Oh honey lemme tell you what I think Miguel is like in bed, because I have some THOUGHTS.
NSFW, 18+
Warnings: mentions rough and unprotected sex (I need Jesus)
He’s not the best lover (we all know he has issues with fidelity), but damn that man can fuck.
Sex with Miguel is mostly rough; he uses it as a way to relieve his stress. You never complain though, because you love how he pounds into you after a long day at work.
Whenever he has a particularly hard day (which is more often than not), he just shows up at your door, ready to take out all his frustrations on your ass until you’re sore. Yes, he’s a spanker.
You’re used to his silent brooding– he’s not much of a talker after sex– but when he’s balls deep inside you, there is no stopping the filthy words that fall from his mouth.
Your agreement with him is that you’re purely there for his sexual needs, so his pleasure always comes first. But Miguel never has to put much effort into making sure you cum around him. He knows all your sensitive spots and all the ways that he can make you shudder with the slightest touch.
Even though he’s not asking for a relationship, Miguel is extremely possessive of you. If he ever feels threatened by another man who might treat you better, he immediately shows you exactly who you belong to. This is the only time that he’d show you affection or show PDA if you’re out in public. When he finally gets you home, his kisses become needy, and he makes you beg for him to cum deep inside you, marking you as his.
I might do some more nsfw headcanons for Miguel soon bc this inspired me
For @ashlingnarcos as part of the AU Exchange & For @the-slumberparty's Bingo Challenge. Bingo square: affair
Warnings: 18+, language, infidelity
Word Count: 1.8k
A/N: Isabella could do anything and everything and she would have my full support no matter what.
NMX Taglist: @garbinge @hausofmamadas @cositapreciosa @narcolini @artemiseamoon (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)
He could still hear the music that was playing on the other side of the glass, but it was muffled. As he looked out the windows that towered over the rest of the building, the noise and the chaos felt like they were emitting from a radio that was sitting a room or two away from him. The lights all poured in, casting the mostly empty space in all cool hues of purple and blue, the rare splattering of pink.
He watched them all, his siblings, their friends, all the other people they knew and didn’t know who were filling up the space of the club. He took a deep breath, shaking his head slightly as he did. It felt like too much most nights. The thoughts that were currently racing through his head showed that this night was no different than the others in that regard. He was already thinking about how good it was going to feel to be back home again—away from the lights, the noise, the semi-controlled chaos.
The sound of the door opening caused him to whip around, wondering how he’d missed someone coming up the steps to the office. His eyes were wide as he turned and looked, only growing wider when he saw who was stepping through the doorway.
“Hola,” Isabella’s voice was smooth and warm as honey, comfortable like she had any right to be there in the club at all, let alone strolling into his fucking office.
His muscles immediately tensed, hackles going up as the door swung shut behind her. “Qué estás haciendo aquí?”
She laughed, shaking her head as she began to collapse the distance between the two of them. “Por qué estás tan enojado? Tenso?” She stopped in front of him, placing her hand on her chest, fingers splaying across her collarbone. “Solo soy yo.”
He shook his head, knowing far better than to buy into the act. “Qué quieres?”
“Nada,” she answered with a smile and a shrug.
“No mientas,” he shot back instantly with a shake of his head.
“No puedo visitarte?” She tilted her head slightly, some of her hair falling gracefully over her shoulder as she did. “Un amigo querido?”
“No soy tu amigo, Isabella.” His tone was short, an attempt to be cutting.
It didn’t faze her. “Claro que sí,” she drew it out, nodding slowly, more drama than she needed to pack into a situation that was plenty dramatic on its own. “Porque nosotros, Mín? Somos más que—”
“Qué quieres?” he cut her off as he repeated himself, not wanting to allow her to finish where that sentence was going.
She gave him that same smile that she always did, the one that was all lipstick and no teeth, lips upturned enough to draw him in but also just enough to let him know that there was so much more to it than whatever she was saying to him.
He didn’t realize that she was moving until her hand was pressed against his chest. The warmth of her palm began seeping through the fabric of his shirt instantly. Familiar feeling of scorched flesh. He wanted to swat her hand away but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. That was always the problem, wasn’t it?
“Qué piensas?” Isabella asked, standing closer now even though Benjamín swore that he hadn’t heard her take a step towards him.
He shook his head for a moment, like he was about to deny thinking anything at all. Isabella was ready to call him out on it, too. Like that man ever had a quiet moment inside his mind. But then he looked at her, met her eyeline directly and held it for the first time since she’d walked in. “Ya tú sabes.”
She raised her eyebrows just slightly. The movement barely enough to clock but it still let Benjamín know that yes, she certainly did know exactly what he was thinking about, and the slip of her hand up to the side of his neck let him know that she was thinking about it too.
The last time the two of them found themselves in the position that they were, the place that they were, things had been a little different. The strobe lights in the club were off; so was the music. The whole building looked gray, almost dull without them on and just a few scattered maintenance lights illuminating the place. It was more than enough for what they were doing, though.
The last time they were in that office together was also supposed to be the last time it ever happened. But then again, all the times before that were supposed to be the last time too. The argument being that there never should’ve been a first time to begin with.
But now here she was. Again. One more last time. Lights flashing across her face like the universe’s most blatant warning sign. Crowds and crowds of people packed just one flight of stairs below, his siblings among them. The music fighting to seep through the glass, the distant reverberation of the bass coursing throughout the building. All of it should’ve been enough to remind them that it was a bad idea for all the reasons it had always been a bad idea, but now it was also a bad idea because the likelihood of getting caught was higher than ever.
The sensation of her nails dragging lightly along his jawline pulled him out of his own head. His eyes raked slowly up her arm until they reached her face. She seemed so unbothered. She always did, really. Maybe because out of the two of them he was really the only one with things to be bothered over. Sure, there was the business of it all, the plazas, Miguel, all the rest of it. They shared that to an extent. But Isabella didn’t have a family weighing over her head. She had no marriage that would implode if it all got out, didn’t have siblings that would, well, he didn’t really want to give too much thought to that in the moment. The façade of his life was one tap of the glass away from breaking, and Isabella was standing on the other side of the window with a fucking sledgehammer.
“No puedo…” he trailed off.
“Te nunca puedes,” she retorted, her voice soft somehow despite the mocking undertones in it.
He shook his head, enough to cause her fingers to not be brushing against his jaw and cheek anymore. It didn’t cause her to stop touching him. Now her hand was on his shoulder. She was standing close enough that if he released any of the tension that he was holding in his muscles, their bodies would be pressed together.
He nodded towards the large glass windows, the ones that currently had the blinds up all the way so that they could see out, and if anyone wanted to go up a few steps, they could see in. “Mira. Todos los—”
“Esa es la razón?” She scoffed, almost laughed. “La gente?” She shook her head as she repeated back his words from earlier. “No mientas.”
He swallowed past the growing knot in the back of his throat. Nodding towards the door, he tried to found firm as he said, “Vete.”
“O qué?” she challenged, the smirk on her face showing up involuntarily.
“Isabella…”
“Dime, por favor.” She tilted her head, like she was studying him, like she didn’t already know the answer. “Quiero saber.”
He tilted his head back, chin jutting out as he looked up at the ceiling. He knew that the answer to that was nothing. Nothing was going to happen. He knew that. He knew that she knew it, too. But he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of saying it if he could help it—she was unbearably confident about it enough already. She always was. He didn’t know how that happened, really. How he wound up surrounded by women like that. Todas las mujeres de su pinche vida.
Letting out a deep sigh, he tried one more time. “Vete ahora.” He almost tacked a pleasantry onto the end of it. But he wouldn’t have meant it, and she wouldn’t have cared.
“De verdad quieres eso?”
“Sí,” he replied quickly, but he didn’t make up for the lack of conviction in his voice.
“Eres un mal mentiroso.” He had no idea how she managed to sound so good when she was being so condescending. “Tienes miedo?”
Something in the slight uptick of her voice at the end of the question caused him to shift. He could feel the defeat starting to rake its way across his muscles, his body giving into hers. He always did. No matter when she showed up, no matter where, his resolve never lasted. He hated how smug she was about it all but what he hated more was that he had given her every right to be. He shook his head, mumbling as he turned the phrase over in his mind.
Isabella never ceased to find it amusing, the hesitation, the internal turmoil he seemed to face each time. She figured that they would be past that by now—that he would be past that by now. But the routine held steady. He’d hesitate, he’d give in, he’d let the residual guilt keep him from seeking her out, but when push came to shove, he’d never let it keep him from giving in again when she eventually came back around.
“Si es lo que quieres,” she finally said as she held her hands out, almost like a surrender, almost like a peace offering. However the lift of her lips showing that she was fully aware that it wasn’t really what he wanted, that she banking on him caving and saying just that.
She turned around and started walking towards the door of the office. Her steps were slow, deliberate. Each click of her heels against the floors felt like it was echoing, like it somehow drowned out the music blaring through the rest of the club. Benjamín watched her go, shoulders so tense they were about to crumble, cave in on themselves as he tried to get himself together. He should let her go and he shouldn’t feel conflicted about it.
He opened his mouth to try and say something, but all that came out was a choked stammer. Not a real word, hardly a real syllable. But the sound was enough to get Isabella to stop in her tracks. Her back was still to him, but he could vividly imagine what the smug look on her face must’ve looked like.
Turning around to face him, she raised her eyebrows, smiling as she asked with feigned innocence, “Sí, Mín?”
His jaw twitched, still fighting over what he was going to say. Not that it ended up mattering in the end, anyway. Words fell completely by the wayside as his body reacted with more certainty than his brain ever had. One foot in front of the other, long, fast strides easily closed the distance between him and Isabella.
She didn’t say anything either, didn’t have to. The half a second between his hand cupping the side of her face to pull her closer and his lips crashing against hers said everything that either of them needed to know.
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