fendiiula - Tumblr blog

fendiiula · 10 months

Note

Okay but imagine sex pollen with Miguel fucking you on your back and then even when he cums he just keeps going and it’s spilling out and refractory period who and you’re overstimulated and he’s like no no you’re not allowed to tap out and he — and he —!!!!!

Sorry

MONA. You put me in a fucking MOOD LMFAO This is way longer than I intended. And its pure filth 🫣

Word Count: 2k+

NSFW below the cut.

...

Earth 703- A post-apocalyptic world in which New York was nothing more than a ferocious jungle.

You stared off into the distance, the familiar city skyline overrun by wild flora and thick green vines sneaking in through broken windows and cracked concrete.

“What the fuck.” You whispered to yourself, eyes now trained on the massive dragonfly that whizzed by you. Miguel grunted, punching a large finger over the screen of his watch.

The mission was supposed to be simple: Catch the anomaly—send them back to their own universe—go home. That’s it. No detours, no distractions. In and out.

“Are we close?” You questioned, pressing up against Miguel’s side at the sight of another massive insect, “I wanna get the hell outta here.”

“We just missed him.” He sucked his teeth. His mask disappeared in a flash of digital pixels to reveal his scowling face, narrowed red eyes and brows furrowed in frustration.

You’ve been wandering around the city for forty-five minutes, trekking through the godforsaken jungle with no luck. The anomaly, a Prowler from some random universe (you couldn’t remember, you weren’t paying attention at the meeting), was clever, quickwitted, and inconspicuous. You’d wished Miguel had chosen Jess for this one, but he’d refused. He’d used the excuse of her pregnancy but really, she’d already complained to you beforehand that the humidity would do her hair no favors.

“What now?” You questioned, plopping down at the base of a bulky tree trunk a few feet away. The trees were so massive that the branches seemed to kiss the sky, monstrous green leaves blocking out most of the morning sunlight.

“Keep lookin’,” he huffed, running his fingers through his hair, “we’re getting close.”

“Miguel,” you whined, your head thumping back against the trunk, “you said that forty-five minutes ago.”

“Get up,” he demanded, shooting out a web of electric red to swiftly pull you toward him. You yelped, crossing the distance within seconds, crashing into Miguel's sturdy body.

“I hate when you do that.” Your words were muffled by his broad chest, peeling your sweaty cheek away from the synthetic material of his suit. The tiniest smile ghosted over his lips.

“I know.”

…

You’d left Miguel on his own for a few minutes.

You’d gotten distracted, swinging up into one of the treetops to observe one of the colorful parrots squawking in the distance. It’d looked just like the ones back home, except this one was enormous, probably bigger than a medium-sized dog.

“Fuck!” You’d heard Miguel yell from down below, spitting out curses in Spanish, choking on the words as coughs racked his body. He’d been waving his hands in front of his face to clear his vision to no avail. You watched as his body reacted immediately to whatever it was that ailed him, his body hunching over as if in pain.

“Miguel!” You dropped to your feet in front of him and attempted to reach for him, but he recoiled, fearing your touch.

“Stay back!” he wheezed, crouching down and holding his head in his hands.

“What’s wrong?”

“It hurts,” he groaned, his eyes screwed shut as his body trembled, his fingers weaving through his thick hair strands to violently tug from the root.

“Stop,” you scolded, getting on your knees in front of him to pry his hands away, “tell me what’s wrong so that I can help you.” You shoved him down by the shoulders so that he was sitting with his knees out, bringing a hand to his face and yanking it up by his chin. His eyes, normally a mahogany shade glowed a disturbing red, his pupils dilated.

“Ran into a plant,” he forced the words from his throat, his skin gleaming with sweat, “s-some flower, I don’t know, some kind of pollen.” He groaned again, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Shit, ok, ok, ok, we can fix this,” you panicked, placing the back of your hand against his forehead. He was burning, skin blistering hot. “Where does it hurt.”

Miguel remained silent, breathing harshly through his nostrils as beads of sweat began to trickle down his face. He looked down between his legs and you followed his line of vision. Oh. OH.

His bulge was tenting through his suit, fighting against the restraints of the digital fabric. The area glimmered brightly before his cock burst through the pixels, flopping out and twitching with need.

Miguel was big.

His cock stood tall and proud, bobbing against his stomach, the tip leaking a thin bead of precum that ran down his length.

You stared for a moment, transfixed on the angry red tip before you found your voice. “Miguel—”

“You need to go,” he spat viciously, his fangs protruding as if to scare you away, “if you don't I’ll—” He stopped himself, lips pressed into a tight line as his chest began to heave. You could hear his heart rate accelerate with every passing second.

“Let me help you,” you whispered, your hand hovering over his cock. He looked away from you, his skin flushed from his cheekbones to the tips of his ears. “Miguel, please, let me help you.”

“I don’t want to force—”

“You’re not forcing me,” you breathed, letting the pad of your finger tap against his tip, smearing his precum over the surface. Your cunt throbbed, squeezing tight with an overwhelming desire to be filled. “I want to.” You cooed, your tone causing his eyes to flutter.

Miguel grunted, grabbing your hand and placing it over his throbbing cock.

“Then help me.” He hissed.

…

You needed a new suit. Immediately.

Miguel had torn into it, ripping the seams apart from the crotch, all the way up to your neck, revealing your chest and glistening pussy. You had no time to complain, mewling when he spread your thighs apart with his large hands, his eyes trained on the heat between your legs before diving in to eat from you.

You squealed, your hands flying to his head as he kissed and licked and spit over your cunt, his nose pressing against your clit. His tongue dipped into your hole a few times before licking one long stripe up to your bundle of nerves, swirling his tongue around it before sucking it into his mouth.

Okay—you’ve had your pussy eaten before, but goddamn never like this, never like it was a matter of life or death, as if your pussy alone was the answer to all things.

Miguel continued his ministrations, releasing a growl every few moments, licking to oblivion until you thought his jaw would lock.

He made you see stars, groaning loudly as you gushed into his mouth. He savored your tangy taste as he lapped at your wet folds, making sure to lick up every drop he could find.

His mouth and chin were soaked in your juices when he came back up, and it shot a fresh wave of arousal through your veins. His hand reached out to cup your face, his thumb smearing over the traces of his cum dotting across your cheek when you’d sucked him off earlier, catching some of it in your mouth before he'd pulled out, wanting to paint your face with it at the last moment.

He dipped his thumb into your mouth, forcing you to clean it as he slid his cock over your messy pussy, smearing the underside in your juices. His body shook with need, his eyes glazed and lidded, teeth sinking into his lower lip as he whimpered something about you being so wet.

He pulled out his thumb from your mouth with a pop and watched how you panted underneath him, your exposed skin now covered in a sheen of sweat.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, positioning your legs over his shoulders before draping himself over you, folding you in half, “I’m sorry if I’m not gentle.”

Gentle? You were a big girl, you didn’t need him to be—

You cried out as soon as he pressed his fat head into your tiny hole, forcing your pussy to open up for him as he pushed in deeper without giving you much time to adjust.

“Fuck,” you sobbed, your hands scrambling to grip his arms as he began to thrust his hips, dragging his cock in and out of you at a bruising pace.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Miguel began to babble, grunting when your cunt squeezed the life from him, the slick noises of your drenched pussy egging him on.

Maybe…gentle would have been nice knowing now how big he was, but you understood the circumstances of the situation. This was meant to be anything but gentle.

He had you coming again, your back arching and your bare chest pressing against his clothed one before he filled you with his own spend, pushing it as deep as he could into you. He pulled out harshly causing you to moan, watching his cum leak from your swollen pussy before slapping his length over your folds a few times and dipping back in.

He fucked you harder this time until your pussy throbbed and burned from the size of him, filling you up with so much of his cum, and delighting in the way it dripped out of you.

“Again.” He grunted, pushing his cock into your convulsing walls, slamming in deep as he licked and sucked on your nipples, leaving red love marks over your skin. You sobbed from the pleasure, feeling his weight push you into the ground.

“I can’t!” You cried, pushing weakly against his shoulders.

“You can and you will.” Miguel commanded. He couldn’t stop, barely giving you a minute to catch your breath after making you both cum again before sinking into your searing heat, stretching you beyond your limits.

You were lightheaded and spent, losing count of the number of orgasms he’d given you. Miguel growled, pulling out his cock from your abused hole and shooting his load over your body. He pressed it into your skin, smearing it over your breasts and tender nipples, down your abdomen, and finally, over your burning pussy.

He paused, his eyes tracing over your fucked out form before reaching down to pump himself with the leftover cum in his hand.

“I’m sorry, Hermosa,” he whispered, draping himself over you again, “I can’t stop, you feel too good. So fucking tight.” He slurped your nipple into his hot mouth, sucking the taste of him from your skin as he pushed his large cock into you.

Your eyes fluttered and you cried out, your fingers digging into the earth, focusing on nothing but Miguel's rich voice:

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m—

…

It was nightfall by the time Miguel was satiated.

You felt weak, eyes heavy with sleep and body limp. Miguel sat against a tree and had you cradled in his arms, your body nestled comfortably between his legs. He rested his head over yours, inhaling the scent of sweat and dirt trapped in your hair.

“See that flower?” He muttered, pointing straight ahead at a few giant white daisies clustering around a tree. They were massive, like everything else in that universe, the stems taller than Miguel when he was standing at his full height. You nodded sleepily, ignoring the ache in your still exposed cunt. “Don’t go near it.”

“Got it.” You absentmindedly played with the frayed pieces of your suit, letting Miguel shield your exposed skin from the elements.

You probably should’ve left already, should’ve gone back to HQ for a much-needed shower and rest, probably schedule another meeting, but Miguel wouldn’t budge, his grip on you tightening whenever you so much as shifted against him.

“Quèdate quieta.” He grunted.

“Miguel,” you protested, “we have to go home. The anomaly—”

“I know, hermosa,” he murmured softly, “I know.” You never seen him this soft before, nor speak in such a gentle way, not with anyone and least of all, not with you.

You both sat there in silence, processing what happened while listening to the sounds of the jungle, the birds chirping in the distance, the leaves rustling in the gentle wind. You sighed, playing with his interlocked fingers over your stomach. It was strangely intimate (despite everything else that happened), having him coddle you.

“Miguel?”

“Mm?”

“You better get me a suit like yours.”

“What’s wrong with the fabric ones from HQ?”

“It’s a waste if you’re just gonna rip it off again.” You heard him snort out a breath, just the tiniest thing that implied he understood your meaning. You were hoping this wouldn’t be the first nor last time you’d be under him. “We got a deal?”

Miguel chuckled, his hand leaving the safety of your abdomen to venture down into your sopping-wet folds. You bit your lip, spreading your tired thighs, whimpering as his thick fingers swirled inside.

“Deal, Hermosa.”

...

Quèdate quieta- Keep still

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fendiiula · 10 months

Text

damn 😦

judgmental nerd ! eren x bimbo y/n pt.2 (wc: 3101)

warnings: nsfw

It's pathetic.

Borderline insane. You should not be thinking about this. You're you.

But it's nearly impossible to stop thinking about the nerd. About that annoying freak and his creepy hands and how they touched you...how you liked them, fuck did you like them. How you still can't stop thinking about him an entire month later.

You're gorgeous, the most popular girl at your school, everyone wants you and yet...you can not stop thinking about him. Day and night, night and day, in your classes, during cheer practice, doing homework, in your bedroom late at night. Fuck, especially in your bedroom late at night.

All you can picture when the lights are off and the moonlight is shining through your window are thick rimmed glasses, fiery eyes that look at you with such intense disgust and lust and those stupid gorgeous lips of his that always twist up into an annoyed scowl or condescending smirk. You hate it, despise it.

People like you should not be thinking about freaks like him.

Freaks like him should not be able to make people like you feel this way. Freaks like him should not be allowed to think they can ignore people like you after pulling a stunt like that.

He's ignoring you. Well...not exactly ignoring . The study sessions continue, but you've only had three since then and he has not mentioned what happened at all. Not even a look in his stupid nerdy eyes could expose what he did...what you both did. It's like he's blocked it out.

And the audacity. You can't stop thinking about it while he has the nerve to carry on like nothing happened? Freaking prick.

You twirl your pencil, a habit you know annoys him as you lean back in your chair. "I don't get this."

He rolls his eyes, stopping his incessant typing as he looks up at you. Your stomach flips at the attention. "You're supposed to be helping me." You pout.

"I helped you with the first four. Do this on your own."

You roll your eyes, staring down at the paper, not reading a thing. All you want to do is hear his voice again. He can't treat you like this. He's supposed to be the one going insane right now, not you. You take out your cherry lipgloss, applying some on your lips before making a loud smooch noise. He sighs, annoyed. "Do you really need lip gloss right now?"

"I have to keep my lips moisturized. I have a hot date after this."

“Hmmm.”

"With Reiner."

"Hmm."

"We're going clubbing."

"You call that a date?"

"What exactly is your definition of a date, nerd?" You can't help but smile, finally reeling him into conversation.

"Not a dirty club where you'll probably get killed the second you step in there. Maybe kidnapped. Definitely kidnapped. You'd probably willingly go into that cliche white van, ignoring any common sense."

You scoff. "Reiner will be with me all night. He can actually protect me unlike scrawny nerds." You cross your legs, making sure his eyes travel to your soft, shiny legs. You made sure to wear a skirt today, drenching yourself in vanilla oil and perfume. His eyebrows raise for the littlest second before looking away.

"I'm sure the meat head can." He goes back to typing.

You frown, looking around the room. It happened in this very room and yet...he acts like this is normal. Just a normal study session with normal people who have a normal relationship.

"Can you stop gawking like an idiot and finish the questions?"

"What's your problem?" You impulsively and stupidly ask.

"Excuse me?"

"You—I—never mind."

"No, carry on." He smiles, that stupid smug smile as he crosses his arms over his chest. "You've been staring at me like I kicked your puppy for a month now. Always glaring at me in class, in the hallways. Like a stalker."

"I'm the stalker?"

"Yes. Stalker."

"You're the freak who made a move on me, grabbed me that day and—and you know what you did. And then for you to prance around like you're better than me—"

"You're still thinking about that?" He laughs. A sound that's downright mean as he throws his head back. "Don't you have thousands of suitors vying for your attention?"

"Obviously I do, I'm not you. It was just—a very rude thing to do."

"You sure seemed to like it." He mutters, going back to his typing. "You've humped and dumped countless times. Does it not feel so great when it's done to you?"

"Don't flatter yourself. You're too insignificant for me to feel hurt by you."

"And yet you're still yapping."

Annoying ass piece of shit. Your fingers clench around your pencil. "Do you think you have the high ground you here? You're nothing. I could have the entire football team beat your skinny ass into a pulp."

"Sign me up if it means I don't have to listen to your annoying screech of a voice."

Your chest is burning with pure rage at this point. How can someone like him act so—he's nothing. He's mush. A tiny, minuscule bug. Eren sighs, running his fingers through his hair once he eyes the anger on your face. "Look, princess." He stands up, taking too slow steps to stand by you. But once he does, you can hardly breathe as his fingers graze your cheek.

"I know it may seem hard to believe but not everyone is going to be obsessed with your pretty face and empty head." His thumb goes to your lip, softly rubbing it. Your breath hitches, nails digging into your palm and stomach tingling as he looks into your eyes.

"It was one time thing. Get over it."

His finger is gone in an instant, forcing you to take a breath you weren't aware you were holding. He sits back down. "Sessions over. Finish question five by tomorrow. You can leave now."

Get over it?

Oh you're over it.

You'll show him just how over it you are.

Okay, maybe your definition of over it isn't really the same as everyone else's.

Far from it actually. People who are over it don't dedicate their time to messing with the life of the person they're trying to prove they don't care about. The lengths you'll go through to anger Eren surprises you, you've never put this much effort into anything really.

But to see that look in his eye. The pure annoyance and anger fills you up with more satisfaction than anything else.

You barely had to plead for Reiner to mess with the stupid nerd in physics class. A simple bat of your eyelashes and he was your loyal dog. At first it started simple, you slamming Eren's locker shut while he was using it, almost taking his fingers off in the process.

That didn't really do much. All he did was scoff as he said. "That desperate to get my attention?"

As if you need his attention.

His smugness only grew so obviously so did your anger.

Then it escalated to Reiner pushing him into the lockers, the wall, any surface really as you two passed by him in the hallway. That also did nothing. Then you went to elementary school tactics and tripped him in the lunch room. That was enough for him to glare daggers at you, evoke a type of rush you've never felt before. Excluding that night.

The taunts continued. Pouring milk into his shoes during gym practice, stealing his clothes, shoving him into more lockers and walls. But still, all he gave was a simple glare before walking away.

Why did he blow up that one night? You insulted him yes but you've been insulting him for days now and nothing. Is he really over it? A simple hump and dump and that's it? It's annoying. You hate to admit it but it is.

Eren still continues to tutor you. You don't know whether it's to show he really could care less about your antics or simply cause he enjoys playing teachers pet that badly but he still continues. He only talks about homework, about the numbers and shapes you need to memorize. Never about what's actually important.

"Do you have any parents?" You find yourself asking one day. His eyes peer up, distaste clear in them as he grunts. "What?"

"Parents? This is the millionth time I've come to your house and I haven't seen a single car in the driveway."

"It's none of your business."

Your eyes travel to his wrist, there's a slight bruise there. Probably courtesy of Reiner and his goons. Should you apologize?

"So no? What, were you abandoned as a baby the second they saw that hateful little glint in your eye?" You hum, placing your chin on the back of your hands as you lean in. You're wearing a very thin shirt today, no bra and he notices. Of course he notices but says nothing, only glances for a second too long before flickering his eyes away.

"My father visits his other family once in a while and my mothers comes and goes when she wants.”

Other family?

"My daddy has another family too. A daughter from some waitress he liked too much, he spends most of his time with them."

"Of course you call your dad daddy." He snorts.

"Why? Would you I prefer I only call you that?" You tease.

His eyes do widen at that but quickly replaced with with a look of neutrality. "You're disgusting."

"Really? I'm the disgusting one here?" You tilt your head. "I still remember your words from that night, Yeager. You're a little freak."

"Fuck off." He says with finality, his cheeks reddening just a tad.

A blush? That’s certainly new.

Another month passes and just when you think all hope is gone, it comes hurling at you tenfold.

It's late. Well nine-ish, you've just come back from cheer practice. Straight out of the shower, wet hair, only in a oversized shirt and panties when you open you the door to see the little bastard.

He's standing there, on your front porch. Drenched in...syrup? You're not sure what as you stare at the red liquid staining his clothes and hair, running down his glasses. His hands are balled into fists, beady little eyes staring at you like you're the bane of his existence. You laugh, leaning against your doorframe. "The hell happened to you?"

"Your fucking idiot of a dog poured koolaid on me. Koolaid."

"What do you want me to do about that?" You smile. "I think it's a fine look. Makes you stand out unlike your mundane—"

Then it happens.

He takes a step forward, stepping through your door, into your house. You immediately step back, eyes widening. "What are you—"

He slams the door shut behind him, grabs you by the hair and pushes you into the wall in the blink of an eye. You wince as your back connects with the wall, head bouncing a little. Ow. You sound feel scared, annoyed, enraged but you only feel burning lust as you look into those eyes. "You're that much of a coward you couldn't stand up to Reiner, you had to come bitch to me?"

"Shut up." He seethes, inches away from you. "This is all your fault. No one told you to become obsessed with me, you fucking idiot."

"Obsessed?" You laugh. "In what world would I—"

His fingers are closing around your throat. "Shut up." He whispers, strained like he's trying to control himself. "You're so fucking annoying, it kills me."

You're the annoying one? "You're the one who—"

His fingers dig into your shoulders, forcing you down on your knees. You inhale sharply, knees hitting the marble floor with an audible thud. You're breathless, it's only been a couple seconds and you're already gasping for air. He stares down at you like you're nothing. His eyes boring into yours as he unzips his ugly kakhi pants. "I'm so sick of you. You're so entitled and spoiled and annoying."

You could say the same about him. You never knew a human being could be so damn vexing.

"Day after day of dealing with your shit." His fingers dig into your hair, inching your head towards his now exposed cock. He thrusts in, giving you a second to adjust as he slides more inside of you. You try not to gag, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. But if you took it a like pro, he would just call you a skilled whore. He makes sure every last inch is lodged deep in your throat, feeling your throat constrict around him. Your fingers dig into his legs, feeling drool fall down on the floor.

Fuck. You should hate this. You should but you can feel your pussy dampening, your body burning with arousal as his moans echo through the big space. "You never face any consequences do you? You just do whatever you like, whenever you like. It's infuriating. You just push and you push until you win."

Is this what you winning feels like? Him getting the blow job of a life time? You would scoff if your throat wasn't busy right now. He pulls you off, yanks you back by the hair and you can't help but stare at the string of saliva connecting you to his cock.

"I'm done with you after tonight. Done with those sessions, with you staring at me like a wounded puppy. After tonight, you return to your brain dead friends and I return to my life. Got it?" He practically orders, fingers pressing into your chin as he lifts you up.

You pant, eyes glossy as you try your best to nod. Even though you both know that's not happening. "Where's your lube?"

"Faster." You moan, curling your arms around Eren's neck.

He takes in your fucked out expression, looks at the sweat coating your skin, the pearly tears on those long lashes, the rapid rise and fall of your chest. He looks almost proud, lips quirking every once in a while at your daze. Minus that, he on the other hand, looks absolutely unfazed. As if you're not squeezing him for dear life, as if he could get this feeling from his own stupid closed fist. It's stupid. He's so stupid.

"Fuck!" You moan, throwing your head back.

"Shut up." He growls. "Cock sleeves don't talk." His fingers are back on your throat, squeezing just a little. A part of you wishes he would apply more pressure, you wish he would go faster, wish he would take and take and take until you have nothing left to give.

The slaps echoing in your house are loud enough to alert the neighbors, the headboard slamming against the wall doesn't make it any better. He leans into your neck, balls deep inside your cunt that's clenching and hugging tight around him. He moans into your neck, damp lips brushing against your skin with every rough thrust. He pushes in mercilessly, your entire body jolting with every pull and push.

"You sound like a damn porn star." He chuckles, leaning his head back to look at you. You tighten at the look in his eyes, at his messy hair and swollen lips. Lips you suddenly want to touch as you grip his hair, pushing his head down for a deep kiss. Your lips move together, tongues touching and more moans spilling out of your lips as he rotates his hips.

"Fuck, Eren please—" You cry out. It's too much. It's all too much as you bathe in your embarrassment. "Ah!" Your back arches as you release, orgasm shuddering through your entire body.

You're not that sensitive. You swear you aren't but whenever it comes to him, it's like you lose all your senses. It's too much. He's too much. Damn nerd.

He chuckles, staring down at your rising chest before taking one of your nipples in his lips. "Stop!" You moan, trying to squat his head away but he stays, sucking and kissing at your breasts as his thrusts slow down to a more rhythmic carnal pace.

“E-Eren, please." Tears are spilling down your cheeks.

"Please what? You've already cummed." He smirks. "Or is that not enough."

"I want—" You shudder at a particularly deep thrust. "I want you to cum inside of me. Please."

He stares down at you, hips stilling for a moment before he curses. "Fuck." Is all he says before he begins his bullying pace again. Cock slamming into you over and over again until you're screaming, nails digging into his back.

And then he cums. Hard. Grunts leaving his lips as he fills you up to the brim. You're both panting as he collapses on the bed, face deep in your pillow as he inhales.

It takes a few minutes for you to return to reality but when you do the stench of sweat and sex instantly hits you. That just happened. For a second time.

You turn to look at him. He's still on your pillow, back you never realized was actually muscled staring back at you. You itch to trace his skin but stop yourself. Pillow talk is never a good idea.

How can a damn nerd like him be so good at this?

He slowly sits up, running his fingers through his beautiful locks before looking at you. You flinch, not sure why. "This was not supposed to happen." He grunts.

And yet it did.

"Keep telling yourself that."

He rolls his eyes, standing up and grabbing his pants. "Call off your dogs before I do something drastic."

You narrow your eyes at him.

"That doesn't involve fucking you."

You lean back into your sheets, basking in the sight of the class nerd getting dressed. "So when's our next study session?"

He clenches his jaw, staying silent for a few seconds before responding. "Friday."

"See you Friday then."

He stops walking inches from the door, pausing for a few seconds before walking back straight to you. He grips the back of your head, holding it still for a second before smashing your lips together. You squeak but he could care less as his lips move against yours.

It's over before it started. Before you can reciprocate and show him what a real kiss looks like. He pulls back, tsking. "You're so fucking annoying."

"You're worst, Yeager."

He rolls his eyes. "See you Friday." He mutters before walking out.

"See you Friday.

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fendiiula · 10 months

Text

Love me some hood Connie😫😫

☆彡 𝐄𝐗 𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐔𝐌 ミ★

ᵖᵃʳᵗ ² ʳⁱᵍʰᵗ ʰᵉʳᵉ!

Characters included — Ex! Connie, Ony x reader— eren, armin, jean, and marco are mentioned

Gingers notes — y’all this might need a part two cause i don’t knowwww, i want ony and connie rn, i’ll proofread this later after i done doing a few drabbles or something cause y’all already know i’m lazy

Content warning — X Black fem reader, Ony being sexy, Connie being jealous, weed mentioned, partying, guns, cursing, use of the n word, threats, you know the vibes tell me if i missed anything

Summer is right around the corner, fuck you look like chasing after a nigga? That’s what you told yourself for the two weeks you and connie had broken up. That’s what you told yourself for months, as you stayed in the house, ignoring your calls from your friends— and even disappeared off of social media for the time being.

You didn’t understand why you were so pent up on a relationship that you knew wasn’t any good— Connie was always forgetting about you and staying out late hours into the night, only to come back in the morning with gifts so you didn’t get mad at the inconvenience. You were always hiding stuff from connie, whether that was your plans for your night, or maybe even who you were up all night talking on the phone with, Small shit.

The arguments you two held weren’t any better either, the issues were never resolved and only put on hold while you and connie fucked your frustrations away.

The relationship wasn’t no good, and you knew that— but for those two months, you missed him so much. That was till you got a text from your friend— a screenshot of connie’s story. Him hugged up with a girl that clearly was a you wannabe. And your friend message underneath it reading:

‘stop that moping shit fr’

And that honestly was all you needed to see before you got your shit together. You rather be standing on your last leg, than have Connie enjoying this break up while you were suffering.

And when the heat was settled and the sun was blazing outside, you were out there. You wanted to be seen, at every kickback that you were invited to, every club you got in for free— even being backstage at a few concerts. Summer wouldn’t have to owe you shit once you were done, you promised yourself that.

But of course, with every story post, there was viewers— though you had connie blocked on all your socials, his friends definitely was sending him every other post. He tried to be cool about it, pretended that he didn’t care— especially when his “girlfriend” asked what he was looking at on his phone. Even when he wanted to reply with ‘My bitch’ he shrugged it off and always said nothing.

But he made a silent promise to himself, that whenever you two see each other again, he would deal with you.

And you were clueless, as you brushed through the curls of your ginger wig, checking your phone to check the time before standing up from your vanity, grabbing your keys and your purse. Leaving the house to hop in the driver seat of your car.

Outdoor parties were okay, you only went when you knew your friends we’re gonna be there too— only for y’all to sit on the roof of your car most of the night with cups in hand and weed in your system. It was chill. But this one was different, you had been personally invited by the host, a ole friend of yours and connie’s, Eren. You were honestly gonna decline but when the groupchat said it sounded like it would be fun, you accepted and told him you and your girls were gonna slide.

As you pulled up, You noticed just how packed it really was, most of the street was flooded with cars— ranging from Challengers, hellcats— some kia’s and even a few fords. You were lucky to get a spot close enough to the actual party.

Immediately as you were walking through the sea of people you were looking for the host and your friends, to let them know you there. But stopping in your tracks as you heard your name being called out, turning around see armin and eren waving you over. With a smile of your face you approached.

“What’s up stranger— haven’t seen you in a minute.” Eren said draping his arm over your shoulders pulling you into a hug before pressing a chaste kiss on your forehead as you laughed as you gave armin a hug too “I’ve been busy, you know this.” You said smoothing your hands on your outfit to which you don’t notice eren or armin staring at. Everyone knew you didn’t shy away from revealing clothes, but the males couldn’t help but mentally state just how fine you looked

“Come on, i want you to meet some of the guys.” Eren said wrapping his arm around your waist after dragging himself out of his thoughts while leading you deeper into the party into the backyard, which had a pool that was full of girls and guys alike. Including your friends to which you waved at. Before sitting next to eren on one of the lounge chairs as he called over his homeboys.

Now that he introduced you, you now know their names are Jean, Reiner, and Marco. Jean you knew, he was a close friend to connie, always stopping by the house for a few hours and playing the game with him while they smoked or whatever. “And there’s— where he at?” Eren said while looking around before cuffing his hand on the side of his mouth to call his friend “there he is, Ony!” he said while you turned your head just in time to see who he was talking about.

You should be embarrassed the way your thighs instinctively pressed together at the sight. What you saw, was a dark skin man pulling himself out of the pool, the chain that adored his neck seemed to only make the scene even better as the water droplets from the pool trailed down his neck down this chest and lower. He was tall— and built like he went to the gym every other day and he religiously went on runs. His swim shorts hung low on his waist, and you thought your breath was caught in your throat as he approached the small group. Eren standing up to dap up the man.

“Yo, Ony, i wanted you to meet my home girl, this y/n.” Eren said bringing the attention back to you, and you almost thought you were gonna pass out when you made eye contact with his brown eyes “Wassup.” was all he said and you saw it, the gold grills that adored his teeth, you felt like you would have to jump into the pool to cool down. This man is too fine you almost felt like you were on cloud 9 just from looking at him.

You had to look away and pretend like you didn’t care before nodding your head at him as a silent “Hey” left your lips, he chuckled lowly as he reached over grabbing something from the nearby table and putting it in the pockets of his swim trunks “You too cool to look me in the eyes or sum ma?” You haven’t heard anyone call you that since connie— but it sounded so good coming from his lips as you looked over at the stranger “Nah, i can just already tell you a problem.” You said which earned a smirk from him before he offered his hand to you, and you happily took it as you stood up, those same brown eyes trailing down your outfit “Lemme take her off y’all hands for a second.” Ony said before the group could even answer he was, you thought, leading you back towards the front, but instead stopping at the side of the house.

As you leaned against the wall, he towered over you, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes raking over your form— you were stunning, from your brown thighs that looked soft to the touch, to your breast that were sitting oh so nicely in your top giving him a nice view, all the way to your face, full lips adored with brown lip liner and gloss paired with your mink lashes that fluttered whenever you blinked. You were so damn pretty.

“You connie ole girl ain’t it?” He asked as you rolled your eyes smacking your lips together softly at your exes name, “Yeah, ole girl. We ain’t together no more— ain’t been together for months.” You said eagerly to end that assumption that you and him were still together. “Knew it was yo fine ass not gon lie.” He chuckled and shook his head, “What? You one of his homeboys or sum?” You asked, cause you told yourself you wouldn’t homie hop in his friend-group— but for the man in front of you, you might make an exception. “Sum like that.” Was all you needed to hear. This nigga ain’t loyal to his homeboys.

You didn’t even have time to register ony had took steps closer to you, and his hand was pressed against the wall behind you next to your head. “I knew he was goofy, but letting a dime piece like you go, that shit unheard of.” Ony said leaning in closer to you. You thought he was gonna kiss you, you were hoping he was gonna kiss you— feeling his plush lips against your own sticky ones didn’t sound bad at all. He smelled good too, pulling you into his seduction faster than you could even imagine.

He was a breath away, lips ghosting against your own, just before you could close the small gap of space between you two— the sounds of gun shots were in the air and people were running. But it seemed both of y’all were more annoyed than fearful.

Ony looked at you for a second before cursing under his breath, grabbing you arm guiding you through the scene of people, leading you to what you assumed to be his car while his other hand gripped on his gun— protection. He unlocked the passenger door of his all black tinted window benz for you, and told you to lock it after he left.

He left you in his car, as he went to go find out who ruined his moment, you sat in the passenger seat heated cause of the interruption and horny from just how fast Ony moved to ensure you were safe, all you could do was pull your phone out of your purse and turn it on— immediately noticing the multiple missed calls from, ‘No Caller ID’ and even more unread messages from “Maybe: Conniebae 🧡🧡”. You could only scoff as you read through them.

‘Y/n bruh’

‘ik yo ass at this party’

‘you childish asf omm’

‘jean just told me you sneaking around with my hb’

‘tf wrong with yo ass cuh’

‘ you tryna get bro killed ong’

‘now you can’t answer text? fasho’

‘i gotchu bruh’

‘bet.’

It didn’t take a genius to find out who started to shoot at the party after reading your text, and that frustrated you, he had no right to be angry, y’all weren’t together anymore . To make it worse as you looked back down at your phone to reread the messages once again, you saw those three dots appear on your screen before a few more messages popped up.

‘get yo ass to the house now.’

‘leave bro there or i’ll spin the block again’

‘this time i wont miss’

‘and yk i ain’t playing’

1K notes · View notes

fendiiula · 10 months

Note

Y’all omggg just love a good Eren x blk reader 😩

oh nufffinnnn just thinking bout eren telling reader to “stop running” and to “move her hand”

why? Whyyyy would y’all do this to meeeee? 😫 knees just buckled and everything (and not just because one of them is out of place)

content warning/themes: bsf eren bc im obsessed now, black fem reader (plus size descriptors) missionary, mentions of nudes, back scratching, hair pulling, daddy’s used, pet names (pretty girl, mama) creaming, full nelson

“ ‘Ren!—Eren, okaaayy! Ooh, you win!”

crying out in a fussy huff as your once best friend turned lover hovered the entirety of his six foot three slender frame towered over yours. A firm grip from both hands keeping your feet pent back near your head and your legs wide open..perfect for him to fuck you as he saw fit. How exactly had you landed yourself in such a position? Well..

“I know. I always do, baby. So I don’t know why you play like I can’t handle your fine ass..talking about ‘you don’t even know what to do with me’…out ‘your fucking mind. And I told you to stop tryna’ run because you’re not going anywhere. Take this fucking dick like a good girl. You can do that, can’t you?”

once again, silly banter ensued between you two and he yet again, had to prove you wrong. It wasn’t long after he had exited basketball practice and an intense workout; still pent up with energy and plenty of arousal..especially after you sent him some rather salacious messages. The two of you weren’t certain if you were ready to put a label on things but you were damn sure having a ball engaging in activities that couples would. Like calling one another pet names, even around other people. This time, he just so happened to be changing in front of his two closest homeboys when you FaceTimed…fresh out the shower, wrapped in a towel and looking good as fuck! The thoughts that ran through his head were not ones that he should have around other people. He had to all but restrain himself from getting hard right there in that locker room. And you didn’t make matters worse when he got to his car and you had sent him nudes. “I’m at practice right now, mama, I gotta call you back.” Videos of you playing with that pretty pussy, telling him to come stretch you out instead. Taunting him with mentions of being too tired to handle you. Watching cream drip all down those fingers..and the sound of wetness while that sexy voice moaned his name and called him daddy? You had to pay for that! So he cleared up any confusion when he stopped by your apartment, keys still in hand when you strutted out in nothing more than an anklet, white painted toes and a bonnet. Dropping to your knees to devour his dick where he stood. Spitting, slurping and sucking him off as if you lacked a gag reflex. He couldn’t believe how nasty you got for him..it was treatment he could get used to! Which in turn, swiftly got you hoisted up in the air and fucked into oblivion, right there in that living room. Only now, he was getting his lick back for your earlier commentary.

“You so deep in this fucking pussy, daddy…I—I’m sorrryyy.”

attempting to tap at his abs and push him away.. to which he’d only laugh, slapping it out of the way with minimal force because you were so depleted. He’d slow down his thrusts just a tad because maybe he had been fucking your shit up. But you weren’t done yet, he was sure and neither was he. You were going to eat your words. Slowly circling that clit with his thumb pad, he’d coo to you with the other palm on your cheek, finally releasing the grip on your legs..

“Yeah? You’re sorry? Afraid I can’t accept that, pretty girl…imma need you to come for me at least two more times before I can forgive you..”

it was in that moment that you realized what type of demon you were truly messing with! Leaning down, he’d spit into your slippery folds and keep pumping that cock in and out. “Oh my God, I can’t stand youuuu..shit!” Laughing as you glared up at one another, laughing and enjoying the moment. But you weren’t getting let off of the hook so easily!

“And move that hand, you’re not slick..you’re getting all this dick. Show me you can handle it.”

3K notes · View notes

fendiiula · 11 months

Note

gah damn 😩

Can you write a college roommate head cannon for miguel O’Hara ( 18+ f!reader)

ik you asked for HCs but I have no self control... my bad, anon!

College Roommate!Miguel O'Hara Headcanons

(AO3 Mirror), Main Masterlist

pairing: College Roommate!Miguel O'Hara x f!reader

summary: Miguel is your roommate. And he’s hot. That’s it, that’s the tweet.

warnings: 18+ as fuuuck. F-receiving oral, using toys, masturbation, voyeurism (-ish), grinding, praise, service dom (idk?) Miguel, recreational drug use (reader and Miggy smoke a blunt). Minors DNI

a/n: I am a firm believer that modern day Miguel listens to 90s rnb, back when men were men: unabashedly, unashamedly down so fucking bad for their partners. he just gives me those vibes!!

wc: 6k

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

I'm thinking you become roommates but he's your last choice.

Very last minute: you have a big falling out with your now ex-boyfriend, and the plans for flatsharing next semester goes right out the window.

So all the good places are taken, and you're going apartment-hunting, but everywhere's either too expensive, too dirty, or there's a predatory clause hidden in the lease: shitty landlords and blaring red flags in 9pt Times New Roman.

When you stumble upon Miguel O'Hara; a student in private accomodation who, lucky you, is in need of a roommate; it feels like a godsend.

Rent is affordable and he's nice enough; refusing to grunt more than a few words to you, but is clean, organised, and from what you can tell, is barely in the apartment.

You sign onto the lease, desperately, hoping you've just been lucky and trying not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

You give a thousand mile stare at the blank document in front of you. A bullshit paper due in exactly 12 hours. Yes, you left it until the final stretch, and yes, it's 10k words. Very doable. You're not fucked. Nope.

You blame it on the banging from next door. Paper thin walls; obscene noises. Cries of Yes Miguel and Just like that, daddy have been plaguing you for almost an hour. His stamina must be superhuman, the way the woman in his bed has been howling. Howling may seem extreme, but she sounds like a dying cat: cock drunk and babbling over Miguel O'Hara?

Your new roommate had been nice enough. Quiet, unassuming, and seemed more than absorbed in his schoolwork. So you didn't expect him to unashamedly fuck the girl he's been tutoring for the past week. It all clicks. The "perfect roommate" turned out to have one teeny tiny little flaw: loud, obnoxious sex, well into the early hours of the morning.

On autopilot, you're clicking through tabs on your bed. Perhaps you're a prude, but the sex noises are abrasive, excessive, to the point of parody. Persistent, Miguel's low voice reverberates in the walls of your bedroom; making heat pool at the base of your stomach.

"You want it, hermosa? Tell me…. such a pretty girl… like that?" It's muffled, but his voice is unmistakable. Low, greedy, heavy with want. God, the last time someone's spoken to you like that was…

You shake your head free of cobwebs. No. You're not rewarding him. You can't . Your roommate is shameless, and inconsiderate, and really fucking annoying .

The smacking noises increase, coupled with banging on his side of the wall. Resolute, your face hardens. From where you perch on your bed, you slam the wall with the side of your fist.

"O'Hara! Keep it the fuck down!"

~~~

He's a biochem major, up to his ass in assignments and he still has time for societies, internships and tutoring.

The only times he'd be in the apartment really was an impromptu session, and you didn't notice at first, but it became more obvious as the semester went on.

As a so-called tutor, he only seemed to pick the prettiest girls - they would twirl their hair on your kitchen counter and bat their pretty lashes at him when they didn't understand. Favours for a couple of friends, is his only response when you ask.

It felt like you'd open the door to a new girl every week and you are baffled. Donned in makeup and short skirts, they'd waddle in asking for Miggy, or drop off half-finished assignments whilst craning their head through, trying to catch a glimpse of him.

The absurdity would make you laugh if it wasn't affecting your sleep.

Not that he's not absolutely gorgeous, but he's so quiet you would never have thought he had it in him: to have a revolving door of women lining up to lay underneath him.

This time, her name is Sarah: pretty little thing in Miguel's Advanced Math class. She perches on a stool, wearing a tight dress that is wholly not appropriate for a tutoring session. She's one of his regulars, if you can call it that, and has been failing for at least 2 semesters. You flash her a smile as you pad through the kitchen, searching the cupboards for a snack. God, she is gorgeous; dolled up for another long session with Miguel, no doubt.

"Where's he gone?" She asks politely.

You shrug. "I couldn't tell you, sorry."

"It's okay… I'm just a bit stuck." You almost snort and catch yourself. For some reason, you didn't think they actually did any work, merely a pretense for the… cardio later on in the day.

You glance at her sheet of paper, scribbles in purple pen with large swathes crossed out. Leaning over, you scan the page.

"Right here." You point and she follows with a manicured finger. "You fucked up with this integral and I think… yeah, I think that messes with the whole thing."

Her eyes light up as she follows you, explaining with a piece of cookie hanging out of your mouth. She's definitely smart, just a few little mistakes here and there that you're happy to point out. Thanking you fervently, she rushes to correct it.

"Ah, it's no problem. I get mixed up with it too." You smile and notice Miguel by the doorway, watching with a strange look in his face. You roll your eyes as you walk past. What a fucking weirdo.

"Thought I was the tutor?" He croons.

You raise an eyebrow, voice low as Sarah is engrossed in her work. "...I don't want to fuck her, Miggy , if that's what you're worried about."

A little cruelly you push past him, shoulders clashing against one another. Is he smiling ? For now, you blame your perpetual tiredness when you think you catch the hint of a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

~~~

You're a light sleeper, and it all makes for a tired, delirious combo. You sleepwalk through the day, scramble to finish assignments and whilst it's not all O'Hara's fault, you can't help but blame him for a lot of it.

After you successfully get through one long week, you decide to celebrate. That means a couple hours of mindless hedonism: your favourite movie, greasy food…. and your trusty dildo. Not at the same time, of course.

Miguel's not home, and he's not tearing down the walls with some other girl, for once, so you decide to treat yourself.

You've been going through a dry patch, and you'd hate to admit it, but he does sound good through the thin drywall.

It was a joke gift; given to you by a friend for your birthday. An obnoxiously purple dildo with a suction cup at its base. Aptly named Hugh, due to its - ahem - large stature. Standing tall at 7 or 8 inches, far bigger or thicker than any partner you've taken in the past. Sitting around a small diner booth with your friends and opening the bag to reveal him, had been quite the experience, for sure.

It wasn't your fault you had gone through a dry spell in the past few months. With work, with school, with relationship issues, you hadn't had the time or energy to sleep around. Not that you were desperate for drunk, lackluster sex, followed by an awkward dance of ubers and shitty coffee in the morning. Like many, you preferred to do it yourself.

Laptop open, you ease yourself onto the toy, already slick with lube. Prepping yourself with your fingers had been quite the task, tabs open to something on a lewd website. It's cheesy, but you didn't really like the bright lights and plastic of usual porn. The moans felt too fake, the sex devoid of any real passion. So you found a couple of independent creators; couples, mostly; carnal fucking with fervour only borne from real love . It's embarrassing to admit it, but your favourite parts are the little kisses and touches in between, or light laughter after a rough session. As if to say: it's okay and I'm still here.

On your screen now is a longtime favourite video, a broad man bullying his fat cock into his partner. You can't help but think he looks like Miguel, not as pretty but tan with strapping shoulders, and large hands that wrap around the neck of the girl in the video.

" F-Fuck," You breathe, sinking down onto your toy. You bet Miguel's palm on your throat would be deliciously rough, and you imagine how he'd fuck the brat out of you like the man on your screen.

What hadn't occurred to you, however, was that the thin walls went both ways. Whilst you were quieter than many of the girls Miguel brought home, you were fairly shameless with the moans and curses that fell from your lips. Headphones on, you were blissfully unaware that Miguel had slipped into the apartment some time ago. The slap of your thighs to the floor, the desperate whine as you roll your hips over the toy - he can hear it all.

Miguel has a conscience, so he does feel some amount of shame when he slips a hand down his trousers and presses an ear to your shared wall. He closes his eyes and bites down lusty groans, fisting his cock to your pretty noises. Noises he's been wanting to hear from you for months, now, imagining it was you underneath him instead of his usual partners.

He times it just right, squeezing around his tip in time with the steady slap just beyond the wall. Are you fucking yourself? On your knees, hands flat on the floor, churning up your insides with a toy… or maybe ass up, dildo attached to something…? He almost cums with that mental image, wondering what you'd look like on your knees for him. Is the dildo as big as him? He knows you, knows you'd want it to hurt - for his cock to stretch out your pretty pussy when he cums deep inside you.

All things he thinks about with a hand around his cock, and he's already close. But he wants to cum with you, listening intently for the signs.

" Fuck," Your voice comes out muffled, but it makes him buck up into his fist all the same. " Need it… oh God, I-"

He speeds up, wondering what it would be like to have your thighs shake underneath him, what it would take to have you babbling and begging for more. How would he break you? Maybe on his cock, where he'd watch you squirm as you take his length. Or on your knees, choking around him and licking up his cum. Or, God, thighs wrapped around his head, riding out your high with his mouth sealed on your clit, crying for him slow down, for him to-

" H-Harder, Miguel, please."

He releases, sudden and intense, spilling white ropes into his boxers.

" Fuck, Miguel…"

He fucks his fist through it, overstimulated from the way you say his name. It feels like the only way it should be said; spilling from your mouth, haphazard and desperate. Like honey, like treacle; sweet things he didn't know he had the capacity for. He lets that feeling wash over him, panting, bringing his forehead to rest on cool wall.

~~~

He's hot. He's smart. He's a whore.

A total blindspot for you, and no matter how much you can't stand him; you still find yourself stealing glances whenever he's home.

And he does seem to be home a lot more, often choosing to study on the dining table rather than his room. It's like he does it on purpose, using the warmer weather as an excuse to wear tiny tank tops and loose gray sweats - showing off the muscles of his broad back and arms perfectly.

Funnily enough, when he's not around those girls, he's bearable - seems to have grown a couple of brain cells in those short few days between sessions.

You laugh and joke, sometimes, and he surprises you by suggesting a movie one quiet night.

He offers you his sweater to snuggle into, you eat your weight in greasy takeout, and your roommate seems like an actually decent guy??

You had fallen into an easy routine: O'Hara leaves a flask of coffee for you to snatch up in the morning, hair damp from the shower and all, and you meet him with netflix and instant noodles in the evening. A push and pull that works in the little space - much smoother than your rocky beginnings.

After a truly shitty day, you come home to a quiet apartment. Almost sleeping through an exam, forgetting lunch, missing the bus home, and having to trek back through pouring rain in a thin coat. Everything that could go wrong, did, and you are left with the pieces. You trudge through the living room into the kitchen, the wet squelch of socks on laminate floor haunting every step. Shedding your limp outerwear, you lay the contents of your backpack onto the kitchen counter: clumps of loose paper, the damp leftovers of a textbook, bleeding ink. Your main concern, however, is your laptop slick with rain water.

With baited breath, you put it on the slab, and press the power button. A click, a stuttering whir, and the screen flickers on. Then, just as strained, it putters off. Dead. Completely dead. Your legs almost give out, and you lean on the counter to steady yourself. Half of your life was there; including the final project that would make up a good chunk of your grade. It takes you everything not to collapse onto the floor right then and there.

"How was it?" You hear the click of a door and Miguel calls out from the hallway.

You wince."...F-Fine?"

You hear footsteps, as he gets closer. "Are you asking or telling me?"

You clear your throat, desperately trying to keep your voice steady. "Fine. It was fine. I'm just… it was fine."

Back still turned, you fumble around with the wet contents of your bag, hoping he doesn't notice.

"Long day?" He says warmly, head poking into the kitchen. Haphazardly, you spare him a glance from behind your shoulder. He's dressed in a sweater that fits snug around his chest, rolled up to expose his forearms, and loose sweats. In his hands, he drinks from a cheesy mug - your mug, donning a stupid pun. He looks warm. Cosy. Domestic. For some, reason it makes your heart sink even further.

Long day? "Something like that." You manage to squeeze out. There's a pregnant pause as he comes closer. Rummaging blindly through a cupboard, you try to hide behind its door. If he sees you like this, now, you don't know if you'll be able to hold it together.

You close the door, and all of a sudden he's there, mug in hand.

" Fuck, man- " It makes you jump, as he squints and takes a sip of his coffee.

"You look… wet."

"That's because it rained, Miguel." Snapping at him, your tone is biting. You're tired, stressed and in desperate need of a cry, but he is unrelenting in his gaze.

"Are you ok?" He asks, unfazed.

There's a lump in your throat and all you can do is nod with a tight expression. His eyes flicker towards the counter and you shuffle, trying to cover up the mess. And then you watch it happen; initial confusion, a flash of realisation, and then worry; all in the space of a couple seconds.

Gently, he pulls you aside to inspect the damage. "Mierda. This is pretty bad. You sure you're ok?"

He's got a hand on your arm now, The dam breaks and you crumple into tears in the kitchen floor. Of course, he comes with you, rubbing your back as you blubber through the details.

" Nothing's going right for me… and I've got my final project on there… I'm barely keeping up as it is…" All he does is nod, face tight with something you can't quite name. It must seem pathetic to him, you think, shamelessly crying on the kitchen floor, complaining to your poor roommate. He can't leave you like this, because he's a decent person - but internally, he must think you're going crazy.

It helps, having him there: a steady presence by your side. Slowly but surely, your tears subside.

"You could've asked me to pick you up." He hands you some tissues off the counter, and watches as you mop up the tears. "I would've come, if you called."

"I didn't… I didn't think we were…" You search for the right word.

"...friends?" He offers, with a small smile. "You think I let just anyone steal my sweaters?"

"First of all," It makes you laugh, despite yourself. "You offered. And second, I've seen what you do with your friends, and I don't know if I have the energy for it."

"Ouch." Bashful, he rubs his chest like it aches. He sits a little close to you, knocking your shoulders with his own. "I know this girl who's crazy good with computers. I could ask her to take a look, if you'd like? Might not be able to save it but maybe we could recover the files?"

"...I'd like that, to be honest."

"Muy bien ." He leaps to his feet, palm stretched towards you to help you up. "I'll run you a warm bath or something. You're creating a puddle and it's going to ruin my floor."

"Our floor, asshole. I pay rent here, too."

~~~

You find that you enjoy being around him, and he feels the same.

You can't help but compare him to your shitty ex who you were planning to move in with: and even with his quirks, Miguel is better in every way.

There is harmony in your household, for a while, and you almost look forward to coming home to him after class. Almost.

It doesn't last long, because of course it doesn't. You'd thought you'd come to a tentative ceasefire, able to casually rib and joke with each other - takeout and B-roll movies aside. He leaves you leftovers from food he makes, you turn down your music when he's studying, and he even woke you up the other day when you had slept through your alarm.

Beyond the wall, his music is loud: a playlist you recognise as the one he puts on to (unsuccessfully) mask the noise of his usual late night adventures. Cheesy love ballads, heady RnB that leaks into your own room. You'd rather die than admit his taste in music isn't horrible, but it usually means a long, long night for everyone around. With finals around the corner, there's no way you can let this stand.

What kind of person does that? Lull you into a false sense of security with Snakes on a Plane and pepperoni pizza?

Absorbed in your own work, you hadn't even realised he had someone over; let alone was gearing up for obnoxious sex. You'd bang on the wall, but you feel like you guys are past that: crossed a threshold of intimacy that means you can shout at him up close and personal.

So you stomp over to the hallway, banging at the door to his room. In the short trip there, you've worked yourself into a frenzy. How many times have you told him to keep it down? That it was rude and inconsiderate to flaunt his sex life in your face; to fuck other women so loud you were practically involved? There was something about the little smile he would give you afterwards, when you catch him shepherding his latest out the door in the morning - like he gets off on it, enjoys it, when you react. Even when you think you're over it, he still manages to drive you absolutely crazy.

“Miguel? Open the fuck up!"

You're still fuming when the door opens with a click, and Miguel appears in the sliver of the doorway. He opens it so that his frame is half swallowed by the door, top half peeking through with a lazy hand in his hair. And of his top half, he's bare from the waist up, black band of his boxers sitting low on his v-line and loose sweats.

All the wind is knocked from your sails, and you lose your train of thought.

"Yeah?"

"I…" You clear your throat. "I don't care who you fuck, but when I'm doing work-"

"-I'm not." He chuckles. "There's no one here, hermosa. Just me. And you, I guess…"

There's something about the way he says it, lazily, as if it's his first time saying those words - wrapping his tongue around your name to see how it fits. If it fits, how it tastes. His relaxed posture, the way his hair falls…

"You're high." Your brow shoots up. "... you're high!"

With a finger pressed to his lips, he grabs your hand and pulls you into his room, eyes darting around the hallway.

"Shhh! You can't-" Now, he gets close, whispering like he's saying something he shouldn't. "You can't tell anyone. "

"I won't." You breathe. His face is serious at first, and then you're both giggling. You've never seen him so carefree, and it's nice to see Miguel walking around without the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He's still holding your hand, pressed close, and you see him drag his eyes up and down your figure. "You want do something you'll regret…?"

"...I've got a 9am, tomorrow, I really-"

"-shouldn't?" He finishes, dragging his hand up your bare arm, pupils blown. He gets up to your shoulders, tucking your hair behind your ear. It's sinful, the way his touch is gentle but gaze heavy - violent in the way he practically eyefucks you. You feel bare, in little sleep shorts and a t-shirt.

He steps back, lounging on his bed, and makes for a half finished blunt by the adjacent window sill. Sighing, you sit by him, sinking into the mattress. He pats you closer, dangerously close, and you comply. One arm curled by your waist, the other brings the blunt up close and you wrap your lips around it. When Miguel brings a lighter to the blunt, you lean into it, knuckles brushing your lips.

You take a drag, long, heavy, eyes closed. And when they open, you're met with his own. Maybe it's the weed, maybe it's the heady atmosphere, but you swear his eyes are low and deep with lust.

"Good girl." He rumbles, cupping your chin and tracing a thumb to your lips. He separates, bringin the blunt to his own lips before leaning back to pass it to you. As quick as he gets close, he pulls away; leaning back into the expanse of his large bed. And he looks good, head drawn back and the curve of his tan arm drawn upwards. Tufts of hair from his chest, the trail that leads down suggestively - and without inhibition, you basically drool over him. God, there it is. You feel it kick in and let it wash over you.

His music, long forgotten, blends into your downy haze. You want to sit in his lap, rest your head on his chest. You get it now: if this is the view all those women he tutors get to have, then you finally understand.

"Come closer, hermosa ." You barely register the nickname, only focused on the way he says it, the delicious way it rolls off of his tongue. You nod, and shuffle closer. His siren song sounds sweeter, somehow, up close.

You pass the blunt between you both, and watch it dwindle to the last dregs. Lying down next to him, he clutches your hand and takes the butt between his fingers, letting its flames die as you watch. You giggle and his gaze softens.

"I didn't expect this from you." You look up to see an upside-down Miguel, hiding a smile.

"Expect what?" He drags himself downwards, to rest his head by your side.

"All…" You gesture vaguely. "This. Don't even think I've been in your room for this long, before."

His room looks exactly how you'd expect it: tidy and modest, a row of trophies neatly lined up on a shelf, a telescope pointing out towards a window. There are posters by his bed; science related, mostly. You tilt your head in the direction of one of them.

"Is this what they see?" You mumble to no one in particular.

He manages to catch it, sluggish in his response. "...Is this what who sees?"

"All the girls you fuck." It tumbles your of your mouth, before you can help it.

He tilts his head too, looking at the poster and you watch the sharp lines of his jaw besides you. Even at this angle, he's so pretty.

"Huh. I guess they do."

"It's not very romantic, is it?" You blink, oblivious. Your question is met with a noncommittal shrug. "What was her name last time? Cassie, Clara-something…"

"Katie." He hums.

"Katie." Ignoring the twinge of disappointment at his quick response, you hope it's the weed and not jealousy that made you pretend to forget her name.

You sit up on your haunches, tracing the valleys and mountains of his bare chest with a leisurely finger. You try not to notice the way he shivers at your touch.

"I could hear everything. Every, 'Yes daddy'," You feign a moan by curling your lips into an O-shape. You bring your other hand to your hair, head tilted back with exaggerated movement. "And 'right there, Miggy, right fuckin' there' ."

Technically, you're making fun of him and laughing, expecting him to follow. But he doesn't, head back and eyes boring into you - only bringing a hand to press yours at his chest.

"Thin walls, Miguel." You clear your throat, sensing a shift in the atmosphere. Too far, probably. "Sorry, shit. I didn't mean-"

"I hear you too." He says softly. "I heard you, the other day."

Head filled with cotton, it takes a moment for his words to really click. So he elaborates, lacing his fingers with your own.

"Fucking yourself, hermosa ." He says it lazily, like the vulgarity of the act doesn't register.

Your eyes widen in horror. How much exactly did he hear?

"...and I heard you say my name."

"It was…. i-it wasn't like that-" Fuck. You can't think straight as it is: and his voice is low and silky, rubbing circles on your hand close to his chest. Even now, he oozes confidence, the steady thump-thump of his heart giving away nothing.

"Hmmm? Then what is it like?" You blink at him, unable to answer. "You're a hypocrite. You complain about all these women I supposedly fuck, but then-"

He pulls you closer, so that your lips almost touch his. "-you lock yourself in your room, touching yourself and thinking about your poor roommate. What am I meant to do with you?"

A pause, and in your daze, you can't breathe. For all your theatrics, it's too easy for him - to prod and tease, and for you to chase after him. You move to kiss him, but he grabs your chin at the last second. "Not quite. I want to hear you say it."

"Fuck- " You crumple, hiding your head in the crook of his shoulder. Even in your haze, the nerves bubble up from the base of your stomach. "Fuck me, please , Miguel."

He places a hand on your thigh, leading you to straddle his middle, other hand wrapped around your waist. He grinds your lower half into his, leaning up to bring your lips together.

He tastes sweet, greedily lapping up your moans in the clash. You're not thinking, not really, lost in the heat of his body, desperate and eager when you kiss. To contrast, Miguel cups your chin, pulling you away for air whenever you sink too deep. Somehow, he still manages to look smug, taunting you with a flash of his little fangs whenever you separate. If you weren't feeling the effects of that blunt, you may have had the means to be embarrassed at how much you want him - needily grinding against him and pawing at his chest.

It's too slow, too leisurely, like a punishment; and he refuses to give you what he knows you want. Your whines betray you when he finally slips a hand down your shorts.

"¿Paciencia, hmm?" He grabs a handful of your ass, clothed cock catching on your clit. It rips another moan from you, which he happily swallows with another kiss. "Patience, princesa."

You hump against one another like teenagers, your hands planted by his head for purchase. Hips moving of their own accord, you chase the relief Miguel provides: with his hands kneading your ass, length catching at your clit, and teeth nipping at your bare neck.

He licks a stripe up your collarbone, soothing the blossoming hickeys with a hum.

Fuck, how can he be so casual ? You don't know if it's the weed or something else, but he is in his element, hand dipping down your back to graze at your pussy from behind. He hisses when he realises how wet you are, swiping his fingers down your slit and taking them out to pop them in his mouth.

Now, flushed and face hot with embarrassment, you look up at him with big doe eyes. It makes Miguel feel guilty for stopping you so close to your climax. Beautiful : lower lip hooked under your teeth, plump and swollen and kissable. He'll make up for it later: a promise he whispers into skin.

"You're soaked." He cups your cheek to press a kiss to your forehead, and all you can do is whine. His gaze dips down, to the swell of your tits in that thin shirt..

"What did you think about when you touched yourself?" It's soft, said in the warm press of your bodies; hook-shaped and hazy and you fit like you were made for one another. The thought lingers, plants a dangerous seed that makes you forget that the man underneath you is your roommate : unrepentant whore, Miguel O'Hara.

"You." You've seen it first hand, he eats hearts for breakfast; and yours is on a platter for him to devour.

He laughs, deep and rumbling, hands resting on your waist. "I know that, baby. You don't have fantasies? Fuck yourself to the thought of someone touchin' you just right?"

Not just someone, him, you think. Your voice dies in your throat at the way he looks at you. "Just… n-nothing really-"

He hums, grinding your hips onto his. "Speechless, I can't believe it. Is this what I need to do to get some fucking peace around here?"

You roll your eyes, "Don't be a dick, Miguel. When I shout, it's because you deserve it."

"...there it is." Eyes shining, his face stretches into a shit-eating grin. Wide, unabashed, unambiguous. "You back with the living, sweetheart?"

It makes you laugh, even though you hate to give him the satisfaction.

"What do you want?" He kneads your thigh and pleasure pools at the base of your stomach.

You mumble something begrudgingly.

"Hmm? Can't hear you, baby."

Louder, now. "...want to sit on your face, Miguel."

Lowly, he groans, shaking his head. "Mierda… of course you do."

Expertly, he helps you take your shorts off, dragging the thin material down your thighs. You clambers upwards, wrapping them around his shoulders, watching intently as he kneads the soft skin. It's tentative, at first, and you place your hands on the headboard to perch just above his mouth.

He licks, diving in with the flat of his tongue: a long upwards stroke that ends with him sucking your clit. Moaning, your hips jump and he chases your pretty pussy up, large palms pushing you back down. He concentrates on your bundle of nerves, lips around your clit like a man on a mission.

And, God, does it feel good; he watches and learns from your every movement, committing your body to memory. His moans vibrate deliciously, tension building at that spot faster than your mind can register it. Then, you clench around nothing, gushing into his mouth whilst he eases you through it. The noises he makes are obscene; one leg off the bed and a hand snaked under his boxers. He's getting off on it; watching you crumple and sob around his tongue.

And when you begin to move off, thighs sore, he doesn't relent, sealing his mouth on your pretty little hole.

"Miguel.. fuck-" After your first orgasm, it surprises you when he continues, tongue fucking you with fervour. He presses you close, impossibly close, and your body fights against his ministrations. Heat, everywhere, and it's too much. The haze of the blunt begins to wear off and you are left with biting clarity. You want more of him, deeper; drunk off of just his tongue.

You card your hands in his hair, and he moans: deep and wanton, with his eyes fluttering shut. He wants to look, to watch you when you cum on his tongue for a second time. Back arched, the curve of your tits peeking through a tiny top, fucking yourself on his face. He wants it hard , wants you to take control and use him to get off.

"Right there, fuck… "

Like you can hear his thoughts, you press yourself down harder, riding the deep ridge of his nose for relief. Miguel complies and leans into it. He eats you out like a man starved and the carnality of it all brings you to a second peak. You cum once again, legs wrapped tight around his face. Head back, he laps it up readily.

You separate with a wet pop, and Miguel looks blissful : fucked out and panting, wiping the slick off of his face with a forearm. Exhausted, you lean back onto the mattress beside him.

"That was…" He searches for the right word, and it's your turn to finish for him.

"... good. " Scarily good. So good you won't be able to see him around the apartment without remembering what he looks like trapped between your thighs.

Gently, he turns to cup your cheek and bring your lips to his. It starts off sweet and deepens rapidly, making that thread at the pit of your stomach tighten, again. He grabs your thigh, bringing it closer, and you feel his length poking your stomach. Fuck.

"You haven't…?" Your hand makes for his trousers, and he stops you. "I want to, Miguel. Want you to feel good too."

His head sinks into your shoulder. "I know, baby, I know. Not like this. Not yet."

You nod, still wrapped up in his arms. You haven't even fucked, and it feels more intimate than it should.

"You've got a 9am tomorrow." He smiles with a hand underneath his head.

"I've got a 9am tomorrow," You repeat, sighing. "...and my life is falling apart. I'm failing half of my classes as it is."

He turns to you, lazily.

"I could tutor you, if you'd like."

…

"That's not fucking funny, Miguel."

Miguel taglist: @d1lf-loverrr, @afro-hispwriter @ilovemiguelohara @weedxgirlx420 @ladydovahkiin180 @aaliyuh3 @sweetanimebakery @vvitcxen @rosecoloredlenses708 @daikondal @magikmina @impettywhenyouare @alonelygirlsuicidenote @plushyplants @javi0ca @rheeves @starrfruit @nikirikii @marsbars09 @foxglove-grove @mimooyi @crosshairclown @dead-by-light @kynamitedessert @naarra @wanderlustingcastaway @sagejin @cookielovesbook-akie @tangerineloverrr @gobblegluckgluckgod @wolfiepirate @jxxey3 @ebrysteria @elliemm @manchuria @youngghostpeachslime @weasleybuns @ilovemuppets @vauriz @bonbyon @aimno256 @ancientbeing10 @tvije @venus1224idkpleaze @neteyamsbulletwound @chickenjefferson-blog @maki-z @jasjasthings

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