MIGUEL Whos Wrapped Around Your Pretty Little Finger.

MIGUEL whos wrapped around your pretty little finger.

he adores you, he would do anything for you. he loves you. and you knew it, he was smitten with you. no matter how sarcastic or how hard he was on the outside he would always break down those walls for you. his princesa, even if he thought he wasn’t obvious with it he was. the spider society could tell, everyone could tell.

“you’d better hope his wife comes and saves your asses” jessica said, sighing deeply. miles and gwen had fucked up big time, and there was practically no hope other than you coming to their rescue. “mhm you’d better start praying cus’ if she doesn't well uh, just hope you see tomorrow” peter whispered. “do you know what the hell you did?! do you know how much you jeopardized our mission?!” miguel seethed, irritably. "you." he turned and pointed his finger in miles's face. " i may have let you in our mission but that doesn't mean you can disobey orders." he seethed, his eyebrows furrowed. miles's could only hope and pray that she would show up.

"miguel? amor, i brought you lunch!" a bubbly voice snapped the group out of their train of thought. a sweet looking woman stood at the door, dressed in casual clothes. "what's going on?" she sighed looking at the group and miguel. "oh nothing don't worry" miguel said, awkwardly. "come here, i want to see you. i know that you just went on a mission lemme check you out" she said motioning him to come over to him. as he walked towards her, she mouthed to the group "go". and with that they scrambled off.

@AISAISAIS 2023, DO NOT STEAL OR REPOST.

Jujutsu Kaisen Park

᯽attractions

𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨

can’t sleep | TW. NSWF, pet names, femreader, blkfem!reader praise, degradation, slight dumbification, soft satoru, fingering, daddy kink, you can’t sleep so you ask your boyfriend for a little help

sweet husband | CW. husband!gojo Pure fluff, brief mention of ass grabbing, how he treats you as your husbad

𝐍𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢

dick | TW. NSWF, oral (both m and f receiving), f!nger!ng, slapping, p in v, mean nanami, praise, fear kinks, some fluff at the end, somehow asking a stranger for help leads to more than you expect

Late nights | CW. Pure fluff, husband!nanami, your husband is the best

Chef | CW. (series) some chapters will have nswf after graduating with a degree in a almost useless major and deciding that your dreams were impossible jealousy overcomes you as you see how your past contender is thriving with the same degree as you

Supply Closet l CW. NSWF smut, regionalmanager!nanami. enjoying time in the supply closet with nanami

In Public l CW. NSWF smut , nanami is a prude nglll but for you he can change

𝐓𝐨𝐣𝐢

Husband series | CW. pure fluff, how your husband acts and thinks

𝐒𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚

Husband series | CW. pure fluff, how your husband act and think

𝐌𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐦𝐢

𝐘𝐮𝐮𝐣𝐢

𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐨

- Can’t Sleep

᯽Pairing: boyfriend!gojo x reader

᯽ Synopsis: reader can’t sleep so she ask boyfriend!gojo for a little help

᯽Content: blackfem!reader, gentle!gojo, fingering, needy reader, slow kisses, praise, gojo being an annoying tease, very little dumbification, daddy kink, pet names,

“ Gojo, Gojo wake up please. I can’t sleep.” you whisper, shaking the man violently. It’s been 2 weeks since you got a good night’s sleep. your current sleeping issue has caused many problems during the day time which is why you vowed that tonight would be the last night

“toruuuu get upppp.” finally the white haired man turns over to face you on your knees. “yes love?” he speaks voice deep and groggy. “I still can’t sleep you think you can help me toru” you whine making small little circles on his bare chest. “aw does my pretty baby need some help?”

“oh toru no more , s’too much” you whine gripping his shirt. Satoru’s got you headed on you third orgasm with his thick fingers pumping in and out of your sopping wet cunt. “oh sweetheart you can do it don’t you wanna be a good girl for me” of course you did but it was all too much. “ wanna be good for you toru, ‘s good”

between the sucking on your neck and the feeling of your pussy being full your mind was in a trance. “‘m gonna make sure you sleep good baby” his fingers sped up causing your head to fall into satorus chest.

“oh baby how does it feel? does it feel good to fingerfucked by your daddy? i know it does look at your little cunt making a mess all over the sheets such a dirty little whore”

you couldn’t even comprehend the word’s coming out of his mouth all you were focused on was the feeling. with sweat dripping down your forehead you knew it was coming and so did he

“ ‘m gonna cum toru” your whole body was twitching head moving around at the intensity of satorus movements he felt as if he could come on sight with the sweat glistening off your body, the angelic sound of your moans, and the tightness of your pussy around his fingers gojo was whipped.

“ you gonna cum for me baby go ahead and fucking cum”

a long high pitched moan left your lips and instantly a feeling of pure euphoria traveled throughout your body

“mmm good girl so fucking good”

his fingers exited your puffy and swollen pussy and entered his mouth earning a little pop sound as his fingers left his lips “god you did suc-“ a sigh left his lips seeing you passed out on the bed.

help wanted ! chapter three.

pairing: miguel o’hara / f!reader summary: your first week on the job. rating: 18+ explicit (minors, do not interact) warnings: oral (f! receiving) series masterlist / previous chapter / next chapter

There’s no comprehensive and all-encompassing instruction manual for parenting. You could make a point about the parenting books that you could easily snag off the bookshelves of your local library, but they’re not always effective.

Every child is unique, and what works for one child might not work for another. Parenting manuals often provide general advice and strategies, but they don’t always address the specific needs, temperament, or circumstances of an individual child or family. Parenting is also a deeply personal experience, and different parents have different philosophies, values, and parenting styles. What one parent finds effective or important may differ from another. 

You took a quick glance from the comfort of your living room over to your next-door neighbor’s front yard and see that they’d progressed from soccer to softball and now… volleyball, it appeared, in the course of one Sunday morning. Little Gabi O’Hara seemed to have boundless energy and a penchant for the most active range of hobbies a five-year-old could possibly have, and it was only ten in the morning. 

She was receiving, diving, and scrawling around the grass frantically, happy as can be, as Miguel set the ball to her side of the yard, steadfastly coaching and guiding her through the motions. Faintly, you overhear him yelling words of encouragement, and when Gabi saves a particularly difficult ball, you watch as he runs excitedly over to her to pick her up about his shoulders and whooping in glee. “¡Qué orgullosa estoy de mi hija!” 

You fought the urge to celebrate along with them and tried to concentrate back on what you desperately needed to get done before Monday sneaks up on you. You’re not a parent, but if you were going to be in charge of watching, protecting, and caring for Miguel’s pride and joy, you had some reviewing to get done.

Miguel O’Hara probably didn’t need a manual or a guide to learn how to parent. It came naturally to him, took hold, and became second nature. It’s evident in the way Gabi hangs onto him like a lifeline.

Now, you know deep down that you wouldn’t be able to replicate what made him a good dad, wouldn’t even dare to try, but it was a good thing you only had one job: to babysit for a summer. And manuals and guides for babysitting happened to be a lot more useful and concise about what to expect in your new role.

Forty-five dollars later, you were signed up for an online Babysitting & Advanced Child Care Certification. You were well aware that this course was usually reserved and taken by eleven-year-olds, took it yourself almost ten years ago, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

You didn’t take it half as seriously back then as you did now. (It was really not that deep.) 

As four hours passed, you gradually checked off lessons in basic first aid and CPR (Stayin’ Alive by the Bee Gees was a very good point of reference ), developing age-appropriate activities (though you probably could’ve just looked out your window to see more of what Gabi was interested in), behavior management (she was also an avid fan of your mom’s blueberry muffins), and business and professionalism skills. 

Now where do you even begin with your last lesson?

Your mother had done the brunt of negotiating this job for you, overselling you and your skills heavily, so you were covered in the marketing aspect of the “business.” Everything else in the lesson were skills you learned early on in college and through common sense, so you felt confident in that aspect. The real struggle was under the bullet point: 

Professionalism. 

The memory of him was still fresh; red marks just beginning to turn purple on the flesh of your skin as you replay the way he told you he would wait for his decision with a patient and composed tone, but his hands betrayed him, drifting down low to your thigh, the downright inappropriate way in which he looked down at you, intense brown eyes that seemed to intensify in a reddish hue.

Uncertainty bloomed in your chest reluctantly, concerns beginning to fester like wildfire.

Now, unfortunately, since the course was designed for pre-pubescent individuals, you were a little bit at a loss. What exactly was the proper etiquette for working with what was meant to be a one-night stand? 

Googling “what to do if you slept with your boss/neighbor accidentally before you start the job,” ended up being fruitless since most of the searches came up with oversleeping and arriving late, attempting to salvage it with a quick, additional search through r/AITA: “what to do if job included taking care of one-night stand’s daughter,” and then frantically looking up: “how does someone become good at three different sports in one afternoon” in a panic-induced haze.

There was no right answer, it seemed, other than to wait it out and see. That last question was a long shot anyway. 

You ended up passing your certification with flying colors with relative ease, sighing with relief as you finally shut your computer off for the day. By the time you finished, the sun had begun its descent, warm daylight receding quickly from the living room you had locked yourself into to try and get the exam done. At that point, Gabi and Miguel had concluded their front yard practice hours ago and you let your mind wander, thinking about how summer was going to go.

Last summer, you were barely home, too preoccupied with thoughts about your future and your engagement, and your internship. The world seemed impossibly vast, and everything was going so fast, way too fast for your liking but you made yourself push through it. 

Sitting cross-legged in your living room, listening in on your parents bickering over the right seasoning proportions as you thumbed through a babysitting certificate, you found this was a lot better. Peaceful.

Sleep came easily and softly, this time with no dreams of your next-door neighbor.

When you knocked on the door of the O’Hara house for the second time that week, you felt a bit more prepared, but your fingers still fiddled with the hem of your dress. Your room currently looked like a warzone, having spent a good chunk of your morning deliberating on what to wear, and you had settled on a well-worn and familiar dress, but you were starting to have doubts.

It was early–cars were only just beginning to pull out of their driveways, rushing off to work and you could still feel the mist lingering in the air. Miguel had texted you the night before and told you to pop in around 8 AM before he headed off to work an hour later. 

You considered knocking again before the door opened, and Miguel lit up at the sight of you. Compared to you, he looked relaxed, eyes crinkling softly around the edges as he invited you in. “Come on in, Gabi’s still asleep.”

Gingerly, you followed him through the house with padded footsteps, careful not to make any noise as he leads you into the living room. He gestured for you to sit as he walked back into the kitchen, and you were left to examine your surroundings. Once again, spotless—and was that a signed guitar by Llewyn Davis?

Miguel returned with two mugs of coffee and some cream and sugar, chuckling as he noticed what you were staring at. “I see you’ve noticed the infamous guitar. I don’t really play all that often anymore, because of work and Gabi, but it has good memories.”

“It’s gorgeous,” You sighed breathlessly. “How in the world did you get it signed?”

You spent a few minutes going back and forth with him about music, “you were in two punk bands in high school?,” to which he rolled his eyes, but you didn’t miss the small smile that lingered as he brought his mug of coffee back to his lips, “I had a lot of pent up tension back then.”

There were a few other things you went over with him, like Gabi’s bedtime (he usually tried to be home by the time she had to go to sleep but work sometimes prevented him the opportunity so he makes sure to stay until Gabi woke up in the morning), potential allergies or dietary restrictions, if she could go over to your house, visits with Abuela, and little lessons and habits that he had picked up in the five years as Gabi’s dad. 

One thing you learned was that he was very thorough; there were phone numbers stuck to the fridge in the event that anything went wrong, emergency contacts a mile long being added to your phone, a list of preferred hospitals and clinics in the area, and maybe excessively, a list of soccer parents to avoid at grocery stores, playgrounds, and practices.

You had raised an eyebrow at that last point. “What, did you have an argument with a mom at Bed, Bath, and Beyond or something?”

“I might get a little too competitive when Gabi’s playing soccer.”

“Miguel,” You tried to resist the laughter bubbling up your throat at the mental image of Miguel going wild at a little league soccer game. “They’re five. How competitive do you have to be?”

When the hour was getting close to done, and after making more fun of Miguel to your delight, he looked down at his watch, eyes lowering slightly in disappointment. “It’s about time for me to head to work, and I wanna go wake up Gabi before I have to go,” Miguel stood up, and you couldn’t help but stare as he stretched, lean muscles rippling underneath the fabric of his button-up, shirt riding up just right as you caught a glimpse of tan, sunkissed skin—

Focus.

If he noticed you staring, he didn’t mention it, but you could see the small traces of a smug smile as he turned away from you to head to Gabi’s room. On the way, he pointed out other rooms, his office, where to go do laundry, and a guest bedroom if you ever needed it, though you reminded him that you did only live a good ten feet away from his house. 

Before you went in, Miguel knocked softly, opening the door to a bright, blue bedroom. It’s a gorgeous room, filled with various posters of the sports and cartoons that Gabi loved, a bunch of toys that were still strung out on the floor, and there’s a picture of her and Miguel on the nightstand from Disneyland, with Gabi as a baby wearing lopsided Mickey ears as he beamed proudly at the camera.

He pushed in first, sitting down on Gabi’s bed then he leaned in closer, whispering a gentle “it’s time to wake up, Gabi.”  The sound, barely audible, wafted through the room as she slowly stirred, warm honey-brown eyes still drowsy.

“Well, good morning,” Miguel greeted. “¿Lista para empezar el día?” 

Gabi nodded as she sat up, still practically half-asleep, rubbing her sleepy eyes with tiny fists. When she noticed you standing by the doorway, she smiled, waving softly, but still focused her attention on her dad. “¿Vas a trabajar?" 

Miguel hummed in response, and then looked back at you. “Promise not to cause too much trouble to your babysitter today?”

“No promises,” Gabi grinned and you thought Miguel might as well explode on the spot with pride.

You and Gabi stood at the porch as Miguel pulled out of the driveway,  Gabi on your hip as she waved frantically, blowing kisses to the outline of his car as you waved too, laughing as Miguel blew his own kisses back to the two of you.

There was no trouble with getting Gabi settled with breakfast, having decided on a generous helping of eggs and toast. You got her meal ready as she started setting a volleyball back and forth, hands still clumsy and slippery with inexperience, but she asked you a series of rapid-fire questions as you flipped over her eggs.

“Do you play sports?”

“I used to, a long time ago, but I’m afraid I’m nowhere near as good as you are. I can set some volleyballs over to you later if you want,” You replied as you set the egg down on her plate. At that, Gabi cheered and made her way over to you, little hands reaching for her food.

“Last week, my dad hit his toe on one of my legos and he accidentally said a mean word. I don’t think he knew I heard him. Can you tell him that’s not appropriate?”

“I’ll relay the message,” You tried your best to stifle a laugh from her innocent, mindless questions. You’ll definitely bring that up with Miguel later.

“Can your mom make some more blueberry muffins?”

“You know what,” Your eyes lit up as a light bulb flickered above your head. “Why don’t we just show you?”

Gabi absolutely adored your mom—those two had latched on to each other more than you thought in your disappearance, and she was hanging off every one of your mom’s words as she explained how to prepare the muffin batter, as you took little pictures to send over to Miguel with flour on the tip of her nose and fingertips sticky with batter she was caught sneaking bites from. The last part was gross, but still, admittedly cute.

You had a mental checklist prepared (courtesy of your little certificate) of things you should prioritize when babysitting. The first one was responsibility: Babysitters must prioritize the safety and well-being of the children in their care. They should be reliable and trustworthy.  

Of course, you had to rein in a few of your mom’s liberties as she snuck some more bites of the batter to Gabi, sighing exasperatedly as you had to explain the risks of salmonella to your own mom. Not that it stopped you from taking small swipes at the batter either.

Your first day was a soaring success, the day well spent with baking and a trip to the park in the beautiful weather, letting Gabi run around and cause havoc for a few hours before the sun began to set. Lots of photos and updates were texted to Miguel, another bullet point in your checklist, namely communication: Effective communication with both children and parents is essential. Babysitters should be able to understand and engage with children, as well as provide clear updates and instructions to parents. 

Miguel responded to each of them in kind with personalized messages, watching with bated breath as he saved the one of you and Gabi grabbing ice cream by an ice cream truck. 

Gabi was knocked out and tucked in by the time Miguel got home from work, and you were waiting on the couch, watching intently as he walked through the door, loosening his tie with a relaxed sigh. He settled next to you on the couch, voice velvety and smooth as he greeted you. “Hey. Did you guys have fun?”

There was a natural ease to your conversation, and you took the opportunity to ask him more questions about music, and his work, and let him try the new muffins Gabi had made while he asked his own questions in kind, about what you liked to do, what made you decide to go back home.

You were both halfway through laughing and snortling as you had explained the one time you had attempted to sneak into your university library, to no avail as the near-hundred-year-old security guard had caught you almost immediately. 

Miguel’s eyes softened, the edges of a laugh softly settling into a smile as he gazed at you, the room feeling smaller, lighter. “I’m really glad you went back.”

“Me too,” You smiled in return, head leaning into the crook of your arm. “I mean, who else is going to make fun of you for getting way too passionate about five-year-olds playing soccer? Like come on, you did not have to get her minivan towed just because her kid sidestepped Gabi in a game.”

“Oh, I absolutely did.”

The rest of your week passed in a whirlwind. Gabi was a really easy kid to watch, you really couldn’t take that much credit. She took every activity you threw at her with the easygoing nature of a five-year-old with not many qualms, and it made things so much easier, but of course, you didn’t want to just barely do your job. Case in point, creativity: Great babysitters often come up with fun and engaging activities to keep children entertained. They can think on their feet and find creative solutions to challenges that may arise. 

On your second day, you spent the day with her running around the block, showing her various sights and spots you had frequented when you were a kid, answering her curious questions in stride, and ending your little adventure with some waffles at your hometown restaurant. You delighted in the way Gabi practically squealed at the amount of whipped cream.

Of course, your next priority was patience: Dealing with children requires patience, especially when they are upset. Babysitters remain calm and handle difficult situations with composure. Gabi had a sugar rush the moment the two of you left the restaurant, and you had to deal with the fallout.

“Oh my god, Gabi, look both ways before you cross the street!” You didn’t think you could handle a lawsuit from her father.

The next couple of days were a lot more relaxed; as rambunctious and active she was, sometimes she could just use a day of lounging around the couch, binging various movies and asking you your favorite parts about them, eyes twinkling in curiosity as you explained the mechanics of some of the animation in the cartoons you watched.

Miguel would occasionally come back for lunch or return with some takeout after work, and you were able to cycle through various restaurants that had opened up in your time away from college, eager to talk through a lot of them and give him your opinions. 

The whole time, he remained warm and welcoming, innocent glances across the dining table, a far cry from the man you had hooked up with a week ago.

At one point, your hands gestured wildly and your mouth ran on fire as you tried some spicy pozole that Miguel and Gabi urged you to try. You hadn’t noticed the simultaneous way their heads had tilted to the side, flashing equally mischievous smiles.

Guzzling milk as you glared at the both of them (at Miguel, more than Gabi), as Miguel struggled to contain his laughs, breathlessly wheezing as he wiped some stray tears that had gathered in his eyes. “Did we not tell you there were some ghost peppers in there?”

“No!”

Friday came around much sooner than you expected, and at that point, you had settled into a routine. 

The sun was starting to set, casting a warm glow through the windows as both of you plopped down on the couch. You were both exhausted from a day of running around and kicking a soccer ball in the front yard, and you had endured your fair share of kicking the ball and missing the goal by several feet for Gabi’s sake. With messy hair and rosy cheeks, you had tucked Gabi in under a cozy blanket, flipping through the channels until you eventually landed on something that you had started just a couple of days before. 

Before long, Gabi had fallen asleep, and you had moved her to her bedroom without much fuss, ready to go settle in the living room and wait for Miguel to arrive. On your way down, you noticed his office door was slightly ajar, and you went to close it until something caught your eye.

Against your better judgment, you pushed your way in, surveying the state of the room. There were books scattered everywhere, old files and papers haphazardly set around his desk. A few articles of his old works were framed on the wall, and in photos, he seemed more constricted. Less free, more serious, dark brown piercing eyes judging you as you walked around his office.

What caught your eye, in particular, was a photo of Miguel with two other individuals, one of them you could only assume was his brother, due to their similar eyes and smile, and in between them was a woman with blue eyes and brown hair, a similar shade to Gabi’s. 

Before you could ponder on the similarities further, you heard the door to the office crack open, and spinning around wildly to see Miguel standing at the doorway.

In your concentration, you missed the sound of a car pulling into the driveway and Miguel stood, blanketed by the light of the hallway, in sharp contrast to the dark that shrouded the room. You felt guilty, small like a child caught dipping their hand into a jar of cookies. To your surprise, Miguel merely flickered the light switch on, eyes carrying the weight of fatigue. “Is Gabi asleep?”

You sheepishly nodded, folding your hands behind your back as you struggled to come up with an explanation. “Listen—”

“Come with me,” Miguel’s voice was calm, carrying none of the backlash you were expecting. “Let’s talk.”

In the kitchen, Miguel poured a couple of glasses of wine, offering one to you as you accepted. He let out an exhausted sigh before composing himself, back to the easygoing and light smile you had begun getting accustomed to that week. “How was she today?”

And just like that, the tense air in the room lifted as easily as it came in, as you went through the motions of the day, watching as he gradually lost the slump in his shoulders and the lines on his face that told the story of a demanding day. 

Whatever it was, you didn’t want to pry, especially after having been caught looking through his belongings.

“You’re a natural, you know that?” Miguel’s eyes shined with admiration. “She adores you, tells me all about your days when you’re gone.”

Despite yourself, you couldn’t fight the smile that bloomed across your face, chest constricting at the praise. “Well, I really couldn’t take that much credit. She's a really easy kid to watch, she practically lost it when I took her to go get some waffles the other day.”

He smiles, full and unrestrained this time, and you share a few more stories about your week, ignoring the flush in your cheeks when he would quip in with his own stories from when Gabi was younger. Gabi was his whole life and he adored her wholeheartedly; in pictures, before she was born, you could tell that something was lacking, something missing when his smiles wouldn’t reach his eyes.

“So, what’s your secret?” Miguel cocked an eyebrow. “How’d you get the hang of it the way you did? It took a while for Gabi’s old babysitter to get used to how active she is. I’ve never seen her latch on to someone so quickly.”

“I… I did a babysitting certificate online that was meant for middle schoolers.” Thank you, Babysitting and Advanced Child Care Certification. Your laughter spilled on in bursts without even thinking about it, and you gasped for breath about the absurdity of learning more things by completing a small babysitting certificate over your college diploma. “If you need a better manual for parenting, look no further. Those eleven-year-olds have it cracked.”

“Is that so?” Your laughter was contagious, and before long, Miguel had joined in.

You nodded, still proud of your little achievement. “ Mhm. There’s four,” pausing to hold up four fingers. “Four key values.”

“Well, shoot, now I have to know. What are they?” Miguel leaned forward just slightly, and you ignored the way your heart swelled at the small motion, his proximity rapidly unthreading the small resolve you had left.

“There’s responsibility, then communication, creativity—that’s an underrated one—-and patience,” Listing them off felt a little bit silly, now that you looked back, but you continued. “It’s like, the four commandments of babysitting.”

“So which one do you think is the most important?” He looked down at you, and everything seemed heightened, more focused. Dark brown lashes fanned his cheekbones, skin warm and dusky against the contours of his face as he stared back at you. “Responsibility, communication, creativity, or… patience ?”

You knew the implications behind his words, this line that you were dangerously close to crossing over. “Patience.”

Miguel’s pupils dilated then, humming his approval at your words. At that point, the sun had fully set and you had lost track of the time. Without thinking, the words came tumbling out before you could even stop and consider the weight of them. Recklessly and impulsively, you took the leap. “Do you remember what happened a week ago?”

“Of course, I do. You think I’ve forgotten about you?” Miguel’s eyes darkened, voice dropping an octave as you suddenly felt very, very hot. “I haven’t been able to get you out of my head, cariño.”

He stood before you, all broad expanse of shoulders and muscle, and you’re reminded of the events of last week all over again, remembering how strong he felt underneath your fingertips. “What do you want?”

You didn’t need to answer, just leaned in and took his lips in yours, long wait finally over and you were falling apart like honey in his arms as you felt him push you against the cool marble of the counter, his warmth in sharp contrast to the cold pressing against your back. He tasted exactly the same, bergamot and crisp green leaves, patchouli, and vetiver. Fuck, you were addicted to it.

Your moans filled the quiet of the kitchen as his mouth moved lower, light and feathery kisses peppering the side of your neck, going over the bruises mapped on your skin left just a week before, sucking and kissing new ones in his wake.

“I wanna see you fall apart,” Miguel murmured, hot breaths fanning your neck as if in a trance. “Wanna watch you cum on my fingers again, wanna taste you.” All you could do was nod. Yes, yes, please—do whatever you want.

He returned to your lips, needy and unconstrained. You let your hands wander, disappearing into his neat, put-together curls just as Miguel bit down on your bottom lip, the sudden pain making you twist your fingers into his hair and tug. A low, rumbly sound vibrates against your mouth, his fingers pressing harder into your hips and then he’s hoisting you up on the counter.

One of his hands makes its way underneath your skirt, fingers skirting along the edges of your underwear as you whined, pleading for him to touch you where you needed him. You could feel his mouth nip at your skin and you clammed up like putty, as he pushes your complaints back down. “Patience,” he chastised, going even slower than before. 

Minutes feel like hours as he held you there, hand cupping your face as if you were his salvation, proof that he wanted, no, needed this just as much as you did, had been crippled with thoughts of each other since the moment you had walked into his house. “Good girl. That’s it. You going to keep being good for me?”

Shaking your head yes, unable to formulate words at the way he gazed at you, definitive and ready to take the pleasure he had just begun if you stepped out of line.

Slowly, he knelt in front of you, slithering down your body and you feel exposed, goosebumps rousing in your skin as he kissed up the length of your thigh, grabbing onto your underwear and tugging it down with an easy confidence. 

Miguel’s breathing adoration into your cunt and you felt like you were on fire, going crazy with his greedy back and forth, not quite reaching you where you needed him. His voice was clear and definitive, a stark difference to yours. "Tell me what you want."

You’re babbling, words merging and rolling off your lips with an uncontrolled force, and you’re not even sure if you’re making any sense, not entirely sure if you even cared. “Please. Please, Miguel, I’m begging you, do something—”

His thumb started to draw slow circles as he slowly stroked the lips surrounding your mound. You were sure that you were positively dripping, going slick around him as you keened under his touch. His mouth watered and Miguel decided quickly that using only his fingers simply will not do, nowhere near enough.

Something in your brain snapped as he pushed your skirt up, looking ravenous as he inspected you, still teasing, not quite playing with you just yet. And then, you felt his hot mouth exactly where you needed him, licking one strip, from base to top of your cunt, just to taste.

Oh my god. 

You were leaning back on your shoulders, struggling to hold your body weight as he continued to explore you, and you just allowed yourself to feel it, really feel it,  and let him do whatever he wanted to you with his tongue—letting him lazily slide it over your clit, tracing the soft skin of your inner thigh with his canines, occasionally allowing you the pleasure of letting it migrate inside your cunt, tasting, feeling, wandering around until you were dizzy and delirious.

The kitchen sounded absolutely filthy, filled with the sound of the slick of your pussy and the criminal way that he ate you out, moaning and groaning when he knew he found a spot that just wrecked you. Praises fell from him in short, Spanish increments, taken with the way you begged and leaned your cunt closer to his face as if you even had any remote say in his demonstrations.

His hands snaked around your hips, pressuring you to move even closer to him, leaving you with no room to escape, not that you would ever even want to, no. Not with the way he was fucking you on his tongue, not with the way the rough skin of his five o’clock shadow stimulated you further, forcing you to feel everything so much more. 

There was nothing innocent about the way he growled into your cunt, then, “Cum for me, baby, please. I wanna taste you. ‘M starving. Just look at you.”

And then you were crooning, gasping as he went faster with his ministrations, wondering how in the world he had so much vigor, so much stamina, and then you gave him what he wanted, legs shaking and tightening around his face as he only held you harder, working you through it.

“Oh my god,” You let out another breath, head still spinning. “Miguel—”

His tongue was still hungry when it slipped back into your pussy, still desperate and needy for the taste of you as if you didn’t just cum mere seconds ago.

"I can't— I can't—"

Everything was so heightened, so close in such a short time to the pinnacle that he had you pinned under for what had felt like hours. This time, he was rougher, more impatient as he plunged two fingers inside of you. You resisted the urge to scream, biting down on your palm as tears well in your eyes, too taken with the pleasure he was lost in.

"You can't? Oh, I think you can. Give me another one, dulzura.”

And then you were rolling your hips, frantic as you sobbed, practically riding his face and you whimpered in ragged and staggered breaths. But once he pressed his rough thumb to your puffy clit, your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you came apart for the second time that night.

Slowly, you regained your bearings, pushing yourself up from the counter as you looked down to see Miguel still licking, cleaning you off. To your surprise, he was grinning, satisfied with only giving you a brief reprieve. “You didn’t think we were done, did you?”

This was not in your post-grad plan, but honestly? You were starting to warm up to it.