soggywhore

[soggywhore]

Sorry it took me so long to respond to that selfie, I was too busy jerking off to it

[soggywhore]

ꕤ | Cumposure | Konig

— CODMW2 : masturbation!konig x fem!reader

✩ 𝙎𝘾𝙀𝙉𝙀: ​you tease konig a little too much, and he has to go take care of himself.

✩ 𝙋𝙊𝙎𝙏 𝙄𝙉𝙁𝙊: 1k words ✩ 𝘾𝙊𝙉𝙏𝙀𝙉𝙏 𝙒𝘼𝙍𝙉𝙄𝙉𝙂: objectification (of reader by konig only), slight konig bullying, mention of breeding kink, konig masturbation

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ 𝙉𝙊𝙏𝙀𝙎 𝙁𝙍𝙊𝙈 𝘿𝙄𝙑𝙄𝙉𝙀: the world needs more konig masturbation fics fr. share some w/ me if u have some :')

♡ REBLOGS + LIKES ARE APPRECIATED ♡ 𝘔𝘈𝘚𝘛𝘌𝘙𝘓𝘐𝘚𝘛 & 𝘖𝘛𝘏𝘌𝘙 𝘞𝘖𝘙𝘒𝘚 | 𝘔𝘠 𝘗𝘈𝘎𝘌

he felt so dirty for thinking about you that way– you were the new recruit, barely a month on the job, and yet he couldn’t help himself. somewhere between the hem of your shirt and the edge of your belt is where his eyes lingered when you did your training. You were too focused, the rest of the room around you forgotten as you practiced– and Konig too distracted, staring at the toned midsection of yours that revealed itself when you moved a certain way, trying to pry his eyes away from the curve of your ass when you forced your way into a position that he’d do anything to be pinned under.

konig was always nervous, but nowadays, he’s visible more so around you, specifically. no one raised an eyebrow when you first met— his stuttering while you were calm and collected considered normal. but now others, like soap, can’t help but crack a joke or two, flung your way and his, sometimes in conjunction. like gradeschool, almost– everyone knew he had some sort of a crush on you, even you did. but it was work, and work was professional, and you’d barely spoken enough words to konig to feel the same. he kept his distance, anyway, admiring from afar being the most daring thing he did, because talking to you required more courage than he could have in a lifetime.

sometimes you’d tease him though, because for a man of his looming stature, it was undeniable how satisfying it was to see him blush and his mind go blank by a mere change of clothes, or a touch of the arm. taking off your t-shirt to reveal a skin-tight tank underneath drove him wild– you noticed that he would purposefully take apart his pistols to put back together whenever you did this, attempting to offer his brain a distraction instead of staring. and on those very rare occassions, you’d be daring enough to make his life a living hell– sitting on his lap inbetween training at the cafeteria when there wasn’t enough seats to sit with those you were actually friends with —price and soap.

konig, an embarrassed, blushing mess, would excuse himself after only a few minutes of enduring your teasing, leaving you and the others to giggle at his reaction as he fled to the barracks, and to his corner of the room. no one typically was in the barracks during meal time– so he had enough privacy to compose himself. 

and composing meant taking care of the problem that you had decided to invent in his pants, under those boxes, big and throbbing.

a zip followed the sounds of jangling belt buckles, his tactical pants falling to only his mid thigh in case someone entered. he was needy, and before he could even get himself out of his boxers, he had to grip himself over the grey cloth to satiate the tension in his cock. it then met the cool air, his own callused hand from training wrapped around it, jerking quickly from the start. 

it wasn’t wet enough, not that he wasn’t leaking any precum– but he was just so big, so it didn’t matter how much precum he leaked, he always needed to dribble some spit into his hands to get the slippery friction he craved. his entire body jerked suddenly when his wet palm dragged over the sensitive tip, his eyes rolling as he threw his head back against the wall. 

if you exclude the fact that he was humping his cock into his hands, konig was fully clothed, masked and all. he sat on the ground, one leg relaxed and laid straight, the other bent and doing most of the work pumping up into his fingers that he so desperately wished was you instead. his mind replayed everytime he’s seen you bent over, everytime he’s seen a sliver of side boob or the faint poke of your nipples when you were wearing less due to the heat, everytime you deliberately sat your ass on his cock and all that was stopping him from putting it inside was his dignity and some camo fabric. 

his panting got heavier, more desperate, more sensitive, because he was teasing himself now, fucking just the tip into a tight fist with his hips. thank god he had a mask on– it nulled the possibility of anyone seeing him mindnumb with his drool dripping down his chin and his lips parted in heavy breathing as he pathetically jerked off to you. at most, they’d just see his eyes crossing when he jerked himself just right, or when his horny fuck-for-brains gave him a thought that was too satisfying.

he hated that you didn’t even need to be naked in the slightest to get him like this, head filled with nothing but thoughts of cumming inside you in front of everyone else at the cafeteria table. he thought about how tight you’d feel, pussy stretched right over his cock, balls pressed up against the inner of your thigh. what really made him tip over the edge, though, was the wish that you’d beg him to breed you, pump you full–sink his big cock inside and burst, and then keep it there until he finished. every last drop.

so when he cums, it’s a few groans that comes first, followed by ceaseless whimpering as he continued to grip his cock. he wanted to milk his orgasm for as long as he could, it felt so fucking good, and for the entire climax he basically couldn’t see with how crossed his eyes were and how blurry his vision became. his mind went numb with pleasure, beads and beads of semen dribbling nonstop out of the tip for longer than he could hold his breath. 

and like that, it was over. sometimes he could go twice, but it’s too risky– someone was due to walk in any second. but he laid there, anyway, still and with his hand loosely holding his cock, catching his breath for only a minute. and then, he’d rejoin you and the others for the second half of the day’s training, composed and a little less anxious.

© copyright @taste-of-the-divine 2023 ♡ REBLOGS + LIKES ARE APPRECIATED ♡ 𝘔𝘈𝘚𝘛𝘌𝘙𝘓𝘐𝘚𝘛 & 𝘖𝘛𝘏𝘌𝘙 𝘞𝘖𝘙𝘒𝘚 | 𝘔𝘠 𝘗𝘈𝘎𝘌

[soggywhore]

Miguel, Noir, Peter B x A new spider recruit (F)

Rating/Tags: M for MATURE. 18+. Adult content henceforth. 🔞Three p’s and one v. P in V. Fellatio. Some spanks. Assplay (no anal penetration). Voyeurism. Light bondage. Cunnilingus. Overstimulation (it’s 3 v 1 y’all idk what else is expected). Bodily fluids. Dirty talk makes up most of the dialogue. The dudes do some stuff too. ❤️ Aftercare ❤️ one shot

A/N: I got the prompt from this tweet and wanted to give back to the artist who requested it. There is Spanish in this fic - the artist helped me with the translations soooo much as well and I am forever grateful.😭 English translations at the end. This is my first smut piece, okay? So go easy on me. There is a smidge of plot if you’re really looking for it - I know I put it somewhere around here…

Summary: New recruit for the Spider Society finds herself in a sticky situation with three mentor spideys.

Word Count: 4,660

I’m gonna stfu now and let you read some filth. As always, let me know what you think and thanks for reading.

A dim, neon orange glow emitted from various screens in the large office. Sounds of connecting flesh and obscenities bounce off the walls and echo towards the high ceilings. The new recruit for the elite Spider Society found herself tangled in a particularly intense training that definitely wasn’t in the recruit handbook.

This particular lady spider, from her own universe, traveled through space and time to become a better protector of her neighborhood. She wasn’t sure how these exercises could possibly translate into her line of work saving lives, but she knew exactly how she’d gotten into this position. Well, one of many she’d already been put into.

It was her silly quips. The downfall of most in the Spider Society. The new spider showed a lot of progress in the short time they’d been recruited and had been tasked to go on a mission with the big boys.

It was easy work, the more matured spiders swinging and kicking ass effortlessly. Their personalities shown through in their fighting styles

Peter was loud about it. Of course. Screaming war cries and hitting hard, but holding back. Using insults to hit ‘em where it really hurts a villain: their ego. Miguel seemed cat-like, pouncing and clawing. An occasional roar of frustration would burst through his gritted fangs. Noir was stealthy, and silently snuck up on unsuspecting suspects. His dialect from past times confused the new spider more than Miguel’s Spanish, but it sounded ‘snazzy’ either way.

After wrapping up the mission, the four of them exchanged normal post-fight banter. It was one phrase that made the men stop in their attacks:

I could take all three of you at once.

She’d inadvertently added a qualification to her spoken resume and they were putting it to the test.

The room spun around the dizzy spider trying to steady herself on the large couch cushions. It was in vain, though, for she wasn't going anywhere the hands on her body didn’t make her go. She was stuffed and didn’t think she could hold anything else inside her. Even air. She resorted to the shallow gasps that her body involuntarily released in brief moments of reprieve and breathing through her nose when possible. She moans a string of different names barely recognizable through the mumbling and spit coming out her mouth. Not to mention Peter B’s cock slipping between her lips, a lazy, languid pump into her mouth as his hand caresses her hair. He’d pull out when she tapped on his thigh twice or he wanted to see the strands of saliva droop from his swollen tip connecting to her puffy lips.

“Hey,” Peter’s voice is sweet in juxtaposition to their lewd position, “look at me”. His other hand cupped her chin and pulled her face to look up at him. His slender fingers moving to the side of her face, rubbing his thumb on her cheek. His baby blues watching as her face pushes into his palm from the force behind her.

“Our little spider looks so good like this, doesn’t she?” Peter B was a talker in bed. Duh. The man was a talker in general. His words, no matter how filthy, came out casual and playful. “Taking the both of us so well in her pretty holes.” The vulgarity mixed with the free and easy tone made her pussy squeeze around Miguel’s cock, causing a quick strike on her bent over ass. The stinging cheek was immediately pawed by his large hands.

“Mhmm..” Miguel grunted, not much for words in the bedroom. His sexual language involved less talking and more touching, spanking, and grabbing. “Está apretadito…riquísimo…” When he did speak, he slipped into his native tongue because his mind slipped too. No time for translation as he drove himself into her, hands grabbing her hips. “me vuelves loco” he panted.

His large hands grabbed her ass, making her moan again up at Peter. He thumbs her wet folds and grips tightly - watching as she stretched out on his thick dick with each thrust of his hips. One of his thumbs ghosts across her other puckered hole, rubbing her own slick across the tight entrance.

“Te voy a comer ese culo.” Before she can form any sort of protest, Miguel pulls out without warning. The sudden emptiness made her clench on air and push back against him as a complaint. His hands never left her body and he let her push herself back onto his tongue. She cried out in surprise and pleasure as Miguel hardened his tongue and licked into her dripping pussy. The tongue was quickly replaced by two calloused fingers that pumped and spread inside her already fucked out cunt. His lips latched around the tight pucker of her ass, tongue swirling. Her breathing ragged as the little spider moaned against the bushel of hair above Peter’s still long cock. All she could do was press her face against his belly and arch her back.

“Ooooh, no, you don’t get to have all the fun, Miggy.” Peter chuckled, fucking chuckled down at her as he continued petting her hair. He slipped his thumb into her mouth and he smiled sweetly when she wrapped her lips around the finger. She couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled out her throat as she slobbered on his inquisitive thumb that rubbed the inside of her cheek.

The mouth attached to her released only to growl against her sticky flesh, “Shut up, Peter.”

The giggle upset Miguel; here he was eating ass and she was paying more attention to the skinny nerd at her front. He added another finger and grazed his sharp teeth against the sensitive skin. Shivers shot up her spine and she rolled her eyes in pleasure and annoyance.

Only one coherent thought formed in her hazed mind: the grown ass man we’re even competitive in the bedroom.

Peter didn’t shut up.

“Hey, Noir,” Peter casually tossed the words to the side but kept his gaze on the flushed face and closed eyes that pressed against him. His heavy lidded gaze grazed along the curvy body beneath him as the spider in training rode Miguel’s tongue. He brushed away sweaty strands stuck to her forehead so he could see her pretty lashes. “You ever gonna get in on this? Or are you just going to keep watching from over there?”

Shame had almost escaped the woman stuck between getting rocked and a hard place. She’d taken the tip of the chatterbox’s cock back into her mouth and that silenced him momentarily.

She looked over at the black-clad figure she’d almost forgotten with her lips pouting over the redden head of his friend. He hadn’t made a sound this entire time. Embarrassment eked into her already flushed cheeks as she imagined what a scandalous sight she was to the spider from days gone by.

The man seated on the chair opposite the couch was dangling his arms over bent knees. Noir was still masked, one of the few Spidermen to actually try and maintain a secret identity, and the charcoal colored mask looked from one end of her to the other. He was staring intently at her face at one point, the protruding eye sections reflecting their bodies moving on the couch.

Noir then approached the spread spider and adjusted the protruding lenses of his masked eyes as if they were gasses. His head tilted in intrigue as he heard the deplorable slurping sounds from both ends of her body.

He brings his head to hers, Peter’s cock is inches from his face but he ignores it to intently watch the way her lips wrap around the other Spider-Man’s fingers.

“How ya doin’, buttercup?” His husky voice breathes into her ear. She can’t muster a response other than a shaky nod of her bobbing head and sputters of mewls. The swiping of Miguel’s tongue and approving praise from Peter took up too much of her mind space to formulate any sort of actual reply.

Noir sighed, almost like he was unsatisfied with the reply. He stood and put his hands on hips.

“Fellas… call me old fashioned, but” he glanced at the two men who seemingly ignored the grayscale spider’s intrusion, “You’re both doing this wrong if you’re really tryin’ to shake the shingles off this shack.”

The weird wording made the bundle of naked spiders freeze and lift an eyebrow in unison. Miguel pulled away from her ass and pussy and Peter did the same with the fingers in her mouth. She would’ve buckled had she not been pancaked.

“What the hell do you mean I’m doing this wrong?” Miguel and Peter both responded, offended. The breathless spider couldn’t see the exchange of winks and grins that happened because they were still smushed against Peter’s tummy.

“Hands, legs.” Noir instructed and the trapped spider found themselves pulled up and pressed firmly against Miguel’s chest with their hands clasped together. His large hand grabbed her ankle, a single claw grazing the thin skin there. Another muscled arm snaked around her waist and held her. His strong back supported their bodies against the plush arm of the couch.

She groaned when she realized Peter had slipped a web shooter on and had used them to hold her hands together. Another quick spurt from the smirking man made her arms stick loosely to her chest, just in case. He was always so careful.

But she didn’t mind being confined as long as someone would fucking touch her.

A tiny yelp makes Peter giggle in his relaxed position sitting on the couch head propped against the wall- taking a momentarily step back, but not taking his eyes off the spider caught up in their web.

Noir had snuck in front of her and had his face inches from hers. When Miguel felt her flinch in his grip he huffed a chuckle.

“You both were forgetting to press buttons.” Noir’s fingers cupped the underside of her exposed tits and he flicked his gloved thumbs over her nipples. He was maneuvering skillfully around the bound limbs.

More moans came out, she was finally getting these new set of hands on her. He went to pull up his mask and she kept her eyes glued to his face to finally see what he looked like.

Slate-gray skin was beginning to peek from the curling of the mask, but he shined a wicked gray and pearly white grin when he kept the mask just above his nose. He’d only exposed his jawline and lips, but it was enough to make the little spider’s breath hitch.

His unmasked mouth wrapped around one of her perked nipples and kept pinching the other between his fingers. The gentle sucking sounds made her quiver.

Noir then moved so he was crouched right between her legs, covered eyes taking in the sight of her drip. She noticed his passionate gaze even behind the mask and spread her legs to allow a better view. This earned a grunt in her ear from Miguel who pressed his still hard cock into her back, a soft coo from Peter watching who continued petting her hair, and an approving smile from the striking inky gradient enigma of a man before her.

“Oh, what a piece of honey…” Noir continued in his near century old slang. He took a gloved finger and ran it along the gooey length of her folds, the delicious stripe of friction on her pussy lips made her buck her hips. He stuck the wet finger in his mouth and sucked the leather. “Taste good, sweet spider. Makes me wanna take a bite out of your pretty donut.”

Her eyes roll back at the flattery and Noir speaks again, addressing the two other men, “You forgot a crucial component, pals… the rose bud.”

His tongue instantly found the flower he mentioned and she saw stars. Her clit had been untouched at this point. Not that everything up to this point hadn’t been fucking amazing, but the way the skillful mouth below her expertly tongued and suckled her neglected clitoris made her writhe and wail in ecstasy.

Thank god Lyla had been disconnected because there could be no recording of the blubbering mess the tasty spider became with Noir’s mouth attached to her pussy.

With all the teasing, pounding, and sucking beforehand, the stimulation of the bud of nerves between her legs brought her close to the edge within moments. Noir looked back up at her face and his tongue poked out his sinful smile. He could tell by the way she started thrashing in Miguel’s hold that she was about to crack her marbles. He lapped at her drooling pussy eagerly.

Miguel hissed through gritted teeth at his painfully hard cock. He situated his large body by squatting on the leg closest to the corner of the couch while the other planted firmly on the ground. He grabbed himself and lined it up with the flailing spider in his arm. His other hand came from its grip around her ankle just to grip on her hip. “Fuck, hold still.” Miguel’s tip pushed against her trying to find the spider’s slick slit. It grazed Noir’s chin and neck but he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he grabbed Miguel’s dick and guided it into that sticky honey pot. He focused more on the clit as Miguel pumped inside her. Miguel’s moans were loud in her ear with the combined sensation of the tight wetness and Noir’s tongue ghosting the top and sides of his driving dick.

Peter watched in awe, his mouth agape at the alluring sight below him. His hand had a hard hold around the base of his cock, as he squeezed more precum seeped out his blushed tip. He moaned at the sight of Miguel’s cock drilling into the tight pussy and the sounds from the fucked spider as Noir’s mouth encased her clit. Much like Noir, Peter’s tingles were telling him she was close.

“You want to cum for us? You should…” Peter asked and suggested in his playful tone. His oral affixation was apparent as he thumbed the inside of her mouth again. “You’ve been such a good girl.”

“Quiero que te vengas en mi verga, arñita”, Miguel grumbled into her ear.

“Mmhmmm.” Noir tried to concur, but his mouth was a little busy. The vibration of his voice against her clit and all three men urging her brought her to that high place.

She cried out their names in no particular order just whatever came out first. She gyrated her shaking body down on Miguel’s pounding cock and Noir’s tongue. Miguel’s movements became feverish causing Noir to pull back, giving her clit some space to breathe after the oral abuse. Peter moved his hand to Miguel’s hair and pulled his head back to look at his face, reminding him to go easy on that pretty push. It was hard for he was nearing his own orgasm, but he slowed to a more delicate pace. The convulsion of her cumming cunt around his cock was too good to pull out of just yet, but Noir spoke out breathlessly.

“I gotta get a taste of this cookie, boss.” He pleaded with the man who currently had her in his grasp. She should’ve hated how they were talking like she wasn’t there at times but she was riding her high and couldn’t be bothered to bicker. She stared through half-lidded, glazed over eyes as Noir pawed the tent in his pants.

“Did you stretch her out for me?” Noir asked as he undid his pants buckle and released a grayish cock as long as Peter’s and as thick as Miguel’s. She moaned as she was coming down from the clouds, eagerly wanting to try this new toy.

Miguel huffed and quickly wrapped his arms under her knees and lifted her effortlessly. His cock rudely pulled out of her and he spread her legs so that Noir could get a better view of the contracting, messy hole. Peter craned his neck so he could see as well.

“Such a pretty pussy…” he said to no one in particular from his perch. He had started pumping his cock as he watched her orgasm.

Noir admired the site up close and licked the fucked out hole causing the spider to shake. She was blushing from all the eyes and attention on her in her exposed state, but they were all looking in amazement.

She pouted and when Noir saw both sets of her puckered lips he wasted no time placing the thick tip of his uncut cock at the gaping entrance of her gooey hole.

“Now, sweetheart, you’re gonna have to tell me if it’s too much, but I think you can handle it. You’re going to do that again for me.” He pushed himself into her full flush easily with the help of Miguel’s propped arms holding her up. Her mouth formed a silent scream and she tossed her head back when he picked up the speed.

Miguel moaned and his still hard cock pressed against her ass cheeks in this position. “Que culo..” he mused as he slid his cock to line up with the wet folds of her cheeks. He started slowly fucking between her cheeks until his tip hit Noir’s pumping cock.

“Oh, fuuuck, baby girl..” Peter admired her body as he picked up the pace on his own strokes. “Can you take another? Please?”

He begged as he brought his cock back to her lips, biting his bottom lip hard and groaning when, instead of replying, she desperately took him into her mouth, eager to be completely full.

Peter thought he had the best seat in the house with his dick in her mouth and the sight of Noir and Miguel ravaging her body. He talked more and more as he got closer to cumming.

“You’re taking us so good. Such a good girl. You should see yourself. Look so sexy when you’re filled up.”

Noir kept his speed and force consistent when he surprised the spider again by rubbing his thumb just above her clit. He captured her lips with his own and she breathed her heavy moans into his mouth.

She was back to struggling for air with most of her holes plugged. Miguel’s thickness running between her legs offered a new feeling of friction while Noir’s length was taking some getting used to. Peter didn’t move his hips in caution of overwhelming the overloaded woman taking him in her mouth so well.

“Cum for me. Again.” He gently urged. The three other spiders all moaned in unison at Noir’s word for they were all on their brink. He chuckled, “all of you. Let’s fill this baby up.”

The idea of filling her pussy up with his load made Miguel’s hips snap quickly until he was spilling all over her ass, pussy lips, and leaking onto Noir. The thumb on her clit and the sounds of the man below her brought her back over the edge again. The pornographic imagery, sounds of a heated Miguel, the alluring control Noir had over them, and the split spider’s orgasms brought him to his own climax. He tried to pull out her mouth but she wrapped her lips around him tightly and he cried out as he came. He was talking again in seconds.

“Fuuuck, so sexy.. taking it all in like that.”

Noir took it all in with a grin. Feeling Miguel’s sipperly spunk mixing with the delicious drool he was driving into. A little bit of Peter B’s butter spilled out of the split spider’s mouth and Noir swiped at it with his gloved thumb before presenting it to her to suck on. The sounds only encouraged him to pump harder. “I wanna paint this cabin, doll. Can I?”

Noir tapped gently on the bundle of nerves that were on fire with the question, causing the spread spider to spaz in the hold of the three others.

The spent spider thought nothing, only felt. Sensation was the only presence in her consciousness as Miguel slid his slowly shrinking dick between her thighs and plump cheeks. Peter’s praise echoed from one ear to the other making her blush more than the promiscuous positions she’d been put in this evening.

He had her right where he wanted her - how he’d been picturing her since he met her for the first time: Whimpering and shaking on the verge of implosion.

Noir’s imagination painted an inky image of the next time with this ripe peach. His grayscale vision pictured them alone in all the ways he wanted her. The thought nearly made him burst and paint her insides instead.

Until he pulled out and jerked himself twice before cumming all over the spent spider’s tummy and tits. His audience of three all moaned with him as sticky ropes shot over the smooth skin of her abdomen.

Senseless spider still had her legs hiked up and she hung her head to the side towards Peter who was massaging her scalp and murmuring sweet nothings towards the group. Miguel’s heavy breathing was coming down as he gently lowered her onto the couch and easily slipped from behind her, regretting it the moment her body wasn't pressed against his own. Miguel used one of his claws and cut through Peter’s webbing and carefully pulled it from her, placing her arms by her sides.

Noir marveled at her in this state. Fucked out and smothered with lovin’. He helped Miguel lower her legs and eased their bent and spread joints. He rubbed along the length of her leg and said something to his boss unheard to the mewling spider on the couch.

They left the room shortly after, but she didn’t notice.

Only aware of the aching she felt… not from the intense session, those stings wouldn’t be felt until tomorrow, but from the emptiness inside her and lack of body support she had just moments ago. She had leaned on their strong scaffolding entirely and now slumped from their missing support. Peter’s hand in her hair kept her grounded as she

Her eyes blinked open slowly and she was greeted with those baby blues smiling at her as Peter had perched himself beside her on the floor.

“You really did so good.” He examined her glistening face and body in its afterquakes of orgasm.

Puffy lips redden around the edges, matted hair, slumped body: what a site to behold. He felt lucky as he brought up his previously discarded shirt to clean her chest and belly. She started to push it away, the disheveled man didn’t have many clean clothes to begin with, but he simply leaned to kiss her forehead and continued to wipe up some of the mess made.

“You took such good care of us, sweetie,” his voice was slightly raspy but still flirtatious, “it’s our turn to take care of you.”

~~~~~~~~~~

When Miguel and Noir returned to the room, they were met with the sight of a lightly sleeping spider and their counterpart stroking her hair and smiling at her.

Miguel suggested they let her sleep, get her strength back, but Noir was insistent.

“This is the most important part, boss.” Noir asserted.

~~~~~~~~~~

Sleepy spider was coming to again swaying slightly in the arms of the tallest in the trio walking down the short hallway.

“Bella Durmiente,” Miguel cooed. He had been watching her face as he carried her to the bathroom in his large office and when her lashes parted and fluttered open to look up at him his chest tightened.

“Such a cutie, even when she snores.” Peter beamed over Miguel’s shoulder as if he were carrying a kitten in his cradled arms.

Miguel carried her into the bathroom and she looked around at lights moving on the walls. It wasn’t tricks of Miguel’s futuristic decor, but rather several lit pillar candles flickering and casting soft shadows of the four of them.

The new recruit had fully come down from her delirium from earlier, but more flush came to her face as Miguel placed her into a clawfoot tub. It was huge. It had to be to house the large man that was sinking her into the shoulder deep water.

The bath was so warm. Hot even. It wasn’t too hot for her though as she awkwardly grabbed the edges of the tub, even though Miguel was oh so careful. Heaps of bubbles rounded the edge and she focused on the fizzling I ward off the feeling of three sets of eyes on her.

Miguel’s hands returned to her body as he rested on his knees beside the tub. He had already saturated a soft wash cloth in soap and was gently rubbing it on her skin, starting with her painted abdomen. He was reaching towards her lower half when his brows furrowed slightly in concentration on her face, watching her reactions. He barely patted her sensitive inner thighs with the rag but pulled away when she winced.

“Lo siento, arañita.” Miguel remorsed. She responded softly, saying she was fine.

“You really took a beating, dollface,” Noir agreed. He’d taken the knee himself at the end of the tub. His gloves were off, sleeves rolled up, and with surprisingly soft hands he reached into the bubble bath and rubbed the swooning spider’s feet. “You sure you okay, sugar?”

She responded by shyly nodding and sinking her head under the water down to her nose, her eyes moving from each man’s face. She saw that Peter had mirrored the others’ posture and positioned himself at the head of the tub. His chin rested on his arm laid out on the tub’s rim. His other arm reached out and idly traced circles on the surface of the water. He had grown uncharacteristically quiet while watching the peaceful scene unfold in front of him.

She poked her mouth out the water and timidly said, “You guys don’t have to do all this, I can bathe myself…”

She wasn’t uncomfortable, just not used to this kind of care and attention. Especially three fold. Moments ago she was nearly shameless in her entanglement of limbs and fluids. However, this was treatment that was normally forgotten or shrugged off at the end of a long session. She could handle the smacks and fingers grabbing and leaving small bruises. Intimate connection was a whole different level of consideration she simply didn’t know how to react to.

The three men ignored her as they continued their self-delegated duties. The silence wasn’t unnerving but actually tolerable and she felt herself slipping again at the pampering pressing on the pads of her feet.

The large hands lifting limbs and reaching to cleanse her completely calmed her body that had been thrashing not too long ago.

The usual quips from the mouthy spider had been replaced with sweet pokes at her cheeks and shoulders followed by giggles from them both. They playfully splashed each other. Even though the brooding one rolled his eyes at the clothes he just changed into getting wet, he wished he could record the moment and have it on a loop for those especially difficult days protecting the multiverse.

The black-clad spider pressed along the sweet spider’s feet once more before blending into the background again. The glimmering candles quickly swiped from his era framed his silhouette as he retreated a moment.

He returned with a towel in one hand and a certain pink robe that had been tossed to the ground in the fun from before in the other hand. He smiled softly behind his mask at the scene in front of him: sweet spider back to smiling and laughing.

He nodded to himself in pride.

The most important part.

🕷️🕸️🕷️

__________ __________ __________ __________

Spanish translation (THANK YOU AGAIN @ejpuki on Twitter and my cousin lol):

“Está apretadito…riquísimo..” (she’s so tight,… so fucking hot)

“me vuelves loco” (you drive me crazy)

“Te voy a comer ese culo.” (going to eat that ass)

“Quiero que te vengas en mi verga, arñita” (I want you to cum on my dick, little spider)

“Que culo..” (that ass)

“Bella Durmiente” (Sleeping Beauty 🥹)

“Lo siento, arañita.” (I’m sorry, little spider)

[soggywhore]

Revelation - Priest!Miguel x Reader [part 3]

Word count: 2,878

Rating/Warnings: mature. Naughty thoughts and naughty bits. Mentions of parental death, religious content, food, soooo much Catholic guilt.

A/N: I’m so glad you guys are enjoying the series so far! No more money in my budget for commissioned art this month, but I did take this picture of St. Phillip’s Church while visiting my uncle in Charleston. Please let me know what you think of this chapter! If you haven’t read part 1 or part 2, go do that first :p

Tagged peeps: @friendlynbhdzero @ceoofghosts @hoelychildofgod @tayleighuh @luckycandykitten @beebslebobs @milkyardbetter @miaasmf @koimess @miggyswhore (sorry if I missed you in the taglist or if it messed up the tag!!!)

There were two things known about your mother: her cooking and her follow through. She was the delegate for church and community event meals; oftentimes in the kitchen doing the work herself alongside people that respected her and her cooking.

Your mother prided herself in her cooking and it kept her going in times of hurt for you both. She was the one baking casseroles to give to neighbors when dad passed. It was you who had to sit her down to eat something most days.

If God had anything to do with her getting better, it was in giving her that ability to provide in a way some overlooked. She buzzed while she worked her talents in the church’s kitchen now. The previously mentioned follow through evident in her meticulous manner of cleaning right behind herself as she cooked.

That follow through was especially true now as she was making sure you followed the rules she had set in place regarding church and attendance. Not only were you going this Sunday since you missed the last service, but you were also helping with the Wednesday church dinner.

You know she wants the best for you. It took you a long time (and a lot of space) to see that she showed it in the ways she knew how, the ways she was raised. You try to sprinkle the amount of salt she showed you earlier onto the massive amount of rolls. Despite your physical presence where she asked, you know your hearts and values don’t lie within the boundaries of shared faith.

You didn’t mind the service aspect of religion though. In fact, you enjoyed assisting your mother when she helped others in the community. You only pretended to follow the ‘good book’ and ‘walk the righteous path’ to spare her. What you had issues with was the institution of religion itself and some probably never-to-be-resolved personal qualms with the man upstairs. First, why did god have to be a man?

You’d never admit these questions and doubts to her, it would devastate her.

You did, however, admit it to someone.

Your confession last Thursday and the fact that Reverend Miguel was on the receiving end of all your revelations had you waking up suddenly in the night this past week - jolting from the bed, a quickening pulse, and sweat dampening the sheets. The concern in his deep, dark-eyed stare from that day stuck with you. You felt shame, guilt, maybe both, or something else unnamed and it kept you from indulging in the pleasure he had so easily made you feel without even being in the room. You still felt tense knots in your shoulders as you worked.

It was easy to feign sickness when you actually felt feverish and drained after you’d let those inner thoughts become spoken truths.. Your mother worried when you wouldn’t come out of your room. When you missed (skipped) church, she showed her concern and care with homemade chicken noodle soup. Moping, unbothered lasted only another day before she was yanking covers off you and having you run errands around town. ‘Getting back on your feet is the first step to feeling better,’ she retorted to your groans early that Monday morning. No more laying out of church…

You had to think of another way to avoid him. A way to steer clear of any sort of confrontation

You thought about moving away, dramatic, yes, but maybe into the city. Not too far from mom, because she needed help more than she admitted. Tonight was a prime example as her usual kitchen hands said they weren’t feeling well. This was helpful in negating any suspicions your mom had of you lying about being ill. Moving wouldn’t be running away, you were an adult.

You had literally run away though. As soon as the reality of who had taken your confession set in, you ran right out of that booth, back into the bustling city, onto the bumpy bus, and curled up into yourself at home. As you’re thinking about the many help wanted signs and rent postings you saw in the city, you hear chatter that interrupts the flow you two had created in the kitchen.

Mom is being pulled away by another member of the church and she instructs you to make two plates for the people who weren’t able to help her with cooking this evening. You’re pulling the last of the vegetables out of the oven and she hovers a moment, uncomfortable leaving you to the important final preparations.

It’s hard not to feel offended. Five years ago you would have rolled your eyes and commented on how if she didn't trust you, you shouldn’t be doing it in the first place.

“It’s okay,” you assure her as you wash your hands before preparing their plates, “I’ve got this.” You smile gently at her for you know you both need reassurance at times. She pinches her lips together but nods and leaves you alone.

Styrofoam to-go plates were open on the counter, waiting to receive their fill. You eyed the dinner and patted yourself on the back. Mom thought up the meal and did most of the actual ingredient brain power and temperature controls, but you’d done your part as well. It did feel good to do for others even if you still felt down.

A wide pan of meatloaf with a perfect caramelized sauce on top sat as the main course. Alongside it was some cabbage slaw and a broccoli cheddar bake. You make the to-go plates with equal portions and top them each with a roll. Your favorite part were the green onion rolls and you couldn't help but sneak one as the hours of prep and cooking left you famished.

You placed foil over the containers of your mom’s truly famous strawberry cobbler for it to cool when everyone ate. Most of the produce has come from the local farms. You savored the first bite of the fresh roll and marinated on the flavors of home, wondering if you could really leave this behind again.

You’re setting out the plates and silverware for the church members when you hear footsteps behind you. You turn to tell your mom that you’d made the plates, but it’s not her that now joined you in the kitchen.

Tense shoulders, little sleep… you were as tight as a coil ready to spring so you jumped a little when you saw the towering figure as you turned.

Reverend O’Hara’s eyes showed the same concern from last week, but softer. His feet shuffled slightly and he put his hands up as if he had approached an animal in the wild. He had a hesitant, more nervous aura than the suave confidence he usually eluded.

He opened his mouth to speak and you heard him say your name again in that sweet voice…

______________________________________

Standing before you now, Deacon Miguel found himself reflecting on the unexpected confession he heard last week. It was a confession that had stirred within him a mix of emotions and conflicting thoughts.

Miguel had contemplated how to address this delicate situation for it simply couldn’t go ignored. You matter. Your feelings matter. The deacon knew it was crucial that he approach this with compassion and understanding. Faith was a deeply personal journey, and each individual had their own struggles and doubts. Lord knew he’d faced his own in the past and that even if his current standings were solid, they were shaky.

His mind had been consumed by the weight of what he had learned. He couldn't help but feel a profound connection to you when he first placed the communion wafer on your tongue, the tongue that had inadvertently confessed impure thoughts to him. Though your honesty and vulnerability struck a chord within him.

Unbeknownst to you, the deacon struggled with similar doubts and desires. When he heard your confession, his heart weighed heavily with empathy and understanding. Though he couldn’t help the mix of relief in his emotions as well. It was comforting to know he wasn’t alone in grappling with faith, the temptation, and the forbidden attraction that he felt towards you.

Denying his own attraction to you was impossible.

Despite his commitment to his faith and role within the church, he too has found himself captivated by your presence and constantly battled his own desires. Since he’d laid eyes on you that faithful Sunday morning, he’d felt an invisible force bind himself to you. Much like he had bound himself to the service of God Almighty, he found himself wanting to serve you.

Miguel O’Hara couldn’t get that mental image out of his mind. Serving you… The more he tried to control his urges, the harder they became to ignore. He’d been doing what he was told all these many years in the church, abstaining from giving in too much. But no matter how much he tried to uphold the image of chaste, he is merely flesh.

The views of his brothers in Christ were archaic. They forget that the sacrifice of the only Son was done in love, despite our sins. He truly believed that it is natural, God-given even, to experience attraction to fellow flesh. It’s natural to seek a partner in life. He’s human. He’s prone to straying from the path. He is only human. He just hopes that God understands when he asks for forgiveness and repentance.

He struggles with the guilt of falling into temptation when he feels he’ll come undone if he doesn’t allow himself release. He isn’t able to hold back now as much as times prior. Not when you had captivated his spirit.

He also felt guilty for viewing you in the explicit ways that he thought of you. Focusing on the way clothes hugged your body and needing to know what hid in the heaven of your thighs. While Matthew says not to judge others, he also mentions in the Good Book that, “whoever looks […] to lust at someone, has already committed adultery with them in his heart.” If he were to really follow the written word, Miguel would have to pluck out his eyes for his transgressions against you in his mind.

His flesh weakens when he remembers how soft your lips were under the pad of his thumb. The way your eyes looked into his as he cupped your chin.

Cold showers are his usual go-to when it comes to trying to avoid the temptation of touch. His large shoulders hunched slightly when the frigid water fell onto his skin. It’s in vain though each time because his body still radiates heat of passion from thoughts of you. When he looks down at himself, he curses his body’s reaction to thoughts of your mouth. His painfully hard cock begs for your touch. It’s always too much to bear. The tip of him screaming red and leaking despite the cold temperatures.

When he gives in, it’s always too fast. Finally gripping himself the way he’d liked, imagining showing that way to you, he pumped himself with his hand. His grunts steamed the shower even further as he envisioned you with him. Oh, how he longed to feel you and learn you like scripture. His wanton movements force him to brace himself on the shower wall as an image that always brings over the edge flashes his in mind: your legs spread in offering of your own communion. It’s enough to make him see stars as your name echoes in his shower like hallelujahs.

He wishes it wasn’t shame that he felt after. He wishes his comedown was met with comfort from you. He allows the evidence of his shame to wash from himself down the drain, but the feeling is still there. You were more than someone to be lusted over.

While the sexual attraction was strong, he also yearned to know more about you. You’d only revealed little bits of yourself in the confession booth but he was intrigued, nonetheless. He wanted to know more about your conflict with faith, wondered what your childhood was like and what foods you enjoyed, interested in learning your outlook on life. Miguel wanted to learn your personal philosophies as if it were doctrine.

Not seeing you at the previous Sunday service hurt. He understood, given your beliefs, that he couldn’t expect you at church. It wasn’t an attendance issue, which he would not enforce on anyone, but the empty aisle seat in the middle pew made him feel equally as vacant. It didn’t matter to him if you were conflicted or steadfast on Christian values. Matthew 7 held his strongest position on the matter of judgment: it wasn’t his place. He was simply a figurehead of spiritual guidance.

In fact, he had geared his sermon slightly towards you for that Sunday. He couldn’t help the itch to address the issue in a way he was comfortable, through scripture. He didn’t want to convert your faith to Jesus Christ. He wanted to help you restore faith in yourself.

You conjured in him quotes from Corinthians: a book in the Bible that speaks of faith, hope, and love. He carefully highlighted 2 Corinthians 4:16-18 the night of your confession as he crafted his sermon. “[…], our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light, momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.” Yes… the Bible is literally referencing heaven as the eternal glory, but it’s all metaphorical. “Unseen” was the key word in this theological message. He knew the congregation visualized pearly gates and mansions of clouds as a reward for the pain they experienced on this terrain. What he had hoped you would have gotten to hear was that there were so many possibilities when one had faith in themselves. He wanted to show you the unlocked potential housed within yourself.

He had a lot to say as he stood before you now. There’s so much you need to know, need to hear.

First, you needed to know that you were wrong.

He said your name to get your attention.

But, there wasn’t a sound after that for a moment, until your mother and a few other members of the church came through the double doors.

________________________________________

You snapped out of the trance Miguel had you locked in with the song of your name on his lips when your mom burst into the kitchen with some of her friends.

You reach to get the cups out of a cabinet and simply ignore the deacon for a moment despite the flush in your cheeks. Easily explainable by the heat of the kitchen.

“Everything is ready! Mom, I’ve got two plates ready to go for later. Come on and eat, everyone!” Your mother’s friends all compliment her on her well behaved child and you catch her eyes. There’s no strictness in her expression. She simply beams at you, her child.

Members of the church start calling out, ‘Let’s eat!’, ‘Smells good!’, and mentioning how they knew they were in for a good meal as it was your mom that did the cooking.

As people pour into the serving area and line up, you hear Reverend Miguel’s voice above the hustle of hungry people.

“Before we enjoy this delicious looking food, let us first thank the cooks and then I suppose we should bless the meal, yes?” He was smiling as he said this, as if prayer before a meal was only a formality. It seemed as though the appreciation for you two was what he was after as you watched the church thank your mother and you for your cooking. You shrugged off the bits of praise you received as it really was your mom who did the majority of the work.

An elder member is selected to lead the church in prayer and everyone bows their head. You’re still riding a buzz from the work, not to mention seeing Miguel again after almost a week. You can’t seem to bring your eyes down.

You scanned the room of bowed heads and smiling faces and found the deacon’s gaze on you again. This time, you smiled at him and nodded in appreciation. The prayer concludes and your mother’s smile at the praise makes your heart feel warm. Due to the spotlight on her cooking she was forced to be first to get her plate of food, something she usually didn’t do until after everyone had gotten their own plate. Sometimes after they’d gotten seconds. She had found her a community of support and love.

As the church members started scooping portions onto plates, you saw Reverend Miguel approach you again. He stands by your side and you watch as the congregation gets their food and he leans to his side a little toward you. He speaks in a hushed tone as he asks,

“Can we go somewhere to talk?” You swallow dryly, but his next word nearly knocks you off your feet.

“Alone?”

[soggywhore]

Confession - priest!Miguel O’Hara x Reader [part 2]

Word count: 2,270 (oops)

Rating: mature for suggestive content. Mentions of masturbation. You have a dirty mind… tsk tsk. Religious content. Mentions of parental death (sorry for not tagging last time).

A/N: Thank you for your feral support in reading part 1! The art above is again by @Ejpuki on twt. They drew this moment from part one and JUST LOOK AT IT! They also did a pre-reading which I greatly appreciated. Go support them over there <3 I only tagged the people who explicitly stated bc I don’t want to overstep. Also, I guess I should watch Fleabag? Enjoy! part three is cookin’ in my noggin’

// Psalms 32:3-4

When I kept silent, my bones wasted away through my groaning all day long. For day and night your hand was heavy on me;

Rumbling sounds drone from the engine in a constant hum as the bus wheels roll down the asphalt, occasionally shuffling the passengers inside. Yourself included.

The wheels in your mind are conjuring images of too much skin, friction, and want. The mental pictures… different positions and other things that you’ve only read about - all featuring the same tall deacon from your small church.

You curse yourself for both your overactive imagination and forgetfulness for having left your headphones at home. Some loud music would drown out the whir of the bus and push out the flashes of lewdness that plagued you.

Reverend O’Hara, you learned that’s what transitional deacons are usually called after inquiring about the proper title on Google the second you got home from that communion, occupied the majority of your mind. He took up residence in your thoughts without even asking permission and you didn’t know the proper way to absolve your sanity of him. It had only been two weeks since you’d met him, two Sunday services, but you were hooked. This trip into the city was supposed to get you out of the house and help clear your mind of its recent inhabitant.

The methods you were currently using were certainly of no help. Nearly every night, for the past two weeks, you’d given into temptation. Allowing the streaking images of what you could only envision his toned body looked like to remain longer in your mind’s eye. His thumb on your lip, the quick swipe across - became more inquisitive of the inside of your mouth in your imagination. You pressed into yourself and thought of those long, thick fingers. You carried yourself away on highs with only his hands in mind. You yearned to baptize him in your waters.

You buried fingernails into your palms to ground yourself as the scenery outside the bus began the change drastically, pulling you out of your daydream.

Your hometown along the Catskill Mountains was enveloped by the natural world - tucked into valleys of the vast countryside. In the three weeks you’d been back home, you had already gotten used to surrounding greenery. You’d forgotten the toll that city expansion was having on the rows of vegetable and orchard farms in the surrounding areas.

Your gaze out the window watched tree lines and grassy hills give way to glimmers of futuristic architecture as the bus entered Nueva York. The rhythm of wheels on tarmac became a backdrop to the din of honking horns, shouting pedestrians, and blaring sirens. You had only recently left a city not too different from this one, but the drastic change in landscape from the mountains made your head spin. The inertia of the bus braking and accelerating over and over on the intersecting streets only added to the motion sickness. You recognize the next stop as the usual one you and your mother used when coming into the city. You quickly get off the bus, blessing the steady ground underneath as your boots hit the pavement.

Towering structures of carbon fiber and glass dominated the skyline, some illuminated by bright neon light displays, others blending into the afternoon sunshine. Advertisements for fast foods, fast money, and fast cars flickered on screens everywhere. You look to where the bus carried you from and, in contrast, the countryside stretched out, calling you back. Despite the slight familiarity in the maze of metal, the sudden change in surroundings made you slightly anxious.

The steady stream of citizens didn’t help your nerves either. You take a moment to get yourself together before following the foot traffic flow up a familiar street.

Your eyes recognize a food spot from a bygone era and you can’t help but smile. You picked up the pace as you headed to the establishment your family used to frequent. Timeless Treats is still here?! You pull on the long handled door and a wave of music, chatter, and sugar hit you at once. Much more pleasant than the waves of anxiety from moments before.

Entering the quaint eatery, you’re transported into a cozy atmosphere reminiscent of an old fashioned diner. A cheerful man at the front waves you in and shouts for you to ‘sit where ya want!’.

You recognized the vintage decor: rusted signs with cartoon mascots and ads for ice cream floats that cost only $2. Imagine! You select one of the smaller retro tables with two stools and hear a jukebox play a song you don’t recognize but tap your foot along to.

There was more to this diner than what it seems at first glance. A few more glances noticed the subtle touches where the diner had embraced the future where it mattered, with high-tech kitchen appliances that helped the staff immensely. A holographic menu pops up across the portion of the table you're sitting at and you slide your finger along the options.

This bakery specialized in delicious treats with a futuristic flare, with many favorites being popular since the establishment opened generations ago. Your eyes fell onto the pastry menu and your curiosity piqued as you ordered the ‘Time Traveler’s Torta.’

All the hustle of the city had occupied your mind until you were sitting alone at the table. Your eyes scanned the other occupants and you wondered what they were all talking about with their sugary sweets. It made you think of him again.

Dammit. A whole ten minutes without thinking of Reverend O’Hara, that’s a record! You couldn’t help the images of Miguel that fluttered now. Only this time you pictured him sitting at the table with you. The two of you share a dessert and you smile at the thought. You visualize his thumb coming to your face to wipe whipped cream from your lips only to plop the finger into his own mouth. That moment as mass replayed in your mind with differing flavors of spice on repeat.

The torta arrives and you gawk at the presentation of the treat. A classic cake with layers of light vanilla sponge, intricately placed swirls of sweet cream cheese frosting, and decadent chocolate sauce. This sweet was the perfect balance of timeless and futuristic as it sat on an oblong, ornate plate.

You savored the flavors as you ate and continued to imagine a date with the deacon. You ask yourself if deacons can even date and the thought pulls you out of your delusions for a moment. Get it together…

As you scooped the last bits of the pastry into your mouth, you pondered your dilemma. Mom always said that confession cleared a clouded consciousness, but there was no way you’d divulge this information to her. Her hypothetical reaction to your crush on a clergy member makes you shiver.

An idea comes to mind that makes you think to yourself that you’ve really gone mad.

The madness pushes you from your seat after paying for the dessert. There’s a slim chance what you’re looking for is actually there considering the cities expansions. That doubt doesn’t stop you from following a semi-recognizable path down the busy streets.

Every tall figure you pass makes you do a double take. The idea of the deacon brushing alongside you making you smile. You turn a corner as your imagination creates sweet scenarios with Reverend O’Hara and stop in your tracks. You cause people behind you to push into your back and spit harsh murmurs at you.

It was still there.

You were surprised for good reason. You were headed towards a relic of past times, nestled between buildings of glass and metal. There was some scaffolding supporting it as the building you headed towards was centuries old. Other than that - the structure you now stood and stared at jutted towards the sky in the old brick and mortar style you were used to seeing in your hometown.

But the Cathedral of Nueva York wasn’t like the humble church in your hometown. The ornate bell tower and large cross atop the chapel in front of you proved that. The only thing to change about the building was the name as the state itself saw many changes a few decades ago - including the name of the actual city.

You find yourself reminiscing on the few times you’d been to the church as you walked inside. Your family used to attend the fancy Easter services and Christmas plays. Those trips stopped after your father passed, and your mother rarely came to the city at all anymore. You remember seeing pictures of them on their wedding day at this very church. Priesthood is a tight knit group and Father Steen knew the head priest, who extended their church for their wedding services.

Given it was a weekday afternoon, there weren’t many souls inside. Despite the numerous options for seating, you sat in your usual middle pew, aisle seat.

You eyed the part of the church that had brought you here in the first place. The confession booth. Its cherrywood exterior made you think of those eyes that bore into yours that day of communion. You shake your head but the visual remains.

The church in your hometown didn’t have a confessional booth. Even if they did - why the hell would you confess there? To the subject of your lustful desires? So many questions and doubts enter your mind.

Could you really do this? Confess to a priest that you pined over a man in his chaste brotherhood? Think of the judgment!

Another thought occurs to you: their whole shtick was that only one entity could do the judging. And it was confidential. If you received some good ol’ fashioned Catholic scolding and Hail Mary’s, maybe that would be enough to get you back to your senses. Reverend O’Hara is a man devoted to God and cannot be hindered by the whims of a degenerate like yourself.

Emboldened by the potential to relieve yourself of your corrupt thoughts, you stand and approach the far right front of the church. The confessional is smaller than it looked from how you remember as a child and teen but it doesn’t stop you from nearly yanking the door open. You don’t even knock.

Thankfully no one is on the confessing side as you burst into the tiny box. The confined space became even smaller as you closed the door behind you quickly. Your mind races towards impure thoughts of the deacon pressed against you in the tight booth space. His height would force him to bend slightly over you and the visual almost knocks you onto the bench which would probably be right at crotch level…

You remember the times you’d done this before and cry out the usual, “Forgive me, for I have sinned and it has been many years since my last confession…”. Who were you even asking for forgiveness? You think for a moment about the last time you were in this booth. You felt so guilty about stealing from the general store all those years back. This was a different kind of confession. This would hopefully absolve yourself of the sinful attraction to the forbidden.

You start light, fumbling over the words, “I’ve gotten drunk and high, uh, a good bit while in college. I lied to my mother and got into major trouble as a result. I’ve been selfish and lazy.”

The anonymity and the release of it all lit a fire under you and you kept going.

“While I’m in this confession booth, and I know it is a sacred and holy place”, you sigh and hear shuffling on the opposite side of the wall, the priest waiting patiently on the other side. “I’ve been struggling with my faith and don’t believe in god…”

You hear the clergyman start to interject but the voice that comes out of you has a fierce tone.

“I’m not done.” Now it was the priest’s turn to sigh and you see movement through the small slits in the partition, but hear nothing else. You continue. The most scandalous part to admit had yet to be said.

“Father, I’ve been lustful over the deacon at my church.” There’s silence on the other end and before embarrassment can take over you continue, “I’m constantly thinking of him and having impure thoughts that drive me to-“ oh god, here it is

“Touch myself. Daily. With this deacon on my mind.” You can’t stop the heat from painting your cheeks a deep red.

“I feel guilty because he isn’t for me to think that way about. From just the two times I’ve seen him, I know he is a good man who does good things. He’s on a path towards righteousness. He’s worthy.” To your shock, you feel tears form and they begin to fall.

“I’m a sinful nonbeliever. Definitely not someone he could be with, unworthy of devotion of any kind. And I’m not good.” Your breathing becomes shaky as the tears fall harder. Despite the fact that you feel your words are the truth, you can’t help but imagine him there now. Comforting you as you cry.

Now that you’ve finished confession, you expect to hear an outburst of disapproval or at least ‘50 Hail Mary’s’ to absolve you of your confessed transgressions.

But that’s not what you heard next.

You hear your name. You hear your name in that sweet music that’s been ringing in your ears the last week or so. This time the musical tone is cautious. Your mouth hangs open in disbelief as your eyes glue to the wall where the music came from.

To confirm your suspicions, you grab the knob on the partition and yank it back.

Through the small window you see a familiar pair of eyes analyzing your face, heavy with worry.

Reverend O’Hara had just taken your confession…

I pray you liked this, dear reader.

Tagged ppl - @friendlynbhdzero @ceoofghosts it won’t let me tag you @hoelychildofgod

[soggywhore]

“Say please”

Miguel said as he pounded his cock deeply into you. His eyes are fixated on your boobs that bounce up and down. He’s hitting your cervix so deeply, you can’t take it. Your arms gripped at the sheets, begging for mercy.

“Miggy I can’t take it!”

“t-too much!”

“let me have a break p..please”

He only shook his head at you. “Say please baby” He challenges as he pound into you harder. He watches as all thoughts evaporate from your pretty little head. Your mouth is open agape and you can’t even bring yourself to moan. The feeling is just so good. Miguel is so big and stretches you out, his cock creating a visible bulge.

He knows you can’t say please if you wanted to. He’s purposely fucking the words right out of you.

“Awww,can’t say please baby? I guess I can’t stop and give you a break”

[soggywhore]

I'm obsessed with drawing him omg

[soggywhore]

MIGUEL is that type of man to grab your face and say “look at me when i’m fucking you this good. i wanna see that pretty face of yours.” his voice booms in authority yet in gentleness though you do so with no questions ask. he is that man who has to see your face and maintain eye contact with you when he’s fucking you in missionary or any other position where he gets to see your pretty face contort in pleasure (*^‿^*)

[soggywhore]

"Be a good girl, cum on my cock. That's my girl, cum on it. Fucking cum for me baby." While you have a vibrator pressed on your clit and me forcing myself deeper inside you

[soggywhore]

Scent

Miguel O’Hara X f!reader

Summary: It was an intoxicating scent. And he knew it was yours. (In which Miguel goes feral when you ovulate)

Word count: 4k+

Warnings: Language. Obvs. S m u t. Obvs. Oral, f receiving. P in V (no protection), cum eating. Cheesy probs. Reader says Miguel’s name a lot lmfao not beta read.

Minors DNI.

Honestly, I don’t know how any of this stuff works. This is some bullshit and none of it makes sense. Enjoy.

Keep reading

[soggywhore]

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!!

edit: I'm writing a full fic for this! Rigor Mortis, college au fic, read here.

wc: 6k

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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

_

edit: the full fic xx

[soggywhore]

TUMBLR GIRLS: …

TUMBLR GUYS: Hello sexy I found your blog fifteen seconds ago and I’ve developed deep and profound feelings for you but I haven’t read your bio or looked at your recent posts so I have many questions I need to ask you. Can I train you? What is all your personal information? Do you like 8" dicks? I feel so sad do you know what’s wrong with me? Do you want to be a good little bitch for daddy and suck my 9" dick? What are all the details of your personal relationships? Does your friend also want to suck my 10" dick? Why haven’t you responded to my previous asks? How wet are you for my 11" dick? Thanks and I’m looking forward to all the nudes you’re going to send me.

#literally die idc atp

[soggywhore]

baby how do you expect Mommy to keep her hands off you? when you’re just so adorable- when your body just looks like the perfect little fuck toy for her? shhh baby don’t squirm, Mommy just wants to have a look between these pretty little legs here, that’s all. oh, you’re all wet for me already doll? that means you want it. shhh baby put those naughty little hands behind your back, your pathetic little fight won’t get you anywhere, sweetheart. Not with me. Mommys gonna take such good care of this tight desperate little pussy. Don’t be scared, princess, it’ll only hurt a little bit. But that’s what it’s made for angel, to be used and stuffed like the little fleshlight that you are. and you want Mommy to be so so proud of you, don’t you darling? That’s right. Now be a good girl and open your legs up wide for me, that’s it. There’s my good listener

[soggywhore]

#bye #i clenched

武林秘笈

了解一下？🤭

[soggywhore]

i look innocent but i turn into a complete whore when i feel safe with u

[soggywhore]

#tinder and bumble please unban me I need this urgently

telling her she’s wayyy too sleepy to get into pajamas all by herself and then gently doing it for her while groping and squeezing her pussy, tits, and ass, listening to her tired little whimpers and moans <3

[soggywhore]

why is my little sweetheart crying? this is exactly what you said you wanted, isn’t that right angel? you begged Mommy to use you like a fleshlight. you know i’d never hurt you like this if i didn’t know how much you loved it, right sweetie? That’s right babygirl, shhhhh. just let your little hole be stretched out around Mommys strap like the adorable little cock slut that you are. doesn’t my precious whore love being bounced up and down like this for Mommy? i know you do baby, i see right through those pretty little tears <3