Summary: After you break up with your cheating boyfriend you move to another part of town. Being single while carrying a child under your heart is hard, but you recieve help and support from the most unexpected person, your grumpy neighbour.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12 (Ending)
Fanart for the story made by 💕 @romanarose 💕
Forever Young a songfic by 💕 @romanarose 💕 based on this fic 🥰
to sum it up — your friends bet you at girl’s night that you wouldn’t try a royal honey packet. momma didn’t raise a bitch but you may need a little help with the… side effects.
be warned — smut, 18+ MDNI ageless blogs and minors will be blocked!, choking, breath play, cockwarming, p in v, unprotected sex (use a condom guys), squirting, some degradation, creampie (sorry, I literally can't help it. breeding kink go brrr 😵💫) and not proofread cause I simply cannot be arsed
this many words — 5.8k
a word from our author — long time no see! missed you all dearly 🩷 would y’all take a honey packet? I probably would idk idk idkkkkk 🫣 anyway, enjoy!
𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐀𝐎𝟑
You should never, under any circumstances, do anything under the influence of alcohol or the influence of your no good best friends.
That’s what you learn on a Friday night in some shoddy bar not far from your apartment in Nueva York.
The music is meh and the atmosphere leaves a little to be desired but the drinks are cheap and that's what you came for. Plus, if you show enough cleavage, the bartenders are heavy-handed with the pours. Your girls are on display in a strapless mini dress that’s so tight it looks painted on and all of your vodka sodas have been extra strong because of it. You can’t complain too much.
You and two girlfriends are sitting in a booth talking about what seems to be the number one thing that comes up when the three of you get drunk: your sex lives.
Jules and Maia start comparing their recent Hinge hookups to see who’s had the worst one night stand. You listen, amused and thankful you have no horror story to add this time.
“He came, rolled off of me, then immediately called his mom after!” Maia taps her finger on the tabletop as she lists the mystery man’s actions. “While I was still lying there!”
“Jules, honey, I think she’s got you beat.” You chime in with a faux frown.
“You know what? Fine by me!” Jules snorts and downs the last sip of her Heineken.
This contest has no real winners.
“Ok enough about our sad love lives,” Maia shakes her head. “What about that sexy scientist you’re dating?”
“Ooh, yes. Let’s talk about hot nerd!” Jules is of course all ears. Hot nerds are exactly her type.
“We’re not dating.” You stress for what feels like the millionth time since this arrangement between you and Miguel began. “We’re just.. hanging out.”
The excuse sounds as lame as it feels to say.
“Oh, do you fuck everyone you hang out with? Because we hangout,” Jules waves a finger between the two of you. “And I don’t fuck you.”
“You know what I mean.” You shove her shoulder. It hardly deters her from grilling you with more questions.
“So you and the scientist—”
“—Geneticist.” You correct. You don’t know why. He’s not here to pat you on the head for it.
“Potato, tomato. You two are seeing each other, exclusively, but you still don’t have a title?” Jules squints at you.
You hate when she puts things the way that they actually are. Though, it never really bothered you before that you couldn’t call him your boyfriend because you were never looking for one.
Casual sex works for you. Casual sex with Miguel works really well.
Now you realize that, in addition to him not being your boyfriend, you can’t even call him a friend either.
You barely know anything about him because he won’t let you in. Hell, you're in a bar telling your friends that you and him “hang out” because you aren’t crass enough to say that he fucks you and sends you home before the sun comes up. You don't even see him in daylight hours.
Jules is waiting for an answer but your heart is lodged in your throat. You just shake your head. No. You don’t have a title. You don’t have any place in his life.
Maia can see that the question has brought your mood down a bit so she tries to give a positive spin. “I mean it’s only been two months…maybe that little nerd just needs a little more convincing.”
There's no way to make Miguel O'Hara do anything he doesn't want to— you know this, but you're still curious.
“Convincing how?”
“Wellllll,” Maia fishes around in her purse until she pulls out what looks like a sauce packet. “I do have this.”
“I don’t really see how ketchup is going to help her, Maia.” Jules deadpans.
“It’s not ketchup! It’s-It’s one of those like, horny.. honey packet thingies. You know, the ones that make you… excited.” She explains with a blush.
The sip of your vodka soda you just took doesn't go down your throat right.
“Excuse me?" You cough. Jules pats your back. She's in just as much shock.
"Why do you have one of these, Maia?”
“Because I’m not a prude and I like to try new things!" She snarks. "Anyway, I think it would be fun for you and for him. Go rock his dorky world and see how he feels about you in the morning!” She tosses the packet at you and you scramble to catch it.
You start down at it in contemplation. You’re certainly no prude either. Especially not after everything you and Miguel have done. Though, it’ll be really embarrassing if it changes nothing and he’s still just as cold to you after.
“Dooo it. Dooo it. Dooo it.” Jules chants. She waves her hand to get Maia to join in and Maia does. They both chant in unison now. “Dooo it. Dooo it. Dooooo it.”
God, they're always so belligerent when they drink.
“I dunno..” You stall.
“We dare you.” Maia says.
“We double—no, triple dog dare you." Jules adds on. "Don't be a scaredy cat!"
You look down at the packet resting on the table again. If nothing changes, well, nothing changes. The worst that can happen is the worst still happening.
“Ok fine, what the hell.” You roll your eyes and rip the corner off the packet. “Sláinte.” You squeeze the whole thing out onto your tongue before you can second guess it.
“WOOOOO!” They both cheer.
You swallow it and chase it with the last of your vodka soda. The aftertaste has a faint tinge of regret, though it’s too late to go back. Your fate has officially been sealed.
“How long until it kicks in?” You almost want to brush the taste off your tongue. You can taste the honey for sure but there's something artificial underneath.
“No clue, girl. I haven’t tried it yet so you’re my little guinea pig.” Maia tweaks your nose. You frown.
“Alcohol might kickstart it sooner.” Jules tips her head at you. “You may wanna head on over to lover boy’s before you wig out in front of everyone at the bar.” She wiggles her fingers in your face with a cackle.
You brush her hand to the side. “Yeah, yeah. I’m booking the Uber.”
The area was crawling with drivers looking to pick up drunk bar patrons in need of a ride home so you had no problem finding one.
You find your chauffeur for the night in Mary. A middle aged lady who you would trust with your life and maybe a pair of knitting needles.
After confirming and paying, you bid your girls a good night and set off in the back of a Toyota Rav4 to Miguel’s apartment.
He has no idea you’re even on your way. If your mind weren’t so foggy from the drinks and the.. stimulant you’d recognize that this is not a good idea. Not even a little bit.
You never stopped to run it by him, though you should’ve because you never do surprise visits. All your meetups in the past have been on his terms. Miguel calls and you come. That’s how it’s always been.
You can’t approach unless he wants you to and doing too much will drive him away completely. He’s like a feral alley cat in that way. He’d certainly warmed up to you a bit. Enough to fuck you senseless at least. That’s why you put up with his standoffish nature.
Miguel is the best you’ve ever had, bar none. Which may also be why you’re not thinking straight.
All you can really think about is his hands all over your body, caressing and groping the way that he does when it’s been a while since you’ve seen each other. The hungry way that he kisses you, like he’d devour you whole if he could.
How his wet kisses trail down your body from behind your ear to your throat, your collarbone, your chest, your nipples, the plane of your stomach, your inner thighs and your soaking wet clit.
You can’t wait for him to slide past your lips and fill you up nice and deep until he has nothing left to give and—
Oh. Oh.
It definitely just kicked in. If you couldn’t already tell from the thoughts you were having, the egregious amount of wetness forming between your thighs would be your next clue.
You start to feel increasingly warm all over like someone lit a match inside you. That fire beneath your skin is extra concentrated between your thighs. You hate to admit it but it feels… good. Jules and Maia won’t let you live it down once you give them the full report they’ll be demanding afterward but right now you don’t care.
Your body is a live wire, raw and sensitive to the touch. To every touch. At one point, you nearly choke on your moan after hitting a particularly deep pothole.
Mary apologizes and you sheepishly brush it off, the jolt went straight to your clit and you can barely keep up appearances. It makes you want to cry out when usually you just want to curse your mayor for not getting these things fixed.
Shifting around and crossing your legs doesn’t help. It just makes your nipples press against the fabric of your dress and the rough seatbelt glide across your neck. Two of your most erogenous zones. You have to bite your bottom lip to hold everything in but even that feels good.
God, you’re a mess and no one’s even touched you yet.
Your breaths are shallow and they barely fill your lungs. It makes you lightheaded and dizzy which doesn’t help your situation at all. You didn’t even think about the side effects it could have on you, too caught up in Miguel.
You have to roll the window down a bit to get some air on your face and cool yourself off. Miguel’s place is coming up as you recognize the buildings on this route.
Just keep it together you think to yourself.
You fly out of the car before it can really come to a true, complete stop and mutter a quick thanks to your driver. If she picked up on your behavior, she doesn’t let on and you’re thankful for it.
The walk through the ornate lobby to his building, one of the tallest in the city, is muscle memory at this point. You could walk off the elevator right up to his doorstep blindfolded. By now, even the doorman knows you. You don’t have to tell him who you’re here for and he knows exactly which button to push for you.
You both love and hate that. You take up enough space for Miguel’s doorman to recognize you but that’s just about all the space you take up in his world.
It makes you wonder if you’re the only regular visitor Miguel gets or if there are other women who get off on the twentieth floor and knock on the same door as you.
Before the elevator doors can close all the way, a woman rushes in nearly out of breath. She’s drop dead gorgeous, tall and svelte, like a model. Maybe she is one.
“Glad I caught you guys.” Her laugh is breathless and perfect. Her voice is silky smooth. “Twentieth floor ple—Oh! Nevermind, I see you’ve already got it.” She smiles at Hank, the man working the elevator tonight.
Jealousy distracts you from your aroused state momentarily. She’s new to you. Maybe she just moved into the building or maybe she’s usually out around the time you normally come over. Either way, your shared destination makes you bristle like a cat.
It doesn’t help that she’s suddenly appeared, just after you wondered if anyone else came up to see Miguel besides you, like a bad omen.
Your stomach is in knots when both of you leave the elevator. The scowl forms before you can help it. There’s a real possibility she could be heading to Miguel’s and your visit being a complete surprise doesn’t help your anxiety. It’s not until she tells you goodnight and turns left, instead of toward Miguel’s place, that you let out a breath of relief.
The green eyed monster goes back to her cave.
You hate the comfort you get from seeing her go the other way. It’s superficial at best. There could still be others.
It hardly matters now, you’re still on a mission that culminates at Miguel’s front door. Your knuckles rap against the wood. You hear nothing for a few moments and then there’s the sound of shuffling feet before the door opens to reveal Miguel who can barely fit in the frame.
He’s still in his lab coat, dress slacks and shoes, glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. He must’ve just come home from work.
Miguel gives you a scrutinizing once over. Your dress feels sluttier now in front of him and you fight the urge to pull it down. You wish you’d checked your makeup and hair in the car ride over because now you’re not sure how put together you look standing before him.
He waits for you to offer an explanation. Forcing your hand without a single word.
“Surprise.” You offer lamely. It’s a surprise alright and judging from the look on his face, not a welcome one. He just blinks but it’s more of what he doesn’t say that has you antsy.
“Did you leave something over here?” Miguel asks gruffly.
“No I just.. I just, um..” You trail off. How can you even begin to explain your situation in a way that isn’t completely embarrassing?
“Just what? I’m a bit busy right now so make it quick.”
God, he sounds so annoyed. You hate it.
Looking up into his eyes seems more daunting than before. You find it hard to meet his gaze and even harder to articulate what it is you came here for. It’s too bad the honey just makes you horny and not bold or courageous.
He grips your chin and tilts your head back so that you have to make eye contact with him. Your pupils are blown wide with lust and you know he can see that. Nothing gets past him.
Miguel tuts and brushes a thumb across your bottom lip. Instinctively, your lips part ever so slightly for your tongue to dart out and wet it.
His voice is softer this time, like you might bolt if he gets too loud. “Missed me, did you?”
You nod. Honesty is the best policy after all.
He dips his head so that his lips are at the shell of your ear.
“I don’t like surprises, chula, you know that.” He reprimands like you should know better when you barely know anything about him. As if you actually have a shared rapport beyond the walls of his bedroom.
You almost laugh at the notion that you know him enough to know him habitually. The things he does and doesn’t do.
You can’t find it in you to argue, though, not when you’re this needy.
“I know.” Your chin tilts down as your gaze hits the floor. He lets you hide.
“I wouldn’t normally do this.. it’s just that I was out with my friends and they dared me to take this honey packet thing that makes you horny and now I am.. so now I’m here. Sorry.”
Your eyes meet his after your candid explanation and they have just the faintest hint of amusement shining through crimson.
“Get in here.”
You don’t need to be told twice. Hell, you barely need to be told once.
The door closes behind you and you’re swept away to his office instead of his bedroom. You’re too blissed out to even notice because his hands are finally on you and even if it’s just your wrist it’s enough to reignite that flame inside you.
You land with a squeal when he sits you on the small arm chair in front of his huge mahogany desk. It takes up almost as much room as he does with his large stature.
You’ve never seen the inside of his home office before. Just his bedroom and the path it takes to get there. It grates.
Miguel slides back into his chair behind the desk, eyes flitting across the screens of three different monitors. He gets right back to work on whatever was so important that it had to come home with him.
You’ve never really understood his profession and he’s certainly never bothered to explain it to you. You watch him work, completely in the zone, completely ignoring you. It goes on for longer than you thought it would, figuring he would take care of something real quick and then take care of you.
“Miguel..” You whine, shifting in your seat which you learned in the car ride over does not help. If you were more sober and clearheaded you would cringe at how desperate you sound.
The sound of keys on his keyboard is the only answer you get.
You don’t get him at all. Is he mad at you?
“I thought—” You begin only to be cut off.
“You thought you could barge in here and call the shots? That I would drop everything the second you show up unannounced?”
You’re afraid to say anything that might make him mad. Still it’s better than those elusive one word answers he usually gives.
The wheels on his chair roll across the hardwood floor as he shifts over to get a look at you. His heated eyes glide over you slowly like magma down the side of a volcano.
“It doesn’t work like that. I told you I was busy so you’ll just have to wait until I’m not.”
“I know, I know.” Your eyes roll and you look away from him in favor of staring at the wall. “You call the shots. Everything’s on your terms. Trust me I get it.”
“Well when you show up unannounced I start to think that maybe you don’t get it.” Miguel’s words come out harsher than they were intended to but you don’t care.
“Bad day at work?” You tilt your head and bat your lashes.
“Something like that.” He replies, more subdued than before. He’ll never admit it but you being here has calmed him down substantially.
The two of you never talk enough to argue so Miguel has no clue that you can volley the attitude right back over the net at him. “Cool. Don’t take it out on me.”
You grab your purse and stand to leave. Clearly this was a mistake. You already know the apology will never come so you decide not to stay where you aren’t wanted.
“Sit down.” Miguel orders without even looking up from the monitor.
You scoff.
“I’m leaving.” Your hand barely touches the handle of his office door before he’s up and at your back, reaching to stop you. In the middle of wondering how he got over to you so fast and so quietly, his mouth is at your ear saying something you never thought you’d hear from him. Please.
It’s so soft you thought you imagined it at first but lightning strikes twice in his office because he asks again.
“Please. Stay.” Miguel’s massive palm grips your middle and cages you against him. Against all of him.
“Don’t talk to me like I’m stupid. I may not be a geneticist or whatever the hell you do that requires you to wear a lab coat but I am not dumb.”
“You’re the furthest thing from it.” He agrees.
You don’t know how to react to that quasi compliment. You don’t really get much from him aside from how wet you are or how good you feel around him.
Your shoulders fall with the decision to stay. He lets go of you only to let you turn and face him. There’s about as much desire in his as there is in yours only he’s not on anything.
“I still have a little work to do but I can take care of you while you wait.”
A plea. A compliment. A compromise. All in the same night.
“Okay.”
“Relax, hermosa. You can take it.” Miguel coaches as you sink down onto his semi hard length. It’s true, you can take it. You certainly have in the past.
You groan when you’ve taken him completely to the hilt, thighs resting atop his with your back to his chest. Your head falls back into the crook of his neck as you try to get your bearings. It’s common practice between the two of you to forgo the condoms, (Miguel prefers it that way and you’re on birth control anyway), but the honey packet has you wishing just this once that there was a barrier keeping you from feeling so much of him.
He slips in easy enough from how wet you are but he carves a path the whole way, molding every part of your body to him in a way that can’t be undone.
Enough time has passed for you to be acclimated to his size and feel, you know Miguel knows this so why hasn’t he started moving yet?
Your eyes flutter open at the sound of his keyboard clacking again. Seriously?
“Guel..” You whine, desperately trying to ride him. The sudden iron grip on your waist halts your movement. He won’t let you fuck him.
“Sit still, I’m working.” If you hadn’t looked back to catch his expression you would’ve missed the sly smirk his tone did nothing to convey.
This isn’t exactly what you had in mind when you pictured Miguel taking care of you.
“But..” You pout. “I need you.”
You’re past the point of caring how you sound and too clouded by lust and alcohol to realize he’s typing absolute gibberish just to seem busy.
The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog indeed. And the beautiful woman with the sopping wet pussy will just have to sit here on Miguel’s lap with her too-fucking-mini dress bunched around her perfect hips while he warms his slowly hardening cock in her. He may have conceded earlier but you still needed a punishment for showing up out of the blue like that.
“All soaking wet for me. How’d that happen, hm?” Miguel nips playfully at your neck. Not enough to break your skin but maybe you wish it was.
“The honey packet Maia gave me.” You gasp when two of his fingers come between your legs to rub against your clit with barely any pressure behind them. You could cum just like this you think, if he would just let you move—
His fingers are gone in an instant. The way you clench around him is likely what gave it away that you were nearing the edge.
It’s sweet torture but torture all the same. “I’m gonna kill her.” You mumble under your breath.
“I’m gonna thank her personally.” Miguel huffs out a laugh before licking those same two fingers clean. You’d laugh too if you weren’t so high strung. It’s nice seeing him playful like this.
“Miguel, I can feel you getting hard inside me just fuck me already.” You beg. You even clench and unclench around him a few times to try and push him over the edge. He feels every pulse. He just doesn’t care.
“Cállate. I need to concentrate.” He’s typing real sentences this time not that it matters, all the scientific jargon may as well be Greek to you.
You keep fluttering around him trying to make yourself cum while he works on his report. It barely deters him but it’s starting to work for you, enough that little mewls start spilling from your lips before you can stop them. But being quiet is the least of your worries now not when bliss is so close around the corner. Not when your pussy feels so full of him, completely hard.
Deep in your stomach there’s a warmth beginning to spread, the start of your release like a wave about to crest . Your lips part to release what would’ve been a throaty moan now a surprised cough tumbles out caused by Miguel’s hand wrapped around your throat and squeezing so hard that you can’t breathe.
“Oh, nena, you’re making too much noise now I’ve lost my train of thought.” He tuts. “Guess I’ll just have to start over.”
You want to say something, anything, in protest as he backspaces all his work thus far but his hand still has your throat in a vice grip. You can’t breathe but god can you gush all over him in response. You didn’t even know you liked being choked.
“It’s gonna take me even longer now to finish cause I have to make sure you keep quiet, baby.” Miguel slowly lets go of your neck so you can gulp down some much needed air.
You’re dizzy, all five senses grossly impaired but there’s oxygen rushing to your brain now at least. His hand clamps around your throat once more and he brings you face to face.
“Don’t distract me. I’m typing with one hand now and we don’t want you to pass out before I finish do we?”
You shake your head no and pray he’s secretly a super fast one-handed typist. And the game resumes.
He is typing faster this time and the grip on your throat allows for some air to come through. You suppose you should be thankful but you’re too busy trying not to pass out or explode whichever comes first. The corners of your vision are getting fuzzy and you feel like you’ve stepped outside of your body. Whatever he’s typing must be important.
Something something multiverse theory who cares? Not you.
Your eyelids droop in tandem with the coil in your stomach tightening in pleasure. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip in an effort to keep quiet. You know he would absolutely let you pass out just to teach you a lesson so you try not to rock the boat with too loud moans and whimpers.
It’s only when tears pool in your eyes that relief comes in the form of his gravely voice at your ear saying “Done.”
You’re done too. With a strangled cry you burst from all the pleasure that seemed to build exponentially inside you with every word he typed.
“Just like that pretty girl.” Miguel’s lips are at your throat, your jawline, your collarbone, all over as you gasp. “Yeah you did so good for me you deserve it baby.”
It’s a heady feeling you get from all the air after being so deprived combined with how satisfied you are finally getting your release since the honey entered your system.
But it’s not nearly enough. No. You’re an insatiable beast now. A succubus meticulously crafted for Miguel’s ruin.
“More.” Your voice is hoarse and in your position it’s mistaken for a plea but it’s meant entirely as a command.
But Miguel knows. He’s quick on the uptake and immediately grabs you by your hips and bounces you up and down like you’ve been craving all night.
The only sounds in the room are lewd and loud. Your squelching and moans, his determined grunts, the creak of his computer chair that may need to be replaced after this. You two never need words.
He doesn’t use any to lift you and turn you around in his lap so that you’re finally facing each other as you ride him. He’s wordless when he tugs your dress down far enough for him to suck a nipple into his mouth and grope the other breast in his large hand. And you don’t have to say a word when you place that hand back on your throat to get him to squeeze within an inch of your life.
His eyes meet yours in a silent dare to cum before you faint on top of him.
You taste salty sweat when you lick your lips, smell the musky aroma of your arousal coating the both of you, hear a wet plap, plap, plap, plap keeping time with a set of rough upward thrusts and black is the last thing you see before the dam breaks and sprays all over Miguel’s lap.
When you come to he’s still fucking you through it, chasing his own high. You caught him mid dialogue with no clue of what he’d said before.
“Lightheaded already, mamita?” You can’t form a response and he knows it, the bastard. “That stupid look on your face.. you don’t even care about breathing do you? No you just care about how deep I can get inside you right? Being my little toy?
You shouldn’t like the way he’s talking to you given your reaction earlier but it makes you so much wetter. Still, You frown. “Don’t talk to me like that.” You slur.
“You don’t like it? Don’t cum around my cock so hard then.”
“Miguel.” You try to warn but it’s feeble.
“You mad at me, baby? Don’t be mad at me beautiful.” He hugs you tight to his front but not for intimacy’s sake, so that your clit has no choice but to grind against his pelvis as you ride him. “I just wanna make this perfect pussy cum over and over and over again.”
“Fuck you.” You bite as your third orgasm of the night creeps up on you. It’s too much to handle but he’s making you handle it and trying to play innocent about it.
“That would be the point, doll.” His chuckle is deep and sexy and it infuriates you to no end that he can even be snarky right now when you’re barely holding it together. “Your face right now mm so fucked out and cock drunk that you can’t even frown at me like you want to.”
“Guel please.. I..” You don’t know whether you’re begging him to let you cum or to not make you cum but you know you can’t take either of those options right now. It’s too much. Everything. And you tell him so.
“I’m just doing what you asked, pretty girl. This is what you wanted right? To get fucked so good like this? That’s why you came to me and not someone else cause I’m the only one that can.”
“Shut up.” You pant, movements getting sloppier and hurried.
“No.” Miguel grins seeing the crazed look in your eye. “I’m not gonna shut up and I’m not gonna stop making you cum either so stop being mad at me and let me make you feel good.”
You decide to stop fighting and that’s when your orgasm crashes into. You clutch his shoulders leaving half moons where your fingernails meet his skin. The rhythm your hips follow is all their own and all you can do is let it happen until the undulations slow. Your head lolls backward cradled by one of Miguel’s hands as his lips meet the base of your throat in a sloppy kiss that turns into a passionate suck with a hickey as a parting gift.
His hot tongue trails up, up, up and stops at your ear. “Good girl.” Miguel purrs and you shiver.
“Still mad?”
“Yes.” You don’t mean it.
“Kiss and make up then.” He holds your chin in place while his tongue explores your mouth. Your head is spinning too much to do anything other than follow his lead. Luckily he’s gentle but no less passionate than before, sucking your tongue, biting your lip, licking the taste of you out of your mouth.
He’s filthy. Miguel only parts to let you breathe and instructs you to bend over his desk. You’re lying on his keyboard but neither of you seem to care. The task of sinking into you much more important to you both.
You can give him one more. You feel like a bottomless pit but at the same time your brain is begging you to tap out, certain you’ve had more than enough.
Miguel is deceptively gentler this time. Maybe he knows you can only take so much more. It’s unnerving. This is how a lover would do it and there is no love to be found between the two of you.
“I needed this.” He admits rocking into you, hitting that spot once again. “Needed you.” He clarifies in a rush. It spills out of him like he’s the drunk one here.
You don’t acknowledge it with anything other than a moan. You know how skittish he is. It’s best to pretend he never said it even if it makes your heart flutter.
Then you remember the whole reason you even took the packet in the first place and think maybe it’s okay if you’re vulnerable too. You can both blame it on the heat of the moment, the drinks or the drugs in your case.
You’ll both have something to regret and maybe that’ll make it okay. And so you speak up.
“Are you mine?” It feels so juvenile insinuating a man like this is a thing to be had. By you no less. But it’s out there and you can’t take it back.
“Who else’s would I be? No one else can put up with me but you.” His pace picks up speed, climax nearing and for the first time tonight he lets it.
“Am I yours?” If it’s even possible you feel more pathetic than before. But you need to know if anything will change tonight.
Miguel falters. Almost imperceptibly. Almost. You don’t know him completely but you’ve known the way he fucks for too long for that to get past you.
To his credit, he recovers quickly. Seconds from falling apart, he leans over you, chest on your back pressing you into his desk and growls in your ear, “You’re the only woman in Nueva York I give a fuck about. That should be enough.”
It isn’t. But you’ll take it.
He wishes he could tell you the truth. But everyone that belongs to him gets taken from him. This is how he keeps you a little longer, he thinks.
Before you know it you cum again, your body had always been so synced with his.
“I’m yours,” He reiterates, the bruising grip on your hips his way of desperately trying to make you understand. To read between the lines and see what he can’t say but wants to so badly.
You moan in defeat, pleasure and pain. Mostly the former. It’ll have to do.
Hot rivulets of his cum paint the walls of your puffy wet cunt and you get the feeling that this is about all the warmth you’ll ever get from him.
Your entire body is spent, you’re so weak that you can’t lift your head from his keyboard. The text in his report trails off from actual scientific findings to just:
Pairing: dbf!/cowboy Joel Miller X fem!Reader | W/C: ~7.2K | Rating: 18+ Minors DNI
Summary: None of this would have happened if you hadn’t walked into the Spur. In that goddamn dress. In those goddamn boots. You’re all curvy hips with cherry red lips. None of it, but of course, you did. And damn if he isn’t grateful. No matter how bad his knuckles hurt, he’d do it again. Because you’re his. Your daddy might not know it yet, hell, the whole town might not know it yet, but you’re sure as fuck about to.
A/N: Welp. Like I said before, I've fallen into the hole that is Cowboys, and I fear I can't get out. Nor do I want to; the fictional cock is great down here. What is it about a cowboy that looks like he can sweep you off your feet in one second and fuck you until you forget your own name the next? Sigh. Anyway...enjoy this depravity. I know I sure did writing it.
Warnings: POV-Switching. Jealous Joel/Angry Joel. Fighting/blood. Flirting/Teasing. Light choking. Age gap but not mentioned (make it your own). Pet name (Princess). Flirting. Oral (m receiving)/face fucking. Fingering. Praise kink. Degradation if you squint. Creampie. Aftercare. Feelings. Alcohol. TLOU au. No use of Y/N. No use of daddy. Use of good girl. Reader has female sex anatomy and has slight implied feminine descriptors. Reader has long enough hair to grip, but no further details are mentioned. Let me know if I missed anything!
Masterlist | Notifications | Read on AO3 | Part 2 Preview - 9/14
JOEL
None of this would have happened if you hadn’t walked into the Spur.
In that goddamn dress. In those goddamn boots. You’re all curvy hips with cherry red lips.
None of it, but of course, you did.
And damn if he isn’t grateful. No matter how bad his knuckles hurt, he’d do it again just to get you in the same position – on your knees, eyes glassy, pupils blown open wide with lust – jaw hinged open, just for him.
Because you’re his.
Your daddy might not know it yet, hell, the whole town might not know it yet, but you’re sure as fuck about to.
++++
The Spur is a nightmare tonight – packed to the brim.
Fridays were always wild, sure, but I’m used to watching it all unfold from the other side of the bar, whiskey in hand, not pouring it. Frank sure as hell didn’t mention that owning this place—my place now—would feel like wrangling a stampede every damn night.
And to top it off, the band’s late. No Johnny Cash soon, and I’ll have more than a crowd on edge—I’ll have a riot, or worse, an empty bar.
Thank God Tommy agreed to help out tonight, though I’m praying he spends more time serving than drinking. With him behind the bar, I can run tables, refill drinks, and handle the hundred different emergencies this place throws at me.
I tell myself to stay focused. Keep moving, keep pushing.
Then I see it—a flash of red from a table up front.
I didn’t have to look long to know it was you. I’d recognize those red boots anywhere. Usually they’re the showstopper, but shit, not tonight. The dress you’re wearing looks like it was made for you, but the thing that’s really got my attention are those cherry fucking red lips of yours.
God, I want to ruin them.
With my mouth…or my cock. I wouldn’t be picky. I already had difficulty controlling my body’s reaction to you, but that was before I knew how sweet your kisses tasted, and now that I do, I’m in trouble.
I want you so bad.
Looking around, I take note that I might not be the only one.
YOU
You’ve always liked Joel a little jealous—it never took much to light that fire in him.
Every Saturday before you left for college, when he came over for beers and pizza with your dad, you’d throw on your shortest skirt, linger at the door, fiddling with your purse just long enough to catch his eye. You loved the way his gaze would follow, the way his jaw would clench.
And when the screen door slammed shut, you’d hear him mutter to your dad, voice low and firm, “You’re just gonna let her go out like that?”
You lived for it—the way your body would heat up, the pulse between your legs quickening as you imagined that vein in his neck bulging, that scowl on his face the next morning when he came over for coffee.
Just stopping by, he’d say, but you really knew he wanted to see if you made it home for the night or ended up in someone else’s sheets.
He’d try to hide it, his interest in you, but it didn’t work.To be fair, you did play a little unfair – the way you’d stretch just right as you reached for the cup on the top shelf, giving him a glimpse of the curve of your ass in your tightest black shorts. Or coming down the stairs in a silky white shirt that didn’t do much to hide your perky nipples.
It was all just a game—innocent, fun. Girls just wanna have fun, right? And sure, Joel was devastating for a man his age—dark hair streaked with silver, skin kissed golden by the Texas sun, dusted with freckles that made your head spin. Broad shoulders that made you wonder if Doritos modeled their logo after him.
But he was your dad’s best friend, a line you never cross, no matter how hard it was at times.
For years, it stayed that way—hot glances, stern looks, and a tension so thick you could cut it with a knife.
But it was all harmless, just a game.
Until last week.
You’d come home from New York, fresh degree in hand, ready to take on Austin. Unlike your sister, you knew this was home—you always intended to come back. What you didn’t expect was to be picked up by Joel at the airport after your flight landed earlier than expected. “Joel’ll get you, Sweetie,” your dad had said, stuck in the town over on a job, “you still have your key, right?”
Time had passed, but the second you saw him leaning against that old truck, flannel stretched tight over those broad forearms, you knew you were still in way too deep. Years hadn’t dulled it, hadn’t even come close. Does the man ever age? You hadn’t seen him in years, and yet, somehow, he managed to get hotter while you were away.
It didn’t take more than five minutes for you both to fall into your old patterns. Except this time felt different – dangerous, even. Why? Because you’re starting to realize that the invisible line of this is your father's best friend, he’s off limits was starting to blur.
“Hi, Princess,” he murmured, his lips brushing your cheek in a fleeting kiss. As he drew back, his gaze lingered on your lips, a moment too long, too intense. “It’s good to have you back.” Despite yourself, warmth flooded through you at the nickname—Princess—a private endearment born the day you landed Belle in your high school's production of Beauty and the Beast. He remained the sole person who could call you that without earning a scowl.
As the truck crunched over the gravel driveway, the sound pulled you right back—back to those wild days as a 21-year-old, stirring up trouble, doing whatever it took to torment your dad’s best friend, just for the sheer thrill of watching him squirm.
You caught up on the drive home, exchanging the polite, predictable questions you'd expect from your dad’s best friend. The small talk was easy, comfortable, but then, five minutes from the ranch, he hit you with a question that threw you off balance.
"So, you still seeing that Jack fella?" His grip on the steering wheel tightened just a little, his knuckles flexing as he asked.
“John,” you corrected.
“Right, him,” he said, brushing off the name like it didn’t matter. “He treating you right?”
He glanced over at you, his soft brown eyes unreadable, but there was something deeper behind them.
“Kinda hard to treat someone right when you’re not together anymore,” you replied, casting a look at him from under your lashes.
A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Don’t look too pleased about that, Joel, really," you teased, but the hint of a smile deepened on his face.
“'M not. Sorry to hear it didn’t work out,” he said, his voice gentle, but the action that followed spoke louder. His hand—large and heavy—settled on your thigh, giving it a firm squeeze. He didn’t pull away, even when it clicked that he probably should.
“I’m not,” you said, your eyes meeting his, loaded with a meaning that needed no explanation.
The ranch came into view, the gravel road winding to the house. Silence fell between you, but it wasn’t empty—it was thick with unspoken words. The truck rolled to a stop, and you reached for the door, but before you could touch the handle, Joel was already there, pulling it open like he couldn’t wait a second longer.
His hands found your waist as he helped you down from the bed of the truck, the roughness of his calloused fingers igniting a wildfire beneath your skin. Each touch was electric, a spark that lit you up from the inside out. You’d never been touched by him like this—aside from the occasional hug. But in just the last hour, he’d kissed your cheek, caressed your thigh, and now, his hands were on your waist. What was happening?
The walk to the front door felt like torture, each step dragging out the tension, with the weight of his gaze scorching you from behind. You could feel him watching you, undressing you with his eyes, and it took everything in you not to crumble under the heat. You fidgeted with the strap of your bag, trying to keep your cool. Soon, you'd be inside the safety of home, away from whatever sexy spell had overtaken Joel Miller.
With the keys in the lock, you paused, stealing a glance over your shoulder. He stood there, devastatingly handsome in the fading light, looking like he was ready to devour you. “Well, thanks for the ride, goodnight, Jo—”
Before you could finish, his hand hooked around your belt loop, tugging you back to him with a swift pull. His voice dropped, low and rough, “Fuck it.”
In one motion, he had you pressed against the sun-warmed wood of the front door, the heat still radiating off it from the day. His hand snaked up to your throat, gently but firmly pulling you closer, and then his mouth was on yours—hot, fierce, and full of hunger. There was no tenderness, no hesitation. He took what he wanted, what you’d been offering him for years in stolen glances and teasing touches.
It was messy, breathless, and everything you’d ever imagined. When Joel finally pulled back, his chest heaving, his eyes dropped to his boots, lingering for a beat before lifting to meet yours, like he was trying to figure out what came next.
“Welcome home, Princess,” he muttered, voice thick and low, then stepped back, leaving you there, breathless, aching, and utterly confused.
Hours later, you found yourself in your childhood room, unpacking into the same old dresser drawers, the familiarity of it doing little to calm the storm in your head. The soft buzz of your phone pulled you from your thoughts, and when you glanced at the screen, his name lit up.
That probably shouldn’t happen again.
Right. A smirk tugged at your lips as you tapped out your response.
We’ll see about that, Cowboy.
You hit send, tossed the phone onto the mattress, and headed to the bathroom for a shower. A long, cold one.
JOEL
Get your shit together, Miller, I internally tell myself, hoping the blood in my cock would make its way back up to my brain.
You're at the table with a group of girls, laughing, the kind of easy, carefree laugh that makes me pause. Some of the faces are familiar, girls from town, but others are strangers. As I scan the group, I instinctively search for Cleo—your best friend since sixth grade—but she's nowhere to be found. Odd, considering you two are usually joined at the hip.
That’s when I catch Tommy’s shit-eating grin from behind the bar. And sure enough, there’s Cleo, working her magic on my little brother, who's too pussy-drunk to realize he's being played. She’s got those signature fuck me eyes locked on him, and he’s falling for it—hook, line, and sinker. A bright pink sash that reads "Birthday Girl" is draped across her dress as she saunters back toward your table with four drinks in hand, none of which she paid for. You and the other girls are waiting, oblivious to the little scene playing out behind the bar.
You haven’t noticed me yet, and that’s perfect. This is going to be fun.
I walk behind the bar, throwing Tommy a you know I saw that look. He does his best to play it cool, busying himself by wiping down a bottle of Bulleit, avoiding the invisible ones I’m mentally shooting his way.
I can't remember the last time I made a birthday cake shot—hell, maybe I’ve never even made one before. But screw it, it seems like the kind of thing a group of girls celebrating would want. I mean, it's got birthday in the name, right? Besides, it’ll be the perfect excuse to get closer to you, see if you’re still playing this game or if it’s time for me to make the next move.
I load the shots onto a tray and head toward your table. This was it. I had a plan—a simple, respectable plan: deliver the shots, maybe say something polite, and leave you alone for the rest of the night. But a few steps away, you catch my eye and smile, and suddenly the plan unravels. My grip on the tray falters. Fuck.
"Ladies," I say, the word falling out of my mouth before I can stop it. Great, I think, I sound like an idiot. "Heard it was someone’s birthday," I add, meaning to look at Cleo, but my eyes stay locked on you, refusing to move.
And just like that, I’m caught.
“Yeah, that’s why you’re bringing us free drinks, Miller,” Cleo fires back, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
I manage to tear my gaze from you, shooting her a quick look. "You know, darlin', I can take these right back," I say, trying to regain some control.
I set the tray down on the table, watching as you and your friends each grab a shot. You’re extra careful with yours, trying to avoid getting whipped cream on your fingers, but it’s no use. And I’m glued to the spot as you pop your finger into your mouth, licking it off slowly, never breaking eye contact. You knew exactly what you were doing, and it was working—too damn well.
My jeans tighten, and I curse under my breath. Does everything you do have to give me a hard-on?
Cleo’s laugh cuts through the tension. "Holy shit, Joel-y, did you actually make us birthday cake shots? I didn’t know you served anything other than beer and whiskey neat."
“Yeah, well... don’t get used to it,” I reply, biting back the urge to tell Cleo to knock it off with that damn nickname. The last thing I want is to come off like a jackass in front of you.
I stand there like an idiot, watching as you and the girls clink your glasses, hit them against the table, and knock back the shots. But it’s your throat I can’t tear my eyes from—watching you swallow was a big mistake. I shift my stance, making a quick adjustment before you notice how out of sorts I really am.
The empty glasses land back on the tray, and I grab it like it’s a lifeline. “Happy Birthday, Cleo,” I say, my voice steady, but my eyes still locked on you. Then, with a wink in your direction, I turn and walk away, fighting the urge to look back.
++++
I keep an eye on you all night. Not in a creepy way—more of a just looking out for my buddy’s daughter kind of thing. Yeah, okay, that’s bullshit. I’m watching you because you’re stunning, and I’m not the only guy in here who’s noticed. Every time some fool looks your way, I feel my jaw tighten a little more.
After the birthday shot I brought over, I noticed you pacing yourself with the drinks, which I appreciated. That is, until I spotted those little red boots of yours strutting straight for the bar. No way in hell I’m letting Tommy take your order, so I practically body-checked him to get there first.
I lean across the bar, trying to keep it casual. “What can I get you, darlin’?”
You give me a look that damn near stops my heart. “Depends. What are you willing to give me?”
I smirk, fighting the urge to say something reckless. “Whatever you can handle.”
You lean in closer, just enough for me to feel the heat between us. “Alright then. Take a shot with me.”
The boldness of your challenge catches me off guard, and it takes everything in me to stay composed. Maybe it’s the red on your lips or the fire in your eyes, but you’ve got me hooked. I grab two shot glasses, sliding them in front of us.
“Pick your poison,” I say.
“Bourbon,” you answer with that sweet-as-sin smile. Then you add, “Please,” with those damn doe eyes, and I know I’m already in trouble.
I turn, grab a bottle of bourbon from the back, and pour us both a shot, sliding yours across the bar.
“What are we drinking to?” I ask, trying to play it cool.
You raise your glass, locking eyes with mine. “Temptation, cowboy.”
Fuck.
Our glasses clink, and we throw back the shots, not breaking eye contact for a second. The bourbon burns, but all I can feel is the fire in your gaze. You hold it a beat longer before your eyes shift to the fruit tray beside me. Without a word, you reach for a cherry, slipping it between your lips—and I swear it takes every bit of self-control not to lose it right there.
Then, as if you’re trying to kill me, you bring your hand up to wipe away a drop of juice trailing down your chin. It keeps going, down to your collarbone, and I’m helpless to do anything but stare.
You don’t even notice.
And it’s all I can do to stop myself from leaning over the bar and licking it off for you.
I am so fucked.
YOU
“How much do I owe you?” you ask, tilting your head with a playful edge in your voice.
“On the house,” he replies, that sly grin curving across his lips—those perfect fucking lips.
“Are you sure?” you press, skepticism raising your brows, knowing damn well you’re pushing him.
He leans over the bar, motioning you closer with two fingers. You can smell him now, that intoxicating mix of bourbon and peppermint. His voice drops to a husky whisper, low enough that only you can hear, “You can thank me later by letting me tear that pretty little dress off of you.”
And just like that, after over a decade of teasing glances, lingering touches, a stolen kiss, a bit of red lipstick, and some bourbon—Joel Miller breaks. Finally.
You almost laugh, wishing someone had told you it would’ve been this easy years ago, but you keep your cool. You’ve played the game this long; no reason to lose your edge now.
“Thought you said nothing could happen between us again?” you tease, your voice low, your lips curling into a smirk. Gotcha.
You lean in a little more, the air between you thick with tension. “Thanks for the shot, Joel-y,” you purr, letting the nickname roll off your tongue before tossing him a wink and sauntering off, your hips swaying just enough to let him know you’ve already sealed the deal.
You know he’s watching—his eyes glued to every movement you make, jaw clenched tight with frustration. He’s hot when he’s jealous, sure, but the way his jaw ticks when he’s mad? That’s got your thighs clenching and your cunt dripping. But you’ve got him exactly where you want him.
Checkmate.
JOEL
I watch as you make your way back to your table, laughing with your friends, when you bump into a guy I don’t recognize. His hand lands on your waist to steady you, and in my head, I give him two seconds to take his hands off you before I take them off for him.
Thankfully, he does. Good. It wouldn’t exactly look great for the bar owner to start picking fights in his own place, but when it comes to you, my good sense has been thrown right out the door.
I roll my shoulders back, trying to keep the jealousy simmering just under the surface, but the way that prick smiled at you has me seeing red—not the good kind of red, like those lips or boots of yours. You were polite about it, quickly apologizing and moving on without much interaction, but the way his eyes followed you pisses me off. The bar’s getting busy now, and I’ve got a hundred things to keep track of, but keeping an eye on that asshole just got bumped to the top of the list.
I glance at my watch—nearly midnight. The crowd’s drunk, rowdy, and hyped up like you’d expect on a Saturday night in a small-town country bar. Cleo knows how to draw a crowd, alright. The band’s finally playing, and it’s halfway through Big and Rich’s “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy” when I notice that same guy—and his crew—have worked their way over to your table.
They’re just talking. It’s a bar; people talk. Chill out, I tell myself.
Your friends are clearly enjoying the attention, flirting it up with these guys like it’s a game. One of them is even wearing a cowboy hat she didn’t come in with, and I have to bite my tongue to stop from pulling a full dad move and telling her what that really means.
But I’d be lying if I didn’t feel a bit of satisfaction when I see that while your friends are eating it up, you’re not. I can tell by the way you keep glancing at Cleo, leaning away, fidgeting with your straw in that nearly watered-down drink of yours.
I wander over to a nearby table, close enough to step in if I need to, and catch your eye as I do. Just then, that same guy rests his hand on your bare knee, and my spine snaps straight. You shrug him off, but he puts it right back.
Absolutely fucking not.
I’m at your table in seconds. “Hey, man, take your fucking hand off her,” I say, my voice low and menacing, the kind of tone I use when I’m really pissed.
His eyes flick up to mine, surprised, but he doesn’t move. “Now,” I growl, my patience hanging by a thread.
“Chill, old man. We’re just talking.”
“It doesn’t look like she wants to talk to you, kid,” I say, my eyes locking with yours. You’re giving me that Joel, don’t do this look, but I’m too far gone to care.
“We’re alright, aren’t we, baby?” the guy says, turning to you with a smug grin.
Baby? Not on my fucking watch. That’s it. I step in, grabbing him by the collar of his cheap shirt and yank him face-to-face with me.
“She’s not your fucking baby. Now take your friends and get the hell out of my bar.”
“You can’t be serious, man,” he stammers, eyes wide.
“As a heart attack,” I seethe, shoving him back. By now, Tommy’s made his way over from the bar, looking like he’s bracing for the shitstorm that’s about to unfold.
“Whatever, man. This place is lame, and this slut isn’t worth it,” the guy mutters, turning to walk away.
Tommy knows me too well. I see him pinch the bridge of his nose, like he’s already predicting my next move.
Before the guy can take another step, I grab his shoulder and swing, my fist connecting with a satisfying crack. The bar falls silent as bone meets bone, and the guy drops flat on the ground for a few seconds before scrambling back to his feet.
“Let’s see what you got, old man,” he snarls, coming at me with a wild swing. I catch his fist in my hand—his punch softer than the hands of someone who’s never done a day of hard work in his life—and twist his arm back.
Now standing between him and you, I make sure he’s far enough away that he couldn’t touch you if he tried. “I think you owe the lady an apology,” I say, tightening my grip until he groans in pain. “Don’t you?”
“What the fuck, man? What the hell is wrong with you?” he spits, struggling in my hold.
“Apologize,” I demand, twisting his arm harder. His eyes flash with defiance, but I squeeze tighter until the words grind out of his mouth like gravel.
“I’m sorry,” he mutters, the words dripping with bitterness.
“Good. Now get the fuck out of my bar,” I say, shoving him into his friends, who look like they’re on the verge of pissing themselves.
They don’t wait for a second invitation.
“Sorry, man, we’ll get out of here,” one of the guy’s friends mutters, leading the group toward the door, clearly shaken. I almost feel bad for punching him—judging by the ache in my knuckles, I probably broke his nose—but no one gets away with talking to you like that. Not in my bar, not anywhere.
When the door finally shuts behind them, the whole place erupts in cheers. I guess when the bar owner punches someone, people assume they had it coming. But my focus isn’t on the noise around me. It’s on you.
Your arms are crossed over your chest, your eyes boring into me, clearly pissed. But I’m not about to give you the chance to chew me out in front of a crowd. Most people have already gone back to their drinks and music, the punch quickly becoming tonight's wild story.
Without a second thought, I stride over, grab you off your chair, and throw you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes. You let out a startled yelp, but I don’t miss a beat, making sure to keep that too short for its own fucking good dress of yours down so nobody gets a free show.
This has gone on long enough. You’re mine, and I’m done pretending otherwise. And tonight, I’m going to make sure you know it.
“Joel Miller, I swear to God, put me down! Are you out of your mind?”
“No can do, Princess,” I say, walking through the bar with you draped over my shoulder. Your fists pound against my back like you think it'll make a difference. Cute.
“You’re insane!”
“Yeah, well, you have a way of driving me there.”
“What are you talking about? Put me down!” Your protests are loud, but I ignore them. I don’t set you down until we’re in my office, the door slamming shut behind us. I lock it with a sharp click before lowering you to the ground. The second your feet hit the floor, you shove me hard.
“What the hell is wrong with you, Joel? You can’t just go around punching people when they talk to me.”
“He touched you first,” I growl.
“This isn’t some fucking romance novel! I don’t need you swooping in to ‘save’ me from some creep at the bar. I can handle myself.” You’re glaring at me, fire blazing in your eyes. Exactly how I like it.
“I know you can.”
“Then why the hell did you just assault one of your own customers?”
I grab your waist, pinning you to the door before you can react. My lips brush down the column of your neck, my hand following until I claim your mouth with a fierce kiss. I pull back, tilting your chin so you’re forced to meet my gaze.
“Because, Princess, seeing him touch you made me fucking lose it,” I growl, my breath hot against your skin. “You drive me insane.”
Your chest rises and falls rapidly, anger flickering into something darker, more dangerous. “Joel, you can’t—” you stammer, but the words falter.
My other hand slides up your thigh, slipping beneath your dress. The soft skin under my fingers drives me wild. “Why not?”
“Because… hitting people is wrong. This… this is wrong. I’m your best friend’s daughter,” you manage, voice shaky. I chuckled and moved my hand further up your dress to your panties. Or at least where they should have been.
Fuck.
“That may be the case, Princess. But you’re not a little girl anymore, are you? And I think it’s about time I give you a taste of your own medicine,” I say, grazing the line of your pussy lips. “You wanna know what I think is bad? You bringing this bare pussy into my bar like this.”
I continue to tease you with my fingers, and you groan.
Fuck. You make me insane. “She’s droolin’ for me, Princess. Shoulda told me this pussy was this juicy, and I woulda done this a long time ago,” the sound of the band drowns out everything outside of my office. It’s just us now.
We’re not just crossing the line anymore—we’re obliterating it. We’re sprinting past, running laps around it, grinding it into the dirt with every reckless move we make, until it’s buried so deep it might as well have never existed at all.
“How long have you been like this?”
“S–” I slip a finger into you, and you gasp. “Since I saw you behind the bar.”
“Yeah? Is that why you came to take a shot with me, trying to get me to pay attention to this needly little cunt like you always do?”
"I was thirsty."
I chuckle darkly. "Thirsty, huh." I take a step back, slipping the finger that was just inside of you into my mouth, savoring your taste. God, you taste so fucking good. Grabbing the bottle of whiskey from my desk, I pull the stopper out with my teeth.
“And are you still thirsty, Princess?” You nod without hesitation. “Open your mouth,” I command.
You obey instantly, and the sight of your open mouth, ready and waiting, sends a jolt straight to my already hard cock. I take a long swig from the bottle but don’t swallow. My hand remains firm on your throat as I lean in, our faces close, and I slowly spit the whiskey into your mouth.
“Swallow,” and you do. I feel your throat work under my grip. Fuck. “Good girl.”
I bring my hand back under your dress and watch as your eyes roll back into your skill as I slide my middle finger into your glistening hole. You start to move your hips, and I can’t help but add a second. I work you for a moment longer before quickly pulling my fingers away and stepping back. Your eyes shoot open.
“Joel, what?” you ask, “Why are you stopping?”
“I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret,” I say with a smile, sucking my fingers into my mouth, once again savoring the taste of you, enjoy the flavor of your slick mingling with the whiskey on my tongue. I take a step back, my cock painfully hard in my jeans, and take you in.
God, you’re pretty like this. A little mad, flustered, dress wrinkled from my hands. I want to keep going, want to keep making a mess of you, but I need you to say it first. Need to know it’s what you actually want.
“You’ve also been drinking,” I say, even though I know you’re not drunk, probably not even tipsy.
“I’ve barely had anything to drink, I’m not drunk.” Just then, you press off the door and close the distance between us. “Well, if you won’t touch me, at least let me touch you,” you say, trailing your palm over my chest, fingertips catching on the buckle of my jeans before they fall lower to cup the hard bulge in my jeans.
“Let me take care of this,” you purr, and shit. How did this happen? I was supposed to be the one in control of this plane here. Mayday, mayday. We’re going down.
“Princess,” I stutter, barely getting the words out, too lost in the feeling of you rubbing your hand over the denim, applying more pressure. I lean into it, craving the relief. You start to push me back towards my desk, and I let you, until the back of my legs hit the wood.
You’re just standing there, holding my gaze, petting my cock like it’s a velvet bedspread. Just as I’m about to say something, you lower to your knees. Shit. Your hands move back to the metal of my belt buckle.
“May I?”
As if I could ever say no. Words? They don’t exist anymore. Hell, I’m not even sure I exist anymore. Have I died and gone to heaven? I didn’t believe in God before this, but damn, I might start now, because from where I’m standing, you look like a fucking angel.
I nod, breath hitching as your fingers work the metal free.
“I wanna hear it,” you say, and god—every nerve in my body ignites.
“Yes, Princess. Let’s see how pretty you look with my cock in your mouth.”
You have my pants undone and down in seconds, your movements quick and deliberate. Leaning in, you drag your tongue slowly along the length of my briefs, teasing, before pulling them down. My cock springs free, the relief of finally being out of those tight confines almost overwhelming. It practically tries to launch itself into your mouth, but you hold back, making me wait.
Instead, you wrap your hand around me, and lean in closer, your tongue flicking out to slowly lap up the bead of pre-cum at the tip. The groan that escapes me is involuntary—the feel of your hot, wet tongue against me sends a shudder down my spine. You lick me again, slow and deliberate, while your hand pumps the base of my cock. Fuck. If you keep this up, I’m going to lose it right here and now.
I force myself to think of anything else—anything not sexy. After some serious mental gymnastics, I manage to pull myself back from the edge. For now, I’m safe.
Well, at least I thought I was safe, and then you decided to put my cock in your mouth and take it as far down the back of your throat as you could go. Fuck. My hand instinctively wraps around the column of your throat, and I swear I feel you there.
“Fuckkkkkk,” I groan. “God, you’re so fucking pretty like this, Princess.” I never really considered myself to be a vocal guy, but with you, all of that seemed to be thrown out the window. I’d sing you a fucking song if you asked me to right now.
You’re taking me like a pro, even when I’m met with resistance at the back of your throat and you let out a little frustrated noise. “Didn’t think you could get any prettier, and then you started chocking on my cock,” I said, my voice husky and my throat tight. You look up at me through your thick eyelashes and nod as fiercely as possible.
I want the image of you on your knees with your red lips wrapped around my cock seared into my brain forever, so I take extra care to take a mental picture.
I fist my hand in your hair, trying to remember to be gentle, but when I push my cock deeper down your throat, you moan. You slid the hand that wasn’t working my length under your dress to touch yourself.
“Sucking my cock turns you on, doesn’t it? You want me to fuck your face?” I ask, and you take your hand off my length and put it on my ass, pulling me deeper down your throat.
I can’t take it anymore. I knot both of my hands into your hair and thrust into your mouth. Fuck, it feels so good. I don’t want to stop. I want to do this until I die. But I can’t – I don’t want to cum in your mouth. I need to feel your perfect little cunt wrapped around my cock before I do that.
“Need to taste you,” you murmur, but before you can go any further, I reach down and pull you up to me, crashing your lips into mine. The kiss is rough, almost brutal, like we’re testing each other, seeing who can take more. I’m not holding back—I’m giving you everything.
I spin you around, pressing you between my chest and the desk, pinning you there. My hands slide over your hips, fingers gripping the fabric of your dress as I drag it upward. You start to bend over, and the sight of you, helpless and ready, makes my blood burn hotter.
“You sure you want this, Princess? Once I start, I’m not gonna be able to stop.”
“Yes, Joel. Want you to fill me up, make me yours,” you say, and thank fucking hell for that.
I rub my hands over the globes of your ass, my thumbs spreading your pussy open for me. You’re wet and glistening and perfect. I look down, open my mouth, and spit. My cock is already well wet from your throat, but I know I’m a lot to take, and I don’t want to hurt you.
You wiggle your hips as if to say now, now.
“I’ve got you,” and I mean it. I grip the base of my cock and line myself up against your wet and waiting hole, before I started pushing my cock into your wet heat.
Holy. Fuck.
You’re so tight. I grip your hips and work my way in slowly, going slow as you let out a little whimper.
“It’s okay, Princess. You can take it. I know you can,” I say before thrusting one more time until I’m buried to the hilt inside of you. I pause, knowing if I start to thrust too soon, I’ll cum way too quickly. That can’t happen, not before you get off first. I take a deep breath and try to will myself back down from the solar system your cunt has propelled me to. It’s your voice begging for me to move that calls me back to my body.
You don’t have to ask me twice. I start to move, pulling myself out slowly, admiring the grip of your skin on my cock as I do, and then I thrust back into you. Hard. I do it again and again. I lose myself in you and give you every inch of me that you’re willing to take, which you do so happily.
“More, Joel. Fuck me harder,” you beg, “Please.”
And who am I to turn down a lady with such a polite request? I think about the guy who put his hand on you, and my next thrust is harder. I can feel my desk scraping across the floor, but I don’t care. I fuck you like that, my hands possessively on your perfect hips, as you clamp down on me so hard I start to see white.
I pull you back up so you’re upright, still seated deep inside of you, as I snake my fingers around your body and play with your tits before dragging my hand down to your clit and start stroking it as I fuck you. I feel your pussy tightening around me, doing its best to milk me for every drop of my cum.
You grab the hand that’s on my hip and move it up over your breast to your throat. I grip your throat and groan. “You like being fucked like this? Made into a little fuck toy for your daddy’s best friend, hmm? You like me using you like this, pinning you by your throat on my cock while I take what’s mine.”
“Yes, Joel,” you whine, “Yes, yes, yes,”
“Wanna hear you say it, Princess. Wanna hear you say who you belong to. Tell me you're mine,” I groan, my voice possessive. I can’t help it, I need to hear it.
“I’m yours.”
“Damn fucking right you are, all mine,” I groan into your ear, tugging the lobe of it between my teeth and gently nipping at it, my grip on your neck still firm and my cock still thrusting into you like it was made for you and only you.
“Joel,” you whine. It’s just my name, but it’s the way you say it and the feeling of your walls tightening on me that I can tell it’s your way of warning me you’re close.
“Come for me, baby. Show me how pretty you come,” and fuck if it wasn’t the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen. I’ve seen a lot of pretty things in my life, but the sight of you orgasming on my cock is easily at the top of the list.
‘Where do you want me, Princess? Can’t hold out much longer,” I say, still doing my best to hold you up and work you through the aftershocks of your orgasm while chasing my own.
“Come inside of me, Joel,” and fuck. How am I supposed to deny a request like that?
It doesn’t take long. I start to feel the familiar build of my orgasm, that impending release that starts in my toes and builds higher and higher until all I can think about is you, filling you up, marking you as mine. A few seconds later, I do.
I cum hard, deep. Did I intentionally make sure I was buried deep inside of you before painting your walls milky white? Yes. It would be a lie to say that I don’t get off on knowing you’ll be dripping with my cum for the rest of the night.
Both of us now breathing heavily, I slowly ease myself out of you and watch the mixture of us drip down your thighs.
“Hang on a sec, I’ll grab you some tissues,” I say, tucking my half-hard cock into my jeans and grabbing some of the tissues from the file cabinet next to my desk. I gently wipe my cum off of your thighs, and bring your dress back down over your ass and smooth the silk with my hands.
You turn around, and I fold you into my arms.
I could get used to this.
YOU
You’re not sure you’ve ever felt more at peace. Not only did you just experience the best fuck of your life, but now you’re nestled against his chest, surrounded by the intoxicating mix of his musk and cologne. You’ve been home for weeks, but it’s only in this moment that it truly feels like it.
You remember that line from Anna and the French Kiss—“Home isn’t a place, it’s a person.” You used to roll your eyes at that, but now, it makes sense. You get it. Completely.
His hands trace slow, soothing paths along your arms, the warmth of his touch grounding you. One hand slides up to your chin, and with a gentle press of his thumb, he tilts your face up to meet his gaze. He kisses you softly—still with that heat and passion, but this time, it’s slower, more deliberate, like he’s savoring the moment.
“Joel?”
“Yeah, Princess?”
“I don’t know what this means, but I want you to know—I don’t want this to be a one-time thing. I know I’m your best friend’s daughter, and there are a million reasons we shouldn’t do this. Telling my dad is going to be hard, but… I want this. I want you.”
He tightens his hold on you, his eyes locked on yours, reflecting every emotion you're feeling.
“I don’t know what this means either,” he says quietly, “but I know we’ll figure it out. And as for your dad… I wouldn’t worry too much about that.”
You pull back, confused. What do you mean? My dad’s going to lose it when he finds out. It’s written all over your face, but Joel, sensing your concern, smirks before continuing.
“He was at the bar tonight.”
The words hit you like a punch.
END
A/N Continued: The title of this work is based off the song Pretty Little Poison by Warren Zeiders. Thank you so much for reading!
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Summary: You got VIP tickets to go backstage with your favorite band. By your clumsy mistake your dress rips and the lead guitarist Miguel offers you one of his shirts. However, when you go to return it takes longer than expected.
MDNI 18+
Tags: Flirty Miguel, he's a lil cocky, this man has piercings for daysssss(if you catch my drift), banter, Tags for Smut: BJ, Rough sex, a wee bit of dom x sub, choking, p in v, 4.1k words
A/N: Soooo tell me why I checked yesterday and apparently I have 1k followers....LMAO Needless to say, I've only been doing this for a year now and the amount of love and support that I get from you all across all platforms never fails to amaze me. As soon as I got the anon ask about Rockstar Miguel yesterday I knew I had to write something as a celebration. So whoever asked kudos to you but thank you so so much lovelies!!
With Much Love,
Cece🥺💜
Masterlist
•°~°•
You got Ultimate VIP passes to see your favorite band ‘Red’ tonight in Vegas with your best friend. These are like the Ultimate VIP tickets you get to meet them backstage before and after the show plus a picture. You’re wearing your best dress and new lipstick, you added red highlights to your hair and bought a new pair of shoes. Granted these tickets did put a small dent in your pocket selling at $500 a pop not to mention tax but there's no doubt in your mind that it’s going to be worth it.
It seems like each week their fan base is growing. Who knows when you'll ever get this opportunity again? Next time you know it these tickets could be going for $1,000.
Thanks to your best friend calling you at the last minute to cancel, you're running out of your car with only 10 minutes to spare before the VIP check-in time. Apparently her boyfriend is in the hospital and she has no other choice but to be by his side. She definitely has a choice and it's clear to you that she's choosing the wrong one. You hope and pray that you never get into a relationship if you're just going to throw $500 down the drain.
Thankfully check in is a breeze you get your lanyard and join the line with 10 other girls and it's not long before the tour begins. You already knew that whoever got the chance to be backstage was going to push their luck and try to do whatever they could to sign an NDA but this….this is too much. Each girl is making their voice 10x higher and based on their outfits they might as well have just come in with pasties and called it a day. They have the shortest skirts and shorts on and their tops are basically non-existent.
Didn't they know that it's better to play things low-key than to go all out? In all the movies that you've seen when all the main characters act like they don't know who these famous people are, somehow they're always falling in love getting more attention, etc. Hence why your fitted dress end right above your knee, do they have to know that everything on you is new and you're wearing a matching set underneath this just in case? No—no they don't.
“And here you'll see the members practicing their before-the-show regimen” The tour guide opens the door and the screams are so loud it catches you off guard causing you to cover your ears with a groan. Inside are all 3 members performing some type of vocal warmup. Jax who is the main singer is singing Do Re Mi, Peter who is the drummer is making beats with his drumsticks on Jax’s thighs, and Miguel who is the guitarist and also a singer is playing with his rings in one hand and making random beats with his throat.
This is um….this is something.
Finally lowering your hands gives them your full undivided attention. The longer you listen you realize the sounds that they are making are more connected than not. It somehow just works. The screams quiet down once the members begin to talk and if they allowed phones you would've pulled yours out by now maybe you should've hidden it in your cleavage to secretly record.
You let out a quiet laugh as you think about how painfully obvious it would be if you hid a phone in your tits. You look up since the voices have quieted down and maybe your laugh wasn't that quiet because everyone is staring at you.
“What's so funny love?” Oh did you mention that Jax is English?
This is not the definition of low-key. “Ummm I just thought of something funny that's all. Sorry please carry on”
“No no no share with the class baby I’d love to-”
“Leave her alone Jax” Miguel chimes in forcing Jax's attention back to the conversation at hand. You try not to panic as Miguel sends a wink your way.
•°~°•
By the time the tour ends, you have to use the bathroom. It's better to use it now than during the show. After asking a staff member to help you you realize all too late that you don't remember your way back. Being backstage is like a maze; the walls and even the doors are the same, and not to mention the 20-30 people running back and forth.
You tap a lady’s shoulder in order to get her attention but she just walks off while you're speaking. “Um excuse me can you tell me the directions to the—well that was rude” Note to self don't ask anyone for directions.
You blame your best friend for this. You were never good with directions and now that you're by yourself it's even worse. You walk for what seems like forever taking a left turn and then a right and then another right and you realize that you've just walked in one big circle. You're about to turn the corner when your dress gets caught on something. You look down and realize it's a nail. You yank your dress free and continue to walk when your dress gets caught yet again.
“No no no not now” You look down and realize that it's caught on the edge of the guitar head that's sticking out of a case. Not to mention that there's a big hole in your dress now. Are you kidding me? How in the world could that have possibly happened? You tug and tug and with just your luck you trip over your own feet taking the guitar with it. The sound echoes in the halls you mentally cross your fingers hoping that no one heard that.
Pleasepleasepleaseplease
“Now what do we have here?” Oh shit. You wanted to have your main character moment but not like this. Slowly you turn to face Miguel the guitarist because of course you know the sound of his voice without having to see him.
“S-So you see what happened was-”
He cuts you off. “Uh-huh uh-huh, lemme hear it” He folds his hands across his chest as he stares down at you. The light reflects off his lip piercing dammit you really shouldn't be staring at his lips right now.
“No no my dress got stuck on the guitar I was just trying to take it off-”
“So you want me to believe that while you have your hands on my guitar you're not trying to steal it and sell it somewhere? That it just got stuck on your dress. How does a dress get stuck on a guitar anyway?”
“That's what I said! You have to believe me, where would I even put it if I was trying to steal it?” You watch as he thinks it over for a few before letting out a sigh. He holds out his hand and you know better than to think he's trying to help you up so you reach to hand him the guitar missing that the thread of your dress is still caught. You don't even have a chance to tell him when your dress begins to unravel. It happens so quickly you can't even focus on removing the thread.
The big hole is now a large slit that ends right on the edge of your hip. The edge of your underwear is now playing peekaboo. Your hands dart to cover yourself and the movement causes the dress to rip even further. You knew it was too good to be true to get this dress on the clearance rack for $5.
“D-Don't look” He covers his eyes. “I swear I'm not looking your underwear is not even red” You let out a groan yeahhhh he definitely did look. “It's not funny I'm practically half naked in front of you right now”
“I'm not complaining”
You roll your eyes. “Of course, you're not”
“Alright smarty pants let's go get you something more appropriate to wear. If I knew better I would've thought you're trying to seduce me” He holds out his hand to help you up and you make sure that one hand remains on your hip the whole time.
“I'm not trying to seduce you if I was I would've used a better tactic than falling in my ass”
………
He looks over to you, raises an eyebrow and you immediately feel your face grow hot. Now why would you say that?
“I mean not that I want to seduce you or anything 'cause that would be so weird and very uncalled for because I'm just a fan and I-” He puts a hand on your shoulder to put a stop to your rambling.
“Relax, I'm only messing with you. I have some clothes in my dressing room. One of my shirts should be able to fit you” You nod and allow him to lead you to his room you're trying not to freak out that you're talking to the lead guitarist Miguel O’Hara from your favorite group right now.
•°~°•
When you reach his room you stand there awkwardly in a corner being careful not to stare too hard or letting your eyes wander. He hands you a shirt that's definitely way too big you manage to ask for a belt and you cinch in the waist so you're not drowning in his shirt.
“You can turn around now” His eyes rake up and down your figure and he nods in approval. “The belt makes sense”
“It looks cute right?” He laughs. “Yeah it suits you, sweetheart”
You check your phone and realize there are only 30 minutes left before the show starts. You think it's best that you leave you don't want to overstay your welcome. “Well I um…thank you for this I'll return it back to you once the show is done…somehow”
“Yeah you do that it's my favorite belt”
“Should I leave it with a manager or..”
“No you can come to my dressing room I won't be in it anyways I'll give you clearance” Silence feels the air and you begin to rock on your heels. Why is this awkward?
“I'm gonna-” You point to the door and he clears his throat. “I mean you don't have to this second there's still time left before the show you can stay we can just chat and stuff”
You look at him with bewilderment. “You want to chat with me?”
“Yeah, I do you clearly aren't one of them screaming bimbos so yes I would love to chat with you. You can tell me how much you love the guitarist and how cool he is while you're at it” He smirks as he sits down leaning against the chair and begins to play with his rings.
How can you say no to this?
•°~°•
You talk with him for the remainder of time till it's 10 minutes before the show so it gives you both enough time to settle in. The show goes by in a breeze. It was so much fun singing and dancing to the songs. You really can't wait to tell your best friend all about this she's going to freak out you hope to make her feel bad that she just lost out on an opportunity of a lifetime. Throughout the show, you try not to panic as Miguel holds eye contact with you while he sings some of their more intimate lyrics and not to mention when he takes his phone to record the crowd you have a feeling he points it directly at you.
Some people may call you delusional, you just think you're optimistic.
You had fun talking with him. You realize that he's very sweet, kind, and a little bit cocky but apart from that he's a really great guy.
You down the last of your vodka before going backstage to finish the last part in the VIP package.
You stand in position for the group photo with you standing in between Jax and Miguel.
Jax leans in and whispers into your ear but loud enough for Miguel to hear. “Isn't that Miguel's shirt?” You say nothing as you face forward and pose for the picture. If you weren't completely in love with Jaxs accent you would’ve flipped him off already. Once you finish taking the group photo and it's time for them to leave Miguel waits until the rest of the girls are busy getting signatures before he gives you the signal to head to his dressing room.
Quickly you make your way there and begin to undress. You dart over to the other side of the room in just your bra and panties as you try to find your torn dress. You search and search but you can't seem to find it. Crap crap crap maybe you should've kept his shirt on and found your dress first before you decided to crawl around this man's dressing room half-naked.
You bend down finding it tucked under some of the clothes that he wore today-
When the door busts right open you let out a yelp hitting your head on the chair.
“Well well well are you sure you're not trying to seduce orrrr?”
You rub your head before sitting up on your knees. “Shut up, I was just looking for my…” Your words drift off as he walks up to you and maybe it's the height difference that's getting to you but the sight of him in all his glory sweating, and breathing heavily while you're on your knees eye level with his belt is sending your emotions in a frenzy.
You gather up the courage from deep within you before you can mutter out the next few words. “I mean—if you want I can think of a reward to give you”
A beat passes and you think you will need to smash your head with his guitar and wake up from this horrible dream just based on the look that he's giving you. Did you just imply that you'd give him a blow job as a reward?
……………………………
Yes yes, you did.
You wave your hands in dismissal. “That was a joke haha laugh so this doesn't get any more awkward” When he doesn't laugh you scramble to put on your shirt eager to get out of here before he puts a restraining order on you but a hand under your chin stops you.
“Can I trust that you'll be a good girl for me and not say anything? I don't usually give out NDA so we'll have to wait for one” You lick your lips at the thought. If by anyone he means excluding your best friend then sure you won't tell a soul.
“I swear it. Hell, I'll even give you my ID-” He cuts you off by placing a kiss on your lips. You know that the height difference between the two of you is going to make this difficult so you stand up on your knees to deepen the kiss. His hands tangle in your curls and he tilts your head back, angling it just the way he likes. You're nothing but a puppet and he's your puppeteer.
When he pulls away his lips shine with your lipgloss. Immediately you begin unbuckling his belt. You reach into his pants setting his cock that's leaking with precum free.
He's thick and pierced.
Holy shit. His cock is pierced.
My oh my you're going to enjoy this 3 piercings are going down his shaft. “If you keep staring at it won't get any bigger I swear” You roll your eyes and you stick out your tongue letting him take the lead.
He taps his cock on your tongue 3 times before stuffing it in your mouth making you gag. “Tell me, sweetheart, have you dreamed of this? Gagging on my cock like the slut you are?”
Since your ability to nod is taken away from you you hum around his cock instead sending waves of vibrations to it as his hips move steadily back and forth.
“This was your plan all along huh? All you had to do was be yourself and now you have your favorite artist's cock in your mouth imagine that”
His pace picks up and you have to steady yourself against his thighs with your hands. Drool is sliding down your chin and your eyes begin to shine with tears. He lets out a moan as you hollow your cheeks taking every last inch of him. “Fuck—I need you to touch yourself pretty. I want you moaning on my cock” You slide your hands into your underwear creating fast circles on your clit. It’s not long before he’s cumming down your throat. You leave his cock with a ‘pop’ showing him your mouth letting him know that you swallowed every drop. He pulls you up to stand taking the fingers that are coated with your juices to his mouth. You let out a whimper as he sucks on them. You will be saving this image in your head for many years to come.
Miguel walks you backward till your thighs hit his vanity. “Tell me, baby, what do you want, my mouth or my cock?”
“Is that a trick question?” You're breathless practically panting like a dog waiting for a special treat. A little pathetic? Sure. But who cares you're going to use this VIP pass to its fullest potential.
He uses his index finger to trace the swells of your breast and you can’t help as you stare down at his big hand full of rings. Dammit, how can an accessory so simple be so hot on a man? “Nope not at all”
“P-Please Miguel” He quirks his eyebrow at you clearly enjoying your begging. “Please what? Tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you. Is it my cock hmmm?” He pauses, taking the head of his cock and tapping it on your clothed cunt. “Or is it my mouth dime mi princesa por favor” You let out a groan as you hear him speaking in his native tongue whenever he speaks Spanish it does something to you. Maybe you could ask him to record a ringtone for you when this is over. You’re about to answer when he bends down and places a kiss where you need him the most.
(Dime mi princesa por favor= Tell me, my princess, please)
“S-stop playing just put it in, please” He wastes no time looking for a condom, putting it on, and pulling your panties to the side. He spreads your legs further apart and he takes the time to admire you as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear while slowly sliding in. Filling you up inch by inch.
Unable to help it, you let out a whimper. “Dammit you're too-”
“Shhh deep breaths for me. You can take it, you hear me?” You nod at his words of reassurance but you're not so sure. Your back arches into him so your chests are now touching. He begins to kiss your neck while rubbing your clit.
“Fuckkk—that's it look at you taking all of me I told you you got this” He stops till he's bottoming out somehow he looks thick but feels even thicker and you weren’t even sure that was possible but it is with him. You wrap your arms around his neck pulling him closer. He takes his time with the first few strokes but then he speeds it up when you've fully adjusted. The sound of the vanity hitting the wall echoes throughout the room.
He leans in to kiss you using his free hand to unclasp your bra. “Look at these perfect tits it's missing a piercing though” He ducks his head taking one breast in his mouth while he uses his index and thumb to play with the other. The cold feeling of his lip piercing against your nipple and his rings against your chest makes you squirm.
“Don't—don’t you think it's a little unfair that you're still clothed?” You run your fingers through his hair to get his attention and he spends a few more seconds with your chest before he stands up to his full height taking his shirt off in one go.
“Hmmm, you’re right sorry baby” Geez Louise even him saying sorry is turning you on. He places his hands on your hips to resume his pace and you notice that one of his nipples is pierced too. Is there any part of him that does have a metal bar going through it?
Actually don't answer that question.
Black ink runs all throughout his chest and upper arms. He has too many tattoos to count. Damn, he’s so fine. It’s safe to say that you’ll never forget this moment.
It’s getting harder and harder to conceal your moans and based on the sounds he’s making it’s getting harder for him too. He wraps his hand around your throat and you feel your walls clenching around him. The movement of his hips halt and he’s resting his forehead on yours.
“F-Fuck you can't do that pretty I'm trying to make this last. Being gentle with a pussy like yours is hard fuck me it's been a while.” You laugh before you do it again and he bites down on your neck in retaliation.
“Who knows when I'll see you again don't be gentle with me Miguel”
A beat passes before he speaks again. “Safe word?”
“Red”
It's like your words flip a switch with him because he's suddenly pressing your face against the desk. He slaps your ass before sliding in and if you thought his past pace was fast then boy you were wrong. He pulls your hands back using them as handles as he begins to fuck you from behind.
“Mi Princesa likes it rough huh?” You're about to nod but somehow you know he wouldn't like that. But when you go to answer you're not quite fast enough. “I asked you a fucking question”
“Y-Yes”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes Miguel”
When there's a knock on the door you expect him to pause but he doesn't.
“Miguel you in there? We're going out for drinks, you better be outside in 10” It's Jax's voice, and once again the realization of the man that you're having sex with dawns on you.
There's a hand on the back of your neck and you're pulled against his chest.
“Let him hear you” You stare back at him through the mirror with wide eyes.
“No, I-”
“You telling me no?” The hand around your neck tightens and he slaps one of your breasts.
“Say sorry” You swear if you weren’t trying to make this moment last long yourself you could’ve cum right then and there.
“Sorry Miguel”
“That’s it you look so pretty when you listen” He turns your head to face the mirror.
“And yes you will let him hear you I won't let you cum if you don't” The hand on the back of your neck slides to the front, and his left hand goes to your clit. With the force of his thrusts and the friction of his fingers, you don't even manage to count to 15 when your orgasm rocks through your body. Your thighs tremble and you let out a loud moan as requested.
“Mmhm that's it milk this cock baby” The movements of his hips stop as his own orgasm takes over. Dammit, you really wish you could savor his moans. You love a man who's not quiet during sex.
You both stay like that until your breathing has settled. You try to ignore the snickers that you hear behind the door and Miguel yells at them to ‘fuck off’.
“You okay?” He slides out and you both sigh at the feeling. You turn around and he places a kiss on your lips.
“Never better” He helps you off the desk helping you put on your bra and out of the corner of your eyes you see him stuff your panties into his pockets.
His face slowly turns red and you can't help but laugh. “It's not fair that you're the only one who gets to take a souvenir” He points to his shirt and belt that you're currently putting on. “Fine at least give me some shorts then”
He tosses you something that he already had in his hand. “One step ahead of you”
When you're both properly clothed he pulls you in by the waist. “You just gave me the best VIP experience. Thank you very much I got my money's worth” He snorts and you pat his face affectionately. You never slept with a rockstar before so you're not sure what to do next.
“More like a VIP package. Come to the show tomorrow night and I'll do it again”
•°~°•
P.S: I wrote this in a matter of hours help me🧎🏾♀️😢
Summary: You try to be a good friend for Jonathan as he deals with the separation, lending him an ear when he needs to talk. The two of you have had a few drinks when he starts telling you some of the things Mira said to him before leaving. You want to prove them wrong.
Pairing: Jonathan Levy x AFAB!Reader
(I tried to make the character very blank canvas so anyone could enjoy. Please let me know if I missed anything so I can improve!)
Word Count: ~7k
Rating/Warnings: SMUT (PinV, fingering and oral (f receiving,) unprotected (pull out method,)) questionable consent due to alcohol consumption. Alcohol consumption being it’s own warning. Spoilers for ep 2 of Scenes From a Marriage. Canon compliant talk of marriage separation, cheating, abortion. A brief vertigo-esque moment brought on from heights.
You watched Jonathan as he topped up your glass of wine. His cheeks were rosy from the alcohol and you were sure yours weren’t any better off. It was his first weekend in the house alone since Mira had left for Tel Aviv. He’d told you the broad strokes of the story - she left him for another man practically overnight, had her “new life” all planned out with no room for conversation. You didn’t pry past what he was willing to tell you. Your heart broke for the man you considered a close friend, not simply a coworker, his world turning upside down all at once.
Ava was spending the weekend with her mother at the hotel room she had booked. Coming back every second weekend from the other side of the world seemed crazy to you. You could understand a mother doing anything for her children, including an 11 hour flight, but wouldn’t it have been easier to stay in the country in the first place? You didn’t understand, but you offered Jonathan your support the best you can.
He had called you shortly after Ava left for the night, asking if you wanted to come over for a drink. You weren’t surprised. You were sure that he was going crazy in the house alone, left with the shattered pieces of his family. Everything was new enough that signs of Mira were all over the house. Her preferred coffee creamer still in the fridge, her toiletries still in the shower - you couldn’t help but think how cruel it was that she had just left Jonathan to deal with the fall out.
“The house is just… it’s so quiet.” He mumbled, taking a sip of his white wine. You followed suit, sipping from your refilled glass - how many had you had already? You’d lost count - as you gave him the space to talk. To vent.
The Putz and The Perv [professor!Jonathan Levy x Fem!Reader]
Summary: Showing off your anatomy in the anatomy lecture hall.
Word Count: 8.2k
Rating: Explicit 18+
Warnings: Exhibitionism, age gap, infidelity, drinking warm Jack Daniels like a true college gurl, taking the Lord’s name in vain, 1[one] singular use of the word “cunt”, whoops now there are two cunts. Okay now there’s three. Penis in hand, penis in mouth, penis in love?? Your immersive experience may be hindered if you speak yiddish and or have a cashew allergy.
Authors Note: Heh, anatomy, get it? I think I’m clever. Validate me and I’ll love you forever. Also don’t you ever, don’t you dare, don’t you even wish to dream to think to send me requests for shit. Because this is what happens. This is from the Scenes From A Marriage universe, but can be read as a standalone thot piece.
You’re a pervert. You’re fucking disgusting. You tell yourself that it’s harmless, this thing you’re doing, but really, the only people who would agree with you on that are other perverts.
You should have dropped this class weeks ago. It doesn’t even line up with your major anymore. You’re still undecided- flitting around the disciplines, last semester it was Art History, this semester it’s Psychology. So you took a somewhat safe bet with Anatomy, thinking it’d be a nice, neutral choice while you figure out what it is that you really want to do. This shit isn’t safe, or nice, or fucking neutral. It’s nuclear, and you’re making it worse every fucking class period. Look, anyone can teach you anatomy. There isn’t a specific skill to the memorization of the origins and insertions of each muscle. You just have to sit down and memorize them. Any teacher would do. And, fuck, it is just so inappropriate of you to be doing what you’re doing. You should leave the poor man alone.
But, god, why- why is he so sexy? Without trying to be? How powerful is his magnetism that his outfit of loose corduroy trousers and Costco Dad sneakers does nothing to mitigate your attraction? It’s objectively fucking horrible. But there’s something hot about it too, like, the fact that he doesn’t care how fucking hot he is. Or, more like, he’s treating his hotness with great responsibility. Not flaunting it or accentuating it with tailored looks, but putting on the first outfit he grabbed at a goodwill in an attempt to bring gravitas to the thing that he’s teaching. He’s going to have to find much baggier clothes for that to work on you. Like a monk’s robe, maybe. No, no, not a monk’s robe. Now that’s opening up a whole new can of worms, of vows of celibacy, forbidden attraction, and, yeah let’s not go there-
Also, yes, okay, you see the ring. Of course you see the ring, you fucking pervert. Because of fucking course he’s married. He’s married and probably very happy and fulfilled. In any case, he definitely doesn’t need you sitting in the front row of his lecture hall with your short skirt, flashing him your lack of panties. Pervert.
ׄ ׅ ྀ 𝓢𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. you have been having issues, with your car engine and kitchen sink. funny and strangely enough, your mysterious neighbor offers to fix your troubles.
ׄ ׅ ྀ 𝓒𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓. fluff, goofiness, tension, swearing, references to past relationships, terrible knowledge of military shenanigans
are you weird for watching your neighbor when he comes and leaves his apartment?
yes, undoubtedly but you can’t help it.
a random ass dude suddenly appears from nowhere, MIA for 5 months then apparently is your neighbor.
some days he leaves at the same time as you leave for your work. using the elevator together, standing in awkward silence like the first time. walking together, most of the time you in front and him behind you since he always lets you exit the elevator first. a gentleman, a trait you like and appreciate. you get into your car and him on his bike.
the only difference is coming home at different times. however, one time you were returning home when you caught him leaving. it was surprise to see him but you mind your business.
it was mostly the mornings you see him the most.
as you’re locking the door, you feel a light tap on your shoulder which makes you jump a little, which doesn’t go unnoticed by your neighbor.
“your mail was in mine, coincidentally.” he holds up two envelopes, your name clearly printed on both.
“oh…” you gingerly take them from him. “thanks.” you shove them in your purse, too lazy to unlock the door just to toss them inside.
like most mornings, you take the elevator together. occupying each side of the small, squared space. a reasonable distance between you two.
“your dog is cute.”
his compliment caught you off guard a little. it’s a compliment you often receive but from him, your mysterious intimidating neighbor, is a shocker.
“thank you, her name’s luna.”
the man hums, a sign that indicates leaving the conversation at that. however, much to your surprise, he asks another question.
“how long?”
how long have you had her? is what you assume.
“5 years.” you answer.
silence returns, just like always.
you exit the elevator, your neighbor letting you go first then him after like previous times. parting ways to your respective vehicles and drive off.
the fact he initiated a conversation left you baffled. interested in your dog, complimenting on her adorableness. well, she is a tiny white fluff ball.
as you turn on the ignition, the engine doesn’t start.
oh fuck.
no no no, this cannot be happening.
after multiple attempts, the engine still refuses to start. well that’s just fucking fantastic, now you’re gonna be late for work. oh jameson is gonna kill you.
“chingado!” you shout angrily, slamming the steering wheel. thankfully no one else is there besides your neighbor who’s across the parking lot.
perhaps you didn’t think you were that loud because as you look up from the steering wheel, you see your neighbor staring back at you with a questionable look. oh great, he probably thinks you’re crazy.
you brush it off, shaking your head in frustration. burning your face in your hands, resting on the steering wheel. a whine escapes your lips.
why the fuck does this have to happen? especially when you’re leaving for work.
might as well get a fucking uber. or call eddie and ask if he could pick you up. you like the second idea better, getting into a stranger’s car and drive to where you work does not sound appealling.
those thoughts vanish when you hear tapping on the window, making you jump. you look up and see your neighbor standing beside the driver door. his muscular, tall figure startles you a little.
with a sigh, you roll down your window, flashing him a sheepish smile. “sorry you heard that.”
he dismissed your apology. “dead engine?”
you glance away, concealing the embarrassment written over your face. “yeah…”
“need help?”
“no, it’s fine. i’ll just call my friend if he can pick me up, i don’t wanna bother you.”
“you’re not. open the hood for me.”
you look back at him with a surprised look. “but i—“
he walks away and stands in front of your car. arms crossed over his chest, waiting for you to open the hood like he requested.
you decide to not argue and waste both your time and pop open the hood. you exit your car and join him. he’s already investigating the problem. one arm holding up the hood, even though it can hold by itself but you don’t correct him. while investigating the engine, you can’t help but ogle at his biceps. how the muscle flexes as he maneuvers.
damn they look so thick, hugged tightly by the sleeve of his black plain shirt. the cotton material looks so thin it could rip due to his bulging bicep.
shit- stop staring and focus.
not even 5 minutes, he got the engine working.
how the fuck-
“you’re fine now.” he closes the hood.
“thanks. i got like $20 to—“
“don’t.” he cuts you off. “don’t worry about it.”
your brows furrowed. “you sure? it’s at least to pay you back for helping me.”
the man shakes his head. “i said don’t worry, chica.”
well, you don’t like arguing and you can’t waste any more time so might as well leave it at that.
“alright, thanks again.”
he gives you a nod then walks away. you get back into your car with a turned-on engine this time. looking ahead, you see your neighbor getting on his bike. your eyes follow his silhouette exit the parking garage until he was out of your sight.
an interesting way to start your morning.
⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂃 ୨ ₊ 𓂃 ౨ৎ 𓂃 ₊ ୧ 𓂃
one day your sink decided to not work. oh that’s just great. worse part is you don’t have any plumbing skills. you take the blame for not asking your dad to teach you. a frustrated sigh escapes your lips. you don’t wanna spend money on hiring a plumber since you’ve been keeping an eye on your finances. you remember your neighbor charlie has some plumbing skills. one time he fixed mrs harrington’s plumbing issues in the bathroom. but then you remember he’s gone on vacation for a month.
who else could you ask?
prior to moving to new york, when you thought you were living the dream, he would fix your plumbing issues. sometimes fix it before you’d even get the chance to ask him. that son of a bitch.
but now you don’t have him anymore, thankfully. you’d take anyone else but him.
but who else, though?
your next door neighbor.
should you ask him? you don’t wanna bother him, asking him a simple task you could do if only you learned. the silent, intimidating demeanor makes him seem like someone who doesn’t like being distributed, to be left alone.
he did help and fix your engine the other day. you’re still impressed by his skills. managed to fix it under 5 minutes without a problem.
with a sigh, you leave to go ask him.
standing in front of his door, heart pumping more than usual. hands fiddling with each other as a sigh of nervousness. what if he’s not home? how embarrassing you’d feel standing in front of his apartment expecting him to appear when he could be someplace else. there’s only one way to find out.
sallowing down the negative thoughts, you raise a hesitant fist and leave a gentle knock of the door. you take a step back, anticipating his presence.
your heart rate picks up when the door opens. cranking your neck all the up, forgetting how freakishly tall he is, you meet his gaze.
messy hair, a few strands dangling over his forehead. a plain white t-shirt that snugs up his muscular frame to perfection and a pair of gray sweats.
“uh sorry to bother you. i didn’t have anyone else to ask. i uh- my sink isn’t working and i was wondering if maybe you could fix it? if you know how to.”
god you feel so fucking embarrassed. you sound like a damn idiot. all you want is to facepalm yourself, run back into your apartment and hide.
“y’know what, never mind. sorry for bothering—“ you turn to leave but his voice stops you.
“i’ll fix it.”
“are you sure? if you’re busy, i don’t wanna add more to your plate.”
“yes, it’s fine.” he said sincerely.
next thing you know it, your neighbor is kneeling next to the sink fixing it. his small tool box beside him. you didn’t know what to do. stand there observing like a creep. go sit and wait on the couch with luna. watch tv or read book. you decide to stand awkwardly in front of your small bookshelf, holding luna in your arms as you pretend searching for a book to read. but really you keep sneaking glances at him.
the flexing of his biceps as he maneuvers. the white cotton snuggling the muscle so perfectly. the outline of those broad shoulders. the shirt looks so tight, you can makeout each curve of his back muscles. god damn this dude is a greek sculpture.
not to mention you love men being totally handymen. watching them maneuver around is just so attractive. blue collar men is definitely one of your types.
oh my god- stop drooling, especially over him. he’s your neighbor goddamnit.
you were too busy focused on those dumbass thoughts to hear him saying he finished. it wasn’t until you notice a tall, large presence next to you. a quiet gasp left your lips as you turn to see your neighbor beside you, confusion written all over his face at your spooked reaction.
“you okay?” a hint of concern in his tone.
“uh yeah, just spaced out for a sec.” a bullshit excuse but you ain’t telling him the truth. how embarrassing and awkward that would be.
he gives you a skeptical look, like he knows you’re lying but he lets it go. “your sink works now.”
walking back in the kitchen, miguel explains what the problem was and demonstrates it. yeah, you should’ve let your dad taught you.
“thanks for fixing it. sorry for bugging you again.”
miguel shrugs. “it’s fine.”
“i can still give you that $20.”
“i already told you, you don’t need to worry.”
“but this is the second time you fixed my shit, i have give something in return.”
“en serio, chica, don’t worry about it.” his tone was serious yet gentle, arms folded over his chest.
now you feel bad. this man fixed your engine and your sink. you have to pay him or at least give something in return for his service, it’s the right thing to do. how the hell can he say no?
“can i least offer you water?”
your offer stunned him a little, it’s obvious by his face. when mechanics or maintenance come, you offer them water as a kind gesture and appreciation for their work hard. they thank you with a kind smile.
he was quiet for a moment, still a bit baffled until he finally spoke. “i… don’t mind one.”
you quickly snatch a water bottle from the fridge and hand it to him which he accepts. you didn’t even ask if he preferred cold or room temperature but miguel said cold was fine, either would be fine for him.
while sipping on the sweet tea you made for yourself, you notice dog tags adorned around his thick neck. the shimmering silver contrasting the white color of his shirt. oh shit, he is in the military.
“military?” you gesture at the dog tags.
“mhm.” the man hums. “9 years.”
eddie was right, the son of a bitch.
your eyebrows raise slightly, visibly impressed. “cool.” such an awkward compliment, makes you want to facepalm yourself. “which branch?”
“special forces.”
oh that you weren’t expecting. you may lack knowledge in military stuff but you know that is serious shit. honestly, you’re more impressed.
“you just got back, huh?”
the nod he gives you confirms his absence for the past five months. now those assumptions finally wash away. you don’t have to worry about having a potential creepy next door neighbor. instead a man from the military, sounds better.
you don’t question further. considering he’s in special forces, it’s probably top secret shit.
“well, at least i now know someone lives in that apartment.” you joke nonchalantly.
“could say the same thing about you.”
well, he isn’t wrong. he has lived here longer than you and you’ve only been here for five months. technically, you are the surprise neighbor. now you two have to share a wall together.
“yeah, for five months.” you tell him. “you?”
“three years.”
damn, you’re really the newbie here.
you watch his eyes glance upward at your microwave, reading the time. “i uh… i’ll let myself out.” without leaving you a chance to speak, he turns and starts walking towards the front door.
you quickly follow him. “wait- are you sure you don’t want the $20? i gotta pay you somehow.”
“ay por dios, sí mujer. you really like to argue, don’t you? the water is enough, thank you.”
a small pout rests on your lips. you beg differ, feeling a bit guilty for not paying this man properly for his efforts. twice, as a reminder.
you let out a sigh, standing by the door holding it with a hand. “well, thank you again.”
miguel turns to you with nod. “if it happens again or something else breaks, just come to me.”
oh, he’s offering? well, charlie won’t be back for a while and you can’t call your dad to drive 40 miles just to fix a damn sink. your neighbor would be a fine choice, right next door and accessible.
“i… i appreciate that, thanks.”
he gives you one final nod before walking away, heading back to his apartment next door.
you learned a new thing today.
your neighbor is in the military.
now you’re dreading the moment eddie will say “told you so” after telling him about this news.
𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. stepping into your early twenties you move to live on your own. A couple months later you're surprised when family man Miguel O'Hara moves next door. How do you manage to get this sex symbol into your sheets?
wc . 7,625
tags . miguel o hara x reader.miguel o hara x reader smut. all characters are 18+ years old. alternative au. non spiderman au. family man Miguel. dad Miguel. husband Miguel. swearing, cunnilingus, praise kink, blowjobs, phone sex, masturbation, shower sex, squirting. age gap. 18+ mdni!
You remember it clear as day. June 21st when they moved in. You’d just come back from practice and you were about to head downstairs to check for any mail when you saw it go down. The moving van pulled onto the street, tailed by a red family-sized car. Curiously you peer out of your bedroom window. Out stepped a tan middle-aged woman in a floral sun dress and a woven hat. A girl with her hair in pigtails and a lollipop in her sticky little hands. Then came him.
Him in all his beautiful glory. Him in his staggering height and muscular frame. His hair dark, curly, unruly falls against his well-defined cheekbones and, further highlighting his strong jawline. Just his appearance alone has put you in a trance, you’re glued to your window and you daren’t leave until he disappears from your sight. Even the way in which he moves speaks volumes about the silent authority that he carries.
July 1st
Temperatures rise gradually, and clothes get skimpier, at least yours do. But it’s all part of your plan. With a couple of failed attempts at making cookies, you’d finally nailed it, once your friend did it for you. You arrange them neatly on a plate, trying to ignore the little voice in your head that questions your motives. But you’ve already decided, and there is no turning back now. You let yourself in by opening his front gate, before closing it behind you, walking down the grassy lawn and in front of his door. The soft click of it closing behind you sounds like a finality as if crossing an invisible line.
You can feel your heart in your mouth. Tempering with a family man, you were up to no good, but you can’t help that you wanna have a little fun and see what you can do. A couple knocks on their door and you don’t wait long before the door opens, revealing the little girl and woman previously.
Fuck. Not who you wanted to see.
“Hi.” you greet cheerfully, hiding your disappointment behind a friendly facade. “I’ve noticed you guys have moved in next door, I’m Y/N and I wanted to give you these cookies as a welcome gift.” The woman smiles a warm smile in gratefulness and her child seems to be eagerly staring the plate of goodies down.
“Thank you so much, I really appreciate this, It’s so nice to see a friendly face out here.” she chuckles, pulling her child’s head close to her and stroking her dark hair.
You nod, your smile widening as you make small talk, though your mind is still on him. “It’s hard to get these guys to open up, takes a while, but I didn’t want y’all to have a bad impression of the area and I'm sure you’ll all love it here. Especially you.” you say, pointing to the child, who shyly turns away from you.
“Gabriel saluda a la simpática dama.” her mother gently prompts her and the little girl mutters a quiet welcome. For a brief moment, guilt twists in your stomach. This woman, her child—they’re kind and welcoming, and they see you as nothing more than a friendly neighbour. But the guilt is fleeting, replaced by a sense of determination. He’s set, devoted, maybe—but how devoted?
“She’s so precious.” you coo.
Sure, part of you feels bad, the man has a wife and a kid. He’s set and devoted, but you want to test the waters and see how devoted he is. So when they invite you to a barbeque night for the 4th, you seize your chance. Because while part of you knows this might be wrong, another part of you is already imagining what might happen if he looks at you just a little too long, if his smile lingers just a little too much.
The game has begun, and you’re ready to see just how far you can push it.
4th July.
The day tumbles into night dragging along its excitement and heat of the sun-soaked hours before into the darkening, night. Dense smoke from the barbecue rises slowly, curling and rolling into the night sky, wrapping itself around the gathering like a veil. It’s almost as if a hazy filter has been cast over the whole series of event, from the moment you step foot into their garden to the moment he offers you a drink. You can feel it—this strange, heady mix of anticipation and tension His significantly larger hand over the cool glass bottle, mimicking your cold sweat.
You take the drink from him, swinging it to your lips, feeling some of it trickle past your mouth and down your chin. A practised thumb swipes over it as your eyes reunite with his. “Thanks for introducing yourself to my wife. ” he thanks you, breaking the silence between the both of you- finally. “She really appreciates it and she’s glad you pointed out places for our Gabriel to play.” he finishes, eyes pulling away from the distance and back down to you.
“It’s nothing, don’t think anything of it.” now it’s your turn to look off into the distance, soaking in the scenery of others gathered near the table of roasted food. Their laughter mingling with the music that drifts from the speakers filling up the night. You’re unsure of when, but there is an eager flame dancing in a corner, adding a subconscious thrill to this gathering. The couple seem to have invited friends and family members and you start to feel a little out of place, like a fish out of water.
“Didn’t catch you name by the way?” he asks, widening his current stance, flexible in the subconscious hierarchy.
“Y/N, Y/N L/N.”
“Well, Y/N, you’re always welcome here, drop by if you need anything, we’d love seeing your face around.” perhaps it’s pure delusion or mere obsession with fantasy, but the tonality of his voice is hinting towards something. Towards something deeper and secretive than what the world has to know. Before you can thank him for his kind gesture, you’re interrupted by Gabriel running towards her father screaming “Daddy!”, and hugging his leg fondly.
Of course. You remember your place in this scenario. You’re simply their neighbour, nothing more, nothing less. You see it in his eyes as he bends down to pick up his daughter, his expression softening as he sways with her in his arms. He apologises to you, saying he has to leave for a moment. And you're alone again, placing the bottle to your lips once more.
And your heart shifts uncomfortably when the couple stands together to make an announcement, his arm wrapped around her waist comfortably,of course. As if she belongs there, and she does. You see where you stand in this.
10th July
You like to keep yourself busy when you aren’t drowned in school work, practising or doing your
part-time job and you accomplish that by journeys to the club with your friend, never intending to stay long or do anything of an impact, so this night when a new fellow accompanies you back home, you’re left with the tough decision of rejecting his advances.
“I’ve got a busy day tomorrow. “ you explain, leaning against your car, not entertaining his attempts.
“Well I can be quick baby, in and out.” he pleads, his voice slurring slightly as he leans closer, his hand resting on the hood of your car. The stench of alcohol clings to him, and you can tell by the way he’s using your car as a crutch that he’s far too intoxicated to be thinking straight. You sigh inwardly, already knowing this is going nowhere.
“I don’t like sloppy hurried work, I’d want for you to take care with me.” You explain, glancing at your nails bored, waiting for him to tire himself out and head home, so you can head to bed.
“I won’t be sloppy baby, promiseee.” he whines, his voice taking on a childlike quality that makes your skin crawl. The desperation in his tone only solidifies your resolve. This is exactly why you’re drawn to older men—men who know what they want and don’t need to beg or plead for attention. Men like him.
Almost as if on cue, out walks the man, his hair failing in front of his fair, this time much more unkept and messier than usual. Curious eyes observe his frame hidden under the loose-fitting shirt he’s wearing. The sound of the guy next to you complaining and begging again perks his attention and when he lifts his head to peak at the commotion he makes eye contact with you. There’s a certain satisfaction in knowing that he’s seen you, that he’s aware of your presence even in this awkward situation. your focus is elsewhere now, on the man who just drove away, leaving you with a lingering sense of longing. The night suddenly feels colder, and emptier, as you watch his taillights disappear into the distance.
23rd July
Blue skies overhead and the sun pressing down on you heavily, aggressively biting into your skin. The sun beats down relentlessly, turning your skin warm to the touch and making the air shimmer with heat. Your friends and you have hosted a pool party, to cool off and catch up. So you’re wearing your strappy swimsuit when you realise that your hose won’t turn or budge. You try with all your might but to no avail. No matter how much you twist and pull, the stubborn thing won’t budge. You put your full weight into it, your muscles straining as you give it another try, but it’s no use. The hose refuses to cooperate. Only one thing left to do.
You find yourself in front of your neighbours’ door, this time in a two piece piece swimsuit, that seems to hug you in all the right places, and the colour makes your features pop even more. You spend a couple of quick seconds adjusting the fabric only your body as finalising touches and fixing your hair, before lightly knocking on the door. It doesn’t take long before the door swings open wide, revealing a shirtless Miguel.
Bingo.
His broad chest glistens slightly with a sheen of sweat, and for a moment, you lose your train of thought. You flash a charming smile, “Hey, I’m sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you could help with my hose?” you ask, your voice sweet and innocent, leaving the question hanging in the air. You can see the moment he registers your outfit, his eyes widening slightly before they travel slowly over your body, taking in every detail. It takes him a few seconds to pull his gaze back up to your eyes, and when he does, he leans casually against the doorframe, trying to play it cool.
“What hose?” he asks, his voice a little rougher than usual.
“The hose in my backyard,” you explain, your tone light. “I need it to fill up my pool.”
“Your pool huh?” his eyes keep drifting all over, he’s clearly distracted and your plan is set in motion.
“Yeah,” you continue, feigning a bit of helplessness. “I’m having a pool party with my friends, but I can’t seem to get the hose to turn on.” You pout slightly, batting your lashes at him, hoping to nudge him into coming over, even if it’s just for a few minutes.
“I can help you turn it on.”
“Great!” you exclaim, clapping your hands together, a smile on your face. You lead him to your back garden and the short journey there is filled with silence. He makes his way over the knob of the hose, effortlessly twisting it successfully, however, no water comes out.
“Oh no. Is the water broken?” you ask, lightly shaking the hose in hopes of getting a trickle of water to emerge.
“It probably needs a minute.” he explains, staring at the green hose in your hands in anticipation. The two of you wait the minute, patiently waiting for any spurts of water, but nothing.
“I guess, my water system’s broke. I’ll just call the-”
“I can help you. It’ll only take a minute, it may just be a connection issue, no need to ring them up.”
“Really? Thank you.” you gasp, ecstatic. You exaggerate your relief, letting it show in your eyes, hoping to make yourself seem more appealing, more in need of his help. Now, he’s in your territory, your domain, and you’re determined to make the most of it.
He nods and asks you to lead him to your kitchen sink. He crouches down on the ground and opens the cupboards, hands going into the darkness searching for something.
“Can I get you a drink or something?” you ask him casually, but he refuses, saying he’ll be in and out. To your disappointment. But even as he works, you can’t help but notice the little things—the way his brow furrows in concentration, the way his fingers move with precision as he checks the pipes.
Minutes pass, and though you try to make small talk, he remains focused, determined to fix the problem. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he emerges from beneath the sink, wiping his hands on a rag.
“There, that should do it,” he says, standing up and giving you a satisfied grin.
You walk back outside with him, feeling a little defeated, but as he tests the hose one more time, water suddenly gushes out, splashing onto the ground with a force that catches you off guard. You can’t help but laugh in surprise, the sound is bright and genuine.
“Well, I guess I owe you one,” you say, turning to him with a playful smile.
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it. Just doing my job as a good neighbor.”
But there’s something in the way he says it, in the lingering look he gives you, that makes you think this might not be the last time you find yourself needing his help.
2nd August
The days stretch on, each one hotter than the last, as the relentless sun beats down from a sky that’s perpetually clear, leaving the air thick with humidity. The heat has sapped the energy out of most people, turning every movement into an effort and leaving them sluggish, sticky, and desperate for relief. Miguel, too, feels the weight of the summer pressing down on him, the heat wrapping around him like a heavy blanket as he decides to spend his afternoon lounging on the chair in front of his house.
He’s settled in with a cold beer, the bottle sweating in his grip as he takes a long, slow sip, savouring the coolness against his lips. The golden sunlight bathes his skin, and for a moment, he lets himself relax, trying to enjoy the simple pleasure of the day. He’s asked his family to give him some space, just an hour or so to himself, away from the noise and the demands of the household. But even as he reclines back, sunglasses shielding his eyes from the harsh glare of the sun, he can’t seem to shake the feeling of restlessness that’s creeping in.
The heat is relentless, and the boredom is worse. The occasional car zips by, blasting music that fades as quickly as it comes, leaving him alone with the sound of his own thoughts and the distant hum of cicadas. Irritated, Miguel lifts his sunglasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose as if that might alleviate the discomfort. The overstimulation of the day—the brightness, the heat, the monotonous sounds—is getting to him, and he’s on the verge of retreating inside when something catches his eye.
His gaze drifts across the yard, past the sidewalk, and up to the window of the house next door—your window. His breath hitches slightly as he sees you there, your bedroom window wide open, allowing the summer breeze to flow in and caress your skin. You’re standing in the middle of the room, bathed in the golden light of the late afternoon, and you’re slowly, deliberately, peeling off your clothes. One item at a time.
Miguel’s grip on the beer bottle tightens as he watches, his heart beating a little faster. You’re completely unaware of his gaze, lost in your own world as you remove each piece of clothing with a languid, almost sensual grace. Your movements are slow, unhurried as if you’re savouring the act of shedding the layers, of freeing yourself from the constriction of fabric. Each piece falls to the floor in a soft heap, and with every discarded item, more of your skin is revealed, glowing in the warm light.
He’s hooked, his eyes fixed on you, unable to look away. There’s something hypnotic about the way you move, the way you seem to bask in the sunlight pouring through your window, your eyes closed in what looks like pure bliss. It’s as if you’re performing a private dance, one meant only for yourself, and yet here he is, captivated by every second of it. The way you twirl in front of the mirror, the sunlight catching on the curves of your body, makes his pulse quicken. He watches, entranced, as you take a moment to admire your reflection, your fingers trailing over your own skin, before you disappear from view, leaving him breathless.
For a moment, Miguel just sits there, his body tense, his mind racing. The image of you, so free, so unguarded, is burned into his memory, and he knows it’s something he’ll replay over and over again in his mind. He tries to shake it off, to convince himself that it was nothing, just a fleeting moment—but the truth is, he’s in awe. He can’t believe what he just saw, and yet he can’t let it go.
He refuses to lay back down, to pretend as if nothing happened. His heart is still pounding, his skin tingling with the remnants of the sun’s heat and something else, something far more dangerous. He sits up, wide-eyed, replaying the scene in his mind, letting it linger. There’s no escaping it now. The image of you bathed in sunlight, every movement deliberate and intoxicating, will haunt him. It’s a secret he’ll keep, a memory he’ll revisit again and again, long after the sun has set and the heat of the day has finally faded.
5th August
Adulting means spending heaps of money on things which you’d rather not, like new appliances. You start to wonder where the money goes after, and why so much of it goes too. Today is one of those days. After making a painful dent in your bank account on a new appliance, you finally pull into your driveway, the stifling heat inside your car practically cooking you alive. The summer sun has turned your vehicle into an oven, and as you open the door, a wave of heat rolls out, making the sweltering air outside almost feel cool in comparison.
With a sigh, you climb out, your body already slick with sweat. You circle to the passenger side, pulling open the door to retrieve the heavy cardboard box that holds your new purchase. The weight of it nearly sends you toppling over, and you grimace as you try to get a better grip. The box is bulky and awkward, the edges digging into your arms as you begin the slow, torturous journey to your front door.
Every step feels like a challenge as the heat presses down on you, sweat trickling down your back. You’re already dreading the short walk, and as you glance at the distance between your car and your front door, you can feel the sweat start to gather at your hairline, your muscles straining under the weight. With another heave, you start to shuffle forward, side-stepping to keep the box balanced, your arms already burning from the effort.
Just when you think you might have to drop the box and rest, a familiar gruff voice cuts through the oppressive heat.
“Need some help with that?”
You look up to see Miguel, your neighbour, stepping out of his car. His timing is impeccable as if he appeared just when you were about to collapse under the weight of the box.
“I saw you coming out and thought you might need a little help,” he says, his tone casual, but there's a hint of concern in his eyes as he takes in your struggle.
You can’t help but tease him a little, despite the sweat dripping down your face. “Why? Don’t you think I can do it on my own?”
He doesn’t seem to catch the playful tone in your voice, instead taking your words at face value. “No, it’s just that you’re bent over double and practically becoming best friends with the ground with how far down you’re crouching.”
“Ouch,” you reply with a mock wince.
“Sorry,” he says, though there’s a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
You chuckle, shaking your head. “I mean, if you don’t mind, I would appreciate the help.”
Without another word, Miguel steps forward and effortlessly lifts the box from your hands, making it look as light as a feather. You can’t help but feel a little envious of his strength as he carries it with ease toward your front door. You quickly rush ahead to open the door for him, grateful for the assistance.
“Where do you want this?” he asks as he steps inside, the cool air from the house hitting his face.
“Just on that countertop will do, thanks,” you reply, pointing to the kitchen.
Miguel sets the box down carefully, and before you can even think to ask, he’s already heading back to your car to grab the remaining items. He makes a couple more trips, hauling the heavy boxes as if they weigh nothing, and your mind can’t help but fawn over his effortless strength. There’s something undeniably attractive about the way he moves, the way his muscles flex as he carries each load inside without breaking a sweat.
With the last of the boxes shuffled onto the countertop, Miguel turns to leave, but you’re not quite ready to let him go just yet.
“Hey, would you like something to drink? It’s the least I can do to thank you,” you offer, flashing him a grateful smile.
He hesitates for a moment, but then he nods, a smile softening his features. “Sure, why not?”
You grab a couple of beers from the fridge, handing one to Miguel as the two of you make your way outside to the backyard. You find a spot on the steps, settling down side by side as he gulps down the cool drink, clearly appreciating the refreshment after the heavy lifting.
“You old enough to be having this beer?” Miguel asks, a smirk playing on his lips as he glances at you from the corner of his eye.
“It’s not mine,” you quickly explain, feeling a bit self-conscious under his gaze. “A friend left it over.”
He raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying your explanation entirely. “How old are you then?”
“Twenty,” you reply, your voice steady, though you can’t help but feel a bit exposed by the question.
“Right,” he says, his tone neutral, but you can sense the wheels turning in his mind.
The age gap between you is significant, but oddly enough, it doesn’t seem to bother him. Not at all. In fact, there’s a certain tension in the air, a silent understanding that something unspoken hangs between you both. The way he looks at you, the way he’s been lingering a little longer than necessary—there’s something there, something neither of you has acknowledged yet, but it’s growing stronger with every passing moment.
“You know,” he begins, his voice low and smooth, “you’re pretty resourceful, handling all this on your own. But if you ever need help again... you know where to find me.”
His words linger in the air, heavy with implication, and you feel a shiver run down your spine despite the lingering heat of the day.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” you reply, your voice soft, almost a whisper.
Miguel stands, his eyes never leaving yours as he steps away, but there’s a promise in his gaze, something unspoken that leaves you feeling warm and slightly breathless.
10th August
It’s late when he’s in your car round the corner of your street. The outside world is still- void of movement. The only two being existing are the both of you. Concealed under the inky blackness of the night, that its shade has to conceal. It's thrilling, almost like a sparkler on your touch, ready to crackle at any moment. The moonlight basks him nicely, highlighting his masculine and broody features, and capturing his captivating essence. His dark curls run past his deep eyes that call to you from the other side. His lips, which lick themselves with sin, are ready to taint yours too. You’re finding it harder and harder to contain yourself.
The lights of the streets, aligned perfectly, flicker and twinkle before you, igniting your motives even more. Even the distance between the both of you is electrifying, scared that one singular brush of a finger or shared gaze between each other would cause worlds to collide and collapse. His deep chuckle, fills the small car, snapping back into the present moment. It’s like your body has a mind of its own the way your fingers retract when he calls your name. This is dangerous territory. The scene set up for you is seductive and alluring.
“You got a boyfriend?” he asks you, his gaze ever so slowly rising from the edge of your car seat into your calling eyes, and he holds it. He freezes time by holding the connection.
“No.” you crack a smirk, your fingers playfully dancing on the centre console, keeping your tone light and flirty, your soft voice barely coming out above a whisper, drawing him in.
“Really? A girl like you doesn’t have one? That’s new.” he replies, looking ahead of him, the curls atop of his head tickling the roof of your car, further highlighting his enormous build.
“A girl like me? What does that mean?” Every sentence shared between the two of you is mere foreplay and the both of you know it. It’s sick. Every syllable spoken is dragged out slowly and stretched by rising smirks.
“You know, a pretty girl.” he’s smiling at your reaction, your failed attempt of muffling the smile spreading across your face and the heat rising through your core to your face.
You’re charmed, “You think I’m a pretty girl?” you ask, a twinkle in your eyes.
“Very.” he responds, the both of you staring at each other’s lips, imaging each other’s flavour and the way you both taste. Not a sound passes through the vehicle, it’s deadly silent, the only sound is the ringing of your own heartbeat in your head, a signal of your misbehaving.
“Well,” you start off, your voice as thick as honey, eyes latched unto his lips. “I’ve never had a older boyfriend before.”
“Oh yeah?” it is slow and reverberating when he says that.
“I bet he would treat me so good, and look after me real well. Don’t you?” you play with your lips between your teeth, biting and tugging playfully.
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had a younger girl under my care. But I assume, he’d treat you real good. Who ever he may be be.”
You hum, “How good? Tell me.”
“He’d make you feel things you’ve never felt before, make you see things you’ve never seen before, give you the attention you deserve.” his voice is low and grungy, he’s falling into your stick trap and you love it. You fail to realise the distance between the both of you diminishing, faces drawn closer and closer.
“Sounds good to me. Such a shame there isn’t a hunky older man to teach me these new things.” you’re whispering now. “Would you show me, Mr O’Hara?” The temptation. The beginning of his fall. You. Teasing him shamelessly in your car, you're displaying faux innocence, dripping in arousal. The use of the formality, ‘Mr O’Hara’ a name to which you’ve never referred him, flips the switch from within him.
Your lips crash unto his, finally bridging the distance between the both you. The kiss is fiery and hot, when your lips tangle with each other, breathing each other in, from the sheer desperation in the kiss. Sounds of lips smacking fill up the car very quickly, and the taste of faint liquor coats his lips, it's intoxicating and you’re reeling. His hand wastes no time cupping your face, holding you close to him. Finger’s nestle in his curly dark locks and the kiss deepens.
The only time the both of you separate is for air, gasping quickly as you pant for air, resting your forehead on his, and keeping him close by keeping your fingers interlocked in his hair.
“We shouldn’t be doing this.” he breathes out, refusing to look up at you, knowing he’ll fall for the trap again.
“I know but you know you want to. It feels so right, doesn’t it?” you’re breathless and your lips have darkened in colour slightly, appearing rosier and more tempting.
“Fuck kid, the things you do to me.” he groans and he dives in again.
17th August
“Ngh- fuck.” you’re crying out as he thrusts into you mercilessly, drilling you deeper and deeper into your sheets. You're writhing and wriggling under his weighted grasp, as he uses one firm hand to pin your wrists above your head. Hair clings to your face, as you’re worked up by the intense pleasure. Back arching off the mattress as one stroke out the other’s seems to hit you just right, causing an involuntary reaction. Miguel is living for this, his eyes trained on your every move and shift, his ears memorising every one of your whimpers and cries. He’s relentless.
“Being such a good girl f’ me y’know that?” he says, his curls in disarray from the strenuous act, clinging to his forehead, his abs glistening in the sheen layering of sweat, from his dedication to making you feel like heaven. “You look so pretty like this princesa. Tan bonita. “
You’re fevershingly rolling and grinding your hips against him, eager and desperate for a sweet release. “Hold on, patience,” he growls, focused on getting you to cream all over him regardless. He can picture it now, your trembling figure spewing out a hot burst of yours and his warm white cum, making a mess of yourself. The thought of it alone nearly sends him over the edge.
“’ M gonna come Miggy.” you mewl out, toes curling from the heightened anticipation. You’re dripping and drenched. It’s absolutely filthy. From the moment you invited them into your home and tolerated the incessant foreplay, you’ve been needy and begging to feel him, to get a piece of him. So the moment when those lace panties came off, the man was met with a glistening, slick cunt, which is now responsible for the soppy sounds filling up the room. The sounds of your arousal. He’d call you a bad girl, for thinking of him so naughtily to get your pussy so needy, but he isn’t as innocent either.
“I know baby, I know, just hold out f’me, kay.”
“Fuuuckk.” tears are running down your cheek when Miguel lifts up of your legs, placing it over his broad shoulders. Your head falls back in pure bliss.
“Looks like we got a dirty mouth on our case. You’re gonna have to open wide for me.” he instructs and like a puppet you obey, opening your mouth more waiting for his thick fingers to invade. You’re slobbering all over the shamelessly, making eye contact with him as he ruts into you. “What a messy girl, is this how you behave when you get fucked, hmm?” his movement and sharper and faster and your body is limp, mind fogged. You forget to respond to him, too dicked dumb to do so.
“I asked you a question, you’re gonna fucking answer, is this how you act when you get fucked? Huh, princess? Like a sloppy slut? Or is it just with me?” you nod lazily in response, still moaning over the fingers in your mouth. Your eyes go wide when you feel yourself tightening, your walls gummy hot walls clamping down on him harder. Miguel removes his fingers from your mouth and his hand from your wrists, freeing them, his hands slipping down to your hips.
You can’t even scream about about your close approach because he can feel it and it's fast coming.
“Wanna come Miggy. Wanna feel so good.”
“Want me to make you feel good? Wanna come.”
“Yes, please,please,please,please.” you’re screaming and chanting ‘please’ as you feel your high incoming, and arch your back even further.
“Cum baby, come all over.” you screw your eyes tight as the knot in your stomach finally breaks and you’re cumming. With a couple of thrusts, Miguel follows soon after, his groans and your moans mixing together in the room. His dick is coated in a creamy white, leaving a ring around his base. You’re twitching as you come down from your high, gasping and trying to catch your breath.
With a soft kiss on your forehead, he congratulates you, “Did so good baby.”
23rd August
Sounds of the conscient stream of water fill up the soundscape of the bathroom, hot water, rushing down your back as you’re pressed against the wall, bent over for Miguel and his thick cock. You’ve got no stable supports, and your fingers are slipping off the wet wall, as you try to grip anything for support. It was a mistake for you to drag him along with you into the shower. What were you thinking? Expecting for him to remain composed upon seeing you all when and soapy, no chance. That’s how you find yourself screaming out his name as he places his large hands on your hips, using them to pummel you.
Beirfely, you turn to look back at him. A man on a mission, focused on your ass jiggling repetitively, it was hypnotizing.
“Go slower, slower.” you plead, dreading cumming early, having all of this fade so fast. But of course, the man refuses to listen to you, instead speeding up. Your words are cut off when he reaches deep, feeling as if he’s brushing against your cervix. You drop your head, your mouth following and you scream silently, thanking the Lord above for this blessing of man. One of his hands runs up your back, his thumb slowly stroking it. Bouncing back on his dick, your hips push back every time he pushes in, making you go dizzy.
“Atta girl, just like that, you eager to come on my dick huh?” he says lowly. You’re biting your lip as you nod, that is all you can think about. Your back arches as he speeds up, clenching down on him, warm walls giving him a tight squeeze, making him drop his head back as he lets out a low guttural groan.
“Fuck you’re sexy. Think you can come for me?” Not much else is aid when after three more strokes you're crying out his name, sounding like a sweet melody in his ears.
24th August
“Nice and slow princess, you sure you can handle it?” you’re gargling around his thick cock as he pushes your head down, forcing you to take him all. Making a mess as your saliva coats and lubes his hard-on. Your eyes are shut tight and your hands are gripping his thighs as he uses your hair to bob your head up and down his length. “There we go, such a pretty girl.” he coos, staring down at you, in awe at your determination and persistence to carry this through. Initially, he would’ve been fine with directing all his attention to you, but you didn’t want to seem like a quitter, you didn’t want to prove to him that you were a kid after all and he wasn’t right for you.
“You like that? Yeah, take it all in baby. Fuck” You feel a familiar heat pool in your panties, slowly dampening them. You fail to notice, that one of your hands has slipped down to soothe the building ache until he chuckles. “Don’t worry baby I haven’t forgotten about you. Gonna take real good care of you real soon.” He leans his head back, feeling his high approaching. His incessant repeating of your praise intertwined with praises of your good work seems to be working you up even more, the ache from before now developing into an urgent and deep throb. You moan, just thinking about it.
“Dirty fuckin girl.” he groans, taking his hands off your head and putting you in charge, his hand instead collecting all your hair. You hollow your cheeks and bob your head up and down, turning it to the side occasionally to sensually glide your tongue up his length, maintaining eye contact with him through watery eyes. “Fuck princess.” he groans. “ Want me to cum all over your face princess?” you moan in agreeance, feeling yourself throb in anticipation.
He hisses before pulling out of your mouth at the last minute, helping himself by finishing with a couple of strokes from his own hand. “Open wide baby.” You stick out your tongue ready, and hot spurts of coming land on your face, some coating your awaiting tongue too.
“Fuck you look good like this.”
26th August
You would say that you’re surprised that this man is a master pussy eater, but you’d be lying. He has successfully proven numerous times that he’s simply a sex god. So when your fingers are pulling on his hair for dear life, he isn’t surprised. With every flick of his tongue over your sensitive clit, you’re rolling your hips, getting his nose to nudge against your clit too in the mix. “Can’t go anymore, baby.”
“Why not, just wanna see you cum all over again, you look so perfect when you do it.”
His tongue laps over your sensitive bud again, slurping up and collecting all your juices and you’re crying from the intense pleasure wriggling and writhing again.
“So good.” you groan, leaning your head back and falling into the pleasure, letting it consume you. His hands are grabbing your thighs forcefully whilst his thumb is simultaneously grazing the flesh. He’s passionately making out against your soaked cunt, not minding that you’re dripping unto his chin. He loves it.
“Wait, wait, I’m gonna come, ‘M gonna come, gonna come.” you tell him too late, because when you do, you’re not creaming like you usually do, but instead a clear liquid sprays out. Everywhere.
“Well, you may you didn’t come, but you definitely squirted.”
28th August
“Rub that pretty pussy for me. Just like that.” his voice says through the phone, watching intently as your fingers repetitively circle over your clit, your speed slow and teasing, you bite your lips to suppress your moans, your drenched hole fluttering around nothing. Miguel has finally got himself a free house, but his wife’s suspicions are arising, not towards the two of you, but towards Miguel’s new sneaking out habit and leaving the house more than he usually would. Usually, you would feel bad for the mother, getting neglected by her husband and watching him distance himself from her, leaving the burden of their child unto her, but you were having too much fun with his married man. With the way he fucks you, and holds you and whispers dirty things in your ear- tainting your innocence. Your head is reeling from all this new attention, so you don’t think you’ll stop anytime soon.
“Fuck.” a soft groan comes from his side as he watches you devilishly slip your finger into your warm, desperate cunt. “Did I tell you you could put you’re fingers in, huh?” Miguel on the other end is pumping himself to the sight of you, needy and depraved. No matter how many times he’s been all up in your cunt, or had your gummy walls wrap around him, he can never seem to get enough. There’s something about you that pulls him back, you’re not just some option on the side for him anymore, but now more like a drug, the things you’re doing to him.
“Don’t care.” you giggle softly, pumping your fingers at a faster pace, rolling your head to the side. “I’m horny and you’re not here to do anything about it.”
“Watch it. We’ll see what I’ll do when I get back.”
You arch your back as your fingers finally graze your G spot, causing you to moan out. Your fingers are covered in your slick. “Wish you were here to fuck me, Miguel,” you whine, not knowing the effect this has on him. If he could, he would run out of the house take you right then and there, stuff you full of him and watch as you get fucked dumb by him. You’re teasingly moaning louder than usual to work him up, but your mind can’t help but fill with a picture of him having his way with you, fucking you rough. “ Fuck Miggy, need you right now.” you moan out, your fingers pumping into yourself faster.
“Maybe if you come all of those pretty fingers I might consider it.”
“Mmhg shit, I can come for you, I can come real hard.” you put your other hand to good use, to circle your clit, the feeling immediately increasing my tenfold, now you’re really crying out, head getting clouded by pure lust and the urge to reach your high.” With a few more pumps and circles of your fingers, you release all over your fingers, laying back on your bed to catch a breath as warm cum ooze out of you.
“Come here and show me the mess you’ve made baby.” you don’t hesitate to sit up and grab your phone, angling it to reveal your white fingers. “Put em in your mouth and suck real good.” you follow his command, swirling your tongue around your fingers and sucking them clean, before taking them out of your mouth to show him the finished result. “Atta girl.”
“Look at the mess I made.” you bring your phone to your glistening cunt, absolutely covered in your arousal, your hole still leaking cum from your high, and your puffy clit.
“What a good girl.”
August 31st
The both of you knew this day would come. The last day before you returned back to college, the day where you’d have to say goodbye, but it happened all too soon. You almost wish that something, anything would happen to not have to pull you out of this situation and from the ecstasy you’re feeling. The room has picked up the scent of sex after all the rounds the both of you have endured, fucking for hours on end. The sounds of skin slapping and bed creaking has filled the room with pap, pap, pap’s. Your nails are digging into his back, definitely leaving him marked up with your scratches against his board back and he pummels into you, your body practically clinging unto him as he fuck you into oblivion.
“Gonna miss you, baby, you know that?” he says, placing gentle kisses on your hot forehead, some strands of your hair clinging to your face.
“Gonna miss you too,” you respond, pulling him closer as he reaches deeper and deeper, further and further into you. You place your lips on his neck, passionately sucking on it, with the intent of leaving a mark.
“You naughty, naughty thing, what have I told you about shit like this.” you ignore him anyway. Miguel has always had a problem with being evidenced. The last thing he wanted was for his wife to catch an accidental glimpse of it and start pointing fingers, but as this was a farewell gift, he let the scratching slide. Once successfully leave your mark, you giggle. “We’ll see who’ll be laughing in a second.”
In a second you’re moaning louder. There’s something that he’s doing that's working even better than a couple of thrusts ago, and you don’t know what it is. You thought you were already at 100% with him, but you suppose you truly underestimated him. Now he has you screaming his name, pleading and begging like prayer- music to his ears.
“Oh fuck. oh my fucking God.” One thing Miguel loves about you is how vocal you are, it fuels him, so whenever he hears your pleas to keep going or to stop because it’s too much, he carries right on. You’re high up with the way you’re being fucked, his hips rut into you and soon you’re unable to even scream out loud, all of them turning silent.
“Yeah, who's laughing now.” he chuckles, as you lay back on the bed, gripping the sheets beneath you. He takes his hand to your face, brushing the hair out of it before placing a is on your lips and you’re melting into it. The two of you don’t usually kiss, keeping it strictly to fucking, but this time it’s different, this one is different. Contradictory to his pace, you lips are slow and gentle as he savours your taste and your lips for the last time.
A/N: Made with the help of @foxilayde and with @alwritey-aphrodite 's marvelous taste in music in mind. I love you guys!!!!
Pairing: Jonathan Levy x Reader
Warnings: P in V, porn with plot, unprotected sex, descriptions of Jonathan carrying reader, I mean reader fucks her Professor, so., you can let me know if there is anything else, not beta read
Description: You hadn't been planning on fucking your professor. You really hadn't; sometimes those things just happen. You also hadn't been planning on him crying in your arms, but those things also sometimes happen.
Word Count: 3.1k
Additional note: if you like Jonathan Levy and also sex, read Danny's Putz and the Perv fic. If she is at all more mentally sane than me, she probably wasn't projecting onto one of the references on her resume while writing it.
Why is it that Universities never give days off for Halloween? You get Thanksgiving and fucking Presidents' day, but not Halloween? As if that weren’t bad enough, of course it lands on a Monday this year. Your busiest, boringest day of the week; Only made up for in part by Professor Levy’s class at 12:45, to which he always shows up just disheveled enough to look class time appropriate and hot.
This strays drastically from the point, though, which is this: Halloween is on a Monday this year, Halloween is a much better holiday than Thanksgiving, and you need to maintain a professional GPA if you want to keep the fantastic lineup of Pell Grants and scholarships sitting in your Financial Aid portal. It was the accumulation of all of these fascinating tidbits of information that led to you showing up to every one of your scheduled classes in a thrift-store Indiana Jones cosplay which you and your roommates had drunkenly put together Friday night.
Despite the fact that it had been made by a gaggle of drunk college students, the costume stood strong through the test of soberness. The playfully ripped up khakis, the leather fedora that for some reason you already had lying around, the linen shirt with one too many buttons undone, and the makeuped on grime all shouted “yeah dude, it’s halloween, fucking fight me about it”, but in a fun, kind of hot way. This was an opinion you had Friday night while making the damned thing, and your confidence certainly wasn’t dimmed after sitting through your first couple of compliment filled classes.
Still, sitting through your Anthropology class–the very 12:45 lecture previously mentioned, had proven to be…not as you had expected. You had still received the “bro, you look so good”’s and “Oh my god, that’s great, I should have dressed up”’s from your friends and acquaintances in the class, but you also noticed that about every 7 minutes, Professor Levy would pause his lecture on the progression of agriculture through the anthropocene to look at you. Part of you felt like you were going crazy, because no one else seemed to notice, but what you could have written off the first time kept. fucking. happening.
At first you thought that your Professor had somehow figured out that you’d been switching tabs between your notes and the videos of your friend’s cat which she had sent you, but the glances kept happening long after you’d closed the kitten tab as discreetly and quickly as possible.
Despite your urge to uncomfortably wriggle in your seat, you were still able to pay some modicum of attention, occasionally jotting down fragmented notes of “adapted land to their needs” and “Europeans destroyed ecology and then were confused when other people didn’t cuz british ppl are stupid”. You even managed to get a head start on the homework. That is to say, you got a head start on finding out the link to the homework template was broken. Either way, though, keeping busy kept your mind from jumping to conclusions about the glances.
You breathed a sigh of relief when Professor Levy finally said, “Alright, that's all for today. We don’t have class until Wednesday, but don’t party too hard.”
The class broke into chatter, jokes about “Grandpa Levy” telling you all “not to party too hard” and idle conversation about various forms of debauchery going on that night tossed around.
You turned as Marissa, the girl who sat next to you poked you and asked, “Are you going to the library today?”
You hummed, distracted. “Maybe. Don’t wait up. And don’t study too hard.” You winked with a grin as she rolled her eyes at you playfully and left the classrooms dusty walls and creaky seats, before walking up to Professor Levy’s desk. You waited patiently for the go-getters and teachers' pets to ask their questions and take their leave before gently clearing your throat behind him.
Professor Levy spun, eyes wide when he saw you there. You had never noticed the dark circles beneath them, how they so perfectly seemed to frame his face in a way that you didn’t know was possible.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you. The link for the homework is broken.” You trailed your finger along his desk, a fidgeting motion masked through the confidence of the archeologist you were imitating. It was coated in an endearing layer of dust that you had found was a common fixture of the anthropology wing, and it held Professor Levy’s school-issued laptop and an Oliver Sacks book–The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat.
Professor Levy’s brow furrowed, eye line slipping to where your finger met his table before snapping back to meet your own gaze. Apparently he believed you to be much less observant than you are, or maybe he simply can’t help himself, because his eyes roamed away from your face once more, this time to the top button of your linen shirt, the lapse of fabric where the valley of your breasts met.
Gaze snapping up again, Levy informed you, “There is no homework for Wednesday. The module likely transferred over from last semester, but I’ll make sure to fix that. Have a happy Halloween.”
You didn’t know how he did it. The man was so easily flustered, yet he spoke to you like nothing at all had transpired. It almost made you want to laugh, how this man was so clearly looking at your breasts just seconds before, and decided to just play it off as if you wouldn’t have noticed. All it took to get him blushing during lectures was teasing him for the music he played before class, but now here he was, calmly explaining that the homework assignment was canceled so you could get debauched, after so obviously staring at your breasts, and nothing?
“...okay,” you conceded, wiping the dust from your hand onto your pants before looping your thumbs in your belt loops. “Thanks.”
He resumed packing his things into his canvas bag, likely assuming that you would leave. You thought about doing just that, but– “Professor?”
Levy’s head tilted back towards you in surprise. You weren’t sure by his expression whether you’d exceeded his expectations or overwhelmed them. Either way, you continued the originally poorly planned message with, “Indiana Jones fan?”
Professor Levy’s eyes seemed to bug out from your discreet tease before he regained his own composure.
“I can’t say that the trilogy is the most accurate representation of Archeology as a study, but yeah, it’s a… pretty good film.”
You snickered, turning on a booted heel. “Happy Halloween, Professor Levy,” you called as you walked out of the lecture hall through the wooden door. There was something charming about how Professor Levy seemed to think that you hadn’t noticed the noticeably hard wood that was currently pushing against the confines of his pants.
***
You knocked on his door that night at 8 pm. Well, not his door, you weren’t some creepy stalker, but his office door. It’s not like you had been looking for him or anything, but you always cut through the anthro building to get back to your apartment when it was cold, and it was always less crowded if you went through the office area instead of the lecture hallways, and it wasn’t like you had meant to notice that his light was still on and didn’t show any signs of turning off.
So yeah, you reformed all of your Halloween plans on the way to the house party that you were actually supposed to be going to because your professor who clearly had the hots for you had to be pathetically sad to be grading papers at 8 pm on Halloween, even if it was a Monday.
When he opened the door he fit the exact image which had formulated in your mind; button-up opened a few buttons revealing a white undershirt (granted, in your head the undershirt was replaced with a glimpse of bare chest), hair messed up in a cute, disgruntled way, and papers covering his desk, not an inch of empty space.
“Trick or treat,” you playfully quipped, smirking at him from where you leaned in the doorway. After you had finished all of your classes for the day, you had opened your shirt a couple of extra buttons, exposing your black lacy bra underneath; This was something that Professor Levy clearly noticed, his eyes lingering on your chest (again) as he looked you up and down. He seemed less ashamed of it this time around. Maybe it was because he was tired, or the two of you weren’t in the middle of a lecture hall. Maybe he had finally noticed how you wanted him back.
“You don’t seem to care very much about professionalism in school environments,” Professor Levy noticed.
You shrugged. “Dress codes are for High Schools and Mormons. C’mon, stop moping, it’s Halloween–”
Before you had the chance to finish your offer, Levy cut you off with, “Who says I’m moping?”
You scoffed. “Either you’re sad or you’re boring. Anyways, as I was saying, I have blood,” you joked, pulling out a bottle of cheap wine from your satchel, “and candy, and by all means, you can stay here and be boring, or you can hang out with me so that I don’t have to be near drunk frat boys. By all means, your choice, Professor Levy, but I do hope you’ll take pity on me.”
He seemed to be weighing his options, staring at you as he decided. You smiled back at him, with only a hint of snark. “It’s a bad idea,” he said, but he seemed resigned; You knew that it wouldn’t take much more pushing to get him to cave.
“Perfect. Your place or mine? Mine is probably filled with drunk college students dressed like slutty vampires, but I’m flexible,” you joked.
Professor Levy sighed, brow furrowed. “Come on, I’m parked in Lot F.” He picked up his bag, tossing in the random knick knacks which he decided he needed, but leaving the papers. You tried to stay calm, but internally you were smiling, giggling, and punching the air. You had managed to get your hot professor to take you home on Halloween. How the fuck did you manage to get your hot professor to take you home on Halloween?
You followed him to his car, a grey prius, doing your best to keep up that suave facade that you had spent at least two years perfecting. It was a quiet walk. You weren’t sure if you should be filling the silence; It wasn’t even a particularly comfortable silence, both of you so stuck in your own thoughts. Once in the car, though, Levy turned the radio on to a soul station, which made you smile.
“Otis Redding? Not Spooky Scary Skeletons?” You teased, looking over the center console at your Professor.
“I don’t think it was me who wrote my Midterm paper on the influence of soul on the Modern Era.”
“Oh God, I think if I start thinking about school right now I’ll have a stress migraine.”
Levy chuckled. “It was the best paper I read.”
You rolled your eyes. “Yeah? is that why you looked so depressed when you opened the door, Professor Levy?”
Instead of answering, he pulled into the driveway of a beautiful culdesac suburban home that made you wonder if you really knew anything about him at all. He got out of the car, and for a moment you were worried that you had offended him, but he circled around the front of the car, opening the door for you.
He leaned in close–close enough for you to smell his cologne, the spice and leather mixing with his natural scent–and told you, “If you’re a guest in my house and I’m going to be drinking your five dollar wine, you should really call me Jonathan, Dr. Jones.”
You grinned, taking his offered hand as he led you through his door and into the house. You set your bag on the mahogany table and wandered into the kitchen.
“Wine glasses?” You asked.
“Lost all the wine glasses in the divorce,” Jonathan joked. You glanced at him, eyebrows scrunched.
“What cruel and unusual punishment,” you quipped, turning back to the cabinet above you. You never realized how little you knew about the man. He wasn’t the type to mention anything about his personal life during his lectures, and you’d never asked. You guessed that there was a lot that he didn’t know about you, too. “Luckily for you, I prefer my five dollar wine in mugs. Do you want…” You looked at the mugs you had grabbed. “Snoopy or Hello Kitty? Quite refined taste, Jonathan.”
“Definitely Hello Kitty.” Jonathan walked further into the room, leaning on the island next to where you poured the wine. “My daughter, she’s in charge of most of the mug selection around here.”
“She at her mom’s?” You asked, handing Jonathan the glass.
“You know, you’re not as subtle as you think,” Jonathan responded, tilting his glass towards you before taking a sip.
“I’m not trying to be subtle,” you remarked, sipping your own alcohol.
“What is it you’re playing at, then?” He seemed different in his own house; More confident. No longer quietly trudging about the day, but questioning your own crumbling authority.
“I’m not playing at anything, Professor Levy. Just playing.”
You paused when you felt his hand close around your wrist. It was big and warm, sending sparks of a thrilling heat down your back. “I thought I told you to call me Jonathan.”
“Just playing then, Jonathan,” you breathed. He’d been leaning closer and you hadn’t even noticed. Not until now, when your faces were mere inches apart.
“This is highly unprofessional.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself, and failing.
“Live a little, Levy.” When he finally kissed you (your endgame the entire night, which would have seemed ridiculous and unachievable just last week) it was hard, and just rough enough, hands running along your ribcage as he pinned you against the kitchen island with his hips. When you broke away for air, he didn’t stop, mouth trailing down to your neck to suck bruises and nip at the skin there while his hands worked on opening what few buttons had still been left done on your blouse.
You started fumbling with the buttons of Jonathan’s dark red button up, gasping as he suckled into your skin. You managed to get it off, tossing it took the floor, and groaned when you saw the little patch of hair, leading down below Jonathan’s waistline.
He dragged your trousers along your thighs and onto the floor, fingers hooking your panties along with, before lifting you by your waist onto the counter. The cool stone of Jonathan’s countertop sent shivers down your spine, but that was soon countered by a lustful heat when his thick fingers found their way between your folds. They were teasing, playing you like a meandering harmony as you buried your face into Jonathan’s shoulder, his soft curls brushing your cheek and his scent overpowering your senses. Your pussy clenched around his index finger when he inserted it in, and you were half tempted to beg him for more.
Instead, you lifted your head from Jonathan’s shoulder, looking at him with lidded eyes as his finger pumped inside you. He chose this moment to add a second, just so that he could see the look on your face as he did it, breath catching and eyes rolling back.
When you managed to regain composure, you asked, “We gonna fuck on this counter, or…”
“No,” Jonathan removed his fingers from inside you so he could grab you by the hips and lift you up, leveraging your body against his with your legs wrapped around his back, “We’re gonna fuck on the couch.”
You giggled a little, licking and biting at his exposed neck as he walked the two of you to his living room couch, careful not to lose balance or drop you. He laid you down beneath him, eyes appreciating your form as his hands gently unclipped your lace bra, dragging it off so he could feel your soft skin. You leaned up as he worked at your breasts, hands working at his belt, followed by his button, followed by zipper. You smiled when your hand finally met Jonathan’s dick and he gasped, burying his face into your shoulder.
Both of you worked in silence, entangled and connected by lips and hands and warmth. You were kissing, tongue in Jonathan’s mouth as he lined himself up with your entrance. You could feel warmth building inside you, as his head brushed the sensitive bundle of nerves inside you and his calloused fingers worked at your clit. There was the familiar feeling pulling at you, tugging at your core, of lust and release, but there was something else–something less familiar–there as well. Something tense but emotional. Unexpected and painful and beautiful and incohesive in every sense of the word. You didn’t have much time to dwell on it though, breath mixing with Jonathan’s with your bodies connected in every sense of the word.
You could feel that spring that’s coiled within you snap as Jonathan’s thrusts reach a messy and passionate peak. The noise Jonathan made as he met his own release was almost a growl, and you were half tempted to laugh as you came down from your high. You didn’t, though.
The air was tense with something you didn’t quite understand until you saw Jonathan’s face. His eyes were just slightly red when he pulled out of you, your own reflection clear on the glassy surface, betraying emotions that you knew all too well; loneliness, confusion, shame. He seemed awkward and unsure, but you pulled him down on the couch, cramped for space and practically laying on top of you.
You carded your hands through his hair in what you hoped was a soothing gesture. “Hey, It’s okay, Jonathan. It’s gonna be okay.”
You didn’t know his problems—you weren’t even sure you wanted to know—but the two of you laid there, bodies connected, and it didn’t really matter. Everyone has problems. You have problems, Jonathan clearly has problems, and those problems definitely aren’t your problems to fix. But it was nice, laying on his sofa, and touching his soft curls, and knowing that for this moment in time, these few hours, neither of you need to feel so lonely.
Yeah, it’ll be okay.
I would literally rather have 0 notes than 5,000 likes and no reblogs.
summary: that’s the thing about illicit affairs, clandestine meetings and longing stares.
pairing: jonathan levy x f!reader
contents: 18+/NSFW/MINORS DNI, car sex, professor kink, glasses kink?, dirty talk, kissing, creampie, longing, love confessions
wc: 1.7k
an: the professor kink went a little crazy in this one so if that’s not your jam, skipperoni! if it is…enjoy <3
oscar characters masterlist | writing masterlist
This shouldn’t be happening. It shouldn’t.
You shouldn’t be in his car, in his lap— in his vicinity at all because it always leads to something like this. Messy and sloppy and hurried, so desperate. The two of you gave up on resisting this a long time ago, but that doesn’t keep your brain from questioning it.
He’s not even divorced yet, can’t even convince himself to sign the papers given everything that Mira had done. You’re his breath of fresh air, the only thing besides his daughter that makes him feel alive these days. But you’re also his closest colleague’s graduate assistant. The reasons that getting caught would end poorly for both of you are not small, hidden, or easy to brush away.
Those reasons don’t change the delicious way his fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs under the skirt you have on. The dip of his tongue into your mouth, licking and searching feverishly. They don’t lessen the arousal sitting in your lower belly. You’re not sure if anything could because when you’re at the center of Jonathan’s attention, it feels like nothing matters beyond the two of you.
You groan into the next kiss, and Jonathan shivers beneath you, some desperate sound of his own echoing into your mouth. Accompanying the intoxicating taste of you is rain on your lips. You’re soaked to the bone, your clothes skintight and a few shades darker from the rain that continues to pour outside of the confines of his car. Every kiss, every touch of his warms you from the inside out.
“We’re committing public indecency,” He murmurs, but he doesn’t stop kissing you, doesn’t stop using his grip on your ass to grind you down against the swell of his clothed cock.
He isn’t wrong but this is the best you could do in a pinch.
Your roommate is another graduate assistant, and though she doesn’t work in your department or Jonathan’s, she’d surely recognize him if you were to bring him over. There’s some unspoken agreement about his place, the house where he lived with Mira. You don’t feel ready to go there yet and thankfully, he isn’t quite ready to let you in. So he picked you up from your apartment complex and drove to the nearest park. Usually, the two of you plan a little better— there’s a long drive a couple hours away, some cozy little Airbnb on the edge of the city with the promise of going unrecognized hanging in the air.
This thing that shouldn’t be happening is practiced, meticulously planned but today is something different. If you weren’t so distracted by the feeling of him against you, you’d ask what has him so riled up. A little voice in your head can guess, but that would just complicate things. Instead, you’d really like to focus on this, that warm feeling he brings, and you hope that his concerns about breaking the law aren’t too intense.
“Do you want to stop?” You ask, breaking the kiss but only to kiss at his neck.
“No, don’t stop, baby. Don’t stop.”
And there is nothing that compares to the sweet sound of Jonathan calling you baby. You've never said no to Jonathan and you don’t plan to start when he begs for you like this.
“Kiss me again.”
Jonathan obliges, grasping the nape of your neck with gentle strength and pulling you forward to kiss you as if he’s trying to consume you.
You use your knees to raise up, sliding your hand between the two of you so that you can palm at his erection through his jeans. He whines into your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip. Both of these things spur you on and your other hand drops from his curls, working with the other to undo his jeans so that you can slip your hand into his boxers.
“You’re so sweet, so soft,” He murmurs as he begins to kiss and bite his way down your neck. You can hear the strain in his voice, how he’s trying his best to keep it steady and show that you aren’t affecting him.
There’s not a world where you have even half the discipline that he does. You are nothing but desperate for him— needy, always prepared to beg and whine until he gives you what you want. But, there’s no harm in trying to make him show how desperate he is for you too.
“Professor, please. I need you.”
“How am I meant to say no to you when you call me that?” He teases the skin of your neck with his teeth and you writhe in his lap, just like he wanted you to.
“You’re never supposed to say no to me, that’s the point, Levy,” You tease, hand tightening around his cock. His hips jump into your touch and you know that if you work just a little harder he’ll be exactly where you want him.
Jonathan’s hand skates up your torso. With your wet shirt, your nipples are practically on display through the fabric and he runs his thumb over one playfully before rolling the peak between his fingers, “And where’s the fun in that? You don’t want to earn it today, sweet girl?”
“No—“ You gasp through short breaths, chest heaving into his touch, “I just want you to give it to me. Please.”
His other hand finds your other breast, his touch more insistent as he pinches your nipple, “Desperate, sweet girl. Tell me what you want, I need to hear it.”
You fix him with that look that you know will get you anything you ask for, “I want your cock, I want you to let me sit on it.”
“You’re so fucking filthy, so needy for me aren’t you?”
“Yes, Jonathan, please.”
And while he thoroughly enjoys the way you call him professor, or Levy, his name rolling off your tongue makes his heart skip like he’s some teenage girl having her first kiss. Any teasing and pretense of having discipline go right out the window. His hands are gentle but sure as he moves yours out of his boxers and lifts you to bare himself to you.
“Are you ready? Can I—“
“Yes, please, fucking yes.”
Jonathan uses one hand to line himself up with your entrance, the other immediately gripping your hip and sliding you down onto the length of his cock. The kiss you two share is hardly that, but messy teeth and tongues that meet as you both moan.
“Ride me,” He says against your mouth. He wants it to sound like a demand but you both know what it is. He’s finally just as desperate as you are— he’s begging.
There’s nothing in you that wants to fight him, there never is, all you want is more and more of him— whatever you can get because despite the passion, the ease of spending time with him, there’s a little voice in the back of your mind that screams this is temporary.
It’s unhealthy to think that each time you and Jonathan fuck it might be the last, but you refuse to take him or any moment spent with him for granted. You place one hand on his shoulder, the other reaching back to find purchase on the dash so that you can bounce on his cock in earnest.
“Fuck, your pussy is so good, it’s made for me,” He groans.
Your eyes are glued to his face, drinking in the sight of him. He rests his head back against the seat rest, mouth ajar. His glasses are propped up on the crown of his head so as not to fog up, and a light goes off in your head. Shifting most of your weight onto your thighs you swipe the glasses from his head, sliding them onto your face.
The sound he makes has you upset that you haven’t thought of this move sooner. His hips snap up into you harder, making you yelp as the tip of his cock presses against the spot deepest inside of you.
He’s breathless as he says, “Oh god, you filthy fucking girl.”
“Do they suit me, professor?” You pant with a smirk.
His eyes go dark, as he gazes at you from under his lashes, “All of this suits you, everything about us together suits you. My name in your mouth, my cock in your pussy, all of it.”
His words make your head spin, and you quickly remove the glasses so that you can kiss him properly, smashing your mouth to his. You roll your hips, taking him as deep as you can before you start to rock, bouncing in his lap once more.
The back and forth between you dissolves into a frantic madness, both of your bodies focused simply on giving and receiving pleasure. His hands find your hips, helping you bounce more quickly and firmly as both of your breaths go shallow and whiny. The pleasure in your lower belly builds, chugging higher and higher each time you come down against him. You’re surrounded by the smell of sex, the sound of it, the heat of it. The windows fog and with each thrust of his hips up against you there’s the sound of skin on skin, of how incredibly wet you are for him.
“Jonathan, I’m—“
“You’re so close aren’t you, baby? Gonna cum for me so I can fill you up nice and deep? So I can make you mine again?”
“M-make me yours,” You repeat his words but your version is a beg, full of desperation.
He shushes you, hand sliding between your slick bodies to find your clit, “Let me help, let me give you what you need.”
Despite the soft gentleness of his fingers against your clit, the shockwaves of pleasure they provide melt away the last of the barriers between you and your orgasm. You melt around him, so warm and tight as you cum with a soft cry. It’s impossible for him to resist, and he joins you, body going stiff as he fills you up.
“I love you,” He whispers unthinkingly in the postcoital haze.
“I love you too,” You whisper back easily, leaning forward to rest against his chest.
Neither of you allow that usual feeling of dread of returning to your lives as they are— of having to deny each other day in and day out— to settle in. Instead, you let the softness in, the love so young and new but no less meaningful. He holds you right, like he’ll never let you go. And for the moment, you let him.
if you’d like to be on my jonathan levy/oscar issac taglist lmk!
Between Two Worlds ~ Loser!Miguel O'Hara x Stripper!Reader (Pt. 4)
★ Word Count: 7.1k
★ Content: Miguel is his cute and awkward self once again, there's a lot of flirting going on too, wholesome overall
★ A/N: Sorry this took me so long but I hope you all enjoy!
Dividers by @/rookthornesartistry
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Masterlist | Commissions
Everything was so different during the morning. The Weave, usually full of life with the strobing lights and thundering beat from the music, was quiet. A normal building fitting the same boring, modern aesthetics like the other establishments next to it.
Your appearance was a stark contrast to your club one. You were dressed in a simple tracksuit and sneakers. Comfortable, not boring. You wore your curly, black wig but with no makeup and Miguel’s breath was stolen at the sight of you.
“Why are you here?” Your stance was standoffish, clear that you didn’t want him here.
Miguel feels around in his pocket for his cards. “I wanted to see you.”
“And you decided to come see me early in the morning?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t you have to go to work?”
“I do, but I couldn't wait until tonight to see you.”
You shift, baffled at the fact he was here in front of you. “Miguel-”
“Please.” He finally pulls out his flash cards, “I need to tell you something.”
Your eyes dart to the cards before rolling your eyes and sighing, “Okay.”
Miguel notices they were out in the open as people were walking behind you two. A little awkward for him since he didn't want to confess on the sidewalk.
“Are you hungry? I can buy breakfast.”
“I'm not really hungry.” Your stomach betrays you by growling and you cover it. “Okay maybe I am a little bit.”
Miguel points to a spot across the street, “I saw a diner there, if you want to go?”
“Ugh, not that one.” You stick your tongue out in disgust, “Their food is nasty.”
“Oh.”
He fiddles with his cards, his idea of wanting to talk to you there flying out the window. Miguel tries not to jump when your arm wraps around his, pointing to a breakfast spot further down the block.
“Let's go there. They have amazing waffles.”
Miguel holds back a wide smile before walking with you down the street. He offers to take your bag across your shoulders, but you object.
The café had a better appearance than the diner, sleek black colored walls, and a clean but relaxing atmosphere. He sat down in a booth in front of you, glazing over the menu. You two settled on iced coffee with chicken and waffles before sitting in silence. The low volume of a pop song playing in the background.
“So?” You observe while sipping your drink. “What did you want to talk about?”
Miguel held up his cards, starting with the first one labeled as ‘apology’. “I'm sorry for last week. I made you miss an entire night of making money. For your house…”
“That wasn't your fault. It was mine.”
“But I agreed to it. I said yes.”
You rolled your eyes, “Did you say ‘let’s have sex’ or was that me?”
“You said that…”
“And did I not almost pull your you know out so we could fuck?”
Miguel’s cheeks felt hot, “You did almost do that…”
“Then is it not my fault?”
“I'm not blaming you for what happened.”
“I am.”
The waitress put your food on the table, the conversation coming to a halt. He heard your stomach growl once more as you eyed your chicken and waffles with wonder. You drizzled your syrup across the crispy chicken tenders, cutting it up into smaller pieces before taking a bite. Miguel watches you savor the bite, completely satisfied with your meal.
He decided to eat his own, wanting the tension to go away before you two started talking again.
“I'm sorry.” Your tone was soft. “I got you banned. You were just following my lead.”
“I'm not mad at you.”
“I'm mad at me.” You stop eating, eyes on the table instead of him. “I don't know what's going on with me lately. I've been doing things that I don't normally do.”
“Like?” He doesn't push you, waiting for you speak.
You still don't look his way. “I kissed you for one. I wasn't supposed to do that.”
“Was…was that in the rules?” Miguel swore he didn't remember anything like that when Jessica told him.
You snicker, “No it wasn't. I have personal ones and I broke that.”
“Oh. I'm sorry.”
“It's okay. I didn’t mind it.” Miguel’s heart fluttered at the little confession as your eyes finally land on him. “Then you…touching me was not a part of the plan either.”
“Ah.” He ducks his head in shyness, “I see. Is there anything else?”
You take a big bite of your waffles, cheeks puffed up as you chew slowly. Miguel was patient, twirling his waffles with a fork while waiting for your answer.
“I don’t date my regulars.” Miguel coughed, quickly drinking his glass of water to push it down. That was it, his plan was ruined. It’s all over. So much for confessing to you. “But I already broke my other rules so I'm thinking…why not this one?”
Miguel quickly shuffled his flashcards to the part with big bolded letters labeled ‘confession’. “I like you.”
Your smile was radiant. A brightness that could provide any flower you walked by its nutrients. Just gazing at you gave him everything he needed to start his day off right.
“Why do you like me? Was the hand job that good?”
“No! I mean, yes I did enjoy it but, that wasn’t the reason.” You raise a brow, expecting a reasonable answer. One that shows he genuinely likes you and doesn’t view you the same way the rest of the clubgoers do. As someone of a source for their entertainment. Nothing more. “You don’t treat me like I’m a pathetic person. Like everyone else does. You see through me. And I like that. Like you.”
His fingertips graze yours and he tries to slide them away but you chase after him. Slowly intertwining your own fingers with his at the table. Your nails scratching along his fingers. Your soft, smaller hand against his large one.
“I strip, you do fancy lab work.”
“Your stripping is fancy too.”
You bite your lip, “I guess it is, but is that the only reason for thinking this can work?”
“Not the only reason, but it’s a start.”
Your hands pull away and Miguel already misses the contact. You put your head back, letting out a long, drawn-out sigh that causes a few patrons to look over at the booth. Miguel ducks his head at the increased attention, deciding to finish his meal.
“Okay. Let’s do it. Let’s go on a date.”
Miguel shoots his head up, “Really? You want to? Really?”
“Yeah. Do you want me to say it again?”
“Yes please.”
Your laughter is louder this time before you cover your mouth. “Let’s go on a date together, Miguel.”
He shoved his flash cards back in his jacket, ecstatic that you were willing to go on a date with him. And that you said his name again.
“Can you do it tomorrow?”
“Alright, slow your roll, cutie pie. As much as I want to go on a date, I can’t this weekend. Got a family thing.”
“Oh.” He twiddled his thumbs in thought. “How about next week? Friday?”
“Don’t you work that day? Are you going to feel like going out?”
“Yes, absolutely. Now that I know I’m going out with you.”
“Boy…” It was your turn to hide your face, your hair helping you with its curls dangled in front of your face. He chuckled at your bashful response, noticing how you cute you appear when the tables are turned. “Friday sounds great.”
“Good. We can do dinner and a movie.”
“What kind of movie?”
Miguel hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Uh…I’m not sure yet.”
You shook your head, finishing up your food and the rest of your coffee. He did the same, paying for the bill and walking you out. You were close to him, arm touching his when he pointed to his car down the street.
“I can take you home. It's no trouble.”
“No, I don’t want you to be late for work.” Miguel wants to push, uncomfortable with the idea of you going home alone. His lips stay shut, messing with his suit jacket. “I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” His worried face shows to you and you exasperate, hand on your hip. “You want something to make you feel better?” Miguel nods, not sure what you were going to do. You hold his face in your hands and kiss the corner of his lips. He freezes, taking in your touch. He could still feel the remnant of your lips on his cheek.
“That does make me feel better.”
“You big softie.” You playfully smack his arm. “I’ll see you later?”
Maybe it was just the time of how long he spent being away from you, but later on seemed like a while until he saw you again. Speak to you. Hear your voice. He wanted your number, but he was asking too much from you already.
“I-okay.”
You squint, “What now?”
“Nothing. Nothing, don’t worry about it.”
“Miguel.”
“It’s nothing, really.”
You pull out your phone, wiggling it in front of him. “Are you sure there’s nothing you want to ask? Especially about using a certain device that helps us talk to each other at long distances?”
Miguel wonders if you can read his mind too. Or maybe he’s horrible at hiding how he feels from you. He can with everyone else, just not with you.
“May I get your number? So we could…talk?”
“Of course, babe.” You take his phone, putting in your name, your real name, not your stripper name. And a heart next to it to personalize yourself. He wants to say it but you silence him with a raise of a finger. “Don’t say my real name while we’re at the club. No one else needs to know my business. Besides you. And Pixie.”
“Okay.”
He watches you leave from your uber, saying that you’ll text him when you’re home. He holds you to it, not liking you had to part from him again. But he couldn’t be sad for long. You agreed to go on a date with him and he was going to make sure it was the most perfect date ever.
Miguel would bounce off the walls if he could. He looked at your text saying you were home with a kissy face emoji and his heart beat faster. Pounding in his ears while recalling your meet up earlier.
You wanted to go on a date with him.
With him out of all people. You were letting him take charge and he mentioned dinner and a movie. What restaurant will you go to? He’s never gotten a chance to figure out what you like to eat. If you're a picky person or willing to eat anything. Then there's the type of restaurant. Were you expecting to go somewhere classy? Or a place that was more casual?
He didn't want to get into movies. What genres were you into? He should see what movies are currently out. Do you even like movies? Why was this so hard?
Gwen cleared her throat, “Are you okay, Mr. O’Hara?
“Yes!” Miguel sits back in his stool, realizing the gene specimen he had on the microscope. “I'm fine, just a bit tired. Woke up earlier than usual today.”
“You were practically skipping when you walked in here.”
Miguel pushed up his glasses, “Really? I didn't notice.”
Gwen pursed her lips before excusing herself to the restroom. When she left, Miguel pulled out his phone and started opening a bunch of tabs. Searching up nice restaurants for a first date. What not to do on a first date. What to wear on a first date.
He's going to bring flowers this time, but he doesn't know what kind you like. Actually, what if you're allergic? Was there such a thing as hypoallergenic flowers? Miguel felt a headache coming on.
“Told ya, he's acting weird.”
He jumped and put his phone back in his pocket. The two teens stare at him like he had something on his face.
“Mr. Miguel, are you good?” Margo's concerned face said it all.
“Yeah, yeah I'm ok.” He reassures, “Why?”
“Gwen told me about you walking weird and now you're hiding your phone like you have a secret.”
Miguel brushed it off, “Oh no. No secrets here.” He noticed the girls glancing at one another, totally not buying it at all. “I'm alright. Now, I have some important work to finish up.”
He turns around, pretending to look at the same specimen he's looked at for almost a hour. While trying not to let his overwhelmed thoughts take over.
Gabriel wasn’t any help either. Or Kasey. Or Xina. All of them told him to not overthink it. To focus on spending time with you. Let everything happen naturally.
Of course that stressed him out even more.
Miguel hadn't been on a date since the Dana situation. And when she was with him, a lot of the dates before they broke up were casual and simple. He didn't want to do casual and simple for you. This was his chance for a fresher start. Not mess up his chance with you like he did with ex-fiancé.
He needed more opinions.
Ben seemed like a guy who gets around. When Miguel hangs around at the bar, he noticed the charismatic blonde use his skills with the customers. Albeit to get them buy more drinks. Maybe he has some experience taking someone out on a decent date.
“Are you dating anyone?” Miguel asks, causing Ben to shoot him a flirtatious look.
“I didn't know you played for the other team, Science Guy.”
“What? N-No I'm just-”
He's shut down by Ben's laughter, earning a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “I'm fucking with you, bro.”
“Oh.”
“I'm not dating anyone. Had a few flings but nothing serious.” Ben explains while pouring bourbon in a glass. “What's up?”
“I'm going on a date soon. I just want to make sure it's special. It's our first one.”
Once Ben serves his drink, he leans against the bar. “Ooh first date huh? They're always tough. You could end up making out with them in the back of the car or going your separate ways and wasting sixty dollars.”
“That’s…very specific.”
“Trust me, I've had both happen to me.” He winks, “Do you really like this person? Or are you just dipping your feet back in the dating pool?”
Miguel didn’t want to point out it was you he was going out with. He's surprised that no one bombarded him with questions about it when he came back. Like everything was normal. But he was okay with that. He's had enough of people knowing about his personal affairs.
“I really like them and I don't want to mess it up.”
“Then you've come to the right guy.” Ben quickly excuses himself to take a customer's order. While he does so, Miguel glances over at you giving a customer a lap dance from across the room. Straddling their lap and rolling your hips. Your eyes connect, a hint of lust inside them. He doesn’t want to stare too long so he turns away, taking a huge gulp of his water. He tries not to choke when Ben comes back, ready to pick back up the conversation.
“Okay, lay it on me. What do you have planned?” Miguel explains his dinner and movie idea as well as the dilemma he's facing in figuring out the restaurant and movie. “You're already stressing yourself out. I'll solve one problem, go to an Italian restaurant. It's versatile and romantic, win win.”
He blinks, “Huh. It's that simple?”
“Absolutely. The movie is a little difficult because you gotta find out what they like. But just ask, easy peasy.”
Miguel wanted to crawl in a hole. Here he was stressing about his date for a few days and here Ben goes easing most of his concerns. No wonder Dana broke up with him.
“I've been overthinking this entire date.” He rubbed his temples while Ben roared with laughter.
“It happens, man. Don't worry about it.”
Before Miguel left, he texted you asking what type of movies you like. He wanted to make sure you enjoy the date and not give you a reason to not go on another with him. Which you proceeded to give him a list of your favorite genres a while later. And that helped him narrow down the movie you two could watch.
He set up a reservation at a nice Italian restaurant in the city called Antonio’s and then ordered movie tickets to that disaster movie about twisters that recently came out. Everything was set. It was once he looked at the order number that the nervousness turned into excitement. He tripled check to make sure it was the right time and the right date. Miguel wanted you to have a good time. A good time with him.
Gabriel insisted on helping his older brother with his outfit. Saying Miguel’s fashion sense gave off sad and lonely. And he didn’t want you to see that side. This was him making a comeback and what he wore had to reflect that.
It included several hours of Gabriel and Kasey pulling out Miguel’s wardrobe. Clothes all over his bed and floor, with Xina on video call, propped up on his dresser to get a good angle. The duo didn’t want Miguel to interfere so they had him sitting in a chair at the corner of his bedroom.
“Guys, I can find clothes for myself.”
“Of course you can.” Gabriel agrees, “But you’re dating a stripper. Immediately someone with a higher taste than anyone else.”
Xina let out an unsure hum, “Does she though?”
“Obviously.” His brother goes to defend you before he could. “Miguel says she’s always wearing sparkles. Clear evidence of a refine taste.”
“And not the fact that she’s out on a date with him being clear enough?”
Gabriel rolls his eyes, pointing a hanger at the phone. “I’m very confused on your stance here, Xi.”
“I’m just stating the facts. Tell him, Kasey.”
“Yeah, she’s just stating the facts.” Kasey drones, not really paying attention as she holds up two dress shirts, one that was a dark red and another a lime green. She holds up both shirts one at a time towards a confused Miguel before deciding the green one was a better choice. “Should we give him a perm?”
“No.” Miguel and Xina said in unison.
“Why not?” Gabriel questions, “It makes your hair curlier.”
“It’s fine if you pick my outfit, but not my hair.”
The couple groans simultaneously before diving through Miguel’s pile of clothes some more.
“Does…you know who know?” Xina asks.
“Why does Dana need to know?” Kasey speaks for him, “Better question, why should she give a damn? Doesn’t she have someone else?
“I would like to know how she reacts when she sees him taking her own advice.”
Miguel speaks up, “She doesn’t know. I don’t want her to.” His words momentarily stop the chaos. “I’d rather not focus or talk about Dana at all anymore. Please.”
“Fine.” Gabriel breaks the silence, “We’ll say ‘She Who Must Not Be Named’.”
“A bit wordy.” Xina cosigns.
“Or we just not mention her at all.” Kasey states, taking Miguel’s side. “We should be excited Miguel’s going on a date. And with someone who’s better than…that woman.”
With a silent agreement, everyone went back to finishing helping him with his attire.
Miguel didn’t bring up that he was avoiding Dana anyway. He’d rather not get locked into a needless conversation with her. Making him feel guilty and affecting his mood for his upcoming date.
You were the reason he was smiling the rest of the days leading up to the date. He envisioned conversation topics, thinking about your response to them. He thinks you're funny so he lets out a laugh when he's alone at what you would say. He wonders if you're excited. You haven't said much about the date. Could this be your way of getting cold feet? He'd hoped not.
Yet, you smile extra bright in the private room. Taking his hand and leading him to his seat. Miguel hopes this all wasn't for show.
“Guess what?”
He perks up. “What?”
You placate yourself on his lap, showing off your nails. They were short this time, square acrylic pink nails and sparkle on the tips. “For our date tomorrow.”
Miguel’s lips curled upwards with glee, “They're beautiful. Are you excited?”
“I am.” A giggle escapes you, “Are you?”
“Yes.” He sits up, resting his hand on your lower back to make sure you don't fall. “After overthinking about where I wanted to take you.”
“Of course you were overthinking it.” He isn’t bothered at how you shake your head in distain. “You know I don't bite.” You lean forward to whisper, “Unless you want me to.”
Miguel shudders, “I'm okay with biting.” You laugh, not catching that he was serious when you get out of his lap and resume your dance.
On the day of his date, his phone was blowing up.
Constant messages while he was getting ready from everyone he knew. Spouting words of encouragement to boost his confidence. Well, almost everyone.
Miguel noticed a text from a new number that said, “Hurt her and you die.” With a few knife emojis for flavor. He could count on one hand of people who sent him that message.
His mother also sent him a list of items to get so she can start her renovations of the house, completely unaware of the date he was going on. He made a note to get them tomorrow, going to use it as a distraction just in case the date with you didn’t go well.
Miguel was picking you up at your place. You gave him your address, which was about ten minutes away from his apartment. He didn’t expect you to be so close to him. While he drove, he went over his inventory. A bouquet of orchids, tiny flashcards filled with conversation topics, his phone, his jacket and an extra one in case you were cold.
Concern showed on his face when he saw you outside your house, waiting for him to arrive. He barely parked when he stepped out, skipping his steps over to you.
“Hey!”
“What’s wrong? Why are you out here? How long have you been out here?”
“Not long, don’t worry.” Your hand on his chest soothes him, “I didn’t want you to meet you to meet my family yet.”
Miguel wonders what you meant as he notices the blinds crinkle at the large house behind you, peering eyes at the two of you. He counted ten pairs of eyes when the front door opened.
“Hey, what happened to us meeting your date?”
You shook your head, pushing him to the car, “No time, Ma, we have a movie to catch.”
“What, he can’t at least say hi?”
“Hello!” Miguel greeted and managed a small wave before you kept pushing him to the car.
“There you got your hi! Bye!” You shout when he opens the car door for you and helps you inside. Miguel does another wave to your mother before getting in and driving off.
Coming down from the excitement, he takes you in. A pink dress that hugged your body, highlighting your curves and white low heels with straps that wrapped around your calves. You smell like powder, light and airy. You weren't wearing a wig either, showing your true self and not your stripper persona.
“Wow, you look…” Miguel tries to find a good enough word to describe you, but not enough comes to mind.
“Thank you, baby.” You peer at his outfit, the lime green button down shirt he’s wearing pairs well with his white pants and brown loafers. “You dressed up like this for me?”
Miguel shyly laughed, “Yes.”
“You look good.”
“Thank you.”
He notices your hands placed perfectly in your lap. Miguel resists the urge to hold your hand while driving to the restaurant, knowing he didn’t want to push too far.
The restaurant was nice. Not too upscale to make you two think you were underdressed, but not too casual as a lot of customers were dressed nicely. The place had two floors, one with a terrace to get a nice view of the city. Miguel made a reservation for a seat up there and he didn’t miss your eyes lighting up when the waiter leads you two upstairs. He takes your hand gently when you go up the stairs to make sure you don’t fall.
Your light gasp makes his heart go crazy at the view of the city. You lean over the balcony to take in the reasonable height. Miguel pulls out your chair and you sit down with grace. He tries not to lose his nerve seeing you in front of him, looking down at the menu.
Then he remembered your flowers.
“Oh!” He startles you, pointing behind him. “There’s flowers for you. In the car.”
“Oh? What kind?”
“Some orchids. They’re purple…”
“Aww, thanks.” You don’t look upset at the fact he forgot the flowers when you continue to glaze over the menu. Miguel tries not to beat himself up when he does the same. He takes in a breath, knowing that the date just started and that he should relax.
You order sangria and he decides it’s best to not order any alcohol tonight since he was driving and goes for a lemonade.
“Anything looks good to you?”
Miguel hums, trying to look like he was paying attention to the rest of the menu. In reality, he was trying to figure out how to start talking to you. He picks the closes meal he sees. “The seafood marinara looks great.”
“It does.” You admire his choice, “I’m thinking about getting the triple cheese ravioli.”
“That looks great too.”
“I’ll share some if you share yours.” Your eyes land on him, index finger tracing the menu.
He swallows while nodding, “Okay, sounds like a plan.”
Once you order, here comes the waiting. You decide to munch on a breadstick, carefully, not wanting to mess up your lipstick. While you invest your time in the bread, he pulls out the little flashcards, angling it under the table so it was clear he wasn’t looking at preparational material.
“May I ask you some personal questions?”
You shrug, “Go for it.”
“What’s your favorite color?”
You pause chewing on your bread, “Uh, it depends. It changes a lot.”
“I see.” He darts down to the next card, “Favorite type of weather?”
“Hmm, I never really given it much thought. I like when it rains, I guess.” You sip on your water when he pulls out the next card.
“What do you do outside of work?”
You poke the inside of your cheek, “A bunch of stuff-Miguel? What is this?”
“Oh uh…” He quickly places his cards on his lap, “I’m just getting to know you.”
“I can see that, but you sound like you just picked a bunch of questions off the internet.” That’s exactly what he did. Searching up ‘What Questions to Ask on A First Date?’.
“I…” Miguel didn’t know what to say. From your tone, you were probably getting annoyed at the fact he came with a list of questions to ask you, instead of letting the conversation flow naturally. “I’m sorry.”
You shook your head and he was waiting for you to ask him to take you home. Then he sees your hand out, waiting for him to give you something. He pulls out the cards and places them in your palm. You shuffle through them like you’re about to deal them on the table. You give him half of the cards while you keep the other half.
“How about this? We ask each other questions. I want to know about you too.”
“O-Okay. I’d like that.”
You scan through the cards to find a good question to ask. “Here's an easy one, ‘Are you a morning person or night owl?’”
“As much as I have to get up in the morning for work, I am a night owl. It's peaceful at night.”
“I'm the same way!” You boast, “It's so much better at night. No one can bother you and you can be at peace.”
Miguel notices your face reflecting on the conversation, nodding at your words. It was his turn to ask now. “Do you prefer the outdoors or indoors?”
“Indoors, immediately. I hate being outside.”
“But…we're outside right now.”
You squint at him but realizes he made a joke. “Oh so you have brains and you're funny too? Who would've thought?”
“N-No, I'm not-”
“Don’t play that cute act with me right now.” You point a straw at him as your drinks arrive. You excitingly shift in your seat and he can't tear his eyes away when you place your straw in your glass, puckering your lips to not ruin your lipstick before taking a sip. He sees that the straw manages to get an imprint of your lips anyway.
Miguel clears his throat, “It's your turn.”
“Hmm, what's the one person you talk to? And don't say Gabriel, I know he blows up your phone everyday.”
“He does. I am close to Xina, have I mentioned her?”
“Nope.”
“She’s a close friend. I've known her since middle school and we've been together since.”
“Aww that's nice.” You swirl your drink with a straw, “Did you two fuck before or?”
“What? No!” Miguel straightens up, “I've had a brief crush on her but n-nothing like that! I swear, please.”
“Miguel.” You shush him, seeing a few heads turn his way after the outburst. “It was a joking question. Kinda. Well, okay it might be a little serious but relax.”
He takes your hand, an earnest look overtaking his face. “I'm serious. Xina and I weren't a thing and will never be a thing.” Miguel stares into your eyes, hoping you see him being genuine.
“Okay, okay. I got it.”
When he lets go, an awkward silence hovers in the air. Miguel wants to bang his head on the table as he wishes he can start this date all over. So he could give you the flowers, not reveal his flashcards and bring up the fact that another woman is his closest friend.
“Temp-uh Pixie is like that for me.” You start, “We haven't been friends as long as you and Xina have. It's funny, we went to the same high school together and had one class together. We connected in that class but it didn’t extend outside of that. We didn't go to the same college and it wasn't until I saw her at the club when everything shifted. Like the universe told me she was meant to be my friend. Now here we are. Two peas in a pod. I love her but she can be so over protective.”
“I can see what you mean.” Before you could ask for him to elaborate, he pulls out his phone. “I think she sent me this text message.” He shows you the message Pixie sent, with the knife emojis and all.
You shake your head, “God, I'm sorry. She does that to all my dates, I don't know how she gets their phone numbers.”
“It's ok, I don't mind. It's good to have a friend like that. Shows how much they care.”
Both of you share a smile and the heart to heart is interrupted by the waiters, placing their entrees down and telling them to enjoy. Miguel notices your small shimmy, the same one you made after receiving the chicken and waffles back at the café and wants to tell you how cute you are, but doesn’t.
His food came in a large bowl, fresh clams, mini scallops, and mussels swimming in marinara sauce and pasta. Miguel didn’t realize how hungry he was when his stomach growls. Not to mention your ravioli covered with a basil alfredo sauce didn’t make it better.
After taking a picture of your plate, you practically moaned once you took a bite. Savoring the taste of the ravioli on your tongue. Miguel was surprised at how delicious his was, making sure to search the recipe to make it during his own time.
“Okay, you gotta have some of this.” You hold up your fork, an equal amount of ravioli and sauce on it. Miguel leans over, tasting the dish and closes his eyes, sighing at the cheesy taste. “Good, right?” Miguel couldn’t even say anything so he nodded with vigor. “My turn!”
He makes sure to get a good amount of pasta on his before handing the fork out towards you. When you tasted his, your eyes connected. Somehow, you made pasta eating sexy as you chewed slowly, not even getting a single drop of sauce to stain your pretty, plump lips.
He cannot get hard right now.
“That’s delicious.” You compliment, going back to your own meal.
“Y-Yes it is.”
In the midst of eating, you two resume asking questions. There Miguel finds out your hobbies, how you're an avid tv watcher, catching up on the latest shows. You like cooking, not as much as he does when he mentions he likes to recreate recipes he sees. That sparked another potential date if this one goes well. And you prefer to stay in if there's nothing else in the day you need to do. Which Miguel also agreed to.
The questions did go back to personal when he asked about your childhood and you mentioned that you come from a big family, who are constantly busy. That you currently live with your mother, grandmother, and a handful of siblings and cousins. All in one house but you managed to make it work. He sees why you were saving up for that house.
“That’s why I don't want kids.” You say after ordering dessert to go. “I want serenity. I don't want any more noise. Dealt with that for a major part of my life.”
“…I see.”
“What? What's wrong?”
“Well, I wouldn't mind having kids.” He toys with his napkin. “But they're not a priority. I'm also okay if I don't have any.”
You raise a brow, “You sure? You know that's why a lot of people get divorced nowadays because their partner changed their mind about kids.”
“We’re…not married.” The word ‘yet’ was on the tip of his tongue but he didn't want to think that far ahead.
“Still. I wanna know if you're gonna change your mind.”
“I won't. Really. As long as you're happy.”
You raise a brow, “You absolutely sure?”
“Yes.” He gives another smile to seal the deal.
“Alright. If you change your mind, I'll make sure Pixie kills you.” Miguel was absolutely sure you would do that too. “Plus, I wouldn't mind animals. We could get a dog or a cat.”
He holds in getting giddy at you also planning your future with him. “I'm okay with animals too.”
Once you two left the restaurant, you had thirty minutes until the movie starts. Although you said forty-five counting previews. Still, it allowed you two to take your time.
You shivered once you made your way inside the theater, hugging yourself immediately. Miguel planned for this, his chest swelling with pride when he offered you his jacket. You called him your ‘Knight in Shining Armor’ as you put it on while his cheeks got dark.
There your hand brushed against his as you waited in line at the concession stand. He wanted to hold your hand. Would that be too forward?
“Can I…?” He started to ask but your hand slipped through his, fingers intertwined with his own.
“Yes, you can.”
Your hand didn’t leave his the entire time. Not when he ordered popcorn, a large tub even though you two just ate. Miguel was too busy about holding your hand to focus on how you suggested to share a drink. He didn't have any input on the flavor as he stood behind you, squeezing your hand as you picked out a flavor.
Miguel still didn't let go when you two found your seats, getting comfortable in the plush seating. The lights weren't dimmed yet, giving you plenty of time to take a few selfies with him. He felt awkward posing for the camera but your happy face and the way you still didn't let go from his hand was more than enough.
The disaster movie you two watched was a great way to end the date.
Miguel was worried if the movie was too much for you, thinking that a rom com would be better. Thank goodness that feeling didn't last for long as you were enraptured in the film. Unwilling to take your eyes off the screen for a moment. Of course you had to when eating popcorn, your hands brushing along his a few times. And some giggles escaped the two of you when it happened.
You were excited when walking out of the theater, practically pulling him along while you raved about the movie. Who knew a film about twisters would be so action packed?
As you were winding down, the dread of the date coming to a close lingered in his stomach. Miguel didn’t want you to go, not yet, but he couldn't keep you beside him forever. That would look like kidnapping.
“I had a great time tonight.” You say as he pulls up to your house.
“So did I.” More than a great time, he wants to share.
Your hand glides up his arm, over his shoulder and to the nape of his neck. There your nails part his curls, massaging them and causing him to lean into your touch. He really doesn't want you to leave. And he wants to kiss you but you've done so much already. Was that acceptable for a first date? Dana gave him a kiss on the cheek during their first one. Whatever, if he was going to be away from you, he might as well ask.
“May I kiss you?”
You stop your caresses, lips into a smirk. “Aww, you beat me to it.”
Miguel doesn't have time to respond when he sees you lean in. Your perfect lips parted and your eyes lowered. He crosses the distance, his lips on yours. Much different compared the kiss back at the club. This one was gentle, soft, and short. Both of you pulling a hair away.
“Can I get another?” You're asking this time, your words fanning across his face.
“Yes.”
This kiss was deeper. He could taste the remnants of the soda and popcorn when you allow his tongue to slip inside. Both of you exploring each other as if this was the first time you two embraced. Experts in your own ways, but inexperienced when it came to each other.
It left you breathless when he pulled away. Still holding his arm as you tried to get yourself together.
“Mm how am I supposed to leave after that?” Your breathy laugh makes him want to kiss you again.
“We can go to my apartment. The night is still young.”
“It's almost midnight.” You contest, “If we were at the club, I'd say something different.”
“As long as I don't get banned again…”
You chortled, “Plus, I promised my mom I'd be back in the house tonight. I got the whole ‘I don't know this man’ spiel and I don't wanna hear her mouth.”
“I understand.” Miguel pushes down his disappointment, knowing he'll see you again soon.
“Text me when you get home, okay?”
“Okay.”
You say goodnight then kiss his cheek. Miguel quickly gets out of the car and runs to open the door for you. You shake your head in amusement when he helps you out of the car, hand in yours. He also hands you the flowers before he completely forgets them and you reward him with another peck on the lips.
“Finally, you're back.” You two shot your heads over the house next door and you groan.
“You know it's late, Miles. Why are you up?”
“Your mama asked me to watch out for you and wait for you to get back.” He explains, getting off of his porch and walking up to you. “I'd do anything for my favorite auntie.”
“Oh, he's your nephew?” Miguel asks.
“Not even.” You explain, causing said teenager to pout. “He's just been bothering me ever since he came out of his mama.”
Miles waves you away, “You love me.”
“Debatable.”
“Hey, what's your name, sir?”
Miguel realizes Miles is speaking to him and responds, “Miguel.”
“Miguel. La tratas bien? (You treating her well?)”
“Sí, sí estoy. No te preocupes. (Yes, yes I am. Don't worry.)”
“Bueno.”
You squint at the two, “What did you two just say to each other?”
“Nothing, don't worry about it.” Miles then points to his front door, “Now go in the house so I can go back to mine.”
“How about you go in the house and leave me alone?”
“So you can kiss your boyfriend all night? Ew.”
“I'll ‘ew’ the upside of your head if you don't go.”
Miles sucks his teeth but follows through, making his way back to his house. “Have a nice night, Miguel!” He doesn't acknowledge you, instead sticking his tongue out at you.
“Have a good night, Miles.” He waves while you roll your eyes.
“Sorry about that.”
“Don’t apologize. It's okay.”
You give him another kiss for his kindness, which turned into a few more. Miguel smiled under your lips as he watched the turmoil stir inside you. “I should go inside now.”
“You should.”
Another kiss and you tore yourself away from him. Miguel makes sure you go inside your house, seeing you wave him goodbye and blowing a kiss.
Once you're inside, Miguel makes his way back to his apartment. It's like clockwork when he gets multiple messages, asking how the date went. He decided to answer them later. For the moment, Miguel let his heart be full and his stomach litter with butterflies.
Tag list: @miguelzslvtz @kitcatcrunch @nina-from-317
you’re sitting next to him on his soft couch, leaning against his shoulder as he’s got his arm wrapped around you. the tv lights up both of your faces, as the sound of characters talking to each other on screen start making you sleepy. your eyes fight to stay open, closing every once and a while. miguel notices your silence and calm demeanour and turns his head, and to his surprise, sees your eyes shut.
“are you sleepy baby? hm?” he asks softly, stroking your arm as you open them up again from his voice, rubbing your face tiredly. “mhm” you mumble with a slight pout, nuzzling your face on his shoulder. “se te nota que estás cansada, pobrecita” he coos, as you shift your body down to rest your head on his lap.
he pets your head gently, reaching down to plant a kiss on your cheek. a smile creeps up on your face from his affection, “i love you” you murmur sweetly. he chuckles softly, looking down at you as he strokes your cheek. “te amo mas princesa. cierra esos ojitos, i got you” he reassures tenderly. “mmm, but i wan’ watch tv with you” you mutter in your sleepy voice, making miguel’s heart flutter. “yo también corazón, pero tienes que descansar. tomorrow we can spend more time together and do whatever you want” he says softly, brushing your skin.
you wiggle your body into a more comfy position, your legs huddled on the sofa as you adjust your head on his lap. “lay on my chest baby, s’ more comfortable” he whispers.
with his words, you lazily lift yourself up as he lays his back down on the couch. bringing you into his arms, your face nestles in the crook of his neck, placing your leg on top of him for comfort. relaxing against his skin, your tired eyes begin to shut again. he strokes your shoulder and thigh gently, his warm touch instantly relieving tension in your body.
he looks at you lovingly as you breathe against his skin; so peaceful and delicate. the closeness between the two of you never fails to make his heart beat faster, no matter how many times you’re together.
knowing how safe and trustworthy you feel with him is the best thing in the world to him. your ability to be vulnerable and comfortable no matter what is something he never takes for granted, especially considering you’re never like this with anyone else but him.
you fall asleep quickly, soft breathes escaping you as he holds you in his big arms. miguel smiles at how cute you look sleeping, trying to stay as still as possible, ensuring he doesn’t interrupt his pretty girl’s beauty sleep. :3
Between Two Worlds ~ Loser!Miguel O'Hara x Stripper!Reader (Pt. 3)
★Word Count: 6.1k
★Content: Miguel feels sorry for himself after leaving you, he does get some suicidal thoughts, you do get topless again, dry humping, vaginal fingering (on the outside of clothing), mentions of sex
★A/N: Y'all might get mad at me again, but enjoy! Dividers by @/rookthornesartistry
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Masterlist | Commissions
Miguel wanted to keel over his desk. He kept replaying that night in his mind. The warm feel of your breasts, your face twisted in pleasure while your body pressed against his. His desire to break the club rules by pulling that pretty thong you wore to the side, covering your hips with his jacket so the cameras wouldn't see you riding him to oblivion. Slow and hard thrusts up into your core. Holding back sounds of ecstacy to not act suspicious.
Yes, he wanted to have sex with you. It was obvious that he was attracted to you. He wanted you all to himself. But he was holding back.
“Hey, Mr. Miguel.” Margo, the IT intern, pops in the lab.
Miguel sits up from his desk, shuffling paperwork to show he is working. Not thinking about you. “Hi, Margo. What are you doing here?”
“Gotta do the monthly system check.” She then frowns at him, “Don’t tell me you forgot.”
He did forget. “No! No of course not.” Miguel got out of her way, allowing her to take over his computer. Her face told him she didn't believe him but didn't push any further.
Margo sets up doing the routine diagnostic checkup on his computer, easily clacking along the keyboard as she works. Miguel’s mind wonders to you again. You’re probably upset at him. He did leave you hanging last night. Should he bring you flowers as an apology? He’s seen other patrons at the club do that to the other dancers. Would that be weird?
Margo clears her throat, capturing his attention. “You’ve been slacking, Mr. Miguel.”
He wonders if she's reading his mind. “Hm? What do you mean?”
“Are you serious right now?” She pulls out her phone, showing him the start screen of Candy Blast, which was a knock off version of Candy Crush. “Is this jogging your memory?”
Miguel’s heart almost leaped out of his chest. “Oh no. Oh no, Margo, I’m so sorry.” She scoffed as he pulled out his phone to open up the app. Instantly, he went to the scoring listed, his username in rank thirty-four. While Margo was still in the top five, keeping her side of the pact.
“You got five seconds to give me a good excuse.” He started to open his mouth to defend himself but got cut off, “And you can’t use the ex-fiancé one.”
That was true. It’s the reason why she offered him to play the game in the first place. To get his mind off of the heartbreak from his ex.
“I’ve been busy with work.”
“So have I. And school. Yet, I’m the only one in the top five.”
“Not everyone can be a prodigy.”
“Haha, don’t flatter me.” Her scowl reaches to the depth of his soul. All while she's working on his computer. “If you didn’t want to play anymore, just say that.”
Miguel felt like he was messing up a lot lately. First with Dana, then you, and now Margo. What if he died? Jump out the window of his building? Then he could start over. Not worry about fixing everything with everybody.
He took a deep breath and leaned against his desk.
“I still do. I’ve gotten caught up with work. In case you didn't notice, there is a certain banquet coming up that I'd like to finish my work for. I'm a pro at this game so I'll catch up in no time.”
Margo hummed, “Alright. Just don't fall off the board even more. I told you we could get money if remain in the top five for ten weeks straight.”
“I got it.” He didn't care about the money. Having another hobby to take his mind off of Dana was all he needed.
“All done!” Margo stood before slapping a sticker of completion on his desk. Which was a smiling emoticon holding a huge, pink heart. “Have fun with a slightly faster computer.”
“I will.”
Before she made her leave, she shot daggers through her eyes. “You better pick up the pace.”
“Alright, alright.” He shooed her along so he could go back to work.
When Miguel came back on Tuesday, he immediately looked for you. He decided to not give you flowers, he didn’t want to draw more attention to himself than he already did. He wanted to see you, and act like nothing wrong happened last week.
Except you hardly looked his way.
He knew you saw him. Your glance gave it away. But it was short, not even lasting a second. Not looking back when you made your way to the large stage, surrounded by customers already throwing their money at you before you started. Usually during your dance, your gaze fell on him at times. Lingering on him, beckoning him to come up on stage with you.
There was none of that this time.
Your dance was still sensational, showing off your talent as you swung around the pole. Screams of customers filled his ears as money flew across the room. And you looked at everyone else except for him. He felt sick at the thought.
Miguel wanted to go home and get rid of the negative feelings. Before he did, he stopped by the bar, seeing Ben serve some customers.
“Hey, Mr. Science Guy.” Ben greeted with open arms. Miguel let out a short laugh at the nickname, handing him the wad of cash.
“Can you give this to Silk when she’s done dancing?”
Ben glanced at the money, “You can’t give it to her?”
“No, I have to go home. Early day tomorrow.” A complete lie, but no one else needed to know the truth. Ben hesitated before taking the cash, and stuffing it in his pocket.
“I’ll make sure she gets it.”
“Thank you.” He waves him goodbye, leaving the club.
Miguel decided to try again on Thursday as you two will be alone for a while. Except your interaction was also awkward. Just like Tuesday, you barely glanced his way. Face neutral so he wasn’t able to tell if you were truly upset at him. He knew this was not like you at all so something was wrong.
“Hi.”
You didn't answer but pointed to the seat behind him. He sat while you fiddled with the remote to pick a song.
Despite the tension, your dance wasn’t lackluster. You hooked around the pole with your calf, putting your head back. Blue strands of your synthetic hair waving in the air. Worry lingered in his chest as he didn’t want your wig to fall off in that position. You weren't when you pulled back up, still not making eye contact.
“How has your week been?” He starts the conversation as he usually does. You don't say a word, heels clicking against the stage. “I…liked your dance on Tuesday. But I couldn't stay too long. Did you receive the money from Ben?”
Still nothing from you. Your movements never faltered, bending down in front of him so he could see your ass. Miguel appreciates the view but he's not fond of the silence.
“Please tell me you got the money. I don't want to sell you short.”
There was a glimpse from you. It was quick, enough to make him second guess if you really did that.
“I did.”
Miguel’s shoulders relax, “Oh good.” He gives you a relieving smile and you trip over your feet. A squeal comes out as you catch yourself on the pole. Miguel’s nearby, hands raised to catch you if need be. “Are you okay?”
You push him away. The action barely nudges him, “Why did you leave?”
“W-What-”
“If I made you uncomfortable, why didn't you tell me?”
“Whoa, wait you didn't make me uncomfortable-”
“You're a guy, Miguel. I know men can have problems saying what they really mean.”
He wasn't trying to focus on the fact that you said his name this time and not a nickname. “No, I'm serious. I wasn’t-”
“Is everything okay in here?” Noir comes into the room, radiating that security persona. Doesn't help that his all-black attire seals the deal. His eyes laser-focused on Miguel after doing a once-over to ensure you're alright.
“I'm fine.” You say.
Noir doesn't back down, “You sure? I can kick Science Guy back to his lab.”
Even though Miguel was larger than him, he knew Noir could do it in a heartbeat.
“I got it. I'm okay.”
He backs off, shooting you a reassuring look before leaving.
Miguel creates some distance, “I wasn't uncomfortable. I was completely fine.”
“You were squirming and you grabbed your things and left me-” You shut your mouth after that, trying to figure out what to say. “Regardless of the vibe of the club, I value consent. And if you're not comfortable with anything we do, I need you to say that.”
“And I will.” Miguel makes an effort to come closer. You didn’t move away, but your shoulders are still tense. “But I'd like for you to believe me when I say it.”
Silence from both of you despite the song playing in the background. Miguel waited for you. And he would however long it took.
“Okay.” You relaxed, “I will.” His heart jumped at that, ecstatic you two had settled your differences. “You still didn't tell me why you left.”
Oh right.
Miguel didn’t want to tell you that he wanted to have sex with you. He was determined to take your odd relationship slow. As much as he could.
“I spoke to Dana last week. She said some things that got to me.”
“Oh.”
“I know, you're not my therapist so I won't say anything else.”
This time you roll your eyes, pointing back to the seat to get him to sit. You make your way to the pole but look back at him, “What did she say?”
Miguel didn't expect that when he sat on the sofa. So he told you what happened. He provided context first with how his relationship with Dana ended, via phone call. He was at work when she told him she wanted to break off the engagement. That he wasn’t providing for her needs. Miguel wanted to talk to her so he tried to leave work early. But caught his ex with Tyler in the elevator.
Close, stuck like glue as if they were dating. They were shocked as much as he was. Standing there as if they didn’t expect to be caught. What’s worse was the entire genetics department was there to witness the whole affair. Miguel’s heart shattered. He wasn’t sure if it was beating anymore at that moment. There was hardly an explanation why she left him until their recent conversation in the break room.
Your upset face told him everything he needed to know.
“She’s a bitch for that.”
Miguel grimaced, “Don’t say that.”
“Oh, sorry.” He blinked at your apology. Despite what she did, no one else respected his push to not disrespect Dana.
“It’s okay.”
“Can I call her a meanie, at least?”
He chuckled at that, “That’s fine.”
“Okay. She’s a meanie.” You stepped down, hands roaming all over your body. “She broke your heart and then had the nerve to break it off by a phone call. And don’t get me started on what she told you last week. That’s fucked up.”
Miguel shook his head, “No, she’s in the right to feel how she feels. It is my fault. I drove her to leave me.”
“Boy…” You were now on his lap, leaning back and rolling your body. Usually, your movements were gentle and flowy, this time they were short and rough. Your face scrunched and he could tell you were getting upset again. “I don’t know too much about your relationship with her but I know you and how you’ve treated me and everyone else here. You don’t seem like the type to neglect a relationship.”
“Must not know much about me then…”
You scoffed, “I know enough.” He handed you your money once your dance was over, but you didn’t take it right away. “I need additional payment.”
“Oh, right.” Miguel figured the trouble he caused last week and tonight would incur a fee. He dug in his pockets for his wallet when you stopped him with a hand on his chest. He ignores your warm touch, resisting to place his hand on top of yours.
“Can I give you a hug?”
His eyes widen and you bite your lip to hold your laugh. “A hug? You want to hug me?”
“Yeah.” You shrug, “You’ve been going through it and hugs cheer me up sometimes.”
A blush forms on his cheeks and he shyly ducks his head.
“Okay.”
He let you take the lead, opening his arms for you to hug him. Your arms around his neck, his own around your waist. He was mentally glad that you were wearing a bodysuit this time, so he wouldn’t feel as much of your skin. Miguel tried not to tense up feeling your breath against his neck, goosebumps coating his arms. You felt so soft, smaller. He made the mistake of inhaling your floral scent, holding back a groan at how good you smelled.
“You smell good.” You pull back enough to gaze up at him.
Miguel nervously chuckles. He didn’t think too much about how he smelled, the fresh scent of tea and sage was something that Dana usually liked. “T-Thank you. So do you. I mean, I’ve always wanted to say that to you but thought that was…weird.”
“It’s not, don’t worry.”
You wink at him, grabbing his hand to lead him out of the room. As soon as you two leave the room, Black Cat is right there. Her long, silver hair was up in a ponytail and a black and white bodysuit that hardly left anything to the imagination. Her slender frame was a contrast to yours. Not to mention, she was taller than you. Miguel had a feeling that it wasn't because of her black, fluffy heels.
“Oooh he is such a cutie.”
You move in front of him, hand not leaving his. “What do you want?”
“I wanted to get a good look at the handsome, tall regular. Who acts like a little puppy.” She takes one step closer and so do you.
“Back off, you're not stealing this one from me.”
Black Cat scoffs, “It's not my fault they wanted someone better.” Her blue eyes scan Miguel, head tilted to the side. “You know how men are. It's so easy to change their minds.”
“I don't want anyone better.” He squeezes your hand. “I'm not saying Silk isn't great, I'm saying-”
“Miguel.” You cut him off while peering back at him to let you handle it. If he had a zipper, he would zip his mouth shut.
“Sorry.”
“No wonder you want him all to yourself.” Black Cat bites her lip and she's giving him a look he saw in you the first night of your dance with him. “That cute awkwardness act would make anyone fall for him.”
“Ok, don't you have to shake your ass somewhere else?” You gesture to the entire club. She finally takes the hint, rolling her eyes and strutting off like a cat finding her next prey. Miguel holds back everything he can not to smile at what happened. How attractive you looked claiming what was yours without directly saying it.
“Thank you.”
You raised a brow, “For?”
“Oh, uh, nothing! I like saying thank you.” He looks away, hoping he didn't expose himself to you.
You giggle, pushing him out of the club. “Goodbye, Miguel.”
Gabriel's been bothering Miguel about you. Littering Miguel’s phone with messages about the mystery person, when he's going to talk about them and finally bring them up to someone. When it wasn’t him, it was Kasey. But she knew when to back off and not push.
Then Gabriel had to pull off the best stops, Xina.
She's been away, closing herself to work on a new AI. He hasn't seen her since he told her about what happened with Dana. But now she was in town for a bit and she invited him to lunch. So Miguel took an extended break and met up with Xina at a local burger joint.
They greeted each other with a hug before getting comfortable in their seats.
“Ah, it's so great to be out.” She stretches, taking in the wide-open area.
Miguel was already concerned, “Have you not been outside since we last talked?”
“I have. But only to like grab the mail or take a walk around the neighborhood.”
“What about food? How are you eating?”
Xina waves her phone in front of him, “It's called delivery apps.”
“Oh. Right.” Once they ordered, the two of them deciding on the classic cheeseburger and milkshake combo, she gave him a genuine look.
“How are you doing?”
“I'm better.” Xina raises a brow but he doubles down. “Really, I'm alright. Life doesn't feel like it's out to get me anymore.”
“Could it be because you found someone else?”
Miguel did his best to not appear annoyed, “ Which one? Gabriel or Kasey?”
“Both, actually. They called me to say you found someone to replace dear old Dana. And they wanted me to ask who it is.”
“Like you'd get the information out of me.” He folds his arms as Xina snorts with amusement.
“Right because when have you ever told me anything?”
“Hold on.” Miguel starts recalling their memories together. Despite Xina being his old childhood crush, that was gone the moment he met Dana in college. He still kept her close as a friend but he used to wonder if she even knew about his old feelings for her. “I told you when I started dating Dana.”
“Yes, you have one example.”
“How about when I got the job at Alchemex? You knew right away.”
“Uh-huh.” Xina folds her arms, amused. “Keep going.”
“I told you Tyler is my father.”
Silence filled between the two, despite the restaurant being busy due to the lunch rush. Besides his mother, Xina was the only person Miguel told.
“I’m surprised I know about that.” She stirs her milkshake with her straw, whipped cream dissipating in the drink. “Did you tell Gabri?”
“No. I don’t know how to tell him that.”
“It’s not that hard. ‘Hey, by the way, my boss is actually my biological father. We’re only half-brothers.’”
“But we’re still brothers.” Miguel reminds her, “I don’t want him to think we’re not.”
“That’s still a dumb excuse on why you didn’t tell him.” He became silent, focusing on his shake. Xina leaned forward to catch his attention. “Look, I don’t care if you didn’t tell him or not. But you need to give him something.”
“I know.”
Miguel did plan to tell his brother something. He wasn’t sure which one he should tell him about. At least he has an idea of how he’d react to one of them.
“Does your special somebody know about the Dana situation?”
“I told her what happened not too long ago.”
Xina perked up, “Oh, it’s a she. And she’s cool with that?”
“Yeah? Why wouldn’t she be?”
“Because she sounds like someone who’s a rebound.”
He shook his head, “No, I promise she’s not.”
“When did you meet her?”
“…a few weeks after what happened with Dana.” Xina pursed her lips and he continued, “She’s not a rebound, I swear. She’s different.”
“Different how?”
Miguel takes a moment, wondering how he would explain you to Xina. Without stating that you’re a stripper. He didn’t have a problem with your profession. He didn’t want to hear anything negative from anyone else at the moment. “She’s just different. I need that.”
“Dana was different.”
“She was another kind of different.”
“But this woman is a special kind of different.”
“Exactly.”
Xina shrugs, lazily munching on her fry. “Alright. Can’t wait to see how this one plays out.”
This spider project was going to drive Miguel insane.
The work itself wasn't difficult. Splicing spider DNA and comparing it human DNA for an experimental drug Alchemex wanted to test wasn't a problem. With the help of his intern, Gwen, the work was simple.
It was Tyler that was the issue.
The man made constant check ins, be it by phone call or dropping in the lab for a few minutes. Asking for his progress on the project. Wanting to know much he had left until it was completed. Miguel’s poker face was incredible as he hid his true emotions at the constant badgering. He didn't even show his true feelings to Gwen, who was close to ripping her hair out at the frequent visitations and calls.
But oh boy, was he tired of it.
Yet another thing his father could harass him with. Tyler even pushed that he should stay late to make sure the work gets completed in time. When Miguel already calculated he would be ahead of the deadline by a few days with his current pace.
But Tyler thought if Miguel stayed later, the work would finish faster.
Miguel reluctantly did so, taking overtime to finish up. Except on the days he saw you. Tyler be damned, nothing was going to make him miss you. Even as he sat on the sofa, watching you spin around the metal pole with glee, his eyes heavy from the constant working.
“You okay?” You asked, still spinning around.
“I'm fine. A little tired.” He sits up in his seat, focused on you.
“Your boss still nagging you about that project?” Miguel nods, causing you to glare at him, “I hate him. Why is he doing this to you? He already stole your ex.”
“I don't know. Tyler's always been hard on me.” It makes Miguel wonder if it's because Tyler knows he's his son. Wanting to treat him harshly despite not being a prominent figure in his life. “It'll be over soon. I'm almost finished.”
You purse your lips before grabbing the remote for the music. You change it to an intimate song, its slow beats rumbling across the room. It causes Miguel to lower his shoulders, watching you strut over to him. He gets a good look at you, with your silver bodysuit that pushes up your breasts. A long strip of fabric covers your navel and connects to your bottoms.
“You're gorgeous.”
You smile at his compliment, not making any moves. “Thank you.” Your eyes go to his glasses, asking for permission to remove them. He allows you, his thick frames placed on the side of the sofa. His nostrils graced with the scent of you, taking over all his senses. Miguel was focused on you and only you.
“Want me to help relieve your stress?”
He swallows, “How? How would you?”
“I have my ways.” You teasingly check out the sudden bulge of his pants. “You're not going to run away from me again this time right?” Miguel shook his head, afraid his words were going to ruin this moment. “I need you to say it.”
“N-No.”
“Good. Spread your legs.”
He follows your instructions as you turn around, giving him a perfect view of your back. Time went by agonizingly slow. Everything in slow motion when you unzipped your upper half, pulling it down for your breasts to show. Your ass pressed against his arousal when you lean back, head to the side, showing off that pretty neck.
Miguel balls his hands into fists when he lets out a groan. You were rolling your hips in slow motion, providing ample stimulation to his cock. He wants to grind back against your plump cheeks, hold your sides, grope your breasts. This was the most contact he's gotten from you since the time he ran away.
“Miguel?” You call him. “You need to let out some steam.”
“I-I, we…we-”
“You can touch me. When you're ready.” You say, still rolling your hips at the same pace. Not picking up speed to rush him. You were letting him make that decision. He does need to let off some steam. And you were allowing him to let go.
Miguel’s hands rest on your bare thighs, his hips grinding in tandem with yours. His groans in your ear. Your heavy breaths, coated with light moans are all he wanted to hear. His hands move along your body as if he's already memorized you. Cupping your breasts elicits a loud moan from your lips. His cock jumps at the sound of your pleasure.
You fit perfectly in his palms while he creates circular motions, matching the pace of your hips. Miguel wants to play with you, pinching your nipples causes your back to arch. He wants to taste you, his tongue tracing your earlobe before dragging it down to your neck. That makes you shiver, pressing amongst him harder and he grunts.
“Touch me.” What you say pulls him out a bit. He was already touching you. But you bring one of his hands against your clothed cunt. Miguel wonders if it's pushing the rules but you read his mind, “It's okay...it's okay just…” You press further into his hand, looking at him with wide eyes.
He gives you want you want, two fingers pressing along the fabric to rub your clit. Even with the bodysuit in the way, he's obsessed with how you feel. How you're depending on him to touch you the way you deserve. And you don’t neglect his needs as you're rubbing along his pants, pre cum staining them.
“You're so beautiful.” He compliments, “I-I can't believe I'm doing this with someone as amazing as you…”
“Miguel-”
“I like the way you say my name. Not baby or honey. My name.”
“Miguel…” Your mouth goes agape and he wants to kiss you. Your pretty lips coated in that lip gloss he watched you put on earlier. He holds back, rolling back his eyes as he feels himself getting close.
“I like that you're doing this with me a-and not with anyone else...”
“Miguel!” You cry out, body stilling in your orgasm. He's shocked, watching you climax for him, not expecting it to happen so quickly. Your pleasure-ridden face made more cum pour out from him, not enough to bring him over the edge. He's not sure what to do when you come down from your high, resting against his chest, yours heaving.
But you turn around and see he was still hard.
“Let’s have sex.”
Miguel’s eyes go wide, “W-What?”
“You heard me. Let's fuck.”
“Right here? I don't think this is a romantic place to-”
“Miguel.” You place a finger on his lips, “Do you wanna fuck or not?”
“I-I…” He doesn't want to break the rules, yet seeing you like this, bodysuit hanging off, eyes filled with desperation, he didn't want to let it go. “I do.”
“Good. You got a condom?” He shakes his head, not expecting this to happen with you right away. “It's fine. You’ll pull out.” You say while unbuttoning his pants. You barely make it to pulling his cock out when the door flies open. Miguel raises his hands as he sees Jessica, with a disapproving look on her face.
This leads to the two of you standing side by side, heads lowered as if you were kids in trouble.
“Now, I know you two know about the rules. Especially Science Guy over here.”
Miguel lowers his head even more, “I'm very sorry, I didn't mean for it to happen this way-” Jessica shushes him and his mouth shuts.
“I let you two have your fun. I can be lenient when I can be. But this,” She gestures to both of you, “is unacceptable.” She points to Miguel, “You're banned.”
His heart rapped in his ears, anxiety overpowering his body. He couldn’t speak or say anything to get her to reconsider.
“What?” You take over, moving in front of him, “Jess, wait don't do this-”
It was your turn to be shushed, “Relax, it's only for a week.” His shoulders relax a little. “Even though he brings in decent money, I don't do favoritism. That also means you gotta go home for the night.”
“W-Wait.” Miguel cuts in, “Don’t let her leave early, it’s my fault-”
“Shh.” Jessica silences him once more, “Don’t make your ban longer than it has to be.”
You don’t protest, pushing past Miguel and going to the back of the club. Noir pops up when you walk away, escorting Miguel out of the establishment. He wants to stay and convince Jessica to at least let you finish the night. Instead, he doesn’t resist, full of a myriad of emotions.
Tears attack his eyes, threatening to overpour and stain his cheeks. He messed up. It was all his fault. That’s why you had to go home early. Why he was banned. This wouldn’t have happened if he didn’t complain about his work life to you, making you feel the need to relieve his stress. Crossing that imaginary boundary.
Miguel’s chest burned with heartache when he got in his car. A similar feeling he had when everything happened with Dana. He needed someone to talk to. Someone to call.
“Gabri, I messed up.”
“Huh? What?” Miguel heard his brother shuffle on his end, his voice laced with tiredness. All while he was fighting to keep his eyes on the road, his glasses thrown somewhere in his car. “What's going on, Mig?”
“I need someone to talk to. I think I ruined everything for myself. And of course, I would because I’m a pathetic guy and deserve to be pathetic and-”
“Wait, wait,” Gabriel stops him, “just come over. We'll talk.”
Gabriel got to see his older brother, disheveled. Hair a mess, shirt unbuttoned, glasses on but a little dirty. There wasn’t the scent of alcohol in the air but Miguel’s appearance gave off a look of a drunkard.
“Geez, did you get into an accident or something?” Gabriel asks while Miguel plops on the couch.
“No, but I might as well…”
Kasey sleepily shuffles into the living room as he sits next to Miguel to get the details. She almost jumps at the two guys there, not expecting her boyfriend’s older brother to be there.
“Damn, Miguel. Are you okay? You look horrible.”
“I got it, babe.” Gabriel pushes her to go back to bed. She does so, after giving Miguel a quick once over in case he was hurt. But once she was gone, Miguel held his face in his hands.
“I messed up with her. She's never going to talk to me again.”
“Who? Dana?” Miguel shakes his head. “The mystery person?” He slowly nods. “I doubt it. You're the guy all men should look to for relationships. Uh, except with the one with Dana.”
Miguel wasn’t in the mood to joke around. His body quivered as he replayed the last couple of hours. How he got you off, how you almost got him off, and how you were about to have sex before getting caught.
“I almost had sex with her.”
Gabriel blinked, “I don't see the problem here.”
“Where she works was the problem. It's one of the rules there.”
“Lots of places don't really want people to have sex there. But we're human beings. We don't listen.”
“I got banned there, Gabriel. It's only for a week but still…” Miguel finally looks at him, tears welling in his eyes.
“Oh shit.” Gabriel sat up, “There weren't any children nearby right? You know that can get you registered as a sex offender-”
“It was at a strip club!”
Miguel’s confession made his brother blink. His eyes looked around, brows furrowed in thought. Only for a smirk to plaster Gabriel’s face and a nudge to his ribs.
“You son of a bitch. You're seeing a stripper?” Miguel became silent which fueled the fire of Gabriel's excitement. “Holy shit. And you didn't want to tell me? This is the best thing that could happen to you, bro.” He grabbed Miguel’s arms, shaking him with joy. “What is she like? Is she beautiful? Of course, she's gotta be beautiful, she's a stripper.”
Miguel tries to silence him, “Kasey probably hasn't gone back to sleep yet.”
“That woman is a heavy sleeper. We're fine. But I need you to tell me everything brother to brother.”
Miguel told Gabriel everything he knew about you. From how you two first met, to how he ended up going to the club every week. Obviously, he excluded the sexual details. In his current state, he didn't want to mention that right now.
“And you decide to wait and tell me? Your own little brother?” While Gabriel’s tone was light, Miguel saw the twinge of disappointment inside. All for not telling his closest family member of a new person he met. “If you were worried about it because she’s a stripper, I don’t care about that. Mami might but you’re taking care of that.”
Miguel pushed aside the mom comment. He’d cross that bridge when he got there. “I wasn’t worried about that. I don’t care about what she does. I didn’t want you to think I was going too fast after Dana.”
“Well…are you?”
“No! I’m pacing myself.”
“You just told me you almost had sex with her.”
“But I didn’t.” Miguel reiterates, causing Gabriel to roll his eyes. “I’m worried that I ruined everything. What if she doesn’t want to talk to me anymore?”
“You didn’t. You’re coming down from your sex high.” He offers Miguel a reassuring pat on the back. “Sleep on it and wait it out. Before you know it, the week will fly by.”
Gabriel was right. Miguel needed to relax and clear his head. Albeit that meant he wouldn’t be able to see you for a week. He wished during your times together he grabbed your phone number. Call you and explain himself. Apologize for everything. Yet, that was crossing the boundary both of you tried to set.
He took the week one day at a time.
Miguel dug his mind into his work, finishing up the spider project before the deadline to prepare for the shareholder’s banquet. He didn’t pay any attention to whatever Dana had as an excuse to talk to him. Or Tyler’s constant badgering of when the project would be ready.
He tried not to think of you. He tried not to wonder if you were feeling the same way as he did. Sorry for yourself, desperate to see him and talk. But he knew you. You held how you felt in. Maybe you were fine. Maybe you did need a break from him. Or else that incident might happen again.
Miguel liked you though. He wanted to tell you his feelings. Would that change your relationship? Make it better? Make it worse? If you decided to cut him off after he tells you, would he be okay after? He’d have to be.
Once the week was up, he came to see you, in the morning. You were getting off of work. Note cards in his jacket pocket filled with what he wanted to say to you. He rehearsed it last night, he rehearsed it in the car. But they were a back up just in case he messed it up.
There you stood, waving your coworkers goodbye as they took their respective transportation home. Miguel ducked in his car seat seeing Jess walk out, hoping she wasn’t too exact in how long he remained banned. Then you were the only one left. Leaning against the closed building, your mind going elsewhere. He thought it was odd you hadn’t left yet. But maybe you called a rideshare. If that was the case, Miguel had to hurry.
As he got out of the car and crossed the street, you noticed him. Shock apparent on your face, not expecting him to show up at 5 o’clock in the morning. But he didn’t want to waste another second without seeing you.
Between Two Worlds ~ Loser!Miguel O'Hara x Stripper!Reader (Pt.2)
★Word Count: 3.8k
★Content: You and Miguel get to know each other, once again he gets hard from your lap dances, Dana is Dana, Miguel also tries to make more friends, he also voluntarily gets flashed
★A/N: I was wracking my brain about how I wanted the plot to flow along but we locked in now. Enjoy!
Dividers by @/rookthornesartistry
⁺˚⋆｡°✩Prev | Next ✩°｡⋆˚⁺
Masterlist | Commissions
“Why did you become a dancer?”
You paused at the question, stopping your spin around the pole in the private room. Miguel shifts in his seat, knowing that was a personal question.
“You wanna get deep now, huh?” You laugh, continuing your twirl.
“You don't have to answer.” He says, “I was just curious…”
Miguel's only been your regular for a few weeks now. He sees you dance on Tuesdays and on Thursdays, you two discuss your week. It was a light conversation, with no topics that pry into each other's lives. All while you're grinding on him.
“I'm saving up to buy a house.” Miguel wasn't expecting that and you notice his surprised face, “What, were you expecting some sob story?”
“No! Not at all.”
You shrug, “I get it. Buying a house isn't exciting.”
“I think buying a house is admirable. Why a house?”
“To get away from my family.”
Miguel’s stomach twists, “Not a big family person?”
“I am.” He mentally releases a sigh of relief, “It's just I like peace and quiet. Can't get that with them breathing down my neck every five minutes.”
You step down from the mini-stage, and he watches you run your hands along your body, starting from your neck, fingertips grazing across your long, silky black hair, over your breasts, passing by your exposed navel before touching your thighs. He gulps, shifting from his erection to focus back on the conversation.
“Do they even know what you do?”
“They know of my part-time job at the mall. When I go out at night, I tell them I have a nighttime job at an office.” You smirk, “As you can see, I'm a good liar.”
He chuckles, “You are.” You strut towards him, turning so your back faces him. His eyes go down to your ass, seeing your plump cheeks in front of him as they grind on his lap. “Why a house? If you wanted to get away from your family, people usually start with an apartment.”
“That’s true. But I want a forever home. Some place where I know I'm here for life.” He barely sees your face, but he notices your mind goes elsewhere. Similar to how you looked back at your dressing room a few weeks ago.
“I understand. It's a nice goal to strive for.”
You turn, flashing him a wide smile. “Thanks.”
You sit on his lap, rolling your hips as you slide your hands up and down his chest. Miguel clenches his hands to resist the urge to touch you. “Now, Mr. Scientist, why did you become one?”
“A geneticist, you mean?”
“Duh.” You continue to roll your hips at the sensual beat.
“Well, I'm good at it.” He states, “And I enjoy it so why not pick a profession you're good at?”
“You have a point.” You get up on your knees, your breasts completely in his face. Your hands run all over his hair, nails creating scratches along his scalp. Miguel shudders, almost letting out a moan. It doesn't help when you lean against his ear to whisper, “That means you're smart, right?”
“Very.”
You lock eyes and he darts down to your full lips, wondering if you were going to kiss him again. Instead, you lean back to create some distance and he hides his disappointment. You two haven't done anything further besides the hand job and the kiss. Which was also because of the rule of no sex inside the club. Miguel did think the start of…whatever they had was going a little fast so he didn't complain.
“I like my men smart.” You state, continuing to trace up and down his chest. He tries not to smile at that, watching you intently. “Shows me you're putting that brain to good use.”
“Of course.”
You giggle, getting off of him completely. “Times up, big guy.”
Miguel stands, not believing how fast time goes when he’s with you. But he hands you your money and watches you tuck it into your bra.
“Thanks. For the talk.”
“You know you don't have to keep thanking me every time we do this.”
“I want to.”
Miguel’s routine was simple. He’d get up early, around five in the morning, do his daily workout, shower, get dressed to go to work, deal with his coworkers and insufferable boss, before going back home to unwind and do it all over again. Occasionally, he’d spend time with his family and check up on friends. Now, he was doing all of that and seeing you.
The days you two agreed on gave him some wiggle room. He knew if he saw you at the club every night would wear him down. Affect his performance at his job. But he was able to manage. Seeing you made his days better, even if they were worse earlier. When he didn’t see you, he was anticipating the time of when he could. Thinking about what conversation topics to bring up. How much money he should pay you this time.
It helped distract the current hell of his life. Because every time he went to work, he had to witness Dana and Tyler together. In front of him.
She's been at the company a lot since the break-up. Almost every day, every hour. Miguel wonders if she works anymore since she spends all her time with Tyler.
Even his coworkers look down on him at the fact he allowed another man to steal his woman. Miguel wanted to explain that he didn’t allow it, it just happened. The fact that Dana went to someone else and left him.
“Is there any more coffee?”
Miguel glanced over to see said ex with a mug in her hand. She stood awkwardly beside him, shyly tucking strands of her brown hair behind her ear. He quickly slid his coffee cup away, giving her access to the pot. “Go ahead, it’s still fresh.”
“Thanks.” As she poured her coffee, Miguel stood there, watching the liquid slowly fill up halfway. On cue, he handed her exactly four creams and two sugars, muscle memory of his time with her kicking in. “Ah, you remembered.”
“It’s easy to.”
Dana shoots him a smile and he doesn’t want to admit that it still warmed him up a little inside. “How have you been?”
Horrible. Miserable. Angry.
“Fine. You?”
“I’ve been good.” She takes a sip, “I’m glad everything’s calmed down now.”
Miguel raises an eyebrow, “Really? Why’s that?”
“You know, the announcement was a big shock and everyone asking me if I’m okay-”
“Right.” He pours himself a cup, realizing there’s not enough coffee to fill it exactly the way he likes. Plus, brewing another pot takes about five minutes. “I can understand how that can be a lot.”
“I’m so glad you do!” She places a gentle hand on his shoulder. He tries to not focus on the extra heat it gave off. “You always understood me.”
“And…Tyler doesn’t?”
“He does!” Dana goes to correct herself, “I’m also saying you do too.”
“Is that the reason why you're with Tyler instead of me?”
She shakes her head, “No, Miguel you know why we're…” Dana rolls her hands as if he knows what she's talking about, “You got busy with work and you know we barely went anywhere. It was always you and not me.”
“That’s a lie.” The grip on his mug got tighter, “I thought I treated you well. I took you out. Bought you gifts. You had my full undivided attention.”
“When we were together, yes, but not recently. It's like you weren't there.”
Miguel didn’t know what to say, his mind going through all the memories they’d had together. Did he neglect her and didn't know it? He let her know he loved her. And he knew that she knew. Was he mistaken?
“It's ok.” Dana squeezed his shoulder, “I've moved on now. You should too.”
She thanked him for the coffee, leaving him in the break room to brew another pot. Miguel wants to blame his father, the biological one whose original identity was sprung on him the day Dana broke up with him. Told by his mother, who thought she was doing him a service. Probably would've been better off if he didn't know.
Would that have made a difference? The main thing he could say was his boss stole Dana from him, not his dad.
He didn't want his talk with Dana to ruin his day. He was supposed to have a family dinner later, with his mom and Gabriel. How they've been more intimate since the passing of his other father. The crazy bastard that Miguel thought they were better off without. And were. To a certain degree.
Hence why everyone was quiet at the table, being the only sound filling the dining room were the clinks of forks amongst the plates. His mind raced as he replayed his conversation with Dana, wondering what he should've said to her.
“Wow, this pasta is good, mami.” Gabriel broke the ice, Miguel not missing his eye glance in an effort to talk to their mother.
“Thank you.” She grins, “I got that recipe from the neighbor down the street and then I put my little spin on it.” Miguel holds in a sigh, his plate looking much better than the conversation. “How was your day, Gabri?”
“Good! I managed to grab a few clients today.” Gabriel boasts about his freelancing job, quickly darting his head to his brother, before going back to their mother. “And yours?”
“Pleasant. I've been thinking about doing some redecorating here. Those home improvement shows have been catching up to me.” She laughs with her son while Miguel prefers to be anywhere else right now. Preferably with you. “What about yours, Miguel?”
He shoots up at his name and his conversation with Dana returns, “It was okay. Still busy with that spider project. Saw Dana-” Miguel slips and drops his fork at the mistake.
“You saw that whore?”
He recognizes the switch in Conchata's tone, “She's not-”
“Whatever she is, why does she have the right to speak to you? After what she did? And with that man out of all people?”
Gabriel snorts, “Right like Miguel’s boss? Complete gold digger, if you ask me.” Miguel and his mother look at each other, knowing what they know now.
“I'd rather we don't talk about her anymore like it just happened.”
“It did just happen!”
“It’s been over a month, ma.” Miguel quickly stands up, “It’s over. We should move on.” The words feel foreign when they escape from his lips. Unsure if he wants to do that himself. “Thanks for dinner.”
He grabs his jacket, ignoring the protests from his brother and mother while walking out. Miguel’s stomach churns, knowing he’s made a mistake participating in the dinner. How he preferred to seclude himself at his apartment. But he hardly makes it out the door when Gabriel stops him.
“Hey, you alright?”
“I’m fine.”
Miguel turns to leave but is stopped by him again, “No, you’re not. You barely spoke tonight.”
“When have I ever spoken that much recently?”
“Right…” Gabriel lets out a nervous laugh. Even he knows the unspoken tension between his older brother and mother. It got worse since the Dana issue but Miguel’s sure it’s been that way since the death of his father.
“I just had a long day.” He says, feeling the complications from his day crashing down on him.
“Anything I can do to help?”
Miguel’s lips flatten, shaking his head. Gabriel takes the hint and finally lets him go.
When he was seeing you twice a week at the club, he also got to know the employees. During your dance on Tuesdays, he often sat at the bar. While he counted twelve dancers, the most notable ones were you, Black Cat, MJ, and Pixie. He watched the patrons request a dance from either one of you, dollar bills rolled up in their hands like they had money to spend.
Surprisingly, he saw Jessica a lot.
He thought it was a coincidence but she primarily hung around the bar, which had a good look at the main club area, the large stage with the pole in the center. Enough to draw a huge crowd and coat the floor in a sea of money. Miguel wondered if he should try to get to know your other coworkers since he was trying to get to know you too. So why not start with the owner?
“Why decide to own a club?”
Jessica purses her lips at Miguel, “Man, just because Silk told you her life story does not mean you get to know about mine.”
“Oh.” He blinks, “Wait a minute, how do you know that?”
“You ask a lot of questions.” She turns to tend to some other customers at the end of the bar while he ponders how many questions he’s asked you. Ben, who was cleaning some glasses, leans over to Miguel.
“She just had a baby. You wanna see?”
“Uh, sure.” He pulls out his phone and shows him a picture of Jess's baby boy. He looked to be a year old, dressed in a bear onesie, practically the spitting image of her. “He’s adorable.”
“Isn’t he?”
“Benny, you better not be showing strangers pictures of my baby.” Jess glares at him, hand on her hip as he quickly puts the phone away.
“Miguel’s not really a stranger, he's been here every week.”
“And you think that automatically makes him my best friend?”
Miguel takes a sip of his water, clearing his throat to remind them he's right there. “You have a cute baby.”
“Thanks.” Pride takes over on Jess’ face, “He came out of me.”
“Even when she was pregnant, I knew she was going to make a cute baby.” Pixie chimed in, practically throwing herself at the bar after finishing another lap dance. The glitter from her brown skin decorating the bar. Miguel saw why that was her stage name due to her pink, pixie haircut. “Can I get some water?”
Ben gave Pixie a wink when Jess came up to her, “No, you didn't.”
“I did. Silk agreed too. That’s why she's my homegirl.” Miguel figured you two were close when he sees the two of you conversing when not performing. Although he's rarely heard you talk about her during the private sessions. Pixie's eyes turn to him as she sips on her water, her dark pink lipstick staining the straw.
“She's right, you do look like a puppy.”
He looks around, “I'm sorry?”
“Silk. She mentions how adorable you look. Like ‘Jess's baby’ adorable.”
“He’s a contender,” Jessica adds while pouring shots.
Miguel’s cheeks get dark at the compliment, “D-Does she talk about me?”
“All the time.” Pixie chuckles, “It's cute. And you're much better than her other regular.”
“Other regular?”
Jess groans out loud. “Do not bring him up. I am this close to banning his ass.”
“But you don't because you said he brings in money.” Ben chimes in, clearly knowing his boss so well.
“She never brings him up,” Miguel states, but why would she? He should've known that other people would want to see you as much as he does.
“For good reason,” Pixie finishes the rest of her drink before fully facing Miguel, “He sucks. He gets handsy but not enough to disrespect the rules. And he's rough. I've seen him kinda handle Silk almost like she's a doll.”
His stomach twists at the idea of a man like that being rough with you. The complete opposite of how he would handle you.
“We have Noir in the room though to make sure he doesn’t do too much.” Jess brings up, “But we end up getting five g’s from it so everybody wins.”
“And complimentary drinks.” Pixie grabs a shot with the rest of the patrons before downing it.
Miguel’s face twists. “He sounds rich.”
“I'd hope he is considering how much he says it.” Jessica rolls her eyes.
Your presence finally graces the bar when you hug Pixie from behind. You two locked eyes in a silent greeting earlier in the night before you took the stage. And he likes how your face lights up when you see him.
“What'd I miss?”
“Tell your man to stop playing twenty-one questions.” Jessica swiftly changes the conversation. He notices you don't even deny it, not getting offended.
“You got a problem with people being curious?”
“I don't as long as they pay more.”
That reminds Miguel to hand you the money for your dance. He admitted to you that he didn't like throwing money, but you told him to cut that mindset out so others wouldn't think he's all high and mighty. The two of you compromised him throwing some money and giving you the rest before he left. Hence why you poked your hip out towards him, letting him slide the money under your waistband.
“Ignore her.” Pixie backs him up, “He is so sweet, I get you completely.”
“I'm still here…” Miguel mutters under his glass while you two giggle.
He doesn't bring up his concerns about your other regular the same night. He sits with it, almost losing sleep at the thought of you being manhandled. You tended to hide your emotions around him and he wasn’t sure what was going to happen if he brought it up to you.
But he decides to tell you about it in your private room. Not willingly. He pretended to watch you dance while staying quiet, brows filled with thought. His ears drown out the beat of the music as he ponders. You plop down on his lap, snapping him out of it.
“My dance boring you, big guy?”
Miguel shook his head, “N-No! I'm sorry, I am watching.”
“Bull.” You fold your arms, “What you thinking about? Your face tells me everything I need to know.” He hesitates, running his sweaty palms along his pants. Miguel wasn’t sure if you'd get mad if he brings it up.
“It's nothing.” He gazes up at you, swallowing.
You squint at him, not believing him. “I told you I'm not your therapist.”
“I know.”
“So I don't care if you're not telling me anything.”
“I'm aware.”
You stand and he expects you to start dancing again. But you don't. Instead, you stare him down. Face full of seriousness, not wanting to continue to your dance until he told you. Miguel thought it was odd, given the fact you told him you didn't care.
“You might get mad at me.”
You squint, “What's wrong?”
“I…didn't know you had another regular.” He wants to look away, afraid that showing his true affection would scare you away. But he doesn’t and notices your form relax.
“Really? You know regulars are a thing, right?”
“I know, but the others were telling me that he gets rough and-” He pauses, not wanting to make the conversation worse.
“Honey, it's fine.” You placate yourself on his lap again. It was much smoother the second time, a sincere emotion in your eyes. “It's part of the job. And you know I wouldn't let anyone touch me like that.”
Miguel leans into your hand on his cheek, your thumb gently tracing it. “I don't like the idea of someone potentially hurting you.”
“Aww, you're worried about me?” He nods and you giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Funny how a guy who doesn't touch me is worried about me.”
Miguel tugs at his pant legs. “I want to.”
“Then why don't you?” You slide your hands down his arms then to his hands, resting on top of them, “You haven't touched me since…” You don't say another word but he knows what you're referring to.
“I didn't want to lose control.”
“I don't bite.” He allows you to pick up his hands, placing them on your wonderful thighs. Miguel voluntarily squeezes the soft flesh while holding back a groan. “See? Doesn't that feel nice?”
“Yes.” He takes a deep breath when you guide him up to your stomach. It's warm to the touch when he experiences the small fat, and how it highlights fairly well against his large hands. Miguel freezes when you pull his hands up to your covered breasts. His pants getting tighter at the feel of you. God, he should be embarrassed.
“I know what your favorite part of me is.” Miguel lowers his head but you don't tolerate that, putting his head back up with the lift of your finger. “You wanna see them?”
He stutters, “C-Can you do that? Are…are you allowed to?”
“Tell me you've never been to a strip club without saying it.” You shake your head as you laugh. And he feels his face getting hot at the offer. “So? Yes or no?”
“Yes.”
You reach behind to unclasp your flashy, bikini top, pulling it off and tossing it aside. Miguel held in a breath as he saw your breasts in their glory. He creates a map of their appearance, admiring how your nipples fit perfectly along your areolas. Miniature bumps decorated around them. His first thought was to run his tongue across them and taste your wonderful skin. He inadvertently licked his lips.
“Ooh, don't do that…”
Miguel shifted, noticing how your low tone didn't match the meaning of your words, “I'm sorry.”
“Don’t be.” You lean forward and he wonders if you're going to kiss him. “Do that again.”
He licks his lips and you bite your own, vocalizing how much you like that. You grab his hands and place them on top of your breasts again -squeezing them to make sure he knows what you feel like. All while you rolled your hips along his erection. Miguel's breath came out shaky, holding himself back. You felt amazing. So perfect underneath his palms. He felt drops of cum leak out of his aching tip.
“We should stop…”
With his luck you stop your movements, “What's wrong? Are you uncomfortable?”
“No. I…” He sighs and removes his hands, “I want to respect the rules.”
“Hand jobs are fine, I told you this.”
Miguel shook his head, “No, not that.”
“Then…?” He runs his hand through his hair, his appearance becoming a bit unkempt. He didn’t want to explain. At least not yet.
“I need to go.”
He knew you were confused as you backed up, allowing him to make his leave. Not before he picked up your top and handed it to you. As well as your money. Miguel fixed his pants to make sure his erection wasn't prominent before saying goodbye to you.
Tag list: @miguelzslvtz @kitcatcrunch @nina-from-317 @slut4oscarissac23 @anythigbutmiguel
ׄ ׅ ྀ 𝓢𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. it was just a stupid party. drink, flirt, and gossip. you weren’t expecting to have a one nightstand with a charming, mysterious man. you also weren’t expecting he is the newly hired professor at the same university you teach at.
ׄ ׅ ྀ 𝓒𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓. college!au, strangers to enemies (sorta) to lovers, tension, angst, smut, protected sex, fem oral, confessions, jealousy, swearing, pet names, hispanic/latina!reader ( mdni )
ׄ ׅ ྀ 𝓛𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝓝𝐎𝐓𝐄. i had lots of fun writing this, definitely another fav of mine. kudos to @lazyjellyfish300 for the wrist kissing scene because of her post. thanks for the inspo, queen! ♡
enjoy yourself tonight.
that’s what your friends told you.
despite your many objections, they dragged your ass to a party. a friend of a friend is throwing it. not wanting to be a complaining bitch, you suck it up and tag along. a basic mini dress and matching heels. nothing too extra, just simple.
the minute you arrive there, you want to leave. you don’t know anyone but you’re two friends, lyla and felicia. the best decision is to stick by their side. unfortunately, felicia is flirting with some tall light brunette skinny guy. he isn’t that attractive but everyone has their own taste. lyla, on the other hand, immediately heads over towards the food. she’s a big eater, already stuffing her mouth with appetizers.
a sigh escapes your lips. left all alone.
so much for enjoying yourself. your friends ditched you and you don’t know a single soul here so how the hell can you enjoy yourself tonight?
the only thing to enjoy is “double fantasy” by the weeknd playing through the speakers.
with nothing much else to do, you stumble towards the bar. you kindly ask the bartender for a modelo. the look he gives you says you picked an odd choice out of all options but shrugs it off and fetches your requested drink. you resist rolling your eyes.
fucking dick, you thought to yourself.
it’s been 10 minutes and you haven’t received your corona. your brows furrowed in confusion.
“excuse me?” you call out to the bartender, who’s dealing with other customers. of course the bastard didn’t hear you over the loud ass music. another sigh falls from your lips. “excuse me, sir?” you wave.
that finally got his attention but his slightly annoyed expression caught you off guard.
what’s this dude’s deal?
“you forgot my modelo.” you tell him, trying to be polite, maintaining your attitude.
he turns around and grabs it from the shelf.
it was there so easy to grab yet took him 10 minutes? he was just straight up ignoring you.
“sorry.” the bastard mutters without eye contact then walks away to tend other customers.
now you roll your eyes. “cabrón.” you mutter, grabbing the bottle and take a sip of the drink.
turning around, you scan the area. half talking on the sidelines and half on the dance floor. your eyes widen when you find felicia making out with that same guy. welp, at least she’s having a great time. you shrug it off with another sip of your modelo. glancing around, you begin feeling like an outcast. your fingers clench the glass bottle, holding it to your chest. standing there awkwardly as everyone else has fun.
instead of glancing around like a weirdo, you wander around the place. passing by all types of people you’re not familiar with. trying not to bump into someone, especially a drunk idiot.
with your social battery running low, or basically not in the mood to deal with people, you find a secluded space where not much people are. away from the dumb party. you stare out at the view, the gorgeous city of nueva york from a rooftop.
just a moment of solitude.
a delicious fresh breeze flows by, making you close your eyes to relish the refreshing air.
“escaping from the chaos?”
a baritone voice form behind makes your while around, startling you a bit.
a man, tall and broad. clad in all black. dress shirt, slacks, and oxfords. brown curls slicked back. a simple silver necklace dangling around his neck. a matching silver watch that was obviously expensive. his right hand holding a small glass.
utterly handsome, definitely your type. you only like brunettes. what caught your eye are those sharp cheekbones and strong jawline. so perfect and sharp, slide your finger along them and you’ll get a paper cut. firm, masculine facial features.
“parties aren’t really my forte.” the lack of enthusiasm in your voice says it all.
“you’re not alone.” he walks forward, walking up beside you. “they aren’t mine either.” he stares out at the view, taking a sip of his beverage.
you observe him with curious eyes. turning around so you’re facing the view again. only this time you have company. strangely enough, you don’t mind. you get a good whiff of his cologne. damn, he smells good.
you also realize exactly how tall this man is. way over a foot taller than you. perhaps two feet taller.
“suppose we’re the outsiders.” you joke.
“like the book?” he muses.
you quirk a brow, intrigued by his reference. “i guess so, classic book and movie.”
“agree.” the man hums.
a beat passed by before he speaks again. however, his next few words surprises you.
“i have to confess, i noticed you earlier.” he admits. “you caught my eye. i just had the urge to talk to you, as strangely as it sounds. which i apologize for.” he quickly adds that last phrase.
you gaze up at him. intrigued by his interest in you. it was foreign to you since you’ve only been on a few dates but never led to anything serious. or a man confessing wholeheartedly of their interest.
you notice his slight tensed expression when you don’t respond. the air got tensed as well.
“miguel o’hara.” he quickly introduces himself, extending his free hand for you to shake.
you finally respond with your name as you gently shake his hand. taking mental note of his engulfs yours completely. damn, they’re really huge. you make sure to not ogle at them.
“so what brings you here?” you decide to initiate a proper conversation. your interest in this man slowly grows. his mysterious aura is so alluring.
“mutual friend of the party owner. didn’t want to come but was forced to anyways.”
your brows raised in surprise. “in the same boat. i was dragged here then left like getting dropped off at daycare.” you take a sip of your drink.
that earns you a light snort from the tall man. “doesn’t seem like true friends.”
you shrug. “they’re great, just spending time with things they love. men and food.”
miguel’s head tilts a little, one thick brow quirk up. “what do you love?”
the question caught you off, definitely wasn’t expecting nor know how to answer. what do you love? it’s complicated, despite how simple it sounds.
“solitude. being alone is comforting.” your gaze returns to the view, away from his for a moment.
“i guess i ruined that comfort.”
you lightly shake your head. “you didn’t. surprisingly enough, your presence is actually the only one that doesn’t bother me tonight.” you look back at him.
it’s true. his alluring presence doesn’t make you feel uncomfortable or annoyed. intrigued and captivated instead. perhaps he is another outsider like you.
“well, i’m glad to know that.” the corners of his very plump lips twitch upward, a brief smile.
surprising, that makes your heart flutter a little. you’ve only met the man and already has an affect you. no other man has done that before.
you and miguel carry on your conversation, getting to know one another. you two retreated to the kitchen inside, sitting on the barstools at the kitchen island. sipping on your drinks. his fingers would linger beside your bare calf. his touch igniting sparks in your body. your expression remains a neutral as you talk, but internally screaming. damn this man really has an affect on you. perhaps the only good thing that came out from this stupid party.
“seems like it’s getting more intense. do you want leave? someplace less crowded where we can hear each other better.” a light chuckle left his lips.
a little smile graces your lips. “sure, besides i don’t wanna deal with more drunk idiots.”
that earns you another chuckle from him, making your heart flutter once again.
you try finding felicia and lyla to let them know you’re leaving but there’s too much people it’ll be possible to find them. you’ll just send them a text.
⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂃 ୨ ₊ 𓂃 ౨ৎ 𓂃 ₊ ୧ 𓂃
miguel takes you a small pub which was much less crowded. you have dinner there since both of you didn’t eat at the party. this was much better, in a quieter atmosphere, no chaos, and having a sincere conversation with someone who’s considerate.
“can i kiss you?”
his husky, seductive tone makes your heart swoop.
you then remember this could lead to a one nightstand and nothing else. although, there is this spark between you two, obviously sexual tension. miguel may be a nice guy, just don’t fall too deeply. it’s be a one time thing. it’s also probably be the last time you’ll ever him since you two never talked about your personal life like jobs, if either of you live close by. you prefer to keep personal information private, miguel respected and understood that.
you nod with a tiny smirk. “polite, i like it.”
miguel grins as he leans closer. his breath fanning yours. his lips gently pressed against yours. a gentle, soft kiss. damn his lips feel good, all plumped and nice. yours, though, are addictively sweet. he can taste your lip gloss but doesn’t care if some get on his. you never thought you’d kiss in a pub, let alone in public but with miguel, you feel comfortable.
he takes you back to his apartment. on the drive there, his hand gently massaged your thigh while driving with the other. your body tingled in excitement at the sensation. the same hand never left your lower back as you entered his home.
instead of rushing to the bedroom, you two talk a little more. miguel reassured you if you wish to leave, if you’re not comfortable with this because he doesn’t want you to think he’s only looking for sex. he truly enjoyed his conversations with you. you told him it’s fine and want to stay with him.
truthfully, you’re excited for what’s coming but of course you keep that to yourself. you’ve been wet since the moment his fingers were on your calf back at the party. his touches are just something else.
gently taking your hand in his, miguel guides you to the bedroom. he turns around and gingerly cups your face with both hands then kisses you. your hand rest on his abs, feeling the muscles through his dress shirt. you fight the urge to unbuckle his belt, you don’t want to seem desperate.
the kiss grows more passionate. shivers go down your spine as his hands slowly trail down your back. shoulder blades, the curve of your spine, then at your hips right above your ass. you can sense his hesitation so you decide to apply some pressure into the kiss and roam your hands over his broad shoulders to tigger his tendencies.
it worked since he gently palms it through your dress, eliciting a soft moan from you. now that did trigger his urges. bending down, miguel grabs the back of your thighs and lifts you in his arms. instinctively, you wrap your legs around his slightly pinched waist as he walks towards the bed. very carefully, miguel placed you down the mattress, hovering over you, yours lips never detach. your fingers dig into his brown curls as your passionate makeout season continues.
you softly sigh as his lips brush along your jawline then your delicate neck. fingers playing with his curls, making miguel’s mind hazy.
he leaves a few more butterfly kisses on your neck before lifting up. miguel glances at your chest then your eyes. “puedo?”
you nod with smirk, hiding your excitement.
his fingers grip on the zipper on the front of your dress and slowly pulls it down. miguel bites back a moan as peeks of your cleavage are revealed to his lustful eyes. a glimpse of your black lacy bra hugging your breasts perfectly like a gift.
you inhale sharply as his large palms gently cup them. he gives them a gentle squeeze, eliciting a soft gasp from you. board palms playing with the soft squishy fat, kneading it with expertise. the lacy fabric of your bra on his fingertips. the addicting sensation makes you arch your back, chest leaning into his touch. miguel buries his face in your cleavage, kissing and licking the soft skin. a moan falls from your lips when his hands push them together, stuffing his face more with your soft tits.
one hand trails down to the hem of your dress. “is this okay?” he lifts his head to meet your gaze.
you hum with a nod.
miguel slowly pulls your dress off your body over your head then tosses it on the floor. his breath gets caught in his throat at the sight of your exposed body. eyes roaming over each curve.
his admiring gaze makes you a little nervous. it’s been a while since you’ve been intimate with someone. last time was a one nightstand with some asshole, in the beginning he didn’t seem like one, and he only went straight for pound town, not silently worshiping like the mysterious man above is.
you also don’t want to be the only one almost naked. your fingers grip on his belt. “your turn, guapo.”
a low chuckle falls from his lips. “impatient.”
you help him unbutton his shirt, revealing his toned chest. decorated with chest hair. the sound of his belt unbuckling makes your body tingle in excitement, specifically down to your throbbing core.
your eyes widen in awe at his muscular form. chest hair, delicious abs, and mouthwatering happy trail. they widen more as you notice the large bulge in his boxers. you expected him to be big due to his large frame but the outline makes it look like a monster.
“lift up your hips for me.” he said.
you obliged, lifting your hips. miguel slides a pillow underneath, giving you some support.
he bends down towards your legs. grabbing one leg, his lips brush against your calf. miguel slowly trails up your leg, reaching towards your inner thigh. your heart raced in anticipation. your breath hitched as you feel his lips sucking your inner thigh. your core throbs terribly, desperate for him.
he grins against your skin as he feels your legs twitch. “impatient for me, huh gatita?” he slowly moves towards your clothed cunt. miguel’s grin widens as he hears a small whine from above.
“no te procupes, gaitia. i’ll make sure you scream my name.” his seductive words makes sends shivers down your spine. gripping the edges of your panties, miguel slowly drags them down your legs.
those crimson eyes never leave your exposed pussy as he tosses your panties on the floor. grabbing your thighs and placing them on his bulky shoulders, miguel dives in and licks a stripe up your throbbing core. making you shudder and let out a soft moan. he switches between licking you up and sucking your sweet bundle of nerves. those sweet noises you’re making encouraged him to continue.
“dios… you taste amazing, gatita.” he moans against you, sending vibrations through you. “my dessert tonight.” he says in between licking and sucking.
his lips suck bit more aggressively on your clit, causing you to moan loudly. instinctively, you dig your fingers in his hair once again. each lick and suck makes you grip on his hair tighter, earning a muffled groan from the brunette man.
“miguel!~” you moan, arching your back off the bed as he starts penetrating you with his tongue.
the tip of the wet muscle penetrating you perfectly. causing your back to arch like waves. instinctively, you grind against his face. endless moans spilling from your lips. you definitely weren’t expecting him to be such a munch. each flick of his tongue, lips sucking your clit contain with such expertise.
after more flicks of his tongue, you come with a wail of his name. gushing over his tongue with your sweetness. a shiver runs down his spine at how beautifully you sang his name. miguel drinks you up feverishly as if he found an oasis.
finally, he moves away from your now sensitive pussy. “delicious, gatita. best dessert ever.” miguel seductively runs his tongue over lips, collecting the leftover of your sweetness. the sight makes your pussy flutter. he caught that and smirks.
grabbing a condom packet from the nightstand, miguel swiftly takes off his boxers. his cock bouncing out from its confinements. your eyes blown out by the size of it. holy shit he’s really fucking huge. there is no way that will fit inside you. your pussy, however, throbs for it, despite its size.
he sensed your apprehension. “i’ll be careful. lo prometo, gatita.” miguel climbs back on the bed, hovering your smaller figure.
“do you trust me?” he asks softly. “if we need to stop, tell me.” sincerity in his tone.
you nod. “i trust you.”
gripping his cock with a hand and the other on your thigh, miguel aligned himself with your entrance. a shared moan mingles in the steamy air as he slowly slides through your tight fluttering walls.
“fuck- so tight, gatita. gotta let me in a little more, por fav.” miguel groans.
you try by spreading your legs as much as you can, giving him the space he needs. a soft whimper falls from your lips as you feel his bulbous tip settled against your sweet spot. as soon as he bottoms out and you give him the green light, he does a slow thrust. eliciting a soft moan from you.
gingerly taking both your wrists with one hand, miguel’s gaze is locked with yours as he slowly kisses them then pins them above your head on the pillow.
“gonna make you feel good, hermosa.” he whispers huskily before capturing your lips with his, slowly thrusting into your tight cunt.
your moans and whimpers are muffled, sallowed by miguel’s lips. his cock slowly dragging out before plunging it back inside your fluttering walls with a deep slow thrust, allowing you to feel every inch of him. even with the condom on, you feel all of him.
miguel is in awe of your blissful expression. fluttering lashes, brows furrowed, gorgeous eyes rolled back, pretty sounds falling from your lips, back arched. a sense of pride flowing through his veins, knowing he is causing those movements of ecstasy.
“hermosa… taking me so well.” he softly pants, face leaning closer towards yours. his panting gently hitting your face as he admires you.
“oh miguel~” you moan as a big deep thrust hits your sweet spot. back arched for the hundredth time.
he lets out a groan as he feel yours walls clenching his cock. going insane at the sensation, motivating him to slowly pick up the pace of his hips.
obscure sounds mingles in the hot air of sex. your moans and his groans in unison. his hips snaps against yours at a faster pace. with his free hand, it travels down to where you’re connected and flicks your clit with his middle finger. causing you to moan loudly which makes him smile, back arched off the bedsheets at the sudden intense sensation. your hands balled into fists, nails digging into your palms.
“no other man has fucked you like this, huh gatita?” he pants above you. a grin on his face that grows wider when you shake your head followed by a whine.
the bed rocked due to miguel’s slight harsh thrust. the headboard repeatedly hitting the wall. he’ll get complaints from his neighbors but doesn’t give a shit. this intimate moment with you is more important than worrying about disturbing his dumbass neighbors’ slumber.
a few more rough flicks to your puffy clit and thrusts against that sensitive spot, you come with a wail of his name. gushing over his concealed cock, miguel wishing he could truly feel it but accepts it and is too mesmerized by your angelic expression as you reach the pinnacle of pleasure so beautifully.
as soon as he gently releases your wrists, you use all your strength and flip positions. miguel’s eyes go wide as he’s suddenly laying on his back, impressed by your sudden take of control but oh so loves the view above him. resting your hands on his abs, you ride his cock after feeling desperate to do so. another loud moan escapes your lips. you feel him deeper in this position. all the way in your guts.
large palms grip the fat of your hips, tightening with each roll of your hips. while riding the fuck out of him, you suddenly remembered you’re still wearing your bra. quickly unclasping it with a hand, the garment falls off your chest, freeing your breasts. miguel’s eyes widen, a groan rumbling from his chest at the sight of your exposed breasts. watching them jiggle as you bounce on his dick. a thin layer of sweat coating them like a dressing.
a deep feeling of hunger bubbles in his body. his hands on your hips travel up to your bouncing tits and gropes them. kneading the soft mounds feverishly. relishing the squishiness in his palms. with his thumb and index finger, he punches your perky nipples then gently tugs them. eliciting a loud whine from you. the reaction makes him grin.
a loud groan erupts from his throat, throwing his head back against the pillow as you circle your hips in sinful manner. “oh fuck- mami…” instinctively, his hands return to your hips, tighter this time.
your legs were about to give out due to the burning sensation but miguel’s hands on your hips guiding you was a big help. the more you bounce on his cock, the faster both your orgasms were approaching.
“fuck- i’m gonna—“ miguel cuts himself with a load groan as he reaches his climax. spurting thick white ropes into the condom, filling it with his seed. secretly wishing it was your pussy.
you come as well, marking it as your third time tonight. you’re never orgasmed so much in your life. definitely an incredible experience.
you collapse on his chest and miguel immediately wraps his arms around you. your pants echoing the room as you both recover from your highs. his thumb tenderly rubbing up and down your spine as comfort.
after a few minutes to recover, miguel tossed out the used condom in the trash and carefully cleans you up with a towel from his bathroom. after cleaning up and giving you a water bottle, he then joins you in the covers and allow slumber to call both your names.
⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂃 ୨ ₊ 𓂃 ౨ৎ 𓂃 ₊ ୧ 𓂃
you never forgot that night.
you left that morning before miguel woke up. a part of you felt guilt but it was a one nightstand after all. despite the chemistry between you two. some things are meant to end. it’s just how life is.
besides, you’ll probably never see him again. miguel radiates that mystery guy vibe who’ll you will meet once and never again afterwards.
you really liked him, you really did. still do, in fact. he never left your mind. his touch still lingering on your skin like a ghost. how good he made you feel, the sex and conversations with him. you felt so comfortable with him. however, it was just a one time thing.
oh well.
now summer activities are over and the new school year begins. another year giving lectures. you love your job as a professor, encouraging and motivating students to become their best.
each year is different. you’re excited to see what’s in store for this school year.
dressed in a fresh outfit for the first day. a baby pink blouse with a long white silk skirt. after your first two lectures, you decide to head to the teachers lounge for a quick cup of coffee. you didn’t go to your usual cafe this morning since you were in a bit of a rush.
entering the lounge, you head over to the counter where the coffee maker is. waving and greeting fellow colleagues on your way in. once you make your coffee, you stir it with a plastic spoon. after enough stirring, you take a small sip to test if it’s good. a satisfied hum from your lips says it all.
as you turn around to start your journey back to your classroom, your heart drops.
standing across the room talking with a few other male colleagues, a man with brown hair and stands way taller than his two counterparts. clad in black button up shirt and dark denim jeans. a pair of thick rimmed glasses settled over his eyes.
miguel.
the same miguel from the stupid party.
the same miguel you fucked that same night.
suddenly, you feel paralyzed. a wave of shock coursing through your body. jaw dropped and eyes popping out of your damn skull.
he’s a fucking professor here? at the same fucking university as you? what the actual fuck.
you fucked a coworker?
oh fuck.
those thoughts pause the moment his eyes meets yours before widening as well. his expression matches yours. a wave of anxiety hits you.
shit shit shit.
your body goes into panic mode and you bolted out of lounge. not sparing a glance at him. anxiety consumes your body like a virus. heart pounding in your chest as you hurriedly walk down the hallway. you didn’t notice the concern looks given your way as you rush back to your classroom.
a sudden wave of nausea hits you as you enter your classroom and hurriedly shut the door. tossing your coffee in the trash. the nausea destroyed your thirst and hunger simultaneously. holding your hands close to your chest, you slowly slide down against the door before sitting on the cold tile floor. the rapid drumbeat of your heart echos in your ears. chest heaving frantically and eyes fluttering.
this can’t be happening. this can’t be true.
miguel is a fucking professor?
but you’ve never seen him before in previous years. you’ve been teaching at nueva york university for four years. never once you saw his devilish handsome face on this campus. you’re 100% sure of it.
oh shit- is he new?
word has been announced a new professor, a biology professor specifically, has been hired.
oh my god- it’s fucking miguel.
glancing at the clock on the wall, your phone was on your desk so you couldn’t read the time easily, it’s an hour before your next lecture. that gives you time to deal with this mindfuck and calm down.
all you pray is to not run into miguel at all.
that ultimately fails when he catches you in the parking lot.
“don’t touch me.” you aggressively shrug away from his light touch on your upper arm, stomping your way to your car as fast as you can.
“please, can we talk?” miguel pleads, almost sounds desperate as he follows you like a lost puppy.
“no, stay the fuck away from me.”
“hermosa, pro favor—“
“stop!” you whirl around with bloodshot eyes, making him stop in his tracks. “stop following me! i don’t wanna fucking talk to you… at least, not in public…” you quickly glance around the parking lot, making sure there’s no bystanders.
his eyes do the same before sighing, his shoulders slumped. “i know, just please let me explain to you.”
you shake your head. “i said not in public.”
“then let’s go someplace else.”
“i’m not going anywhere with you.”
he frowns, secretly butthurt. “¿porque?”
“because i don’t wanna be seen with you because we’re coworkers! when people see us together too close, they’ll get the wrong idea.”
another sigh escapes his lips, understanding what you’re implying. “i understand but we really do need to talk—“
“no, we’re not talking. end of conversation.” you stomp your way to your car, which was only a foot away, ignoring miguel’s pleads.
part of you really wants to talk to him, know what the fuck is going on. it’s the right thing to do but the potential gossip of two professors hanging out with each other a bit too closely which could jeopardize you both consumes your mind.
miguel gives up and stops chasing after you once you got into your car and drive off with a pissed off face. shoulders still slumped as he sighs, feeling defeated and a little frustrated.
“fuck…” he curses at himself, running a hand through his brown curls.
⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂃 ୨ ₊ 𓂃 ౨ৎ 𓂃 ₊ ୧ 𓂃
you avoided miguel like a fucking plague.
cooped up in your classroom majority of the day. the only times you’d leave is to use the restroom, fr an a quick snack from the local campus cafe, meet other professors for discussions.
luckily, miguel hasn’t shown up to your classroom. probably doesn’t know which room number is yours. although, you don’t doubt he has asked others for it. but still, he hasn’t shown up yet.
you never stepped foot in the lounge in fear of seeing him there like the previous time. too afraid to see his large silhouette around campus and chase after you.
you feel so fucking guilty. you truly are making this worse and awkward than it already is. you should talk to him, sort this shit out. communication is key.
but fear is consumes you like virus.
you fucking a coworker would cause a scandal. okay, maybe you’re being a little dramatic. you and miguel are both adults and professors. you just don’t want drama or gossip spreading around. coworkers whispering behind your back. that’s the last thing you need, more bullshit added to your list.
you exhale deeply as you walk down the hall towards your classroom. the first lecture starts in 20 minutes so you had time to grab breakfast at the campus cafe. a croissant sandwich and fruit.
“hey!” a familiar male voice calls out.
turning around, you see your coworker eddie. a sigh of relief leaves your lips, thankful it’s not miguel.
“hey, eddie.” you greet your friend with a smile.
“hey, me and the guys are meeting at jackie’s tonight. you still planning to come?”
the guys consist of you, eddie, your coworker peter and his wife mj, your other coworker jessica and her husband. eddie used to bring his girlfriend anne until they broke up. almost every friday, you all would head over to jackie’s, the local bar for funnies.
you nod with a smile. “yep, i’ll be there.”
“okay, cool! also, should i get red or white tulips?”
you quirk a brow, smirking. “you’re really trying to win back anne, aren’t you?”
a shameful smile plastered on his face. “yeah…” he awkwardly rubs the back of his neck with a hand.
you sigh, shaking your head with a smile. “white because they represent forgiveness.”
eddie claps excitedly with a big grin before pulling you in a quick, tight hug. “thank you, thank you, thank you! you’re the best!”
you chuckle at his enthusiasm. “of course, eddie.”
“see you tonight!” he lets you go then starts walking away with a wave.
you laugh, waving back. you hope things work out for him and anne, unlike you and miguel. you dismiss the thought with a head shake and walk away.
unknowingly, a pair of jealous brown eyes observed the interaction from down the hall. miguel knew eddie, one of the coworkers he became acquainted with on his first day. he sometimes gets on miguel’s nerves with his shitty ass humor, and consistent crying about his breakup with anne.
but oh eddie was really on his nerves when he pulled you into a hug. miguel’s jaw clenched and fists tightens at the intimate moment. he knows eddie is still in love with anne, would never chase after another woman because his heart still beats for her. by the interaction, it seems you two are friends which is totally fine. it’s normal to have friends.
but miguel’s brain says otherwise. eddie’s arms wrapped around you made his eye twitch. jealously boiling in his veins. miguel knows he shouldn’t be jealous because you’re not his and he’s not yours. but his feelings for you are strong. he wished it was him giving you that hug, just to feel you in his arms again.
your distant behavior was taking a toll on him. turning on your heel the minute he sees you and tries chasing you but ultimately fails. it leaves him upset and frustrated. miguel needs to talk to you.
he needs to find a way.
he has find a day to talk to you.
⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂃 ୨ ₊ 𓂃 ౨ৎ 𓂃 ₊ ୧ 𓂃
as you’re walking down the hall to your classroom, a yelp falls from your lips as you’re suddenly yanked by the arm into a supply closet. whirling around to face whoever snatched you, your eyes widen.
“motherfucker…”
“i’m sorry, i didn’t have another choice.” miguel holds up his hand cautiously.
“dragging me into a supply closet, where the janitor can clearly walk in, was your only choice?”
he lowers his hands. “okay, not the greatest idea but i just need to talk to you.”
“no.” you try moving past him but his bigass frame blocks you completely. “ugh! move, miguel.”
“not until we talk.” he said sternly, crossing his arms.
you groan, rolling your eyes. “ya te dije, i don’t wanna talk to you. especially not here, miguel.”
“tell me why you’re freaking out and i’ll let you go.”
anger and impatience boils in your veins. nails digging into your palms as your fists tightens. “i swear, if you don’t move i’ll—“
“what are you gonna do, gatita?” he coos, smirking.
“don’t call me that, especially in public.”
“we’re in a supply closet, there’s no one else.”
you grown out of frustration. “ay por dios, miguel! let me out! i have a class in 10 minutes!”
miguel just stands there with an intimidating expression, piercing eyes looking down at you. his heart races in his chest. being so close to you again makes his mind hazy. it’s been weeks, almost a month since you’ve been in the same space, standing so close to each other. he fought his demons to touch you, hold you in his arms.
you whine, running both hands over your face. you can’t believe this is happening. locked in a closet with the man who’s been constantly on your mind. tossing and turning in your bed having wet dreams about. whose touches still linger on your skin.
you hate the way he towers over you so easily. you hate the way he can corner you with his big frame. you hate the way your heart is racing because of him.
“fine, you wanna talk? let’s talk. why didn’t you tell me?” you fold your arms, mirroring his posture.
you went straight to the point.
miguel sighs, frowning. “first, you never mentioned you worked at a college. second, at the time i didn’t know if i was getting the job or not. i didn’t get a call until a week after we met.”
allowing his words to sink in, you do remember not mentioning you’re a professor at nyu. you kept personal information private.
“okay, the first part is on me.” you state before sighing once again. “fuck…” you lean against the wall with a thud, staring at the ceiling to avoid his eyes.
“trust me, i’m just surprised as much as you are.” miguel takes a small step closer.
you look back at him, staring at each other for a moment. if you had superhearing, you’d hear both your rapid heartbeats. the close proximity makes you and miguel anxious, bashful messes.
quickly blinking, you snap out of it. “there, we talked, bye.” swooping past him, you quickly open the door and walk out, not giving him enough time to react.
thankfully, there wasn’t anyone in the hallway. rushing back to your classroom, you swiftly close the door and sat down at your desk. you let out a deep breath before slouching down in your chair.
you can’t believe that just happened.
⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂃 ୨ ₊ 𓂃 ౨ৎ 𓂃 ₊ ୧ 𓂃
coffee and books, two of your favorite things. you pay a visit to your local bookshop café. you spend an hour and a half slipping on coffee while reading a murder mystery novel. once it’s time to leave, you pack up your things and exit the little café.
the night sky above tells you it was late. on the path home, you pass by a sketchy alleyway. decorated in graffiti and trash scattered among the floor. a shadowy figure emerges from the shadows.
“hello, gorgeous.” a homeless man.
you ignore him, picking up the pace so you can avoid the man at all costs.
“don’t walk awayyyy.” the idiot slurs.
“please, stay away from me.” you keep on walking but you can hear his footsteps behind you. anxiety begins creeping through your veins.
“whaaat, i’m not gonna—“
“leave the lady alone.” a third voice said.
turning around, you see miguel standing in between you and the homeless guy.
“s-sorry, man.” the man holds up his hands in surrender. a slightly frightened look on his face before walking away like a coward.
with a stern frown, miguel keeps a cautious eye on the guy until he was completely gone. he then turns around, about to ask if you’re okay but you opened your mouth already.
“you’re following me, now? fucking creep.”
miguel lets out a frustrated groan. “i’m not following you. i just left the boxing gym and was on my way home then i saw you on the way.”
“uh huh, sure.” you narrow your eyes at him.
“ay mujer, when will you fucking believe me for once?” a sigh escapes his lips.
your eyes dart at his outfit. a black tank top and a matching sweatshirt over it. gray motherfucking sweats. strings of hair sticked to his forehead due to sweat. his duffel bag hanging over his shoulder.
fuck, he looks so good. you imagine him boxing, muscles rippling with each punch—
no, can’t have horny thoughts right now.
“what is this? my knight in shining armor? real fucking classic, miguel.”
“wh- no. that homeless guy wouldn’t stop bothering you so of course i had to stop him.”
“oh so what? you want my token of gratitude? sorry, i don’t have a handkerchief on me.” you pretend checking yourself for one. “i’ll just say thank you and goodbye.” you turn around and start walking away.
miguel blinks in disbelief at your childish tactics then proceeds to follow you. “you can’t just keep ignoring me and pretend nothing happened!”
“yes, i can.” you state firmly, still walking away.
“just talk to me!”
“miguel!”
a pregnant pause falls between you two. staring at one another. chests heaving, feeling breathless. your yelling cussed some heads to turn but neither of you care. people continue brushing past you both.
“not here…” you plead softly.
with a sigh, miguel silently nods and you both walk back to your apartment. the tension grew stronger during the silent walk back.
once you stepped foot into your apartment, you force miguel to take a shower because you don’t want his sweaty ass sitting in your living room. he teasing comment about showering together earned him a slap on the arm. his chuckling and smirk on his handsome face makes your skin crawl. he changed into his other set of clothes, different shirt and sweats. you take a shower after him, changing into a nightgown with a silky robe over it.
how the fuck did it get this far? one minute you’re avoiding him like a fucking virus at work, then he’s sitting on your couch after using your shower.
after offering him tea, you hand him is mug then sit down on the other end of the couch, leaving mic space between you two. much to his dismay but miguel understands and respects it.
another long awkward silence before miguel speaks up. “i was really happy i found you…” he glances at you. “i haven’t stop thinking about you since.”
that made your heart skip a beat.
“i really enjoyed spending time with you. i’ve never felt so connected with anyone before. i knew you were special the moment i saw you and i’m glad i decided to go to that dumb party to meet you.” he turns so he’s fully facing you. “believe me, spending time with you is better than any party.”
your heart did multiple summersaults. his words created butterflies in your tummy. never in your life someone had said such heartwarming words to you, nevertheless about you.
“when you left,” you notice his tone changes, a bit more sorrowful. “i was scared i’d never see you again. i asked some friends from the party if they knew you or at least your friends so i could find you. but i got no luck so i…” he pauses for a moment, sighing.
that guilty feeling returns, consuming your body. “i’m… i’m sorry i left. it’s just… i thought it was a one time thing so…” your gaze falters.
miguel frowns, upset but understands. he was about to say something but you continue on. he didn’t mind though. he wants to hear you.
“but the truth is i do feel the same way. i haven’t stopped thinking about you either. our conversations did mean something to me. i’ve never felt so comfortable with someone, especially right off the bat. it felt so nice having a sincere connection because it’s hard to find that with someone.”
you quickly glance up and see his expression softened. it reminds you of those conversations with him that night. how attentive and thoughtful he was.
“the reason why i’m freaking out is because coworkers dating isn’t really looked upon on well.” you tear away from his gaze with a shrug, concealing your embarrassment. “i didn’t want gossip spreading around and affect our jobs. especially you since you just started.” you let out another sad sigh.
that frown returns, but a concern frown. “hermosa…” scooting closer so he’s next to you, he gingerly cups your cheek with a hand, making you look back at him. “i appreciate your concern, a lot. i understand coworker relationships aren’t praised but honestly i don’t care.” he watched your eyes widen. “i don’t care what they say. what i do care about is you.”
your heart flutters, butterflies in you belly.
with both hands, he gently holds your face in his hands like the precious thing is in his palms. “i really like you, querida. i want nothing more than getting to know more of you, if you let me.”
at this point, you heart is beating like a drum. lashes fluttering and cheeks warm. his kind, heartwarming words washes your worries away. finally, you allow your heart to win. gently placing your hands on his wrists, you give them a loving squeeze. “sí.”
the corner of his lips curl up into a smile. a smile that makes your heart swoon. leaning closer, miguel gently pressed his lips on yours in a soft kiss. your hands leave his wrists to cup his face. his hands slowly move down your body, fingers skimming over the fabric of your silky robe waist as the kiss grows more passionate. instinctively, you wrap your arms around his neck and lean closer. his own secured around your waist, tugging you closer to him.
things escalated quickly, growing spicier. soft moans and groans. lips devouring one another. hands roaming around feverishly. left with no patience, miguel quickly rises from the couch and rushes to your bedroom, carrying you bridal style in his arms. your laughs echoing in the hallway.
perhaps everything was going to be fine. as long as miguel is by your side and you by his, no negative comments or criticism will stop you from loving each other. in fact, nothing but praises came your way when your relationship was later revealed.
