enfócate | tutor!miguel o'hara x reader
❛ pairing | tutor!miguel x student!reader, fake boyfriend!peter x reader
❛ type | explicit
❛ summary | jess is clear: miguel o'hara is a terrible boyfriend. he'll inevitably hurt you-- but peter has other ideas. or, you blow miguel in a library.
❛ tags | spanish tutor!miguel, bratty reader, a kiss with Peter, Miguel's jealousy, bjs, fake boyfriend!peter, slight obsessive qualities, fuck buddies, undefined relationships, fuck boy Miguel.
❛ reqs fulfilled | see here.
❛ sy's notes | the pov on this piece bothers me, it jumps between reader and Miguel. however, i did write two separate pieces for this request (a combined 25 pages vs my usual 11/12). so, i decided to meld them together to create this piece. anywho, if it bothers you, i understand! ❤️ I yoinked a lot of the Spanish from my Spanish learners textbook, hopefully, it's acceptable.
He knew he wanted you from the first day he saw you in the tea cafe.
Jess and he rarely visited the tea shop. It was settled on the edge of campus. Close to the social sciences and arts, but far from the work he did in the Genetics department. As a Ph.D. student, however, not all the work was done in the lab. Jess liked to see the different types of people that came to this tea cafe, where the chair cushions were fluffy emerald pillows and plants hovered overhead.
“Miguel? What's---”
You stood apart from the other students with their sloppy, half-cropped, or frumpy appearances, there was a particular care you took to dressing. It was the embroidered bow in your hair that drew his attention. When you left to fetch a refill of chai, he noticed the soft, frilled socks in tiny ankle boots. He just knew you would taste sweet, leering as he watched you at the drink bar. Jess glanced in your direction, the way you adorably bowed your head after the tea artist gave you your drink, and just knew. Jess looked over her shoulder.
“Not her.”
Jess’s voice was a drawn-out sigh of your name, punctuated by her fist beating the table. Miguel perked at the mention of your name. Oh, so she knew you. She was probably sick of his shit. Good, he was also sick of being used as a vibe check for the lesbians she wanted to pick up.
“Don’t you have enough side pieces?”
Miguel didn’t respond.
“She probably has a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. Look who she's with.”
That finally got a response.
“You don’t know that,” he kept his eyes straight ahead. You caught him staring, wiggling your little fingers in a hello as you sat at a table. "I want her."
You sat with an incredibly frumpy, annoying photography student who once took his picture for the lab website. Could he be… his attention wavered when you pulled out a book: Español para el siglo. His lips quivered into a wildly sardonic grin. Oh no, no no. It was too easy.
“You’ll ruin her. She’s too innocent.”
He leaned in.
“Are you going to help me or not?”
“Buenas tardes,”
Two chairs and a thin desk. The small study room was more of a glorified broom closet for its students. You were lucky that there was a large window that looked out over the student union, flowers blooming up its brick siding. Bits of lush dark green ivy poked into the window’s view from the library’s tall wall. As the sun set on campus, rich orange and pink settled over the sunset on that warm Friday afternoon. At least the sight was pretty for how overwhelmingly small the space was.
It wasn’t the space that bothered you. It was your tutor.
He was big-- big big. Not just a little big, but really big. The kind of big that was on bodybuilding competitions. It made his long, blue-grey muscle shirt and grey sweats look tiny, sucked to his well-pumped muscle. The room felt a lot smaller as you looked at him, his long brown hair whipped back over his neck. His eyebrows raised on his dark forehead, arms turning one over another, a bundle of muscle.
“Ah... you're him? The man from the tea shop.”
He pulled free his sunglasses and set them down. His warm chocolate eyes glanced from the edge of your now too-short skirt to the glint of a dagger necklace that beat between your breasts. He’s staring. Why is he staring-- you finger the dagger between your thumb and index fingers, soothing yourself with the manipulation.
“Miguel.” He warmed, pulling the seat out beside him. His voice was buttery and smooth, almost like rich caramel. The lilt in his voice lightened, inviting you to take a seat by him. You should. You thought. Sit down. “Siéntate."
You stared.
"I said sit down.”
That was a bad idea. You paused, slipping the bag down from under your shoulder and onto the beige tile by the door. Miguel watched every slight movement. That’s fine. It’s natural to do that. You tugged the bottom of your skirt and took a seat beside him. Miguel pushed the chair back in, pushing your chest to the edge of the desk space. Oh-- oh boy, he was strong. Of course, he was, he was built like a--
“Bueno. Now you're settled. How can I help you?”
Do that again.
“Me? Oh! I... Jess said you could help me need to pass a test,” you murmured. The four semesters of Spanish seemed relatively easy compared to being stuffed next to this Adonis in this tiny study room. Your legs settled over your skirt, hands working over one another to will down the pulse of your wily excitement. What was wrong with you? “To pass my language requirement.”
You should have been able to do that alone but-- let’s say you weren’t the most applied to the language in your childhood. A tutor was a great alternative to embarrassment and thousands of dollars in classes. If only he didn’t look like… this. His large hand left the pasty back of your chair.
“Hm,” he paused. “¿Puedes hablar español?”
“Sí,” you murmured. “My mami was-- well, I should have listened to her.”
Hm.
You want to know what Hm means. Your leg tremored on its own accord. He swept a leather bag by his side up and pulled out a thick folder, running across several tabs. Lab notes, diet plans, pruebas.
“It happens,” he notes, sliding a page free. “Let’s see how much you know, princesa.”
You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to know more, to hear the hum of Spanish bouncing off his lips. It was a world apart from your mother’s shrill screams on Saturday mornings to clean an already clean house. It held its own beauty and mystery when he spoke it. You took the page from him, setting it down on the bland tablespace by your phone, lighting up with a notification.
Jess
When you meet Miguel, don’t do it.
"¿Princesa?" you asked.
"You dress like one. Don’t worry if you fail,” you plucked out a pink mechanical pencil, complete with little animated characters tightened around the wrapping. You perked at his words, choking a small smile. “I expect you to.”
Why was he like this? You took another unfortunate look at him, his large forearm plastered over the desk, making the book he had to look like peanuts in comparison. God, he was hot-- you felt comparatively hideous, drooling over a man that was out of your league. Maybe he could be your piece of eye candy this year. Your phone buzzed along the table again. Miguel’s eyes shot to it, a frown pulling at his lips.
Jess
Don’t fuck him. He can’t keep his dick to himself.
He reaches over, flipping your phone down with an overworked smile sundering his expression. It’s almost fake.
“Are you…” you turned your eyes to the questions on the page. “A student?”
“Grad student,” Miguel answered. So, older than you then. “I graduated with a BA in Spanish and a BS in Genetics.”
“Oh! A dual degree?” The man couldn’t be normal. He had to do both. “Did it… take a while?”
“No, it was accelerated.”
He was unreal. There was no way this man was ordinary. It was physically impossible for the man to be that hot and successful. You scribbled across the page, nipping the back of your pencil at particularly hard questions.
“So you just do this for… a living?” you asked him.
“I teach and train clients, yes.”
“Train?”
“Gym,” Miguel set his cheek on his fist.
“I do cardio with Jess. No strength training for me.” Jess-- who suggested Miguel to you. You had some shit to bitch at her about the next time you saw her. Namely, why she didn’t warn you about Miguel. He was a boon for chaos in your life.
“I’d waste your time. I’m all marshmallow,” you pat your soft belly. “All pan dulce and burros.”
He chuckled.
“You have a beautiful body.”
And that was that. You set the pencil down on a page half full of answers, glancing toward his full lips. They were quirked into an arrogant smirk. He knew the effect he had on women. He glanced to the page, then to you, his lips growing into a smile laden with arrogance.
“Your hips--” he glanced down, “My girls couldn’t pay to get them.”
He noticed. You supposed that the miniskirt wasn’t the best choice for meeting a new man.
“Do you talk to everyone like this?”
“No. Only the ones that look at me like you did."
Oh.
If it were a game of whom ate whom up first, you had to be honest-- it may have been you. You couldn’t shoot anything back at that, angling your head down at the page guiltily. A sigh fell from his chest. His large hand came to the back of your head, cupping the thick bow on the back of your head. His fingers ran across the silk, teasing it between his fingers.
“Calm down, you’re not the first one to do it. You won't be the last,” he turned your head to look at him, large fingers combing through the strands of your hair. He chased the panic in your wide eyes, doe eyes blown wide. Your heartbeat soared into your chest, choking you there, looking for an outlet from your shame.
“Breathe for me,” he leaned in, his warm breath tingling your ear. His cologne was clean, like the lapse of the waves on the shore back home where the tropical heat was a second skin. You listened, taking a weary, deep breath in, then out again. Again.
“Go on.” His knuckles rapped on the sheet. Miguel’s hand fell away. You found yourself longing for it again.
“He’s gorgeous.”
“I told you not to fuck him," your superior, Jess said, her feet bouncing off the stairstepper effortlessly.
“I didn't-- I just, he called me beautiful.”
“He would call anyone beautiful if it meant fucking them. Don’t fall for it.”
You knew Jess wouldn’t say it unless she were serious. She always knew what you needed help with, where to locate a good solution, and had the right words to calm you down.
“How?” you said, louder than you intended. You were suddenly thankful for the pounding music that beat down on your ears in your school’s gym and the rush of people that came and went. “Jess, you’re a lesbian. You don’t understand-- he’s thick. Like, he’s luchador status big. Big, big.”
“I’ve dated some thick women.”
“And he likes me,” you said pointedly, rushing to the topmost step, remembering his words. The way he calmed you down from your embarrassment, seeming without concern for his own body. It was… sweet. “Men usually don’t like me, Jess. I’m too… soft.”
“Okay, girl, whatever,” you were pretty sure she rolled her eyes. “Unless you’re going to be another one of his fuck toys, just ignore him.”
“How?”
Her stare trained on the floors lapsed. Thirty and she was still going. “If you don’t want him, just fire him. What’s going to do? Come find you?”
You stopped for the entirety of five… or ten seconds. Enough to consider her words. Enough to quite literally get plop off the stair stepper and onto the cold floor. Jess exhaled a stale breath, reaching over to jam the STOP button on your machine. Ow.
“Good job.”
Miguel likes to tutor you. Not because you’re good at Spanish, no, for a girl that grew up with a Spanish mother, your skills are quite poor. But he likes the opportunity to have you in a room all by yourself, late at night. Wednesdays are great days for that.
Your soft buttercup yellow dress is short today, exposing your thick thighs that take up so much of the chair. He pretends that he’s listening as you go over a list of irregular verbs, your lip pouting in response to the irregular verbs. Some were simple in their familiarity like poder with endings such as pudiste; but the plurals and other irregular verbs, you pouted at. It was cute.
“Miggy, it’s not funny, ” Oh, nicknames now. Miguel throws a glance at your glossy lips, undoubtedly sticky but oh so soft looking.
“I never said it was.”
“You’re smirking.”
“Then don’t whine,” he said. “It’s cute.”
“Oh--” As to be expected, you shifted your hands between your legs, drawing your skirt in between your legs. He faltered and took a glance, coasting his eye over its edges and memorizing the way it fell over your skin. You’ll ruin her, he remembers Jess saying. She wasn’t wrong, he sensed the bit of it now, how close you sat--
“Take a break, princesa. Vocabulary-- ascendencia.”
Rather than take a break, you turned and caught the corner of his lips in what was a terrible, cherry-red kiss that would stain his skin. But the connection of your lips, puckered in a pouting kiss on his skin, caught him off guard.
“Descent,” you took his red pen out of his loose grip, scribbling descent by the word. Fuck. Miguel took a sip of now cold coffee. A smile kept pulling at his cheeks, looking out of the window and catching the slight reflection of your lipstick smeared across his lip and cheek, he bobs his head into a nod.
“Correcto.”
You’re with Peter the first time you see Miguel with another woman.
It’s at lunch. Tuesdays and Thursdays are regularly spent running to the College of Arts, waiting for Peter to get out, and a picnic. Today, you forgot to bring lunch, running off to the union hand wrapped around his elbow as he talked to you about a bright new camera lens filter.
“These new pictures are going to come out perfect! Thanks for lending me the money,” he beamed. You loved the way he talked about his art-- stopping to show you his newest pictures of the camera that hung around his neck. Peter was always good with a camera, catching you in all the prettiest angles in your trade of photos for… sponsoring a lens or whatever. Or, at least, bringing down the cost. “Look at this one. Look how pretty you look in that dress, kinda like a pin-up! We should do some’a those next.”
Feet thumping over the pavement, you failed to sense Miguel's presence until you smelled his peppery cologne carried on the air. There, on a bench, he sat next to a girl. She was pretty, with long dark hair and soft skin. Her hand was on his thigh and his arm around her shoulder, eating the last bit of a flaky empanada-- your eyes burned, the closeness of her head on his shoulder, clearly done and finished, waiting for whatever next plan he had. You don’t want to know what that could be.
“Huh? Oh. hi Miguel!” Peter waved to your dismay. You held onto him a little tighter, wringing circles around his sleeve. Miguel spares you two a glance, his eyebrows pushing together. But he waves, lazy and short. You stifle the hot prick of tears at the corner of your eyes and yank Peter away. “Wha-- I’m coming, I’m coming!"
Days later, Peter has a plan.
“I’ve got it-- the solution to your tea guy problem! You should have told me sooner that it was Miguel.”
Peter was very excited. Why, you weren’t sure. He liked to feel helpful. That’s why he was a photographer. Photography lets others feel beautiful and seen. He picked at your lunch, his head flopped on your thigh as he worked through his camera.
“I’ll be your boyfriend!”
“You want to be my boyfriend?” you offered him a grape. He opened his mouth with an adorable ‘ah’ of his his lips. You slipped the grape between his lips. He chewed appreciatively. “I don’t know, Peter. Isn’t it lying?”
“C’mon, I know Miguel. He’s macho. The kind of guy you have to make jealous. And I can do it! I’m boyfriend material. Aren’t I?”
“Sí. But I don’t think I can make him jealous.”
It was a sunshiney day, sprawled out at lunch on a cool picnic blanket, tracing the clouds when you heard his voice. Soft, smooth, inviting. Your head spun around, this time with a lean blonde-haired girl-- her legs were long, tummy nice and flat, blue eyes shining like little sapphires set in her pale face. She swooned on his arm. The perfect sorority princess. What if he called her princesa, too?
“--close lab with me--”
“I can do it myself.”
Miguel’s eyes caught yours, raising his hand lazily to greet you as he walked down the sidewalk, undoubtedly back to his genetics lab on the other side of campus. Over where brilliant boys and girls and theys were, rushing through accelerated scientific programs while you figured out how to fix broken artifacts. He lived in another impossible world. A realm far away from Peter and you: photography and the maintenance of culture and art.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Peter's eyes were glossy with concern. “It’s okay. We don’t have to-- did I say something wrong?”
You shook your head. Peter sat up, his eyes bounced up-- from Miguel over his shoulder to your sudden sad eyes. Peter set his hand on your cheek, the fibers of his soft pink cardigan tickling your jaw. Your eyes tore from Miguel, whose pace became sluggish as if steps along took immense effort. Peter’s nose bumped against yours, clumsy and oh so Peterish-- his hand on the middle of your back, his warm but cracked lips swallowing the gasp that tumbled from your lips. He tasted of sweet fruit, the sloppy lunch you shared, and a silly comfort.
He watching? Peter murmured against your lips.
You nearly forgot to return the kiss, captured in the way Miguel stared-- something in his warm brown eyes was almost wounded. Peter shoved you onto the picnic blanket, a soft sorry murmured under his breath as his thin frame fell between your legs. Miguel stomped away, his bumbling blonde rushing to keep up.
“Oh yeah,” Peter rolled over onto his back, crossing his legs one over another. You watched Miguel stomp past the tall hedges, out of your line of sight. “He’s gonna be mad at you.”
“Peter!”
Miguel was still in a bad mood hours later.
“¡Qué surpresa!” he murmured, offering you your paper blotted with red circles. “You did remarkably shit on this test. Do you focus on anything? Or just Peter?”
“Perdona me.” Your focus was shot with his consistent presence in your life. Not that he could appreciate that.
“How long are you going to keep wasting my time?”
“Are you talking about the Spanish or--”
Miguel set the red pen down, a sharp slam snapping the pen under his force. The fragile plastic snapped into shards of plastic. He flicked it away, paper and pen both, his large hand flexing in and out of a closed fist. You traced the tracks of his veins along his forearm.
“Are you mad that I kissed you?”
“Stop.”
“Or are you angry that Peter did?”
“Don’t touch me.”
Though he said that, you didn’t listen. You slid out of the chair and in between his spread legs, your hands trailing his handsome jawline. He jerked back when your lips caught his, the legs of his chair hitting the wall. Though he said no, his mouth opened to your kiss, and his palms flushed against your soft cheeks. You pinned him between your body and the wall-- and though you were sure he’d quickly whirl you off if he really wanted to, he didn’t. His tongue pushed into your mouth, owning yours. His hands skimmed your back, trailing lower and lower down your deep red dress until he connected with your ass.
“You need to stop.” Miguel broke from his kiss. Though he said that, he brought you onto his lap. You felt little in his large arms, his hands guiding your hips over his crotch. “Before I do something you’ll regret.”
You listened to the sounds of the library’s floor. The scrunch of take out into the trash, the sing of a door opening and closing. It was dinner time. Most everyone had gone to get their snacks— and here you were, looking down at Miguel with rapt eyes.
“Peter is just a friend.”
“A friend who happens to jam his tongue down your throat,” he turned the word over on his tongue and found offense in it. “Now why do I doubt that?”
“He only wanted to help.”
“By kissing you?”
Your fingers trailed his jaw, dipping back down for another kiss if only to say you could. That Miguel couldn’t tell you what to do. A sound of frustration ripped up his throat. You felt him, his dick twitching to life behind those sweatpants. He felt big. You bit your lower lip— a movement that didn’t escape his attentive eyes.
“By making you as jealous,” You slid off his lap and onto the dirty floor. But as you lifted a hand, cupping his dick through the heavy fabric, he couldn’t bear to stop you.
His lips pulled in a wicked grin, your soft palm stroking along his length. He hooked his thumbs into his sweats, yanking them down over his knees and onto the floor. His cock kissed his belly, straining with droplets of moisture at the tip. Miguel set his hand on your shoulder and forced you to heel on the floor. His temperament evened out. “You were jealous.”
“Yes--” you murmured. “Are.. those girls, are they special?”
“Special? No, none of them are.”
“I want to be.”
“That so?” Your soft hands trailed along the dark hair on his calves, up his thighs, settling your nose where his muscular hand tightened around the root. He wrenched his swarthy hand along his length, drawing along his veiny cock shamelessly. "Let's see how much you do, princesa."
“Please.”
“Aquí se habla español.” Miguel teased. Your fingers dipped down, small tickles of your fingertips as his heavy balls. He watched you massage them with half-lidded eyes, his lips pursing in a pleased hum.
“Por favor.”
“Abre,” you did, sliding your soft mouth open, a well of saliva on your tongue. Miguel slid himself into your warm mouth, a ruptured groan fizzing in his chest. You didn’t want to be too loud— someone might look into the small window on the door, and see you on your knees between Miguel’s thick legs, sucking his cock down when you should be going over that test you just failed.
You caught the salty beads at Miguel’s top on your tongue, sliding sloppily around his thick head, and lapping at his slit for more. Your soft hands stroked along his length, clumsy and shy. He hummed in approval, a sound you were more than thankful to elicit. Miguel took a fist full of your hair and drove himself into your mouth, your tongue stroking the underside of his length.
“Pero mira esto,” Miguel wrenched his head in your hair, grabbing handfuls of it in his palm. “You can focus on something. Sucking my dick.”
Even if you wanted to look up, Miguel drove your head down onto his dick, the dark, trimmed tuft of his pubic hair tickling your nose. He drew his hips back. You nearly pulled off him, if not for his hand assuring that you wouldn’t move off of it. Drool coursed down from your lips, soaking your chin and neck, connecting to his cock as if it were a spiderweb. Your cheeks flushed with blood— you must have looked a mess.
“Coño," Miguel tutted with his tongue, grasping his phone. Your lips pursed around his tip, eyes flickering up to catch the lens of his phone camera on your ruined face. A picture or a video, you weren’t entirely sure. Only that it sent thumps of pleasure down your core to know he wanted to record it, keep it close. You suckled along his sensitive head, working his moans free. He set his phone aside.
Miguel stood and dragged your head along with him to pin you between the ledge of the desk space and his wonderful hips. His hands slipped behind your head, keeping you still and steady, driving himself deep into your mouth. Past your tongue, down your throat, it felt like he hit parts of you that you could only dream of. You struggled with his size, choking the urge to swallow him when he forced you to hold him there. As if your throat was just a hole for his pleasure. Your sad attempt to suckle him down was tempered by the rocking of his hips, his needy face fucking. Your eyes screwed shut, bits of color dancing behind your eyes, the easiest way to deal with this was to focus— on the way he tasted, the scent of his fresh body wash, the light judder of his hips as he came close.
"Hah-- ay, qué rico," his nails scraped the back of your neck, sloppy and undefined thrusts filling your throat. He spurts thick ropes of his cum down your throat and mouth, withdrawing to jerk the last bursts of his cum over your lips. Miguel’s breath fell from his lips in heavy gulps, meeting yours down on your aching knees. Strings of coughed-up cum connected your sodden lips to his cock, globs of his seed slipping between your breasts. You ached.
“Tate quieta.”
You don’t know where you’d go, your palms catching yourself on the floor. He snapped another photo, humming appreciatively. Miguel reached into his gym bag, pulling a sweaty shirt free. Your fingers dipped into his warm cum that spattered across your warm chest, drawing it to your lips. He tasted salty, tangy, and just right.
"You look so-- so beautiful, princesa, just perfect," Miguel bent down, wiping the rest of his mess from your chest and face, gently stroking away all evidence of your face fucking before cleaning his cock and tucking himself away into his sweatpants. He chucked the t-shirt back into his bag, glazing his eyes over your hazy, exhausted eyes. He crouched down.
“Rule one, I never share my women,” he settled his knuckle under your chin, urging you to look him in the eyes. Something told him you wouldn't be as easy as the others, but for some reason, he shrugged the thought aside. “As long as I'm fucking you, you date no one but me. If I find out you are, we're done. Am I clear?”
He was a walking red flag. But for once, in your good girl life, you wanted that. You wanted to fuck in the library-- against the genetics building late at night-- to kiss him during a sunny picnic. More than you wanted a lot of things. His eyes went soft with your answer.
“Claro que sí, Miggy.”
He loves it when he gets what he wants.
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Melancholia
Miguel O'Hara x Cheated on!Reader
Part 1; Part 2; Part 3; Part 4; Part 5; Part 6;
Warnings: 18+, no minors, heavy smut, fingering , spanking , dom! Miguel, dirty talking, mention of mental illness, self loathing.
Summary: after taking care of you, Miguel decides that you deserve a punishment due to your behaviour.
Author's note: since there are a lot of Spanish sentences in this part I've put the translation near to them, so enjoy!
;
;
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"uno" Spank!
"dos" Spank!
"T-tres" Spank!
"cua-a-tro" Spank!
"c-cHinCO" Spank!
"chinco"(it's "chinco" (five))
Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank!
"m-miguel!" You moaned.
"Empecemos... De nuevo" (let's try it again). His voice was suave, sultry and deep. You whimper.
"u-uno" Spank!
...
You forgot for how long he has been torturing your delicate buns. You were still wearing his short , but their legs were pulled up enough to show your skin.He made you count all the slaps he gave you in Spanish. After all you were the one to ask him to teach you the language.Every time you inevitably got the numbers pronunciation wrong ,he would start all over again. at every hit ,you rewarded him with a moan from your plumb lips, that he has bitten to the point of draining blood. His name slips from your mouth like a prayer, but with difficulty , since he has put two fingers in your mouth. You were already a mess , drooling all over the sheets and feeling your slit becoming more and more wet at every slap.
"c-cin-quen-t-ta"(fifty) Spank!
"Bien..." His finger leaves your mouth with pop. A string of saliva still connects them to your mouth. He leans back, takes off his shirt, takes both of your wrists and ties them together. Then he props your ass higher and takes off his shorts from you.
"tan mojada... Solo por esto, muñeca? (So wet... Only from this, babydoll?)
You whine at the cold air on your slit. He takes with his huge hands your peach cheeks, opening them further , a string of cum leaving your cunt.
"esto coño es solo por para mí ¿Tengo razón? (this cunt is only for me , am I right?)
"what are y-" Spank!
You gasp by the sudden sting. Your cunt clenching at nothing.
"solo español" (only Spanish) his severe voice sending shivers to your spine
"s-í" you cry out
"bueña muñeca... Mereces una recompensa" ( good "girl"... You deserve a prize)
Immediately your cunt was filled by two thick fingers.
"ah! Miguel!"
He starts pounding into you with such a fierce speed, touching all your weak spots. Your mind starts going dumb. He doesn't seem to slow down. You present him with your cutest sounds.
"Miguel!....Fuck!" Spank!
Meanwhile destroying your body with waves of pleasure he takes his shorts stained by your juice and puts them in your mouth to ease your moans.
You are drooling all over the sheets. You nails digging so hard in your palm. You can feel it , your climax approaching. It feels divin-
"que maravilla"(wonderful).your eyes widen, your cunt clenching at nothing and your body squirming in search for him. He just pulled out his finger from you , leaving you desperate for your release.
He takes of his shorts from your mouth.
"Repite después de mí" ( repeat after me)
"Mi amor" (my love)
"M-Miguel pleas- Spank!
"Se honesta, ¿lo haces a propósito? Te gusta ser azotada por mí" ( be honest, you do it on purpose? You like being spanked by me)
"repite,mi amor" ( repeat, love)
"Mmi a-amor"
"Buena" (good girl)
He flips you over your back and leans down over your slit , just his breath almost making you cum.
"te amo" ( I love you) he rolls his tongue on your clit. The feeling makes your eye roll in your back
Slap!
You gasp in pleasure and arc your back . This time he gave you a less hard slap on your slit.
"te- te amo"
He does a long lick from your hole to your pulsing clit, then he sucks on it and release it with a pop ,only to continue doing cats licks on it.
"quiero que estemos juntos..."(I want us to stay together)As he saying it you feel his breath and his tongue playing on your nerves
"q-quieRo q-u-e estEmos jUntos" at this point you are a babbling mess.
"para siempre" (for ever)
"pa-pa-para siiemp-Ah!
Three fingers slip inside your folds, the sudden stretch making you see the stars.
"deja ese pendejo y quedate conmigo te tratare como te mereces..." (Leave that bastard and stay with me ,so I can treat you the way you deserve)
His speed increases more and more with you becoming more and more near your release
"Miguel! I'm cu- "Slap!
"FUCK!" slap!
Your vision is becoming more blurred, your nerves are on fire , your body it's starting to shake-
"Acaba para mi , muñeca" (cum for me , babydoll)
you raise your head and you meet his gaze...
"Fuck!" You cum just by his expression: full of lust , red eyes , his mouth and chin dirty by your juices, his curls in disorder. Fuck he looked so pussy drunk.
He carries you through your release, sucking your sensible bud and getting his finger out to plant his hand on your bladder. This makes your flames turn into an explosion of white pleasure. You scream his name again again
"Miguel! Miguel! Migue-
"¿Sí?"
Morning light hits your eyes , making you find cover under the sheets.
As your sleepiness was leaving your body and your brain started igniting your nerves back, you realised.
It was just a wet dream!?
"everything okay y/n?" You hear Miguel's voice from another room.
What the fuck? Why did I dream something like that... I mean...no,please... I can't be this stupid... Did I fall in love with him?! Just from an act of mercy?!Oh, God! I'm completely crazy! completely gone ! Also a maniac. He would think I'm repulsive if he knew. Poor Miguel being stuck with someone like me, he would be ashamed to have someone like me to like him. I feel so sorry for him, I mean...Wait...when did I fall asleep?... everything he said meanwhile he brought me to his bed...Him teach me how to say muNeCa...was... Me dreaming or...
Fuck! You feel... sticky down there... so you bring two fingers on your covered slit and touch it to check
You are soaking wet
"¿Muñeca?"
;
;
;
Author's notes: Yikes!! It was so difficult to write smut , but here we are! I think it was time for something spicy after all the drama even though it's just a dream. Anyway part 5 has been released, so go catch it! And thank you for reading!
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