡

if you like what you read and want to see more, i would be honored if you’d consider stopping by the cafe! if you’re not able or don’t want to commission, if you would like to drop a buck in the tip jar that’s also greatly appreciated (but never required)!

[spanishskulduggery]

Is there a way to like tell your friends to `fuck off` in Spanish used in Spain? Or is this even a thing?

Absolutely there is - Followers if I miss your favorite one please comment below

A very basic universal one is no me jodas which is literally "don't fuck with me" like "fuck off" or "cut it out" or "don't joke" etc

Others are like vete a la mierda which is "go fuck yourself" but literally "go to shit" or vete al carajo which is the same thing but literally "go to dick"; [in Mexico you'd probably hear vete a la chingada]

Another one for Spain is something like (irse) a tomar por culo which is literally "go take it up the ass" kind of like a "go fuck yourself" thing

The less vulgar one for Spain is que te den but it's still kinda vulgar; it's "(I hope) that they give it to you"

And another one that most people would understand is chúpamela which is "suck it" but it's "suck my dick" essentially

-

The not very nice but not explicitly vulgar one is púdrete which is literally "go rot"

Note: a lot of these are commands, all in tú but it could be plural if you were addressing a lot of people too - or potentially usted possibly

[igglemouse]

Episode 8.3 ~ 15 Mins

"To make sure you realize that you can't just open your crappy food stand wherever you please. There are rules and regulations and licenses to get, you know," he's enjoying this. He acts as if he's some noble enforcer of the law and not just a bitter man who wants revenge for me pricking his ego.

"Yes yes, I know..." I keep my tone steady and calm although I know my face is red, I know my anger is evident. "Gracia-"

"Of course," he continues, his voice softening. A mockery of concern. "I figured you might need a job so the offer of you coming to work for me is still on the table-"

I grow tense, my body tightens and I am sure I am ready to snap. My fists ball up against my sides and for a second I imagine how satisfying it would feel to drive my right hand right through his nose. I'm not very strong but he's old and it would knock the smile right off of his face. I would do it if not for the baby. What if he retaliates? What if he pushes me? It's not worth the risk, so I just grit my teeth.

"Vete a la chingada..."

He just laughs and the sound makes my skin crawl. He's feeding off my anger I think. "Ah, I know I've made you mad now. Can't speak Simlish when you're pissed off huh? Are you even here legally, I wonder?"

"L-leave."

He wasn't going to. He stands there, feet firmly planted on the ground, smirk firmly on his lips, and lets me know that he's not leaving. I could feel the urge to strike, a need to show him that I wasn't going to be pushed around, and just when my shoulder twitches the front door opens...

Frida Varela - Next

[namorslutfanfiction]

Ok so I’ve not seen narcos Mexico which is basically a sin at this point but I am obsessed with Rafa!!! So he’s obviously such a soft sweet lil baby boy so I was thinking what if he met a woman who was strong and sassy and also into *cough cough* gardening *cough* and he just melts for her but she’s a hard to get maybe cos they’re rivals and she has a reputation to uphold being a strong independent woman ??? Maybe some smut with them giving into the attraction ??? Idk I’m just excited I want to keep requesting stuff cos I love your writing. Also I think the power dynamic would be such a twist cos tenoch/namor just scream daddy to me but Rafa screams soft sub baby with a big old praise kink amongst other kinks 😂

Oh rafa is our baby and definitely wants to be used.

Summary: Rafa loved women. Rafa loved weed. Now he found a woman who loves weed just like he does. And he is immediately down bad

disclaimer: I smoke, I have no idea how it's grown. so I'm making shit up.

drug use, fluff, smut.

"Comportarse," Felix shot at Rafa as the door to his office opened. Rafa smirked at him and lit his blunt. Felix had said he was meeting with a supplier who insisted on being seen. Rafa was certain who ever this pendejo was, that their weed couldn't hold a candle to his, but he had shown up because Felix had asked. But if the guy said the wrong thing then he'd shoot him, but Felix didn't need to know that.

When the first man walked through the door, Felix stood to shake his hand but he refused, "Yo no soy el que estás esperando. Es ella."

The henchman stepped aside as the real guest arrived. Rafa and Felix watched you walk in the door. Felix schooled his surprise and greeted you cordially. Rafa on the other hand was instantaneously smitten. You weren't dressed to the nines like Sofia and her like. Instead you wore jeans that hugged your curves, worn in boots, and a loose button down that had the sleeves rolled up. You hair was braided back but had little bits of frizz from the humidity. You were beautiful.

Rafa didn't hear a word as you and Felix talked. He was wondering why Felix hadn't introduced him. He was wondering why you were ignoring him, you hadn't even spared him a glance. The narco heard the words "Es una nueva variedad de marihuana."

That wasn't possible, no one had made a new strain except him, at least there in Mexico. Felix looked angry, not used to a woman being so frank and aggressive with him. You slammed a paper on the table, pointing out numbers that Rafa didn't care to understand.

"The system you built is a monopoly! You ruined the livelihood of my field, pendejo. No one will work with me because you supposedly have the best in the market. But mine is better," You screeched at the slick leader.

"You're pretty confident for such an insolent witch," Felix shot back, he pointed at Rafa, "His work is better than anyone's and I bet my life and this entire business on that. You can't compete so don't try."

Rafa's eyes were wide when you turned and glared at him. You whipped your head back to Felix, "What this joto? I'm supposed to believe he has any smarts in that rat's nest of hair?"

For some reason that set Felix off and he stood and raised his hand to slap her. Rafa moved on instinct, pointing his gun and cocking it at Felix. Felix was stunned out of his anger, "Qué chingados?"

Realizing what he had just done he pointed the gun at you, "Vete a la chingada."

You smirked at him then turned to Felix, "You've got some real idiots working for you."

"Pinche pendejo," Felix growled at Rafa then sat back down in his seat. Rafa followed, trying to hide his embarrassment. He focused on the blunt that he had let burn down half way without taking enough hits. He resigned himself to getting higher and examining your curves and the confident smirk on your face. When you got up and left the room, Felix turned around and smacked Rafa hard against the side of his head.

"What the hell is wrong with you cabron? She was talking shit and you pull a gun on me?" Felix looked incredulous.

"Who was that, Felix? How come you didn't introduce me? When is she coming back?" Rafa rattled off, jumping up from his seat on the couch.

"No mames, guey. Already? She didn't even look at you," Felix shook his head, of course Rafa the lover boy was thinking with his dick.

Before Felix could stop him, Rafa ran out of the office and tried to beat you to the lobby. But when he got there he was just barely able to see you being driven off in a pick up truck.

...

"The only reason you're here is because I want to knock her down a peg or two. She's arrogant and needs us to show her that. Other cartels would not be so nice after she came in here acting like a maldita bruja," Felix explained as he paced with a cigarette in his mouth.

"There's no way she has anything worth anything, but I'd like to make sure she knows that," Rafa said, feigning interest in the business side of things.

"Don't fuck around, Rafa," Felix grasped him by the back of his neck, "She's young, but she's smart. We can use her later so don't scare her off."

The doors opened and you were once more preceded by your henchman. Once again you were dressed casually, and you took a seat across from Felix. You noticed Rafa standing behind Felix, but didn't greet him. "You want to make a deal or not?"

"I don't need your weed. But I might need those ideas you have. I had Rafa look over them and he thinks they are promising but so far unproven," Felix explained, gesturing to the narco behind him. You noticed the hungry look from Rafa, and smirked. He was an easy book to read.

"I can prove them, just give me time and financial support. There will be a more potent strain ready for the market in a year," You replied confidently.

"We will see. You will go with Rafa to our field. For security you have to be blind folded once you get to a certain point. Rafa will be able to tell me if you're the real deal or not. If you're not then I suggest you back out of this business before you get killed. If you are then we may have use for you. This is your only chance, chiquita. Make use of it," Felix finished with such a sense of foreboding that you weren't sure how to reply. He stood and buttoned his suit jacket, "If you'll excuse me I have a comandante to talk to. Rafa, take care of her."

Then the lead narco was out the door to deal with supposedly more important duties. You eyed Rafa, taking in his open shirt, flamboyant fashion sense, and fluffy hair. He was kind of cute in an arrogant idiot kind of way. You reached your hand out to him to properly introduce yourself. He smiled at you and kissed your hand, "Hola, Rafael Caro Quintero. La princesa me puede llamar Rafa."

His smile was unbelievably charming and you couldn't help but laugh at how obviously attracted he was to you, "Well Rafa, take me to this so called 'best of the best' marijuana."

...

Rafa personally drove you to the field. On the way there he was explaining his process and asking you questions about your own. The chemistry was palpable as you finished each others sentences. You talked about similar experiments and different ideas you both had to create different strains and up the potency.

It was hot and the both of you were laughing and sweating. You had to admit, the man knew his weed. His dark skin looked delicious in the bright sun and the trickle of sweat down his neck was distracting. You noticed him pull the car off the side of the road then reach into the back for a strip of thick cloth.

"It's time then?" You asked, knowing that secrecy was important.

"Turn around, princesa, I'll put it on for you," Rafa said, looking apologetic. The already long drive had allowed you to bond over your shared interest.

"Don't tie it too tight," You requested as you turned your back to him.

"I'll be gentle," Rafa whispered, making a shiver run down your neck. His hands were warm as he moved your hair out of the way and gently placed the cloth over your eyes and knotted it behind your head. His hands rested for a moment on your shoulders and all you could hear was him taking a deep breath. "You can turn around now."

You did just that, reaching out blindly to face the front of the car again. Rafa took your wrist, making you jerk. "Calmate, I just want to show you where the middle is so you know where you're facing."

Rafa placed your hand at the edge of your seat, touching the middle console. It took you a moment to get comfortable with the loss of sight as the narco started the car and continued the journey to the fields.

After a moment of silence you spoke, "Don't kill me in the middle of the desert, please. At least not before I come up with that strain I told you about."

That made Rafa laugh. The sound was warm and infectious. You felt him take your hand, "No, hermosa, no one will touch you. It's been a long time since I've met someone who knew weed the way I do."

You were surprised at the affection, and even more surprised that you welcomed it. But you felt the same. Especially as a woman, you had never felt understood by anyone about your affinity for the plant, until now. This flashy narco was matching you move for move, and it was exciting.

...

Rafa told you to keep the blindfold on as he guided you to the actual field after he had parked the car. It didn't escape you that this felt more like a romantic surprise rather than a test of skills. You could hear the sounds of workers, and from the breeze you were definitely on flat lands. The smell of the fresh plant was in the air, and to the side you could tell there were kilos of it drying for transport.

Rafa guided you gently and then placed your hands on what you immediately knew to be a large marijuana plant. You immediately stepped forward and pushed your noise into the buds. There was silence as you took it in, already coming up with information at a mile a minute.

"What can you tell me?" Rafa asked. Then you were off, talking about the notes, the potency, the maturity and when it would be ready to harvest. There was silence and you hesitated.

"Rafa," You worried about bruising his ego, but reminded yourself this was a test, "There's something wrong with this one. Everything is fine except there's a weird syrup smell at the end. Something too sweet. It would smell awful once you burn it."

You felt him approach you and you immediately went into a defensive stance.

"I'm not going to hurt you, princesa. I'm just going to untie the blindfold," Rafa's voice was amused.

When you opened your eyes it was too bright to see. You shielded your eyes waiting for them to adjust. Eventually you could make out Rafa's smiling face. "So how did I do?"

"Eres brillante!" Rafa exclaimed, "I test all my men this way. All of them and you were the only one to catch the mistake. I purposely have those three plants that are no good. No one has caught it yet, but you."

You fought the urge to smile, "Well of course. I told you. I know what I'm doing."

You glanced behind him, taking in the watch tower and different sheds. The irrigation system and the people working and roaming. You realized that the field must be behind you.

"You can look, princesa, I think you'll like what you see," Rafa said as he guided you to turn around.

You felt your eyes grow wide as you took in the sheer size. You stepped back as you tried to take in the full scope. But it went off in all directions, as far as the eye could see. It was beautiful.

"Rafa," You turned to the man smiling at you, "This is insane. Incredible. How many acres? How many plants? What's the yield? Do you have then maturing progressively or all at once? How many kilos are you putting out?"

"Slow down, princesa. Would you like to see more of it?" Rafa asked. You nodded, unable to hide your glee. You didn't care about appearing tough or strong. This was your 'kid in a candy store' moment. Rafa took your hand and led you into the fields.

Hours went by as you walked the fields, ignoring the heat or the fact that you were walking around with someone who should be a rival. Instead you were having the time of your life. His system was pretty self sustaining but you were able to make suggested that made his eyes light up and his laugh explode. Rafa was growing on you like a literally weed.

...

The next day Rafa reported back to Felix, singing your praises.

"You should have seen it, cabron! She knew exactly what was wrong with it. She figured out the irrigation issue I had for months. I have never met anyone who could understand the nuances and delicacy of those plants," Rafa was giddy and Felix was amused.

"So I should back her?" Felix asked, although he figured he knew the answer.

"No," Rafa said, a smirk on his face. "No, whatever she comes up with won't work without the space and work I have already done. She's mine. Buy her out and she will work on the fields with me. Give her whatever she asks, but make sure she works with me, and no one else."

The possessiveness didn't surprise Felix, it was to be expected of the narco who fell fast and hard to the point of lunacy. "She's not going to like that, Rafa. You ready for her to fight you on that?"

"She'll come to me. Remember Felix, as long as her people are taken care of, then all she'll want to do is work on the weed," Rafa said, taking a long draw from his blunt.

"Tomorrow, I'll buy her out. But I want that new strain in 10 months not a year, Rafa. I need it before anyone else comes up with something better," Felix reminded him.

"No one has ever come up with anything better than me. But this, if we work together. This will be our masterpiece," Rafa had a faraway look on his smug face making Felix shake his head.

"Just make sure it's on the market by my deadline. I don't care if you fuck her with it. Make it happen," Felix dismissed Rafa.

...

"You're an ass," You immediately punched Rafa as hard as you could in the stomach. You had been dropped off at his mansion with the orders to stick to him like glue or be killed by Felix himself. "I would have been fine working with you but having that bastard leash me to you is not an attractive arrangement, pendejo."

Rafa waved off Chapo and Cuco who were ready to shoot you for attacking their boss. The narco in question was dressed as usual and laughing. "Your family is taken care of right? That was the most important thing, now the next important thing is working on that strain."

He came up to you and grabbed your jaw, "Together, we can do that. Together, we can do a lot of things."

You hated that you were turned on, "You shouldn't have forced me, Rafa. I don't like being forced."

"Then you can leave if you want. We can work on it together but you don't need to stay, I won't force you," Rafa challenged, his voice soft as he spoke close to you. The smoke from his mouth surrounding you was heady. He released your jaw, "Chapo, take her back."

Rafa turned but you called out, "Rafa. Shut up, pendejo, you know I'm going to stay."

You grabbed your bag and brushed past him into the sprawling mansion. You heard him laugh as he rushed to catch up to you and show you your room. You found it difficult to keep your surly attitude in the face of his excited ramblings.

...

It took 6 months to get the strain perfected and by the end of the 10 month deadline it was debuted. The mansion was partying and high as a kite. Debauchery was everywhere and the handles of liquor and packs of cocaine that Felix had sent as congratulations were being parsed out to the party goers.

You had no interest in partying with the boys and their sluts. You were up on your balcony, watching the pool from above. The band was loud and the people louder. There were people swimming naked in the pool, the area stank of weed, and you could see Neto and Cuco snorting lines through a window.

You didn't like coke, didn't like how fast it made your heart beat and your mind move. You preferred the mellow relaxation that the right strain of weed gave you. You crossed that with tequila and you were floating in your own little world, with a smile on your face.

The last 10 months had been invigorating. Working with Rafa was like working with a ball of pure energy. He was far more intelligent than he let on, reserving it for his treasured plants. You had met your match in that field. Someone you could genuinely bounce ideas off of and experiment with. He was charming, funny, and caring to a fault.

You were surprised he hadn't made a move, but you suspected that Felix had something to do with that. Maybe a threat about the deadline and not fucking around. It was disappointing and frustrating.

Rafa was fucking around, just with some rich chick named Sofia who rubbed you the wrong way and made you want to shoot her through the eyes. But she hadn't been around in the last few months, and Rafa had been ranting about how much of a spoiled bitch she was. You hadn't seen her at the party and were more than thankful that you didn't have to fight the urge to vomit if she had arrived.

There was a knock at your bedroom door and you called for them to come in. It was Rafa. He stood in the middle of your room apprehensive. In his hands he held a handle of tequila and two glasses. "Ay guey. I was going to invite you to share a drink with me."

You looked at the soft expression and could tell he hadn't had any coke. He hadn't since Sofia had left. At most he was high from his own plant and looking to get crossed like you. You looked at him, all of him. Rafa's hair was perfectly fluffy, jewelry draped on his dark skin, and wearing a silk shirt that was open too low. You felt heat pool between your legs.

For months you had been touching yourself to the thought of him. You had laid jealous in your bed when you knew he was with Sofia. And now here he was looking pathetic and ready to be eaten. He'd made you wait long enough.

"Rafa, is Sofia gone for good?" You asked as you walked back into the room and closed the balcony doors. You held your own handle of unfinished tequila and swung it lazily in your hand.

Rafa scoffed at the question, "That bitch is dead to me. Has been for months."

You could see him watching you. His eyes roved your body and there was a hungry look in them. You were wearing a silk robe, a gift from him a few months ago on your birthday. There was nothing underneath it.

"Is that why you wanted to have a drink with me? Because she's not around anymore?" You asked, taking a swig from your handle.

"What? No. I don't care about her. This celebration is for us. We did what we planned and now we are going to be richer and so far above any competitor that they will never reach us. This is all thanks to you," Rafa said, looking actually offended that you suggested otherwise.

You smiled at him then. The high was making you reckless, and the alcohol was making you hot. But the way Rafa looked at you was making you wet. You took another swig from our handle and approached Rafa. You locked eyes with him and put your hand on his chest.

His breathing quickened as you pushed him to sit on the end of your bed. You gripped his jaw, ran your thumb across his bottom lip, coaxing his mouth open. With one more glance at him, you spit the tequila into his mouth slowly, and he drank it. You locked eyes as he took the last drop and then you grabbed his hair and kissed him roughly.

Rafa whimpered into the kiss as you wrapped a hand around his throat and devoured him. His kisses were as intoxicating as the tequila. Months of unanswered desire came flooding out as he pulled you to him and thrust his tongue into your mouth. He tasted of the weed you had both spent months working on together.

The hours and days spent together had left you wanting more from him. But at every turn, at every lingering touch, and held glance he pulled away from you. He had always hesitated but in the end would put space between you. Your frustration at the memory got the better of you and you found his jaw again and pushed him away.

"You're such an idiot you know that? You could have had me naked in your bed for months. You could have had me on my knees or across your lap, but you kept pulling away, like you hadn't thought about it since the day I walked into Felix's office and you lost the ability to breathe," You blurted out. You regretted it, not wanting him to know just how desperate you had been.

But Rafa's gaze softened, his grip around your waist tightened, "Felix told me not to fuck around with you. Not until the strain was ready. The only reason I was with Sofia again was because I needed a release because I couldn't have you. Sofia left me because I called out your name the last time we fucked."

It took you a moment to take in what he said, then you laughed. Laughter fueled by your high and the alcohol. "You brat, you called out my name while you fucked her? No wonder she was so mad."

"It's the only way I could get off. I had to think about you, imagine I was inside your wet pussy," His vulgar admission was met with another desperate kiss from you. You pulled moans from him as your hand travelled downward and palmed his hard on. When you were satisfied that he was as needy as you felt you pulled away.

"Get naked, Rafa. Let's see if all that fucking I heard was as good as it sounded, or if that Sofia bitch was just a good actor," You jabbed, as you untied the robe and dropped it to the floor.

Rafa stopped for a moment with his shirt in his hands as he finally laid eyes on your naked form. He completely lost any comeback he had in mind as he took in the sight of your supple skin and curves. "Te ves deliciosa."

You got impatient and placed a palm on his chest. You pushed him on to the bed then went to work at removing his boots and jeans. When his cock was out and weeping you fought the urge to take it into your mouth. That was for another time. This was about you getting yours. You looked at Rafa as you lay next to him, stroking his cock playfully.

"Rafa, you need to make up for leaving me so wet all the time," You purred into his ear before sucking on his earlobe. He moaned softly and nodded. "How are you gonna do that, baby boy?"

He didn't even react to the name, just looked at you with eyes that begged to be bossed around, "Whatever you want, princesa?"

"Are you going to make me ride you or are you going to fuck me into this bed until I cum onto your cock a few times?" You asked, tracing circled along his chest, leaving his weeping cock unattended. You were fighting the urge to straddle him and slide him inside you.

"Yes, princesa," He replied, as a whimper escaped his lips as you tongued his nipple impulsively. You'd been dying to do that since the first time you had seen him with his shirt hanging open.

"Fuck me, Rafa. Be a good boy and make me cum," You moaned softly as you guided his hand to your wet cunt.

Rafa let out a feral noise once he felt just how wet you were. In a swift move you were beneath him, hands pinned above your head, and his cock pushing into your pussy. You arched against him, "Yes, baby, just like that."

He thrust into your center, hard and deep. You knew he was going to be thick but you were surprised by how deeply he thrust into you. You saw stars after months of pining. This man was a drug of his own and you knew you were going to become addicted. His lips found yours again and he allowed you to wrap your arms around his shoulders. Rafa angled your hips, wrapping your legs around him as he pounded into you.

Your first orgasm came so fast you couldn't even warn him. Your nerve endings were exploding with pleasure as he kissed and fucked and sucked every part of you. Your hands found his hair and pulled at it, making him moan into your lips. You kept your foreheads together as you encouraged him, "Yes, Rafa. You're fucking me so good. You like how my pussy feels don't you? Is this what you were imagining when you fucked that bitch? I bet you never fucked her like this."

The adoration in Rafa's eyes only grew with each word you spoke. Something about your words spurred him on. He leaned back and rubbed your clit with his thumb as he continued thrusting into your dripping wet pussy. Even his grunts sounded soft and needy. You reached forward and tweaked your own nipples. The sight made him throw his head back in ecstasy.

"Princesa, eres tan perfecta," Rafa moaned as you clenched down on him with your second orgasm. This time you felt yourself squirt a little and he did to. He fucked you even faster as you came.

You were panting now, sure that Rafa was close. But he proved you wrong and flipped you over onto your stomach. The narco gripped your hips and thrust into you, impossibly deeper than before. You grabbed at the bed sheets as the room filled with the loud slap of his hips against your round ass. "Fuck, Rafa. You're so deep, you're gonna make me cum again aren't you? You really want to please me don't you?"

Between grunts of exertion he replied, "Yes, princesa, I'll make you cum again."

He sucked and licked your shoulder and neck before biting down and lifting your hips higher so he could thrust at a different angle. Rafa didn't let up as he continued his pounding rhythm. His arm came around to put you in a loose headlock. "Cum for me, Princesa. Milk me dry."

You sobbed as you came, the pleasure so overwhelming you would have thought you blacked out but you still felt the stuttering of Rafa's hips as he filled your pussy with his cum. Both of you were out of breath, the room smelled of sex and weed, and you both started giggling.

Rafa broke down next to you, giggling as he pulled you into his side, placing fluttering kisses all over your face between breaths. You also giggled, high on pleasure, weed, and Rafa.

"You're mine now, Rafa," You spoke against his lips.

"I've always been yours," He answered back.

....

Okay, I love rafa so much wtf.

reblog, review, reply, my chiquitins.

[spiderman2-99]

Old

Oh my God. What a marvel. What a revelation. I would have never known without some imbecile coming into my inbox to say it. Truly, anon, you’ve changed my entire shocking worldview. I bow at your feet. Vete a la chingada.

[flowerpotmage]

Tight Grip, Broken Dam (6)

<< Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter >>

You don’t question it anymore, when Miguel appears in your bed at night. He’s not there for sex, no, you’ve never even kissed—though you would be lying if you said you weren’t open to the idea of kissing him. He’s there for comfort. For rest. If only it could stay so simple.

Pair: Miguel O'Hara & GN!Reader

Notes: for series: slow burn, ambiguous relationship, found family dynamics, reader is in their late 20s. for chapter: miguel being... well. if you're here you're familiar with his shit. references to offscreen deaths. panic attacks and grief

Word Count: 3.5k

Read this chapter on Ao3 here. If you like my work, please consider leaving kudos there as well! You do not need an account to do so.

Author's Note: hiii!! you must be thinking "wtf, it's not monday/sunday where tumblr user flowerpotmage is?" and you'd be correct! i'm posting this chapter on my sunday before my night shift, as i'll be away from my laptop on monday/tuesday while i visit my mom.

i'm a little nervous about this chapter for some reason, so i rly rly hope you like it <3

Miguel does not think he’s catastrophizing.

He’s sure that Jess would disagree, if he confided in her what he was thinking. Scratch that, he knows she would if she knew any of what he was doing.

Peter probably would, too. Shocking Peter. If Miguel knew how many shocking Peter Parkers he’d have to deal with on a day to day basis he probably would have thought twice about inventing the damn multiversal watch.

So, as of now, Lyla is the only one saying anything about his behavior. She’s the only one who knows.

“I think you’re catastrophizing, boss.”

“I am not.”

“And I think you owe them an apology.”

Miguel doesn't disagree, but... “What do you know, Lyla? You’re a LYrate Lifeform Approximation.”

“A very good one with a deep understanding of human relationships and emotions since you lifted me out of being locked to your apartment and got me that upgrade from your old friend, Miguel.”

He huffs.

“I think you're self sabotaging out of a PTSD induced fear of loss.”

“Dios mío, Lyla, okay, will you just let me out of this damn bathroom?!”

Lyla does let him out, eventually (despite his growls of “Vete a la chingada!” when she initially refused), but it doesn't mean she leaves him alone. It's not that she keeps pestering him directly on the subject, but rather that she pokes at it around the edges, a toothpick testing the crust of bread in the oven. Little comments about how you would have been the perfect backup for this or that anomaly event, (“They’re benched until they’re healed, do not ping them.”) or randomly wondering aloud what you might be up to when he’s in the kitchen rinsing a plate (that immediately breaks under his abruptly tightened grip).

And his sleep is terrible. It's been a week and a half since he stepped foot in your dimension, longer since—

He tries not to think about it.

“You know, I can think of something that would help with that,” Lyla practically taunts him late at night when he's trying in vain to relax enough to find sleep

“No.”

The thing is, he shouldn't have gotten so used to it in the first place. Shouldn't have become dependent on you for a good night's sleep. Because how shocking embarrassing, crawling into your comrade’s bed like a child who can’t sleep without their parents.

But it helped. And Miguel had never been the best with impulse control.

Dana was proof enough of that, even before everything changed.

And now Gabriella, too.

He lets his mind wander to her, far more willing to linger on the ache of grief and well-deserved guilt than any fresh hurt. A reminder of why he does the work he does, validation for why he keeps everything where it is, why he tries not to let the other Spiders get too close.

He’s royally shocked that last one up, that's for sure.

You hear about the new Miguel before you see him from small group passing you in the hallway where you’re waiting to ambush Peter and chew him out for yesterday’s antics. Secretly, you’re also there because you're curious about this other Miguel and want to get a look at him when he arrives, mostly because of your Miguel having been so firmly against you joining the recruiting team.

So you’re waiting, casually, just past the opening where the lobby opens out into the larger HQ, when you overhear them.

“He’s so much friendlier,” comes one Spider-Woman’s hushed voice.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen our Miguel smile so much,” a Spider-Man replies. “Even if it is with closed lips.”

They pass by, off to wherever they’re headed, and then you hear Peter’s voice approaching just around the corner.

“Yeah, whoever designed the place had a real one for architecture–”

You push yourself off the wall, turning on the ball of your foot to stand in the doorway and block his path.

“Peter.” You greet him with a raised eyebrow and crossed arms, feet planted shoulder-width apart. You vaguely register Jessica Drew and the very, very tall familiar figure beside her, but you have your sights forcibly fixed firmly on Peter for now.

Play it cool.

“Oh, there’s Garden-Spider!”

“It’s just Spider,” you suppress a smile, rolling your eyes. “He likes to call me that because I have so many pla…” You turn your gaze to the new Miguel, voice dying in your throat.

The first thing you notice about the new Miguel is how similar—no, nearly identical he looks to the one you already know. His hair is slightly different, a lock of it falling across his forehead instead of pushed back. His suit is darker, more matte and black instead of blue, and he’s wearing sunglasses even though you're all indoors.

But none of that is what killed your sentence dead in its tracks. Because the second thing you notice is how when he sees you, he looks like he’s encountered a ghost.

Peter, of course, goes to introduce you two, waving off your comment about his nickname for you. “New Miguel, this is–”

New Miguel whispers your name in what can only be utter disbelief.

“Oh boy,” Jess says.

“Um,” you say dumbly, the confidence in your posture going a bit slack.

To his credit, the new Miguel seems to pull himself together fairly quickly. He closes his mouth, and you recognize a familiar twitch in his jaw muscle just before his throat bobs in a nervous swallow.

“Sorry,” he says. “I just—didn’t expect…” he gives an apologetic, borderline sheepishly wry smile, and you see a glint of sharp teeth—of fangs—and suddenly you understand his slight mumbling, why he doesn’t open his mouth too wide. “Figures that there’d be a version of you that’s the hero out here in the multiverse.”

You give a nervous, forgiving smile and hold out your hand. “Sorry. Earth-7723,” you introduce yourself.

He looks at your hand, eyes glancing back up at you behind his tinted glasses before he accepts it with his own.

“Miguel, but I’m guessing you already know the other me I’m hearing about. Earth-209.”

“Earth-209 in the year 2099,” you quip. “Fun.”

He lets loose the barest chuckle, more of an amused huff really, as if the tension in his body won’t let him laugh properly. If you weren’t so familiar with your Miguel’s body language you probably wouldn’t have even noticed. It feels strange, being able to read a complete stranger so well. You wonder if he’s having the same experience, and how well he knows the you from Earth-209—because clearly he does know another version of you—and you also wonder if it’s as strange for him as it is for you to see such a familiar face on a stranger.

“Yeah,” he agrees, letting go of your hand; his own falls to his side. “Very fun.”

“We should get you to the Boss’s lab and introduce you,” Peter says after glancing between the two of you.

Jess nods. “I agree. You probably have questions.”

“You’re not off the hook,” you say to Peter with a pointed finger, trying to dredge back up your earlier determined mischief, doing your best to set aside the dizzy surrealism and unbalanced feeling from the brief interaction with Miguel 209.

“What did I ever do to you?” Peter says as the group begins to pass.

“Oh, don’t play innocent after that stunt yesterday.”

“What stunt?” Jess asks, raising an eyebrow, starting to smile.

“Oh, he knows.” You mirror her expression with your own raised eyebrow.

“Nope, I don’t. Bye!” Peter waves, hurrying the group along.

“No, I wanna know what's got Garden-Spider out for revenge,” Jess says even as she walks off with the two men, giving you a wave and a smile.

You watch them go, your arms now more wrapped around your middle than crossed. The new Miguel, Miguel 209, turns to look at you over his shoulder like he needs to check that you’re real.

You give him your own small smile and lift a hand in your own little farewell wave—one that he returns with a matching and equally small smile and the ghost of something sad in his brow as he turns back to watch where he’s walking.

The circumstances under which you had met your Miguel were much different. Part of your story was actually quite similar to Gwen’s, and many other Spider-People: hiding your identity from those you love, balancing the two worlds until one encroached on the other, a full scale incursion that ended in more than one life ruined and at least one snuffed out. An unavoidable event by all accounts, according to Miguel’s theory of canon events and every article about grief and guilt and control that you’ve read since.

It turns out that when you have great power, and a great deal of self-appointed responsibility, the guilt stage is hardest to overcome.

Then your dimension had its first anomaly. A copper steam-powered Rhino had wreaked a path of destruction through the underground subway. It was a miracle that nobody was killed. Well, more accurately it was because of him that people were able to walk away with their lives.

Once the scene had cleared, the panic hit you, raw and fresh as the cracked rubble. Damaged walls brought to mind an image of an entirely different event featuring more structural damage and death. As a result, when he went looking for the Spider he had helped in order to invite them to join his effort to keep the worlds intact, he found you where you were crouched behind a cracked pillar. Your knees were to your chest, your head in your hands, and your breath ragged.

“Hey,” he said, voice low as he knelt on one knee in front of you, barely more than a foot and a half away. “It’s okay. You did it.”

You looked up at him, your hands still cradled your head and your eyes now wide under your mask.

He had a hand held out to you, stretched out in an offer to help with standing up.

You glanced at it, at him, back at the hand. With a sharp movement that seemed to startle even his apparently cool and collected self, your hand darted out and grasped his, squeezing tight. He began to stand. You shook your head, and he froze.

“Sorry,” you managed to gasp out. “I ju—“ a desperate gasp for air interrupted your words, but you managed to continue: “I just need a second.”

He settled back down onto his knee. His hand adjusted to hold yours more gently.

“Breathe,” he said gently.

You did. And then you said: “You have a cool suit. What’s your deal?”

“I— what?”

“Your— your suit,” you said with a shaky, breathy laugh. “I like it.”

He hummed, a quiet thoughtful sound. “Thank you.”

“What’s your deal?” You asked again. “You’re… like me. But I haven’t seen you before.”

Then he gently squeezed your hand, letting go to rest his arm on his knee.

“I’m from another dimension.”

You linger around Earth-928, wandering and pacing the criss-crossed beams of Spider-HQ, exchanging polite hellos with other Spider-People.

Word about the new Miguel—Miguel-209—the one you can only refer to with clarifiers in your head because he’s not your Miguel and you need to differentiate or you’ll feel even more off kilter than you already do, has spread fast.

“I can’t believe there’s going to be another Miguel around.”

“Do you think he’ll co-lead?”

“I wonder how similar they look.”

“I bet he’s just as serious.”

“Do you think he’s as much of a leader type, or nah?”

“I heard he’s just as built–”

You swing up to one of the little used alcoves, a little space that feels like a cozy waiting room or one of those places in that mall you had found yourself in when you visited California as a child, styled with almost too firm armchairs and potted plants that gave the quiet corner the illusion of being shielded from passersby.

That’s where Jess finds you, strolling into the space like her belly has no impact on her.

You offer her a slight smile and a glance in greeting, shifting in your window seat to face her better when she takes a seat across from you, hand resting on her stomach.

“I think you need to talk to Miguel.”

“Which one?” you can’t help it, your mouth quirking up at the corners.

She chuckles. “Well, probably both at some point. But I’d give the new one some time to… adjust.”

You nod, then nod again at her belly. “Looks like everything’s still going well?”

She nods, smiling. “Last check up went great. Ten fingers and toes, two eyes, the whole nine yards.” (You hold back the impulse to quip ‘Wow, that’s a big baby.’) She pauses, and then sighs. “Listen. I’m sorry about the meeting yesterday.” When you look at her with a questioning frown, she elaborates: “Peter told me you hadn’t gotten the schedule.”

You look down, picking at nonexistent dirt on your suit. This one is new, a remake after your previous one had gotten shredded in the road-rash incident. “It’s fine, really. Miguel probably assumed I was still on… medical leave.” The last two words come out more bitter than you had intended.

Jess just watches you. “Your hands doing okay?”

You shift slightly, pulling off your gloves to present your palms to her, and she leans forward to look properly. The skin still has a slight irregular shine from the fresh scars, but only if you know what to look for.

“Looking good,” she says, leaning back into her seat.

“Do you wanna get some food?” you blurt.

She raises an eyebrow, and then laughs in pleasant surprise. “Sure.”

You’re closer to Peter than you are to Jess, but it’s still nice to spend time with her outside of meetings and anomaly wrangling. She’s telling the story of when she first met Gwen.

“I can’t believe she called him ‘Dark Garfield,’” you laugh. “How have I not heard about this before?”

Jess laughs and shakes her head, adjusting her grip on her burger. “I’m as surprised as you are. I guess Gwen tries not to brag, or something.”

You nod. “She’s a great kid.” You sigh. “I worry about her sometimes, honestly. I can’t imagine being Spider-Woman, or man, or any of it, so young.”

Jess sombers. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”

Miguel wonders how all the Peters do this, how they’ve all adjusted to being surrounded by alternate versions of themselves when it felt so strange for him just to be face to face with one of his own. It’s not that he didn’t know, not that he wasn’t aware of the other versions of himself in the multiverse. 

He just didn’t expect to actually come face to face with one of his variants like this. One that was living. One that was also Spider-Man.

Miguel-209 had just left the lab with Peter following the latter's offer of a tour, leaving him alone in his lab with Lyla. He stands, hands braced against the console, head hanging low from his shoulders.

He pretends his chest doesn't feel tight.

“Do you think any other Miguels also-?”

“Lyla, please,” he cuts her off.

For once, she listens, falling silent.

Miguel takes a deep breath, pushing himself up on the exhale. “Did you add it to his file?”

“I did.”

Miguel nods. “Lock it.”

He doesn’t look at Lyla when she crosses her arms, creasing her brows under the pink glasses.

“It’s locked.”

He nods again, turning away further. One arm crosses over his chest, and much like when he paced the corner of the medical room a week ago, his elbow rests on his crossed arm and his fingers rest on his lips.

“They’re going to find out.”

“I know,” he says. “I know. And they should. But only from him. And I don’t need anyone else…” he trails off, unsure how the sentence ends. “It’s clearly private. For him,” he adds on at the end, gesturing his hand and resting his fingers back on his lips.

“And you trust Jess and Peter not to say anything?”

“Run daily reports,” Miguel says, changing the subject, lowering his arms to perch on his hips.

“You got it, boss.”

It had taken some very light convincing on his part (a portal) to get you to believe his story, and only slightly more after that (basic info on the multiverse and what he was aiming to do) to get you to join the Spider-Society.

Parker had been one of the first to welcome you, eventually dubbing you Garden-Spider when he visited your dimension and saw the greenery of your city, and more specifically, your apartment.

Then you hugged Miguel in his lab.

You still get embarrassed when you remember how the rest started. Another panic attack. More tears. You’d found that person’s shirt in your storage closet, and with nobody to call in your dimension who knew about both your lives, your first thought was him.

So you called. Not to ask for anything really, you’re not even sure why you did it. You suppose, if you think about it, your brain picked him as the most recent example of comfort and sympathy you’d experienced—though in the first month while getting to know him, those wouldn’t have been the words you would pick to describe Miguel O’Hara, even if they were now.

So, in a desperate grab for a lifeline, part of you had reached out before your conscious mind could stop the taps of your fingers.

“Is everything alright?” He asked when he answered, a holo-bust of his suit popping out of your watch.

“I—“ you gasped, trying to speak through your choked lungs. “I—“

“I’ll be right there.”

Not even fifteen seconds later a portal opened in your bedroom and Miguel stepped through. He crouched before you. “Are you injured?”

You shook your head, buried your face into your hands. “Sh-shit, n-no,” you managed to get out, and tried not to look at his thighs and the shape they made where they sat right in your line of sight. “I—Sorry—“

He didn’t say anything more, just moved closer and offered a hand as his mask receded. You nodded, and he rested it on your shoulder, eventually pulling you into a somewhat stiff hug, like he was trying to remember how they worked. Eventually he let go, once your breaths and tears had calmed.

“Can I get you anything?”

“Water,” you’d whispered, beyond mortified now that you had calmed down. “I can-“

But he was already up, leaving your room to find a cup for you. It took a minute, while he figured out your kitchen cabinets, but he returned with what you'd asked for.

“Peter’s right,” he said when he passed the cup into your hands. “You have a lot of plants.”

You laughed, then turned quiet, shy. “Thank you, Miguel. If… if you ever need…”

He nodded. “I appreciate that.”

It surprised both of you that it wasn't long before he called to cash in on your offer.

“Are you… Do you mind returning the favor again?” He asked through your watches, quoting you indirectly.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” you’d replied after a millisecond of surprise. “I can be there in–”

“No. I mean–” he huffed a sigh. “Is it alright if I come there?”

Another second of surprise. “Oh, of course,” you repeated.

“Thank you.”

That happened a few more times, the two of you ‘exchanging favors’ of comfort and rest between regular days around Spider-HQ and missions across the multiverse.

Until one mutually grueling day came around and the exhaustion was too much for even your super-powered bodies, and Miguel had helped you home from a mission.

“Shock, I just–”

“Yeah. I need to fucking lay down,” you’d laughed tiredly, and eased yourself down onto your bed. You didn't even take your suit off; still smeared with soot and grime and a little bit of someone else’s blood.

He chuckled at that, running a hand over his hair. “Yeah.”

By then you had gotten halfway decent at keeping your eyes to yourself, glancing away from the muscles of his arm and the way they moved.

“Come on,” you sighed. You patted the space on the bed next to you, exhausted and already melted into your bed. “You look like you need it too.”

Even with your eyes closed you felt him hesitate. But you left it alone and folded your hands over your stomach, one ankle over the other, letting him decide for himself what he wanted to do.

The soft sound of your floor creaking let you know he was walking around to the other side of your bed. The gentle dip of the mattress let you know when he was sitting, and then the weight next to you accompanied by the sound of fabric told you that he had laid down by your side.

His quiet sigh when he had gotten comfortable told you that he had, in fact, needed it too.

That was the best night’s sleep you’d had in months.

It was for him too.

<< Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter >>

[datshitrandom]

 ~ to hell with that empty headed anon and their stupid crusade to make me feel guilty or ashamed about my stuff, i won't go offline.

Vete mucho a la chingada anon.

[ankoku-jin]

TIL that I can tell someone to literally vete a La Chingada

(But it will take them at least three hours from here lmao)

[akesdraws-blog]

S. -Y/N, we need to talk about the influence you have on guys.-

Y/N. -What influence are you talking about, Mr. Splinter?

S. -I mean certain things the boys have learned-

Y/N. -Oh come on Mr. Splinter, I haven't taught you anything wrong-

D. -Who ate the gansito in the refrigerator?-

M. - Don't see me-

D. -You literally have the wrapper in your hand!-

M. -Camaron que se duerme se lo lleva la corriente-

R. - Why did he yell so much?-

M. -Hey, wasn't that soda Leo's?-

L. -Hey, did you see the soda I left in the freezer?- *He stares at Raph* -Seriously Raph?

R. -Ojos que no ven, corazón que no siente-

L. -¡Vete mucho a la chingada!-

D/M. *Dying of laughter*

Y/N. -Y-Yes, I get it-

Which I can bet would work with either version of the turtles.

[vexic929]

Gina tells your villain OCs "¡me cago en tu puta madre!" (translates to "I shit on your whore of a mother"). What happens?

Megitsune: ignores her

Eoland: murder time!

Savitar: doesn't speak Spanish so also ignores her

Jessie (she's an antihero but whatever): "¿qué chingados? qué te pasa, wey? pinche pendeja, vete a la chingada" ("what the fuck? what's wrong with you? you fucking asshole, go to hell")

Mihael: "dos i chwarae efo dy nain" (essentially means "fuck off")

Ember: also doesn't speak Spanish but is used to being insulted so flips her off and goes about their business

[shinobu-lencha]

Hipocresía

Es muy desgastante seguir pensando en ti y en nuestras últimas palabras. Pero sé que soy yo la que decide pensar en ello, mientras tú a lo mejor te estas pavoneando con tu pareja. 

En cierto modo molesta, no por tener celos o envidia. Si no porque, me sigue sorprendiendo que existan personas que pueden dar vuelta rápido a las cosas o desechar a las personas sin pensar en lo que hicieron mal, porque bien dicen que cuando no sale bien algo es por dos personas, no solo una. 

Llegó un punto que de tanto pensar, me eché toda la culpa y más que nada a mi intensidad de expresar mis emociones, me dijiste que te sentiste “atosigada” por los besos que te di y me sigo preguntando por qué no te quitaste en el segundo o tercer beso, los aceptaste como si nada. En otro baile, me buscaste, me abrazaste por la cintura y me besaste. ¿Qué onda contigo? ¿Lo hiciste por ser amable? Porque te voy a decir una cosa, solo llegaste a confundirme más y que me sintiera mal. 

Lo que decías y lo que hacías, era una maldita HIPOCRESÍA. 

Tú no fuiste clara, FUI YO.  Ni siquiera tuviste la valentía de decirme que te gustaba alguien más, preferiste subirlo a tus redes sociales y eso es ser una persona sin responsabilidad afectiva. No tomaste en cuenta cómo iba a sentirme al ver yo eso, te valió, no te importó si me agarré llorando después de confirmar mis sospechas, solo PENSASTE EN TÍ. 

Lo que tú me decías de decir la cosas en persona, era una mentira. Una hipocresía, porque no me lo demostraste, me mostraste tu lado cobarde y todavía yo te doy energía para pensar en cómo estas, qué estas haciendo, estás de vacaciones, eres feliz…todavía te doy eso, sabiendo que TÚ NO ME DISTE NADA. 

Sí, eres libre de querer a quien tú quieras, pero no de estar jugando con las personas. Al final eso hiciste conmigo y quién sabe si con alguien más. 

Quisiera poder verte para decirte “vete a la chingada” pero por ahora…no estoy lista, cuando eso pase, verás el cambio emocional que he tenido y te quedarás sorprendida, por que sí, mereces que por una vez en tu vida te manden a la chingada para que veas tus errores y no estes por la vida diciendo que tú NO HICISTE NADA MALO.

[armatofu]

¿Qué quiere decir vete al carajo?

4 Mandar al carajo o irse al carajo Dejar de tomar en consideración algo o a alguien y abandonarlo o echarlo lejos de uno: “Debieras mandar al carajo a todos los acreedores”, “¡Vete mucho al carajo, hijo de la chingada, y no me molestes más!”

¿Qué es el C * * * * * en un barco?

Los antiguos buques de madera, impulsados por grandes velas, donde cientos de tripulantes compartían viajes que podían durar largos meses, tenían un sector muy elevado que se denominaba “carajo”. El carajo era, en simples palabras, la pequeña canasta de madera que el palo mayor del buque tenía en su punto más elevado.

¿Cómo se llaman los 4 lados de un barco?

La principal manera de distinguir babor y estribor es colocándose bien. Si se mira hacia la proa del barco (la parte delantera) dando la espalda a popa (la parte trasera), babor es el lado izquierdo y estribor es el lado derecho.

[sesmar-scott]

Los huesos

Corre vamos canta qué la vida se te va acabar

Rompete los huesos hasta que lo puedas lograr

Se que ya se han rotó todos mis pares de vans

Le e dado vueltas a todo y pronto lo voy a lograr

Te dije mi amor que no regresaria sin nada

Ahora que lo tengo porfa vete a la chingada

Corre vamos canta qué la vida se te va acabar

Rompete los huesos hasta que lo puedas lograr

No te paseare en mi mustang cuando tenga millonadas

Vete con tu novien el que tiene cara de empanada waaf