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exhaslo · 7 months

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Kinktober Day 11- Miguel x Reader (Size Kink)

Everyone knows that Miguel was a hard working individual. He did his absolute best to keep everything up and running. As the leader of the Spider Society, Miguel did so much. Almost so that it felt like he never really took care of himself. Miguel always looked exhausted and frustrated. The stress was eating him alive. It was not hard to see why.

You had wiggled yourself into his life by chance. It took a lot of work, but Miguel opened up to you and started a relationship. You were always there to ease his stress. To calm him down with just a simple hug. Sometimes, you wished for more. You felt like Miguel was afraid of having sex with you. Like he needed to hold himself back. You knew that it was not healthy for him. Hopefully, today you could finally help him break out of that mold.

You and Miguel had been dating for about three months. You were a smart cookie and figured out that he was Spiderman. The embarrassment on his face when you confronted him was so cute. Hopefully, you will get a new kind of embarrassed face today. You were finally going to try and get Miguel to let loose. You were going to treat Miguel and give him the best sex of his life...and yours. This was a first for you, but it has been long enough.

"Hey, Miggy!" You chirped as he entered your apartment. You embraced him with a kiss, "I made dinner, why don't you wash up first?" You offered.

Miguel replied with a soft grunt, wanting to hold you a bit longer. It made you happy every time since he lifted you off your feet, literally. Miguel was huge. You felt so small beside him. You knew it was cliché, but you loved making jokes about his height. Asking about the weather, letting him know that ladders don't exist for him, all the dumb things. Miguel let you since he loved how happy it made you. You hummed happily as you prepped a big portion for Miguel. He was a big boy and worked hard, he needed to eat a lot.

"Huele bien, cariño. ¿Cuál es la ocasión? (Smells good, sweetheart. What's the occasion?)" Miguel asked as he wrapped his arms around your waist. You shivered at his breathe against the back of your neck,

"Just wanted to treat you. You need a break," You replied, feeling his wet hair drip against your shoulder, "Sit and eat. I'll dry your hair,"

"Se supone que debo tratarte como a una princesa y no al revés. (I'm supposed to treat you like a princess, not the other way around.)" He said with a chuckle.

You felt your heart skip a beat as he laughed. Why did he have to be so charming? Hiding your face in a fresh towel, you stole glances of your boyfriend. Miguel always treated you right, now you had to return the favor. You took a moment to stare at his broad back. Oh how his shirt defined his muscles. Wiping the drool from your mouth, you wrapped the towel around his head and proceeded to dry him off. You can have your fantasies later.

"How's the food?"

"Delicious as always." Miguel gave his thanks.

He looked up at you, wanting a kiss, to which you gave him. You removed the towel, watching as Miguel took his empty plate to the sink. His butt so perfect in those sweatpants. Oh, tonight was defiantly going to be for Miguel...but also for you. Watching your boyfriend return to the couch, you hopped over and landed on his lap. Your legs spread over his legs, attempting to trap him in place while you wrapped your arms around his neck.

"Miguel, I'm going to treat you well tonight, okay?" You seemed hesitant now, worried for your performance. Miguel held your hips,

"Are you sure?"

You pressed your crotch against his, grinding your hips through the fabric, "I'm sure." You replied, feeling his bulge already rising. Miguel lifted you up and carried you to the bedroom,

"Sólo voy a advertirte que tengo esta pequeña cosa. (Just going to warn you, I do have this one little thing.)" He warned, towering over you on the bed.

"Nothing about you is little," You teased.

Miguel grumbled lowly. He wanted to warn you, but it might be best for you to find out. You watched as Miguel took his clothes off, following suit. This was the first time you were going to see him naked and visa versa. Your eyes almost boggled out of your head as you saw his cock. He was covering his face with his hand. You could have sworn he was hiding a chuckle. Miguel was totally laughing at you for staring at his monster of a cock.

"Little my ass," You teased once more, approaching him.

Miguel watched you with a gleam in his eyes. Yes, you were little compared to him. He had been itching to fucking your tiny pussy with his large cock. To hear you cry from overstimulation as he stuffed you full. There was a part of him that wanted to break you, but he loved you too much. Miguel was worried that his cock was not going to fit, that he might hurt you. He hadn't even prepped you yet. Miguel let out a soft groan as your tongue licked his shaft. Your soft lips on his tip,

"Cuidado, cariño, no te hagas daño. (Careful, baby, don't hurt yourself.) He groaned.

You glanced up at Miguel, your tongue swirling against his tip. You were going to treat him. Miguel was too kind to you. Honestly, you had every right to be worried. His dick was larger than your biggest dildo. Just the thought of him ripping you in half was making you soak. Placing your lips against his cock again, you did a soft sucking motion. Miguel's groans were making your body tremble. Who knew he could make such noises?

You had to balance yourself and hold onto Miguel as you sucked him. Your other hand fingering yourself. Tears were forming in the corner of your eyes as you tried to take him deeper. His dick was already hitting the back of your throat and you were only half way. You moan as Miguel placed his hand on your head, gently moving you.

"Joder, eso es correcto. Chúpame la polla con esa boquita sucia tuya. (Fuck, that's right. Suck my cock with that dirty little mouth of yours.)" He moaned lowly, sending shivers down you spine, "Mírate siendo una buena chica para mí. ¿Estás disfrutando de mi polla en esa boquita tuya? (Look at you being such a good girl for me. Are you enjoying my cock in that little mouth of yours?)"

So this was his little issue. Miguel was such a dirty talker, but it made you even more horny. You gasped as Miguel removed you from his dick. The look in his eyes was fierce. Lust nearly consuming him as his pupils dilated. He tossed you on the bed, hovering over you. He took your lips in a rough kiss, his fingers removing yours. You whined in response, but Miguel quickly turned those into moans as he entered one finger. He took your hand in his mouth, licking your juices off your fingers.

"Hah....hah....Mig...Miguel...I'm..." You grinded your hips against his hand, feeling your orgasm arriving. Miguel smirked as he pumped his finger, curling it to draw your orgasm out,

"Impresionante, ¿mi dulce ángel tiene problemas para tomar mi dedo? Tengo que prepararte para la comida principal. Voy a estirar tu bonito coño con mi polla, cariño. (Awe, is my sweet angel having trouble taking my finger? Gotta get you prepared for the main meal. I'm going to stretch your pretty pussy with my dick, sweetheart.)"

Those words alone made you cum. Miguel's pupils were blown as he watched you drench his hand. He chuckled as he watched your face twist with pleasure as he added another finger. Your moans getting louder as you opened your legs wider. Miguel inhaled at the sounds you were making. Your little cries, your sexy moans and of course your throbbing pussy squishing at his fingers. Oh, you were going to look so pretty taking his cock in full.

"You're doing so good, baby. Cum again for me. Doing so, so good." He whispered in your ear, curling his fingers right at that sweet spot.

You arched your back once more, crying out his name as he drew another orgasm out of you. So much for treating him. Trying to catch your breathe since you felt like your heart was going to burst out of your chest, you gasped at Miguel. He towered over you once more, cock in hand. You had to admit that you were scared, but also excited. Watching Miguel pump his cock with his own hand made you spread your legs out for him.

"Let me know if it hurts," There was your loving boyfriend poking out of his lustful state.

You could only nod. Miguel positioned himself and started to poke his tip inside you. You gripped the bedsheets below you. He was so big. His fingers were nothing compared to his cock. Biting your lower lip, you tried your best to not cry out. Miguel wrapped his arms around you, whispering in your ear as he kept pressing himself into you. Your hips buckled, shaking as Miguel stopped for a moment. He was letting you adjust before continuing his entry.

"Eso es cierto bebe. Eres tan apretado. Sí, lo estás haciendo muy bien. Joder, te sientes tan bien acogiéndome. (That's right, baby. You're so tight. Yes, you're doing so good. Fuck, you feel so good taking me in.)" He groaned.

You whimpered, holding onto him as he stopped. He kissed all over your face before looking down at you. You could see the sparkles in his eyes as he watched his dick almost completely engulfed by you. You felt it too. He was hitting you so deep that you were seeing stars. The pain was subsiding and all you wanted was for Miguel to start moving. Your fear had disappeared as you tried to buckle your hips. Miguel gripped your hips,

"Look at how good you're doing," Miguel grunted as he pulled out before slamming inside you.

You nearly yelled out a moan as you felt him hit you deeper than he just was. Your breathing grew heavy as your vision started to blur. With each rough thrust, you felt Miguel getting deeper and deeper. You heard him grunt, complaining about him being almost fully inside you. How good you felt around his cock. How your tight gummy walls were just sucking him in. Everything he was saying was making you explode with pleasure.

"S-Tan cerca. Lo estás haciendo muy bien. Mira, estoy completamente dentro de ti ahora. Joder, qué bien. Envuelto alrededor de mi polla. (S-So close. You're doing so good. Look, I'm fully inside you now. Fuck, so good. Wrapped around my cock.)" Miguel babbled lowly, feeling himself about to burst.

You whimpered another moan, cumming once more. Miguel kept asking for more, watching you break from overstimulation. He licked your tears away, enjoying your blissed out face. The cute lil 'o' you made with your mouth every time he hit your cervix made him hard. Tightening his grip against your hips, Miguel grunted once more,

"Fuck, baby. Bebe, cariño. Déjame ver cómo tu lindo y pequeño coño se llena con mi semen. (Drink up, sweeheart. Let me watch your pretty little pussy fill with my cum.)" He moaned.

You cried out, filling Miguel fill you. The small little bulge your stomach made as he finished filling you made him grunt. As much as he wanted to stay inside you, having you wrapped around his cock, he pulled out. Another groan escaped his lips as he heard a pop from your pussy as he pulled out. His cum dripping out. Miguel picked you up, carrying you to the bathroom,

"Told you it was a small issue," You kissed the top of your head. You muffled a groan, resting your head against his shoulder,

"There is...nothing small about you," You laughed weakly. Miguel stepped into the bathroom with you between his legs,

"Tienes razón, pero hiciste muy bien al acogerme. No puedo esperar a volver a ser tu más alto. (You're right, but you did so good taking me in. I can't wait to tower over you again.)" Miguel nibbled against your ear.

"Easy, big boy. Let me rest first, then next time...I will try and treat you."

"Haha, can't wait."

#kinktober #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel spiderman

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ireallyamabear · 9 months

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The choice to put Una Chin-Reily on a Starfleet recruitment poster in the late 2370s seems a nod to the extraordinary person she is and her exemplary service, but Boimler’s enthusiasm for her as a personal hero cannot mask the fact of what Starfleet execs are really doing here: while it is Starfleet tradition to honour esteemed personnel from its centuries of history, we have to look at the poster as a product of its time: it seems clear that, shortly after the devastating death toll and the rapid militarisation of the Dominion War, putting a prominent figure of the Great Exploration Age - and notedly someone who had not served in the Klingon War - as the poster person for Starfleet is an indictment that contemporary young people of the Federation are not drawn to the service as it is in their time anymore.

Critically, Starfleet has to use somebody from a 120 years ago, a timeframe that would lap generations of even especially long lived member species like Vulcans or Denobulans, to attract new recruits. Boimler says himself that seeing Una as a representative and her motto - “Ad astra per aspera” was: “Uh, it was a really big reason why I joined.” Clearly there is a wealth of recognisable Starfleet officers from 2370 and onwards, but their entanglement in the Dominion War, or at least in the Borg threat makes them unsuitable as role models for people like Boimler who cannot help but associate these contemporaries with the horrors of war and intergalactic conflict. Thus, the retreat to a “safe” historical narrative, with Starfleet still being about peaceful exploration reflects the growing divide between the realities of a colonised galaxy, the ongoing need of new bodies to fill the posts on all those ships and space stations and the aspirations and values of young people today. In this essay I will question whether Starfleet can keep its promise of scientific integrity in the face of growing political unrest in the UFP and ask what “Number One” herself would have thought about-

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thekenobee · 2 years

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“And he defended me, told me I was exemplary, that he would fight for me...”

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fiadorable · 1 year

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resolute - a snw drabble

🌺 on wednesdays we write drabbles 🌺

Star Trek Strange New Worlds

Kiley 279 wasn't the most disastrous first contact, but it certainly could've gone better.

Una shifted on the stone bench, wincing. White-hot pain lanced through her shin, then ebbed into a familiar dull throb.

Across the cell, Lieutenant Key studied her carefully. Una dipped her chin in a slight nod, acknowledging Key's concern. Bracing her palm against the bench, Una locked her elbow, attempting to ease the strain on her back.

Starfleet would try to send Chris. Thin tendrils of worry coiled in her belly—Chris went silent months ago—but her confidence in him remained resolute.

He would come.

#wednesday100 #star trek strange new worlds #una chin riley #number one #fiadorable writes #hoo boy sliding in under the wire today

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agentstarkid · 9 months

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SERENDIPITY ✦ DR3

“Serendipity is an unexpected and very lucky finding, that is, a coincidence that fills us with happiness. Serendipity in love implies the feeling that the universe conspires in our favor, bringing that special person into our lives at the right time and oh boy, did the universe send her everything she ever needed in the form of a 5'10" man with a built-in accent, a love for Tim Tams, adrenaline-fueled spirit and a smile that could light up a whole town.”

✦ pairing: daniel ricciardo x famous!latina!reader

✦ type: social media au

✦ face claim: becky g

✦ warnings: female!reader, covid-19 & quarantine mentions, age gap, language.

✦ pit wall live: HAPPY FRIENDSHIP DAY BESTIES! 🤗💗 I've been working on this for a month, honestly I thought I was gonna finish it fast but tbh that was really naïve of me 🥴 the amount of times I ended up changing almost every little thing is insane lol but today I sat down and commited to finish and post this! this is my first ever smau or any kind of 'x reader' really, so please be kind 🤍 and of course it was going to be about the love of my life!

— oh btw, my idea is to get to present time and make it angsty so let me know what you guys think! I really hope you enjoy!

─── The Joker & The Queen (Masterlist)

JANUARY 01, 2020

yourinstagram and danielricciardo added to their stories!

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danielricciardo has followed yourinstagram!

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yourinstagram

♡ liked by anitta, danielricciardo and 6,546,214 others

yourinstagram 2019 was full of happiness, pain, healing and growth. I loved a lot, I cried a lot and I laughed a lot. I'm grateful for a lot of things in life, but I'm specially grateful for you guys ❤️🥂 I LOVE YOU! ❤️

tagged: selenagomez, fioamato, iamdannaschwarz, itsvittoriasousa

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fioamato It's out with the old and in with the new ⏭️😜

iamdannaschwarz this could be the start of something new indeed 😏🤭 yourinstagram 🙈 user yourinstagram girlieee does this mean you found your Troy Bolton tonight? 👀👀👀

iamdannaschwarz what a year it has been! Through the ups and downs you prevailed. So proud of you! Cheers, amiga! 🥂❤️

itsvittoriasousa u deserve the whole world, i wish everyone knew ur heart 🥺 love you biiiiiiig ❤️

user1 can we talk about that dress!!!! jaw dropped 🤯

user2 Mami 🔥🔥🔥

selenagomez ❤️🥂🎆

user3 danny ric you ain't slick baby we can see u 👀

user4 words on the streets that they were seen pretty close the whole night 👀

user5 girlies do we think the writing on the napkin belongs to mr. ricciardo? 🧐

user4 what about the last pic?? could it be about a nod to him???

user3 somebody call the fbi and the cia we need to decode this 🔎🔎🔎

sebastianyatra una locura de año 🚀 happy new year penguin!

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JANUARY 25, 2020

justjared

♡ 9.075 Likes

justjared New couple alert?! YN LN, 21, and Formula 1 driver Daniel Ricciardo, 30, were spotted on a walk and getting cozy during a night out in New York. More photos now on JustJared.com #YNLN #Daniel Ricciardo Photos: Backgrid

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user1: well that's a couple nobody saw coming 😶 good for them tho

user2: These pictures are so creepy as to get these they literally have to stalk these people and are probably hiding in bushes or wherever to get the shots

user3: he's a full-grown man in his 30s messing around with a teenager how shocking 🙄

user4: how is she a teenager if she's 21??? she is a consenting adult and has been for a while...make it make sense user5: it's a 9-year age gap not 25 😑 y'all should learn to mind your own fucking business

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FEBRUARY 05, 2020

danielricciardo added to their story!

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yourinstagram added to their story!

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yourinstagram

♡ liked by danielricciardo, greeicy and 7,452,325 others

yourinstagram starry nights, sunsets, little moments, deep conversations & special feelings 💖🃏

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iamdannaschwarz pov: you were there to witness the first conversation 🤣

itsvittoriasousa never knew a person could blush that hard 😂 yourintagram you are both getting blocked 🙅‍♀️

fioamato 🃏🃏🃏

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michaelitaliano and scottyjames31 have followed yourinstagram!

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MARCH 11 & 12, 2020

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yourinstagram has added to their story!

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APRIL 09, 2020

yourinstagram

♡ liked by danielricciardo, jbalvin and 5,723,498 others

yourinstagram Quarantine with an aussie boyfriend: turns out, 'G'day mate' is the only greeting you'll ever need. Who needs handshakes anyway? Also, you get to excessively use the word 'mate' without being judged. It's basically a linguistic free pass 🤷🏽‍♀️😂🇦🇺

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user: OMG OMG IT'S FUCKING HAPPENING!!!! EVERYBODY STAY CALM!!!

user: Dan-Y/N nation how we feeling today? 😍

user: wasn't she dating sebastianyatra tho?

user2: nah they've been friends for years

user3: «cristina» is lowkey about her tho 🤭 "you were 19, i was 23"?? and there's a 4 year age gap between them?? they deffff had something going on a few years back AT LEAST 👀

user2: who knows maybe they did, but they refer to each other as "like-a-brother" and "like-a-sister" so as far as we know they are only best friends 🤷🏽‍♀️

fioamato what do you say titi yourmomsinstagram does it get the seal of approval?

yourmomsinstagram 🤔🤔🤔 yourinstagram she face-timed me and told me to pass the phone so she could talk to him. They talked for an hour. They are besties now, she's just trying to play hard-to-get 🙃

danielricciardo and 5,345 other liked it

fioamato 😂😂😂

jbalvin encantado de verte feliz hermanita ❤️

danielricciardo tell your boyfriend he's really lucky 🤙🏼

yourinstagram thanks will do, mate 🤙🏼

user OMG??? you guys are so unserious 😭

user2 MOM??? DAD???

user3 danielricciardo yourinstagram i'm glowing, flourishing and thriving 🥰😭

michaelitaliano shitty accent though

yourinstagram I love my haters ❤️ you guys are my motivators ☺️ btw don't you have a kangaroo to fight?

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APRIL 29, 2020

yourinstagram

♡ liked by michaelitaliano, danielricciardo, lewishamilton and 6,498,498 others

yourinstagram Spanglish country…we’re doing it!! Watch kanebrown_music and I blend sounds, languages and dance moves in #LostInTheMiddleOfNowhere (Spanish Remix) 😜 song and video OUT NOW 🔥

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iamcardib OKAAAY MAMAAA 🧊🧊🥶

lali ALTA DIOSA 🔥

user she 👏 never 👏 misses 👏

itsvittoriasousa BRO U ABSOLUTELY ATEEE

user jaw drops to floor eyes pop out of sockets hearts out of chest 😍

danielricciardo wow caliente 🔥

user the amount of unwell I am in this exact moment

user2 daniel is right. muy caliente 🥵

user3 i'm losing my mind over 2 words + emoji okay

user4 daniel stop being a cunt and make an appearence in one of Y/N's ig lives

user5 user4 you could totally hear his voice in the last one lmao

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MAY 03, 2020

danielricciardo

♡ liked by pierregasly, jensonbutton, iamdannaschwarz and 710,610 others

danielricciardo Just a bunch of life 🤠🚜🇦🇺🇺🇸

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yourinstagram awesome taste in music mate 👍🏼

danielricciardo big fan of hers 👍🏼 love finding new underground artists ☺️ user imagine calling THE yourinstagram an "underground artist" lmaooo user2 they're both such little shits i love them your honor 😭

kristenanniebell ❤️❤️❤️

scottyjames31 I see you're in good company mate

corey_wilson goodness I miss the ranch so much

user daniel said lemme give you thirsty bitches a few droplets of water

user2 there's so much to unpack here omfg

iamdannaschwarz you're welcome 😌 also there's a no-return policy in the contract ok bye

fioamato you're welcome 😌 x2 itsvittoriasousa you're welcome 😌 x3 danielricciardo nah i think i'm gonna keep it for a long while thanks. i'll rate you guys with 5 stars 👍🏼

user3 THE LETTER ON THE LAST PHOTO ???? I'M SENDING Y'ALL MY THERAPY BILLS

user4 THE MATCHING RINGS PLEASE!!!!!!! 😭😭😭

user5 all this soft launch shit is killing me guys help somebody let them know that we already know so they can stop playing!!!

yourinstagram but where's the fun in that babes? 😌 user holy shittttt!!!! y/n ???? i- 🤯 user5 OH MY GOD!!!! HI MOTHER AJKFFLAHDASD user2 it's a fucking confirmation!!!! dan-y/n nation we got it!!! it's crumbs but we got it!!!!!

user6 we stan a suportive bf ☝️🤩

user7 999 for grammy's best album of the year ✨manifesting✨

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─── Please don't forget to reblog & comment! ♡

#daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo x you #latina!reader #famous!reader #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo social media au #daniel ricciardo instagram au #f1 x reader #f1 social media au #( agentstarkid's works )

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charlesswife · 1 year

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Una Noche En Monaco iv

Una segunda oportunidad (A second chance)

unem masterlist

pairing: charles leclerc x latina! reader

summary: after a one night stand between you and charles, he continues on with his formula one career. until two months later, you come back claiming to be pregnant with his child.

April 2023

"Are we going for ice cream now?" Fuck, I completely forgot about that.

"Umm not right now, sweetheart. We need to check on Percy, okay? Get everything ready for this week." I got Mateo in the car seat and took a long look at him. He is an exact copy of Charles.

"Mami, you're crying"

I touched my face. "I'm just so happy that you are such a good boy," I smiled at him. "You know, there are some people that are just cruel and evil," Mateo gasped.

"Like in the books?"

"Exactly like in the books. And those people might want to hurt Mommy, and take you away from me," I don't really know Charles Leclerc, but I do know I'm worth more than him. If he tries to take my little boy away from me, I will kill him.

"I'll protect you, Mommy," he made a fist, "I'm strong."

"Yes, you are, mi amor," I closed the door, as I turned around I saw Charles coming out of the bookstore, holding his phone to the side, taking a phone call. He was wearing black pants as well as a black shirt. He had his famous sunglasses on. He didn't look like the twenty-year-old boy I met almost five years ago. He looked different. More mature.

He stopped walking and as he pulled his sunglasses down he said, "Y/n?"

"Charles..." I murmured. He hung up the phone and walked towards me. I panicked and ran to the driver's seat.

"Wait! Y/n!"

I started the engine and drove off.

"So he saw you," Steph said. I let out a small “uhuh.”

"And you ran off," I uhuhed again "So what's gonna happen now?"

"What do you mean?" I asked her. I took a bite of my tiramisu.

"I mean, what are you gonna do? He knows you live here in Monaco and where you work," she leaned closer to me and whisper, "Did he see Mateo?" I looked at my son, who was in the living room playing with Percy.

"I don't think so, I mean I left so fast. I hope not." I love tiramisu, they are so flavorful.

She looked at me for a second and hesitantly she said, “Do you think… he might want to be involved in you guys' lives?”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“I mean,” she continued. “would you let him?”

“I DON’T KNOW STEPH,” I yelled. Mateo stopped playing with Percy. I looked at him and said, “It’s okay Mate, keep playing.” I turned to Steph, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled but this whole thing me pone nerviosa, like why was he there in the first place?" It makes me nervous.

“Mira” Look “All I’m saying is that maybe… just maybe give him a chance” I was going to interrupt but she held a finger up. “Maybe he changed. Maybe he grew up. Maybe he’s different.”

“No.” I said.

“No?”

“He hurt me the last time I saw him. I won’t give him the satisfaction to see Mateo just because he feels like it.”

“Y/n…”

All of the sudden, my phone started to ring. My eyes widen, and with shaken hands, I flipped the phone.

Pascale is calling... I let out a big sigh and answered the phone.

"Hey, Pascale, how are you?" Steph grabbed a spoon and tried to get a piece of my tiramisu, I gently slapped her hand away.

"Oh, hello, Y/n. I'm at the store today," I completely forgot about that. Every weekend since last month, Pascale and I take coffee together and we talk. She became a good friend of mine, she knows my story.

"Oh yes!" I answered, "Steph told me, she said you came with your kids,"

"Yes, I wanted you to meet them, are you here now?"

"No, I had to leave to do some stuff, but maybe next time!" I told her.

"Yeah, maybe next time," some voice could be heard in the background, "I'll let you go, Y/n, my son is bothering me right now."

I laughed at that comment. "Alright, Pascale. See you soon."

"See you soon, belle." She said last and hang up.

For the first time in four years, I looked up any news recent news about formula one and Charles Leclerc. According to articles, this season hasn't been a good start for him or Ferrari. Last week, he raced in Australia but did not finish the race. His next race is in Baku in about three weeks. So I can either not get out of my house for three weeks, or actually confront him and let him in our life.

"Do you think I can quarantine for three weeks?"

"You wanna quarantine for three weeks? You barely even made it out of the pandemic and now you wanna quarantine for three weeks?" Steph tried to get a piece of my Tiramisu.

"Stop it! It's mine!"

"Oh, grow up Y/n. Why do you even wanna quarantine? Is this some sort of author method that you are doing to get your second book done?" Angelica, my literacy agent, has been quite pushy with the deadline for my second book.

"No..." I finished my Tiramisu and drank some water. "Charles is going to be here in Monaco for three weeks," I murmured.

"Girl... you're kidding me, right?"

I decided to be the bigger person and actually talk to Charles Leclerc.

I realized that it wouldn't be healthy for Mateo to grow up without a father. I don't want to be responsible for any intentional or unintentional trauma that I could cause him. I don't want to be in my late 30s and have Mateo yelling in my face saying I ruined his life just because he didn't have a father. I'm only doing this for Mateo.

Other than that, Charles Leclerc can go to hell.

Let's see how good of a father he can be when he has to spend most of his time traveling.

Charles' POV

What is the first thing you say to the woman you accused of being a gold-digger, manipulator, con artist after she told you she was pregnant with your child after you guys have the craziest and most exotic night of your life?

Sometimes I wish I could kick twenty-year-old me in the face for how stupid I was.

I walked into L'Incantato Restaurant, which was the restaurant Y/n decided to meet me. I was surprised when she sent me the address, as this has been a restaurant I've been wanting to go to since it opened, but there are never available reservations. There are three restaurants in Monaco, I've heard great stuff about the food and the service. The waiter guided me to a private area where only she was sitting. It was very private, and I knew we could have a free conversation here. She was sitting in the red booth side of the table, making it look like she was the center of attention

She was more stunning than the last time I saw her. Her hair is longer than what it was four years ago. Her body... Stop.

As I was getting closer to her, I saw her take a sip of wine as she was scrolling through her phone. Once I got in front of her, she put her phone away.

Once I sat down at the table I said, "Hi, Y/n. Thank you for agreeing to meet me here," I extended my hand towards her but she only started at it. I pulled my hand back. She was more beautiful up close. Her makeup was flawless, her eyeliner made her eyes look sharp and her red lipstick made her lips look luscious.

"I was surprised when you contacted me. I thought you wouldn't remember my name," She said as she swayed her cup of wine. I remember her name, I've been having her name stuck in my head for the past four years, but I know she's referring to the last time we saw each other when she told me she was pregnant and I told her I didn't even remember her name.

"Look, I'm so sorry for the things I have said," I started. "I called you so many horrible things that I regret deeply and I would never call a woman that. I was at the beginning of my career and I thought you were working for someone to mess me up. I am stupid and in my defense I was..."

"In your defense?!" Fuck... Wrong choice of words. I saw the waiter come to us with a bottle of wine. "Are you fucking kidding me?!" Once the waiter heard that, she turned around and walked away. "Don't try to play the victim here, because you are not. I am." She pointed at herself, "I told you the truth, I was a hundred percent honest the whole time, and still you kicked me out. So why, Charles Leclerc, should I give you a second chance?"

My heart was beating like crazy. Y/n was staring at me with her big brown eyes. I forgot what I was supposed to say. I forgot what the question was in the first place.

I was saved by a bell - or the waiter. "Hello, how are we doing tonight? I'll be your waiter for the evening, can I start you with any appetizers?"

Y/n looked at her and smiled. "I'll have my usual, thanks."

The waiter wrote it out in her notepad, "Of course, Miss Y/l/n," and then turned to me. I didn't look at the menu once.

"Ehhh, I'm sorry," I remember the question now! "Eh, I'll just have whatever the chef recommends." I gave her back the menus.

"If you guys need anything, just press the bottom on the side of the table," as soon as she said that, she left.

There was a moment of silence for us. I couldn't look at her again. I passed my hand through the red tablecloth and looked around the place. "I've heard great stuff about this place, how did you get a reservation? I've been trying to get one to come with my mom for months,"

She took a sip of her wine again and murmured, "I know the owner," she leaned her back into the booth and crossed her arms. Don't look at her ti- "So, my question."

"What question?"

"Why should I give you a second chance, Charles Leclerc?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

New Chapter!!

Is there crack in this story or what? The wayyy you guys have been asking for a new chapter is insane! I know how the story goes and what I scenes I want to put in it, I just don't know how to take it there! Idk if that made sense tbh.

Please let me know what you guys thought of this chapter and what are your predictions or theory!!

I was thinking that maybe I should make some sort of group chat so I could send a text when a new chapter is up because Tumblr only lets me tag up to 50 people and the tag list is suuuuper long.

If you guys don't know, I worked for the Miami Grand Prix last weekend and I would really appreciate it if you guys read about my experience there. In which I speak the whole truth of what I went through. Share it with your friends because stuff like this really needs to change.

My Experience Working For The Miami Grand Prix

On another note, have you guys seen Queen Charlotte? I watched it yesterday and I CRIED for 45 minutes, it was insane.

I lowkey wanna do Bridgerton! Charles Leclerc, but also sugar daddy Charles leclerc 👀, what do you guys think?

Taglist is closed!!!

@mac-daddy-210 @infinite-wanders @rbrsavage @itsyogurlkel @bbygrlllllll @nerdreader @imnotcryingyouare1 @killerangel88 @obx-mylove-things-blog @triorion @daniellarogers @insssanemind @bosinclairsgf @rb-danny @shyshva @booksobsess @ogfangirl @ravenqueen27 @masonspulisic @yunnie-f1 @simxican @ushygushybaby @graceverstappen11 @maximoff-xmen @severenswife @ferraribabe @pjofics @harrysdimple05 @mloyer @teti-menchon0604 @imagineadream @reidsworld @scentedskydreamer @christianpulisic10 @formulas-bitch @topguncultleader @hc-dutch @moonclaine @miureiz @tall-tanned-tattoo @madisontaxarn @bisexualbith @diasnohibng187 @im-just-here-toread @tyskills @rafaaoli @heavengirls111 @lighttsoutlewis @leclerc13 @c4ssi4-luv @livsans @ynbutbetter @marigoldgasly @vita-di-moda @sbrn0905 @yesshewrites1 @AmsOffTrack @fandomxs1 @ludmisorella @japanesekel @leclercsbae @padfootsiriusorionblackthethird @celestialams @dreamcarsound @bhiees @empathypostsf1 @marauderlover22 @zendayabelova @lord_leclerc @itsmesofia @Sebbybucky12 @notleclerc @dicaprio-leo @starkeyellow @spngi @karina-v20 @mskeisha69 @prrttyposts @vex-et-soleil @dessxoxsworld @thesurielscheesecake @btwimmel @67-angelofthelordme-67 @buckleyverse @Mickslover @formula1-bichyslut16 @allgaslynobrakess @Rossy1080 @staris23 @CelestialCharles @glitterf1 @f1-futurewag-16-3-4-63 @buckystwilight @Alionova

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honestsycrets · 8 months

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brujería i: inhuman | ceo!miguel x succubus!reader

❛ pairing | ceo!miguel x succubus!reader

❛ type | doubleshot, explicit

❛ summary | since taking over his bio-father's company, miguel just can't seem to sleep. there may be someone behind that though. or, a succubus wants miguel.

❛ tags | some sacrilege, succubus!reader, ceo!miguel, sex-dreams, sleepy sex, dub!con: miguel is asleep during many encounters, exhibitionism outside of a church, f!reader, some mention of blood and wounds, au with deviations from canon, slight hurt miguel, slight caretaking peter, excessive bodily fluids, some mindgames.

❛ request fulfilled | Was wondering if i could request ceo!miguel x succubus! reader? whether he’s spider-man is completely up to you but reader is basically like a demon hiding in plain sight, toying and feeding on the sexual energy of people. maybe she’s a new hire and then she visits him in his dreams or smth. miguel becomes her target and he finds himself falling in love with her and wanting her so much it brings out an intense carnal desire inside him (1/2)

❛ sy's notes | i based some of miguel's sleep paralysis on my own experience. the catholic religious connotations are not very heavy, but if you're sensitive to that sort of thing, i'd probably skip this one.

Miguel O’Hara was never a superstitious man.

He grew up in a deeply Catholic home thick with superstition. His grandmother’s rosary still sat on his desk, enveloped in a spherical glass alongside stacks of organized paperwork on the latest drug his not-so-dearly held biological father left before he kicked it. Corruption was fiercely rooted, a fact that Miguel was not so subtle about. The papers he rifled through that morning revealed the stupidest account of Brujería among reports of Rapture.

“Brujería-- what bullshit,” he murmured as he dropped a stack of papers back onto the oak desk. He glanced at the glass tabletop and found his reflection therein. His eyes, crinkled at the edges, carried the reflection of countless days of his dark exhaustion. “Si no es una cosa es otra.”

“Miguel?”

“What, Lyla?” Miguel threw a glare at the ceiling at the AI that sang at him. She seemed far too happy with her position as the resident terror of his new office. New was an overstatement. It was his father’s before he croaked, reflected in some of his tacky taste in the things Miguel had immediately thrown out. Why else would it have a picturesque, but grandiose view of Nueva York but for a great view of the people he was destroying? The bright windows also did a bang-up job of burning his eyes

“The psychiatrist is here,” she chirped. “Are you going to tell her about your wet dreams?”

The flutters that danced over his skin at night at the strike of three. Foreign warmth caressed his skin like a warm blanket over his skin. His heart rate raced, and pleasure burrowed under his skin. It never failed that Miguel would wake to a rush of pleasure, cum painting his sheets sticky, his heart soaring into his throat. With such pleasure, why would he tell anyone but Lyla about his pathetic, ruined state that came night after night?

Miguel waved his hand in dismissal. He instead checked the chunky watch on his wrist. You're just on time. He appreciates a punctual professional given how much work he had to complete. In lieu of the report of spiritual abuse, he picks up the pile of sexual misconduct. That was a more pressing matter to address. The actual victims were far more important than some bruto’s complaint of ojos based on a huevo in some water. He should send these idiots to any middle schooler’s chemistry class. The bruja who was coming to visit him today could hardly be a source of concern.

“Why would I do that? Let her in. You listen in and I’ll unplug you.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” Lyla teased, but he knew she was right. Lyla was one of his only friends and by far the one he spent the most time with. She has patience for him. He slips his reading glasses out of their holster as the lock on his office door hisses apart, welcoming in the strange woman whose name he could never find but in Stone’s personal records. A chroí, my love, like Stone could love anyone else but himself.

“Dr. O’Hara.”

Miguel slipped the lenses on. Not only was the woman before him, not the sort of hippy-dippy woman he expected, but you were… familiar. Oh, so familiar. He’s never met you before. Yet, he finds himself inexplicably pulled to closing the gap between your bodies.

You extend your hand for him to take.

“Dr…” You finished his sentence by offering your name.

“Have I met you before?” His large hand clasped your own. A blanket of warmth blossomed from your small hand in his grip. Gentle at first, your very same small hands laced in his. The sudden realization of where he’d seen you hit him like a bullet through the head: unexpected and instantaneous. The image rippled across his mind, Miguel’s hand collared on your nape, his fat dick splitting your cunt against his office’s wide windows. Another pulse of heat soared through his hand--

Miguel jerked his hand back. What in the hell?

“¿Estás bien?” You were so close that he could smell the perfume on your skin. A dark cherry, sultry, and so good. He was swimming in the vague delusion that was your skin against his. There was something delicious about the way you looked at him, tracing the outline of his tie that sat tightly behind a constricting vest. He was hazy, clumsily falling back into his office chair. Moving was tiring with the sudden vial of desire that flooded through his veins. You were at his side in an instant.

“I’m fine,” he lied. “It’s… the heat.”

“Oh! Stone's office is always hot. Here, I'll help you,” No-- he tried to argue. Against his wishes, you slipped his suit jacket off his shoulders and down his muscular arms, loitering a bit too long along his pumped biceps. “Though, I guess it’s all yours now, isn’t it? We all are.”

Miguel has no energy to fight you, lost in the haze that was last night’s forgotten dream. He’d never met you before, that much he was sure. Yet he swore, on all that was scientific and right, that he dreamed of your body on his, emptying him of any worries as he came into the nothingness of his sheets. It wasn’t just pleasure, it was a sea of rapture, and he drowned in it.

“According to your AI, you’re burning up lately.”

How do you know? You walked around his chair, your slender heels clicking over the hardwood floor. His eyes traced the curves of your velvet red pencil dress up to your bust as you leaned in, the back of your hand taking his temperature on his forehead. Your bust had delicate black lace detailing that enhanced your natural beauty. It scorched his ability to be a decent gentleman. Every man had their limits. He’s nearly at his, and you’ve only just arrived.

“You're so warm,” you gasped, but it's strained, a crack through stained glass. “Let me help you.”

You reached for the knot of his tie. That’s enough-- Miguel shoves your hand from his neck. He tugs the charcoal tie away from his throat, drawing it away from his white button-up. You wet your lips, drawing a sheen across your perfectly applied lipstick. You came in here with a plan and purpose to inflame him-- and did just that.

“Careful.”

A pause-- your eyes challenged him, seemed to know how weak he was in resisting the strain of lust that came with your mere presence. He was losing the fight quicker than he’d like. Miguel has to focus. “Your findings on Rapture’s… trial run. Where are they?”

“Destroyed,” you answered curtly.

"Project 2099?"

“Under seal. Oh, don’t look at me like that, hermoso. It wasn’t my choice.”

Hermoso. A flicker of anger shot through him as you reclined on his desk and ran your hands across the rim. You seem to notice the rosary on his desk, eyes lingering on it for more than a few seconds. You dipped so comfortably between propriety and looseness. The distance between your easily accessible skirt and his hardening erection is the entirety of only a few steps. “Stone’s orders, not mine.”

“There are no copies?”

“Why would there be? Stone was always very persistent with what he wanted.”

You? He doesn’t ask.

Something in him doesn’t want to think of it, what his father could have done to you that would make you so willing to stand so close to him. Your gaze faltered. You bore at his groin, his sleek dark slacks straining against his length.

“Now you want to know if I fucked him, que no?”

That's a yes. The way you slip onto his desk, legs slightly apart, tells him all he needs to know. His gaze falters, down then up again, an irrational amount of envy welling low in his belly. He found himself wondering what you’ve done in this very room. You bat your long lashes, far too pretty. He isn't easily dissuaded.

“I've barely met you and you want to know everything about my work and personal life. You’re so greedy. So like him.”

“I am nothing like that man.” At that very moment, his eyes locked with yours. A distant rage filled his belly. No one, he meant no one, compared him with that maniac. His tongue twisted in his mouth, ready to make some sharp remark, but you snatched his words by leaning forward, pressing your lips to his head. Your fingertips combed through his dark hair, a warm comfort. A kiss? His hands felt heavy, weighed down by an impossible weight, one he couldn’t push off no matter how much he strained.

"Hasta luego, Miguel.”

The door closes behind you with a clap. Back in the chair, Miguel was heaving heavy breaths. The restriction on his body loosened up and allowed Miguel to grab the black mirror stashed in a drawer below his desk. Your sticky lipstick left a stain on his forehead, strained with stress lines. He wiped away the red stain of your lipstick and rolled the remnants between his thumb and middle finger.

"Like Stone," he repeated with a hiss. "Mierda."

He wracked his hand around his swollen cock-- panting as he beat himself off, ecstasy claiming that he had to have you. The insatiable need to have -- his father’s whore-- overrode any of the papers on his desk. He came into the cold nothingness that is the air, his hands coated in his own essence. Miguel untucked a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped himself clean.

“Lyla? Who?” he gasped a breath, “Who is that woman?”

“Beats me,” Lyla thought she was so funny. “She’s not in any electronic records.”

“Really.”

Even if that was the case, Miguel would be damned if Stone got the better of him in death. Miguel cleaned up his hand and whirled open the sexual harassment folder-- he was nothing if not a determined man.

You shouldn’t be here. No, really, you should not be employed here.

He doesn’t know your qualifications because he cannot find them. In the electronic documents, your file is bare bones. The suggestion of your education is non-verifiable but signed off by Stone himself. If it were only him, he might chalk it up to corruption. But there were others-- other dead bodies-- who signed off on your highly amended report on Rapture. The board claimed your employment was not a subject for discussion. Even if he were the face of the company, you were untouchable.

He left his office to the small coffee shop on the third floor. The man who ran it, Peter, was a refreshment from the stress of the day in his own, weird little way. It was probably the high quantity of caffeine that kept him awake.

On the surface, Miguel’s dreams are unoffensive. Light things, like fingers brushing veins that creep along his muscles, soapy breasts dragging along his chest. Using your body like a sponge to clean him after a heavy session at the gym. You are always on your knees, suckling the cum free from his cock with an angelic little flutter of your lashes and those sultry, cat-like eyes. He was in a state of constant arousal with nothing to show for it but a consistently swollen dick. At his age, he considers it a feat.

“You’re so sexy, Peter.”

There it was again. Your giggle over top of the sound of the hiss of a coffee machine. Peter was laughing, shy, or uncomfortable, he couldn’t quite tell. Miguel slips off his wire sunglasses, looking along the bar for the source.

“Hey, Miguel!”

He paced around the corner, then back. There are a few work couples and colleagues speaking with one another. Their tables are fresh with coffee and tea, tiny wrapped sandwiches a poor lunch. You’re conspicuously absent. The lack of sleep was fucking with his head, it had to be. He settled the glasses into the lining of his suit pocket and withdrew his wallet.

“Miguel! You'll never guess who came by. Uh, the usual?” Peter bounced over, leaning over the cash register with a glitter in his eye. He was more upbeat than even usual. Some girl must have made his day, he decided. Sí, he rumbled. Miguel dipped his fingers into his wallet to pull out his card only to be stopped short of the action.

“Nope,” Peter pushed Miguel’s hand away. “Someone paid for you.”

“For me?” Miguel settled the card in its proper slot. “Who?”

“You know,” Peter whispers. "The bruja."

“She was here?” he repeated, following Peter across the side of the bar as he began to make his coffee. Peter is an airhead, a wonderful airhead. Some part of him is infectious on days when he’s not being stalked by a woman with no traceable name. It was as if you were wiped clean. “When?”

“About two hours ago? She said you looked spooked and left me some money for your coffee. I think she likes you.”

You were doing more than liking him.

“And why would you think that?” Miguel pulled out a chair at the bar, humoring the scrawnier man. Peter frothed some milk, a fluffy cloud of relaxation on top of his usual coffee dusted with cinnamon and nutmeg. Miguel takes the mug from Peter, wrinkling his nose at the addition of nutmeg.

“Well, she turned down some dude from marketing,” Peter mentions. “I've been here for a while and-- she rarely turns anyone down.”

You rarely turn anyone down?

It bothered him long after he finished the coffee. You’re so sexy, Peter. You weren’t there. Peter told him that you’d been gone for two hours. He should not have heard the wisps of your caramelized voice in the coffee shop.

It’s the exhaustion, Miguel convinced himself. He just needs the weekend, to rest.

By Saturday night, he hit his last nerve.

Restful sleep would not come. He lay in his large, empty king-sized bed after searching through files for another project that had no other name but 2099 for the entirety of ten long hours. Any information-- redacted-- but your name slapped over the top and bottom of countless documents was like a great, big fuck-you O'Hara. The more he read about you, the angrier he became. You enraged him, but he was positively enthralled with your presence.

He lay in bed listening to should-be soothing jazz that now grated his ear. Night after night, his torment never failed. When he finally found an instance of peace, his muscles locked up. Not quite awake, but not quite asleep. Heavy pressure overtook his chest and arms forced him to remain still. The world fazed in and out, doom on beating alarm bells in the back of his mind. Then he felt it, the phantom pressure on his neck that slid over his tawny skin, from his belly to the dark happy trail that dipped below his silky pants.

Miguel gritted his teeth and ripped himself from his trance. When his eyes popped apart, he was greeted by his shock. Hunger flowed through him in warm waves, piercing underneath his skin. Miguel’s fingers twinged, your phantom figure on top of him. It looked like you, but misty, as though an illusion. In the darkness, he can only make out the shadows that bounce off what little light is in the room.

“Motherfucker--”

Though he said that, your teasing fingers freed him from his cozy pants, ripping them around his hirsute thighs. His length lulls against his body, a shameful drool of cum gathered at his cock. A night of phantom touches has done him in. Miguel lurched back onto his flat pillows when he was abruptly shoved down by an outrageous amount of force. With his arms thrown up by his head-- he whimpered, frustrated with tonight's-- dream, delusion, dare he say-- reality. His joints were locked by invincible chains that forced him to stay in place. The more he fought, the hotter his need became for what came next. His body was pitifully trained.

He wasn’t certain that it was you-- but it smelled so deeply of your perfume, rich and cherry, flooding his nostrils. So familiar. He glanced down at the opaque figure, grinding over his hard cock. A pair of hands crashed onto his shoulder, claws curling into his broad shoulders. Blood seeped forth. A growl gathered in his chest, ripping up when something warm and tight sunk down on his bobbing dick. Miguel gritted his teeth: it had been a long time since he’d been with anyone. Not for a lack of viable partners, but his annoyance with them all.

Despite his immense muscle, he was too weak to do anything about it. Even if he could, what would he do? Throw off the sex-crazed hallucination on his dick? You rolled your hips over him, suckling him right back up. Hypnotized by the smoky illusion, Miguel gazed on begrudgingly, grunting as you rolled over him, his dick straining your insides. He was a toy, nothing more and nothing less, used for his fat cock that split your airy body apart. His hips jerked, frustrated as he found he could go no deeper. You punished him by dragging your claws over his swarthy shoulders, over his collarbones. Blood ripped free, sliding down his deltoids.

“Chingado,” Miguel’s lips parted for the word, hips juddering up like a hungry slut. It wasn’t normal, the warm tickle of your lubricant over his shaft, exquisite in its nature. His heels dug into the bed, balls tightened. He was so damn close to his relief, he could taste it on his tongue, bordering somewhere between immense pleasure and decadent pain. Your need for his pain won out, dipping down over his chest and latching your fangs over his chest-- then up, hooking on the front of his throat. It was going to bruise, badly.

You shook loose his orgasm, ripped free with the need to fill you, own you-- as though he were not the one being owned. His hips staggered, sticky whips of cum coating your walls in waves. More than he’d cum before before. His eyes shut hard, tears pricking the sides of his eyes. Then, as if it never happened, the hold on his hands was released. He struggled with his freedom, his hands slack, softening cock worthlessly weeping over his thigh. The pain-- oh, the pain, it washed over him moments later.

“Woah,” Lyla interrupted, “Miguel! What happened?”

She couldn’t see you. His eyes were like two dark coins, staring up at the ceiling, wide, and unseeing. He can hear her frantic questions, the ligature marks left behind from invincible chains, and the all-too-real blood and bruising that left him utterly ruined.

“It,” he choked out, heat biting at his well-chiseled face. “It hurts.”

He doesn’t remember what comes next. It was five in the morning when he finally rolled out of bed, and onto the floor, gripping the growing headache that grew miserably behind his head. Bitterness bubbled in his stomach, exhaustion in his eyes. The aberration that was his poor sleep was irksome more than anything. He felt someone’s eyes on him, soft and worried, rushing to his aid as though he were an old man who fell off a bed.

“Hey, you’re awake,” Peter said with an undercurrent of concern soaring through his words. “No, wait. I got you.”

He helped him sit against the frame of his bed, a frame that looks small as shit with Miguel’s large body against the frame. He’s unsure of what to say, assuming that Lyla called him in desperation, and let him into the house that Peter most definitely did not have a key to. Miguel’s chest ached. “What happened? Are you… are you okay?”

Everyone seems to ask him that lately.

“I’m fine,” he was alien to the feeling of care. He knew when Miguel dug himself into a hole. Miguel didn’t want to think about what happened only a few hours prior when his exhaustion took over his body and knocked him out. He dreamed of nothing. An abyss of unsettled nothingness, the ache low in his belly to fuck you until you were soaked in his cum and Miguel could finally, finally rest his tired eyes. Miguel pulled on a fluffy white robe Peter supplied, dragging it over thick strips of gauze and medical tape.

“You don't look fine.”

They both know he’s lying, but what else could be said? That the state Peter saved Miguel from was a rarity? That he’s used to being preyed upon by his own delusions? He needs a fuck, maybe that’s it.

“If you’re going to stay, be useful and get me that file.”

“Oh-- okay, this one?” he doesn’t look surprised. He padded across his room to his desk, kicked a chair that was falling apart aside, and picked up the folder on Brujería. It was buried behind more useful folders such as sexual harassment and inter-employee workplace violence. A fact that Miguel wasn’t exactly proud about in the first place.

“Brujería? Like witch stuff, right? No way. You think work is haunted too?” Peter says with a choked-out, nearly forced laugh. Miguel doesn’t pay himself enough for this. Of all the files at hand, it was nearly untouched. It included such things as ancestors, spirits, demons, and curses.

“I don’t. But the workers obviously do.”

Peter was soft and kind, but not stupid. He plopped down next to him and crossed his legs one over the other.

“The ones that say she’s a bruja?” Peter tapped on your photo. Your photo offers emptiness. That though you have a bright smile in the photo, it is undoubtedly fake. He never saw a woman look so innocent and sweet, but dangerous.

“You’ve heard?”

“Well, the men she hangs around always end up dead. They get all successful and rich then, bam, dead. But you can’t believe that right?” Peter reasons. “She’s not cursed, she just has bad luck. She’s always been nice to me.”

“A curse?”

“Yeah,” his warm breath wavers into a sigh. “Stone wanted company, found her in Sacred Heart-- you know, the one they say is cursed?”

“A cursed church? Give me a break. The only curse at Sacred Heart are the exploitive priests.”

“I’m just saying what I heard,” he’s whispering, shivers wracking up his arms at the mere mention. He tries not to push him anymore. Peter stood up and walked to the coffee stand in the corner of his dark room. For the days that he couldn’t be bothered to leave his room, he’d make a hot coffee in the corner and keep working just as he always did. “She’s always been nice to me.”

“Maybe you’re not her taste.”

“Yeah well, probably not. I don't look like you-- but she did call me sexy, so that's something right?” Peter laughed, “Want a cup of coffee?”

Sexy. That's it, he's so fucking sick of this shit.

“No, I don’t want a cup of fucking coffee,” Miguel bit back, shoving the bed several inches as he pushed his hand off of it, storming into his walk-in closet. “Lyla. When is mass at Sacred Heart?”

“Sacred Heart?” Lyla laughed. “You’re kidding--”

“Lyla,” he snarled, chucking his bag across the closet. It connected with his tall, black safe with a loud boom. She was quiet for a moment, undoubtedly momentary confusion for why non-believer Miguel O’Hara wanted to go to, of all things, a Catholic mass.

“6:30,” she answers.

“I’ll go with you,” Peter calls out.

Don’t bother, Miguel returns from the next room.

It’s been a long time since he dressed for mass-- some dark brown slacks and a warm, vanilla button-up. He snaps a chain necklace around his thick, bruised throat and his favorite watch. As he grabbed the manilla folder on brujería he felt like a child, lectured by his grandmother to not be like his bad man-loving, alcoholic mother and go to church. Despite very much not believing in any of this shit, it was frustrating, annoying even, that he had to go back there.

He didn’t want to go but his spirit was unsettled. Something told him that going to his grandmother’s favorite church would give him a sense of illumination, that it would make sense of the things that made no sense.

Sacred Heart stands on a hill, both physically and metaphorically. It takes offerings off the backs of the poor and sits atop a lush hill. Its stained-grey architecture is only beautiful by virtue of its stained-glass murals. He doesn’t care for the saints that loom overhead, unseeing eyes judgemental and cold. Viejitos and the truly devout are the only ones in attendance. Based on Peter’s account, he should expect you there. It doesn't take long to be proven right.

“Bendición.”

Is he hallucinating again? Despite the many rows of unspoken burgundy benches, you sit by him. Miguel is disconcerted as you slide your thick hips by, sandwiching him between the side of the bench and your chunky, beautiful thighs. He worked his words in his mouth for entirely too long.

“Dios te bendiga,” he said, the words chalky and thick in his throat, drawn up from the bottomless abyss of his fluttery stomach. You sat with a black lace veil pinned to your head. The only sort of women who wear a veil are very old or not Catholic at all. He veers on the latter. “You’re Catholic?”

“If you want me to be.”

“Why else would you be here?” he reached over and plucked up a cheap bible from a pouch behind the bench before him. Your eyes follow pupils dilating in a way that isn’t human at all, staring at the many words on the page that spun under his thumb.

“I think you know why,” you said with soft and pliable words. He felt himself melting.

Of course, Miguel thought, you always seem to show up during the most inopportune times.

"You didn't bring a bible," he offers it to you. Your eyes, dilate wide and bright at the sight of the thing, flicker a look down to it, then Miguel again.

"I prefer to listen." You turn away from it. He flipped it in his hand before returning it to its rightful pouch. For some reason, you did not want to be close to the book. He thinks he knows why.

“So you are stalking me.”

"Stalking is such a mean word, Miggy. Haunting, I like haunting better." Miguel throws open the report. He doesn’t want to read it-- but it is the last folder that may hold the information he needs. Your eyes fluttered to the footsteps of others filling their spot, an archaic song on the lips of the practitioners. Wrong page, Miguel.

"What was that?" he asked you.

"Nada."

He looked down to his lap where the report sat. The voices of those present, their lips forming an off-tuned song, itched at his already exhausted mind. The more he fought, the worse it became. You flipped open a black fan and cooled yourself with long flicks of your wrist. He doesn’t think it’s so hot.

“The rosary on your desk is from here, isn’t it?”

How would you know?

“You’re hiding something.”

Page 76. His fingers thumb on the pages on their own accord. Your eyes traced the movement, looking down at the pages before him. On deaths of company men.

I just do.

The thought entered his mind without prompting. He scanned names on the page. Aaron Delgado… asphyxiation. Tyler Stone… myocardial infarction. There were photos pinned there, photos that shouldn’t be so graphic, but somehow are. The men are as naked as the day they came into the world.

“If you say so, Miggy.”

“What are you hiding?”

You brought your hand over the file, closing it shut on top of his hand. He turns his hands over the top. Your fingers run over his knuckles, in misleading circles. “Are you sure you want the truth?”

“I don’t hide from the truth.”

“The truth,” you leaned in, your words husky against his ear. “The truth is I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m a good girl, Miggy. You have to believe me.”

Something about the way you spoke enraged him, prickling him enough to force him to stand in the middle of the priest’s words. He snatched your wrist with his thick hand, gripping you enough to leave pepper bruises across your skin. Your heels clicked after his boots, out through the foyer, past the bath of holy water, and down the discolored steps.

“Miguel?” you sang like a siren.

He’s hit his limit, throwing you against the discolored church wall. A gasp punched out of your lungs, aggravated by Miguel’s large hand strangling the breath from your throat. He felt warm as he kicked your legs apart and took up that space. The heat doesn’t feel like it is his. His bulge against your skirt certainly is. Now, he seems to expect pleasure when he is in your presence.

“You want me to fuck you, sí? That’s why you’re tormenting me every fucking night.”

“I thought you liked cumming,” you relinquished with a harsh giggle. It grates his last nerve. “You finally look relaxed when you do.”

“Qué mala eres,” Miguel snatched the bottom of your skirt, ripping it up the slit to expose your warm skin. He found no panties there, just smooth skin. He cupped your sex for emphasis. “No panties in church. You're filthy.”

“¿Y qué? You’re proving why I didn’t need them.”

He stared, lingering for a moment, challenging your insistence on control. Since he took over this god-forbidden company, you had been defying him with your devilish smile. Miguel slapped your cunt, eliciting a groan that was half of the pain that he’d had only a few hours ago. You liked it, scratching lines up his arms to his broad shoulders.

“You’re so big,” you balanced his abuse with your overwhelming worship. “So big and pretty.”

“Shut up,” he bit out and slipped his middle finger inside of you, unconcerned for your pleasure. Your muscles tightened around his finger, drawing him deeper. He slides another beside it, his hand leaving your cunt to slap your jaw, forcing you to keep focus. Your tender flesh is hot and red, a wonderful tenderness radiating throughout your jaw.

“And you're dripping, do you have no shame?” He grips your chin to look at your face. Raw defiance was slapped across your face. You rolled your hips onto his hand, forcing him to caress your walls in the right spot. He perked his brow, listening to the priest lecturing in the background. Your sweetness drooled over his curled wrist, dripping from his squelching fingers.

“For you,” you whined. “I want your dick. Give it--”

“You’re a brat.”

He said that-- but he was amused. Miguel slipped down onto his knees, knocking your legs rudely apart. His mouth encircled your puffy clit, bringing it into his mouth and suckling it fat. His rhythm was quick, making a point that he could make you cum too. You weren’t debating him, your hands tight in his hair, loud little moans beating free from your lips. His tongue was warm and soft, kissing and nipping.

The priest went quiet.

“You’re being too loud. Do you want them to hear us?” Miguel’s brow furrowed, slipping up from your vulva.

"Why is that my problem?" You whined in distaste after he stopped pleasuring you, your pulsing cunt beating like an open wound. Asshole.

"You could care for someone other than yourself." Miguel tilted his head, turning you to face the wall. He pulled himself free of his pants-- his thick cock fat against the curve of your ass. That’s what you wanted, he decided, gauging by your whine that came with his action.

"How does that get me what I want?" You shook your ass at him, waiting for him to rear back.

“This is what you wanted, hm? Fine, have it. Just shut up."

He leaned over you, your scratchy black veil catching along his stubble. He doesn’t wait for a response, pushing inside. He wasn’t just thick, he was long. But he knew you already knew that-- you knew every curve of his body, loved the thick veins on his cock that filled you so well. You scratched at the wall as he crushed you into the wall, his hips stuttering with your walls tightening him, drawing him further, impossibly deep.

Estúpida, he thought-- and knew you’d hear it. Whatever you were, you weren’t human. You were somewhere between a human and desire itself, evident in the way you looked at him, pleasured by his rutting hips against the church. The priest went back to his lecture-- the churchgoers enraptured in their worship. The only thing Miguel was enraptured with was the way your pussy tingled, the fluid soaking his cock, and the stretch in your lower belly. His hand clasped over your mouth, index finger poking into your mouth. Your tongue drew him in, fangs nipping his finger.

It earned you a hard slam, stuffing you full, your strange body catching his thrusts beautifully. He slipped his hand over your soft cunt, working your clit for your orgasm, though you deserved no such thing. Habit, he supposed. Gloria a Dios-- the churchgoers clammed with one another. Nearly out of time, your pleasure won out, gushing over his fat cock. Miguel suckled a breath, his ego demanding him to hold out, batter your sweet cunt through your orgasm.

“I’m hungry-- Give it to me,” you bit on his finger, breaking the skin and urging blood to flow into his mouth. Your body twitched violently around his cock, drawing bright pleasure forth. “Give me your cum.”

"Stay out of my dreams."

"I don't want to," you reared your head back at him, your nose tight with wrinkles. He drew you fully onto his dick, the final thrusts were sloppy and immature-- but he held out, making you angrier by the second.

"I'll cum on the floor right here, I don't give a shit."

"No, no! Fine! I promise-- I'll let you sleep," the threat of going hungry is enough that you concede, punching your fist against the wall. He grunts in response and feeds your body with whips of cum that felt far heavier than his usual. A pleasure, far sweeter than any orgasm he could give you. Miguel soaked your sweet little body with his sticky cum, chest swelling heavily against your little back. He finishes and pulls himself free. To his surprise, your cunt doesn’t leak. Miguel staggers back with a perk in his eyebrow.

You look far better for wear than he does, clumsily zipping himself back into cum stained slacks, running his hand through his sweat-soaked hair. You recline on the wall, inspecting him. He knows how he looks. He's bruised, long gashes down his chest, and properly fucked-- a mess. The manila envelope sits forgotten by your heels, your skirt-- perfect, as though he never tore it in the first place.

“You’re not human.”

Miguel bends down, picking up the folder. Not like he needs it anymore. He does, however, need that information on Project 2099. I can help you, he hears. He catches your wide, toothy smile. You've grown fangs. He isn’t surprised.

“Not even a little.”

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