#black butterflies and deja vu | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

houroftheowl · 10 months

Text

do you get deja vu?

miguel o'hara x female!reader–minors do not interact

rating: explicit

summary: what you think is a chance encounter brings miguel o'hara into your life, but it's all a part of his master plan.

content: slight stalking, mutual pining, unprotected sex, breeding kink, size kink, mirror sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms

Empty.

That’s the only way you could describe the way you always felt after a long day of work. You consider yourself lucky, having an office job and weekends off. The salary you were paid was enough to make ends meet without having to eat ramen noodles for every meal.

So what if it was mind-numbing work that made you so mentally exhausted at the end of the day that you couldn’t hold a conversation? Who cares if most of your coworkers made your life exponentially harder by refusing to listen to the simplest of directions, making you repeat yourself five times for a simple task?

For the salary they paid, you could make peace with being dead inside. Most days you were able to get home on auto-pilot without so much as looking away from your phone. In fact that was the norm for—

A firm grip on your bicep rips you out of your thoughts, yanking you backwards and into a firm chest only moments before a car flies through a red light.

“Shit,” you hiss under your breath, but it’s drowned out by the sounds of tires screeching and blaring car horns.

“You should be more careful,” a deep voice rumbles against your back.

You spin on your heel to face him and nearly gasp at the sight of him.

He feels familiar from the moment you lay eyes on him. Your eyes travel along the curves of his face, the furrowed brows, the apples of his cheeks before settling on pillowy, pouty lips.

Heat rises to cheeks at the thought of them against yours.

Calloused fingers flex around your bicep and snap you from your reverie.

“I… uh thank you,” you say nervously.

A handsome stranger saves your life, and all you can do is gawk at him like an idiot. Said stranger stares at you for a bit, regarding you with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

He looks like a prince out of a fairy tale, you think.

Long lashes kiss his high cheekbones when he blinks; and when those striking eyes meet yours, you feel your heart skip a beat. Wisps of hazelnut brown hair have fallen to his face as he looks down at you. Never in your life would you think to describe a man as pretty, but the word suits him.

Deep brown eyes rake down your body in a flash, so quick you nearly miss it.

“I saved your life and all I get is a ‘thank you’?” Your handsome savior cocks his head to the side.

You can’t tell if there are chills running up your spine or butterflies in your stomach, maybe it’s a mixture of both. A thumb strokes the fabric of your blouse, and you can feel the heat of his fingers as if you were skin to skin. His hand feels big enough to enclose your arm entirely.

He gestures to a building down the street, “You could at least buy me a cup of coffee.”

It’s half past five in the evening, a cup of coffee would keep you up all night. But he did save your life.

“Sure, of course.”

It’s the least you could do.

You order a cup of caffeine-free chai, him a black cup of coffee. He tells you his name is Miguel, that he’s new to the city. He’s easy on the eyes, but not much of a talker, preferring to ask you questions rather than talk about himself.

“There isn’t much to tell,” he responds every time you ask him about his family or friends, and you don’t try to dig any further.

But despite his desire to remain mysterious, he wants to know everything he can about you. When you speak, you have his undivided attention. He hangs on the edge of your every word, asks follow up questions when possible, like a perfect gentleman.

The two of you stay in the café chatting until the barista politely asks you to leave so she can begin closing up for the night.

“Can I walk you home?” Miguel asks.

“Oh, that’s not needed,” you reply bashfully, “I don’t live too far from here.”

Miguel hums a disappointed tune before nodding and sliding his hands into his pockets.

“It’d be nice to see you again,” he says wistfully.

“Maybe without the near-death experience,” you laugh and his eyes light up at the sound of it.

He laughs, and again it doesn’t meet his eyes.

“I’d love to buy you dinner sometime.”

Even though you’d already repaid him with a cup of coffee, it was so cheap that your tea was more expensive. You feel obligated to accept, so you can really pay him back and make things even. At least with more than two dollar cup of coffee.

He doesn't give you a phone number, just a time and the name of the restaurant with his name.

“So you don’t forget it,” he added.

A date, you have a date. And not with some weirdo from an app who can’t stop staring at your cleavage long enough to hold a conversation with you. Not a creep who started a conversation with a picture of his genitals, but with an honest to God gentleman.

~*~

Seven days go by before you see Miguel again, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t been on your mind. As you think about him throughout the day, your stomach does enough flips to compete with an Olympic gymnast. There’s something about him you can’t quite figure out, a feeling like you’ve met him before but you can’t narrow down the time or place.

Miguel is easy to spot in a crowd, he’s a full head taller than most men you’ve seen before. Towering above the people on the sidewalk like a moving skyscraper. As he walks towards you, the crowd splits to make way for him like the parting of the Red Sea, and just like everything else about him, it’s mesmerizing.

Even if you find yourself thinking of an animal stalking its prey.

That feeling is back, the one that’s not quite fear or excitement, but an acrid mix of the two. Your body can’t decide if it wants to flee or drop itself at his feet, and all you can do is stand there dumbly. Beaming at him and waving, you stay rooted in place.

Up, up, up your neck cranes to meet his gaze, and you can’t help but wonder if you’ll have an ache there by tomorrow morning.

The instant he closes the distance between you, he wraps you in a tight hug and in the back of your head, it feels like something he’s done a thousand times before. Familiar. Warm. Safe. His hand rests at the small of your back as you’re led to a table.

Again, Miguel is hesitant to provide any details about himself. Miguel is only slightly more forthcoming when you ask him about himself, but still retains his air of mystery. A few jokes to make you giggle here, a compelling anecdote there. It’s not enough to fully satiate you curiosity, but it’s plenty to have you wanting more.

And again, he doesn’t seem too interested in his food, he’s still laser focused on you. Idly he pokes at it with a fork, his free hand resting on the table only inches from you.

Anticipation has your entire body jittery and you take a sip of wine to steady your nerves.

His eyes follow you with rapt attention like they did in the café, focused on your every move while lingering from time to time on your mouth and neck. He stops mid-sentence when you chase a drop of wine with the tip of your tongue as it tries to spill from your lips.

Timidly, your fingers tap against the tablecloth as you wait for the check. Only inches away, Miguel rest his own hand on the table.

You wonder if he’ll try to kiss you at the end of the night, as the evening goes on, you start to hope for it. But he seems to enjoy making you wait. His lips curl into a smirk when he catches you staring at them.

He’s teasing me, you think. Winding me up like a top.

Fine, he’s not the only one who can be obstinate.

It’s almost agonizing the way he’s such a perfect gentleman. He doesn’t let you pay the bill (so much for paying him back), opens the door for you, walks on the outermost part of the sidewalk as he escorts you to the subway.

Quick steps turn into slower strides, drawing out the journey the closer it gets to the end.

He’s stalling.

“I’d really feel better if you let me walk you home.” His eyes are gleaming as he asks.

“I’ll be sure to look both ways before I cross the road,” you say with a smile, and turn on your heel towards the train station.

“So when do you want to see me again?”

Cocking your head to the side, you make a show of rolling your eyes, “And who says I want to see you again?”

“You say so,” he retorts smugly.

One stride of his long legs is all it takes before he’s right next to you again.

“Do I?” you inquired innocently.

“Someone who’s been looking at me the way you have definitely wants to see me again.” Well, he’s got you there.

“Then I guess it’s my turn to pick a time and place?”

He nods, “It is.”

“Two weeks from Friday, there’s a new movie I want to see.”

Miguel takes a step down, so that you have to crane your neck all the way back to keep eye contact. Blood rushes to your head, and you stumble trying to take a step back. But he is quick to grab you by the hip and keep you steady.

He could take the chance to mock you, toss some remark about having to save you again. Instead, he leans in close enough that you hear his voice over the bustling sounds of the train running below you.

“It’s a date,” he breaths against your ear.

The heat of his voice swirls down your neck and settles in the base of your stomach. You feel hot under your skin despite the cool weather. Heat rises in your cheeks, overflowing until the tips of your ears feel like they’re on fire. Hot liquid desire, bubbling under your skin and burning away any remaining stubbornness.

Oh.

You book an appointment with your waxer before your train even arrives.

~*~

Why did you say two weeks? Why not one? Why not the very next day?

The last fourteen days had been agony. You couldn’t text Miguel, couldn’t check in to make sure you wouldn’t be stood up. You couldn’t even send him a little text to say you were thinking about him.

Which you did. A lot. An amount some people might consider to be embarrassing.

How many times did you catch yourself distracted at work to daydreams of him? How many times was he the first and last thing you thought of for the day?

How many nights did you fuck yourself silly on your fingers fantasizing that they were his?

Part of you was bashful at how quickly you became enamored with him. You’d only met him twice, and it was impossible to shake him from your thoughts. Miguel had so quickly settled under your skin, like he was there the entire time.

By the time Friday finally came around, you were bouncing off the walls with giddy anticipation. You leave work at the earliest opportunity, practically sprinting down the sidewalk to make it home. It would only take you two hours to get dressed, but you also wanted to clean up your apartment a little.

Just in case.

Picking the perfect outfit was a meticulous process. You sorted through every item in your closet before deciding on a simple black dress that fell slightly above the knee paired with sheer tights. It was simple, but cute. Patterned with little flowers, with a low neckline that gave a tasteful—but tempting—amount of cleavage. You didn’t even need to wear a bra with it.

Briefly, you considered wearing heels, but dismiss the idea just as soon as it blossoms. Even in heels, Miguel would still tower over you. Not that you minded, of course. Something about him was so eerily electric, equal parts arousing and terrifying.

He’s waiting for you outside the theater, dressed in a sleek button down shirt and dark washed jeans. Miguel leans against the building with his hands in his pockets, he doesn’t try to hide it as he looks you up and down, his eyes focus on your tights just a beat longer than the rest of you and you bite your lip.

“You look nice,” Miguel says warmly.

“So do you.”

Miguel huffs a laugh and looks over your head to the line forming in front of the box off, “We better get our tickets.

You don’t miss the way the tips of his ears are tinged with red.

Why you decided on a movie, you’ll never know. It was torture, two hours in a dark room, right next to the man who had been plaguing your thoughts non-stop. You want to crawl over the seat and mount him in front of all the other theater-goers.

But you don’t, you sit there next to him, rubbing your thighs together as the movie flickers on the screen in front of you. You care barely pay attention to the plot, you can barely sit still next to him until he rests his palm on your knee to keep you fixed in place.

As the night goes on, his thumb taps idly against your knee cap. You wish his hands would wander up further, but he stays rooted in place.

The rest of the movie is spent suffering.

When the credits finally roll, Miguel’s hand slips down to squeeze your thigh, “That was good.”

Meanwhile, you couldn’t remember a single detail about the film. “A little anticlimactic, though.”

His brow cocks at your choice of words, but he doesn’t comment on it. Your mind is racing as you exit the theater and begin walking towards your station.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Why did you choose a movie? Why did you waste this outfit? Will he even want to see you again?

Nerves are twisting your stomach into anxious knots. Anxiety won’t let you look at him, won’t let you speak. All you can do is walk with him in silence, fighting the urge to throw a temper tantrum on the pavement if it gets you a kiss.

It’s not that you’re opposed to making the first move, you just don’t want to. You want him to initiate things because you want to feel wanted.

You just happen to be dreadfully impatient at the same time.

It’s your turn to draw out your steps, to get so far behind Miguel that he has no choice but to turn around and find out. You stare up at him with big, pleading eyes, swaying your weight from one foot to the other.

“So.”

“So?” Miguel asks.

“Aren’t you going to ask me if I want to see you again?” You tease.

Miguel huffs out a laugh, “We already answered that one. You do want to see me again, and soon.”

“How soon?” you continue to play coy.

“Tomorrow, soon,” he responds smugly.

You tap your finger against your chin, pretending to think.

“Tomorrow? I think I have something going on tomorrow actually,” you can help but grin when Miguel rolls his eyes.

“Uh huh,” he hums like he doesn’t believe you, “You letting me walk you home tonight or you still wanna be stubborn?”

You feign offense with a dramatic gasp, and Miguel cocks his head to the side and if he’s daring you to prove him otherwise.

“And if I do?”

Miguel takes a step close, his hand darting out to grip the back of your head and pull you in close to him.

“I know how to handle stubborn girls like you,” his eyes drop to your lips a moment before staring back into yours.

Handle you, your cunt clenches at the thought. His other hand circles around your waist to hold you still against him. Eyes fluttering shut, you lean towards him as your crane your neck. Your breasts smash against his firm chest as you rise on the tips of your toes to meet his lips.

His kiss is gentle at first, soft plump lips pressed to your chastely. Miguel breathes you in through his nose, hands wrapping around your middle and something in him snaps. Gripping you tighter, his tongue pressing into your mouth with more urgency. The fingers at the back of your head have tangled into your hair and you imagine strangers passing the two of you on the sidewalk are disturbed by your PDA.

Miguel breaks away for air, and you whine at the loss of him. He rubs a gentle thumb against your lower lip to soothe you.

“It’s dark,” he says lowly, his lips hovering above yours, ”I should walk you home.”

You nod and Miguel takes your hand in his and begins a brisk pace back to your apartment. The subway ride feels more excruciating than the movie. He’s close enough that you can finally get your hands on him, but you’re in too public a setting for you to actually follow through with the filthy thoughts rolling around in your mind.

You barely manage to get the door locked behind you before Miguel starts pawing at your clothes. His fingernails snag along the fabric of your tights. Your mouths are slotted together, tongues engaged in a battle for dominance that you’re quickly losing.

By some miracle you make it to your bedroom despite the fact that your eyes are closed and your lips are glued to his every step of the way.

Miguel uses his towering height to his advantage and steers you back towards your bed, and you don’t realize it until you feel it against the back of your knees. You barely have time to get comfortable before he drops to his knees. Sparks shoot through your spine when your eyes meet.

Heated breaths puffs against your center. Your tights and panties, already soaked from your juices, grow even damper. His hands are everywhere except for where you need them most. Miguel manipulates your body until you’re sprawled out on your back, knees pressed to your shoulders.

As his hands explored your body, you squirm beneath his hold. He squeezes your thigh, a silent command to stay still. You whine, but comply all the same.

“Patience, kitten,” he growls against your skin.

Again he squeezes you, and he savors the way his fingers dig into the fat of your thighs. His tongue darts out to wet his lips at the sight of you.

“Did you wear these for me?” he asks, index finger gliding along the edge of your lace panties that are doing nothing to hide your modesty.

“Yes,” it comes out as a whisper.

“Oh,” he purrs, resting his face against the back of your thigh, “You’re so good to me.”

He kisses your pussy through your tights. At first, you think he’s going to take the time to peel them off you; instead he rips them right down the middle so there’s only the thin layer of your panties separating your sex from his open mouth.

And then it clicks. He’s playing with you, making sure you’re desperate for him before he makes the next move. In the short time he’s known you, Miguel has managed to get you wound tighter than a spring.

You try to cant your hips towards his face and he laughs at you. You’re on the verge of tears, spread open and throbbing with lustful fervor, and he laughs.

“Miguel,” you whine, “please.”

A single digit presses against the soaked cloth, dead center on your puffy clit and you wail. Tears bead at the corners of your eyes, and it seems to do the trick.

“So greedy you forgot your manners?” Miguel tuts.

You bite your lip in apology, too flustered to speak.

“It’s ok,” he assures you with a kiss to the apex of your thigh, “I know just what you need.”

Pressing lower, Miguel twists his index finger so it catches the edge of your panties to peel away the ruined garment. A string of your juices connects your weeping cunt to your underwear and Miguel hisses at the sight of it. He frantically snatches the liquid desire with his tongue, moaning when the flavor of you hits his taste buds.

“Taste just as good as I thought you would,” he remarks.

Your panties are pulled harshly to the side, kept in place by the swell of your ass. Miguel’s thumb strokes softly against the lips of your cunt, gently spreading you so he can see the mess he’s made of you.

Miguel runs his tongue along his teeth before spitting on your cunt, the thick globule striking firm on your clit before dripping down to your achingly empty pussy. For a second, you could swear Miguel had fangs, but then his tongue traces a stripe from your clit to your hole and your mind goes blank.

His saliva must be mixed with something the way it lights your nerves on fire. Every stroke his tongue has your eyes rolling to the back of your head. You’d be embarrassed by how quickly he’s able to reduce you to a whining mess if didn’t feel so damn good.

Crying out from his touch, your voice echoed off the walls of your bedroom. Miguel’s tongue continued laving against your clit, grinding the muscle against your nub. His middle finger began to slip into your center, eased by how wet you were but his knuckles still dragged against your walls.

You’re only given a moment to adjust before his ring finger joins the other and begins to scissor you open.

“Wa-wait,” you whine as Miguel begins eating your cunt in earnest fashion.

The slide of his tongue through your folds has you gasping for breath. His fingers probe your walls, touching experimentally until they find a spot that makes you cry out and he begins tapping the pads of his fingers against it rapidly.

Stars burst behind your eyes as you cry out. Your toes curl so tightly, you’re shocked they don’t pop.

Your fingers weave through his deep hazelnut locks and tug until he hisses and removes his mouth from your center. He looks absolutely feral, mouth agape and your juices glistening on his full lips, the look on his face could only be described as pained.

He tries to dive back to your cunt, but you again tug at his scalp to hold him still.

A pathetic sound, one full of ache and longing slips from his plush lips and your pussy clenches at the sound. Miguel’s brows are furrowed, his tongue swipes at his lower lips to collect your slick that’s pooled there.

“Is something wrong?” The expression on his face looks like he's been wounded.

“No, I just…” you pause to catch your breath, “I want to make you feel good too.”

He seems irritated by the statement, frustrated with you for interrupting his meal. He makes a show of sucking your juices off his fingers, they leave his mouth with an audible pop. You jump at the sound. Miguel kisses his way up your body, stopping to nibble at the soft skin of your stomach. His hands are delicate as they creep over your body, nothing but feather light touches before he gathers you in his arms so he can flop on to his back.

Miguel manipulates your body so your dripping core his hovering above his face. He gives you a few moments to remove his belt and free his cock before pulling your hips down to meet his open mouth. You gasp as his tongue prods your aching clit.

Your hips grind against his tongue, need rippling through your body as he explores you with his tongue. Stupidly, you thumb as his belt, quickly succumbing to the onslaught of his tongue against your clit.

Groaning at the taste of you, Miguel pulls your hips lower still so he can work his tongue even deeper inside your heat. You try to wiggle your hips higher, afraid you’ll smother him with your ass, but his nails dig into your skin and hold you in place.

From the sounds Miguel made as he devoured you, it sounded like you were pleasuring him too, but you could barely keep your eyes open to unfasten his belt and get your lips around his cock.

Every drag of his tongue along your clit has your brain short-circuiting like you’re connected to a live wire. Your mouth hangs open in a prolonged sigh and you can’t help but rock your hips into his face. Miguel hums approvingly, digging his fingers even deeper into your plump skin to further aid you.

You should feel guilty, nearing the edge of your peak as he lays beneath you, completely untouched. But your hands keep balling into fists, your eyes keep crossing, and it’s taking all the strength in your body to keep you up right.

Shocks of lightning shoot up your spine as he goes on. Your pulse is starting to race, the pulse of your heartbeat thrumming through every inch of your body. Your climax is just beyond your reach, nipping at the edge of your consciousness.

His hand slides forward on your thigh to rub firm circles on your swollen clit and you shatter. A high whine rips from your throat, echoing off the walls so loudly that you know your neighbors can hear you. Thighs quivering around his head, Miguel holds you close and lets you ride out your orgasm on his tongue.

It feels like your soul is leaving your body. It feels like you’re floating above the earth. It feels like Miguel ripped your spirit from your body and is rolling it around on his tongue. Your ears are ringing, your breath is catching in your throat. Your cunt is clenching around Miguel’s tongue and he can’t stop growling into your flesh.

You could die right now and be perfectly happy.

All of your limbs buzz faintly, your eyes slowly blinking as though you’ve been drugged.

In your post-orgasm haze you barely register that Miguel is twisting your body into a new position. Your limbs feel boneless as he deposits you on his lap, pulling your dress over your head. Hooking his finder under the waistband of your tights, he tugs them back before letting them snap against your skin. You whimper in response.

Goosebumps bloom over your skin, the cool air of your apartment rushing over your newly freed skin. Mind still cloudy from your orgasm, you nip at Miguel’s neck as he tries to rid himself of his own clothes. Your teeth catch his pulse point and he hisses at the sensation.

“What did I fucking tell you about being patient?” He says with a swat to your ass.

Whining, you make your way to his mouth. Miguel has only managed to take off his shirt, his hands just below your ass as he tries to pull his pants down long enough to free his legs. The jingling of his belt buckle has you squirming with anticipation.

The tangy taste of your cunt lingers on his tongue and it spreads in your mouth as his tongue slides over yours. You can feel him smile into your kiss, silently teasing you. But you’re too hungry for him to care. Sliding your arms around his neck, you suck his plump lower lip into yours and bite down hard.

The sound he lets out is absolutely feral.

His hand leaps from his pants to your hips, his nails leaving crescent moon scars in your skin. A harsh slap followed up by his fingers sinking into the meat of your ass is your reward.

Sharp canines drag down the side of your face, not with enough force to draw blood—not yet—but still with enough force that they leave a faint trail of raised skin in their wake. Miguel groans, his breath hot and heavy at the base of your ear. Idly, his tongue leaps out to taste the sweat that’s dripping down your neck.

Sinful, debaucherous things—promise of what he wants to do to you— rumble like thunder through his mouth into your throat, echoing within your body and tingling down to your toes. By the time he reaches the hollow of your throat, he’s eagerly lapping at your flesh and sucking dark marks into your skin.

Traveling farther south, Miguel’s tongue teases the edge of your areola before curling his tongue under your nipple to pull your breast to his mouth. Rolling your nipple on his tongue, he reignites the flame of your desire.

His cockhead grinds against your clit and you have to fight the urge to grind back against him.

“A condom,” you say meekly gesturing towards the nightstand with a look.

Miguel groans with a roll of his eyes, impatient but compliant nonetheless. Shifting his weight to his elbow, he fishes through the nightstand until he procures the square of foil. His teeth rip at the package, and he makes quick work of rolling the donut of latex down his length. All the while, he keeps you pressed to his chest as if you weigh nothing.

A dark dusting of hair covers the wide plane of his chest and drags against your nipples in a way that has you whining. Miguel seems to be taking his sweet time, more focused on kissing you between your sighs than anything. He’s warned you twice to be patient, but you’re finding it hard and hard to take the lesson to heart. Easing yourself back on to his cock, you gasp for air as the mushroom tip of his cock stretches you.

“What a greedy little pussy,” he groans in your ear approvingly.

He bucks his hips upward, rewarding you by pressing more of himself inside your hot, wet heat as slowly as he can stand. Gentle as he is, it still has you feeling full. Though it feels more on the side of pleasure than pain, you know you’ll definitely be sore for the next few days.

There’s no rush as you work him inside you, no sense of urgency as his cock slips in, inch by inch. Every so often, you take too much at once, and your hips try to retreat, but the hands that rest on your hips keep you in place.

“Take it slow baby,” he purrs as he rubs gentle circles into the tops of your thighs.

Miguel continues whispering praises to you, dragging his palm up your thigh until he can thumb at your clit in slow languid circles to help you take him deeper. You make the mistake of looking down and cry when you see how much of him is left to go.

“’S too much,” you whine drowsily, “Won’t fit.”

Miguel lets out a pained noise, desperate and needy.

“No, no,” your lover coos, “We’ll make it fit baby, I promise. Just keep being good for me.”

His praise is like sweet music. You sigh and shudder at every word that leaves his lips, your eyelids flutter shut and you just let go. All you focus on is your breathing, chest rising and falling with each inhale. A little lower, another breathy whimper.

Your slick dribbles out around his cock, wetting your inner thighs. It feels sticky and hot as it dries on your skin only to be replaced as more of your juices spill forth.

When you’re finally skewered on his length, the coil of pleasure has wound so tightly in your belly that you feel dizzy. Your spine arches almost painfully, you could feel every vein of his cock, feel the rhythmic thrumming of his pulse through his dick.

You let out the breath you’ve been holding, let your cunt relax around him for just a second and when you try to breath in again your walls clench around him again and you cum. Whispering curses against his neck, you tremble around him pathetically as you try to steady your breathing.

Slumping against him, you let out a pathetic cry as your cunt quivers around him. The angle of your hips has his cockhead lodged against your g-spot. Your vision whites out, you may even have fainted for a moment or two. You don’t come back to reality until Miguel starts to pinch at your nipples, twisting them with his forefinger and thumb until you’re crying out for him again.

Your lover chuckles darkly as he teases you, tugging your spine straight by your tender breasts. Whining, you can feel yourself growing wetter from his touch.

“You wanted it so bad, you better be ready to take it,” Miguel huffs through clenched teeth.

Pulling you to his chest, his bicep locks around your waist so he can begin driving his hips up into your still-quivering cunt. Your climax is drawn out, pulled taught like a rubber band before it snaps and you’re cumming all over again.

“Ooh,” you whine, your voice low and heavy.

His cock is hitting a dangerous spot inside you. The slightest gasp slips out from your lips, but no matter how faint, Miguel hears it and rocks his hips into yours to drill against the spongy patch of nerves until you’re squealing from the pleasure of it.

The higher your voice grows in volume, the meaner he is as he drives his length into your pussy. He feels impossible hot, even through the condom you can feel every ridge and vein along his cock.

There will be bruises everywhere he’s touched, you think. A map of his hands in purple and red.

Three orgasms back to back to back have you dizzy. Tears bead and spill from your eyes and Miguel wipes them away with soft cooing sound.

“Look at me,” your lover commands.

Your eyes snap open.

“There’s my good girl,” Miguel sighs, pressing a tender kiss to your lips, “Taking me so perfectly.”

The praise has you blubbering joyfully, a fresh wave of tears pouring from your eyes as a dopey grin blossoms on your face.

His good girl.

It might be your proudest achievement.

Whining, you buck your hips in rhythm with his thrusts. Your arms wind around his neck, your forearms pressing down against for leverage. Miguel moans into your mouth as his hips pick up speed.

“So fucking good to me,” he hisses against your lips.

Yes, you scream internally, yes, yes yes. His good girl.

Your fingers tangle in his hair as your tongue explores his mouth. The patch of curls at the base of his cock provide delicious friction against your over sensitive clit.

It’s easy to lose yourself in him, to focus on nothing but the slapping of skin and labored breathing. Miguel is bouncing you on his cock now, the tip of it pounding against your g-spot with each time he sheathes himself in you.

You don’t realize you are on the verge of another peak until falling over the edge. It comes in waves, each one cresting higher than the last, your entire body feels like it’s squeezing around his cock until you burst and you gush around him. Your slick rushes forth to coat his lap and thighs. The high pitched whine that leaves you barely sounds human.

Through your tears you see Miguel’s eyes roll to the back of his head. He lasts for a few more pumps before his hips slow to a stop inside you and he locks you in his grip. Miguel feels even hotter inside you as he cums.

Your body feels like you’ve run a marathon as you both pant against each other’s lips as you come down from your shared high.

Mouth closing around yours in a bruising kiss, you can feel your lover take in a deep breath through his nose. The rush of air feels like heaven against your overheated skin. It seems like he’s trying to take in a piece of you and replace it with himself.

Despite him still being inside of you, you can’t quite get him close enough. One of his hands rests on the small of your back, fingers splayed so wide it nearly spans your entire back. The other tangles in your hair. Hours could have passed as you kissed him, and you’d be none the wiser. You could spend days kissing him and be perfectly content.

Miguel is all around you as you float back down to Earth. You would have stayed there all night if not for the annoying voice in the back of your head reminding you to pee. Each of your limbs feel like they weigh fifty pounds each, but you know you have to get up.

Something feels like it’s leaking out of you, and your snap to full alertness. Eyes focusing on where you’re still joined, you can see milky white leaking out of you and you panic.

The loss of him inside you makes you whine as you try to detangle yourself from Miguel, the tip of him snagging against your sensitive walls. His seeds pours out of you, thick and viscous as it drips down your swollen labia to pool on his cock.

Shit.

What remains of the condom is tangled around the base of Miguel’s cock, the edge of it still stretched in a way you imagine is painful around the girth of him. It’s then you notice he’s still rock hard, like he didn’t just empty himself into the deepest part of your pussy less than a few minutes ago.

Jesus Christ. Had something that big really fit inside of you?

Your knees feel weak the longer you look at it. Miguel laughs at you, tucking his hands behind his head to stretch out on the bed. He doesn’t seem in the least upset—or even shocked—that the condom broke, if anything he looks like he wants to go another round. Cheeks burning, you pry your eyes away from him and make your way to the bathroom.

The three feet to your bathroom has never felt so long. Ecstasy is quickly replaced with embarrassment as you waddle your way there and feel more of your mingled fluids leak down your thighs. When you finally reach the cool marble of your countertop, it feels like heaven against your heated skin.

Ok, the condom broke. They made pills for this, you assure yourself, This isn’t the end of the world.

Your muscles cry in pain as you rise from the toilet. If Miguel wasn’t in the other room, you may have fallen asleep right there. Turning the knob, you quickly wash your hands before splashing a bit of water on your face.

Wearily, you slurp handfuls of water from the tap to cool your scratchy throat. It was a miracle you could even stand with the way your legs were trembling. You could barely speak, you could barely think. Sure, you were hoping for a romp in the sheets that actually made you cum, not reality-shattering sex that had you questioning the existence of God.

You glance at your reflection in the mirror, and fuck—You look like a complete mess. Flushed skin, tousled hair, a litany of teeth marks on your neck and shoulders. That freshly-fucked glow is radiating out from your pores and it makes you feel almost guilty.

The creaking of your floorboards breaks you from your reverie. You didn’t even hear him get up from the bed.

Miguel doesn’t speak at first. Slowly, he saunters your way as he pulls off what’s left of the condom to toss it in the trash. The energy coming off of him is electric, every hair on your body is standing on end. He almost seems angry at first, but the edge of his mouth quivers and you realize he’s being playful.

You’ve just barely caught your breath. You’ve just barely come back to the earth from your last climax.

You should go to bed. You should make up some reason why you have to be up early in the morning.

By absolutely no means should you let him fuck you again, because you know he has every intention of fucking you within an inch of your life. His arm wraps around your center, pulling you closer.

“I didn’t say I was done with you,” Miguel says from behind you.

His eye catches yours in the mirror, soft brown has shifted to a reddish ochre.

He kisses a trail down your spine, fingers trailing along your sides until they rest on your hips. His thumbs curl around the globes of your ass, sinking into your flesh and spreading you open for him. His foot taps against your ankle, and you widen your stance before he has to tell you again.

Miguel watches your reflection, studying your expression for the smallest sign of denial. You still have the chance to say no, to ask him to leave or even join you in bed to go to sleep. But just the way he’s looking at you has you melting.

Precum beads out of the tip of his cock, smearing against your thighs. Your cunt clenches around nothing and you lick your lips.

“There’s no point in me wearing a condom now, right?” He asks, sliding his cock through your soaked lips. “I already came inside once, a few more times won’t make a difference.”

Sharp teeth tease at the side of your neck as he waits for you answer. But the truth is, you’d give him damn near anything if he asked for it in such a saccharine voice.

“That’s fine,” you pant dreamily, already walking backwards to meet his cock.

Chuckling at the way you’re standing on tip toes to reach him, Miguel gives you a firm swat on the ass. You yelp in response and it turns into a purr as his hand cups the curve of your ass and slides towards your center. The tips of his fingers swirl at your lips, gathering the bits of his cum that dribbles out of your hole.

“That’s my good girl,” Miguel huffs as he gathers your hair in his hand. His wrist twists to wrap your hair around his palm and gives it a firm tug.

You take a deep breath through your nose and just as you’re about to push it from your lungs, Miguel impales you on the entire length of his cock.

There’s no preamble this time, no gentle build up to let your catch your bearings. Instead his hips snaps cruelly into your wet sex and all you can do is whine and whimper and take it. His grip on your hair forces your spine into an arch, his other rests on your hip as he holds you tight so he can keep rocking his hips into you.

Miguel’s hold on your hair forces you to look at your reflection. You look absolutely destroyed. Cheeks flushed, a layer of sweat coats every inch of your skin, there’s a trail of mascara down each eye and your hair is sticking to the sweat at the column of your neck.

Somehow, Miguel looks like he’s completely unphased by your coupling, save for the prideful smile that graces his lips. His skin is just barely flushed, only a few beads of sweat decorate his forehead and chest. The corner of his mouth turns in an even bigger smirk as your airy whimpers grow louder.

His eyes are fixated on your abused cunt, eyes cast downwards as he marvels at the way the lips of your pussy are stretched around his cock. Each thrust of his hips pushes his previous load deeper into your cunt, closer to your aching womb. The slick spasms of your cunt around his cock feel heavenly, your molten walls pulling him back in every time he pulls his hips back.

The wet slap of Miguel’s skin against yours feels even louder in the cramped tile walls of your bathroom. Squelching obscenely, your cunt continues to gush around him.

“Your pussy just sucks my cock right in,” Miguel groans, “Feels like you were made for me.”

Your lover thrusts his length into you like his life depends on it. And maybe, yours does too.

The last ebbs of your last orgasm has just barely left you by the time Miguel had joined you in the bathroom. With only a few stroke his cock, Miguel has you on the edge again, desperate and aching for him.

Your clit pulses in time with your heartbeat, swollen and untouched between your thighs. It’s screaming to be touched, begging for the faintest of caresses so you can be sent back to that sweet abyss.

But both your hands are supporting your weight against the countertop, and Miguel has his fisted in your hair and the other his forcing your hips to arch against his cock so he can keep driving himself in you.

Somehow, he feels even bigger in this position, his cock hitting you so deeply it pushes the air from your lungs. The spiral of pleasure is winding tighter than before, burning hot and low in your belly.

Your voice echoes off the tile walls of your bathroom, the only sound louder than the wet slap of Miguel’s hips against your damp skin.

“Miguel,” you whine, your voice low in your throat.

Knuckles protesting at the strength of your grip on marble, your voice turns into high whines and gasps. You need him just a little closer, you’re just as greedy as he accused you of being.

More, the thought echoes in your head.

Pushing against the marble, you throw your weight back against his thrusts. He drills into you with so much force that your ears are ringing. You can see the heat burning in his eyes in his reflection. It’s possessive and all-consuming, you want him to look at you like this for the rest of your life.

“Miguel,” you cry again, your voice even more desperate.

You need more of him, but can't gather the strength to speak. Your eyes are glued to his in the mirror and you can feel a fresh batch of tears threatening to begin. Lips mouthing your pleads for him, for God—and at this point you couldn’t tell the difference.

Pleasepleaseplease.

“What does my good girl what?”

Isn’t it obvious? You’re calling out to him from the marrow of your bones, a weeping mess on his cock and he can’t see how hopelessly you need him?

“M-more,” you croak out.

The hand holding your hair pulls you back, forces you to let go of the counter and your hands claw backwards for him wildly. Your head falls back against his shoulder as his arm curls around your shoulders to support your weight. His free hand pushes against your lower stomach, making sure you feel every inch of him with paralyzing clarity.

“Fffuck,” you sob between gasps for air.

Miguel grips your chin, pulling your face so he can slot his lips over yours in a sloppy kiss. Teeth clacking against each other and still he doesn’t let you go. Your fingers dig into his arm, your legs twitch frantically like you’re connected to a live wire.

All it takes is a touch, a gentle rubbing at your clit and you explode. Lungs burning, you let out an obscene sound. Miguel makes a purring sound deep in chest, smug and satisfied as his hurried thrusts slow into steady precise strokes.

Your cunt milks him, his cock giving one final pulse before painting your cunt white with his seed. Miguel moans thickly, exertion finally starting to show in the heavy way he’s panting. Lips parting, you suck in tiny lungfuls of air.

“Try not to let it all spill out this time,” he whispers.

The rest of the night is a blur. You lose count of how many times Miguel takes you. The night blurs into day with him between your thighs, behind you, above you, anyway he could twist your pliant form to reach his peak.

~*~

A prideful feeling has settled in Miguel’s chest as he watches your sleeping form.

Last time was a mistake.

He didn’t take the right variables into consideration, didn’t test his hypothesis enough times before execution.

That wouldn’t be the case now.

The universe he’d found you in wasn’t ideal, but he could work with it. Replacing the version of him from this universe was an easy feat, a man who couldn’t protect you and your future family wasn’t worthy of your time.

Everything else would fall into place, first you, then Gabriella. His eyes drift to his spend seeping out of your swollen cunt and uses two fingers to shove it back inside of you as gently as he can. All there was left to do was wait.

A breathy sigh leaves you at his touch, but you’re too fucked out to stir. His cock twitches at the sound of it. He’ll keep you in bed for the rest of the weekend, long past the 48 hour window that emergency contraception would be effective.

At the first sign of the universe being in trouble, he’ll whisk you away back to his universe where you’ll stay safe and sound for the rest of your pregnancy. He imagines you'll be so grateful to him for saving you, it’ll be easy for the two of you to build something real.

He’s already destroyed one universe, what’s one more?

#miguel o’hara x reader #reader x miguel o’hara #spiderman 2099 x reader #reader x spiderman 2099 #🪷.fics

310 notes · View notes

ca-8 · 24 days

Note

I really really loved your DogDay fic (like a lot), so I thought I'd request a DogDay x player reader fic about the nightmares both of them would more than likely have when this is all over and they've escaped Playtime Co, and how they'd try to be there for each other when they happen.

Black curtains smothered their view. (Y/n)'s body was light. Someone must have carried them from the sweet warm hug of their mattress and into the shadowing atmosphere. Fabric rippled and swayed gently just barely beneath their falling figure, separating inches before contact... And so, falling past the waving curtains that faded harshly into cracking rubble.. Falling past the growing cracks swirling into light pink, stretching tubes and blue fuzzy ropes... Falling into hell's fiery, drifting red smoke through long, thin fingers that cursed away flesh... Elliot's voice welcomed them once again.

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡

DogDay x Reader Rippling Deja Vu (Part 1)

(WARNING: The following contains scenes of graphic body horror and mutilation)

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡

Wet spider webs caught them, like a Venus fly trap breaking the fall of a frightened butterfly with a torn wing. A chill ran down their spine, causing them to stir in their sleep, and soon, (Y/n)'s eyes fluttered open. Dim flickering light beamed down them, watching them. Cold goo kissed the back of their neck. They shuddered and pulled themselves up, dragging behind lines of webs connecting them to their new bed. It tugged, urging (Y/n) to fall back into its embrace, until the lines finally broke. They collapsed on freezing tile. When (Y/n) opened their eyes, the first thing they saw were the tattered clothes they wore on the day they entered the gates of hell: a dirty tank top torn at the side and thin jeans caked in dust and dried blood. Their eyes widened. "No...No no no no no....!"

Rapidly swatting off the remaining clinging webs, (Y/n)’s bottom collapsed onto the tiled floor. Their quick and heavy breaths rushed into the dusty cold air, flailing around in tiny clouds before fusing with the hallway’s stretching darkness. After finally casting off the last piece of the web, their hands suddenly went still, trembling in place, then clenching into fists a few times as if they were holding a Grabpack’s trigger.

(Y/n) looked up. Blinking light illuminated parts of the stretching shadow for brief seconds, beckoning them to let them light their way. But they couldn’t move — they wouldn’t dare move. As soon as they’d jump to their feet, something meant to lie still, something first made for play and learning and innocence that then would become a shell for screams and blood and torn flesh, would come after them and pull and dig and prod and eat at each breathing morsel they offered. (Y/n) sat still, very, very, very, very still.

Then they got up. Their trembling body begging to stay safe under the only working light began to get pulled by marionette strings. (Y/n) started to choke on their cry for help and fought with every atom within them to stop moving, but the blackened jaws had already consumed them. And through all that desperate effort, a pathetic whimper only left their lips.

GO BACK

RUN

HIDE

HELP

THE HOUR OF JOY

One, then four, then ten, then innumerable warnings laced in trauma appeared under the blinking lights. Blue and red and yellow overlapped with one another, shouting over each other, screaming at a once naive, curious fool. (Y/n)’s body didn’t listen, it just had to see what that gorgeous cherry red light was growing in the distance.

They attempted at another cry for help, but only another quiet muffle sang along with the factory’s distant curling cogs. First wiggling their fingers, then shooting their hands up to their face, (Y/n) felt for a mouth, a hint of lips or drool or just anything, but nothing. Just a blank (s/c) canvas of skin. Their throat erupted in shouts and wails, they even tried pulling at the canvas, and still nothing — the fool had become a shrieking tomb.

The walls stopped moving, and they looked down to see their legs glued to the floor.

And the ground began to roar.

Ripples and rumbles threw (Y/n) off their feet and forced them to watch the rear of the hallway. Flickering lights hinted to the devastation’s core; a flash of a human skull protruding from rising, cracking tile, a glimpse of light showing onto its growing body that melted from bone to a curling wet tongue rounding into a pink and blue twirling body, and that blinking, twirling body grew larger as its organs and bones stuck out and into darkened pink, stretching arms, weaving through a monstrous ribcage, tying together blue and purple fur and paws with ravaging whetted claws, growing and growing and growing against the cracking floor and screaming walls, growing and growing and growing and growing and growing

until it stopped.

And the human skull twisted, slowly rotating on its spinal column. Curling all the way around, blood rained from inside the splitting bone, emitting an appalling crackling echo as bits of it snapped off onto the ground. One of them hit the fool in the forehead. Finally, it stopped once completing its orbit.

It stared at (Y/n), and (Y/n) couldn’t help but stare back at it. Naked teeth and unblinking empty eye sockets, sloshing pulsating guts and creaking legs. They wanted to run, to hide, anything to stay as far away as that thing as possible. Its mouth opened, and its jaw stretched down and down and down toward the floor, bits of bone snapping and muscle from beneath bulging from the holes and stretching and stretching and its teeth reached to the ground and dug underneath the tile.

It stopped. It winced. It pushed forward, claws scraping against the tile as its mouth excavated gathering tile, making the walls and ceiling screech such a deafening bawl. Faster it crawled, right down the hall, right towards (Y/n).

Right as glowing dots of life awoken in those empty sockets, they regained control of their body again. They scrambled onto their feet and bolted down the hallway.

“A……?”

The hallway seemed to curl in on itself, but that didn’t stop them. (Y/n) so desperately wanted to cover their ears from that godforsaken screech but they couldn’t risk it. They just had to make their legs push faster, no matter how much they ached or cramped or were being sucked into the earth-

“..An…l….”

They were slowing down. Something of a thousand pounds became attached to their ankles and drove them into the melting floor. They yelped and fell right onto burning slosh, howling in pain and immediately yanking themselves up. Pained gasps and whines heaved from their lips, and they looked back to see the boiling floor had engulfed their legs, spreading up to their calf. (Y/n) spotted sections of their skin closer to its mouths peeling back to reveal bubbling muscle, before it all were to be swallowed.

“....Angel…”

They tried hauling themselves up, but grew unsteady and fell back on the burning slosh. (Y/n) let out an agonizing cry as skin began to peel off from their arms. Smoke rose from their body, as if the spirits of their faded bits were already accepting the inevitable end. They peered over their shoulder — the creature was standing over them.

“.....Angel…!”

It dug up their body. (Y/n) violently flailed against its gasp, and through their tears they saw muscle plunging from their arms and legs and more of that thing’s hands wrapping around their tiny, weak, insignificant body, twirling around their waist and making them feel their spine slowly snap.

Agony, sweet deserving agony, topping with the fool’s suffering melody

“(Y/N)!”

And they were back in their bed’s warm embrace.

(Y/n)’s eyes snapped wide open, letting out a fresh, tearful waterfall streaming down their flushed cheeks. The first thing they saw in darkened solace were a vast, open, empty mouth and eyes that were scrunched up in blazing worry. But this uncanny face was that of familiarity, of warmth, of real joy; yet they couldn’t stop the quickened breaths.

“Angel, it’s okay, look at me, everything’s okay,” DogDay said, although by the tone of his voice, he was starting to panic as well.

With trembling, non-melting arms, they cautiously hauled themselves up, and their breathing began to slow. Putting his giant paws against their back and on the side of their face, DogDay gently shushed them as his thumb stroked their wet cheek.

“That’s it, just focus on breathing, you’re doing so well, angel…” With that giant smile as bright as the sun, his guiding whispers lit up the room. Before they knew it, the alerts for death rang silent and (Y/n)’s heart became steady. DogDay sat down on their bed and placed them on his lap, and for a few minutes, he held them close to his fuzzy, vanilla-scented chest.

Then, (Y/n) spoke up in a hoarse voice: “I’m sorry.”

DogDay stopped petting their head for a second. “Now what are you apologizing for, angel?” he uttered in bewilderment. Words bubbled up inside their throat but they couldn’t bear to speak. He looked down and continued to stroke their shaking head and back. “Another dream about the factory, I take it?”

(Y/n) tensed up and nodded. His grip on them became tighter, but not too tight.

At first, he didn’t know what to say. Decades of being trapped with nothing but tiny savaging predators taking joy in tearing off his skin little by little, day after day, left him blinded in miserable need. In rare moments of peace, he always dreamt about an angel descending from above and down in the hellish depths that once housed happiness, and blessing those worth saving with freedom. But not once did he see him reaching that freedom; in fact, he still wonders to this day what he did to deserve being one of the only survivors after failing so many so dear to him. And he despised it.

The DogDay he was conditioned to never think about himself so much. He should always know what to say, especially now. His beloved angel had suffered through so much just like he did, and to make matters worse, they were apologizing for it. If anything, he should be the one…

…”I’m sorry too.”

“What?” (Y/n) gazed up at him. Even in the darkness, the light in their beautiful eyes beamed such radiant sacred life. Life that he swore to protect since that day.

“I-I’m… I’m sorry. I’m sorry you had to witness and endure so much, I’m sorry I couldn’t help you when you saved me, I.. I’m sorry that you took in so much pain, I-! I…” DogDay took in a breath — ‘don’t cry, this isn’t about you.’ — “I…I’m sorry, angel. You’ve been through so much, and for our sakes… for my sake.”

He embraced them back into his chest, squeezing his eyes shut to fight back stubborn tears. “You have every right to be like this — to cry, to lash out, to get so, so scared — after everything that’s happened, you’re allowed to be this vulnerable more than anyone else.”

They were so quiet. ‘Did I say the right thing? I didn’t make them upset, did I?”

But he did. Something inside (Y/n) cracked at last. Their chest tightened and pulsated and wallowed up, and something crawled up their throat that made them gasp for air and for more of him. They quickly wrapped their arms around DogDay’s torso and let out a shuddering wail as tears flowed freely down their cheeks and onto his chest.

Feeling his heart hammer against the wet spot they buried their face in, he froze in place. Then his smile drained every ounce of uncertainty, and he held his angel once again.

“That’s right, angel, let it all out. You’re safe right now,” he softly muttered to them, letting a tear fall from his eye, “and I’ll never let anyone hurt you ever again.”

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡

AND that’s it for right now! As with the last request, there’s a shorter word limit for posts that directly respond to Asks, so I’ll be cutting it off right here and will be posting a Part 2 soon! Sorry this took me a bit to release; new college quarter is starting and I've had a little bit of writer's block, but I have overcome it!! Thank you so much to @paragon-of-obsessed for requesting this, and extra thankies for liking my last DogDay fic! This was so much fun to write, and I can't wait to dive into the next part!

Like what ya saw? Well you can commission your own private piece now!! Read more about that here! Thanks so much for reading, and have a great day!~ 💜💜💜

(Also my ao3 is the_real_catnap_98 if ya wanna follow me on there - same posts are (gonna be) on there + fanfics staring my OCs!! (...and a self-insert, lOOK lIFe iS HArD-/lh)

#fanfiction #my baby #poppy playtime chapter 3 #x reader #requests open #dogday #gender neutral y/n #dogday x reader #poppy playtime dogday #poppy playtime #the smiling critters #self ship community #self insert x canon #horror fic #body horror tw #little angst #comfort character #comfort fic

92 notes · View notes

esmedelacroix · 5 months

Text

Coffee Shop Love Pt.5

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader

summary: He's as stern and cold as the snow falling from the sky blanketing the bustling streets of Nueva York, Miguel O'Hara stumbles upon a hidden gem of a coffee shop just around the corner from Alchemax. Only problem is the annoying-as-shit smiley-ass barista.

contents: slow burn, no use of y/n, fluffy, not proofread

author's note: Hi lovies, exams are done! I'm starting vacation soon so I'll be writing a lot more. Hope you like this chapter I had fun writing it. Let me know what you think, and comment to be added to the taglist for this series, enjoy...

word count: 1.4k

Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt.3, Pt.4, Pt. 5, Pt.6, Pt.7, Sequel: Sweet Tooth

Your eyes fluttered open as bright morning lights glared through your curtains. There was something strange about this morning, but it was a good kind of strange. You felt a strange warmth, it wasn’t your blanket or heater, it was—Miguel?! Memories of last night resurfaced in your brain and you felt your cheek and ears flush, and Oh my god, Miguel is cuddling me right now, you thought to yourself as you looked down and saw his huge arms wrapped around you. He was holding your hands delicately, sharing his warmth with you. You could feel his soft breaths fanning your forehead, slow and tranquil, in and out. You fit perfectly against him, like the last puzzle piece of a Ravensburger jigsaw puzzle.

Despite your tangled legs, having Miguel this close was perfect. He began to stir in his sleep and soon woke up himself. He immediately pulled away from you frantically. “Sorry, I just, you were cold and I-“ he started. The familiar chill encapsulated your body the second Miguel let you go leaving you a bit disappointed. “It’s fine, I don’t mind at all," you reassured, placing a hand on his forearm.

"It was nice," you muttered looking away hoping he didn't hear you. Your sudden soft shyness sent butterflies to his chest. Your bedhead made your change in demeanor even cuter. Not to mention those reindeer onesies you were wearing. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?" you questioned feeling his laser glaze burning through your figure.

"No, it's nothing," he said as he dragged himself out of your bed.

You followed, and put some coffee on in the kitchen. Miguel freshened up and sat on the couch with his laptop in hand and glasses on his nose. Although the storm was still happening his job kept him busy. You heard him typing away and finished making him a hot black coffee. Making him coffee as he worked reminded you of being in the shop late at night.

Miguel honed in on his work, you, taking your time cleaning up the shop before closing so that Miguel could have more time to work. The little peeks you took at him while he worked. As you watched him you learned many things about him. You noticed that he chews on his pens when he seems stuck or stressed. He runs his hand through his hair when he is tired, and he enjoys the Frank Sinatra songs that you play. He thought you didn't hear him singing Girl From Ipanema in the shower. His voice was amazing; it was deep, rich, and flowed like honey.

Miguel could smell the coffee you were brewing for him from the couch. The scent was strong, he could tell you were using different beans than you use in the shop. Miguel couldn't deny that he felt the same deja vu. He felt like he was back in your shop doing his "work". Half of the time he was sitting there on his laptop, he was typing gibberish into the Google search bar. When he wasn't doing work, he was looking at you. Watching, memorizing, because every movement you made beguiled him.

He took notice of the subtle sway of your hips to the music, the gentle tilt of your head matching the slow melodies. Your movements seemed to encapsulate a suppressed passion and excitement. Unbeknownst to you, Miguel watched as you slipped into the kitchen, believing you were unobserved, dancing exuberantly to the music just because you could.

Miguel never overlooked those instances when you sang along or hummed certain parts of the songs; each detail etched into his awareness.

So as you stood before him waiting for some kind of reaction to the coffee that you had made, he was fully aware of your anxiousness. He took a slow sip, swallowed, and then looked up at you. You fiddled with your fingers awaiting his reaction. But nothing. He just sat there and drank, showing absolutely no reaction. "So, what do you think?" you squeaked trying to get anything out of him. You watched him duck his head down suppressing laughter.

"You stinker! You're making fun of me!" you laughed, placing your hands on your hips.

"Sorry I just can't help myself, your reactions are so cute," he chuckled putting his reading glasses at the top of his head.

"Seriously though, do you like your coffee?" you asked softly.

"No, I love it, Baby," this might be the best coffee I have ever had," he revealed.

"Oh, wait till you discover cream and sugar," you quipped sarcastically. To which he gave you a playful eye roll.

The day went by very quickly. The shop was closed due to the blizzard so you worked on the holiday decorations for the store. With Miguel upstairs on business Zoom calls. His coworkers saw the festivity and warmness of your home in the background and immediately drilled him with questions. Asking if he was at his girlfriend's house, and revealing that Miguel has no love life.

You walked back up to your apartment after all of the work was done in the shop. You came back to Miguel surprisingly watching a Christmas movie. "Hey wanna come join?" he asked motioning for you to come over.

"What a pleasant surprise, you? Watching holiday films? Hell has officially frozen over," you teased as you plopped down next to him.

"Oh, stop it," he rebutted as wrapped an arm around you pulling you into his side. To say you were taken aback by this sudden gesture was an understatement. You looked up at him with a puzzled face hoping your flustered expression wasn't too visible. He looked down at you with a small smirk. You felt a million jingle bells go off in your stomach at that very moment.

You snuggled against him enjoying the film he put on, and the warmth he radiated. Without realizing it, you had both fallen asleep on the couch together. You were both softly snoring, your head resting on his chest. Your arms wrapped around him like he was a giant teddy bear. Amid your rest, both of your phones began to buzz uncontrollably. Miguel woke up and shook you awake. "The storms are over," he said softly. You groaned, too comfortable to get up.

"C'mon Baby, I have to get up," he chuckled.

The two of you finally got up. Miguel got his things together and you both headed down into the shop. You were going to see him out of the shop when you forgot that you prepared a special something for him while he was working.

As he began to walk out the door, you heard the bells jangle and called out to him, "Wait!"

You caught up with him outside and you handed him a brown paper bag that had gingerbread man cookies decorated to look like him. "I made these for you," you huffed shivering a bit as the frigid air hit your face.

"Thank you, Baby, now get inside, and get warm, you're shivering," he said, ushering you to get your freezing butt in your warm shop.

You waved goodbye to Miguel and watched him get into his car before opening up the shop. The day went by well. Loads of customers came in excited to try out the new holiday menu you made. The grumpy(Miguel-themed) gingerbread man cookies were a hit.

As the customers all left and the clock hit 9:30 pm you wondered where Miguel was. He was usually there by this time. But there was no sign of him at all. It was unusual but you decided to shake it off and lock up since he obviously wasn't coming that night.

You were more disappointed than you would've imagined you'd be. I guess I've gotten too used to his company, it's like routine now, you thought to yourself. You slept that night hoping to see Miguel the next morning.

Next Pt.6...

taglist:

@iite-cool @jewelz-teehe @br0-please @thesilenthill @d1lf-loverrr @corpsebridenightamare @laysmt @bitchystrawberrystudent @lotionlamp @local-mr-frog @scaleniusrm @migueloharastruelove @thedevax @veyveys @amber-content

93 notes · View notes