Hobie 'doesn't Have A Phone So He Uses His Friends, Bandmates Or A Phone Booth To Call You Brown

Hobie 'doesn't have a phone so he uses his friends, bandmates or a phone booth to call you’ Brown 

(You’ve gotten so used to answering unknown numbers, it’s almost concerning)

Hobie 'doesn't know most internet slang as he doesn't believe in social media and will look at you like you've gone mad if you use it’ Brown

Hobie ‘sleeps like a starfish’ Brown

Hobie ‘following you around while you shop and complimenting what you find no matter your style’ Brown

(He would know what looks good anyhow, ((you look ravishing in anything or not to him anyways)) he WAS briefly a runway model) 

Hobie ‘constantly making you flustered with the way he’s always so handsy but the moment you touch him back he freezes and has to practically reboot himself’ Brown

Hobie ‘feels like he weighs 800 pounds when he lays or leans against you even though he’s a stick sized 6’5’ Brown

(hands on your shoulders or hand on back or waist)

Hobie ‘has to be touching you in any way at almost all times cause he’s a touchy guy’ Brown

Hobie ‘only got a banged up laptop for his tech’ Brown

And a little spice to end it, 

Hobie ‘always calling you riding him “fucking the man”’ Brown

(these are my head cannons of that stupidly lanky brit boy)

(Fun fact to that fun fact about lemon sharks, I’m a dumbass and forgot to mention they do the same to tiger sharks that get close to their diving friends)

Also sorry for the multiple asks from me now /gen

DO NOT STOP WITH THE ASKS AND RHE LEMON SHARKKS.

this is too good !! the phone number one is on point, and i feel like hobie would sleep starfish and be a blanket hog. you’d be like curled up in a ball with a corner of blanket on the edge of the bed by morning.

also i feel like you let hobie dress you up and always at tbhe end he’s like “i knew you were punk”

i feel like whenever hobie sits he’ll have his feet up so like he’ll be sitting with his feet up but slowly lean onto you

that last one was spot on too he totally does that

okay times for my lemon shark facts: lemon sharks are the most researched of all sharks because of their ability to be fine in captivity (although i don’t really agree with it)

lemon sharks have really bad eyesight but also are really good hunters but that may be because their choice in prey are usually fish who are slow lol

my favorite sharks are hammerheads though

why am i crying at this?? like genuine tears. hello?? this is so sad im distraught like omg . damn poor poor miles

— when the dam breaks

contains: third person pov (42!miles’), no reader, feelings of anxiety, some harsh language, use of the n-word once, a one-sided fight, angst, mentions of grief, brief comfort at the end

summary: miles was holding himself together just fine, until he wasn’t. wc: 2,748

a/n: this fic is based on one of my headcanons from this post,(the 12th one). handling the grief of losing a parent is one of the hardest, most painful things to navigate, especially when you’re a teen and in school. i can directly relate to miles!42 because of this, which is probably why i’m able to go so in depth with his character. i’m really proud of how this turned out so i hope you guys enjoy reading <3

The back of Ms. Bellam’s history class was Miles’ favorite spot to sit in. The seat by the window, specifically. Where he could gaze out with the fantasy of being anywhere else but stuck listening to the lecture in his fifth block; forced to hear his teacher rave on about some old expedition he couldn’t bring himself to give a shit about.

But today, Miles was not in the back of the class.

He had a bad feeling the moment the bell rung and the projector powered on to display the newest assignment the tall, stocky woman had on the agenda; a partnered project. Which, unfortunately, meant a new seating chart was on the horizon.

Miles must’ve spaced out during the introduction of the assignment, but his teacher’s assertive voice brought him back to the very moment he was dreading.

“Cody, you’re paired with—“ Ms. Bellam pulled a small slip of paper out from a little bucket of randomized names on her desk. “—Lauren.”

She ignored the quiet groan she got after unknowingly pairing two exes together and drew two more names. “Bailey, you’re with Lucas.”

“Sarah, you’re with… Faith. And Miles,” The brunette-haired teacher stuck her hand into the bucket once more to pull out the very last slip of paper, and read it with finality. “You’re with Gabby.”

Miles lifted his head and did a quick scan of the faces around, until he met the eyes of his new partner, Gabby, who gave him a small wave from the front of the class. His jaw clenched at the realization that he’d have to give up his safe corner, since the seats around him were filled, while the one next to her was open.

“Alright everyone, if you’re not already next to your partner, go find them.”

With an inaudible grumble and something along the lines of ‘i hate this fucking class’ and a mix of ‘kill me now’— Miles rose from his chair, snatched his backpack up with a little too much force, and crossed the classroom to plop down defeatedly next to the girl he was paired with.

Chin tucked in his hand and eyes glued to the ticking clock above the white board, he didn’t know how long he sat like that, or how much valuable information he’d missed while he ignored the overly peppy, thirty-year old’s directions to the class. But he did know that the minute hand on that damn analog device wasn’t moving fast enough for his liking. The droning of voices overlapping and the bouncing of ideas filled the once silent air after instructions had been given, but Miles was far from focused on the task at hand.

The incessant tapping of his pencil against the hard plastic of his desk, matched with the clearly agitated bounce of his leg had his partner stealing experimental glances in his direction— her lips having been licked ample times from the stress of debating on whether to make the difficult decision of speaking to the boy who was clearly not interested in conversation— or even being here at all.

She spoke up anyway. “Um… So most of the other groups have pretty much chosen already. That means we’re left with James Cook, Vasco de Gama, Ferdinand Magellan, or—“

“You can pick for us. I don’t really care which one.” Miles interrupted.

“Oh—“ Gabby blinked. His response was curt, but at least she got one. “Okay then, Ferdinand Magellan.” Flipping through the rubric that had been passed out at some point, she referred to the second page with her index finger. “It says our presentation has to be between six to eight slides, which includes the works cited for our research. So we could do one introduction slide, and maybe about,” she paused to think. “Four?— information slides? And then we could add some fun facts and trivia questions at the end so we can get our class participation points in without too much effort. That cool with you?”

Gabby was a nice girl. She never bothered him, never looked at him weird when he’d come into class late sometimes, and had actually ran through the hallway to return the notebook that fell out of his open backpack just last week. He wasn’t aggravated at her, but more so at the fact that everybody could stare at the back of his head now instead of the other way around, like it was before. It made him self conscious about everything, even down to the way he was sitting in his chair. He could feel a few beams on his back right about now, and adjusted his position slightly.

Miles sighed and reminded himself to respond to her politely. “Uh-huh. Sounds good.”

A voice to his left behind him caught his attention, the voice in question belonging to one of the most obnoxious boys he’d ever had the displeasure of knowing— Ethan Thompson. Someone who always had too much to say and nothing productive or appropriate to add— it usually being something creepy or gross about a girl he wanted to ‘get to know’.

Miles would’ve tuned him out, like he always did, but this time it was impossible. Probably because out of all the conversations regarding the explorers meant to be researched, this one had absolutely nothing to do with history, or even school for that matter.

“Bro, did you hear about what happened to…”

Miles strained to hear as best as he could without moving from his seat, though it was a struggle since Gabby was still talking his ear off to the right of him about who would do what when it came to their workload.

“Miles?”

He ignored her as another voice chimed in, and his back stiffened.

“I know dude, my sister told me about it. Said he was killed in action or somethin’ like that… I just know his mom is crushed. I feel really bad.”

Miles knew people talked about this, he wasn’t dumb. But damn, did they have to do it when he was right there?

Then, there was a laugh.

Miles was confused. He didn’t find anything regarding the topic of their conversation even remotely comical.

“Fuck that,” Ethan quieted his voice, though not quiet enough. “That just means Mrs. Morales is single and up for grabs now.”

It took less than a second for Miles’ blood to simmer to a scalding boil. He held a subtle finger up and quieted Gabby, who was currently asking him about what they should research first.

“Can you give me just… one second?” he asked gently.

Gabby’s words died on her tongue and she gave a muddled nod.

Miles threw his elbow over the back of his chair when his torso whipped around, his eyes glazed with enmity and immediately catching Ethan’s.

“The fuck you just say?”

Ethan froze.

Miles’ tone was lethal, rage lifting the volume above the blurred chattering around, venom spitting from his tongue like he intended to kill the boy with words alone. The speed in which the class fell silent would’ve been humorous had there not been such hostility within the air.

“Miles, language!” Ms. Bellam’s eyes snapped up from her computer screen, her face a picture of disbelief at his unusual vitriol. He was always quiet as a mouse in her class, well behaved above all.

Jaws hung slack, the gazes of the students around darted back and forth between the two boys continuously, the tension in the room palpable.

Miles sat up straighter in his seat, jaw clenched and his patience dwindling. To say he was seething would be a dangerous understatement.

“Nah, nah Ms. B,” His head cocked, and his eyes narrowed at Ethan, ruinously. “I wanna know what this nigga just said ‘bout my fuckin’ mom.”

“Oh shit…” Gabby gulped. Today was the most she’d heard Miles speak in class almost the entire semester.

“It was a joke, bro.” Ethan huffed a chuckle, a nervous thing that his friend easily picked up on. Miles was not one to bluff, and Ethan was notorious for taking things too far.

“Don’t bro me, repeat that dumb shit you just said and watch how fast I knock your ass out.” Miles gritted through his teeth, hot air puffing through his nostrils like a bull who’d just seen red.

“Boys, enough!” Ms. Bellman was standing now, hands planted to her desk as she watched with bated breath, just like the rest of the class-now-turned-audience.

Ethan shrugged, and Miles swore he felt his eye twitch.

Strike one.

Then, the boy playfully nudged his friend’s arm with a cocky smirk, as if he thought the threat he’d just received wasn’t one that would be carried out.

Strike two.

“He’s baiting you, Miles…” Gabby whispered dejectedly, in warning, only so Miles could hear. But his tunnel vision had already set in.

“Go ‘head. Repeat yourself.” Miles demanded.

Nails digging into the skin of his palms hard enough to leave crescents in their wake, there was a voice in the back of his mind, reminding him that he could get into serious trouble if he didn’t get his emotions in check, fast. He’d progressed so quickly in his after school M.M.A classes, that now, even getting into a simple fist fight could land him a serious assault charge. A judge would take one look at the history of his intense training, and the option to deem his hands as deadly weapons in the case would immediately be presented, and most likely acted upon.

Knocking the teeth out of a rich white boy would never be the smart decision here, especially not for someone who looked the way he did.

He’d be sent straight to juvie.

“I mean, all I was sayin’ is, technically—“ Ethan threw his hands up in a careless manner. “If I play my cards right, I could be your future step-daddy.”

Strike three.

Ms. Bellam was yelling now. “Ethan, principal’s office, now!”

And that probably would’ve been the better option, had he actually had a choice.

Miles’ movements were swift when he shot out of his seat, and the students in his way followed suit with yelps and gasps as they quickly removed themselves from the area. The desks blocking his pathway to pummeling the shit out of this kid loudly screeched against the school’s tile when they were shoved out of the way, and the one he’d mindlessly flipped over in his stampede proceeded to erupt the room into pure pandemonium.

One punch would’ve been good enough, Miles knew that. But in this moment, thinking rationally was so far out of his reach he would’ve missed it even if he’d jumped for it. He’d swung a closed fist to Ethan’s jaw and knocked him to the floor with ease, then followed him down, sat on his chest and had the boy’s arms pinned under his knees so he couldn’t protect his snobby-ass face. One punch would’ve been good enough, but just two vehement blows later, the satisfying crack of a bone that wasn’t his under Miles’ knuckles had him sending a few more into the reddened face of the boy beneath him, just to really get his point across.

“Jesus Christ— Miles!” Ms. Bellman scrambled from her seat in a panic and rushed to fling the classroom’s door open, her desperate yells directed to anyone who might’ve been strolling the hallways. “We need security in here! You-!” She pointed to a student with a bathroom pass. “Go get security, and tell them to come to room 205, now! Go!”

Everyone was yelling at once, but Miles couldn’t hear anything other than the ringing of rage in his ears. Anger is only grief turned sour— a terribly perilous thing to leave untreated.

Some of his classmates were frozen with shock, or fear, maybe— hands clasped over their gaped mouths while others had their phones out with the camera app open—vampires for some good drama while they hooted and hollered at the most exciting thing they’d seen this entire year.

“That’s enough!”

Strong arms suddenly hooked under Miles’ armpits and prevented his fist from worsening the damage already done. Two male teachers from neighboring classrooms had rushed in and yanked him up and off Ethan, his hips bucking as he kicked his way up onto his feet. Miles’ chest expanded and collapsed with the weight of his heaving breaths, face flushed with the remnants of his lost temper as he directed his attention to Ethan’s friend, who looked like a deer in headlights.

“When your boy wake up, tell him watch his mouth next time!”

Miles didn’t know why he was yelling. It was common knowledge that it’s pretty rare for someone who’s unconscious to understand what you’re saying to them.

He didn’t struggle when the two teachers dragged him away, but when they shoved him out the door and into the hall with more force than he thought necessary, he snatched his arms away from their grasp with a rolled shrug, and huffed a frustrated grunt about how he knew how to walk on his own.

—

The drive home was eerily silent. The radio hadn’t been touched, and neither had Miles by his mother’s gaze the moment they’d left the principal’s office after he received his verdict.

Out of school suspension. One week.

It was the best the administrative staff could do after Rio swallowed her pride and went as low as begging them not to expel her boy.

Slumped in the passenger seat with his hands in his lap, Miles didn’t bother to look at the bruises he knew were forming on his knuckles. It was a familiar feeling, and at the moment he was more concerned with why it felt like his throat had been stuffed with cotton when he tried to talk.

“Mamá, I—“

“Do not. Speak.” Rio’s breath wavered, her hands clutching the wheel so hard she thought she’d crush it. She tried not to let her voice break. “Not one word.”

Silence.

—

It all settled in as they climbed the stairwell, the images of what just happened flashing back in his mind every time he blinked; what he’d done playing over and over again in a continuous loop. The wooden railings creaked under the weight of his mother’s hand, and as she knowingly skipped the one that had weakened over the years, he knew the home that held every single emotion he tried to leave behind when he went to school was now just a few steps up.

Rio’s key twisted in the lock before she opened the door, and Miles followed behind her, shoulders slouched dispiritedly. He resembled something of a stray puppy; desperate for attention, but acceptant and grateful that it, as much of a nuisance as it may be, was being tolerated enough to stay on it’s finder’s heels.

He thought being scolded by his mother was bad, but the lack thereof was even worse. Her brows were clenched, and her conflicted yet somehow blank expression told him that she truly did not have any words for him as she leaned on the kitchen counter, hands clasped firmly around the edge so tightly her knuckles paled. She didn’t even know where to start, and Miles didn’t blame her. He refused to explain why he’d snapped when it was asked of him. When his mother’s widened eyes had pleaded with him to tell the principal what happened in that classroom that set him off in such a way, he didn’t. He had no reason not to, at least one he could think of right now, but his voice just wouldn’t allow it. Both in that office, and now in their kitchen, dimly lit by the warm light above the stove, the weight of his mother’s disappointment clung to the suffocating silence, like a fish to a hook and he just couldn’t take it anymore.

“Mamá, I’m sorry.” He whispered in a quick breath, the lump in his throat painful when he swallowed it.

“Good money, Miles.” Rio shook her head, a hand coming up to rest over the rise and fall of her chest. “Good money! We paid good money to get you into that school, your dad and I. I work hard to keep you there and you just—“

Dad.

And the dam broke. Though its foundation wasn’t very strong to begin with— Miles’ shoulders crumbled under the weight of his actions and his tears flooded past his waterline with choked sobs that left no room for air.

Whatever Rio was going to say had been forgotten. The sight of her son sobbing in a way she hadn’t seen since the night they’d received the news immediately put a stop to her reprimanding. Now, she was truly worried.

“Oh Miles, come come come,” She hastily tugged him into a hug and wrapped him firmly in her arms, her hands repeatedly rubbing up and down the expanse of his back. “¿Qué es Mijo? (what is it, son?) Talk to me. No te lo guardes, ¿recuerda?” (no holding it in, remember?)

Miles could barely catch his breath, and somehow talking about it was just as painful as the ache that resided deep in his chest.

“I—It was Dad, it was about—“ a quick breath in split his sentence in half. “About Dad. He was—talking about what ha—happened and I—“ Miles tried for another, but it caught in his throat, ragged and choppy and had his ribcage stuttering from the lousy attempt to cease his hyperventilating. The fact that he couldn’t get his words out uninterrupted only frustrated him more; only made him cry harder. He scrubbed at his tears with the back of his hand, but it was no use. He couldn’t stop crying. Why couldn’t he stop crying?

“He said—“ Another wilted inhale, and a hiccup. “It was abo—about you, and it was terrible and I— I just, I got so angry, and I tried Mamá, I did. But I couldn’t and—and then I was on him and I’m sorry—“

“Shh, shh. It’s okay, it’s okay.” Rio used a hand to bring his head into her shoulder, his cries muffled and his tears wetting the sleeve of her blouse as his rambling came to a halt. Miles clutched onto her tightly, arms round her waist as he fell apart in front of the woman who’d tried her best to piece him back together.

“Respira, Mijo, respira… (breathe).” Rio whispered. “Please.” Seeing her son so distraught had brought on tears of her own, but she shut her eyes, and tucked away her own feelings so she could focus on his. “It’s okay. It’s alright.”

“But you’re mad at me, I don’t want you to be mad at me—“

Rio shook her head and tutted at him. “I’m not mad at you, papa. I understand. Okay? I’m not angry. No.” She couldn’t be upset with him for something like this, not when he could barely shelter himself from his own guilt.

“It’s okay. You’re okay, baby. I’ve got you.” Miles was inconsolable as Rio continued rubbing his back, and her voice shook when she spoke, but she kept the uncertainty she held within her heart concealed from her promise to him.

“We’re going to be okay.”

W-O-W

MORE MORE MORE PRETTY PLS

El Diablo Wears Prada (Pt.3)

Mafia boss! Miguel O'Hara x Reader.

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Smut, Fingering, non-con oral (M! receiving), masturbation, power play, sexual tension, mild angst, Dom! Miguel.

Summary: Another toll is put on your shoulders.

Previous

A/N: Centuries later, here's part 3! Hope you like <3. Feedback much appreciated. Cooper Coen belongs to Marvel ✨

As much as you wanted to remain in Morpheus' arms and let your body rest until it reached a hundred percent, the constant buzzing of the tracking device against your ankle kept alerting you. 

The last vibration had bolted you awake with a startle. Body whined in protest at the sudden movement that took such a strong hold on your hips, the juncture of your arms and thighs. 

It took you a couple of seconds to get your bearings and see the little and borderline fancy tracking device on your ankle. It was as if a digital watch had been locked up around your smooth skin. 

A little jolt of electricity ran through your nerves in a clear sign to not mess with the device, since you had tried to remove it. If you looked closer, it had a little password lock behind, a four-digit code. 

You gotta be kidding me

How dared he putting such a thing on you? When did he put this thing on you?, but more important, was he still around? Cause if he was, he'd have a piece of your mind. 

His sweater on your skin felt a too stuffy, and you needed a bath. A couple of bruises begun appearing in your ankles and the fatty part of your thighs cause obviously he needed to make sure you understood the magnitude of your current situation and how Massimo had willingly put a target ring on your back.

The buzz however snapped you out of the spiralling trance of thoughts that assaulted your mind. Brows puckered as you made your way towards his room but as soon as you entered, anger sapped away for a moment from your head. 

The curtains were drawn shut, their dark colors provided enough darkness to isolate the brightest sunshines that tried with all their might to seep past them and take a hold of whatever thing they could reach. 

With careful steps and a petty heart you sauntered over the windows and one by one removed the curtains, letting all the sun's ablaze glory to illuminate the darkened room in a go, even if it meant for you to be blindsided for a second before you turned your back on the light and saw the results of your anger display before you. 

El Diablo, laid sprawled in his ever big and cozy bed, his right and sharp cheek smooshed against the soft and silky burgundy sheets that wrapped like a second skin on his torso and legs. One of his feet poked out from underneath, letting itself to hang outside the smooth prison. 

His gorgeous mouth laid slightly ajar, letting a little drool streak to escape him and get long dry over the sheets. The smooth locks with the little silver strands in it were also sprawled all over his forehead and the mattress. Your eyes shamelessly raked his back. Big, well worked, perfect for leaving scratches and marks. He had none of those, but a different one. 

A red lips silhouette located a few inches from his ear, half of it smeared, as if wrongly or quickly wiped, trying to cover up a trail. 

The fact he had someone before giving you a rough fuck, not only put a little familiar yet painful stab in your heart, but returned the angry thoughts that initially gave you enough courage to foray into the devil's personal hellhole.

The pain felt like an old friend now that you had seen and heard the type of man Massimo really was. You didn't want to admit that there were times you could still feel a woman's perfume on his clothes while busying yourself in the confinement of your manor, trying to distract yourself from the emerging distraught of knowing your husband was possibly cheating. 

Men

With a scowl, you took one of the many pillows and threw it at his beautiful sleeping face. 

"Wake up!" 

That quickly contorted into several emotions upon suddenly awakening. Surprise cause you had dared startle him, anger because you had the guts to interrupt his slumber and throw a pillow and finally, annoyance at your yapping. 

Your arms crossed against your chest as he placed the pillow you threw his direction on t of his head with a bored grunt. 

The smell of his perfume wafted through the air, hand in hand with a light natural musk and a dash of air freshener coming from the bathroom. 

"What the fuck is this on my ankle and why did you put that thing on me?" 

"Can you shut up?" His slouching form only turned enough to take a proper look your way once his irises had adjusted at the room's brightness. 

Wearing his oversized sweater that covered those perfect mounds of yours he didn't have enough time to squeeze properly. Face twisted in a scowl, that although he rather your scared and demure look, he had to admit this angry you made his lips smirk and a spark of excitement to run through his body. 

Your hair spooked and tussled even if you were now trying to contain it in a messy bun while ignoring the rebellious baby hairs, revealing more of your upset features.

Beautiful and angry. 

Was this the sight you gifted Massimo every day?

"I'm talking to you!" 

"¡Ya pues! Cállate... fucking heard you already." He grumbled while laying down on his back. 

But in truth he hadn't heard a single word it came from your mouth. Too deep in suddenly remembering last night's events and what had transpired back in the club. 

"Take this thing off me." 

"No." 

Miguel stretched his spine with feline grace and a satisfied smirk, letting some joints pop back into place. His spine wasn't aching anymore, he didn't feel like dragging the past few weeks' tiring load, his shoulders felt rather light, he was even in good spirits. You had spent him real good last night. 

"What is this anyway?"

You remained on the window, letting the sun warm you up a bit. The whole floor was cold anyway. Your hands grope on either side of your waist and your frown deepened upon him turning his back on you. 

"Fucking men." 

He smirked as you went to his closet. He noted you only wore the thick sweaters. You didn't rummage through his clothes and personal items like he initially thought. 

"I need to get some things back from home."

With a groan he finally rose, and sat against the bed's oak frame, his hands reached for his phone, and scrolled through his messages as his other hand slicked the messy strands that partially obscured his sight. 

"Are you even listening?!" 

"I'd rather not to."

He grumbled while his eyes remained on the screen. 

"I need to get myself some clothes. I don't wanna keep using yours for you to have me naked later." 

"You're thinking way too high of yourself, Ratoncita." He removed the silky sheets and tossed his phone somewhere in the bed, revealing his bare physique to you as he prowled your way. 

Eyes boring on your tense form. Undoubtedly he was the cat and you his ever lovely and amusing little mouse. One of his hands landed a few inches on one side of your face, but as soon as you tried to remove yourself from the equation, his other hand and a step forward of his frame closed the space, sandwiching you loosely between him and the wall. 

Even if limp, his cock felt above the sweater's fabric, right above your lower belly, ever warm and hefty. He had to lean down enough to face you, then took a half firm half gentle hold in your chin.

"If you have the energies to be mewling this early in the morning, you can take your pretty ass to the shower, clean yourself and get changed. We'll leave soon. ¿Entendido? 

"I'm not coming-" 

He squeezed your chin, igniting that spark of fury within you as he growled between teeth, "Understood?" 

His tone left no space for replies. But you slapped his hand away and retreated away from his confinement, but the petty in him needed to have the final saying. Even though words were done, he took your actions as a defiance. So he returned it, on your butt as a firm slap that smacked deliciously in the air. 

You didn't even turned to face him. Anger was too much in your mind to let it have the whole control over your emotional panel, and part of you assumed that he'd settle the score to his favor with another rough fuck.

Men. 

Your hands clenched into tight fists to finally disappear into the bathroom with a loud slam on the door. 

As much as he wanted to yell for the poor treatment on his property, he couldn't help but smirk, satisfied at your reaction. 

Part of his brain was amused to no end to see this new emotion in you. Anger made his senses tingle. But the ever rational part of his gray mass, wondered what had taken over you to be this pissed. 

Hadn't he fucked you silly last night? Cause he refused to believe he had done a poor job. 

The sudden thought of him underperforming in bed made his bushy brows to pucker in annoying concern. He'd take many insults, name calling, but someone, a woman specially saying he was bad at in bed? No. He couldn't allow it. 

He heard the shower run, and it was his cue to get his clothes ready. 

He'd go for a pair of black pants, a burgundy Prada button shirt, socks, dress shoes, no tie neither a suit, Day was too humid to be overdressed. 

The shower stopped a couple of minutes later, and he put all the things on the bed. 

You had finished a hot shower, rinsing all trace of him, wrapped your hair in a towel and pat dried your body to then wear one of his many black sweaters and slippers, the only thing you truly possessed. 

Upon seeing nothing but his toothbrush and grooming devices, you rummaged through the marbled drawers to look for a new toothbrush. You'd eventually find them next to a neatly arranged box of condoms and some gun chargers. But to your surprise the box was intact, sealed even, waiting to be used. 

With a roll if your eyes and a huff, you got to brush your teeth, a little harder than intended. 

Miguel simply entered the bathroom and slowly squeezed his way into the same space as you before the mirror, pushing you softly as you brushed your hair with your fingers. 

He looked in the mirror, the grayish hue on his cheeks increased, but he kept it. Not really feeling like grooming himself. His happy trail was on full display to you. 

If honest, it was the first time you actually paid attention to the secrets of his skin. 

A couple of scars littered his cinnamon tan and muscled skin, bullet marks? perhaps. The muscles rippled at every movement, enhancing the sight of his lower back's dimples, waist narrow and sharp, adorned with well-worked abs and sculpted thighs. There were no tattoos on his skin as he rather keep himself clean from them. 

His mere existence spoke loud and clear, he didn't need ink to prove his prowess. Plus, he considered himself too old for them. 

Gabriel on the other hand was like a walking board underneath his clothes. Or a bathroom stall's wall like he once called him. 

Your stomach grumbled loudly, and he chuckled. 

"Instead of staring, why don't you get some food? You'll need it." 

He grabbed his toothbrush and put a dollop of paste on it. Voice smooth like butter, that barely did a good job at hiding the rising mirth. But his lid twitched, vexed on your mimicking words 

"You're thinking too highly of yourself."

You pointed at his neck. 

"And make sure to properly clean yourself from others before even considering touching me." 

His smirk widened and held your wrist with enough force to make you whimper. Miguel finished washing and rinsing his mouth to then pull you by your nape and crashing his mouth on yours. 

You froze as he made you taste the fresh and cool flavor of mint in his mouth. When he pulled away, a sardonic smile plastered all over his infuriating yet beautiful face. He didn't give you time to reply as you were being pushed out the bathroom and before you could even give him again a peace of mind; he slammed the door in your face. 

"Asshole!" 

He chuckled as you yelled behind the door and finally got to shower. 

----

After a hearty breakfast and some more calls from Miguel, you and the rest got into the cars and left. 

Ben, the blond man drove the SUV again. Jessica was tailing after in her own car as another car with a lanky and pierced man lead the way. 

Buildings and skyscrapers of all sizes and colors passed you by, streets were averagely full, but Ben drove through shortcuts that approached faster towards your secret destination. 

Miguel had refused to speak after you recoiled away from his sudden urge of teasing you. He deliberately ignored you through the road, focusing occasionally on his phone screen. 

"We're here, boss." Ben mumbled after what it felt like forever. 

The little caravan had stopped before a bright red three floored building. Dark windows prevented the sunlight to seep in. The name, Casa Cisneros displayed in a Dior alike typography over the red walls. 

Your eyes widened when you saw the gorgeous, elegant and colorful clothing designs neatly arranged in the window's showcase. 

Miguel guided your surprised self deeper into the boutique. A man around his forties, white hair, shorter than Miguel, dressed up in an orange suit and a shit-eating grin came to greet Miguel. 

"Por Dios, te juro que si vienes con esa mierda de zapatos de Prada ni me molestaré en atenderte." (I swear that if you've come with those shitty Prada shoes I won't even bother in help you out.) 

Miguel chuckled while shaking his head. Then hugged the man briefly yet sincerely. 

"How have you been Mateo?" 

"¿Cómo que 'How you've been?'" His disgust couldn't hide, "Ugh. Never mind, where is Dana? Can't wait to dress her up in my new collection!." 

Your brow quirked upon the woman's name but Miguel just dismissed him with a disdainful wave of his hands and a blasé scowl. 

"Ah... Ya veo. En fín, whose the new seasonal fling?" 

Mateo, the owner, or so you supposed, fixed his eyes your way and smirked approvingly as he watched you from head to toes. 

"Nothing better and exciting than a blank canvas." he then turned to Miguel, "The same as usual?" 

The same as... what? 

You looked at Miguel and the mob lord shook his head while focusing once more in his phone 

He dialed some numbers to place the trinket in his ear, "Up to her." 

He mumbled before disappearing into another room. Mateo however grinned upon you being given a carte blanche from his best client. Cause that meant money. 

"So... What do you want?" 

"Uh... The basics I believe?" 

This earned him a giggle. 

"Preciosa. Hermosa, muñeca. Listen to me. And listen well.", He waved a warning finger at you, "Basic is not in this fashion's house vocabulary. Secondly, if Miguel brings you here is cause, he wants you to look good and not embarrass him. I know it sounds awful, but if you're with him-" 

"I'm not." Your frown deepened and Mateo just rolled his eyes. 

"Of course you aren't. Anyway, I'll give you a wardrobe. Let's go. Cooper!" 

He called and soon a tall, young and redhead man approached. His green eyes lit up upon the task ahead. 

"This is Cooper Coen, my assistant. He'll be helping us today." 

The young man greeted, and soon they began working. 

Mostly of the pieces the both picked suited perfectly on your body, every curve lavished and worshipped with utter care. But you also noticed that as beautiful as it all was, the crafts were easy to remove. As if Mateo knew the purpose behind everything he donned you with. 

Cooper kept packing and bringing clothes that not only enhanced your body shape, but made you look like a spoiled rich man's wife. Elegant, beyond gorgeous, expensive and oh so tempting and fuckable. 

Mateo seemed delighted in having you as his personal doll, trying outfit after outfit. Miguel had left to business but Jessica remained behind to look after you. 

Hours kept passing, and you moved to the undergarments. You were too focused in getting the underwear you had missed for so long that didn't hear Miguel returning. 

You wouldn't ruin him financially, sadly, but as Cooper had told you, it wasn't going to go be cheap either. And if your intuition wasn't failing, you knew something didn't add up. Not that you weren't grateful to finally have your own clothes to wear, but deep in your brain, the ever rational and alert part of it kept telling you to be wary. To not trust Miguel.

What is he hiding? 

----

Miguel had to leave for a couple of minutes to have an impromptu meeting with Peter back at the club for more Intel gathering. Apparently a clue on Massimo's whereabouts came up and he left you with Jessica. 

But upon returning and seeing the amount of packages and the count ascending past the fifty grand, he called you. 

Money wasn't an issue for him, but the amount of unnecessary shoes that you or rather Mateo had made him wonder how many pair of shoes a woman truly needed. 

Never enough apparently. 

He called you once, but Cooper showed up instead. 

"She'll be here soon, Mr. O'Hara." 

The young man nodded as Miguel huffed.  

It reminded him the too many times he took women for shopping and always ended up like this. Bored out of his mind, sometimes pissed at the constant questions they asked him. 

Do I look fat? Does this color matches my skin? 

He sighed, irked but somehow ready to ignore the flood of questions you'd annoy him with. 

Much to his dismay, minutes kept stretching impossibly longer and he had things to do and places to be at. He called you again. 

No response. 

His jaw tensed as his teeth ground together. He immediately took his phone and searched on the tracking device location. 

Signal Lost 

"Pinche mujer" He growled as he bolted gun in hand towards where you had been, Heart pounding with such an intense anger it felt like molten lava flowing through him. 1Jessica was helping Mateo, unaware of what was to unfold. 

Heavy and livid steps guided him towards the dressing rooms. He swung the curtain, ready to look for clues as to where you had left, only to find you, struggling with adjusting the back straps of the lingerie Cooper had handed over to you. 

"¿¡Qué no oyes cuando te hablo?! ¿'Tas pinche sorda o qué?" (Didn't you hear me when I'm talking to you?! You fucking deaf or what?!) 

His sudden outburst startled you while your frightened gaze settled on him and it quickly turned angered. 

"What the fuck?! I'm changing!" You were about to keep up with his yelling when his gun stood high and proud in the air. Silencing your babbling with an unintelligible grumble. 

"What was that?" With a scowl he glowered your way. Your tongue clicked, ignoring him. 

His eyes couldn't help but rake your body for some brief seconds to finally settling on the tracking device. The thing was off. 

"What did you do to it?!" He growled while pushing you against the mirror and kneeled to grab your ankle and see with his own eyes why the device wasn't working. 

Updating 40% 

Of course the damned thing would be updating. His nostrils flared angrily as you yanked your limb away from his grasp.

"Hurry the fuck up, I don't have all day."

He let you go and headed towards the entrance. 

"Che palle! Lasciami in pace un attimo, stronzo!" (How annoying! Leave me alone for a second, you asshole!) 

And oh his head turned in many dangerous and dark thoughts. It wasn't the words you used, he couldn't care less about them, but the fact alone you still had bits of Massimo still clinging to you. 

If honest, you only had learned some phrases in the attempt to rekindle things with your husband, it somehow worked, but this was a completely different outcome you truly weren't expecting. 

In a blink of an eye he was already before you, red eyes glowering your way, a steely grip on his gun. 

"The fuck did you say?" 

You had to recoil away, but where? He had trapped you again against the mirrors, your fear etched in every face the multiple surfaces provided and it fuelled him. 

A thick gulp rolled down your throat as his gun's tip placed underneath your chin to drag down between your breast to stop right above your heart, tapping a tad rough with it. 

"If you wanna act like a spoiled brat, fine." he seethed as he pushed you on your knees in a swift move, the sudden movement had you stumbling down, startled "I'll teach you a fucking lesson." 

His other hand immediately went to your front strands, tangling his long fingers in them, your hands immediately flew to his wrist, grunting uncomfortably at the tight grip on your skull, trying to pry yourself away from him. You could feel his anger through the little tremors his body did as he tossed the gun to the seat inside the little cubicle. 

"Let me go!" he pulled your head back, parting your lips open in the way. 

"Since you fucking love opening your pretty mouth to disrespect me," His hold tightened on your hair as his hands fumbled with the belt of his pants, sliding his free hand past the layers of clothing and pulled out his engorging cock. A few pumps of his hand around it had it twitching to life. 

"I think it's time to find a proper use for it, hmm?" Before you could even protest, his flushed tip was already invading your mouth. A hiccup escaped you while he pushed in inch by inch, earning a brief gag and gurgle from you. 

A satisfied growl escaped his smirking mouth. 

"What's wrong? Cat's fucking your tongue?" 

He stepped in closer, your nose nuzzled his happy trail as he was now holding your hair in a fistful. A sharp tinge of tears blurred your eyes for a moment as he slid down your throat. Your hands slapped his thighs while trying to push him back, earning him a breathless moan. You had tested his patience long enough for him to snap and remind you of your position. 

If he had known how easy and quick you'd learn how to get under his skin, he would've left you back with your rotten husband. 

Upon sensing you gag again, he chuckled while sliding some of his fingers underneath your chin, guiding you slowly to take him properly. 

"Fucking relax." He heaved when your mouth flattened around him to have air flowing back to your lungs. 

Fucking gorgeous. That's how you looked, staring with your pretty and angry eyes while you choked on him, set a long forgotten thrill alive that he rather keep buried for good. 

You coughed as soon as he slid out, completely hard, glistening in your saliva and beads of pre cum that connected to the corners of your flushed mouth. 

"Uh-uh. Open up, I'm not done yet." 

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and coughed a couple of bits; the glare returned to your eyes. 

"Fuck you." 

Miguel huffed, crouched and took your chin to kiss you, tasting himself. You bit his lip, hard trying to get him to free you, but the growl grumbling through his chest only made your skin crawl as his tongue slid in your mouth, also invading you. 

The sheer size of his frame and the little space between sandwiched you, deliciously against him. One hand cradled your head, not giving you a truce while devouring your lips as the other one slid down between your legs. 

The sudden contact sent jolts up your spine, as he changed the cradling on your nape to a light squeeze on your neck as he pressed you against the floor, and spread your legs with his teasing hand when you trapped his hand in between your thighs, preventing him from reaching deeper. 

The motions had slowly made his cock to be trapped again in the fabric confinement. 

He earned a feeble mewl as he slid two of his fingers inside. The vibrations of your purring reverberated underneath his skin made his eager tip to twitch again 

His phone buzzed and he let your throat go for a second, but his fingers remained inside, massaging and wriggling softly within your flesh. 

"Not a peep from you, ok? This is an important call." 

Your hands immediately clenched and your thighs trembled when he moved his hand, back and forth, delving into your drenching walls. 

Heat licking at every pore of your skin. You didn't know if it was in anger or your hormones betraying you once again. The lack of sex with Massimo was costing your dignity big time. 

He's just toying with you cause he knows he can. 

Your mind reasoned, despite the rationality's grip loosening at his ministrations. 

"Ya le dije a Gabriel que procediera sin contratiempos." (I already told Gabriel to proceed without problems)

He talked and moved his hand like the most natural thing to do while in a call. 

Shame washed over your cheeks at the raunchy and sloppy wet noises your cunt made the more he probed your insides. 

"No, no-"

You hissed and his eyes went immediately on you, as if with his glare alone he'd be defying you to make a noise again. 

Your lips pursed shut as your chest heaved with ragged yet quiet breaths 

"I've got it under control." 

More than a reply to whoever he was talking to, his words were a fact. An undisputed truth that clawed at your brain the deeper he stimulated with his fingers. 

He was on control. Of you, your body and every bit that formed it, of every contraction that sucked and trapped his fingers, of every breath he made you exhale. 

His pace increased, and you choked while your body trembled at the beat of his thrusting fingers. A satisfied smirk crept up to his face, determined to break your forceful silent vow. 

He's worse than Massimo. Don't forget that. 

The hardened nub of your breast peeked underneath the flimsy fabric, swaying, demanding to be tasted. 

His initial resolution of not making a physical approach, had been long broken, ever since you insulted him in that foreign language that certainly sparked things within his mind he rarely liked to indulge thinking. 

You amused him, that was much true. But God you also made him so fucking angry. Running your mouth like you were his equal, facing him despite being scared to the core and spending his energies in such a delicious way he only sought whenever stress was eating him alive and none so far had properly known how to sate. Not even Dana. 

The only serious relationship prospect he had so far until she cheated on him and he had to get rid of her. 

But you, He didn't know if to kill you himself or fuck you 'til you were in tears. 

Your mouth parted in a pornographic 'o', gasping quietly, eyes shut, face covered in a deep shade of red, hands clenched into fists on the floor as your body swayed underneath. 

"Let me see what I can do." He crooned as his golden chain around his neck dangled with his motions.

His eyes kept glued onto your face as he slowly rubbed the rough pad of his thumb against your neglected clit in a tortuous and flickering motion. 

You bit your lip, and he smirked darkly. Slowly, he pushed in a third finger as he applied a bit more of pressure on your already sensitive and engorged nub 

Think about the condom box! 

Your toes curled in, body contorted in between gentle twitches and jerks when he grazed ever softly and teasingly at your sweet spot. A soft and barely audible gasp escaped your mouth. And his breath hitched as soon as you locked eyes with him in a glare. 

How dare he? 

He moved in and out, alternating between fucking his fingers inside and caress your bundle of nerves for enough time to edge you. 

"I know. Hmm." He nodded at whatever words Peter gave him, "You're more than capable of handling it." 

It felt like he was encouraging you through the whole process. 

He's not in control. 

One of his fingers grazed into a spot that got your hips stuttering and shaking your head as your teeth sunk deeper into the plump of your bottom lip, jaw tense but unable to trap in a garbled moan. You felt like a hypocrite. 

"Yeah, don't worry. Everything's fine." 

The way your walls increased their drenching with every contraction on his digits, had him tittering silently in twisted delight. 

At this point it was a matter of seconds to have you coming undone. He was set into making you break the rules. Your toes curled and trembled as he fastened the pace enough to have a soft squishing slap echoing just for him. 

El Diablo tilted his head as you clawed your nails on his ankle, it barely tickled him. 

"All he has to do is to agree. Offer him more money if that's the case." 

With clinical precision he stopped a few seconds before you got to come undone and trap him inside. A frustrated and shallow whine flew out your mouth. His thumb pad was now tracing the outline of your lips, to then slid two of his drenched fingers into your mouth. 

"All he has to say is yes." He moved his hand, making your head bob in a nod as he spoke. Your taste exploding into your mouth. 

With little he just retreated outside the cubicle to return a few minutes later with a plain pair of pants and a shirt. He hung the call up and sighed. 

" Now that you've learnt how to shut the fuck up, get changed. We need to go."

With trembling legs you stood, trying to catch your breath, the lingerie soiled, your thighs sticky. Heart and pussy played like a fancy tailed piano and he was the main musician. 

He fixed his clothes, despite the raging boner pulsating between his clothes. He looked at you for a moment, nose reddening, lips flushed and glossy eyes that turned aqueous the more he remained in there. 

His brows pinched softly in an imperceptible frown before leaving you alone. Not really wanting to witness your sudden discomfit. 

What had came over you? 

----

Ever since he woke up that day there were so many changes he had barely had time to adjust. But this quiet and distant you was unsettling and uncomfortable for him. 

First the need to cry after he almost gave you an orgasm, then, the silent ride back at home. 

You barely glanced his way when explaining the dress you needed to wear for the party he was also changing into. But what frustrated him the most was when he asked you to remove the ring out of your finger. The urge to cry returned on your face. 

He truly didn't understand why you still clung so blindly to Massimo. At this point he thought it was love.

He huffed, disgusted. 

You wouldn't drag him to your emotional rollercoaster cause he already had his own. And there was an enough mess as it was to keep adding to his plate. 

He was proud of his detachment skills, soon you'd return to that asshole you called a husband and he wouldn't have to worry about you anymore, cause again, he was growing tired of facing other emotions that weren't the ones he could master. 

No matter how gorgeous and fuckable you looked in that backless and sequin golden dress that undoubtedly did a better job at treating your body than him. 

You had to apply some makeup to the most visible bruises around your body. Neck included. He loved squeezing it apparently. 

Miguel had removed the tracking device of your ankle to disguise it as a clock on your wrist. He looked handsome as usual. 

In truth, you looked like a celebrity. It made you wonder what kind of party you headed to, but you refused to speak to him and he was more than happy to not be bothered. 

Each sat in opposite corners in the car. Not saying a word during the ride. The only instruction he gave you was to stay close as he hugged your waist, although weakly, with his hand. 

Nostalgia was rampant on you today, and it didn't help the not so clandestine reunion harbored within a familiar milieu for you. 

A fancy club, L'Enfer, you once had the chance of visiting. Your engagement night, and returning after so many years in extremely different circumstances, tightened the knot around your throat and the need to run away to increase tenfold. 

Golden floors matched the velvet curtains that protected the black windowsills from prying eyes. The tables pristinely arranged to the left and right, ready to witness its attendee's darkest and deepest secrets. 

Servers were dressed in jet black suits and red gloves, offering the myriad of delicacies prepared for the night. 

Some men stared at Miguel, apprehension and wariness in their eyes. Others smirked and raised their champagne cups as he made his way deeper into the place. Peter walked ahead, Miguel and you followed, and Jessica tailed behind, yet his agents scattered all over the place, either as servers or valets, even bartenders. 

Miguel wore his usual frown, occasionally changing into a deadpan whenever a fan of his work approached. 

Miguel entered to a further room, more private and secluded. The smell of tobacco and expensive perfumes polluted the air, assaulting your nose at once. 

You downed the discomfort with a cup of champagne. 

"Try to not drink too much. Need you sober for the meeting." 

A meeting? 

You quirked a brow at his mumbles but nodded and remained seated near the indoor font, the least tobacco smelling place from the rest and the same place Massimo proposed. Now, you were eating the different entrees, balancing the alcohol ingest in a mob lord party, you realized too late. 

Jessica remained on your side, also eating whenever a snack she liked passed by. Peter accompanied Miguel as he greeted and exchanged a few words with the other people. 

Orborn, Kravinoff or Kraven for short, Olivia Octavius, and other men didn't ring a bell on you. 

"Let Miguel do the whole talking. In fact, act as the listener. And if Kraven calls you beautiful, don't say thanks. He'd think he can hit on you and the least Miguel needs-" 

"Is worrying for stupid shit. I know." 

The sweetness of the mini desserts and other assorted flavors didn't help to conceal the tart tasting in your mouth. Jessica quirked a brow and nodded. 

"You're adapting quick. That's good. But despite having a ten grand dress on you with matching shoes and gold in your ears, you look like you're about to cry. What the hell is wrong now?" 

Tough love was all you got from her, but it also surprised you how perceptive and unsuspecting she could be. 

"Everything."

Jessica rolled her eyes and sighed, adding another lemon curd mini tart in your plate. One you hadn't had before. 

"What in specific? Is it... That guy, your husband?"

Jessica smacked her lips with her gaze fixed on you, scrutinizing within your eyes upon your sudden silence. 

"You're really hung up on that asshole, aren't you?" 

"It's not that. And I'm not even sure about my feelings on Massimo. I want to punch him in the face for lying to me, but I also I want to know he's alright, so I can... pass page."

Your shoulders slumped as you heaved, defeated, "And Miguel is no better. It feels like they'd be secretly competing against eachother whose worse." 

Jessica grunted with a silent titter and shook her head. 

"He's blunt and an asshole, undoubtedly. Despite that, I'd stick in Miguel's side, he'll make sure you're safe in his own way." 

"Just wished he'd be less cryptic whenever I ask for answers." 

"Again, he's protecting you."

"From what? From himself?" 

"No. From the troubles your man dragged you to, honey." 

"Ugh" You rolled your eyes, the last thing you needed right now was to be reminded how awful Massimo was, "Just forget it. I feel anxious enough as it is." 

"What do you mean?" 

"I... I have a bad feeling." 

-----

You sat next to Miguel and carefully listened. The mobster's voice occasionally drowned the cutlery's tinkling out. 

Topics had varied through the night, from luxury cars and ways to armor them, weapon hiding and smuggling, to your current predicament. Massimo. 

"Kingpin is looking for him, his wife has gone MIA, which is convenient. Bitch's smart. The guy could learn a thing or two from her."

"He ratted out Delgado with the FBI. His associate! Wouldn't surprise me if he'd sell out his family to save his skin." The man called Harry Osborn spoke as he downed his whiskey. 

"Da. My associates have gathered Intel, he hasn't left the country still."

You gulped thickly the more the men spoke. If seeing with your own hands what your husband had created wasn't enough, hearing it straight from the horse's mouth only crushed your heart even further. 

"What about you, Diablo?" 

"Max owes me money." 

Many just hissed while contorting their faces disapprovingly. 

"How much?" 

"Four Million."

"Poor bastard sold his soul to you, didn't he?" Olivia Octavius mumbled between sardonic and titters. 

Miguel downed his whiskey as your hands clawed on the golden sequins of the dress. 

"What kind of fucked up woman marries a guy like that? She's desperate or corrupt as he is." 

Olivia spat and a few nodded. 

"Heard he was fooling her this whole time."

"Ahh, C'mon, Miguel. Didn't know you fell for such things." 

Miguel just shrugged, then he lit up a vanilla and cherry cigarette to blow the smoke away from you. 

"I'm giving people the benefit of doubt still. But I'll find him."

"You'll kill him?" 

"Gotta collect my reaps first." 

The men and Olivia grinned, everyone seemed pleased but you. It had been a good deal of information to swot on, so many to digest your stomach had turned queasy. 

You were about to stand up, feeling the bile and nausea rising, that registered too late the acute ring piercing through your eardrums so badly after a powerful loud bang. Unable to move, frozen in the spot. 

Everything felt in muted slow motion, some droplets of something warm and wet fell on your face, spraying you. You saw the group pulling out their guns one by one as Harry Osborn fell with a seemingly loud thud on the table. 

Why isn't he moving? 

Your heart pounded in your ears, throat constricted, and when you tried to scream nothing but a mute yell came out. A strong tanned hand pulled you down, as more loud bangs kept echoing, like distant fireworks underneath water. 

Guns were sparkling with every shot they fired, people fell on the floor, staining the golden surface with crimson as the walls around received an ugly hole-themed makeover. 

You could see Miguel grabbing your shoulders, shaking you while his mouth moved angrily as he pulled his gun away and kept you secured tightly underneath his frame. 

Chaos had broke loose. And you weren't sure you'd live up to tell. 

-----

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taunt angst

miguel o’hara x fem!reader — drabble

—-

i can’t be the only one who reads those fics where spider-man keeps missing dates and just want something with more angst, right? like i don’t want them to get back together —- just me? alright 🤷‍♀️

—-

a waiting game. your dates, you mean.

sitting there for two and a half hours turns into a free meal and shots with the waitress. he was ruining you, and this was the final straw. the final time you’d sit on your floor crying after your boyfriend stood you up.

miguel 💋

where are you?

hello??

it’s been an hour

seriously???

wtf read

——

that unfortunately is what all your messages look like, of course followed by a half assed apology and a ‘promise’ to improve his behaviour. you just wanted to turn away from him.

you climbed into your shared bed, the last time you’d be doing that. you’d toss and turn, eventually being woken up my a certain someone.

“hola, amor,” he said, leaning down to take off his shoes.

“no,” you respond, your eyes stinging from tears threatening to fall.

“no? ¿que?”

“get out.”

“get out, amor this is my home,”

“i said get out.” raising your voice, your cheeks read.

“why?”

“you think you can waltz in here after what you did? i waited at that restaurant for two hours!! two hours o’hara! you promised me miguel. the stupid waitress bought my meal, she thought i was on some tinder date! i couldn’t tell her it was my fiancé.” the dark shrouded the room, you were grateful he couldn’t see the pain in your eyes.

“amor im sorry, i promise to do better!”

“JUST GET OUT!!” you throw a pillow at him, breaking down. barely being able to breathe, you scream at him till your voice gives out.

eventually it is only you in the apartment, in the world. your phone rang on end, ignoring calls from miguel, but also your friends, family, peter and jess. begging you to respond.

you could bring yourself to do it, to admit you got played. you could get past this, you could move on. but not right now. no, now was for cursing that man. the man who made you feel loved, only to throw it away. for work? for another woman? you may never know.

but you sure as hell weren’t going to chase after him even though you so desperately wanted to.

—-

i need a long ass fic where he never comes back tbh, somebody make that pretty please. anyway reqs open💋

THIS IS THE BESR. somebody get bro a pulitzer prize

Classmate

PART THREE

PART ONE; PART TWO; PART THREE (CURRENT)

Earth 42! Miles Morales x fem! reader

Synopsis! For the life of you , you couldn’t understand why Miles had it out to get you so bad. If it wasn’t for the mid-year seat change, he wouldn’t have even acknowledged your existence.

MASTERLIST

Genre: light fluff, enemies to lover like troupe, light bully! Miles

Warnings: mentions of violence, foul language, more creeps, that’s it <3

Word count: 3.5k

Authors comment: that’s a wrap folks! This one was super hard for me to write idky, hopefully it still is fitting to the story line! Enjoy <3

Do not copy! All rights reserved to ©axeoverblade

Things with Miles had been different since that night.

Never acknowledging what happened in his bedroom, you two went about the dinner and the past five weeks like nothing happened.

But the way he acted towards you had changed.

Miles became a vacillating wind, constantly switching his direction with the air. His teasing became nicer, more playful than before, he had also become more needy. One minute he was behind you in the crowded hallways discreetly pulling you close, his hands lightly gripping the front of your thighs; whispering how good your ass looked in your uniform, his lips ghosting your neck as he spoke.

The next he was ignoring you when he passed in the halls with his friends, giving you dirty looks if you got too close as he walked by.

It was exhausting having to pretend like his’ hot and cold game wasn’t affecting you.

Truthfully, Miles didn’t know how to feel. On one hand, it was you. On the other hand… It was you.

Regardless of the predicament in his brain, he found himself unable to get his mind off of you.

No matter what hand it was, no matter what time of day, no matter the situation or what he was he doing,

It was always you.

That was the problem. You had enveloped his brain and he despised you for it. He hated that even if he wanted to think of something other than you he couldn’t.

There were more important things to worry about than you. One of those things being the mission he was on right now.

Even as he was running the streets, avenging claws weighing heavy on his calloused hands, you were his main focus.

He was so damn tired of it.

However, he was more tired of not being able to see you when he wanted, to feel you when he wanted.

He hated pretending it didn’t affect him, like you didn’t affect him.

El te ansiaba. You and you only.

So that’s where he found himself after every mission, this one being no different. Scratching the itch, so to speak.

Another late night tapping on your dorm window, beckoning you out into the city’s darkness.

And just like every other night you groggily jeered at him to stop bringing his ass over this late. But you still come out wearing the hoodie he leant you a few weeks back after the dinner; when he was “forced” to walk you home by Rio, even though he planned to anyway. And your shivers “were working his last nerve” so he took his hoodie off and gave it to you, insisting you kept it when you reached the door to your family apartment because “your germs were all over it.”.

He knew good and well he wanted ‘your germs’ all over him.

It was a recurring cycle between the two of you. Throughout the days, depending on how Miles was feeling, you two would be locked in like you were together; or he would give you the coldest behavior.

But no matter how he acted, the nights always ended with him paying for your ice cream from the small shop around the corner that stayed open twenty four hours.

That was the thing, no matter how the day went, it always ended with you two together.

Y así es como él quería que fuera.

If looks could kill, the guy talking to you would’ve been six feet deep. Hell, Miles was ready to do it with his bare hands, no need for figurative language.

The only reason this guy had the balls to approach you was because Miles had chosen to ignore you all week.

Usually you two were seen together, or at least close enough in the halls to where no one dared to approach you. But he decided to “distance himself” from you in hopes to calm the flutters in his chest whenever he was near you, just seeing you would cause his heart to drop to his stomach.

He would brush you off in the classroom, keeping his usual playful banter with you to a minimum. He even went as far as to skip the regular late night meet ups you two had.

Clearly his plan didn’t work.

And now seeing this random guy talkin’ to you, he wish he never did it. I mean this guy was so bold, so cockily talking to you, to his girl.

He wasn’t gon’ have that.

You smiled out your fifth that’s crazy to the guy talking to you. He had yet to even tell you his name, assuming you already knew it. Very bold assumption.

You wanted nothing more than to get out of this conversation. Even with John gone in the hospital, guys still couldn’t catch the hint you wanted nothing to do with them.

“Aye ima keep it real witchu’” the guy paused staring deep into your soul, “ I was wondering if you live up to the rumors?” You blinked a few times. What was he on about? “Homie John was tellin’ me- before ole’ boy came outta nowhere and snuck him” You assumed “ole boy” was Miles, referring to when John nearly died because of him. “John was telling me you gave him a run for his money.” The boy winked. Now you were really confused. What in the hell was he talking about? “Oh come on, you know what I’m talm’ bout” the guy insinuated seeing your confused face. He stepped closer, too close for comfort.

You wished Miles, even though he had been a jerk all week, was near you to prevent this douche from getting any closer. Things like this never happened with him around. “I mean you could show me somethin-”

“She good homeboy. ” As if on cue, Miles' stern voice interrupted the guy, wrapping a hand firmly around the small of waist as he stood behind you. His Versace cologne coursed strongly through your nostrils, his signature smell of warm citrusy teakwood permeating your brain. It had become a smell you could recognize anywhere.

“I believe she can speak for herself bro” the guy said, looking at Miles challengingly. Miles furrowed his eyebrows, staring at the guy like he had said the most ridiculous thing known to man. Because to Miles he had.

Miles nodded his head to the side using it to gesture further down the hallway, far from where you were. “Step.” Miles asserted, voice the most serious you had heard before. The guys scoffed and looked at you, “aye, you know where to find me.”. He winked again and kept walking, following Miles' rather aggressive instruction to leave.

You shook the look of disgust off you face as the guy walked away. Peering at Miles over your shoulder, you finally acknowledging his existence. “Oh so we speaking now?” You questioned sarcastically. You expected him to let go of you, but his hand remained planted firm on your waist.

“What class you got next mami? It’s Spanish right, with Señor Ramos?” He blatantly ignored your question, lightly moving you with the hand he had placed your waist forward, insinuating for you to walk. Scowling, you moved away from his grasp but walked as he nonverbally asked. “Okay first off- how do you know that? You stalkin’ me now?” He rolled his eyes at your rhetorical question. “And secondly, you can’t just come over here after going ghost n’ push up on me like this.” He kissed his teeth, “Chill ma it ain’t that deep.” You scoffed at his nonchalant response. “You know what-”, you cut yourself off, holding a hand up with no real intention. You walked away from him, feeling your irritation from his on and off behavior from the past month finally bubbling over.

Miles stood where you left him, dropping his shoulders with an annoyed sigh.

It finally reached the weeks end, Friday hitting Miles like a train. Unluckily for Miles, you refused to talk to him since your interaction Monday, going as far as to ignore him in the classroom. And not in the way he did to you, not just the usual brush off. It seemed like you were purposely acting as if he died or something; completely pretending he wasn’t there.

He would make fun of you, you would stay silent. He would tug at your hair to annoy you, silence. He would place his hand steadily on the inner of your upper thigh to get some, any kind of reaction from you, silence.

Miles was conflicted. The silent treatment felt a lot different being the one receiving it.

You were affecting him mentally. He had been on dozens of missions as the prowler, working through each of them like a pro. But it seemed like he had never used his equipment in his life on the mission he was on now, his mind being too flooded with thoughts of you to focus.

As he was running along the top of a building, he was suddenly yanked back from the cord attached to his hip. He stumbled back into his uncle's chest, looking back at him through his mask. Switching the mask up as Aaron pulled his own mask up over his face, Miles turned to his uncle confused.

“Aye man. You in or what?” Aaron said irritated. “What you mean unc, I’m right here.” Miles responded, immediately understanding what his uncle was implying. “Yea you might be here physically,” Aaron placed two fingers on Miles temple, roughly tapping them against his head. “But you ain’t here. You only as strong as your weakest link Miles, you know that. Stop playin around or you're out. Understand?” Huffing, Miles nodded.

He had to get it together.

Two o’clock in the morning and the Mission finally finished.

Jumping from building to building, Miles decided to stay out a little longer to clear his head.

He had to talk to you. You had become all he could think of, every day, every night.

It was exhausting to know he was the reason you refused to speak to him. He would do anything to talk to you. Hell, just to see you right now.

Looking down, he caught sight of a familiar figure. His eyes widened slightly, the universe seeming to answer his pleas.

It was a stupid idea. Thinking you could have gotten ice cream alone at 2:30 in the morning was never smart. But as much as you hated to admit, you missed Miles. You missed him so much that all sense of rationale had left. Curse your strong feelings and weak mind.

But you seemed to have forgotten the state of Brooklyn, it being no way shape or form safe. So someone watching you, even though a norm of creepy in New York, was still very unpleasant. You could feel their eyes blaring into your head, staring deeply into your soul without even having to look at your eyes. It was worse when you had no idea where or who they were.

You were terrified to say the least. Whoever was stalking you was good at their job, you had no sense of direction as to their location or what they wanted.

You turned your head around, trying to see if you noticed anyone behind you. As you turned your head foward, you were met with the sight of the prowler staring directly at you.

“OH MY-” you yelled, flailing your arms in fear causing you to drop the ice creams.

He used his claw-covered hand to cover your mouth, raising a finger over his screened face indicating for you to be quiet.

You furrowed your eyebrows but nodded, fear still present in your eyes. He took the claw off your mouth.

“Why you out this late?” The altered voice asked, being the first time you heard the voice behind the mask, even if it wasnt their true voice. You blinked, was this really what he wanted? “Uhm, not to be rude or nothin’” you paused, “but why do you need to know that?”

The man behind the mask smacked his lips looking down at you. “Just answer the question mujer.” The accent rolled of his tongue thick, clearly annoyed. Their response brought a sense of familiarity to you, reminding you of how Miles would get mad at you when you smart mouthed him. You took a moment to closely observe the prowler. Their hair was in two braids down the back of their head, the part visibly clean but frizz surrounded the woven hair from the night's movement. His Jordan’s were clean, surprisingly not creased too deeply even though it was the same pair from your last time you saw him. He stood over you, this time less frightening than the last encounter you had a few months ago.

“You gon’ speak or just keep staring at me?” You jolted lightly at the sound of the altered voice, snapping back to reality. “You know- I don’t see how that’s your business-” “I’m making it my business.” His voice was stern, yet not aggressive. It reminded you all too well of Miles. Furrowing your eyebrows, you tilted your head at the vigilante. It was clear they had no intention of hurting you, otherwise they would’ve already done it.

“Uhhh,” you bite your lip confused. It truly wasn’t the vigilantes business why you were out, but the thought of them becoming actually irritated wasn’t something you wanted to experience. “I was getting ice cream.” Miles looked at the two cones on the ground, seeing his favorite flavor and your favorite melting together, lightly smirking under his mask. “You need two for yourself?” “Well no.” “So who’s the other one for?”. You glared at the prowler, not realizing he could be so damn annoying.

“For my man. But ‘can’t eat em’ anymore cause the ice creams on the ground n’ I only brought a few dollars. I should make you buy me some new ones.” You said accusingly.

Miles took in what you called him, your man. He was lucky his masks didn’t hold expression, because the wide geeky smile under the screen would’ve easily given away it was him.

He was your man.

He hummed, trying his best to not sound any different than before. You nodded impatiently, just wanting to get home. Staring at the spilled ice cream, you huffed defeated. It was clear you just weren’t meant to see Miles; the dropped ice cream and your sudden lack of energy proof of your case.

The prowler sighed, drawing you out of thoughts, “You know there’s creeps out here lookin’ for chiquitas like you. You need to watch where you're going mami.”

You faltered, hearing his words. It was something Miles used to tell you often to tease you.

Before you could process the words, he vanished into the darkness.

Miles watched as you looked around aimlessly, trying to spot where he went. The nickname rolled off his tongue with ease from how much he called you it, a little too easy. From the way you looked at him, knew he almost messed up big time; forgetting you didn’t know he was the prowler.

Three taps were heard on your window.

Who was tapping at your window at 2:45 in the morning?

No other than Miles Gonzalo Morales.

Getting up, you feigned annoyance at the boy staring at you through your window, noting the two ice creams in his hand.

Opening the window, he wasted no time barging in past you. Rude. Sitting on your bed he offered you the cold sweet treat he bought for you. Snatching it from him, you stared at him expectantly.

“Why are you here Miles.” You raised an eyebrow at him.

Even though you wanted to see him less than twenty minutes ago, he didn’t have to know that. So being the petty being you are, you decided to keep up the mad act; unaware of the fact he already knew your true feelings. “Damn I can’t stop by no more?” He asked playfully, man spreading on your bed. “You ain’t stopped by in a hot minute. might as well stop coming all together.” You say stoically, trying your best to remain irritated. He sighed, opening his mouth to say something only to shut it and look away.

He glanced up again as you sat down next to him on the soft mattress.

“Watchu been up to ma?” Miles turned his head to you, leaning back on his elbows with his ice cream in hand. You pursed your lips at him. Who walks half a mile at 2:45 in the morning just to ask such a basic question. “You could’ve texted that”. You quipped. Still gazing at you, he licked his lips, “Yea, I could’ve.”.

A silence fell over the two of you as you began to eat your ice creams.

Miles sighed, taking a break from the partially eaten cone in his hand. “Look mami-” he paused, a soft breath leaving his mouth. “I shouldn’t have gone ghost like that. lo siento.” Shock rose over your face. “Did the Miles Morales just apologize,” you joked, easing the uncomfortableness he had been feeling. “Cállate mujer” he smacked his lips, rolling his eyes.

“Lemme try your ice cream.” He pointed at your already half consumed cone. “You literally have one in your hand.” Furrowing your brows, you pulled the ice cream in your hand closer to your body. He bucked at you,“So?” snatching the ice cream out of your hand, he took a bite out of the waffle cone. You gaped at him, irritated by the fact he took a bite instead of just licking it. His eyes widened looking down at the cone,“Ouh- this pretty good ma.”. licking out of the half empty cone. “Can I have my cone back bro” he looked at you, a sudden glint of mischief washing over his eyes. He licked the ice cream; his tongue curling seductively pulling the ice cream up as he maintained eye contact with you. Your eyes widened at him, your cheeks heating from his inappropriate gesture. Seeing your reaction, a genuine laugh left his throat. “you a freak ma?” He asked cackling. You looked at him incredulously “Oh I’m the freak?” You said sarcastically, “and quiet down before my parents hear you” you said, snatching the cone back from him. He chuckled, licking the tiny amount of ice cream stuck on the side of his lip.

Checking his phone, Miles' eyes widened seeing it read 3:30 am. He hadn’t realized how much time had passed, now passing over from late in the night to early morning. Standing up, he walked towards the window. “Damn I gotta dip, I’ll catch you later.” He turned back to you, “N’ no more ghosting. Promise.” You walked toward the window, preparing to close it once he left. “Promise?”

“Promesa.” He said, exiting out the window. You turned away from the open breeze for a second, taking a moment to look back at your room to see if he left anything,

“Y/n.”

You turned your head quickly, looking him in the eye. He lightly grabbed your chin through the open frame, bringing your face ever so gently to his. His lips connect to yours, his gentle demeanor enough to make the anxieties of the night fade into mist. Closing your eyes, his hand met your neck softly pulling you closer. A soft gasp fell from your lips, him taking the initiative to deepen the kiss. His tongue quickly won dominance, exploring your mouth as it pleased.

Maybe you were meant to see him tonight.

He smirked into the kiss, a string of saliva keeping you together as he pulled away gazing at you.

“esperado tanto para hacer eso”

BONUS:

Miles sat on his uncle's couch cleaning his gear from the mission he came back from; an innocent lovestruck energy that had been there from the previous days still seeping from his presence. “So who’s the girl?” Aaron asked, a smirk on his face.

Miles looked at him feigning confusion “Ion know whatchu’ talkin’ bout unc.” Aaron pursed his face, smacking Miles on the back of his neck, “Boy you look like you got slapped by a rainbow-Jolly ass-Ian dumb. What's up wit it.” Miles winced from the sting, furrowing his eyebrows angrily as he smacked his lips offended, “Damn relax,” the small smile that met Miles his lips giving away he was far from annoyed. “Yea, I got a girl.”.

Aaron shook his head with a gentle smile, “I knew we was related, thought you had no game there for a hot min.” Miles swatted at his uncle mumbling about how he had more game than him. Aaron laughed,“You know ima’ have to meet her right? If I don’t like her, she’s out.” Miles rolled his eyes, “You gon like her, trust.”. Miles was more than confident Aaron would love you, the real issue being that Aaron might like you more than he liked his own nephew.

A comfortable silence fell over the two as they kept cleaning. Aaron picked up the last of the materials and put them in their rightful place, looking at his nephew, “So, you serious ‘bout her?”

Miles peered up at his uncle, a sincere look washing over his eyes.

“me voy a casar con ella.”

©axeoverblade

TAGLIST:

@nanylikescream @shuriri4life @lumineliax @sukisprettyface @godsfavoritegirlll @the-lonely-raven @wxllhxck @laylasbunbunny @somebodyfuture3 @stormydaysxx @blackspideysstuff @notnat02 @miaanimeedits0 @w9vyy @peanutasstuff @cl0udyw4ter @hxidyq @matthiashelvarsgf @p3rf3ct4ng3l @ameliabs-world @edgelord27 @vayaonair @anitatvd @rainbowcupcakes23 @deaddrcrow @blkmystery @whoisgami @yjwilywamh @juunerants @druiggf @shoyofroyoyoyo @ashreblogsnow @mariablakesworld @violettathewriter @vivsamortentia @beenabroo @lunedottir @empty-fields @wisteriaflowersss @anoungsoneandonly @theleftkittycollection @anarchist3arachnid @sp1derm4nluver @rica-hatake @fadingpalacebonkpsychic @kisses4ml @m3chigo @edgyficuselastica @cicithemess2000 @jaylaaz @gnomelover1 @somebodyto-love-blog @sophiaj650 @jinabear @444morales @hwienv @natkujo @solec @iheartelira @classybarbarianbasement @pwettymoss

omg plss do a miguel x bimbo reader im in love <3

miguel o'hara stars in... 'HANDY MIGGY'

(っ╹ᆺ╹)っ

a/n ~ I. LOVE. BIMBOS!!!! thank you for the request sweetie, love you💗 miguel would deffo love a cute little bimbo, i just know it

summary; you don't know how to change your tyres. why would you? that's what your boyfriend's for!

pairing; miguel o'hara x bimbo!reader

wc; 1.4k+

cw; SMUT!!!!, breeding kink (can you tell i have a breeding kink), semi-public sex, fuckin on the car, reader speaks a bit of spanish, daddy kink, meanish!dom miguel, sub!reader, reader is a bit stupid, princess treatment!, reader is a bad bitch, overstimulation, squirting, orgasm control, teensy bit of aftercare, THEY'RE IN LOVE YOUR HONOR, nawt proofread - i cannot drive, yet.

surely you weren’t that dumb? were you?

standing there in the 40° heat - wedge sandals, short skirt with your thong riding high on your hips, sweat-sheened tits spilling our of your cute little crop top. a girl always has to look her best, even when she’s about to melt into a puddle from the sun. doing things that required you to use your brain wasn’t something you did often, that’s what your boyfriend’s for! 

to be fair, you were never big on cars. barely passing your drivers test, and your daddy getting you your first car shortly after - you didn’t really want to drive around everywhere yourself, the pink porsche taycan collecting dust in your garage, being a passenger princess is the lifestyle now. unfortunately for you, your boyfriend - even though he would collect all the stars in the sky for you if you asked - refuses to let you put that car to waste. so now you’re forced to resurrect the thing, cleaning it up a little bit - and…you have to change the tyre’s. 

you even forgot about the punctures, after you accidentally drove over a few spikes in the road coming out of the wrong exit - sometimes you question why you ever qualified for a license. all the tyres were severely fucked up, deflated so much they look like they melted into the floor. your daddy gave you a bunch of spares in case (he knew it would) it ever happened. they were just so heavy, though. you weren’t built for lugging around fucking tyres - but your boyfriend is!!

so you called him, in the middle of the day, knowing he’s probably busy doing his big man job or whatever - but you knew he would drop everything to come and help you, this is an emergency girl! to no one’s surprise, he got there within 15 minutes of you ending the call, speeding into your driveway as he jumps out of the car. sometimes, you forget how mouthwateringly sexy your boyfriend is. 

a tight black compression shirt, matching shorts that clung to his thick thighs - black rimmed sunglasses matching yours pushing his hair back. not to mention the little grimace on his face from stepping out in the heat. “what’s up, baby? you ok? need me to get anything for you?” aw, he was so worried. he’s gonna be so pissed when he finds out what you really need him for.

“hi papito, so glad you’re here.” let’s try to sweet talk him a little bit, maybe it won’t be so bad if you give him a little love - the one thing he can’t resist. you hold his face in your hands, pressing a glossy kiss on his puckered lips. his brows furrow slightly, big hands resting on your hips as he pulls you close him, a low moan escaping him as he pulls away. “good to see you too, angel.” he had an amused smirk on his face, lightly caressing your ass under your skirt. “now, tell me what you need help with.”

nodding, you shyly take his hand in yours and lead him to the garage. it was a mess, to say the least - tools scattered everywhere, tyres rolling around where they’re not supposed to be, something that looked like grease spilled on the floor. “the fuck were you tryna do here, babe?” you smiled sheepishly, looking down at the floor before looking back up at him with round eyes. 

“…’m tryna change my tyres.” 

he rolled his eyes, placing his hands on his hips as he stared at you - an unimpressed look on his face. “god, you’re really a-

——————————————————————————————————

- dumb, fuckin’ slut, aren’t you?” the hood of your car was covered in a mix of your shared arousal, drool dripping out of your swollen lips down your chest. “only good for taking this fat cock, hm?”

hard nipples rubbing against your windshield, body jolting violently as your boyfriend abused his cock into your cunt. he was stretching you out so deliciously, his arms under your legs to keep you stable. “m-miggy, mm- fuuuuck, ‘s too much!” he really didn’t care, not when you looked so pretty under him. secretly, he loved how much you would rely on him - seeing that look on your face when you’d ask him for help, shit if it didn’t make him so fucking hard. but, god did he love to punish you for it. 

“too much for your stupid, little brain, baby? y’re so cute, you know that?” nodding dumbly, you grind your hips back onto his, flipping up your skirt to slam your ass onto his pelvis so he can watch the cheeks ripple. miguel let out a low growl, slamming a hand down by your head so he can lean against your back, the other gripping your hip. “just wanna fuck you ‘till you’re nothin’ but a senseless breeding bitch f’r me.” his breathing was heavy against your ear, sharp teeth nicking at the sensitive skin. 

“you’d like that, wouldn’t you muñeca? quieres que te llene de mi semen. esta linda barriga toda pesada con mis bebés. wouldn’t let you raise a finger again, ‘m gonna do everything f’r you - since you’re too fuckin’ dumb to do it yourself, gorgeous.” he had such a mouth on him, didn’t he. that didn’t sound too bad, being a stay at home mum. as long as you don’t have to do anything, then you’d happily stay plugged up with his cum all the time.

his balls were heavy, smacking against your stiff clit as he worked your hips back on him. the sensations were overwhelming. every ounce of your body was feeling the pleasure, the reflection of his strained face through the windshield making you clench tightly around him. he hissed, smacking your cunt before gripping your neck and holding you against his hard chest. “stop fuckin’ clenching. if there’s anything that small brain of yours should comprehend, it’s don’t cum till i tell you to.” 

“papitooo- please, i need’ta cum - i can feel it, baby!” you, poor, poor thing. too bad he doesn’t give a fuck. he pounded into you even harder, blunt head bullying your cervix. he quickly flipped you around, pressing your back onto the car as he gripped your hips, grinding slowly into you. “hold it.”

angling his hips just right, he drove his fat cock deeper into you, coarse hairs tickling your clit. his fingers trailed up your body, ripping your shirt as he flicked your nipples, spitting on your chest to get them nice and wet. “y’re so pretty, mm, my pretty baby.” his balls tightened, cock twitching hard inside of you as his tip drooled all over your walls.

“gonna cum in your tight, fuckin’ cunt, babe - rub your clit f’r me, or is that too hard for you?” he was so cruel but so sweet. sadistically watching your shaky fingers work your aching clit as his pelvis slammed into you. “goood girl. squirt f’r me, muñeca.” he gazed deep into your eyes, big hands caressing your cheek. 

it all gushed out at once, a heavy stream jetting out of your and coating his chest as he let out a deep chuckles, plugging you up with his girth. he fucked you through it, pinching at your throbbing bud as you shook in his hold. “w-wait, miggy, ‘m too sensitive!” he grabbed your wrists, pinning them to the car. he let out a low snarl, covering you completely as he rammed deep inside. “quiet. keep that pretty mouth shut.” he didn’t realise how much that would set him off, his orgasm coming before he could even process it.

his whole body tensed up, ass clenching, fingers bruising your hips, hips jutting in and out of you - filling you to the brim with his cum. he was breathing sluggishly, pulling your hips down towards him to keep all his seed inside. “you…you did so good, baby. i love you, yeah? so much.” he whispered, leaning down to kiss your face affectionately. “i love you too, papito.”

you stayed there for a few minutes, wrapped up in each other as you found each others lips, making out smoothly on the car. you pulled a way, placing a hand on his chest - staring at the new tyres that he fixed on for you. “migs?” he nodded, kissing and biting your neck.

“how do i change the oil?”

-quieres que te llene de mi semen. esta linda barriga toda pesada con mis bebés - you want to be filled with my cum. this cute tummy all heavy with my babies.

-muñeca - doll

-papito - daddy

-i wanna be a bimbo doll!