#atsv reader insert

[phyrestartr]

The Intern | Miguel O'hara x M!Reader

#NSFW, Age Gap (mid 20s and mid 30s), reader's a homewrecker, Miguel's a cheater, mentions of toxic marriage, male!reader, bussy loading, porn with feelings, Miguel's a bit of a dickhead, top Miguel (for now), bottom reader (for now)

Note: I can't write anything without making it into a series lol I'm writing another part right now leave me alone!!!

-- The Intern --

[ How it Started: 1/2 ] [2/2]

Miguel didn't take interns. He hated them, actually; the way they'd needle him with too many annoying questions, the times they tried flexing their unimpressive knowledge of genetics, the way they'd fail to flirt and catch his eye–all of it ticked him off, made him snap and snuff out their bright, curious flames. He didn't mean to. He didn't want to make future scientists lose steam. But he had a limit, and these day, it was hit way too fucking often.

That didn't change when the tours came through. Actually, between his wife pushing his buttons and the young, bright-eyed scientists eyeing him over, everything just pissed him off more, shortened the limit exponentially. 

And he saw you there, listening to someone with a better temper talk. You didn't look all too impressed. You were maybe a little bored, actually. Your eyes swept across the room in wide arcs, looking for something interesting to land on. That was a feeling Miguel could relate to all too well. 

But your eyes eventually landed on him, somehow. You pursed your lips slowly, like it'd make too much noise otherwise, while your cheeks lifted in amusement. You glanced back to the speaker and back to Miguel, eyebrows gesturing too perfectly: get a load of this guy, eh? 

Miguel's expressionless mask slipped for a moment, and he twitched a smirk. He shook his head and looked back to his work. 

He did, however, glance at you on your way out. You didn't look back at him. 

–

He and Dana agreed to separate. It'd be a momentary thing, a way to work out the kinks in their marriage without more random accusations and hurtful words being thrown at each other on the daily. Miguel didn't want that. He didn't want Gabi to be subject to it, most of all. 

The separation calmed things down quite a bit, down to the point where Miguel wondered why they were arguing so much in the first place; until Dana did a very Dana thing and decided, for some reason, she couldn't take care of Gabi by herself while they were separated. Probably a ploy to get them back together under the same roof. Probably a scheme to manipulate the situation. 

But Miguel could play hardball, too. 

He'd pick Gabi up every day after school, and take her to the lab, but sequestered off in the cafeteria where a security guard was always present. She'd get to snack, she'd do her homework, and Miguel could work knowing she was safe. Not ideal, and maybe a little lonely for her, but easy. 

Checking up on her was another good excuse to walk away from his work, too. And one of the times he passed by, in desperate need of a cup of coffee and boost from his little girl's warm smile, he saw someone sitting with her. 

He watched for a moment as he stirred his coffee. Then, he realized it was you, that random intern from the tour a few months back. You were sat across from her, munching on whatever your late lunch was, and nodding emphatically to whatever his little girl was going on about. Her arms gestured wide and her giggle resonated brightly in the room, drawing some annoyed glances and cooing comments, but you didn't miss a beat, matching her laughter and big gestures. It was nice. 

Miguel's shoulders relaxed a little for once. 

He saw you there more days than not. And the days you weren't there, he often spied Gabi looking around, no doubt wondering where you were. It hurt his heart a bit to see her pout, truth be told, and he started to realize he should probably get to know you if you were inadvertently babysitting his kid. 

So, the next time he found you there, he walked over. 

You were beside her this time, both hunched over her usual tablet full of homework. You were the one gesturing wildly this time, talking too much with your hands as you explained fractions and common denominations and the sort in a way that truly only kids could tolerate and understand. Miguel had to put an end to it if he wanted to talk with you. 

"So, for this one, the little bitch on the bottom is–" 

"Sorry, 'little bitch'?" Miguel interjected, smirking when you jumped and Gabi gasped in delight. "Don't think that's proper terminology. Just a hunch." 

"Daddy!" Gabi called, happily turning in her seat to hug her father. Miguel's mean smile softened into something kinder and gentler.

"Hey, mija. Doing your homework, huh?" He asked as he brushed back his girl's hair. "He's not giving you all the answers, is he?" 

You balked before interrupting yourself. "Woah, hey, no, no, no, I'm makin' her do the stuff 'n the things, don’t worry 'bout it." Woah. Okay. That was a heavy Nueva York accent. Not what Miguel expected. 

"Yeah! I'm doing all the work! Mr.(Name)'s just helping when I get stuck 'n stuff!" Gabi's brows knitted together in concern. "Don't get mad at him!" 

"Yeah, don't get mad at me, Doc–she’s a smart kid, she don’t even need me to do this stuff for her, y’know?” 

“Well, I already knew that.” Miguel smirked as you huffed. He sat down on the other side of Gabriella and peered across her tablet at you. “You’re an intern, right? You were at the–”

“The tour, yeah.” You nodded a bit and propped your elbow up on the table before resting your cheek against your palm to watch Gabi solve her equations. “Saw you, too. You looked pretty pissed.”

“Intern day isn’t my favourite day,” Miguel offered with an unbothered shrug. 

“Yeah, I figured. You looked like you wanted to light ‘em on fire." 

"I could've, but then I'd be out a free part-time babysitter."

You laughed lightly, and Miguel caught the charming dip of dimples light up your face. "Oh, so that's how it is, huh? Guess I ain't mad at that. Gabi's a good kid, reminds me of my niece." 

Miguel raised his brows a bit. A niece. "Huh. Guess that explains a lot." 

"Dunno what you mean by that, but I'm gonna hope it's a good thing." 

Miguel smiled a bit. "It's a good thing." 

You smiled, too, though a bit more smug and proud. "Yeah? Good." You glanced up at the clock on the wall and sighed, the cute tilt to your lips suddenly vanishing. 

Gabi caught on and sent a powerful pout your way. "Already?" 

"Yeah, sorry, chica. Gotta get back to work." You stood up and offered your hand to Miguel. "Didn't introduce myself. I'm (Name)." 

Hm. Miguel liked how that sounded. 

"Miguel. Miguel O'hara." But you probably already knew that, though you had the decency not to point it out. 

"Nice to meetcha, Doc." 

You shook his hand and ruffled up Gabi's hair before seeing yourself out, a sudden haste in your scrambling steps as you checked the time again. Hah. You must've been late for something. 

"He's nice," Gabi said. Miguel's eyes fell back to her. 

"You think so?" He's not bad-looking, either. "You're okay with him? You feel safe?" 

"Ah-huh, ah-huh. He's not mean." Her big brown eyes sparkled up at Miguel, then. "I like 'im! Are you gonna be friends with him?" 

Miguel glanced back your way, surprised to see you standing by the elevators and glancing back at him. You looked away when you got caught, but turned back again with a little wave, like you’d realized turning away looked awkward and suspicious and had to rectify it. 

A light smirk tugged at Miguel’s lips. “Yeah, maybe.”

–

It started with chatting at lunch. Then, it turned into light touches on the shoulder and your thieving hands plucking whatever sort of drink or snack Miguel held in tired hands. And then, well, it just got worse. 

Miguel growled into your ear as he held you pinned against the wall, his hips slamming up against yours, driving himself deep into your core. To your credit, you held your voice well, only letting the slightest peeps and squeaks out when the older man happened to hit your soft spot in his wild momentum. It’s not that it would’ve mattered, though; the Halloween party’s music blared too loudly in the cafeteria for anyone to hear you getting fucked braindead in Miguel’s office. 

“Mmmmnnn–Doc, wait, wait, ow, ow, ow–” Your thighs constricted around his waist in a panic as you hissed and dug your blunt nails into his massive shoulders. 

Miguel paused his cruel tempo and finally took a second to breathe. “I–what? You okay?” He asked, brushing some of your messy hair from your face. The corner of his mouth quirked with amusement as he was reminded of the dried fake blood trailing down your mouth, and the glue-on fangs you had set to your canines. You looked quite cute as a fucked-out vampire intern, he had to admit. 

You nodded weakly as you panted. “Y-Yeah, ‘m good, you’re good.” You tilted your head back and bonked it on the wall behind you, no doubt influenced by the alcohol in your veins. “This wall sucks. Hurts my back.” 

Ah. Miguel probably shouldn’t care. This was just a fling, some stress-relief from his frustrating marriage.

But he was too weak, apparently. “Tch. Picky,” Miguel scolded into your ear before pulling you off the wall. 

“Picky?” You repeated, clinging to him desperately. 

“Incredibly picky.” He walked a few steps, carrying you with his cock still buried deep inside of you, and rested you on his pristine desk instead. “Better?” 

You sighed and pulled your shirt down more while you both got situated. “Yuh-huh.” You looked at him with that infuriating, lazy smile and wriggled your hips against him. “Continue.” 

Miguel’s eye twitched. He couldn’t help but feel like he was accidentally subservient to you for that split second. He was supposed to be in control, not you. 

“Smug brat,” Miguel scoffed before hoisting your legs over his shoulders and pistoning into you cruelly. 

His core ached with want as you arched beautifully off his desk, and through the buzz of booze, he admired you; your own heavy cock wept against your stomach as your diaphragm stuttered with each needy dive into your messy heat. Your face flushed a captivating crimson while your eyes fluttered and shone with unspent tears clinging to your lash line. Then, your stupid costume teeth bit into your lower lip as your voice started to break free from its restraints and pushed by your bobbing Adam’s apple, letting new whimpers and clipped moans fill his office. 

“Doc,” you whined, screwing your eyes closed and fisting your hand around your length. “Doc–” 

Oh. Oh no. You were cute. Really cute in the way you started letting out bubbling praise and babbled wants, in the way your free hand clawed at his arm to just touch him and hold him while your high threatened to push you off the edge and into that endless spiral. Miguel hadn’t felt this wanted in a long, long time. He hadn’t been showered in praise, told how good he was, given someone’s full attention for even longer. 

He couldn’t remember the first time he came first, either. 

Because he did, with his teeth clenching, his thrusts breaking down into something erratic and out of tempo, he spilled inside of you. Electricity pulsed through every synapse of his nerves, bringing a wash of cool, prickling energy to his palms and curling fingers as he gripped on you harder, tighter, jamming himself inside of you with a reckless abandon. 

“D-Did you–?” You asked. Miguel caught your gaze, and another gush emptied out of him–your eyes, wide and doe-like in surprised amazement, were too captivating, too endearing. And when you realized that, yes, you’d made him cum first, you were quick to reach the same peak. 

Miguel was the one to moan this time. Your body clenched down around him in desperation to hold him still while your own white-hot bliss ripped through you. Pearly strands of white roped across your trembling hand and your stomach, one after the other, until there was nothing left to give. But with a sharp slap to your ass, Miguel found there was just a little more you could both give. 

“Good boy,” Miguel mumbled, voice thick and full where it trilled. He gave you another good spank. “Good boy.” 

Miguel slowed his hips gradually, slowly catching his breath in tandem with your wild panting as the afterglow stayed where the too-hot sear faded. His nerves relaxed with his body. His mind soon followed suit, too, which was a problem and a relief; a problem because he didn’t feel a shred of guilt, but relief in the realization of how simple this exchange was. Just sex. With someone he could tolerate.

“Shit,” you breathed. You glanced down at the mess you’d become, and grimaced. “C-Can a good boy get a, uh, a tissue or, like, five?” 

Miguel rolled his eyes. He popped open one of the drawers to his desk and pulled out a tissue box and set it beside you before, like the bastard he was, he pulled out of you without warning and watched your hole clench around nothing before glossy whiteness oozed out of you. He ignored your sharp complaints in favour of enjoying the show and meanly stuffing his cum back into you before, for a third time, giving you a slap on the rear like you were a good ol’ used truck. 

Miguel snatched the first tissue to clean himself up and tossed it away, tucking himself back into his pants and straightening his clothes out like nothing happened, before turning and walking away. 

“Hey, wh–seriously?!” You cried (or whined, or complained) at his back. 

Miguel smirked to himself before calling over his shoulder, “Make sure you clean my desk up, too. I’ll get you kicked out of the program if it’s not in perfect condition tomorrow morning.” 

But he almost crumbled under your sweet, cooing pleas for him to come back, to stay a little longer, but thankfully, a whirlwind of petty insults were thrown at his back when he reached the door. And he found the strength to keep going, to subject you to his little game. 

A cruel game of torturing his favourite intern.

[baiabay]

No Role Modelz (ATSV Black Cat Variant! Reader Insert)

Prologue: Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend

Chapter 1: 

Chapter 2:

Chapter 3:

Chapter 4:

Chapter 5:

Chapter 6:

^^links 2 chapters!! this story is also on ao3, wattpad, and quotev under the same name <33

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A/N: Hey to whoever reading this! Thanks for taking the time to do so !! This is the first fic i’ve wrote ever so please excuse any hiccups. This concept of a Black Cat variant has been bouncing around in my head since the first movie, so I decided to write it down. I’m not really sure if I’ll continue this to be a full story, (if I see that people are reading it, then of course I will), but this is kinda like a prologue/test chapter so my ideas don’t die without ever seeing the light of day. I’ll also be posting this on ao3 under the same title!! Feel free to comment, criticize, and give any ideas into how I can further incorporate the reader into the plot. Thanks again & enjoy!

P.S. I’m not sure if I want this to be romantic or just a reader-insert just yet. So don’t expect romance anytime too soon.

WORD COUNT: 1337

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You hated to admit it, but it was such a rush.

The drop of your stomach when you lowered into the building,

The sound of your heart pumping in your head as you weaved your way past security,

The adrenaline rush while you whip around the city, knowing that the job was done, all with your face remaining unknown. 

… Who are you kidding? You loved to admit it.

Well, you never would actually admit it, that would ruin the whole ‘secret identity’ thing you’ve got going on, but you get the idea.

It was exhilarating. And almost comical. Quite comical, actually. How you would swipe these valued works from right under the noses of whatever snob owned the museum. You’d think if they were so valued, they’d invest in better security measures, but here we are. 

For around five months now, you’ve been Brooklyn's one and only* Black Cat. At least that’s what they liked to call you. Your actual name was Y/N Hardy, and you weren’t all that special. Born here, lived here, parents died here, and after months of wallowing over that, you ended up picking up this gig. Something in you wanted to make a name for yourself. You craved some sort of recognition, plus rent had to be paid somehow. 

Your kleptomaniac tendencies turned out quite useful in the end, a few months ago you managed to turn in enough goods to afford you a spot at Brooklyn Visions. Before they passed, your parents hated that school, but it had always been your dream to go. 

Being The Cat was terribly easy. Go in, take shit, go out, sell shit. With the money you’d obviously take care of your needs first, it only being you and your cats in your apartment - food, student fees, cute clothes on the side, you know the works. But the leftovers, you always gave back. One thing you kept from your father was to always remember to give back. “If not, you’re just as bad as those sons of bitches you’re taking from”, he’d always say. 

From the older lady down in room 213, who isn’t able to afford medical now that her kids moved out. 

To the young queen who makes her pay from gigs at clubs after being kicked out by her parents.

The single dad with three girls, the kid who caught onto drugs way too early, the janitor, all the way down to that dog with one leg missing(as much as you strongly prefer felines), they all needed your help. They all needed Black Cat. They never questioned where the money came from, it’s always been this way. You didn’t live on the pretty side of town, cash is cash and as long as it ends up in their hands, it never mattered the methods taken to get there. 

You had no complaints, it made your job easier. You’d show up to them as Y/N, money in hand, they’d call you generous, and that was it. No suspicion towards The Cat whatsoever. Smooth interactions every time, it was terribly easy.

Except for right now. 

Right now, standing right inbetween you and your next paycheque( a diamond necklace ), is a boy. 

A boy when you’d sworn the gallery would’ve been long closed and empty by the time you started your heist. 

A boy sporting a spider-suit.

You’d heard of the city’s new hero for a while now, although you paid no mind to it, as he’s been dealing with more relevant criminals, and you’ve been stealing for this long without any hint of his interest towards your activities. You suppose the rise of news reports on your…endeavors are what may have drawn him here, but why now?

Why him ?

It’s now been a good thirty seconds of silent staring between you and the spider-boy, you were suddenly grateful for your mask, while sweaty, concealed the ever-growing grimace on your face as this awkward silence lengthened. 

The boy breathed in. 

“So…”

You took the noise as your ‘go’ signal, and ran. Pushing past him in the process, you aimed your whip towards the necklaces’ glass case, and flexed your arm. A sickening crack of glass followed shortly. Good.

“Wh- Hey!” 

The Spider called after you, seemingly taken aback by your sudden dash. 

“Where,” He leaped off the walls, and into the air, in a matter of seconds. 

“do you think,” He released his webbing in your direction(shit, you forgot about that), it wrapping around your form, tripping you up in the process.

“you’re going!” Spider pulled(shit), before you could whip your way towards your exit, you found yourself tied up, feeling almost cocoon-esque, hanging right above the glass case, feet-first from the ceiling, face-to-face with Spider-man. How humiliating.

“Just…admiring the art, is all.” You finally spoke, shakiness in your voice prevalent. You’ve never been caught before. 

“Right,” Spider quipped back, stretching the R.  “and your version of admiring includes theft?”

“Woah! Okay, well ‘theft’ is a bit intense,” You snickered under the mask. Spiders’ masked eyes narrowed. 

“how do you know I’m not planning on returning it? I’d much rather call it ‘borrowing.’”

“Yeah? Well, seems your ‘borrowing’ hobby will have to end, Cat.” Spider let out a small grunt, before flipping over and landing right on top of the glass case below the two of you. Another crack. Perfect. 

“Looks like the Cat’s in the bag, huh?” He laughed to himself. 

A silent beat passed. 

The Spider, now focused on writing some sort of sticker label for when the cops show, had not noticed your insistent wriggling back up on the ceiling. You had hoped that maybe with enough squirming-

The webbing loosened.

With enough squirming maybe you could-

You reached for your whip.

Maybe you could-

You flicked your wrist, aiming to latch onto something, anything. And pulled. 

CRASH

Finally.

You dropped down onto your toes, right beside the thing that started it all. That damn diamond necklace. 

Glass littered the gallery floors, reflecting light and creating all kinds of shapes you would’ve loved to admire had Spider not been racing after you, eyes trained on the necklace now in your hands. 

From an outside perspective, it appeared as if you two were dancing. Punches were tossed, webs slung, sarcastic quips made, whips thrown, all dodged masterfully by the two of you. Neither of you two were letting up. This buzz of adrenaline, the energy pricking at your skin, gave you that feeling you always loved when you left the house as The Black Cat- you felt utterly and wholeheartedly alive.

As you managed to land one kick to Spiders stomach, you felt alive. As you used your grappling hook to fling yourself through your exit, you felt alive- 

“What’s wrong Webby? Cat’s got your tongue?” You shouted, from atop your exit window, looking down at the spider-boy, the widest grin you’ve ever sported concealed under your mask. 

Miles took note of how your masked eyes squinted, the clear smile in your voice. You were enjoying this. 

And you were enjoying this - necklace now hastily stuffed into your satchel, you flipped backwards off the building, removed your mask and screamed. 

It was different this time, being caught, the chase, the fight, it gave you this high. A high you’ve never felt before. As you grappled your way through the night, your smile persisted. 

By the time you made it back to your apartment, you were winded. You had come down from whatever buzz you were feeling earlier, now ridden with aches and exhaustion. 

Suit off, cats fed, hair washed, necklace stored(you debated keeping it for yourself for memories sake or cashing it in as originally planned), you made it to your bed. Adrenaline at a low, you still felt giddy. 

You hated to admit it, but that was actually… fun. 

Smiling one last time, you decided to roll over and force yourself to sleep, thoughts of the night’s activities bouncing softly in your mind. 

“… Spider-man, huh?”

[olmstier]

Those things are *ancient* to him

[cosmosis]

MOVED TO @seratopia

miguel o’hara x reader (fluff) - jealousy

miguel gets jealous possessive after a new intern flirts with you this is part of the same universe as my call oneshot!

Being 2nd in charge of the multiverse is... honestly not that hard for you. It’s mostly just co-leading, and being a secretary. Lyla helps out a bunch, but sometimes, a sassy AI can only do so much. 

Jess informed you of a new intern she recruited. Apparently, he’s having his first day today, which means you’ll probably have to do a quick run-through of things with him later. 

For now, it’s your fated duty to sit with Miguel at his desk so he doesn’t get all pouty later. He starts huffing and puffing when you aren’t near, takes it out on the kids sometimes. 

Thanks to your suggestion, Miguel invested in a nice desk and swivel chair for the office, so now it looks more like an actual workspace instead of a maniac’s plot room. (either way, he his one lmao)

Since Lyla’s gone for the time being, you’re standing up on the office platform, tapping away at a multitude of screens. Miguel lays lazily in the office chair, swiveled up behind you to rub his face into your upper back, as well as run his hands along your tummy. 

“Hun, you gotta let go. I needa tour the intern.” You mutter, closing in on an ID photo of the recruit.

“No.“

“Well, if I don’t do it, then who will?“ You ask. 

“Jess.“

“She’s busy on her break. Pregnant women need breaks, you know.“

“Ugh. I don’t want you to leave.“ He whines. squeezing you tighter. 

You start squirming out of his grip, pulling his pinky off of your stomach. Inching away, you push Miguel away by his head. Reluctantly, he starts letting you go, lazily running his hands onto the skin of your hips and lower thighs before letting go. 

“I’ll see you in a bit, baby.“ You say, scuffing up his hair with your palm. Gracefully, you leap down from the platform, somersaulting onto the floor and skating out the exit. You hop over a few stray cardboard boxes. 

Miguel watches you stroll away, and fixes his hair back into place. 

Lyla magically appears, phasing in and out with a different sly look each time. She snickers, flickering all around Miguel’s head. 

“Whipped.“

“Shut the fuck up.“

. . .

Miguel’s blood starts to boil as soon as you roll in with that stupid, bastard of an intern. He’s too close to you for comfort, so close to his arm nudging yours... Miguel’s teeth start to clench, his fangs close to drawing blood from his mouth. He’s paying too much attention to you, there’s a vibe he gets that he hates to his core. 

Everything about him is aggravating; the blonde hair, the snarky smirk, all of it.  

“...and this is Miguel’s office!“ You say, gesturing your hand to the majority of the area. 

“Sweet, nice to meet the bossman.“

Bossman, his ass. Miguel would only ever let you call him bossman. 

“Miguel! Come down!“ You yell, and his heart warms in his chest. He turns around from his standing form on the office platform, eyeing the intern in order to scare him a bit. 

“Hey, what’s up man! Glad to finally meet the man behind the slaughter!“ The intern exclaims, his hands rested on his hips. 

Miguel fights every urge to both roll his eyes and tackle the recruit, keeping a somewhat straight face on. He chuckles a little, not a single trace of a smile on his face. 

“Heh, yeah? Excited to meet the bossman?“ Miguel taunts, but it looks like the intern can’t tell he is. 

“Heck yeah dude! Where do I start?“

Miguel starts nodding a little, plastering on a face smile, chuckling a bit...

Before he throws the entire office chair at the recruit. Not to hit you, though. He’d never, ever hit you. 

Instantly, the intern turns away, shielding his body with his hands. In the nick of time, though, you latch your webbing onto the chair, slinging it away to side before it could harm anyone. You cross your arms. 

“Oh my gosh I’m so sorry about tha- MIGUEL!“ You scream. 

And he throws a literal file cabinet at the man. Again, you latch it out of way without problem. 

“What th'heck, man?! What’s your fuckin’ problem?!“ The intern yells, spreading his arms out. 

“My fuckin’ problem is you nagging my wife!“ He roars. 

“Wait a sec- she’s your wife?“

Miguel then  leaps down from the platform, chin held up high in a sinister glare. Slowly, he steps over towards the both of you, fixing his eyes on the intern the entire time. 

Miguel’s tall, really tall compared to the newbie. He pokes his finger to the recruit, leaning in real close. 

“Stay at least 5 feet away from my wife at all times.“ Miguel utters, and you kinda feel bad for the new guy. 

You cross your arms. “C’mon, Miguel. He’s literally new, take it easy on him!” You say back, and Miguel pouts, whines. Possessively, he reaches over to you, pulling in you in by the hip to try to soothe you. It doesn’t work, and you present yourself from giving into his needy touches.  

And then, you turn around back to the newbie. “Gosh, I’m so sorry about that! He’s usually not like this-”

“Man, fuck this.“ The intern exclaims, taking a few steps back in agitation. “Take me back home, I ain’t dealin’ with this shit!“

He storms off, kicking a stray cardboard box on the way out. 

“Aw, crap.“

“Finally.“

You swerve back around, hands on your hips. “Miguel, that was uncalled for.”

“Yes it was! He was smothering all over you!“ He yells, throwing his hands up in the air like it was the most obvious thing ever. 

“Well, now thanks to you, we lost a recruit.“

“One of literally thousands!“

“And now, there’s papers everywhere on the floor!“

“Shhh, honey, I’ll clean it up later.“

Ignoring your frown, Miguel finally pulls you into him, pressing your lower back into his own with a nose into your hair.

“I saw the way he put his arm around you. He was flirting with you too. Hated it.“ Miguel utters. 

“When?“ You ask.

“On the surveillance.“ He says, and you sigh. He’s right, the guy was flirting with you for a bit, but you chose to ignore it so you could get over with the tour faster. 

“Eh, he gave me the heebie jeebies from the beginning.“ You say, and Miguel automatically squeezes you tighter into him, a deep grumble bellowing from his inner throat.

“I’m never letting you tour anyone ever again.“ Miguel admits.

“After that? Go ahead.“ You scoff, and finally, he sighs in relief. 

He tries drags you back to the office platform again, but then forgets that he threw the chair, grumbling in regret. Instead, he just hovers behind you for the rest of the day, occasionally pressing a smooch to your head. 

[stellaaarree]

LOOK AT HIS POUTY LIL LIPS.ABSOLUTELY BEGGING TO BE KISSED!!

teasing miguel hehe! (fluff)

you come in, miguels most likely messing around with his gizmo. propping yourself on your tiptoes, two fingers hooking into the fabric of his suit you give him a lil smooch!

“¿para qué era eso, bonita? t: what was that for, pretty?” miguel asks, his voice a little raspy and his eyes dumbfounded. “you’re pouting.” you state, still propped on your tiptoes, holding his suit.

in response miguel’s hands land on your hips, picking you up and setting you on the desk, slotting between your legs with an even more pouty expression he grumbles. “i do not pout.” a laugh slips past your lips as you watch him get all defensive. pissing him off further you ruffle his hair. his hard-ass demeanour pleading not to crumble, especially not in the semi public.

“cariño. t: honey.” he hisses. replied with a single “whaaat?” and a giggle. its too late to save himself though. lyla in the doorway, already taking pictures of miguel (our big bad spiderman.) slotted between your legs and having his hair played with as he pouts like a baby.

“lyla.” was all miguel needed to hiss before lyla was already gone, taking her camera with her. that was gonna be blackmail for a while.

you try to do a coy apology, getting half way through your “sor-” before miguel stops you with a “don’t you start, pequeño demonio. t: you little devil.” making you giggle and pull him into another little kiss by his spider suit.

A/N, holy shit!! i came back this morning to see over 200 likes on my posts?! i actually love you all so much!! also was gonna ask, would you guys read stuff that i wrote about ghost (cod mw2)?? let me know haha because i have a few ideas >o<!!💝💝

[moon-rivr]

hear me out, we already know Miguel is probably touch-starved, but imagine him being really touch-starved. Maybe the reader is a baker or smth so she's naturally sweet (wink wink nudge nudge) and maybe just a little chubby. Miguel is always shy about asking readers for small things, like kisses and hugs, but she's really nice about it.

One day, Miguel has had a bad day and goes over to the reader's house for cuddles and is very grumpy about it, which makes reader kinda surprised and flustered to see how demanding he is about it. But as he's cuddling with her, he is very touchy per se and won't stop kneading parts of reader's thighs and shmoobis, which makes her really flustered but she doesn't want to ruin Miguel's moment

this could be smutty but fluff and the end because Miguel deserves a little sweetness in his life

sweetest bite

pairing: miguel o’hara x chubby fem reader

contents: thigh fucking, nipple play, mating press, miguel being a munch (as per usual), oral (m), improper use of frosting, aftercare(ish)

author’s note: i’m so behind on requests i’m so sorry, i promise i’ll get to work on them 😭 i hope you still enjoy this though. trying sum new with the whole layout so lmk your thots 🥸

word count: 6.8k (yeah idk how to explain this one chief)

You were the sweetest thing miguel allowed himself to indulge in. Well, you and your pastries. He'd gotten so used to sacrificing his happiness for the better of the multiverse, of sacrificing everything that he had to give just to make sure that it stayed intact. But, he couldn't stay away from the little baker that set shop on 11th street in Nueva York.

"You should go and visit this little shop I found a couple days ago. The empanadas are to die for," Jess had told him after the last batch at the HQ hadn't been up to par with his standards. He wasn't expecting much out of his visit, the most he was hoping for was decent replacement for the botched empanadas and a cup of coffee. After all, Jess had never strayed him in the wrong direction in terms of food.

The scent of cinnamon and a pinch of vanilla filled up his nostrils as he walked into the shop, the aroma providing a homely feeling. It didn't compare to the other shops scattered around the city, the ones who smelt like stale bread and probably had rats scattering around in this back. Every single space from the shop looked clean, the white floors beneath his feet almost showing his reflection.

No, this was one was nice. From the peonies that you had on a vase at the front desk to the sheer decoration of the walls, a couple paintings scattered across the pink and white walls. Nothing looked out of place, everything seemed to coordinate perfectly. The lofi music playing in the background only added to the atmosphere, putting him in a more relaxed mood than he originally was. His jaw unclenched and his muscles were slack, a sense of calmness rushing through him.

The people inside also seemed to have a silent understanding that the atmosphere was supposed to be relaxing, conversations exchanged in light whispers. It was a nice change of pace from the usual bustling streets of Nueva York, almost like a place where time seemed to stop completely. A place that was an escape from the city, a safe haven of sorts. It provided him with a sense of normalcy he wasn't even aware that he wanted.

He normally didn't spend time appreciating the aesthetic of a place given how busy his schedule was, but he could see the appeal of this little shop. He almost regretted not finding this shop earlier, it provided with more relaxation than he'd ever find at the empty tables of the HQ cafeteria. There was nobody here that knew him, nobody there to avoid his presence or criticize his actions. Everyone just regarded him like he was one of their own, continuing on with their conversations.

What Jess had failed to mention to him before he came here is that the owner would be so enthralling. You weren't doing much apart from tapping something into the register yet you still managed to capture his attention. He wanted to look away to avoid coming off as a creep but his eyes seemed to defy his brain's instructions, keeping his attention solely for you. The chatter in the background died to a low hum as he watched you hand a paper bag to the man in front of you.

"How's your wife and kids?" He couldn't help but be taken aback when the question slipped from your lips, surprised at the gesture. Most of the people in Nueva York were so consumed in their own lives that they didn't bother to remember much about anybody else, much less ask any questions that didn't serve them an individual gain. Even with his enhanced hearing, all he could focus was on what you were saying like a siren luring him in.

He could tell from the little smile on your face that the man was engaging in the conversation, your hands struggling to keep up as you talked with him. He'd overheard you mention something about packing in a few extra cookies for the kids, his heart swelling at a gesture that wasn't even meant for him. You and the man kept talking for about another minute before he told you goodbye and you waved at him as he departed the shop. Miguel was next in line, but he felt his feet stuck to the ground like quicksand.

He was so enticed by the sight of you, the way your eyes illuminated under the white lights. Lighting that would normally make someone appear sickly only seemed to accentuate your features out to him even more. "Next, please," your voice came out like sheer honey to his ears, snapping him out of the trance he was in. He took two steps forward, coming up to the register. He'd spent so much of time simply just looking at you that he hadn't even bothered to look over the menu. You didn't annoyed at him for holding up the line, your finger tapping against the marble countertop as you waited for his decision.

"I'll get two of your conchas and three of your empanadas with a hot roast coffee," he finally spoke up after a while, looking over from the menu to you. "You want the empanadas made out of flour or corn?" You inquired after typing the order into the register. "I’ll get corn, please," he pulled out his wallet as he spoke, handing you much more than the amount showing up on the screen. You tried to give him back the change, but it only ended up in the pink tip jar you had set next to the register.

"Can I get a name for your order, please?" You asked him before he had the chance to walk away, his footsteps coming to a stop before he turned over to face you. "Miguel," he responded before he finally stepped away, leaving you feeling flustered and confused. The way his voice sounded to your ears was something out of pure sin, a part of you wanting to indulge in that as much as possible. But you refused to make a big deal out of the mildly handsome customer, refused to make a big deal out of the fleeting glances he shot your way and the way he also seemed to feel a spark between the two of you when your hands touched.

You could feel his stare as you kneaded the dough, but you didn't seem to mind it all that much. It seemed more like he was analyzing you, the way that you moved rather than something predatory. You had a small radio set up in the back to liven up the mood while you were baking, your hips swaying to the rhythm of the salsa song playing. You hummed along to the beat, setting the pan in the oven. You leaned against the counter as you waited, all the other goods pretty much set for another couple hours.

"Miguel!" You called out, watching as he got off the spot he was leaning on and walked over to you. He thanked you once you handed him the paper bag, his fingertips almost seeming to purposely want to touch yours this time around. Nope. Not gonna make a big deal out it. You forced yourself to look away from him as he stepped away from the counter, plastering a smile on your face as you greeted the next customer coming in. Greta. You'd taken the time to learn these people's names and learn what it is that they tended to get just to give them a sense of being seen.

The first bite of the concha had been delectable, a low moan escaping from his lips as he savored the taste of the warm cinnamon and vanilla blending together. He hadn't had a concha like this one since he took a business trip to Mexico. While Nueva York was quickly adjusting to fit the needs of the diversifying population, it didn't mean that every restaurant provided that taste of home he was longing for. Most of them just felt like a cheap replacement of the real thing, the taste usually bland and lacking seasoning.

But now he had an entirely different dilemma on his hands. a part of him wanted to eat the concha slowly, savor every bite of the treat while the other part of him wanted to scarf it down as quickly as he could. Eventually he lost the battle against his self control, eating the two conchas and one of the empanadas. Every part of this evening had surpassed his expectations, the empanadas being more than 'decent.' He would normally be more careful in the way that he ate, but now, crumbs were making their way down his black shirt and to his pants. Yet, he could seem to care less.

"How'd you like the treats? I haven't seen you around before so I'm assuming it's your first time," You asked him as he stepped up to the register, your head tilting back slightly to look at the man in the eyes. The afternoon sunlight coming from the door accentuated his eyes, almost making them look like a melting pot of rubies. While your shop was met with various different people everyday at almost every hour, you knew that you couldn't forget him even if you tried. His name still rang like a melody throughout your head.

"Liked them so much i'm planning on buying another concha," he told you, sliding one hand into the pocket of his pants to take his wallet out. "I'm glad you liked them so much. That'll be two dollars," you told him, taking the money from him and setting it in the cash register. You waved at him as he left, convincing yourself that the look back he gave after stepping out of the shop hadn't been for you. Even if you really wished that it would've been. All you could do was just hope that he would come back again soon.

Going back to work had proven to be more of a struggle than he originally thought, His mind replaying the small moments between the two of you. Your hand grazing against his as you handed him the cup of coffee. The smile that seemed to be just a little bit wider when directed towards him. He could still feel his hand tingling from the spot where you'd touched him, your touch electrifying him every way possible.

"For fuck's sake," he muttered to himself as he opened up one of the files on the monitors, the words blurring together despite his best efforts to maintain his focus. He felt like a fool, being in his 30s and obsessing over somebody in this manner like he was a school boy. Despite the fact that he felt like a fool, he couldn't help the smile that threatened to overcome his features at just the mere thought of seeing you again in that little pink apron. All he could do was munch on the extra concha that he'd bought, his mind constantly wandering back to you.

Miguel hadn't attempted to be in a relationship after finding his ex and his father sleeping together, the experience being enough to traumatize him for this lifetime and the next. He'd given up on being a romantic, of going through the motions of learning what a woman's favorite color was and gifting her flowers that ended up wilting by the hour. He'd engaged in a few hookups from time to time, though he only ended up feeling like an asshole afterwards. They expected his call back, only to have their text not even go through. But.. he wasn't interested in you for that.

Sure, he could admit it to himself that you were probably one of the most beautiful women he's laid eyes on. The way your hips moved in the shop was hypnotic, the small movement making all sorts of domestic thoughts run through his head. But he wanted to know what it was that made you tick, what made you laugh, what it is that made you cry. He didn't see you as a prize to gain, but rather as something that he wanted to treasure. Someone that he could see himself coming home to after a long day of work.

The week following his first visit, he'd been buried under mountains of work. Whether it be misplaced files, a sudden surge of anomalies popping up, or just the daily Spider-Man activities that he was tasked with. He'd been looking for a spare opportunity to go back into your shop, maybe ask for your number this time around, but that opportunity usually got shot down with the amount of work he had due. He'd only managed to get a couple glimpses of you when he happened to swing by your store a couple times, his memory saving the moment like an sd card.

He'd managed to get a few moments to himself on a Friday, leaving immediately to go to your bakery before he got stopped by one of the members. He'd barely had one interaction with you and he was already starting to feel depraved having to go a couple days without talking to you. The bell placed on top of the door announced his arrival as he came in, your attention shifting from the counter you were restocking over to the door. You looked as beautiful as every time he's had the pleasure of seeing you.

"Thought you might've found another bakery to go to, Miguel. After you complimented my conchas too," you spoke first, giving him a teasing smile as he approached the counter. "There's no other bakery that would be able to size up to this one. I just got busy with work is all," he knew that you were just teasing him, but he still wanted to explain himself to you. Though he wasn't sure if you'd even thought about him that much. but surely you had, since you noted his absence. He was struggling the same as you were not to let these little gestures go to his head.

"Do you want what you got last time?" You asked him, his heartbeat thundering against his own ears. It was like you were trying to kill him now. He could understand why so many people came to your bakery now, for that feeling of being seen by you. Of getting that sense of meaning something to someone, well at least enough for you to remember their order. "Make it three conchas instead of two this time, please," he responded, once again giving you way much more than the amount had totaled out to be before going to wait for his order.

All he knew was that he had to have more than the complimentary conversation with you, but he couldn't figure out how to approach it. "The shop isn't too busy, what would you say to having a cup of coffee with me?" He mustered up the courage to ask you, his gaze almost burning into your soul as he waited for an answer. He hoped that he wouldn't push you away with this sudden offer, hoping that it hadn't been too forward on his part. He'd meant for it as a friendly outing for you to relax a while, but he wouldn't be able to deny the fact that he was already thinking of how to ask you on a date.

You looked around the shop to find that it was indeed empty, only a couple people talking amongst themselves left. Even if someone walked in, you had another employee that would be able to assist them. "Sure, let me just go hang up my apron and I’ll go join you," you finally spoke up after taking a couple seconds to consider, turning around to mask the excitement threatening to overcome your body. You slid off your apron and set it to the side, getting yourself a cup of coffee before walking over to the booth Miguel was sitting at. It almost felt ridiculous to admit to yourself that you were able to now find him in every room that he stepped in with ease.

"How long have you been a baker for?" He asked you after taking a bite of his concha, wiping away the crumbs that lingered onto his white shirt. "I've been baking for some time now, since I was in like middle school? I used to practice with an easy bake oven when I was younger before evolving into actually edible things," you shared with him, your eyes practically lighting up at the prospect of getting to talk about something that meant a lot to you. Conversation flowed easily enough between the two of you, an exchange of questions being asked from both sides.

You looked up over to the door when you heard the bell ringing, the second wave of customers walking in. As much as you would've liked to continue talking with him, you knew that your one employee wouldn't be able to handle the rush by themselves. "It was lovely talking to you. but I have to get going back to work," you stood up from the table as you spoke, grabbing the empty cup of coffee. Before you got the chance to walk away though, Miguel wrapped his arm around your wrist. Not tight enough for it to hurt, but certainty enough for it to make you stop in your tracks.

"I want to go on a date with you. I'd really like to keep talking with you, if that's something you wanted," he told you, his grip around your wrist loosening before eventually letting go. You grabbed a napkin from the corner of the table and a pen from your pocket, hastily scribbling out your number on it. "Just text me and we can work something out. I want to keep talking to you too," you responded before you went back to work, though your mind wasn't too much on the baked goods as much as it was on Miguel for the rest of the evening.

Your first date with Miguel was something that you'd never forget, the way he looked over at you every time you had something to share about yourself or the way that he let some of his walls down to let you pass through. But the way that his lips felt against yours was the most memorable part of the evening, your apartment lights just illuminating enough for you to make out the shape of his face. Every date following that one was a moment of absolute bliss, time seeming to stop whenever you two were together.

You were at the dining table when he came back from work, your brows furrowed in concentration as you mixed the bowl in your hands. The sweet aroma of vanilla reminded him that he was home again. The light at the end of a tunnel. it almost got him out of the mood that he was in. Almost. The exhaustion and annoyance from the day managed to maintain their claws on him, his footsteps trudging up the stairs as he went to change. He deactivated his suit, pulling a pair of grey sweatpants and a black tee over himself before going back downstairs.

You'd heard the door open but you were surprised to find that Miguel didn't bother to greet you the same way he used to. 'Cariño, ya llegue,' he'd say after a long day at work, (honey i’m home) Usually taking a seat across from you at the dining table just to hear you talk about your day. You figured that he just needed some space, that he'd come to you if he wanted that sense of intimacy from you again. You busied yourself with mixing in the dry ingredients along with the wet ones, almost ready to put the batter in the oven.

"Missed you so bad, hermosura," you heard from behind you, large arms wrapping around your stomach while his head rested on your shoulder. You were about to tell him that the sentiment was mutual when you felt his hands making their way up to your breasts, kneading them in his hands. He let out a contented sigh as he felt your body mold underneath his hands, having you turn into putty at just the smallest touch. He'd never been this touchy with you before, well he'd never been the one to start off this type of contact.

As much as he liked the feeling of your lips molding against his, the feeling of having your body pressed against him with every hug that he gave you, he never asked for it. He was just.. too shy to even try to start it off. He figured that it would come off as something weird, that his inexperience towards having intimate moments would be shed into the light. He knew that you wouldn't make fun of him for that, but a part of him couldn't help but be wary. He usually just tended to wait until you came up to him, wrapping your arms around him as you sought out for the comfort that only he could provide.

You felt your body being ignited into flames from the way he was touching, your body a manual that he had read thousands of times before. He knew everything that would turn your little head off to anything other than him. You didn't want to stop him now that he was feeling comfortable enough to initiate contact with you, but you'd almost mixed in a spoonful of salt rather than sugar. You willed yourself to finish up with the batter, your hands shaking as you brought the electric mixer down to the bowl.

"Miguel, lemme focus on finishing up with this batch and we can do whatever you want after that," you tried to negotiate with him, the plea landing on deaf ears as his hands travelled down to the expanse of your ass. Your back was arching instinctively, reacting solely to his commands. Sometimes it felt like he had more control of your body than you ever did, every little thing that he did serving a purpose to arouse you even further. He squeezed gently, his hands coming up to rest on your hips as he nestled his head into the crook of your shoulder.

"Don't let me interrupt you. Sigue con tus pastelitos e ignora mis caricias," his voice dropped about an octave as he spoke, his lips dangerously close to your ear. (keep at it with your cupcakes and ignore my caresses) Surely he must've known that what he was telling you to do was pointless. He knew the effect that he had on your body, knows the effect that he's having on you at this moment. You let out a small sigh of relief once the batter had finished mixing in, pouring it in slowly into the pan. You stepped off to the side, putting the pan inside the oven before turning to face Miguel.

"Let me just have your thighs, I won't ask for more," he murmured, his hands coming down to your thighs while his thumbs rubbed small circles on them. At your approval, he went over and sat down at the dining table, his legs spreading to give you access to sit down. He looked like a king sitting down on his throne, his large thighs taking up most of the space on the chair. Almost like he demanded respect. His thighs flexed with every movement, your legs moving on their own accord to get closer to him.

"You have approximately," you started off, your eyes shifting over to the small clock on the kitchen counter, "ten minutes." He let out a small chuckle, lifting his hips up to slide his sweatpants just underneath his balls. He'd made it a habit of going commando underneath his suit, the habit following into his daily attire as well. His cock was already starting to leak precum onto his stomach despite the fact you two hadn't done anything too extreme yet. "That's okay. I only needed nine anyways."

You sat down in between his legs, squeezing your thighs together while the tip of his cock prodded at the underside of your legs. You felt the chair creaking underneath you as he thrusted his hips into your thighs. "Would've done this sooner if I would've known it felt this good. Love your thighs so much, mami," despite the fact that he tried to keep up with his dominant persona, he would do anything if it meant he got to have you like this again.

His hands travelled up his your shirt, rolling your nipples in between his fingers. Your back was flush against his chest as your mouth slightly opened, heavy breaths escaping from your lips. His slick coated the insides of your thighs, wetting them in his essence. Your hand went down to where the tip of his cock was poking through, your thumb rubbing small circles alongside the tip.

"Close your legs a little more for me mami."

"Yeah, just like that," he managed to get out through labored breaths, your thighs squeezing his cock in a similar way that your pussy would. You felt his mouth making its way down your throat, nibbling on the sensitive spots that would have you squirming. His touch was everywhere except for where you needed him the most, your desperation towards the situation growing even further. For someone who'd only agreed to thigh fucking, you seemed to be regretting it already.

You felt your slick leaking down from your folds down to the thin material of your panties, one of your hands reaching down to alleviate the tension building inside you. You hadn't even managed to make it to the waistband before Miguel was already pulling your fingers away, holding it with his other hand. "So greedy. Only I'm allowed to please that little pussy, remember," he warned you, though his voice carried no actual sense of danger to it given how needy he sounded. He made it a point to be the only one to please you, not your own fingers and certainly not anybody else's fingers.

He was rutting into your thighs at an erratic pace, no sense of stability as he felt his balls start to tighten up with every second that your warm thighs enveloped him. That was until he heard the loud 'RING' from the countertop. "No te pares. I'm almost there," he tried to speak over the sound of the timer's ring but you were already standing up by the time he'd finished speaking. (don’t stand up) You wiped away the sweat that accumulated on your forehead, taking a couple deep breaths to get your breathing back to normal.  "What happened to only needing nine minutes?"

He let out a small huff as he pulled his sweatpants back on, staying seated at the dinner table. Miguel wanted nothing more than to take you right now, but he was willing to be patient for a couple more minutes. You bent over to take the cupcakes out of the oven, the scent of vanilla hitting your nose instantly. You almost jumped at the feeling of miguel's hands rubbing your ass through your panties if it hadn't been for the fact you had a hot pan in your hands. You placed the pan down, taking the cupcakes out of it and setting them on a plate to get them ready for the frosting portion.

"Ah fuck," you trembled out as you felt Miguel's breath fan against your wet cunt, your pussy clenching around nothing at the sensation. "Already so wet and I haven't even touched her yet," he murmured, spreading your folds with two of his fingers. He let a globe of spit trail from your ass down to your cunt, feeling his cock strain against his sweatpants. He could feel your clit pulsing underneath his fingertips, your body betraying you when you said you wanted to wait. You wanted this as much as he did. If not, maybe even more.

You pushed your hips back onto his face as he pushed his tongue into your wet cunt, feeling your slick coat every single one of his tastebuds at the contact. He knew how proud you were of the baked goods you made, but none of them would ever compare to the taste of your essence. The frosting on the cupcakes started to come out lopsided as you tried to squeeze it on, your hands shaking every time you tried to bring the pipe up to them. "Don't stop," you moaned out, eventually just giving up on the task of trying to keep frosting the cupcakes. The perfectionist in you couldn't stand seeing the sight of the uneven plaster of frosting.

Miguel ate out your cunt like he was a starving man, the task messy as he spat into it and pushed his tongue inside you. Your slick mixed with his spit, the taste of you almost making him delirious. You gripped the countertop tightly, your eyes fluttered shut as you basked in everything that Miguel was giving you. His tongue swirled around your clit in small circles, the sudden stimulation having your toes curling and your eyes seeing stars. You turned around to look at him, your slick coating majority of his chin while some of it dribbled down to his shirt. His eyes were tightly shut as he focused on the task at hand, almost seeming more into it than you were.

You brought your hand up to his hair, tugging at the roots as you pushed him closed to your pussy. He'd vocalized before about how much he liked the mixture of pain and pleasure, a moan vibrating into your cunt as a response. You felt yourself getting closer to that climax, Miguel’s tongue continuing its motions on your clit while his thick fingers opened you up to take his cock later on. You let out an exasperated sigh when you felt him pull away from you just as you were about to cum, though that was quickly shut down when he pressed his lips onto yours.

You got down on your knees, wet kisses marking his tan skin as you made your way down his stomach. You looked over at him, the sight in front of you truly something to behold. His head was lolled back, half-lidded eyes as he met your gaze. His chest heaved with every breath that he took, growing heavier as he felt your lips starting to make their way down his happy trail. He'd stopped bothering to shave it after noticing how much you liked it, the way you licked your lips every time his sweatpants clung a little too low on his hips.

Though his cock was twitching with need right in front of you, painfully erect, you decided to take your time. You kissed his inner thighs, occasionally marking him the same way he'd do to you. Your fingernails raked their way down his thighs, the muscles tensing underneath your touch. You wanted to tease him just as much as he'd teased you earlier, wanting some type of comeback after your ruined orgasm. You delivered a couple more kisses before making your way to his cock, pressing a kiss on the reddened tip.

“Hand me that bag of frosting, please," your voice came out uncharacteristically seductive to your own ears. You'd grown so used to being the sweet girl at the bakery that you hadn't expected yourself to even be a seductress. Miguel reached over to grab the pipe with vanilla frosting inside, handing it over to you. You squirted a little bit of the frosting onto his shaft, setting the pipe aside before leaning in. Your mouth wrapped around his cock, your tongue licking the stripe of frosting up before pulling away. "Think you're gonna kill me, little minx."

Miguel's hands went down to the sides of your head as you took him in your throat, soft moans escaping from his lips. Spit dribbled down the side of his shaft, your hand wrapping around it as you worked it up and down. Though your hand was smaller than his, he enjoyed the feeling of having you jerk him off. Your touch felt more delicate than his own, which tended to be a series of harsh thrusts just to get a quick orgasm. Your mouth came down to his cock again, taking him in much deeper than last time.

Your hand wrapped around the base of his cock to make up for what your mouth couldn't reach, both working in tandem. Your cheeks hollowed as you tried to take him in deeper, willing the muscles in your throat to relax while you did so. "That's it, taking me so well. Nadie me lo chupa mejor que tu," he praised you as you bobbed your head up and down his cock, spit dribbling from the corners of your mouth.

As much as he wanted to cum inside your mouth and see the way that you struggled to sometimes keep his heavy load inside, he wanted nothing more than to cum inside your pussy beforehand. He pulled you off as the height of his peak, watching your eyes flicker over to his in confusion. You were pretty sure you were doing everything that he wanted you to do from his reactions, the way his moans just so freely escaped from his mouth.

"You didn't do anything wrong. just want to cum inside you before anything else," he assured you after seeing the expression of your face, helping you up from the floor. He wiped away the precum mixed in with your spit from the corner of your mouth with his thumb, holding it against your lips. He watched as your tongue darted out before enveloping his finger into your mouth. The way your tongue wrapped around it was heavenly, your eyes shutting as you cleaned off his finger.

Miguel went over to the sink and ran a paper towel under cold water, cleaning any remnants of the frosting that might've been left behind. The last thing the both of you needed was for you to get a UTI as a result from this encounter. He came back over to you, kissing your cheek and muttering some apology about the cupcakes. Not that you cared about them anyways, all you could think about was Miguel having his way with you. He grabbed your hand and intertwined with his, leading you out of the kitchen and out into the living room.

Miguel led you over to the couch, raising your knees up to your chest. You placed your hands underneath your legs, watching as Miguel gave himself a couple languid strokes before slowly pushing his cock inside. "Fuck, you're so tight," he groaned out as he felt your walls fluttering against him, your cunt stretching to adjust to him. Your mouth was parted in a 'o' shape as he pushed his cock even further, your wetness coating his shaft with every delicious inch that he pushed inside.

He loved looking down at you in this position, at how your face contorted into one of pleasure as the sting from the stretch settled in. The way that your tits bounced in sync with every single one of his punishing thrusts. He loved every single part of you, even the parts that you found yourself complaining about at times. He wanted to drill into your head that you were desire embodied, that nobody would be able to compare to the way that you do. No one was even close to comparing to you in his eyes.

Your body was basically bent in half as you laid there to take every single inch that he had to offer, the tip of his cock bulging against your tummy. "Feel how deep I am in you, mami?" He murmured, pressing his hand down where he was at before retreating his cock in one swift motion. The loss was quickly replaced when he thrusted back inside you, relishing the feeling of your walls clenching around him like a vice.

His heavy balls smacked against your ass with every thrust that he made, the sound of skin slapping echoing through the otherwise empty apartment. The loud squelch of your essence coating his cock added onto the symphony of sounds, moans escaping from the two of you as he started to get deeper with his thrusts. You felt filled up to the brim, yet it almost felt like you weren't getting enough. The desire you felt for Miguel wasn't something that was easily satiated, if anything it only grew more with the attention that he was giving you.

The hand that wasn't holding your legs came over to his arm, gripping it tightly for some kind of thing to tether you down to the moment. Your pussy clamped around him a vice, prompting him closer to his orgasm. He prolonged it as long as he could, reciting useless science facts inside of his head. An octopus has three hearts. Though his stamina was high enough to get hard after his orgasm, he didn't want to ruin the moment between the two of you by cumming prematurely.

One of his hands went down to your clit, stimulating the bundle of nerves between his thumb and pointer finger. He rubbed small circles on it, his speed matching the rhythm of his thrusts. Your nails dug into his forearm the harder that his thrusts got, the pain only serving to accentuate his pleasure. "Fuck. Pussy's practically milking me," he uttered, his voice coming out in a groan at the way you were squeezing around him.

Your legs dropped down from your chest, wrapping around his legs as you held him close to you. If he'd even fathomed the idea of pulling out beforehand, the idea was quickly removed from the forefront of his brain the moment you did that. "Cum in me, please," your voice came out whiny as you felt yourself getting closer to that release, your toes curling from every rub being given to your clit. "Cum with me."

His hand enveloped yours as he slid in and out of you with ease, his pace having no rhythm now that he was approaching his orgasm. His thrusts were erratic as he worked the two of you towards that cliff, his fingers gripping yours tightly as if you were a lifeline. Warm ropes of cum shot up your cunt, your walls coated in white up to the brim. His orgasm had prompted your own, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you creamed over his shaft.

Your release mixed with his to form a creamy ring around the base of his cock, some of the liquid leaking out from your cunt. He stuffed it back in with the tip of his cock to the best of his ability, a moan escaping from your throat at the feeling of him sliding in once more. While you could usually match his stamina pretty well, it'd been days since you'd last had sex with him. You were starting to feel worn out from the physical strain he'd put your body through. You wouldn’t change this feeling of euphoria for anything else though.

Miguel slid his softening cock out of your cunt slowly, careful not to overstimulate you in the process. He leaned over and pressed a kiss on your forehead, wiping away the sweat from your forehead. "You did so good for me, lindura," he whispered in your ear, stroking your thighs in soft circles before standing up from the couch. "Stay there and I'll come back with some clothes."

You looked over at him and gave him a nod, your body falling limp on the couch as you felt an ache forming on your legs. You closed your eyes for a second, or what you'd assumed was a second, only to open them to see Miguel standing over you with a pair of pajama shirts and one of his t-shirts. "Try to sit up for me. You don't have to anything," he reassured you, getting to work on cleaning you up before dressing you after you'd sat up.

The two of you sat on the couch with a cheesy romance movie the two of you weren't watching, each holding a cupcake. His hand wrapped around your shoulders, holding you close to his body as his hand lazily drew circles on the side of your stomach. "I see why you liked that thing with the frosting. It's pretty sweet," he noted after taking a bite from his cupcake, leaning over to grab some that was sitting on your nose for a while. You let out a small contented laugh, poking the side of his cheek. There was no other place that you'd rather be other than his arms at this moment.

taglist 🫶🏼: @yougavemeyourheartyouknow @lazyjellyfish300 @pxtched @nympholove @ifiwasaguybrickedup @yournextbimbogf @nixinluv02

[pillarofsnow]

Miguel silently seethed as he watched the live feed on the orange hologram in his lab. His talons slicing through his desk as he gripped at it mercilessly.

He watched as you sobbed in the the living room of the shared home you had with his variant. He watched as his variant had walked out the door and your life, too engrossed in his projects at Alchemax than his marriage and potential family.

And that enraged him.

This variant could have had everything Miguel could have ever wanted.

A normal life.

A beautiful wife.

A family.

…….Gabriella

And he threw it all away.

Miguel let out a low growl from his throat as he looked away from the screen. He was tempted to shut the live feed off, no longer being able to watch you suffer due to a stupid decision on his variants part. He hated seeing you sit alone in a big house that is a reminder of broken promises and dreams. He silently prayed to any entity for either that variant’s downfall or wake up call.

However, that thought was cut short when he heard you softly whimper in pain. His eyes snapped up to the screen as he watched you swipe something off your hand before quickly grabbing a glass cup and trapping the culprit inside. Miguel zoomed in on the screen to see two small puncture wounds on your hand before switching to what was in the glass.

Oh.

Oh.

Maybe fate wasn’t as cruel as he thought. Maybe this could be his second chance.

He’ll show you how you should be treated when the time comes…..until then he’ll patiently wait.

He has to welcome the new Spider-Woman after all.

[spdrvyn]

touch-starved headcanons — MIGUEL O'HARA

SUMMARY: miguel isn't the most touchy person when you and him first meet but as your relationship with him developed over time and things started to get more intimate, you discovered new things about his love language.

THIS POST CONTAINS: like my last one. literally nothing but fluff. sleep-deprived and stressed out miguel.

NOTES: do you guys think miguel needs a hug because i think miguel needs a hug, reblog and like if you think that miguel needs a hug because i think that he needs a hu

– through the most painful methods (to his heart), miguel had found out that you really liked touching people. every time you greeted him, it was a big hug that he would hesitate to return. it's not that he didn't enjoy it, it was just that it wasn't something he was used to. it's not like people in the spider society were walking around giving hugs.

– although, it's not like he was opposed to it. it was you, after all. gradually, he began getting more comfortable. resorting to wrapping an arm around you and dragging his hand up and down your back, it would make the hug last just a little longer and he enjoyed the soft gestures. they meant a lot more to him than you thought.

– it took a little time to get him to fully hug you back. the reason for that was how he looked when doing so. he doesn't like being so public about it, he can hear the murmurs and light giggles from the passersby around him when you hug him. besides, the face that he makes is one that he finds quite embarrassing. he looked so content, compared to the stone-faced and distant demeanor he always walked around with at work.

"Miguel!"

He felt his body stiffen as you called out his name, head turning frenetically as to locate where exactly you were calling him from. Not until he feels a finger tap him on the shoulder, he turned around and looked down to see you with a grin tugging at your lips.

He isn't even able to get a single word out as you embrace him, head buried into his chest and arms wrapped tightly around his torso. You're about to pull away before you feel two strong arms envelop you as well.

Your heart fluttered a little. Ever since the start of your friendship with him, you'd gotten used to him not reciprocating the hugs. You couldn't blame him honestly, some people aren't into it but it also perplexed you because it's not like he hated it? Otherwise, you wouldn't have continued.

After a few long moments, he finally pulls back and whatever just happened left a look of awe on your face that he reacted so adorably to. His eyebrows furrowed, lips pursing into a straight line, the crimson eyes that you would lose yourself in averting from yours as a shade of deep red settles on his cheeks.

"So, what are you here for? How'd you even get in?" You wanted to laugh at the strain in his voice, but just this once, you decided to spare him the embarrassment.

Quickly digging into your bag, you bring out a small container. "Admittedly, some of your coworkers were a little... surprised when they saw me head up but I told them that I was your friend and they were slightly less mortified!"

You handed the tupperware over to him as he carefully took it in his hands. "I just wanted to bring you a snack. Haven't seen you in a while so I assumed that things were getting busier around here."

Miguel pried open the container as the scent of freshly baked banana bread wafted through the walls of his office. For a moment, you were concerned that he didn't like it. He stared blankly at the food for a moment before closing it once more to conceal the scent.

"Thank you, that's- that's very thoughtful of you..."

Your head cocked to the side ever so slightly to get a better look at his face, watching lovingly as the blush that painted his cheeks continued to deepen.

Oh, how embarrassed he would be if he knew you could hear his heartbeat during that hug a while ago.

– you weren't all that surprised when the affection picked up ten-fold when you two started dating. whatever sense of yearning and longing for a loving relationship that miguel had was definitely all pouring out now but it's not like you were complaining. if anything, he seemed to be more physically affectionate than you at times. he'd work towards trying to be gentle towards you at the start of your relationship, he was scared that he'd hurt you but once you reassured him that he didn't need to walk on eggshells, he didn't hold back.

– greetings went from hugs to straight up kisses, when you got back home from work and he happened to stop by your shared apartment just to fetch something, he would always pull you into a kiss which would always leave you breatheless by the end of it. whenever you two were watching a movie, he'd constantly have his hands all over you. he liked playing with your body, his fingers would rake through your hair and gentle massage your scalp, his hands would wander down to your stomach to trace shapes into it, then to your thighs to knead into the soft flesh like a cat making biscuits.

– let's not leave out how much he bites as well. he has a tendency for marking you up, sometimes you'd be cooking something on the stove and he'd sneak up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist. when you finished preparing your meal and perhaps wanted to get a change of clothes, you'd see a small bite mark in the crevices in your neck. you were more than okay with it, of course, you just had one rule to not make it uncoverable. a rule that he had forgotten to obey at times because "you just taste so good".

"Fuck..."

You groaned as the blaring sounds of your alarm rung painfully in your ears, you reached over to the bedside table and looked at your phone screen (basically getting flashbanged as you forgot you didn't turn down the brightness last night). It was still early in the morning but you still had tasks to care of and a job to do.

You turn off the alarm and sit up from the bed, wincing as you take a big stretch. You're ready to actually stand up and start the day until an arm wraps around your midsection, forcing you back down onto the bed with a yelp.

Your back hits Miguel's chest as he cages you, his face buries itself into the crook of your neck. "Stay, s'early..." You can hear him mumble, hot breath tickling your skin and it sends a tingle up your spine. You giggle, your hand moving down to the ones that he has firmly digging into your belly.

"No matter what I say, you're going to keep me here anyway."

"Mhm. Just surrender."

You mumble out a small "okay" as you properly settle back into his warmth, a small hum escapes his throat as you can feel his nose digging into his neck and lips pressing the back of your shoulder.

Time seems to pass by slowly, surprisingly enough you're used to this. You barely get to see Miguel some days due to the nature of his job however the moment that you're together again, it all feels so heavenly.

Your train of thought is interrupted when you feel a shift of movement, Miguel maneuvers your body so that you're now facing him.

Only now do you get to see how cute he looks. His regularly slicked backed hair all messy, stray hair strands falling onto his forehead. Lips curled into a small pout and eyes lidded as it seems like he's staring into your soul or something.

"Corazón," He breathes out, your fingers move to cup his cheek. Your thumb swipes at the deep bags that formed under his eyes. "Can I kiss you?"

You let your actions speak for you as you leaned in closer, pressing your lips against his. One of the hands that he wrapped around your waist moves to your hair like always, fingers combing out the locks as the kiss continues to deepen.

Once you two finally part, a small grin makes itself present on your face and on his as well.

You realized now that whatever jobs you had, whatever lives you two lived didn't matter as long as both of you were happy. A thought intensified as he pulled you in for another kiss.

request rules here, masterlist here

[seratopia]

miguel o'hara x reader (fluff) - intoxicated → she/her pronouns!

modern ceo au! what happens when miguel is drunk

It's extremely rare when Miguel goes out to drink with coworkers, it's rare enough when Miguel gets out to go anywhere in general. He's either cooped up in his office, glued to his work, or glued to you at home.

You suggested to Miguel earlier this week about getting out to a bar, along with a few of the other higher-ups of the company. It's healthy to get out, you said, even if all he's going to be doing is drinking alcohol and eating meat.

Miguel's only good with people in a more professional sense; he's not the best at being all buddy-buddy with people he usually works with. He's quiet the entire time he's at the bar, occasionally taking a bored nibble at a bowl of loaded fries.

He kind of regrets this; surrounded by loud music, loud people, TV's with sports games playing in the background. He just misses you, he wants to come home and make food with you.

One of his coworkers, nudged him in the side a bit, obviously gesturing towards the wide array of various drinks and juices.

"Might as well have a drink while you're at it." He says, and Miguel is just stone-faced the entire time. The man walks away towards the remaining group of coworkers, possibly to either go dance, or to stare at girls from afar.

Considerably, it's been a while since he's had a drink. One or two wouldn't hurt, especially as a last minute scrounge for enjoyment in this god-awful bar.

Slowly, Miguel nurses on a drink provided by a suspiciously sleek bartender, leaning his cheek into his palm whilst taking a couple sips. He can feel the wolfish eyes of various women & men staring at him, feeling somehow exposed in his tight white button-up and simple pants. If only you were here, to sit in his lap and run your little hands against his chest.

The thought makes his head spin, a violent hot warmth running up his cheeks, his mind being blurred like a smudge on someone's reading glasses. The room's almost tilting sideways, the thoughts in his head dissolving away. (miguelito is a lightweight because i say so)

Miguel's drunk, for the first time in literal years.

He doesn't like it; he feels out of control of his body, unable to think or function correctly. He feels like a different person entirely, his eyes replaced with jelly and the tips of his ears turning scarlet.

The drink tasted good and all, but Miguel's thoughts on you feel magnified, every feature, every action you do running through his head like a cassette tape. He misses you more, and he really wants to see you.

Cleverly, he pulls out his phone, sighing to himself on the counter. It takes him a moment to put in his phone password correctly, fingers drunkenly tapping on the screen until he can find your contact.

. . .

You receive a text notification at about 9:43. Expectedly, you knew Miguel probably wouldn't make it through the whole night, but you're proud of him for trying. You open up your phone, amidst watching a show in bed.

miguelito💞💓: My love, I am intoxicated.

The text makes you giggle a little, imagining him all red-faced and tripping over himself with his coworkers.

Conveniently, you receive another text, one from the person you asked to keep an eye on Miguel.

It's a picture of Miguel with his head leaned against the counter, lovingly zooming in on a picture of your face with his phone. His ears are red, and there's a half-drunken drink beside him.

james q: he says he misses you. want me to take him home? you: it's okay, thanks tho. i'll be there in 10 to get him. james q: 👍

Assuming Miguel's still on his phone, you shoot him a text.

you: i see u looking at me

You giggle to yourself, and Miguel is visibly both shocked and excited, peering left to right as if you were magically in the bar.

miguelito💞💓: Please pick me up. I hate it here. you: ok sweetie, be there in 10

. . .

Despite the hour, the bar is bustling as ever, populated with underage girls wearing slip dresses and drunk frat boys. You worm through the building, searching left and right for your husband through the cacophonous bar.

Finally, you spot him where the counter is, big head tucked into crossed arms.

Gently, you slip your hand onto his shoulder, warmly rubbing him awake. At first he flinches, staring at you as if you were a stranger. He relaxes a few seconds later, lovingly and drunkenly fixating on you.

"Hey hun, I'm here to take you home." You say, and Miguel feels so warm, so comforted in contrast to the rash environment of the pub. He wants to kiss you, but he's too drunk to focus.

Without a word, Miguel rises from his bar stool, arms and hands immediately inching around your shoulders. He doesn't realize it, but he's pressing more of his body weight onto you, leaning on top of you like a slug.

Seeing you roll away the finest, sexiest piece of man as if it were nothing makes the party around you fume, their thoughts of asking for a number shattered within a minute or two.

Miguel trails after you, gluing himself to your back as you maneuver yourself out of the stuffy bar. Finally, you're out in the cool air of the dark, muffled edm music booming from the block's other counterparts.

The sidewalk is somewhat barren, scattered with a few people smoking or walking.

"I missed you, s'much." Miguel slurs, seeing the outline of your car in the dark parking lot.

"I know you did, baby. Now you get to come home with me and we can do whatever you want, like we promised." You say, unlocking your car with the press of your key.

He smiles just a teensy bit, his heart warming at the thought of snuggling up to you in bed, or cooking a late-night meal of sorts with you while a show plays in the background.

Miguel's the passenger princess tonight, adjusting the seat backwards so he can actually sit. He stares at you the entire time through bleary eyes, watching you start the car as if it were the most artistic and most beautiful thing ever.

"I love you." Miguel says, and you can feel the gratuity in his voice.

"I love you too."

© 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒂.

[creamecafe]

𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐏𝐒

Summary: You can't help but make fun of Hobie for the way he says things differently from London.

Pairing: Hobie Brown x GN!Reader

Warnings: none just major fluff

a/n: I high-key low-key hate this but had to write something for my little rebellion Hobie

"Wait wait so you call chips crisps?"

"Yes" Hobie sighed, rolling his eyes.

This wasn't the first time you asked about certain words in England than how it works where you live. It was fascinating how Hobie and you called things and lived differently.

"It makes sense that you call chips crisps because their crispy, but why do you call french fries chips? Their not crispy at all. They got soggy because their soft."

"I don't bloody know, I just have been used to calling that my entire life."

"Well I was raised calling them french fries and I'm gonna stick to that."

"Do you even know they were not made in France, they were made in Belgium? The dominant language of southern Belgium is French, and that's where they got the name from."

"What do you say for popsicle in England?" Holding your laughter and excitement

"Ice lolly."

"And to ask that you would like a popsicle?"

"Could I please get a ice lolly?"

You started laughing after he had said that. His accent was so funny to you

"You sound like a young boy in a school uniform from the 1930s."

"And you sound like a real bully making fun of how I say things." Hobie pretends to be upset but can't help but smile because of how cute you look when you laugh.

"But I know I can't be mad at you love." He rises a bit from the couch and kisses you on the cheek.

You turn your head and kissed him more on the lips. Hobie puts his hand up and cups your face. He then guides you down onto the couch lying you down on your back. Now the kiss was getting more heated.

But you guys had to stop to catch your breath. After Hobie pulled away from the kiss, he just smiled at you.

"Would you like to get McDonald's?"

"Yes I would like to get some chips." You smile stupidly thinking you were funny. You were it's just Hobie didn't appreciate it.

"Haha, real funny."

You chuckle at this and just spend the rest of the night eating McDonald's together still making fun of how he says things from back home London.

𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐆𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 | 𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐈 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫 | 𝐖𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐚𝐝 | 𝐀𝐎𝟑

[navisakura]

Is anyone else pleasantly surprised at the sheer amount of black, latino and other poc!reader fics that have come out of the ATSV fandom? Like it’s normally so rare to find fanfics with a poc or a dark/brown skinned reader in mind but seeing so many different people integrate their culture and background into their work is genuinely heartwarming

[phyrestartr]

The Intern [2] | Miguel O'hara x M!Reader

#NSFW, Age Gap (mid 20s and mid 30s), reader's a homewrecker, Miguel's a cheater, mentions of toxic marriage, male!reader, bussy loading, porn with feelings, Miguel's a bit of a dickhead, top Miguel (for now), bottom reader (for now), blowjob, reader gets lectured and likes it, reader has daddy issues

Note: heheheheh

-- The Intern --

[ How it Started: 1/2 ] [2/2]

Miguel had to admit, he was surprised–he didn’t expect you to carry on like nothing happened.

Most people he’d fucked around with in the past, be it in school or during his tenacious dating life, would stomp their feet and quit whatever club, sport, or job they’d joined just to get close to Miguel, just to get a shot with him. He couldn’t blame them. He saw himself as a pretty good-looking guy, a smart man, one that took care of himself and could turn on the charm without even trying; he got what he wanted more often than not, and that included the people who threw themselves at him. He always wondered why they thought they’d somehow cement themselves into his life after just one night. 

But then there was you. You, who still sat with Gabi when you had the time. You, who still helped her with her homework, who still listened to her long-winded rants about whatever movie she obsessed over that week, who still got the shy little thing to talk and smile and laugh. It made something weird and thick weigh down Miguel’s chest, like molasses found a way to suffocate him from the outside. Maybe you didn’t deserve to be fucked and forgotten like the rest. 

And he found you there, still, on a day where Gabi was busy with a playdate at the Parker’s household. Maybe this was the best chance he’d get to talk to you again. 

“Alone, huh?” Miguel asked before sitting across from you, a cup of coffee warming his hands. “Kinda sad.”

You sighed and looked out the window, filled to the brim with drama. “You’re tellin’ me. I got abandoned by a kid. This is worse than bein’ stood up, let me tell ya.” 

Yikes. Was what Miguel did the same as standing you up? He wasn’t sure. He didn’t want to think about it too much. 

"Right, right." Miguel cleared his throat and leaned in a little. "About the other night–" 

"What?" You asked, looking a little too dumb for your internship spot suddenly. 

"Halloween." Miguel looked at you meaningfully and your lips pursed slowly, just like the day he first saw you. Miguel gave a tight-lipped smile. 

You leaned back in your seat and crossed your arms. "I, uh, dunno if this is the right place to talk about that. Dunno if there is a right place to talk about that, if 'm bein' honest." 

"Let's talk in my office," Miguel said, not offering room for argument or questions as he stood and started walking. 

"Wh–now?" 

"Yes, now." 

–

Well, you were supposed to be talking, not blowing him under the desk. Thank god the department heads got their own private spaces. 

One of Miguel's big hands fisted in your hair, holding back your soft locks so he could get a good look at your face as it twisted in concentration. You took him too easily for how big he was, each languid dip of your head welcoming him down your tight, hot throat until–until–

"Mierda–" Miguel pushed your head down to his base, forcing your nose flush up against his well-trimmed hair and blushing skin. You groaned and gagged as he bucked into your mouth and unloaded thick, sticky strands of cum down your throat. You swallowed around him, doing your best to take it all down. 

A harsh bite from you had Miguel letting go and leaning back in his seat. He panted and rubbed his face, but his eyes snapped back to you as you took your time getting off of him. He expected you to pull off and make a mess while you snapped and scolded him, but you went slowly, not rushing. 

Your tongue worked him through the aftershocks, rubbing under his length and thoughtfully tracing the thick veins and sensitive muscle still pulsing from your pampering. Miguel's fingers carded through your hair again as he watched you work; your hand slipped up and gripped his base once enough was out of your mouth to hold. You ran your tongue around him once, twice, thrice, before sucking on that thick, darkened head for much longer than necessary. Maybe you just wanted to be thorough. Maybe you just couldn't get enough of him. 

"Gonna get me worked up again, 'f you keep doing shit like that," Miguel warned, something of an excited laugh fluttering through this soft panting. 

You took a second to swallow (Oh, God, you were torturing him) before wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. "Do you want me to get you all worked up again, Doc?" 

That pesky hand around his shaft tightened before stroking him firmly and fully. Miguel sighed and melted into his chair. He could probably let you pamper him for hours, if his sex drive were to be trusted. Maybe he could–

"Kidding," you said with a mean wink. You kissed the tip of his cock before letting go and parking your ass on his desk. "So. About Halloween?" 

Miguel blinked away the whiplash and scrambled to tuck himself away. "I, uh–yeah. Halloween." He nodded to himself in thought, definitely remembering what he wanted to discuss. 

You stared at him, so expectant, before leaning in and resting your elbows on your knees. "N'awe, did I suck the brain cells right outta your pretty head, Doc?" You fake pouted, and Miguel scowled. 

And he blushed. Just a little. "I just–I was just–y'know what? Maybe you deserved it."

"Pft. I deserved what?" You asked, leaning back onto your palms then. “Bein’ hit then quit?” 

Miguel frowned. His brows drew together and his jaw set uncomfortably while he looked away. It seemed to make you a little uncomfortable by the way you moved to reach toward him before deciding against it. Your hand combed through your hair instead and you sighed, surrendering. 

“Look, I–if I seriously expected the royal treatment from a guy totin’ a wedding band on his pretty lil’ finger, I’d be a shockin’ moron, alright?" You sighed and rubbed your face with both hands. "I mean--it's just s'pposed to be sex, man. Sex ain't complicated like that." 

Miguel narrowed his eyes at you. "I’m–what are you–sex is complicated." His palms landed on your thighs as he leaned in. “You don’t actually think–”

"Sex is busting and moving on with life,” You interrupted sharply. You grew tense for a moment, but forced a relaxed laugh. “I'm kinda surprised you didn't get me fired, if I'm being real."  

The realization hit Miguel fast and hard, knocking the goddamn wind out of his stupid lungs--you were the type of guy left in the dust, the sort that shit heads like Miguel hit and quit, fucked and forgot. The sorry dregs of an exciting sex life filled with names he didn't care about and some he couldn't bother to remember. But Miguel knew your name. But did that even matter to you?

"But, uh…I should get goin', so. Yeah. Good talk." You made your move to shuffle off the desk, but Miguel's hands on your thighs didn't budge. "Oy, I gotta go, old man. You hard of hearing already? Should I call the nursing home or–" 

"Santa Muerte, do you ever stop talking?" Miguel sighed and shook his head. "I haven't said my piece yet, kid." 

You pursed your lips, probably holding back some cursed joke about giving him a blowie, and nodded. "Okay. Say your piece." 

"I will. And you're gonna shut up while I talk, got it?" 

"Got it." 

"Good." Miguel took a deep breath to calm the storm in his chest. "First of all, you've got the wrong idea about sex. It matters. Even if you're just sleeping around, it's because you're looking for that connection. It's a good thing. A beautiful thing. So, I don't want to hear you say all this shit about sex not mattering. Especially when you're talking about sex with me." He looked you up and down, and the fond feeling curled up his chest stretched and lazed like a cat sunbathing. "Got it?" 

You nodded, a vibrant dusting of red saturating your skin. That doe-eyed look was back on your face, just like the first time you'd hooked up with him in his office. He really did adore it. He maybe kinda adored you. 

"Good." He fidgeted with your slacks, pulling on the crisp material with busy fingers as he thought about sentence structure and syntax and connotation and–and– 

Just say it, Miguel. "I shouldn't have left you on Halloween." 

You laughed shyly. "I--what?" He watched you rub your cheek like you were trying to rid yourself of the scarlet blush staining your skin. Miguel had to admit, your reactions were doing wonders for his ego. 

"I said," He started, leaning in a little, lowering his voice. "I shouldn't have left you on Halloween." After a pause, a beat to get you to say something, he continued, "I'm sorry, alright? It's not happening again." 

Another laugh (more like a giggle) bubbled out of you, just as nervous and shy as the last. Your hands fussed with your hair and your tie, your lab coat and your cuffs, until your nerves calmed a bit, the slow circles rubbed into your thighs helping to ease you down from hysteria. It was embarrassing. You were embarrassed. But you were happy.

"Y-yeah, alright. Cool. Neat." You coughed. "Awesome. Uh, I just–you–I have to–" and you leaned down, almost tumbling off the desk, and kissed him. 

Miguel hummed deep in his chest–a heartfelt welcome to your needs and wants. His chair shifted slightly as you haphazardly slipped off the desk and into his lap, expertly never breaking the kiss, and getting comfortable; your arms looped around his shoulders, your hands fisted and carded through his hair, your thighs rested on either side of his slim waist. 

“You’re shockin’ hot when you’re bein’ nice t’ me,” you mumbled against his lips, maybe a bit into his mouth. “But in that, y’know, authoritative dad kinda way.” Your breath stuttered when a mischievous hand slipped into your slacks and cupped your toned ass with a firm squeeze. 

Miguel smirked. “Daddy issues, huh?” Your small scoff and the firm tug of his hair answered him. His smirk warped into a grin. “Want me to scold you more, huh? You get off on that?” 

“You keep talkin’ shit and I’m calling you papi in public, dickhead,” you mumbled as you fumbled with the zipper of his pants. You paused though, and looked up in thought. “But you could help me with my taxes. That’d be really sexy of you.” 

Miguel blinked stupidly for a moment before chuckling and shaking his head. “Why am I not surprised you’re shit at taxes?” God, you were cute. 

“Hey, hey, I’m not shit at them, I just hate them.” You shrugged before very casually slipping his hard-on out of his pants and giving it a few preparatory strokes. “Could use some tips.”

“Or an accountant,” Miguel offered. It was your turn to blink dumbly. “You think I handle my own money? I pay someone to do it.” 

“Huh. You’re seriously in a different tax bracket.” You squeaked when Miguel somehow managed to rip down your slacks down to your mid-thigh. “Hey–” 

“I’ll buy you a new pair.” He helped the pants off of you while you half-stood to get the damn things off, letting them hang off one leg in your haste to get the party started. “And I’ll get my accountant to take care of your taxes.” 

That had you beaming. “I think we’re entering sugar daddy territory, Doc.” You grinned between the sweet kisses you dotted along his jawline. Miguel felt the barest scraping of teeth against his skin, and his cock swelled more. What he wouldn’t give to let you bite and marr him as you wanted. 

But he couldn’t, not with Dana’s skeptical eyes and Gabi’s naive glances watching him from every angle. 

“It’s our little secret,” Miguel whispered with a kiss left against your cheek. 

Your lips found his again, letting your  impish smile sear his skin with sanguine intent, like a contract signed with the devil. 

Miguel would do anything to keep extending that contract. 

[baiabay]

No Role Modelz (ATSV Black Cat Variant! Reader Insert)

Chapter 1: Scaredy-Cat

Prologue

Chapter 1: Current Chapter

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

^^links 2 chapters!! this story is also on ao3, wattpad, and quotev under the same name ! <33

------------------------------------------------

A/N: Spot is here!!

 Hey all! Okay so first things first thank you so much for all the support of the last chapter! It honestly means alot given that ive never written before lol. Alsoooo sorry for the radio-silence after the last release, i just graduated highschool! So yay for me :) also means that ill have much more time to write since its summer break for me now. Lastly,sorry if this chapter seemed kinda slow, I wanted to try to incorporate what this universes’ Felicia Hardys “canon events”(or what would be of her canon events) would look like in this chapter to set up a bit of backstory, as someone who doesn’t read the comics nor play the games, pls forgive any inaccuracies in Felicias lore as I am only going based off of wikipedia (plus in this story reader is a minor so I wanted to exclude the nsfw trauma that Felicia goes through in og story) I also wanted to find out a way how to integrate reader into the main plot which is why i decided to feature Spot in this chapter :D thanks again for the support and don’t forget that this chapter along with any future ones will be posted to ao3/tumblr under the same title!

P.S. Much more Spider-Miles/Black Cat interactions next chapter!!

Word Count: 1844

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You remembered it like it was yesterday.

Seven months ago, Brooklyn, New York.

Your father - The Black Cat’s face on every screen in the country, but most importantly yours.

BREAKING NEWS: WORLD-RENOWNED CAT BURGLAR CAUGHT IN THE ACT : IDENTITY SHOCKS THE NATION

…huh?

LIVE ON THE SCENE: ‘BLACK CAT’ REVEALED TO BE MULTI MILLIONAIRE WALTER HARDY AFTER RUN-IN WITH SPIDER-MAN

…no, this-

THIS JUST IN: CAT BURGLAR WALTER HARDY PRESUMED DEAD AT HEIST SCENE - POSSESSIONS TO BE TURNED IN TO OFFICIALS

This can’t be happening.

It was all too much at once. 

He never kept it secret from you. You knew about your father’s job.

You knew all about what he did. The planning, the heists, the reselling, he had done it for years. And you knew all about it.  But he had been doing this for years. Long enough to allow your family to live very comfortably. Long enough that you believed he would never be caught.

But yet there you were, all that you knew burned to the ground in a matter of minutes.

You remembered it like it was yesterday. Frantically packing everything you could into any bag you could find; clothes, money, pictures, weapons, anything - before they could take it away from you. 

And when they did, it was brutal. 

Live-streamed news coverage of men raiding your home, rummaging through your stuff- your father’s stuff- as if he never existed. 

Soon enough there were auctions. Bids, worth millions, on your father’s items, broadcasted across the nation, with drinks and music and finger foods - they made a fucking sport out of it. 

You remembered it like it was yesterday, the cheers in the street after the big-bad-black-cat was pronounced dead. The endless praise Spider-man received, that of which he took with a smile on his face. You had wished you could kill him.

You remembered it like it was yesterday, the day Peter Parker died.

You laughed.

.    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .  

Seven months later, Brooklyn, New York.

Ugh.

Muscles aching, you stretched up in your bed, and groaned. Ruffling the bedhead out of your hair, you reluctantly trudged out of your mattress to open a window. Coincidentally, one of your many cats was perched perfectly on its sill, wide-eyed and tail flicking in your direction.

“...This whole heist stuff is really catching up to me, huh?”

The cat stared. You sighed. You really had to get yourself some friends.

Ever since your fathers passing, you’ve basically been on your own. Shortly after all his (and your) possessions were seized, you hopped around until you managed to find shelter in a shitty apartment on the west side of town. You, fueled purely by spite (with a tasteful teeny tiny dash of vengeance on the side), inherited the criminal persona of your father, along with his criminal tendencies, and took upon yourself the name of The Black Cat. 

All this time you’ve managed to keep your identity completely secret, not even your resellers knew who you were. That came with one major drawback though… you were extremely lonely.

Even with your frequent charity rounds around the community, noone really knew who you were. Even though Black Cat was nonviolent, the name was widely feared seemingly everywhere you went. Even with your days at school, the school you’ve been going to for months now, you made your way around the halls unnoticed. 

Speaking of school, you were late. 

Shit. 

Spending ample time dazing out your window, you’ve completely lost track of time. You disregarded your hair and rushed to pull on your uniform. Stumbling around your complex you hastily dumped too large of a portion of cat food into the automatic feeder, something you’re sure the cats will be grateful for. Shoving a few snacks into your bag, you simultaneously shuffled into your school shoes, proceeding to dash out the door. 

Sprinting down the stairs, nearly tripping once, twice, you whipped out your phone to check when the next bus route would arrive. 35 minutes.

Shitshitshit.

You paused, still in the stairwell, before turning to sprint in the opposite direction, towards the rooftop terrace. Creaking open the door, you checked to make sure noone else was up there before making your way towards the edge of the terrace. To anyone else but you, it would look like a young student was about to make an unfortunate decision and jump. And jump you did. 

You fell for a few seconds, relishing in the way your stomach dropped. You’d never get tired of that feeling. Seeing the ground get closer, you released your grappling hook and latched onto the nearest building. Pulling and releasing, you quickly fell into a swinging pattern, towards Brooklyn Visions. 

Hidden from the eyes of civilians, you swung yourself through the shadows. Everyone looked so small from up there, and for a brief second, you found power in your lonesome. In the corner of your eye you noticed what seemed to be a lanky white figure clumsily flying through the air. (You paid it no mind).

Dropping down into a dark alleyway much closer to campus, you continued your mad dash towards the main entrance. Winded, you finally made your way inside the building, a thin layer of sweat shined on your forehead. The hallways were empty, class must be in session. You took a few steps forward, making your way towards your classroom until being knocked over by a student, very evidently in a hurry. 

“Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean to-I’m just in a rush, I didn’t mean…”

The boy reached out his hand to help you up.

“Hey, it's no problem, I get it.”

You smiled, and took your hand in his. He hesitated for a moment, staring, brows furrowed at your now interlocked hands, before nodding and continuing his sprint down the hallways. 

You took in his disheveled appearance, his wonky tie, his half-tucked shirt, untied laces, dark eyes, curly hair, brown skin, sweaty palms…

Your thoughts were quickly interrupted with the shrill ringing of the school bell. Suddenly, the hallways flooded with students rushing towards their next classes, you decided to follow suit. 

On the other side of the hallway, Miles Morales lingered on how his spidey-sense flashed alarms in his head when his hand touched yours. Every nerve in his system telling him to run, fight, dodge, anything to get away from you-he couldn't put his finger on why. (He paid it no mind). Blaming it on nerves, Miles shoved his way through the packed hallways, dreading the meeting waiting for him in the guidance counselor's office. 

.    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    

School was a bust, as always. Nothing new, you made your way through the rest of the day unnoticed. As always. But you didn’t have time to think about that right now.

At the moment, you were in the middle of going through numerous number-codes on a padlock blocking the vault door to an extremely expensive gemstone. You’ve been salivating over this stone for weeks now, planning out how and when exactly you would strike to get this thing in your hands. You could see it now, the headlines, the chaos, after some rando millionaire’s little rock was taken from him…

“Woah, hey, you’re new!”

You flinched, hard. Whipping around towards the source of this unusually chipper voice. You were met with… a cow? … Man?

You stared, hard. 

“Okay, hey. The ogling isn’t necessary… I just-”

The cowman’s sentence was cut short with a quick lash of your whip, that of which he caught…? Your whip seemed to phase right through a large black hole on his torso, the opposite end appearing in a similar black hole right behind you, the whips end striking your back. You cried out, hit with the full force of your lash.

Sinister giggles emerged from the spotted figure, pointed towards your pained form. You trembled, in shock. 

“It’s rude to interrupt.” 

Spot stepped slowly towards you, his…well, spots, whirring aggressively, pointedly. You were frozen on the ground. Staring up at him, your lips trembled open.

“What,” You coughed. Once, twice. “-what are you?”

The black and white figure straightened, only to then fold over into a dramatic, hilariously unthreatening pose. 

“You, can call me… The Sp-”

“Some sort of cow?” You snickered. It was now his turn to flinch, hard. 

“I am NOT a-” The cow cleared his throat. “I am not a cow…whydoeseveryonesaythat…I, am the most dangerous villain you’ve ever seen, The Spo-”

“I mean, what’s with that getup?” The grin on your face grew. “Is that… is that supposed to be a costume? Orrrr…” 

The Spot sighed, defeated. “...it’s skin.”

“It’s skin?” 

“Yes, yes, now I-”

You stood up, energy back and eyes crinkled. 

“Wow, that’s…hm, interesting…skin, that’s skin? Sorry, sorry-listen man, I uh, I really gotta get back to this, so if you don’t mind?”

Stepping backwards in offence, the spotted figure shook in anger before swinging out his arm, releasing numerous dark voids around the room. Hitting practically every surface, but one most importantly, landing on the vault door, separating you, from your stone.

“Ah-wait-”

Swiftly, The Spot weaved his way through his holes, limbs popping up and out around the room in a way you couldn’t even begin to reach for your whip. 

No way was he about to take it from you.

But take it, he did.

In what felt like seconds, the whole room was engulfed in black. Stumbling backwards, you fell through one of the voids, flailing ungracefully, swimming through nothing. 

It was hard to breathe. 

A shrill crackling terrorized your ears, and before you, appeared a very disheveled Spot, now fully black with white spots, facial dot whirring and trained on you.

Gem in hand. 

Panic.

You were panicking. The sound of blood thrummed in your ears as you squirmed around in nothingness. Fuck the rock, you just had to get out of here. 

A cold hand grabs your wrist, dragging you upwards, towards the crackling form. 

For the second time today, you were frozen.

“I am not a cow,”

The form spoke lowly.

“I am not some villain of the week”,

Frozen still, you did nothing but stare straight into his glare.

“I. Am. The Spot”.

Suddenly, you were dropped. For the second time today, your stomach dropped with you. Next thing you know you’re falling through another void, leading not into darkness, but through the city skyline. Seeing the ground get closer, you released your grappling hook and latched onto the nearest building. 

As soon as your feet reached a solid surface, your legs buckled. Heaving, you failed to process what just took place, heart pounding in your ears. 

“...the fuck was that?”

.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   

Miles received word of commotion taking place downtown, something to do with spots. He had hoped it wasn’t what he thought it was, and it was. It was, and was so much worse. 

Dark spots littered a large manor, maniacal cackling emerging from its center. In the corner of his eye a familiar masked figure hunched over, breathing rapidly, staring straight ahead at the mess of spots.

(He paid it some mind.)

------------------------

Ppl that asked me to tag them!(thxx 4 the support!)

@nightshxdex

@itszzmoon

@blackcat-kittyblogs

@vxxxb

<3

[renoed]

wound too tight | h. brown

❥ — PAIRING hobie brown x gn! bassist! reader

❥ — SUMMARY you and your neighbour are the loudest people in your apartment building - drowning out the sound of each other's music with your own. You hadn't realised that your neighbour saw it less like a competition and more like a collaboration.

# A/N i keep seeing “drummer reader” this and “drummer reader” that so, as a fellow bassist, i’m giving us little guys some food

Your neighbour did not like you.

Luckily for them, the feeling was mutual.

Whenever you had a spare second, you'd take the opportunity to grab your bass and unwind, pulling out a CD you had burnt with all the songs you could play. You had strong feelings about paying a subscription fee to listen to music without ads, so you opted for totally legal youtube to mp3 converters.

You had never really been a noisy neighbour, keeping your amp as quiet as possible and stopping as soon as you knew people would be going to bed. Generally, the people that knew you in the building were fond of you.

So when the old lady in the flat next to you moved out, needing to live with family for the support, and a young man your age turned up, guitar case slung over his shoulder, you were curious. Eager to be friends, even.

The first week was quiet. There was an occasional clatter on the wall that connected your flats, but other than that you could've forgotten your old neighbour had even left. You occasionally saw him entering his apartment as you left, or vice versa, and he'd spare you a momentary glance as you offered a smile. A little rude, in your opinion, but not uncommon.

After that first week, your curiosity had died down and you had been following your regular routine, sifting through your CDs. You had one with a specific set of songs and you couldn't find it anywhere. After an hour, you had turned your entire apartment upside down to no avail and frowned at your own mess. You'd clean it up later.

Not bothering with a CD, you plugged it into your amp and checked the tuning of your bass, instinctively playing the familiar bassline of Boys Don't Cry - it had become habit for it to be the first thing you played, having been the first song you learnt.

What you didn't expect was, hardly five minutes later, an incredibly loud guitar strum to echo throughout your flat, barely muffled by your neighbour's walls. You listened in (not really having a choice due to it's volume) and recognised that he was playing a song you knew; one of the ones you had on that missing CD. It was a favourite of yours.

Biting the inside of your cheek you listened to him finish the first verse, aware that you couldn't practice with him making so much noise. When he reached the chorus, however, you used your foot to bump up the volume of your amp and play along, hoping that he could hear you (and that he was smart enough to realise he had been disturbing your practice).

It carried on like that for at least an hour, both of you gradually increasing the volume in an attempt to overpower the other.

When you finished, you immediately felt guilty for being an annoyance to just about everyone else in the building. You'd apologise for the disturbance the next morning.

That morning, you made a quick trip to your local cornershop, buying some baking ingredients so you could apologise with more than just a promise not to get carried away again.

None of your neighbours disliked you, easily accepting the apology and baked goods when you sputtered out an explanation for all the noise. A couple of them even invited you in for a cup of tea, which was always welcome.

"That boy," the middle aged woman across from you leaned closer, a devious glint in her eyes, "the one that just moved in, are you friends?"

"Uh, no," you tilted your head to the side, feeling like you were 17 again and being questioned by aunts about 'when will you bring someone home?', "we haven't even spoken, actually."

"Oh," you watched her deflated, "that's boring. I thought you two would've been fast friends."

It was difficult not to laugh at her lack of subtlety and you took it as a sign to leave before you had to dodge any more questions. Maybe in another universe she was a pestering aunt - you didn't think you'd hate that.

As you walked across the hall to your apartment, you noticed your neighbour was leaving, no guitar in sight.

You caught eyes momentarily before letting unlocking your door. As you made your way inside, you couldn't help feeling like there were still eyes on you.

This became a frequent routine - you'd practice bass, only to get interrupted by your lovely, polite neighbour deciding he wanted to play guitar whenever you didn't want him to, and a war over who could play louder would ensue.

It would've been funny the first time, but it was causing you to lose enjoyment out of practicing and a significant portion of your paycheck was being spent on ingrediants that you didn't even get to enjoy the results of. You were certain that the patience of your other neighbours were running thin, too.

So, like any normal person would, you began waiting for the familiar click of your neighbour's door closing before you even thought about touching your bass. The door, for whatever reason, had always been a sound you could hear from your apartment - you'd mostly tuned it out but now it proved vital in letting you practice bass in peace. And it worked.

For all of two days.

The last thing you expected when walking past your neighbour on the stairs was for him to reach out and grab your arm, stopping you in your tracks. His fingers were calloused, undoubtedly from guitar, but soft on your skin.

The contact made you turn to face him and you both stood like that for, what felt like, minutes. Just looking at each other. You hadn't noticed all his piercings. You hadn't noticed that he was as attractive as he was irritating.

"You the bassist?"

His words took you by surprise. Obviously he knew it was you - you didn't live with anyone, so there couldn't be multiple suspects.

"Yeah, I am."

His face broke out into a smile, grip tightening so he could pull you into him, slinging an arm over your shoulders. He smelt of aftershave and what you could only think to describe as an old library.

Since he had moved in, a word hadn't been spoken between you - a smile hadn't been shared. Now he'd nestled you under his arm, after just one admission from you.

"Mate," he was buzzing, "you are the sickest bassist I think I've ever heard. Every time you play I gotta join in, you're jus' too good!"

All ill-will towards the man melted away at his words: he was just joining in. It was cute, almost.

"Thanks," you offered, "I hadn't realised that's what you were doing, to be honest."

He didn't respond, catching sight of the plastic corner-shop bag in your hands. Flour, eggs, sugar, chocolate chips. Today you were making chocolate-chip muffins, it was one of the bakery recipes left in your cook book that you hadn't tried yet.

"You baking?"

"For the neighbours-"

"For me?" his smile only brightened, unintentionally leaning closer to you, "What's the occa-"

"To apologise for someone's noise," you shot back, not missing a beat. The statement had paused him in his tracks, lips pursed together and arm dropping away from you. It felt like you were missing something as he pulled away. If you didnt know better, you would've thought he hadn't even spared a second thought to your neighbours, or the volume of his amp.

"Hadn't really thought about that, I guess."

He'd proven you wrong; you didn't know better.

With the lull in conversation at his statement, you took a step away from him, offering your sweetest smile as you outstretched your arm with the bag, "I think I'm overdue some help, don't you?"

reblogs are hugely appreciated ♡ [part two, three | masterlist]

[cosmosis]

MOVED TO @seratopia

miguel o’hara x reader (fluff) - call

miguel calls you because he misses you

. . .

“Lyla.“

“Yah?“

“Call y/n.“

“What do we say?“

“Oh my god, just call her. Please.“

“You’re in your office, call her yourself.“

“Lyla!“

Lyla scoffs, flickering in and out in a flash of cream and pink. Miguel rolls his eyes, watching as a module is pulled up in front of him.

Lyla flickers in, pressing the obnoxiously green “call” button on the screen as Miguel subconsciously fixes his hair. The screen starts to dial, and Lyla chuckles to herself. 

“What?“ Miguel asks, crossing his arms together. 

Lyla’s hand runs up to her mouth. “Pfft. Nothing.“

And with that, she disappears. 

The screen dials for a few more seconds, and finally, you answer the call. A video calling of you, looking down at at the camera on your watch. You’ve got your spider suit on, chaos seeming to be crashing in the background as you zip through a metropolitan city with your webbing. 

“Miguel, baby, you know I’m busy.“ You say, the man watching on his screen as you simultaneously glace down the watch and look back up to swing your webbing against random architecture. 

“I know. Sorry.“ He says, and you look expectantly down at your watch. 

“Did you need something?” You ask, and your watch suddenly drifts over towards behind you, an anomaly chasing behind you. 

“How long will it take for you to be back?“ He asks, hand slithering to the back of his neck. Even from the shitty camera quality, you can see the slightest tinge of blush on his cheek. 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes, sighing to yourself as you bustle through skyscrapers and towers galore. “Is this really was this was about?“

“Yeah, I wanna see you.“ He states. You watch as he starts tapping on the holographic screen, seemingly zooming in on a particular picture. 

You watch as Miguel already goes to grab his spider mask, clutching it in his hand while he taps at his own watch. “Where are you, honey? I can take them off your hands.“

“It’s fine, Miguel. I got it.“

“But I wanna see you.“

“You can wait a little longer, right? Jessica sent me out on this mission.“

“No. I’m going out there, where are you?“

You sigh. “Fine, I’m at Earth-681, Queens.”

“See you in a sec, hun. Love you, bye.“

“Love you. Bet I can finish this guy off before you can even make it down here-“

You hang up, and the call screen flickers dark. Miguel yanks on his spider mask, leaping off his office until...

“Wow.“

Lyla sputters in front of Miguel, laughing to herself in a doubled over position. She flashes in a few more times, each one a different frame of her laughing. Miguel tries to ignore her, speeding up into a run whilst tapping at his watch.  

“You’re really that whipped!“ She exclaims. 

“What does whipped even mean?“ Miguel asks, obviously annoyed. 

“You’ll find out later.“

“Hm.“

“Oh and, just so you know. That entire convo was recorded. Thanks!“

Miguel groans, and Lyla vanishes as soon as she came in. 

. . . 

Miguel dives headfirst into the inter-dimensional juncture, leaping directly into the skies of Earth-681. There’s millions of skyscrapers below, all of them almost identical to any other Earth he’s been on. 

He webs a nearby building, slinging himself through Queens in search of you. His spidey-sense picks up, detecting you to be in his far right. Faster than ever, he slingshots himself through buildings, his heart quickening in his chest at the thought of seeing you. 

Unexpectedly, you aren’t where you’re supposed to be. 

Miguel pauses himself onto the head of a gargoyle, eyes flickering left and right to try and find you. You’re supposed to be hugging him, kissing him, teasing him about dates and what not. 

“Boo.“

Miguel doesn’t even flinch, but he’s more excited than ever to see you. He misses you so much. 

You laugh to yourself, taking a few steps forward to Miguel. He rolls his eyes, and you can even see it through his mask. 

“Haha, very funny.“

“I know, I’m the funniest.“

“C’mere.“

Miguel wastes no time, hastily tugging you into him by your waist, until you’re close enough to hear his heartbeat. You tug your mask off, revealing the face that Miguel knows and loves. 

Tenderly, the man presses you into a kiss, savoring the taste of your lips for a moment longer than he should’ve. You can feel the poke of his fangs on your bottom lip, and you yelp a little in his mouth. 

“Ah, I’m sorry.“

“It’s fine-“

And he a presses a few more gingerly kisses to your cheek, stroking your other with his thumb. His big hand lingers on your lower back, threatening to ghost his fingers against your behind. 

“See, told you I’d finish him off before you’d come.“ You say, indulgently resting your chin on his chest. 

“Can’t believe Jess sent you out here, on your break day too.“ Miguel scowls, “Wanted to take you somewhere special.“

“Welp, now I’m free.“ You shrug, and Miguel leans the both of you against the concrete walls of the tower. 

Something sparks in Miguel’s mind. 

“Hun, what does whipped mean?“

“Whipped?“

“Mhm. Lyla mentioned it earlier.“

You chuckle a little. 

“It’s what you are, Miguel.“

“And what, exactly, is that?“

“Absolutely in love with me. Like you’ll do anything, k’know?“

Miguel grumbles to himself, releasing you from his embrace. 

“I hate that she’s right.“

miguel gets jealous oneshot (same universe)

[moon-rivr]

omg your miguel stories are tew good plz stop encouraging my obsession💀 but just in case you dont wanna listen👀... is there anyway you can do a one shot of miguel being like a laid back sugar daddy/just spoils the absolute shit out of us without giving a fuck PLEASE🙏🏾

anywaysssss love you and i wish you all the best<3

million dollar man

pairing: miguel o’hara x fem reader

contents: age gap (reader’s in college while miguel’s in mid thirties), handjob, and semi-public fingering

author’s note: i loved writing this request sm so thank you for allowing me to indulge 😩 wishing you the best too <33

word count: 4.8K

The rules of the website had practically imprinted in your brain with how many times you reread them- no cat-fishing relationships or scams, no low-quality photos, and to not be abusive. The rules seemed pretty simple but you couldn't help but hesitate to accept the terms, your hand hovering the cursor. "Oh fuck, just click it already," you mumbled to yourself, accepting the small box on the right corner of the screen after a couple seconds of hesitation. Your screen flooded with what seemed to be hundreds of older men, most of them actively seeking out for a sugar baby in exchange for some kind of service in return.

You'd been wanting to sign up for a sugar daddy website after noticing how empty your pantry was, a couple ramen packets sitting on the counters collecting dust. While you knew that you could be living much worse, you couldn't help but want more than eating the same food everyday. With the amount of student debt that you were crumbling under, you couldn't afford to make extravagant purchases. The job that you had managed to sustain you for your basic needs, but you were tired of simply just floating above the debt line. You found yourself with the desire to have more.

You decided to accept on the terms of the website and set up a profile, but you couldn't bring yourself to explore the options available. You stepped aside from the computer, rubbing over your eyes as you debated the reality of the situation.

You didn't have much time to regret your decision though, your phone alarm ringing with the reminder that you had to be getting ready for work soon. You shut off your computer, deciding to face the consequences of your actions at a much later time when you weren’t running late. After putting on the uniform for the ice cream shop that you worked at, you made your way out the house out to the parlor.

"I don't really see what the problem is with having a sugar daddy. You deserve more than what this place pays," one of your coworkers, Luna, told you as the two of you cleaned up the spoons from the previous shift. "You don't think I'm being a gold digger by doing it?" You asked her, wanting to get some kind of reassurance about the doubts that'd been clouding your mind since you'd joined the website.

She shrugged, walking over to take the order of an elderly woman that walked in. "If they know what they're getting into, I don't think it constitutes as being a gold digger. They know that the relationship is purely transactional," she responded to your question after the woman stepped away with her vanilla cone.

Her words rung through your mind as you sat down in front of your computer after getting off work, deciding to explore the options that were available. Most of the names shown on the website were some of Nueva York's most prominent businessmen, their name plastered onto some of the most successful buildings in the state.

You'd expected for most of the profiles to be senile men who were in the middle of a life crisis, instead getting men in their mid forties to sixties. Your nose scrunched up as you clicked through some of their profiles, most of them coming up as married with the description of 'wanting discreet fun.'

You were about to give up on your search for the night when you stumbled upon a profile of a man in his mid-thirties, one of the youngest men you'd seen in the fifteen minutes of scrolling. Miguel O'Hara. His profile revealed to you that he was divorced, his description being that he sought out for someone to spend time with in exchange for monitory compensation, a clear difference between his profile and the others you'd encountered.

To say that he was an easy swipe right was an understatement, your finger almost snapping off from how fast you clicked on your mouse. Not only was his persona more endearing than those you'd encountered, he was one of the more handsome men you'd had seen. You didn't think too much of the swipe, your eyes widening in surprise as you got the notification that it was a match.

You spent about a week talking to him about what could be expected out of the arrangement before he suggested that he take you out to a dinner. His reasoning behind the spontaneous date was that he simply wanted to see how the two connected outside of text, get a feeling of what type of person you were. As you waited for the day of the dinner to arrive, you couldn't help but be filled with anticipation and excitement.

You'd even gotten up early the day of to plan out your outfit ahead of time so you wouldn't have to do so after class, choosing to wear a pair of jeans that weren't too distressed with a black top.  Scenarios of how the dinner would go riddled your mind throughout the day, your focus of what was on the board diminishing with every second that you were in the classroom.

You showed up to dinner half an hour late due to the subway not arriving at its designated time, easily finding Miguel through the crowds of people. not only was the tallest one in the room, he was also the one with the nicest attire in the place. The black button down shirt he had on accentuated the bulging muscles underneath, the material flexing to fit around him perfectly and the black slacks that he had on fit his legs to perfection.

You caught a whiff of his cologne when he stood up to shake your hand, the pure scent of him reeking of money. He pulled the chair back for you, waiting for you to take a seat before he sat back down. You couldn't help but notice how well he filled out the seat, the pure presence of him almost demanding to be seen.

"Sorry I'm late, the subway got delayed," you started off, wondering just how long he'd been here waiting for you to show up. "While I do appreciate punctuality, I understand," he responded, handing you one of the menus from the table. You picked up the menu, noticing that none of the prices were on there but rather just what the meals had to offer.

A waiter came by a couple minutes later to take the orders, Miguel ordering steak with mashed potatoes and a red wine. "I'll just get the grilled chicken with water, please," you told the waiter, handing them your menu along with Miguel’s. They nodded and stepped away, the only sound at the table being the classical music playing throughout the restaurant.

You looked down at the plate of food dumbfounded, wondering how exactly it was that rich people got full. You were half expecting for the waiter to announce that it was a prank, to come back and fill up your plate. Upon realizing that the two bites that were placed on your plate was the whole meal, you reluctantly took a bite out of it.

"So, the terms of our arrangement would be pretty simple. I'd provide you with the funds that you deem appropriate and you would provide me with your company. I'm not expecting any kind of sexual favors in return, but I wouldn't be opposed to it if you had the desire to," he told you, his tone casual as if he were just having another business arrangement. You almost choked on the water you were sipping, setting the glass back down.

"So what you're saying is that you don't want to have sex with me unless you and I wanted to," you repeated back to him, raising a brow as he nodded. "Do you mind if I ask why?" The question came out of you without much thought, his brows furrowing in exchange. You thought he wasn't going to respond to the question as his silence turned deafening, the room seeming to rise in temperature with every second that passed. "I’m looking for this certain kind of arrangement because I know what to expect from this. My daughter passed away a couple months ago and it helped me to realize that no amount of money that I have will keep anyone next to me," he responded after a couple of minutes, his words coming out with a certain kind of precision as he spoke.

You stayed quiet as you let the words stick in your brain, wondering just what exactly it was that made this man so closed off to the world. You wanted to ask him more questions, but you figured that they weren't appropriate for the setting or the arrangement that was being discussed.

"I'd start off with giving you a short allowance for now, $500 a week just to get you started. It'll increase the more that we spend time together, a little bonus if we have to show up to an event together. Obviously, iId take care of the expenses of your outfit," he added, his red eyes boring into yours like they wanted to see through your very being. “That all sounds very promising, but I think I need some time to think about it if you don't mind," you finally spoke up, watching as his eyebrows bunched up before he nodded.

"You look unsatisfied by the meal. Was it not up to your liking?" He asked after you finished up with your meal, placing a couple hundred dollar bills on the table. "No, the meal was good. thank you," you told him, giving him a tight smile as you got up from the dinner table once the waiter came over to the table. "So if it was good, why do you look unhappy?" He pushed the question further, his eyes locked on you as the two of you headed out of the restaurant.

"Like I said, there wasn't anything wrong with the food. the portions were just a bit.. questionable," you responded, your voice dropping towards the end like you were admitting something taboo. You were expecting for him to protest after what he'd just paid, not the small chuckle that escaped from his lips.

Miguel took you to a burger joint in Brooklyn, stating that 'no other place could do it quite the same.' You'd ordered yourself a burger and fries along with a milkshake, Miguel getting the same thing as you. "Thank you for saying something, the whole meal felt like an appetizer," he told you as the two of you sat down with your trays, the juiciness from the burger looking more inviting than the piece of chicken you'd eaten earlier.

"How do you rich people put up with eating like that?" You asked him, almost moaning at the taste of the burger once you took a bite. "Most of them do cocaine if I'm being frank. I normally don't eat out unless I need to so it's few times I have to subject myself to that," he explained, watching as you stole some of his french fries with amusement.

Despite the initial awkwardness that'd been present throughout the dinner, you couldn't help but enjoy talking to him as the night progressed. His dry humor was something that you were growing to like, the way that he seemed to have a response for everything that you asked/told him.

He was honest and direct, not in a way that he used to excuse what some might deem as 'rude', but in a way that seemed genuine and vulnerable. He'd taken you home after the two of you had finished up, saying that it was too dangerous for you to be taking the subway alone at this hour. You watched as he pulled out of your house, a small smile on your face as he drove away.

The doubts about the arrangement crawled back into your brain once you were alone, absentmindedly reaching over for your laptop and signing in. You weren't sure what exactly it is that you sought out for, maybe some kind of reassurance that he wouldn't get bored with you or start expecting for you to act a certain way around him.

You opened up your browser, deciding to read a Reddit thread about the experiences that some others had as being sugar babies. While some of them described the experience as something pleasant, a few posts lingered about some other girls that had a bad encounter with their sugar daddy. You decided to close your computer after a couple minutes, coming to the realization that Miguel was nothing like the men described in those awful experiences and the decision to say yes had never been so obvious before.

You weren't sure when it was that you started seeing Miguel as more than a provider, seeing him as someone that you cared about beyond what he was giving you. He'd kept true to his promise, his daily allowance now being $700 with the time that the two of you spent together. You'd started to seek him out for the littlest things that you had to do, such as going out on grocery runs or going out for lunch.

When you'd asked him to go to the grocery store with you, you'd managed to deny the growing attraction that was slowly starting to build up by simply telling yourself that you were using him since he was able to reach the top shelf. But the more that you gave a thought about where the relationship between the two of you was headed, the more that you were certain that you couldn't live with yourself if he wasn't present in your future.

You went over to his house after feeling overwhelmed with your final exams coming up, hoping that he would just be able to spare a couple minutes and hold you. "What's wrong?" He asked once he opened the door, exhaustion and anxiety coating your features. "I just need you," you responded back to him, his face softening just the slightest bit before he opened the door to let you in.

He guided you over to his couch, his hand wrapping around your shoulders as he stroked your upper arm. The two of you stayed silent for a while, simply staring at the fireplace ahead of you. "I hope I didn't disturb you," you spoke up, knowing how busy he was.

"You could never disturb me. I like having you around, you're more tolerable than the people I work with," he responded, his thumb lazily drawing circles on your arm. "I'll take that as a compliment," you murmured, leaning against him as you felt the combined heat from his body and the fireplace lulling you into a sense of peace and security. "You should. What's got your little head all worked up anyways?" He inquired, the flame from the fireplace flickering in his eyes as you looked up at him.

"I have finals coming up. And I can't really afford to fail, otherwise I'll get my scholarship taken away. I don't know, I guess I'm just anxious knowing how much is on the line," you told him, realizing just how silly your concerns sounded out loud. “I can help you out if you’re really that stressed out about them,” he suggested after a couple seconds, the movements on your arm coming to a stop. "How about this. if you pass your finals, I'll take you on a little trip to Cabo to celebrate. We'll go on a mall spree beforehand to get you ready."

True to his word, Miguel had the tickets set up for the weekend which you would be done with finals. He'd been the first person that you told about passing them, hearing him say that he was proud of you felt like an even bigger accomplishment especially after he dedicated some of time towards helping you review.

"I knew that you could do it, you're so smart," he'd told you once you shared the news with him, his big arms enveloping you in a hug as he held you close to him. It was the first time he'd hugged you, the feeling strange to the both of you as he did. The act felt unpracticed, something he hadn't done in a long time with the way that his arms awkwardly wrapped around you. Despite that minor detail, you felt invincible as he held you like nothing could touch you.

"I'm thinking about getting my nails done. Which set do you think would look better?" You asked, handing him your phone with the Pinterest board of designs you'd saved. He grabbed his glasses from his case, putting them on the bridge of his nose as he peered down at your phone.

"Isn't it all the same just in different colors?" He noted, scrolling through your phone as he tried to find a difference in the multitude of designs you'd saved. "There's somewhat of a difference in there, it's pretty subtle since I just tend to go for what i'm familiar with," you responded, putting on your seatbelt as you waited. The two of you were heading out to the mall, but you'd come up with idea of getting your nails done after getting in the car.

Miguel ended up liking a simple red design with some gemstones on the pointer and ring finger so you gave the reference photo to the lady doing your nails. You watched as she put on the gemstones with precision, your eyes flicking over to Miguel as he waited for you in the lobby.

If he was uncomfortable in this setting, he didn't show it as he scrolled through the People magazine available. You turned your attention back to your nails, an idea sparking up in your head as she started to put on the final touches to the gem design. "Do you mind putting an initial on my ring finger?" You asked her before it was too late, waiting for her to agree before you told her what letter you wanted on there.

Your hand rested on his pants as he drove, his eyes flicking down to the design and slightly widened as he noticed the small 'M' on your ring finger. "What'd you do that for?" He asked, his attention turning back to the road after a couple moments of shock. "Figured it would be a nice little detail since you were so generous in paying for them," you responded, sliding down his zipper with a bit of difficulty as you adjusted to the feeling of the acrylic once more.

You watched as he let out a shaky breath, his eyes remaining on the road ahead. "I'm driving," he warned you as you started to palm him through his boxers. "So keep your eyes on the road, Miguelito. Just feel," you reiterated, your hand squeezing around his cock slightly. “Ay Dios, nos vas a matar.” (oh god, you’re going to kill us)

You watched as he retrained himself as he drove, knuckles starting to turn white from how hard he was gripping the steering wheel. You picked up some of the precum leaking out through the tip of his reddened cock, lathering all over the shaft as a form of lubrication. Your hand moved with ease up and down his semi-hardened length, his cock getting harder with each tug that you gave him.

He let out a small hiss as he felt one of your nails brush up against the underside of his cock, the area a bit sensitive for him. He'd pay for your nails hundreds of times over and over if it meant he got to see them wrapped around his cock with his initial on them.

You pulled your hand once Miguel was nearing the mall, drying your hand of the sticky residue with a piece of tissue paper he had in the glove box. "Now you decide to stop?" He asked, maneuvering his way into the parking lot with such ease, parking in reverse in what seemed to be mere seconds. If it were up to you, you would've taken about twenty minutes to do the task before eventually giving up.

Your attention went back to the bulge in his pants, his cock still hard from your previous ministrations. "Well, maybe you'll get more motivated to get out of the mall now," you suggested, getting out of the car as you dusted off your attire. Miguel rolled his eyes as he followed behind you throughout the mall, his hand making the slightest contact with yours.

You stumbled into a Gucci store after a while of walking through the mall, immediately drawn into the designs of the bags. You looked around, one of them in particular catching your eye. The design of the bag was beautiful yet simple, a black leather handbag in the shape of a heart. Your eyes widened as you looked at the price tag attached, your hands making quick work to return it to the shelf.

Before you could get the chance though, Miguel grabbed your hand and turned your attention to him. "What's wrong with the bag? You don't like it?" He asked as he looked at you, expecting for some kind of reasonable answer. "No, there's nothing wrong. it's just expensive," you responded, avoiding eye contact with him as you stepped away from the shelf.

"Well, how much is it?" You heard him ask behind you before you got the chance to walk away too far, his hands reaching up for the purse. "It's almost five grand and that's not including tax. It's fine, I don't need a pu-," you started off but you got quickly interrupted when Miguel called over a sales associate to get him the bag from the back. "I thought you said it was expensive, mi cielo," he simply stated before he went off to check out with the associate that had the bag in a dust bag, taking his black amex card from his pocket as the transaction processed. You stood behind, watching as he paid for the bag with seemingly no hesitation.

The rational side of you threatened to come out, wanting to tell him that he could be spending those five thousand on something other than a bag, but you pursed your lips and watched the scene unfurling in front of you. You remembered the whole point of why'd you even joined the sugar daddy website, wanting the opportunity at having nice things.

"You may not need a purse, but your eyes practically lit up when you saw this one. I'm here so you don't have to resign to that disappointment that you've grown used to," he told you as the two of you walked out of the store, his hand resting on the small of your back. “Well, thank you. I really did like the bag,” you told him, leaning up to give him a small kiss on the cheek. You walked around the mall, eyes glancing around the different stores before eventually walking into Nordstrom.

You picked out a couple pieces for the trip that you'd need, such as a couple dresses, skirts, and bikinis for the warm weather you’d be exposed to. Miguel went with you to the fitting rooms, sitting down on the couches outside as he waited for you to finish up. You'd changed into the shirt and skirt that you'd pulled into the dressing room, looking at yourself reflected on the body-length mirror.

You couldn't deny that the skirt made every part of your legs look good, from your thighs to your ass. Even though you were confident that Miguel would end up liking it, you still decided to call him in to get his opinion. He opened up the door as discretely as he could, glancing around to make sure that no associates were nearby as he stepped inside.

You couldn't help but let out a small laugh as the giant of a man in front of you was rendered speechless, eyes raking up and down your figure as he took you in. "Te ves tan hermosa dressed like that," he finally spoke up after a couple seconds, his hands wrapping around your waist as he held you close to his body. (you look so gorgeous)

You weren't completely sure what the first part of his sentence meant, but you could guess that it was something good based on the tone of endearment that he used and the way that he couldn't keep his hands off you. "Can you be quiet for me?" He asked, looking at you through the mirror as his hands splayed on your stomach. The question sounded more like he was telling you to be quiet, so you simply nodded along and watched him sit down on the small stool.

Miguel placed you down on his clothed thigh, your legs spread out for him as your back fell flush against his toned chest. His hand made his way down your body, your skirt being pushed up as he did so. He cupped your clothed cunt, the expense of his hand capturing most of it.

"You look so pretty when you're all like this. All needy and just for me," he murmured into your ear, one of his hands holding you in place as the other one slid the black pair of panties you'd chosen to wear. One of his fingers went inside your cunt, the tightness of your walls engulfing it completely as he pushed it deeper inside of you. Your slick coated his finger as he opened you up in a way that only he could, reaching places that even some of your toys couldn't reach.

"Excuse me, but do you need some help in there? you've been in there for an awful long time," an associate called out, knocking on your door. Your eyes widened at the prospect of getting caught in this position, a small muffled gasp making its way out of you. "No, the dress is just stuck," you called out, hoping your voice didn't come out as needy as it sounded to your own ears.

"Well I can come in there and help you out. Sorry, it's just that we have a line forming," the associate told you, her hand coming to the doorknob and slightly shaking it as if she were trying to open it. Her attempts failed since the door was still locked on your end, the rattling of the knob stopping a couple seconds later.

You were half expecting him to remove his hand, but his fingers remained deep inside of your cunt as he looked down at you. "You weren't playing fair in the car so why should I have to play fair?" He spoke just low enough for you to hear, a hint of amusement as he spoke. You struggled to keep your voice even as you spoke, resisting the urge to just go ahead and let a moan rip out.

"Uh no, thank you though. It's just a zipper but it's almost off," you told the sales associate, letting out a small sigh of relief as the clacking of her heels retreated from the dressing rooms. Miguel pushed another one of his fingers into your cunt, moving them in a scissoring motion before he curled them upwards to reach that spot inside of you.

Your toes curled and your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you felt his thumb make contact with your clit, the nub already starting to stimulate just by the touch of his finger. You felt your clit throb against his fingers as he rubbed small circles on it, the rhythm in sync with the fingers he was pushing inside of you.

Your back flushed against his chest as you felt yourself getting closer to that sweet release of euphoria, your shaky breaths and whimpers getting muffled as you pressed the palm of your hand against your mouth. Just as you were approaching that all too familiar release, Miguel pulled his hands away quickly.

You were about to protest before remembering what you'd done in the car, the words dying in your throat as you got up from his lap. "Touché," you mumbled as you started taking off the clothes that you'd been trying on, watching as he wiped his hand off on a handkerchief. Miguel covered up your body with his as he stepped out of the dressing room, closing the door quickly afterwards.

"Sorry about that, she called me into help her with the zipper. stupid thing wouldn't budge," you heard him speak outside, surely talking to the associate who must be growing impatient with every second that you spent inside. You stepped back into your clothes, carrying the choices that you'd picked out as you went to go join Miguel at the checkout line.

Needless to say, the attire that you'd showed Miguel proved to be a definite yes. He gladly paid for the rest of your clothes, not batting an eye as the total came out to be two thousand. "Thank you for the excellent customer service. The concern that you show for your consumers is truly admirable," he noted as the associate handed him back his card, a small smirk creeping up on his lips as he also received the shopping bag. The two of you made your way out of the store, completing the small checklist that the two of you had made for what was needed in order to have a successful trip.