#ceo!miguel

[aniharas]

𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘧𝘧

pairing: ceo!miguel o'hara x singer!fem!reader

summary: you, a famed singer living in a lavish penthouse, are preparing for an afterparty when you get distracted by your ceo neighbor, miguel, looking fine on his balcony across from yours. it would be stupid of you to not to strike up a conversation.

warnings: explicit language, sexual tension, use of cigarettes and alcohol (please let me know if i need to add more!)

wc: 8.7k+ oneshot

a/n: today i am dutifully fulfilling the wishes of @cantchoosejust1 with her lovely request: "glad u have ur inbox open cause boy howdy do I have ideas ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) I like to picture more of a "normal au" like neighbors to lovers; He's some bum-looking CEO and we're, idk, a famous singer or something; Lyla's always over cause she's his assistant so she befriends us to relay that info to shy Miguel; we almost always see each other in the elevator or both chilling on our balconies coincidentally at the same time and not because he memorized our routine-- one late night, we both come back from separate parties tired as hell but sober (I'm not one to get drunk); each in our party getups, hair tussled, his tie undone and our dress straps hanging off our shoulders; this time we work up the courage to invite him over to chill and talk and maybe end up in a heated make out session" i changed up a few things but i think it still captures the concept pretty well! also inspired by my lovely miss ava's (justadmiringanakin) ceo!anakin concept. literally so obsessed. also s/o kimmy draws on twitter for miguel o'hara in a suit and tie. thank u, we need more. anyways, hope you all enjoy and as always inbox is open for prompts for drabbles or fics :)

Fresh out of the shower and wrapped up in your favorite silk robe, you stood in front of your spacious walk-in closet, sighing as you contemplated what expensive outfit you were to wear this time to yet another afterparty. You had just gotten home after, thankfully, receiving two awards for your most recent album, but you were more excited to lay in bed more than anything. Unfortunately, your PR team had blown up your phone about “keeping up appearances with the paps”, so there was a slight drag in your steps as you scoured your closet, the plush carpet feeling like rocks under your tired feet. Truthfully, you wish you were never invited, but with being such a high-profile singer and an award-winner, the invitation from a friend who was also hosting was inevitable.

As you finally sifted through what had seemed like thousands of possible outfits, you finally settled on one, a black and baby pink corset top with a matching mini skirt. After laying it out carefully on your bed, you texted your assistant a picture.

You: hi do u mind picking out some matching shoes for this number? 

You: [picture]

Julia: You have dozens of shoes, boots, and heels that match this color already.

You: yeah but none of them fit the vibe tho. Please?

Julia: As you wish. It’s not my fault if this makes you late.

Sitting down at the foot of your satin-covered king bed, you set down your phone, smiling to yourself. That was why you liked Julia as your assistant, she always did her best to keep you grounded…with varying degrees of success. But if your life was now this lavish, who were you to deny yourself the pleasure? 

As you waited for her return, you snatched the remote that had fallen off the side of your bed, about to rewatch an episode of your favorite dating reality show until you caught a glimpse of something through your windowed balcony. You could make out your neighbor’s shadow through the curtains of his balcony, pacing back and forth in his room.

There was no possible way that your neighbor was Miguel O’Hara. Maybe he had a twin.

To your knowledge, Miguel O’Hara was the renowned pretty boy Alchemax CEO, a geneticist who pioneered genetic splicing. He had hundreds upon thousands of employees who worked under him, and to say he was rolling in cash was an understatement. He was freestyle swimming in it. He lived in the penthouse-level apartment across from yours, and the glances that your assistant had managed to sneak from his apartment suggested he lived just as lavishly as you, if not, even more so. Crystal chandeliers, velvet chaises and loveseats, and an upgraded kitchen, the latter of which you were most envious of. 

If that was the case, why did he look like…that? 

It’s not that he wasn’t attractive, it was quite the opposite, actually. A built body, broad shoulders, chiseled features, and a face that screamed: “Try to resist me”. And best believe, you had been trying. You had nearly fainted when you caught a glimpse of a sweaty, shirtless Miguel on his balcony out for a smoke.

It was just the way that he seemed to carry himself. Every time you took a glance at him in the elevators, or at your building’s gym, he didn’t dress like he was the most successful CEO under 35. His style was more akin to a college student’s who had left their clothes in the dryer overnight and forgot to fold them. His dark, luscious locks were always ruffled from stress after what had seemed like a long day at work. While his magazine portraits always portrayed his face as clean-shaven, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him once without a 5 o’clock shadow.  

What shocked you the most was his demeanor. In the countless articles you and your assistants have flipped through concerning Miguel or Alchemax when you had first moved in (for your “research”), he exuded this undeniable aura of confidence. His quotes were always firm and concise, and no one dared to question his knowledge or any decision he made with the company. Above it all, he just seemed like your typical Ice King boss with little regard for things outside of his personal interest.

But much like his appearance, he couldn’t be any more different in person. He would hold the elevator door open for you, always politely avoiding eye contact with you during the ride until you expressed interest in talking to him. He’d give a shy wave whenever the both of you caught each other on your balconies, which you noted happened often the more thought you gave to it. There, you’d make some small talk, and he showed genuine interest in the big and little things in your life, from asking about your Grammy nomination to what color you wanted to paint your nails next. A man with good conversation was hard to come by nowadays.

The slightly bummy demeanor he carried wasn’t something you minded at all, it was just so different compared to how he carried himself publicly. After getting so used to reading about stone-cold corporation-titan CEO Miguel O’Hara, it nearly gave you whiplash when you settled in and met your handsome, gentlemanly, friendly neighbor, Miguel.

Lost in your own thoughts, you were caught by surprise as you found yourself still staring at his balcony, only noticing as the stillness of the night was interrupted by his balcony door swinging open. Obviously, it was Miguel, but there was something different about him that rocked you to your core. You sat up straight at the edge of your bed, leaning forward and squinting to further detail what had changed.

It was almost like he had transformed. Gone was the scruffy and casual look that he had usually adorned. Instead, he now wore a perfectly tailored white dress shirt with a black tie that accentuated every contour and crevice of his muscular build. You knew he was built, but you had never seen it in this amount of detail. His hair was now neatly styled, slicked back neatly yet still maintaining a casual look. And his face, god, his face, cleanly shaven, his skin glistening in the moonlight.

You never thought you would get the chance to see the Mr. O’Hara that was plastered all over newspapers and billboards, and now, you figured that those photographers could never do him justice. He was like a sculpture of a Greek deity, something you could only appreciate in person…and up close. Maybe that was the reason you stood from your bed, easily ditching the show you had turned on as you pushed open the doors to your balcony eagerly. You slightly regretted the decision as a gust of the winter breeze of New York immediately pierced through your silk robe and into your skin, chilling you to your bone. But you were intent on pushing through to get a chance to talk to Miguel, hastily wrapping the robe tighter around your body as you fought the urge to chatter your teeth.

As you continued to watch, you noticed that Miguel hadn’t noticed you yet, much to your chagrin. Your eyes carefully followed every movement of his, curious as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one, the stick dangling from the corner of his mouth. Of course, you weren’t too large on smoking, having a renowned vocal prowess after all, but something about the sight of your hot, CEO neighbor carelessly blowing out smoke spurred something on inside of you.

“I thought you said you’d stop,” you called out with a smirk on your face, your voice barely louder than the hustle and bustle of the streets around your complex.

Miguel, startled, jumped slightly at the sound of your voice, head whipping towards you so fast that his cigarette nearly fell from his mouth. Getting over his initial shock, his face resigned to an amused expression, taking a drag before taking the stick from his mouth.

“I…did say that, huh?” he admitted as smoke emanated from his lips, shrugging once as he moved closer to the edge of the balcony. “Caught me on a bad night, I guess.”

You chuckled, the chilly breeze instantly forgotten upon the sound of his gruff, yet friendly voice. “Your secret’s safe with me, O’Hara. But you know it’s bad for you.”

Miguel leaned forward against the railing, eyes rolling once before they fixated on you. “I should’ve expected the world-star singer to lecture me on smoking,” he teased, resulting in your cheeks growing hot again; it seemed he always had that effect on you. Taking one more deep inhale from his cigarette, he tapped out the smolders and tossed it onto an ashtray on his balcony table. “But I’ll happily stop for you.”

Who knew such a simple statement could send shivers down your spine?

Copying his stance, you leaned against your balcony railing, forearm resting atop it as you found yourself easing into conversation. “You fix up well. What’s the occasion? Who’s the lucky girl?” you interrogated, raising a teasing eyebrow. Although you were poking fun at him, you secretly hoped that this wasn’t him preparing for a date.

Miguel’s lips quirked into a half-smile. “Jeez, am I just sloppy around here? Is the change that noticeable?” he asked as he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Hard to miss,” you replied, suppressing a giggle. “Care to share what’s got you so dolled up?”

He exhaled a sigh, his breath turning into a misty cloud as he gazed off into the city. “No girls. Some stupid party I’m required to go to. Make connections, keep up appearances. Just some bullshit.”

You tilted your head in thought, a knowing expression lingering on your face. It was no surprise Miguel had to suffer the dreadful experiences of the media just like you did, and oddly, it seems to pull you closer to him. “I’m right there with you tonight, but you’ll be fine. I know for a fact you’re better at this…media circus stuff than me.”

One of Miguel’s brows perked up in intrigue, his posture straightening out as he finally took a good look at you, eyes raking over your figure. You suddenly felt a bit immodest, having come out in full glam, yet with only a silk robe that barely left anything about your curves to the imagination. You watched as his eyes snapped back up to yours after a few moments, seeming to be at a loss for words.

“Right, uh…” he began, swallowing deeply. “You look really…uh– pretty tonight.” He pushed his long, thick fingers through his hair, and you tried your best not to visibly react. “Where are you headed?”

You groaned at the thought of your obligations later that night, rolling your eyes as you rested your head against your hand. “Grammy’s afterparty. PR says it’s mandatory, you know the deal. So unfair,” you grumbled childishly, tracing along the intricate details of the metal railing with your free hand.

Though a brief laugh escaped his lips, you saw his eyes soften, a hint of sympathy glistening in them. “Red carpet’s not as glamorous as it seems, hm?”

You nodded eagerly in response, grateful that he understood. From all the fake friends, media outlets looking to make a quick buck, scummy record labels, to predatory men in the industry,  having to navigate through all of that and still retain your sanity was difficult. Sure, you had enough money to last you and your family 10 lifetimes over and the last thing you would do is complain, but you just wished that it would get easier over time. So far, it hasn’t.

“At least you look glamorous in your robe,” Miguel said after a while, grinning as he motioned to your robe. “Which, by the way, I hope you aren’t wearing to your party. It’s very cold.”

A fit of laughter erupted from your chest, causing you to cover your mouth as you smoothed out the silkiness of your robe. “God, Miguel, of course not. I have something way nicer that would make me way colder.”

“Hm, I don’t know…that getup of yours might be hard to beat.” Miguel’s eyes seemed to shift, shining with curiosity. Your thighs rubbed together at the beginnings of his playful smile. “Indulge me,” he implored.

You scoffed, although unable to fight the rush of excitement that filled your body. “Just you wait,” you called as you disappeared back into your apartment, swiftly shutting the doors and yanking the curtains closed. Your heart pounded as you fumbled with the ribbon of your silk robe, the texture caressing your skin as it fell to the floor.

Eagerly, you lunged for the outfit that laid across your bed, your fingers clutching onto the cold, black fabric as you hastily slid on the corset. You desperately tugged at the pink corset strings that cascaded down your back, but you could only tighten it so much. Impatient, you decided to ditch tying it up all the way, conceding that it accentuated your curves enough.

Putting on your matching skirt, you pulled it up just far enough to barely cover your behind, showing off your legs in a way that would most certainly get you kicked out from a church. You spared a glance at yourself in the middle, not quite satisfied yet as your eyes dropped to your chest. Your hands came up to readjust your cleavage in your top with a quick tug to the fabric barely covering it, and it was only then that you were satisfied. The way your outfit hugged and exposed all the right spots was sure to make this one of your sexier looks. 

But you knew that you didn’t need to do much to look jaw-dropping. You were a natural at the red carpet, and everything you wore seemed to kickstart trends across the country. Any style you could’ve chosen would have anyone fawning over you at the party.

Yet, all you wanted was to impress the guy smoking on his balcony across from you.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed the doors to your balcony back open. The fiery nature of your outfit somehow combatted the frosty air that nipped at where your skin was exposed, which was most of your body. Miguel was still leaning against his railing, distracted by the city lights from afar. His eyes darted in your direction as he heard the soft rustle of your movements, and it didn’t take long before they widened in shock.

“So? How’s it look?” you asked, holding your breath in anticipation.

You could practically feel his eyes traveling up and down your body, particularly your chest and your sleek legs. His jaw slackened just a bit before he caught himself, a wry smile forming as he fixed his gaze back onto yours.

“Damn,” he remarked, voice gravelly. “You weren’t kidding. Feeling inclined to accompany you to your party.”

For a moment, just a fleeting one, you imagined what it would be like to have your dreamy neighbor as your plus one. You, faithfully clinging to his arm as he’d effortlessly lead you through swarming crowds, the both of you dancing with little to no room for Jesus. You wondered what the mix of his sweat and cologne would smell like. Ambitious thinking, you conceded, but so addictive.

“By all means, Mr. O’Hara, you’re more than welcome to,” you offered hopefully.

Miguel’s eyes fixated on your bare shoulders, his gaze darkening briefly. Breaking himself out of his reverie, he let out a sigh. “Had it been any other night, I would’ve been all yours. But tonight is unfortunately an important one for me,” he explained apologetically, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt.

You weren’t aware of how dramatically your shoulders dropped in disappointment until Miguel snorted out of amusement.

“Don’t look so pouty, now,” he teased. “I’ll make it up to you, promise.”

I’ll make it up to you. Your disheartened feelings were quickly dispelled as his words hung the air. As the countless possibilities played in your mind, a soft giggle left your lips. “And how would you do that?”

“You name it, linda.”

You knew that he was bilingual, it was one of the first things you discovered about him; yet you had never heard him speak his other language until then. You hated how it rolled off his tongue so smoothly, nearly turning your legs into jelly. How could someone render you so helpless from a mere compliment? You knew you could have him if you asked. You weren’t necessarily a stranger to hookups, a mere bat of your eyelashes and a pout usually did the trick.

But something stopped you. Why was flirting with him so nerve-racking? You barely could stand in front of him now without feeling your heartbeat in your ears. Were you scared of being too forward?

“Well…” you began, fiddling with the strings of your corset. “My assistant’s gone out to get something for me. I might need help with my top here,” you suggested shyly, shifting your body so that Miguel could have a clear view of the partial doneness of your top.

Just out of your peripherals, you saw Miguel’s eyes lingering on the exposed skin, his neck tensing as he seemed to hesitate to answer. Or maybe he was holding himself back. A second passed, the silence broken by the abrupt sound of him clearing his throat.

“Sure, I got a bit of time before I go. No promises I’ll do a good job, though,” Miguel said as his gaze returned to yours, never once leaving it. His eyes seemed to shine in the most mischievous way under the moon, making it hard for you to keep looking back.

Flashing a sly smile, you began to retreat through the balcony doors. “Don’t keep me waiting!” you shouted before closing the doors behind you and drawing the curtains.

You couldn’t help but pace around your flat in your fuzzy slippers anxiously, each step leaving a thud that rang like a drum in your ears. Had you bitten off more than you could chew? Sure, it was one thing to flirt aimlessly, but to invite him over? What were you going to do after he tied up your corset? Did you even have some sort of plan?

The soft, custom chime of your doorbell cut through the whirlwind of your thoughts, causing you to nearly stumble over yourself as you rushed to your door. Just as you were about to place your hand on the doorknob, you took a moment to adjust your hair, smoothing your fingers through the ends to ensure not a single tuft or strand was out of place. 

Inhaling deeply, you braced yourself as you pulled open the door to reveal the eye candy that was your neighbor. If you had thought he had looked good from across your balconies, he was absolutely divine up close. You swore you felt your hand twitch as you resisted the urge to squeeze his bicep that was so tantalizingly covered by his sharp attire; you couldn’t help but feel jealous of his shirt. A glint of gold peeked out from just beneath his collar, something you hadn’t noticed before. The outlines of a golden chain poked out from under the expensive fabric of his dress shirt, not the large ones you found a bit too obnoxious for your taste, but a small, modest one that complimented his complexion and the outlines of his collarbone.

“Please– come in,” you managed to get out in your rather obvious ogling, stepping aside hurriedly as you ushered him inside. Miguel seemed to find your reaction rather amusing, a brief smile on his lips as he made his way into your home. 

“Your place feels a lot less suffocating than mine,” he remarked, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“How? We live in the same type of penthouse.”

Miguel shrugged, and it looked like he was a bit more shy to meet your eyes now that you were so close. “Maybe it’s just because it’s lonely.”

I could fix that, you were basically dying to say. You bit your lip, adjusting your hair to one shoulder so your backside was exposed. Seeing this, Miguel snapped out of whatever reverie he was in, mumbling “right” to himself before approaching you.

Moving to stand by one of your hand-crafted pillars that decorated your living room, you placed your palms up against them, fingers latching onto them tightly.

Standing behind you, Miguel seemed to falter slightly as he began to reach for the strings. “Hey. ¿Estás bien?”

Truthfully, you weren’t okay. The positions you were both in, despite being innocent in nature, felt so provocative. You were hoping that Miguel didn’t see it this way…but if he didn’t mind, you didn’t mind either. “Mhm. Why?”

“You losing your balance or something?”

Turning your head, you gave Miguel a pointed look. “I know you’re pretty strong, Miguel. I’m going to end up on my ass if I don’t do this,” you joked, although you knew it was likely.

“If you say so.”

And so, Miguel began to work with the strings. Despite being large, his fingers seemed to expertly weave each string to its designated grommet, and the way they just barely grazed against your skin left you breathless. The both of you were dead silent, and it wouldn’t have been awkward had it not been for the palpable tension rising between you. Miguel finally ended up speaking first after partially completing one section, leaning in.

“Let me know if it’s too tight,” he said, his low voice reverberating through your body as his breath brushed against your ear. You froze in place, and you could barely manage a nod.

As he yanked at the strings, there was barely any breath to knock out of you. You squirmed at the subtle cinch around your waist, though your uneasiness was quickly overshadowed by your awe of how strong he was. Once again, not another word was spoken between the both of you, the only sounds being the strings being woven and tightened and the groans of discomfort that involuntarily left your lips.

Eventually, Miguel secured the final knot, letting out a relieved sigh as if this was his most daunting task to date. You felt his warm hand on your shoulder, gently pulling at it to make you face him. Though his brows were furrowed in concern, there seemed to be another feeling hidden in his eyes, you just weren’t sure what it was.

“Does it feel okay?” he asked tenderly, his hand smoothing down your arm before letting go. You wished he didn’t let go.

“It’s as perfect as it can be,” you admitted, your hands coming up to feel around your waist. “Beauty is pain, I guess.”

Miguel then slowly out to take your hand in his. Bringing it up to his lips, he pressed his lips to the back of it gently, his eyes never once leaving yours. “Te ves muy bella esta noche.”

You felt your cheeks flush, your body heating up from how intensely your heart pounded in your chest. “And that means?”

He flashed his stupidly charming grin, his thumbs delicately tracing over your knuckles before returning your hand to your side and taking a step forward. “Let’s just say I hope that you have painkillers.”

How did your dorky neighbor know how to clean up and be such a smooth talker?

You couldn’t help but let out a scoff to ease your nerves and regain some of your composure, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “What, you think I’d need some Advil?”

“I was thinking more like morphine,” Miguel quipped with an unforgettable smirk.

You couldn’t help the shy smile that graced your lips. “I’m sure you could whip something up for me in your lab,” you replied, staring up at him through your mascara-coated lashes. Since when were the both of you so close? You could feel the heat radiating off of him, and it left you wondering how nice it would feel to have his warm skin against yours.

Just as it seemed he was about to give another one of his witty remarks, a small yet sharp ping emanated from the smartwatch that sat delicately on his wrist. He took a step back, glancing down at it. “Mierda– as much as I’d love to continue charming you with painkillers, I’ve gotta head out. Duty calls, unfortunately,” he said, a sigh shortly following the interruption.

You nodded, trying not to let your immediate disappointment show on your face as you also took a step back. As you began to escort Miguel towards the door, you placed your hand tentatively on his arm as you walked side by side. “Unfortunately indeed. I’m already late to mine, but I can’t leave yet,” you lamented.

Miguel raised a brow at you as he reached for your doorknob. “Why not?” he asked, swinging the door open gently.

You groaned, taking out your phone to check for any updates. None. “It’s because I’m waiting for my assistant to come back. She’s out looking for heels for me to wear tonight.”

He grinned, a playful look in his eyes. “And there’s no suitable ones in your walk-in closet?” he teased, leaning against your doorframe.

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting something new! Let me live,” you retorted, giving him a roll of your eyes.

Miguel paused, his brows creased as he bit the inside of his cheek, staring off into the distance behind you. After taking a few moments to mull whatever it was over, he propped himself up against the frame with his arm, clearing his throat.

“So where do you think she’d be shopping at?” he asked.

You couldn’t help but think how strange of a question it was, not particularly expecting someone like Miguel to care about that sort of thing. But you were intrigued nonetheless. “Beats me. Rough guess is the Louboutin store closest to Central Park,” you shrugged.

Miguel, continuing his thoughtful demeanor, gave a nod as he pushed himself off the door. “Good luck with that. Customer service takes a long time over there,” he warned. “Can’t really get a move on unless you pull some strings.”

You huffed, taking your turn to lean against the frame, hesitant to see Miguel off. “I’ll manage, Mr. O’Hara. Promise.”

Giving that sickly sweet smile of his, he leaned in closer to you, a chastising but mischievous glint in his eye. Bringing his hands up level with your chest, he reached to adjust a pink bow sat just in the middle of the bust of your corset, having previously been knocked astray with the hurried commotion of putting it on. You involuntarily shivered at the contact, making you stand straight up. Any hope of saying anything in response was knocked out of you.

“Don’t keep them waiting. I better see pap photos of you plastered all over the internet in that getup first thing in the morning,” Miguel murmured, his lips so unbearably close to yours, you weren’t sure if you could resist. Just as you felt yourself gravitating forward, he pulled back, eyes lingering on your features. If his eyes seemed subtle before, they definitely weren’t now. They flickered with such intensity, and it had you thinking about how much he was holding back.

“But you could be seeing the real thing instead,” you managed to say, breathless as you tried to steady your voice. Your hands instinctively went to play with the hems of your skirt in your nervousness. God, did you really just say that?

A small smile graced his lips as he pulled back. “I might just hold you to that.”

With that, he turned, his strides calm and collected as he walked down your hallway. As you fixated on his figure growing smaller and smaller, you noticed that he brought up his watch close to his mouth, murmuring something under his breath. The faint sound of someone speaking back to him graced your ears, but it grew more incomprehensible as he turned a corner. Just CEO things, you presumed.

As you shut your door, you stood there, dazed with a heartbeat that still seemed to overtake your ears. Even though you and Miguel had done virtually nothing together, your encounter with him was more electrifying than any other date you’ve had. And more arousing than any other hookup.

You hoped that this wouldn’t be the last you saw of your enigmatic neighbor tonight.

–

An hour passed, and you were sitting in the plush cushions of your couch, occasionally letting out an impatient huff. Where the hell was Julia? At this point, you were so hilariously late to this party, you weren’t even sure you wanted to go anymore. Your PR team blowing up your messages didn’t necessarily help your enthusiasm either. 

Just as you were about to put your phone on “Do Not Disturb”, an incoming call from Julia overtook your phone, as if on cue. With a mix of relief and frustration, you answered.

“Julia! Where are you?” you complained, letting your phone rest in the crook of your neck.

“Almost there. Traffic is abhorrent at the moment, so that’s not helping,” Julia stated before taking a pause. “But that’s not even the beginning of why I’m late. You’ll never guess what happened.”

You perked up in surprise, your irritation dissipating. She was never really one for any gossip, always seeming to ignore or have a low tolerance for your nightly one-sided gossip sessions with her. So whatever she had to say had to be important. “Finally! Spill.”

“I had to sort out an issue with your bank while I was at Louboutin,” she began, the ambience of passing cars and honking horns in the background. “Someone’s been trying to hack into your account, so your card was locked.”

Your eyes widened, anxiety bubbling up in your stomach. But before you could say anything, Julia seemed to sense this, interjecting almost immediately.

“But we caught it early, thankfully. I changed all your passwords on my way back,” she explained.

Your mind raced, reminding yourself that Julia would never be late unless it was serious. You were forever grateful for her. But something nagged at the back of your mind. “On your way back? How’d you pay for the shoes?” you questioned. “Oh god, Julia, don’t tell me you paid-”

“Relax,” Julia cut in. You could hear the smile on your face. “As much as I enjoy helping you, you know how I feel about your luxury shoes.”

You sighed in relief. “Just making sure. Was it on the house?”

“Nope,” she replied. “This is the crazy part. Just when it seemed like I needed to just put the shoes back, Miss Lyla– you remember Lyla right? Miguel’s assistant?”

You tilted your head at the mention of Lyla, pleasantly surprised. You knew Julia had befriended Lyla after bumping into each other one too many times, so she occasionally dropped by your flat to say hi and chat while Miguel was away. She had a bubbly personality, a stark contrast to Julia, which you found ironic.

When Miguel had gone away on a business trip to São Paulo, she was basically over all the time, and she knew your routine just as well as Julia did. As you thought about this, it made you wonder if she relayed anything about you to her boss. The likelihood of him bumping into you so much didn’t seem so crazy anymore. Although it’s been a bit less than a year since you’ve seen Lyla, you remember her fondly. 

“Of course I remember her. My memory’s not that bad,” you said defensively.

“If it wasn’t that bad, then you wouldn’t have needed me,” Julia wittily quipped. As much as it hurt your ego to admit it, she was right. Per usual.

“Okay okay, whatever. Lyla. What was she doing there?” you asked.

“She just came bursting through the doors, sweaty, out-of-breath, the sort. I had a mind to think that she ran all the way there,” she continued. “Searching around until she saw me. She walked over to me and offered to pay for your shoes. Said Mr. O’Hara wouldn’t mind. She insisted on paying, saying it was a…’neighborly gesture’? I had already caused enough commotion, so I let her.”

Your jaw dropped as you struggled to process the information. Sure, you remembered Miguel asking about the store earlier, but you just chalked it up to small talk. Even though those shoes would be like pocket change to him, you were still shocked. “I didn’t think he’d actually act on it…” you murmured as you leaned back into the couch, mostly to yourself rather than Julia.

“Hm? What does that mean?” she asked, her turn to begin the onslaught of questions. “Did you run into him? Did something finally happen?”

“He just came over to–”

“Came over?!” Julia shrieked into the mic, causing you to wince and pull your phone away from your ear. It was quickly followed by the sound of her clearing her throat. “Apologies. But…what happened?” Once again, the smile was clear in the way that she spoke.

Unable to hide your giddiness, you kicked your feet up onto the coffee table, the apples of your cheeks aching from how much you were smiling. “Since you were out, this damn corset was giving me a hard time, so I had Miguel come over to…tighten it.”

Silence hung on the other end of the line for a moment, and then Julia erupted in laughter, an unfamiliar sound to you, but you noted that this rare side of her was fun. “I’m surprised he wasn’t trying to take it off you.”

Trying to stifle your own laughter, you feigned a frustrated demeanor as you shushed her to no avail, unable to quiet her giggles. “God, it’s not like that! Anyways, he came over to help and we talked for a bit. You know he cleans up really well?”

“Of course. We’ve seen him in the magazines,” she replied cheekily.

“Yeah, I know that! But seeing it in person is so different…th-that’s besides the point,” you stuttered out. “Before he left, I told him about the shoe problem and where you might be.”

“No kidding. Lyla just showed up and pulled out the most luxurious looking black card I’ve ever seen. Didn’t look like any bank I knew, but it swiped with no hitch,” she recounted, a sense of awe lacing her words. “So you’re telling me Miguel O’Hara bought you your ridiculously expensive shoes, and nothing happened?”

Rolling your eyes, you retold the story, not skimping out a single detail. This was the most enthusiastic you had ever heard your assistant being about your tea. “He was a bit shy at first, but it’s like he totally changed tonight. And when he whispered in my ear asking if the corset was too tight, swear to god I was gonna pass out.”

Julia whistled. “And are you just going to leave it at that? Why not accompany him to his party?”

You didn’t know when Julia had been such an advocate of you and Miguel, but when you thought about it, she did often mention stuff about him that Lyla told her. Were they working together? Co-conspirators in this attempt to bring you two together? “Julia, you know how PR would get if I missed this afterparty. Which I’m an hour and a half late to, by the way.”

“Alright, alright. I’m there in five,” she relented. “Make sure you’re ready so you can just get your shoes on and go. You’re going to love them, by the way.” And with that, she hung up.

She was right. The moment Julia stepped through your door, she didn’t hesitate to rush over to you and undo the fancy packaging of the Louboutin box. And there it was, the most beautiful pair of heels you had ever laid eyes on. It was like their signature red-bottoms, but instead of a red hue at the bottom, it was a sleek, baby pink. You had never seen this in your countless hours of online or window shopping, so this had to be rare. You were surprised that Julia had gotten her hands on this, and also how well it matched your outfit. Sliding them on made you feel like you were Cinderella getting ready for a ball instead of some trashy celebrity/influencer party. At least now with the addition of your shoes, you were going to be the belle of the ball. Or the belle of the trashy party.

As you left your penthouse, you couldn’t help but hug Julia gratefully, excited at this new addition to your closet. True to her nature, she gave a brief and unamused hug back, quickly standing you up straight and smoothing out the wrinkles of your coat. “Save that for Mr. O’Hara,” she commented.

“You know?” you began as you slid into the backseat of your chauffeur’s car, scooting over to give space for Julia. “I think I will,” you chirped giddily.

–

The party was in full swing by the time you arrived. Blaring music, bright strobe lights, the smell of sweat and alcohol already stenching the air. You knew you were (fashionably) late, but people getting drunk and coked out within the first hour was a new record for you. Julia, having successfully shielded you at the entrance of the club from paparazzi alongside your bodyguards, guided you through the crowd. You tried your best to greet everyone as you maneuvered your way through, though you really just wanted to reach the VIP space where your friend hosting was waiting for you.

Once you reached the section, you immediately spotted Cassie, who was waving you over with a mischievous smile. She looked like she was already a couple shots in, but coherent enough. As you approached, she gave you the one-over, proudly nodding in approval.

“Girl, are those some pink-bottoms?!” she shouted over the music as she reached to take your hands in hers. “You look so good, I’m not going to even get mad that you’re super fucking late!”

You laughed at her antics, giving an excited squeeze to her hands. “You’re never gonna guess who got them for me!”

“Who?!”

You leaned to speak into her ear in a vain attempt to keep it discreet, though you ended up nearly screaming in her ear anyways. “Miguel!”

“Oh my god, shut the fuck up!” Cassie blurted out, letting go of your hands to grip you by the shoulders and shake you back and forth in his excitement. “That hot, filthy rich neighbor of yours?!” she asked incredulously, to which you nodded. After the both of you finished your squealing fit, you both sat down on a nearby sofa and recounted the story to her. You treated yourself to a shot of Don Julio and a simple cocktail, not wanting to go too far. You looked too good to be absolutely shitfaced. But it was enough to get you a bit more confident, sharing a couple dances with your friends. Maybe this party wasn’t so bad.

A few hours passed, and you were already a bit too sweaty for comfort. Although you wanted to keep your corset on in the name of fashion, you felt inclined to call it a night just so you could rip it off. It grew more and more suffocating the more you danced and let loose, and you took it as a sign, along with the other sign of your feet screaming out in pain from your heels. At least they were beautiful.

The fatigue began to wash over you all at once, the lively atmosphere growing more and more irritating by the second. You felt bad for wanting to leave early, but Cassie assured you she didn’t mind, knowing you were more of a homebody. After waving goodbye to everyone, you stepped outside with your entourage, greeted by the crisp air of a New York winter night.

As your car whisked you through the city, you just wanted to sleep, but instead, thoughts of Miguel lingered. You wondered how his party was going. Was he more of a party-goer? Were there girls at a business party? Was it called a mixer? Then you remembered him offering to accompany you, the images of the both of you dancing together floating across your mind again. Maybe you could join him, after a short touch-up at your place. Whipping out your phone from your purse, your fingers hovered over the screen, contemplating whether to send a message or not. Maybe you could thank him for the shoes. Upon seeing your last conversation with him, you silently giggled to yourself.

You: thx for setting up my sound system. sry lol i shouldve just waited for julia i feel bad for making u do it

Miguel O’Hara: Nonsense. Was happy to help 👍

You: you text like an old man

Miguel O’Hara: Don’t think it would help my image if I texted like you

You: LMAOOO i wont tell dw

Miguel O’Hara: I’ll consider it

It was only then that you caught a reflection of yourself in the car window, and you physically recoiled. The exhaustion and the remnants of the party were evident – your hair messy and worse for wear, your makeup slightly smudged on one side of your face, sweat and oil making your skin in an unflattering way. You had already partially undone the lacing of your corset to allow room to breathe. Joining him would be an insult in this state, so you let your chauffeur continue your journey back home.

–

It wasn’t long until you found yourself in your building’s lavish elevator, the hum nearly lulling you asleep as it ascended. It was very different from the atmosphere you were in a mere 30 minutes before, so you allowed yourself to enjoy the faint jazz music that played from the overhead speakers. Once the screen displayed your floor number, you took a moment to collect yourself, straightening your posture and doing your best to adjust your disheveled attire.

With a soft chime, the door slid open. You were about to take a tired step forward until someone caught your eye, leaning against the wall of the hallway.

“Partied too hard as well?”

Miguel’s pristine appearance from earlier bore the marks of a night gone wild. His hair was tousled, his necktie partially undone, the collar of his shirt unbuttoned. You smiled to yourself, glad that he allowed himself to have fun, knowing how hard he worked. Yet, just like you, he wasn’t overtly drunk.

“You could say that,” you giggled, the leftover buzz from the party giving you the confidence to look him straight in the eye. “Get any new partnerships?” you asked as you bit your lip.

“Every…single…one,” he drawled with a smirk, his voice as sweet as the cocktail you sipped on earlier. He sauntered towards you, stopping just outside the elevator. “Secured them all early, so I figured I’d just turn in. Got home a little while ago, so I was wondering if you were home too.”

“Well, here I am,” you said, gesturing to yourself. You couldn’t help but return his smirk, though you couldn’t help but feel touched that the first thing he did was try to find you. In return, Miguel bit the inside of his cheek, his eyes raking up and down your figure salaciously.

“And here you are.”

You shuddered at the sound of his rough, whisky-ridden voice taunting you, teasing you. Before you could even begin to think about how to retort, the elevator doors began to close. He swiftly reached out, placing his arm on them, causing them to retract.

“You gonna come with me, nena?” he cooed, reaching forward to take your wrist in his. Although you were silently screaming YES! in your head, you wanted to put up one last fight. Just to see how Miguel would navigate his way into your bedroom.

“Mm, and what makes you think you can take me home tonight?” you challenged, your eyes half-lidded as they traveled down from his face, tracing the muscles that continued to tense in his neck. They dropped to where his shirt was parted, revealing his chest. It glistened slightly with sweat; now you were able to answer what it would smell like with his cologne. It was just as heavenly as you imagined.

He leaned in, his voice just above a whisper. “Why else would you be bragging about me the whole night?” 

A blush crept onto your cheeks as you attempted to maintain your composure. “It’s just the shoes, you know. They’re gorgeous,” you hummed, your heels clicking satisfyingly as you exited the elevator. You elegantly strode past him, making your way toward your door.

“You could say thank you, you know,” he chided, his raspy voice echoing against the walls of the elevator lobby.

“I could. Or you could make me,” you challenged, not bothering to turn once to look at him. Although in reality, it was to hide the mischievous grin on your face.

You could hear a heavy sigh, then the sound of his heavy gait behind you growing near, and you could count 2 steps. It took him 2 steps to catch up to you, despite you having a bit of a lead on him. Feeling his rough, large hand on your shoulder, you were abruptly whipped around. could only catch a glimpse of his contagious smile before he leaned in, his hands coming up to cradle your face as his lips captured yours. 

They were soft, which you were glad about, since men you usually met didn’t seem to care about how gross their chapped lips felt; it urged you to reciprocate with no hesitation, utterly swept away by how good of a kisser he was. The scent of sweat that you had been dreaming about invaded your nostrils, so intoxicating that it melted you into him. You pressed your body up against him, and it was then you verified the very things you imagined about his physique in your head. The plush, soft nature of your dips and curves complimented the rock-like hardness of his abdomen, the firmness of his pecs. You couldn’t help but wrap your arms around him just so you could run your hands over his shoulders and back…you couldn’t decide what felt nicer.

Every single thing you did seemed to be to his liking, spurring him on the more you gave in. A groan rumbled in his throat as he angled his face to kiss you deeper, the vibrations making your lips tingle in just the right way. He’d bite at your bottom lip, poking and prodding at it with his tongue to see if you’d allow him entry, or if he’d get the same response from you. And it was so easy for him to get a reaction out of you, a soft whine at the feeling of his hand smoothing over the small of your back, so naturally, you allowed his tongue to explore you.

And his tongue tasted of such a strange but addictive mixture of cognac, honey, and cigarettes, it had you clawing onto his shoulders, craving to somehow get closer to him than you already were. It’s why you were taken aback when Miguel firmly held you and pulled away, though you could see his eyes gleam in a way that you wouldn’t expect a world-renowned CEO to have. Before you could protest, he scooped you up into his arms, his effortless strength never once failing to amaze you. You squealed at the feeling of being lifted into the air, your arms and legs wrapping around him so naturally. Your bodies seemed to slot together perfectly.

“Migueeeel,” you cooed in a sing-song matter, the distance between his face and yours mere inches away. “I thought I told you to quit smoking, y’know,” you scolded, your bottom lip sticking out as you gave him a fake pout.

He could only laugh in response, the deep and rich sound taking more of an effect on you as you felt it emerge from his chest and into your body. “Guilty as charged, but you shouldn’t worry.”

You managed to unhook your arms from his neck, crossing them over your chest. “Oh yeah? Why shouldn’t I?”

Miguel’s eyes began to crinkle with his amused smile, looking at you in such a way that made it look like he was desperate to drink in the image of you, as if he would never see you again after this night. He sighed, his breath warm against the tender skin of your neck. “I’ve found something better to get addicted to,” he admitted, the shivers it sent down your back quelled by the feeling of his fingertips rubbing warm circles into it.

You needed this man in your bed before the night ended. Wanting to waste no time with any more words, you brought your hands up to tangle your fingers into his hair, your manicured nails gently scraping over his scalp as you dove in. Your lips just barely grazed his when the soft “ding!” of the elevator shattered your privacy, causing the both of you to jerk back and whip your heads towards the golden elevator doors sliding open a couple of yards away. You both could make out voices, familiar voices before whoever it was walked out.

“-getting together?! You’d think him getting her shoes would guarantee at least a kiss,” an upbeat female voice gossiped.

“Gifting shoes is one thing. They’re both dressed up for a party, and he came over at such a late hour. Can you believe nothing happ– oh shit.”

You and Miguel were greeted with the sight of your faithful assistants walking out of the elevator, utterly frozen in place as their eyes widened, locked on you. Lyla’s jaw dropped, and Julia took a moment to compose herself from her initial shock before speaking again. “I take that back.”

You had squirmed yourself out of Miguel’s grip so quickly that you nearly fell to the floor in what would’ve been considered an unceremonious way, but he was sure to quickly ease you down to the floor. Guiltily standing beside him, you avoided the assistant’s gazes as you desperately waited for someone to break the silence. Miguel seemed to be doing the same.

“So!” Lyla shouted out, causing you and Miguel to jump slightly. “Need some privacy tonight, boss?”

“Please,” he grumbled through gritted teeth. As you glanced up, you saw him give Lyla such a nasty glare, it made you giggle.

“I take it that you need some as well?” Julia called your attention softly, making you turn towards her. Though her voice was calm, she had the most shit-eating grin on her face you had ever seen in your life.

You nodded, your eyes rolling so hard that you thought they would go back into your head. “You minxes,” you huffed. Without missing a beat, you took Miguel’s hand in yours as you whipped around and stomped off toward your door. As he caught up, the both of you couldn’t help but giggle somewhat nervously, and a similar one seemed to come from your assistant duo.

Once you heard them shuffle back into the elevator, you felt Miguel slither his arm comfortably around your waist. Looking up at him, you exchanged looks, flustered and amused ones alike.

“Lyla would always bug me about talking to you,” he admitted as you both reached your door, leaning against the wall as he patiently waited for you to punch the code in for your lock.

“Really?” you hummed with a raised brow, though the mental image of Lyla being his wingwoman brought a smile to your face. “I’m starting to think she and Julia were conspiring. They’d be cute together,” you mused, fluttering your lashes at him as the door unlocked with a click.

“Yeah?” Miguel laughed as the both of you shuffled into your home, reaching down to give a playful pat to your ass. “I think we’d have them beat.”

a/n: i really had fun w this prompt, again thank u to my lovely inbox and miss ava for the inspo and also being my lovely beta reader ;))) happy to add another miguel fic to my bag. inbox is open! likes n reblogs are appreciated!!

masterlist here.

[cosmosis]

MOVED TO @seratopia

miguel o’hara x reader (fluff) - touchy touchy

modern ceo au! thinking about how miguel touches you so often around the office that a random guy decides to do something about it

You and Miguel don’t share a workplace. He’d end up being your boss anyway, and as much as you love spending time with him, it’s not good to have a partner that also gives you your paycheck. (Plus, distance can equal longing.)

Miguel constantly insist that you stay at home, and that he’d provide you with everything you could ask for but... feminism???( /j ) You have your own job conveniently down the street from Miguel’s office; it’s more of a hobby than it really is a job, but it gets you money.

The whole building knows you as “Miguel’s Wife”; you visit often. Sometimes your visits are a surprise, others it’s when you have nothing to do so you just hang by Miguel all day. You’re blessed with free food from the cafeteria, plus the gym. It’s fun to watch Miguel work out. 

Though, today was... funny.

Whenever Miguel thinks you guys are alone, he’s touchy. However, to Miguel, “alone” is just being in a room with less than 6 people in it. So, needless to say, his employees have seen things. 

You’re just so pretty, so cute to him, he can’t help but just worm his way over to you whenever in sight. 

Things along the lines of kisses, waist grabbing, thigh grabbing, hugs, back hugs, and even ass-slapping are a common sight to see when you’re around the office. Miguel truly, genuinely believes that he’s being sly, but that’s probably because everyone’s too scared/nice to say anything about it. Perks of being a CEO.

No one really tells the new recruits about it though, it’s just a you-see-it-and-get-used-to-it type of thing. 

So imagine your surprise when someone in the office pulls you aside one day and asks if Miguel is sexually assaulting you. 

Miguel’s been lingering his hands all over you today in particular, boldly sliding his big hand down towards your ass. You elbow him a little when he gets too close though, especially around a few people. 

“¿Por favor, querida?“ He whines, slithering his hand back onto you. 

“Oh my gosh, Miguel, no. Wait until we’re out of work.“

All is well, but Miguel has to tend to a few things, so you take it upon yourself to take a break at the cafeteria. Might as well bring him a drink while you’re at it.

Halfway through your walk there, some guy you’ve seen around taps on your shoulder and pulls you aside. He’s relatively young, has this assertive look to him. Among the quirky pins on his shirt pocket, you find an ID card labeled “INTERN.”

The worry on his own face makes you a little anxious. 

“Ma’am, are you okay?“ He asks, meeting his eyes with yours. He looks serious, peering from left to right as if a secret was being exchanged. 

“Uh- yeah, what do you mean?“

His voice is low, almost a whisper. “Girl, I’ve seen Miguel grope you... do you want me to call the police? I have a video right here as pr-“

A  gust of relief washes over you, and you almost start to laugh. You watch as the guy starts to pull up his phone, before you stop him. 

“Oh, no no no, it’s okay!“ You exclaim. “Miguel’s my husband, he’s just clingy!“

The man raises an eyebrow, concern lacing his voice. “You aren’t just saying that, right? Like, you’re really okay?”

“Yes, don’t worry. If he was actually bothering me, then I’d tell him.“ You chuckle, just to ease up the serious air a little bit. 

“Ah, well if you say so... If anything happens, just let me know.“ He says. 

“Yeah, thank you for the concern, though.“ You smile, and he smiles back, walking away around the corner where you assume he came from. 

With a little laugh, you continue your walk towards the cafeteria, thinking deeply about the interaction. It might be time for you to tell Miguel to stop touching you often around the office, as much as you enjoy it. He’d hate despise it though. 

If it weren’t for you being around so often, work life might not be as pleasant for his employees. You don’t think Miguel truly notices, but he starts getting huffy and puffy when you aren’t around to see him; people get a little more scared of him when he has this scowl on his face. 

“Who was that?“

You violently flinch, yelping out loud. In one swift motion, you swerve around, your heartbeat only easing down when you realize it’s just Miguel. 

“Miguel, honey, you gotta stop scaring me.“

“...Sorry. Who was that?“ He asks, obvious curiosity in his voice. Almost like it was muscle memory, he slips both hands onto your sides, reminding you of the topic at hand. (literally lmao)

“Just some guy... you know what he asked me, though?“

“If it was on a date he’s getting fired.“ Miguel promises darkly, squeezing at the fat of your sides. 

“No, Miguel. He asked if you were assaulting me. Even asked me if he wanted me to call the police.“

“Assaulting?“

“Yeah, because you keep on doing things like this-“ You place your hands on his. “- to me every time I visit!“

Like a guilty puppy, Miguel pouts to the side, reluctantly slipping his hands away from you. It takes you everything not to laugh at him as he grumbles to himself, that signature scowl building onto his face. 

“It’s fine, Miguel. You can still touch me. Just tone it down a bit when we’re around people, yeah?“

Miguel nods, slowly inching his fingers towards your hands. “Yeah. M’sorry.”

“Miguel, it’s fine. It’s not like I hate it, it might just be uncomfortable for your employees.“

Miguel sighs, dipping down his head to rest on your shoulder. He catches a whiff of your body wash, sweet and comforting. You giggle, a sound that Miguel would kill to hear for everyday of his life. You slide your own hands over onto his broad back, tracing your fingers against the muscle through his shirt. 

“I just... I think I love you too much.“ He mumbles, and your ears almost strain to hear it. 

“Awh, you know I love you too.“ You sweetly reply, squeezing him into a tight hug. He’s so darling, compressing you tight against him. 

“Just let me have this, and I’ll leave you be for a bit, hm?“ Miguel mutters into your ear, indulgently smoothing his big hands over your little back. Chills run up your spine when he presses a smooch to your ear. 

“Yeah, we’ll see how long that’ll last...“ You chuckle, letting him do what he wants for the time being. 

It takes Miguel longer than he really should to let you go, adoration clearly written on his face as he detaches his arms from you. 

“You wanna grab coffee with me before you have to go back?“ You ask, beaming at Miguel with a natural smile. 

Miguel doesn’t know what to do with himself. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

You break off into a walk through the hallway, and Miguel has to remind himself every minute or so to keep his hands off. 

. . .

It didn’t work. 

Already in line for coffee, Miguel’s chin rests on top of your head, acting as if the previous conversation was entirely wiped clean from his memory. 

You sigh, knowingly speaking to the barista as if you didn’t have a 6′9 CEO strapped to your back like a koala. 

“Baby, what did we say?“

“Sorry...“

miguel is 6′9 because i said so and because of this tiktok

© 𝒄𝒐𝒔𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒔.

[rambutanjpeg]

contributing to the culture 🐻

[yourtoocleverfox]

"It's cold out."

Beside you, Miguel stands in the lobby of O'Hara Tech, coat draped over one arm as he waits for his car to pull around front.

You were waiting too, for the rain to let up so you could begin your walk home for the night. It wasn't far to your broom closet of an apartment, but the rain and the early fall chill had you dallying in the warm shelter of your workplace.

"You don't have a coat," he continued, as observant as ever.

"No, I thought this would be fine." Your dark gray dress was office elegance, only a tad form fitting for modesty's sake. Having long sleeves and stopping just above your knees, it was made of thin, soft-spun cashmere. Not exactly autumn attire.

"It was warm this morning. I hadn't realized it would drop 20 degrees in just a few hours."

"You should have come prepared, given the season."

He removed his coat from his arm and gave it a little shake before enfolding you in the dark fabric. It smelled like him, spice and sandalwood.

How generous of him, sweet even.

You traced your fingers over the smooth lapels. "Thank you."

He gave a curt nod in reply, checking his watch before casting a glance at the glass doors leading outside. "How are you getting home tonight?"

"I'd planned on walking."

You should have expected the look he gave you. Head tilted to the side, his expression was some mix between bemused and incredulous.

"That was before the weather, of course," you supplied. "I guess I'll call for a cab instead."

"Mmhm." He glanced toward the doors again, finally spotting what you assumed to be the car out front. "Ride with me."

He didn't wait for your response, already taking long strides across the floor. You followed after him, as he expected, easily keeping up now that you were used to his clipped pace. He held the door open for you and you stepped out into the cool, damp air.

Out on the street, everything around you glimmered with a watery luster. The sidewalk was a sea of umbrellas, bobbing up and down as pedestrians hustled to their next destination.

A shiny black Town Car sat flush against the curb, back passenger door open and ready to receive the two of you. Next to it stood Miguel's driver, waiting with umbrella in hand. An older man in a tidy uniform and chauffeur's cap. You'd seen him plenty of times from afar whenever he'd arrive to whisk Miguel off to his next destination.

"Good evening, sir."

"Evening, Lloyd."

Miguel left you standing under the cover of the building's awning, as he braved the rain and crossed the sidewalk. "I'll take it from here, thank you."

"Of course, sir." With a dignified tilt of his head, Lloyd passed the umbrella into Miguel's waiting hand and disappeared to the driver's side of the car.

Under the wide shelter of the umbrella, Miguel came back to collect you. You tried not to pay too much attention to the weight of his hand on the small of your back, as he escorted you to the open car door.

"After you."

You ducked into the car and shifted over to the far seat. The interior was sleek and sumptuous, exactly the kind of accommodations you'd come to expect from your employer.

He slid in after you, wide frame immediately eating up all of the space in the back seat. His leg brushed up against yours, drawing heated awareness to your skin there, as he folded up the umbrella and shut the door. You made no move to shift away from him; it'd do no good anyway considering how tight the space was.

You noticed that the corner of his mouth was turned down and a small crease had formed between his eyebrows, as he settled back against the seat.

"Is everything alright?"

"It's fine."

He was staring straight ahead, but you saw his eyes cut in your direction. "It's fine," he said again.

You looked out of the window on your side, as the car began to roll forward. You'd grown used to Miguel's peculiarities. You knew that pressing him further would earn you nothing more than a brusque remark. If he wanted to elaborate, he eventually would.

And like clockwork, it wasnt long before you heard him sigh.

"It's just that, I should have had you sit on this side instead. That way, you wouldn't have had to cross the bench."

What a strange cause for concern, you thought, but it wasn't entirely unlike him.

Your lips quirked up in an amused smile. "Is that what you're upset about?"

"I'm not upset."

"You seem upset."

He made a face and turned to glower out of his window. Funny enough, this wasn't the first time you'd seen him pout like this. It was a side of him that, in a strange way, you were growing fond of.

"Just let me come around and get you when we arrive at your place. Don't go jumping out as soon as the car stops," he said, still facing the glass.

"I won't." You were sure he could hear the smile in your voice, but if he did, he didn't say anything.

You sat in silence as the car continued down the road. Each street lamp that rolled by cast warm light over Miguel's shadowed features. Your eyes traced the sharp lines of his face, drinking in the curve of his mouth and the dark crescent of his eyelashes.

Almost as if he could feel you watching him, his gaze flicked curiously to yours. You looked away quickly, suddenly very interested in the darkened partition that separated the two of you from the front of the car where Lloyd sat.

"What is it?"

You wracked your brain for some reasonable excuse as to why you had been studying him so closely.

"Should I tell you my address, or are you getting dropped off first?"

Reasonable enough, and it was something you needed clarification on.

"Lloyd knows the way."

He seemed to catch himself, stiffening slightly before quickly adding, "I have your address on file."

That still didn't explain how Lloyd knew where you lived. You don't recall having seen Miguel give it to him and the two of you have never ridden home together before.

You looked over at him, prepared to inquire further, only to find that he was already watching you. You blinked up at him in the dim light of the car, suddenly drawn in. He felt so close to you in the small space, the scent of his cologne wrapping around you and stealing away any thoughts you'd had. You could feel the pace of your heart quicken as he seemed to lean imperceptivity closer.

"How about some music?"

"Music?" You parroted.

"It's quiet."

He looked between the two of you to the black screen embedded in the raised seat divider. His long fingers tapped at the surface, and it glowed to life. It didn't take him long to find what he had been searching for, and a second later the space was filled with soft music.

"I didn't know you liked jazz," you commented.

Confusion passed over his features, quickly replaced by realization.

"I don't listen to music," he explained. "I put on something I thought you'd like. Something relaxing."

"You think I need to relax?"

"You're always so..." He seemed to search for the right words. "Tightly wound."

A massive understatement, in your opinion. You laughed lightly, the sound causing his eyes to snap to your face.

"Yes, well, you'll have to talk to my boss about that," you teased him gently, but he continued to stare at you.

"I'm only joking."

Without thinking, you reached over and placed your hand on top of his.

Everything seemed to still as his eyes left yours and fell to your hand. You began to pull away, an apology ready on your lips, when he turned his hand over underneath yours. You were palm to palm now, your fingers small in his.

You looked at him, anxious to read his expression, but you were met with his stoic profile as he continued to stare down at your hands resting together on top of his leg.

Then slowly, gently as if he were holding glass, he folded his fingers around yours, intertwining them, and lifted your hand to his mouth. The warmth of his breath tickled your skin as his lips passed over the back of your wrist.

You felt a tingling deep in your belly that made you squirm. He didn't seem to notice, too wrapped up in his own world. He turned your hand over and inhaled deeply against your pulse.

"What is this?"

You were confused. You had no idea what he was talking about, and his skin against yours wasn't helping you think straight.

He inhaled again. "This. This scent. What is it?"

"Oh! I-I don't remember," you stammered. You'd forgotten that you were even wearing any perfume. All you could smell in the confines of this car was him. "It was a gift from a while ago. From a friend."

"Hmm," he hummed, dismissing your non-answer. He brushed his nose against your wrist one last time before releasing your arm.

And like that, you were once more on your side of the car, and he was on his. Your eyes watched him for an explanation, but he had already returned his attention to the window and the darkened city beyond it. Like nothing happened at all.

The rest of the ride was silent. It didn't take long for the car to roll to a stop in front of your apartment complex. You waited like he asked and stepped out into the chilly night air once he'd opened your door for you.

"Thank you for the ride."

You snuck a glance up at him as you walked by his side. His eyes remained fixed on some point in the distance, but you could feel a shift in the energy between the two of you. A subtle thrum of something that hadn't been there before.

"You shouldn't be walking home alone after work."

He held open the door to your building and you stepped inside.

"With the days getting shorter, it will almost always be dark like tonight when you leave the office."

You paused at the elevators and pushed the call button.

"Oh, it's alright. I don't mind walking. Plus, I carry mace in my purse."

When you turned to face him, you found him looming over you. He was so close that you took a reflexive step back.

"I'm not comfortable with that."

He stared down into your eyes with a different kind of intensity. One you weren't used to from him. He was testing you, seeing how you would respond to his assertion. Was this your boundary to determine or his?

You fixed him with a look of your own, even daring to lift an eyebrow.

"Are you offering to give me a ride?"

"A ride?"

His eyes glinted dangerously at your words, and your stomach did an excited flip. Behind you, the elevator pinged to announce its arrival, but you continued to hold his gaze.

He took a step forward and you took one back. One forward, one back. Again, and again until you found yourself backed into the metal box of the elevator.

He stood in the way of the doors, a hint of a smirk on his lips.

"Well?" You questioned, feeling embolded by this little game of yours.

You caught a glimpse of amusement in his expression. He leaned into the elevator and pressed a number on the panel, (a number you don't recall telling him), before stepping back into the hall.

"I'll have Lloyd bring you home from now on."

"And what about you?" You asked.

He didn't respond. He simply regarded you in that way of his, as the elevator doors slid shut, leaving you standing alone once more.

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[mindshelter]

the premise of the original sm2099 series opened up so many avenues for worldbuilding with respect to social structure and its corresponding, inbuilt inequities that enforce the dystopian nature of the setting itself. the evil is in the minutae, you know! the foundations are there. are burials feasible at all if the city is built on the bones of another? how impersonal of an affair are death rituals? if alchemax is the only authorized distributor of rapture, what else do they have exclusive rights to? insulin? epipens?

in miguel's case i'm especially fascinated with what his education as a geneticist actually looked like. the latter half of the 20th century (and, incidentally, when sm2099 was being written) was riddled with biomedical controversy and discussions with how scientific progress and the basic respect for human rights should not be opposing forces. it's not a coincidence that the first life the corporate raiders project takes is a prisoner's. sims could not truly give his consent; "consent" with the incentive of less jail time is by definition coercion. by 1990, similar incidents in the us prison system itself were well-known.

like nueva was built overtop the skeletons of downtown—which is now where society's poorest (which are disproportionately people of colour) are kept out of sight and out of mind—the extent of miguel's body of knowledge as a biological scientist exists because of the abuses incurred, again, most often by poor people of colour. miguel didn't know downtown even existed—does he know about the history of his discipline?

(not to the extent he should. the revelation would have shattered him even earlier, knowing he was repeating history's mistakes.)

i'm losing steam here, but i think the main idea is that sm2099 and miguel's radicalization has the potential to facilitate a much more nuanced discussion of what makes nueva york such a morally bankrupt place, and sm2099's concept itself as predictive of where the creative team believed the world was headed. i wish we had seen him in the lab more. i wish the conflict between him and tyler focused more on miguel desperately, desperately trying to negotiate more time before they resumed human experimentation—just until he could tear this entire institution to the ground. there is no salvaging this place.

[oldmemoria]

Do I think that on his own atsv Miguel is an interesting character? Yes. Do I think his trauma is intriguing and says a lot about his character separate from the comics? Yeah totally. Do I still think that he’s the worst adaption of Miguel Ohara that has gotten popular? Absolutely.

[gatito0000]

from artbook

WAT THE FUCK..... he paid them??? make sense why tf they all chase the 15yo cause he said so

i thought Gwen was jk said most of them are part time but shes being FR

[fellhellion]

going insane over the glimpses of the functional relationships we could’ve had between miguel and the teenage spiders. him saying “i can’t even with you” to hobie and hobie giving him that cheeky salute. miles giving him that teasing look after the poly humanoid arachnid multiverse line and miguel admitting “that sounds stupid too.” the soft little “yeah” when gwen says she doesn’t know how to fix the mess that revealing her identity made because being spiderman ruined every relationship miguel had in the comics. they made miguel the antagonist because they knew he’d be too powerful if he was on miles’s side.

no head in hands I think abt this too…hobie fucking w him for a laugh because he’s easy to annoy but also there being some genuine mutual respect over the anti corporate and anti authoritarian sentiment. Gwen having another adult she can actually can rely on when she’s specifically a character that also feels so so alone in the hero gig. HIM AND MILES BOTH BEING DORKS ABOUT THE HOLOCAPE. Sadly it’s also completely in character for Miguel to torpedo his own relationships in the way he does whdhdjfjf

[oharababe]

Hades Miguel and El Diablo Miguel... now imagine you being sandwiched by them in the middle. Yes. That's the thought for this week.

[lesbiansybelle]

Why is ceo peter so funny actually

[yourtoocleverfox]

"Something's Wrong."

You were late. You had never been late before. Maybe it had been the pessimist in him, or, heaven forbid, some latent paternal neurosis, but, that night, Miguel had found himself absolutely overcome with worry.

You could have been anywhere at that point- lost in Nueva York, lost here in the south of France, lost at the bottom of the sea. It was clear, rational thoughts were not his friend and had not been for a while now, but logic be damned, he couldn't stop his imagination from running wild.

And the alcohol hadn't done anything for him either. It was supposed to have cleared his head, given him solace from his increasingly stormy thoughts. Instead, he'd found his mood being dragged down, down, down until it was all he could do not to spiral completely.

It was you. You made him this way, with your soft laughter and your easy smile. You had a grip on him, like gravity incarnate- always pulling him in. He'd tried his best to keep you at arm's length- really, he had, but time and again he found himself watching you, missing you, craving you.

Que exasperante! He was a mad man; he knew that, had been told that countless times. It had never more obvious, though, than when he found himself prisoner to his own hellish thoughts.

So, he'd spent the rest of the night worrying and waiting and drinking. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he had a whole host of appointments he would have to attend to the following morning. An itinerary a mile long would demand his attention from sunrise to sunset. But none of that had mattered with each second that passed without you near.

He didn't remember falling asleep, didn't hear the rhythmic clicking of your heels when you ambled into the hotel suite at some ungodly hour. He hadn't noticed the sound of you skittering around the dark room, desperately attempting to bring order to the chaos of dress shirts and silk ties he'd left in his wake. Nor did he feel the slight shift in weight as you tentatively, carefully eased onto the mattress next to him.

Hours had passed before restlessly, he turned on his side and felt...warmth? He stilled in the darkness, waiting and listening. The sound of your breathing was soft and slow. You were sleeping, oblivious to the eyes peering curiously at you through a still drunken haze.

You were safe. Relief and frustration flooded him in a combination of emotions he'd yet to grow used to. Where had you been all this time? Why hadn't you reached out to him? Called on him? Put his mind at ease? Had you even spent a fraction of the time thinking of him that he'd spent worrying endlessly about you?

Had his eyes been better equipped to see in the blackness of the room, he would have noticed the line formed between your drawn brows, as not even sleep provided peace to the seemingly never-ending day you'd endured. If the coffee from this morning had been a little stronger, then maybe he would have caught the scent of your ruined shirt thrown limply over the armchair in the corner. If his senses hadn't been dulled from that damned bottle of whiskey, he probably would have noticed that it was one of his shirts that hung on your body instead of your own pajamas, those of which had been long lost somewhere between connecting flights.

He had no idea, and frankly, the longer he watched the gentle rise and fall of your blanket wrapped form, the less the details seemed to matter to him.

He should resist, shouldn't allow himself to indulge this way, but he was drunk, and relieved, and you were here. Slowly, so slowly, he reached out an arm and ever so carefully pulled you back against his broad chest. He curled around you, aware enough in the fog of liquor and sleep, that he needed to be gentle with your slight frame. The top of your head rested just below his nose, and he breathed in that warm, sweet scent of yours.

You were lying in the shelter of his arms, and as Miguel once again succumbed to the lull of sleep, peaceful in this stolen moment, nothing else mattered.

Tag List: @sukunash0e

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[mindshelter]

in my opinion, miguel retaining any relationship with alchemax is incompatible with what his character ethos becomes; operating within an oppressive system as someone with power is... mitigating (not preventing) harm at best, without enacting the real change spider-man has set out to do.

this is in part because the main enemy isn't tyler stone, and it's not even alchemax; it's the institutions and the legislation that allow the line between corporation and governance to blur. let's entertain the idea of miguel inexplicably ascending to the role of a benevolent, philantrophic CEO for a moment. while this puts him in a leadership position, this does not necessarily mean he can axe the other executives. this does not mean he can erase the exploitative, unsubtly colonial infrastructure that is making the money alchemax is hoarding in the first place.

say he somehow manages to restructure their entire business model or succeeds in running the company into the ground. it does away with alchemax as a malevolent entity, sure. but the key here is that it does nothing towards social structures that allowed alchemax to operate like that; what's to say that once alchemax is done, another company swoops in, and the cycle repeats?

the rest of nueva york has the same problem miguel does at the beginning of the series; it may not be that its residents like the system they live in... but they respect it. and operate within it. and while that may have internal meaning... maybe even give someone a personal sense of defiance, to alchemax itself that is as good as deference.

what breaks the cycle, then? anger. people understanding that things could be better; that they deserve better. the cheers from a crowd as a surveillance camera installed at a street corner is shattered.

[oflgtfol]

he cheated on XINA all for some white girl who left him for his old ass crusty capitalist DAD

[fellhellion]

CEO Miguel should’ve only happened if he was going to funnel all current earnings into Downtown relief aid before torpedoing Alchemax’s stock market value as a final fuck you to Stone

[krytus]

literally the larusso death spiral is so iconic at this point daniel will be like inner peace until something changes his perception of some important part of his identity and he goes zero tolerance towards everything he perceives as the Enemy (johnny) i hate that they broke up for the tenth time but i also Get it and lets be real theres gonna be another kreese johnny death match and larusso is invited so like. they'll save each others lives and kiss w tongue i believe in the vision

[lesbiansybelle]

evil ceo peter from edge of time vs ceo miguel stone from secret wars