Do You Think Their Periods Are Synced?

No One Compares

Pairing: Steven Grant x F!reader

Summary: You're going to a party where Steven knows someone who has a crush on you will also be attending. Before you go, he wants to remind you what you have waiting for you at home.

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+ ONLY, oral(f) receiving, possessive thoughts/ behavior, fingering, praise, biting (Let me know if I missed anything :))

Word Count: 1.6 k

A/N: This popped into my head the other night and I needed to purge it from my system. Still getting a feel for this whole writing thing and feedback is more than welcome!!

Steven paces back and forth in front of the bathroom door, planning his next move carefully. You’re about to go out for your friend’s birthday dinner and he normally has no problem with you going out, except that he knows he’ll miss you and be a needy mess until you get back. But tonight, you’re going to your best friend Tasha's birthday dinner. He loves all your friends but there is one person he does not want you around. Tasha's brother, Jackson.

You've been friends with Tasha since you were little, and she's like a sister to you. Her brother Jackson had a small crush on you growing up and it seems his feelings have continued into adulthood. You never minded his advances, considering he never made any moves beyond harmless flirting, but what did bother you was that he didn’t back off even when you informed him you were in a relationship. He’s tame when it’s just you but when Steven is there, he turns his antics up to one hundred. It can be annoying, but you don't want to run and tattle on him to Tasha about her brother's little crush. You don't want to cause any problems, and since he never actually attempts to make a move on you, you've decided to just suck it up and deal with it, not wanting to create a big fuss.

As he stands in the hallway, Steven's mind floods with the memories of all the times Jackson has tried to make a pass at you right in front of him and he decides he needs to take action. With a huff, Steven storms into the bathroom and wraps his arm around your waist. You had just set everything out to start getting ready, and you greet him with a kiss on the cheek.

You think he will leave you be when he notices you are about to start doing your makeup, but instead he brings his hands up to your chest, grabbing both breasts and he pulls you flush against his chest. He starts kissing up and down your neck and you try to wriggle out of his grasp, knowing if you put this off any longer you are going to be late.

"Steven, what's gotten into you?" you ask, although you already know. He always gets like this when you have somewhere to go, trying to get you to stay home and hop into bed with him instead. You think he's just being needy as usual, but you have no idea this has anything to do with Jackson. Yes, you know it makes him uncomfortable when he's around, but the first time he saw how Jackson acted around you, you explained how it would cause more problems to address and was best to just try to ignore it. He accepted, understanding how you didn’t want to jeopardize your relationship with Tasha.

Your boyfriend knows you would never do anything with Jackson. You're loyal and loving and he trusts you more than anyone on Earth, and he knows you would never betray him. He also knows that you didn't actually like Jackson, but sometimes you would play along, flirting back with him a bit to try and keep things from being awkward. Steven knows it’s all fake, but even seeing you feign interest in that guy made him want to lay you down and fuck you so good you forget that any other man even exists.

He decides here and now that he needs to make sure you remember what you have waiting at home for you. He needs to be quick, though, because he doesn't want to send you to the party all hot and bothered. He knows you only ever entertain Jackson to keep the peace, but he can't help the possessive voice in the back of his head telling him he needs to show you that your boyfriend can make you feel better than anyone ever could.

"Steven I'm serious, I can't be late." He ignores you, already sliding your tight dress over your thighs and settling it on your waist. He falls to his knees, planting kisses and soft bites across your ass. He crawls under you to now face your panty covered center. You try to push him away, but he swats your hand and takes off your underwear. Loving the sight of him on his knees for you, you decide you are going to let him continue. On one condition.

"You have to be done by the time I finish my make up. Don't want to send me to dinner all worked up, do you?" you tease. Hell no. He can't let Jackson see you like that. Maybe it would leave you tempted to flirt back, just to blow off some steam. He pulls your leg over his shoulder and shoves his face between your legs.

He wastes no time teasing you, no licking up your folds, no soft kisses to your thighs. He zeros in on your clit, sucking and lapping at it like a madman. You try to steady yourself, picking up your makeup and starting to slowly apply it, keeping your hands as still as possible to avoid making a mess. You struggle to keep your eyes open as they threaten to roll back into your head, the pleasure starting to distract you from the task at hand. You start to grind your hips into his mouth and use one hand to grip the counter. You're surprised you don't fall over, but his strong grip on your thigh and ass keeps you upright. He circles your clit, and flicks his tongue back and forth, just how he knows you like it.

"Fuck Steven, you're so good at that. So fucking good." you say in that low, breathy voice that never fails to turn him on. Spurred on by your praise, his movements become more frantic, and you squeal and start panting above him.

You feel that you're right on the edge, but you pull him away, earning a frustrated grunt from him as he can tell you’re close too. You explain you have to do your eyeliner and really don’t want to blind yourself. While you do that, he starts nipping at your thighs impatiently. He had you right there, you were so close and now he’d have to build it back up. Usually, he’d go crazy about the idea of edging you, but time is of the essence.

You finish and he’s back on you in an instant. Your breathing quickly becomes ragged and you take a moment to look yourself over in the mirror. Your makeup doesn’t look terrible, just a little rushed. All that’s left is your lipstick. You take a minute to examine your lips in your reflection and you see how swollen and full they are from how you’ve been biting them. It should make the color you chose really pop. You silently thank Steven for this by reaching down to run your fingers through his curls. He gives you an appreciative whine and starts sucking harder at your sensitive bud.

You take a few deep breaths and steady your hand as best as you can as you place the applicator onto your lips. Of course, you feel that familiar tightness in your stomach and you know you're about to cum. He hears your desperate moans, and he can tell too. He slips two fingers into you and starts rubbing against that tender spot he knows drives you crazy and you cry out as you clamp down onto his fingers. The surprise intrusion causes your hand to slip and your wrist swipes across your lips, smearing the lipstick onto the corner of your mouth and your chin. You groan in frustration as the waves of pleasure rip through you and you clench down onto his fingers.

Knowing he accomplished his goal, Steven slows his movements and pulls his fingers from your dripping entrance. He wears a proud look on his face and moves his gaze to your arousal that coats his hand. He licks it off eagerly, making sure to clean up your mess. The previous frenzied nature of his touch quickly turns tender as he drags his hands up and down your sides and along your ass and thighs. He cleans you up a bit with his tongue but decides to forgo the washcloth he usually uses. He wants to send you to the party with a reminder of how he made you feel tonight.

He stands, sliding your underwear back on. You’re still gripping the counter and trying to regain composure as he takes his place back behind you and nuzzles into your neck. He chuckles as he catches a glimpse of you in the mirror. You’re clearly a wreck, but he has to admit you did a fairly good job despite the circumstances. Then, as if some switched has flipped in his brain, he latches onto your neck, making you gasp, and you feel his teeth sink into you. After a minute or so of him sucking at your skin, you feel his tongue run across it, soothing the indents he had left. He smiles, satisfied to have effectively marked his territory, and he starts applying gentle kisses instead. He hopes you don't try to cover it up. He desperately wants Jackson to catch a glimpse. Steven grins at the thought.

"You made me smudge my makeup." you whine. Since you'll have to fix it anyway, you turn your head, pulling his lips to yours. You pull back, and admire the fresh lipstick smeared across his mouth. You're tempted to drag him into the bedroom and mark up his dick with it, but you have to go. You sigh, " But I think I can forgive you. I'll reward you for being such a good boy when I get back, ok?"

Why's he such a pathetic loser. Give him to me.

thinking about getting crossfaded with marc and then steven fronts ..!!!

18+ minors dni

words: 2.1k

warnings: crossfaded!steven grant x f!reader, marc angst if you squint, mentions of alcohol and weed, light choking, pinv sex, unprotected sex

summary: Marc comes home from a rough mission. He doesn’t want to talk about it; it’s one of those nights where he needs a crutch to ease his sore body and racing thoughts, and he needs you with him. When Steven fronts and is met with the unfamiliar effects of mixing smoking and drinking, there’s only one thing he feels like doing with (to) you.

It’s one of those nights where Marc creeps into the apartment after a long mission with his body sore and tired, his mind racing. It’s past midnight and the sound of the door opening has you stepping out of your shared bedroom and into the hall, arms wrapped around yourself and standing in one of Marc’s shirts as you watch him silently. You watch his broad back as he rummages through your junk drawer in the kitchen, pushing aside rubber bands and post it notes and business cards before grabbing a lighter and making his way to the balcony, fishing a joint from the back pocket of his jeans as he slides the door open and steps outside.

Of course, you follow him. You don’t say anything as you stand beside him and look out at the city skyline against the dark blue sky. You’ve been with Marc long enough and have seen him like this enough times to know that what he needs most is you by his side; not your pity, not your fear or worry, just your presence.

He leans his forearms on the railing and sparks the joint between his lips, taking a deep toke that he holds in his lungs for a few beats before blowing it out. The joint appears between two of his rough fingers an inch in front of your mouth. Marc watches with heavy eyelids as your soft lips close around the filter and you take a drag.

An hour or so later you’ve both made your way back into the apartment, Marc’s shoulders looking more relaxed, the notch between his eyebrows gone. The living room is lit only by the blueish street lamps outside that flood through the window and a few randomly placed candles you lit in an attempt to mask the lingering smell of weed. The coffee table’s become cluttered with a near-empty bottle of wine and two empty glasses, the lighter from the junk drawer and a triangular ashtray meant to resemble a pyramid from the museum gift shop.

The flashing picture of the television reflects in you and Marc’s dry eyes as you half-watch some shitty movie from your seat on the couch. You’re lying between Marc’s legs with your back to his torso, your head rising and falling against his chest with each breath. He’s so warm and his breathing is deep and slow, but you notice the way his stress lingers in how his large hands squeeze your waist, and his strong arms hold you against him so tightly as if someone or something would try to rip you away.

Later on, you feel Marc’s hold on you ease up and his breaths get deeper. Lifting your head slightly from his chest, you look up to confirm he’s asleep and press your lips softly to his stubbled jaw, whispering “I love you,” against his skin. You sit up and turn noiselessly above Marc so you can lay your chest on his torso and wrap your arms around him, pressing your cheek into his chest and closing your dry eyes to slip into your own sleep.

⋆

A sudden movement from beneath you forces you awake, making your heart jump in your chest and eyelids snap open to darkness; it was still nighttime. You must have just fallen asleep, because it’s easy to open your eyes and prop yourself up on your hands on either side of Marc’s body. His torso is tense against your chest and his breaths are quick. His hands no longer rest on your lower back, but hover just above it, as if you’ll break at the softest touch; this wasn’t Marc.

Steven’s red eyes are wide and looking at the paraphernalia that litters the coffee table, “Oh, dear,” he rasps in his accent, slightly slurring his words, “You and Marc have had quite the party.”

His eyes turn to meet yours and you bite the inside of your cheek as you realize something, Steven’s never gotten high before.

“Steven?” you say, “...Are you feeling alright?”

In the dark room you barely notice Steven’s cheeks flush red to match the colour of his eyes, his hands come to rest on your hips and his fingers play anxiously with the hem of your (his) shirt. You’re sitting on your knees between his thighs, still only wearing the shirt and a pair of panties. Your face is still flushed from being pressed against his chest and the blueish light from outside makes your skin glow softly. His tongue darts out to wet his lips before he rasps, “That stuff really… clouds your head up, dunnit?”

“Do you… like it?” you ask. Your big doe eyes are red and searching Steven’s face for any bad signs.

“I, well,” one of his big hands leaves your hip to scratch the back of his neck, his thick bicep flexing with the movement, “I don’t quite know what to do with myself, to be honest.”

His hips squirm slightly on the couch and you look down to see a bulge beneath his briefs, Marc having discarded their jeans hours earlier. You catch your bottom lip between your teeth and bring a hand to rub up and down his thigh, the muscles tensing instantly as he inhales sharply, “You should just relax, baby,” you say, “Y’want me to help?”

“God,” he moans, “Yes, yes, I need your help, love. Please… please, help.”

“Tell me what you need, Steven.”

His hands push your shirt up out of the way, his fingers tugging at your panties, “Wanna fuck you,” he says lowly, “Please let me, baby.”

A quiet moan, almost a sigh, leaves you at his words. The drugs were doing something to Steven, whether he was more confident or he just wanted you that badly, you weren’t sure, but Steven was usually the timid one in the system, asking to be fucked rather than begging to fuck you. Regardless, his change in demeanor was more than okay with you.

His droopy eyes were dark and greedy as they raked over your body, and his warm hand cupped one of your tits over your shirt, salivating at the way the fabric outlined your hardened nipples. You whined at the touch, wanting to feel his skin on yours, “Fuck me, please Steven.”

Your clothes fall to the floor as Steven pulls them off of you. You hiss as he tugs your panties down and you feel the cool air against your warm centre.

“God,” Stephen groans, “You’re so wet f’me. Pussy’s glistening so pretty.”

“Stevennn,” you whine as he kneels above you, holding your knees open and staring down at your cunt.

“Shh, shh,” he stands to pull down his briefs and release his thick cock, dark hair trailing down his lower stomach to the base, before returning to the couch above you, “I’m here, baby. Let us take care of you, yeah?”

Steven grips his cock to guide it to your dripping centre, guiding the thick head through your wet folds to get himself slick. He lands a glob of spit on your cunt before slowly pushing into you. You whine out at the feeling, warmth pooling in your tummy at the familiar way he stretches you, “A-ah… Steven, mmh.” His cock is so hard and thick, and you can’t help that your walls are already squeezing around him.

Steven groans as he collapses over you, holding himself up with his forearms on either side of your head and pushing into you so slowly. Excruciatingly slow. Your head is still hazy from the wine and weed, all you can focus on is the pressure in your belly as Steven bottoms out inside of you. You’re clawing at his bare back, the muscles there rippling and tensing with each long thrust.

He leans his head back to look at you, how you look so pretty for him in the pale light, glossy eyes going unfocused and dumb and he pushes in and out of your cunt, your jaw slack and pink lips parted as you whine and moan, bare tits bouncing softly as he fucks you. He brings a big hand to your throat and squeezes so lightly that you barely register the pressure. Steven has seen Marc hold your neck like this so many times from the mirror in your bedroom, but the view of you pawing at his forearm as you gasp in breaths from this angle turns him on a thousand times more. It has him picking up speed, his thrusts causing a rhythmic and wet slapping as you gush around his length, your juices coating his heavy balls that slap against the soft flesh of your ass.

Your plush thighs tighten around his hips, your eyelids fluttering shut as you blindly paw at Steven’s hard chest, “Come here,” you whine, making Steven collapse over you again and chuckle softly.

“Is that nice, love?” his warmth breath hitting the shell of your ear, “Is my cock filling you nicely? Can you feel me in your belly, baby? Tell me.”

“S-so good, Steven. Sooo deep, mmh.”

“God, such a sweet girl,” he moans, trailing kisses from beneath your ear down your chest and to your tits, taking a nipple between his teeth before darting his tongue out to lick the bud, rolling your other nipple between his thumb and forefinger, “Lettin’ me fuck you like a good girl, aren’t you? Takin’ this cock so well, so nicely.”

You open your eyes to watch Steven pinching and sucking on your nipples. A few dark curls fall over his forehead and his thick brows furrowed in concentration, all the while still thrusting into your leaking cunt. You squeeze around his girth at the sight, he was so hungry for you, sloppily and greedily devouring your tits, a trail of his spit glistening across your chest.

“Steven… W-wanna cum,” you whine, grabbing at his hips to pull him closer, deeper.

He pulls his mouth away from your nipple with a pop and looks down at you, all hooded eyes and puffy wet lips, “Shh, alright,” he coos, “Let me pound you ‘til y’cum. Would y’like that?”

You only manage to nod your head a few centimetres before Steven takes your hips in his hands, his fingers digging into your soft flesh as he lifts your hips and begins slamming his cock into you. The new angle and the force of his thrusts has you crying out. Your cries and gasps fill the apartment, along with the smack of his hips against you, your pussy squeezing and squelching as Steven bullies his thickness inside your tight hole.

“That’s it,” he groans, “S’good at takin’ cock, sweet girl.”

The rough pad of Steven’s thumb began rubbing harsh circles over your clit, the pressure threatening to snap the invisible cord inside you. The thick head of his cock pounds that sweet spot deep inside you and his length rubs against your soaked and gummy walls.

“Fuckkk, y/n,” he moans, “Squeezin’ me so tight. Y’gonna cum, baby? All over m’cock?”

His deep and raspy voice has you falling over the edge, the invisible cord snapping in your tummy as you gush and throb around his length. Steven falls forwards and wraps his arms around you, your face buried into his neck as you sobbed, his face pressed into your hair as he grunted deeply.

Steven rides out your orgasm, pushing his still hard cock in and out of your sore cunt. He finally pulls out of you when you push on his chest and whine at the overstimulation.

He brings your legs together and hugs your knees to his chest, your ankles resting on his shoulder as he rubs his length between your wet, puffy folds and sticky inner thighs. You both stare down at the sight of his leaking cockhead poking through your thighs with each thrust.

“Mmf,” he moans, “M’cummin’, m’cummin’, fuckkk…”

Warm, thick spurts of Steven’s cum coat your lower belly as he cums. You swallow thickly and bite your bottom lip at the sight. It’s so filthy, Steven’s cock between your weak and shaking thighs, his forehead glistening with the effort of bringing you both to the finish line. His wet tongue darts out to wet his lips, his jaw slack as he stares down at your spent and fucked out body that’s now covered in his cum.

He presses a kiss to your shin before letting your legs down and heading to the bathroom for a cloth to clean you up, stumbling a little on the way.

Once he’s wiped you clean, Steven lays beside you propped up on his elbow, one hand on the side of your face and rubbing your temple with his thumb, the other roaming your body, squeezing your tits lightly, rubbing your tummy and hips, kneading the flesh of your thighs with his fingers.

You fall asleep to Steven’s warm voice in your ear. He chants quiet “Thank you”s and “I love you”s until he drifts off too.

<3

My Dear Birdie

Summary: Anselm Vogelweide is charmed by you and his strangeness turns you on

Contents: 🔥 18+ nsfw and very smutty, sex w/ humor, sex toys, exhibitionism, mention of drugs, p in v, butt stuff, food stuff (~2.8k)

------------

It had begun as a joke. A friend of a friend had said, "do you want to meet the weirdest guy that anyone has ever met. Ever?"

"Yes?" You'd said.

And that's how you'd entered Anselm Vogelweide’s social sphere. 

And he was as advertised. Old-fashioned suits and way of speaking, unnecessarily old leg brace and glasses. His dark black and gray hair parted neatly, but still a bit wild, and a beard that moved as much as his lips when he talked. Surrounded by a group of people that, well, it was hard to say if some of them were even human people.

Despite the affectations, he was devastatingly handsome to you and had a magnetism you hadn’t known existed.

"But you are so delicate," he had said with a smile as you'd shaken his hand for the first time. "My dear little birdie."

"Says a guy with Vogel in his last name," you'd mumbled.

He held your hand, put his other on top of it, gently stroking your skin. "My dear birdie, might you know anything about crime?"

You tried to remember to ask your friend, how their friend, had come to know this insanely rich oddball. He was clearly up to no fucking good.

You looked at Anselm, trying to focus on the one, clear lens of his glasses. "Oh sure I majored in organized crime. Minor in destruction of evidence."

Anselm laughed. A strange, rusty sound. "Oh, dear birdie, you are very naughty."

And that had made you laugh.

He'd invited you to keep him company the next weekend. You’d been visiting him for almost a year off and on.

His library was like something out of a dream; huge illustrated botany books, German fairy tales with gold leaf embossing, careful notes in the margins of several editions of Anna Karenina, and shelves and shelves of very dirty, very specific books. 

Like you'd read one where a seven-dicked God had been tricked into impregnating an entire harem of beautiful, soft-skinned, half-plant women with three or four breasts each. And it had drawings.

There was something about Anselm. He’d never made a move on you, though you knew he had women or men brought to the estate sometimes.

He stared at you whenever you were in the room. You could tell by the way his eyes watched you that the man knew his way around someone else's body. Yours was born female, but you knew it made no difference to him. He liked you.

Maybe it was because of the accident he never talked about. His own body didn’t work so well. Not that you’d thought about how his body worked. Ahem

The skin on the left half of his body was scarred and made it difficult for him to hear from that side. Every once in awhile, his breathing got away from him.

He wore a creaky leg brace and once, when one of his lackeys had suggested he should use a cane, Anselm had shot the guy in the leg.

“Now you need one,” he’d said dryly.

It shouldn’t have been normal to watch something like that, but Anselm had no interest in normal. And you found that, surprisingly, you didn’t either.

“Dear birdie, come bend over my desk,” he says to you one evening as you sit on the sofa in his study, reading. His words are slowly drawn out, his strange accent turning his cadence warm and intimate.

“What?” You look over at him. He’d just finished a drink and had made the request as if it was something you did all the time instead of completely out of left field.

“Don’t you think it’s time that we stop being so patient with each other? I have been fucking women who look like you for three months now. It is not satisfying anymore. I must, I must, have the real thing.”

You close the book and lay it on the couch. You look across from you, to where Anselm’s third cousin is sitting, pretending not to listen, and one of Anselm’s bodyguards is looking at the exchange with interest.

“Anselm, can we be alone?” You say as you stand.

He flicks his fingers at the sofa and the two other men leave as you approach Anselm’s desk. He strokes his beard, taking in your figure with a deep inhale.

“Bend over the edge of my desk and let me bury myself in you.“

“Whoa, Anselm,” you hold up your hand, “what brought all of this on? We’ve known each other for months now. I kind of assumed you weren’t interested in fucking me.”

He tut-tuts you with his tongue, one finger wagging back and forth at you. “Fucking is fucking, dear birdie. But with you, I had to be patient. I have not gotten to where I am in life by refusing to put in a little effort.”

“Living proof that crime does pay, sometimes.”

He ignores you and continues. “And I have put in so much effort for you, for one so small in stature. You have noticed my gestures. And I have noticed that you have noticed. I have seen your eyes stroking my cock, you naughty thing. You shouldn’t tease.” He pats the leather top of his desk.

“Okay, I have been doing that, yeah,” you say.

“I treasure your honesty. And you. Not only your mind, but I’m sure, also your body.”

You’d never thought of your body in any particular way. In fact, it had been awhile since you’d been with anyone. You’d been busy. And here was Anselm, with his strange praise and alluring invitation.

You walk around his desk and, still sitting, he pulls you in closer, stroking your shoulders and arms, down your legs, before turning you by the hips to face his desk. You bend over prettily for him and grip the far edge. He sighs as if he can finally relax. You hear his chair scrape as he positions it directly behind you.

“You are a comfort to me,” he says as he unbuttons your jeans and pulls them down carefully with your underwear.

“Thank you,” you say quietly. “I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you.”

“I will not be offended that you sound so surprised.”

You shrug.

“Look at you. Perfection. You smell of sex.” You feel his breath between your legs as he talks, a slight brush of his soft beard. “Let me clean you with my tongue.”

He uses his fingers to pull the lips of your cunt apart and he wastes no time diving in, tongue-first, moaning. You feel the cold of his glasses press against the flesh of your ass as he digs his tongue as far as it can go, his beard lighting up every nerve ending you have. He swirls his tongue around and around, before sucking gently while tonguing your hole, his thumb working back the hood of your clit to make you hiss and squirm.

“Anselm,” you say.

“Be still,” he says, giving your ass a firm pat. His thumb grazes over your asshole. “May I?”

A knock at the door jolts you, but Anselm holds you firmly with his hands.

“Business, dear birdie,” he says. “Do you mind?”

He licks you again, from your clit all the way back to your rim, the tip of his tongue playfully poking at your hole.

“I don’t mind,” you say.

“Come in,” Anselm yells loudly. “Be quick or I will shoot you,” he tells the butler who comes in.

The man sets down a silver tray stacked with strapped cash. A cookie on a white linen napkin is perched on top. The butler is straight-faced and he’s probably seen much stranger while working in Anselm’s household. 

“Ah, yes, my winnings,” Anselm says, mouth still between your legs, making you squirm, “but take the cookie with you. Chocolate chip cookies do not go with beautifully wet cunt.” He lifts his head long enough to yell at the butler. “GET THE FUCK OUT. No one has any respect for my time,” he says to you, through your pussy.

You’re having trouble catching your breath. Anselm’s lips and tongue are sucking and teasing you like you are his last meal on Earth. Even though a butler you’ve only seen a few times was just watching you get eaten out, you’re coming. Hard. Your fingers dig into the edge of his desk, thighs shaking, throat burning from moaning so loudly. Your brain goes completely white as pleasure seizes your muscles.

Anselm is just lapping and licking at you, humming over every drop you give him, licking down your thighs to catch anything he’s missed.

Finally, once your lungs actually work again and your body has relaxed over his desk, even though your hips are digging into the wooden edge, he sits back in his chair.

He gently taps your legs aside so he can open the top drawer of his desk. He shuffles around in it for a bit before closing it and standing, leaning his body over yours to show you what he’s retrieved.

“I would like to put this in your ass while I fuck you,” he says.

You narrow your eyes at it. “Is that a dildo made of wood?”

“It’s an antique,” he says delightedly, running his fingers over the carved ridges of its length. 

Your eyes shift to his face and you just barely resist making a joke that would surely have pissed him off.

He frowns. “Cold in here. I shall warm it for you.” 

He rolls it between the palms of his hands and you have to bite your top lip to keep from laughing.

“This is one that I enjoy myself immensely,” he says. “There is no craftsmanship in sex toys these days. Mass produced intimacy. I’ve already had a custom harness sent from Italy to restrain you in. I’m sure it will fit. I’m very good with visual weights and measurements. You know, I made most of my early money in cocaine.”

He reaches back into the drawer for a bottle of lube and coats the wooden length liberally, using what’s left on his hands to tease you and make sure you’re ready for him.

Anselm looks at your holes. “Perhaps I should do this the other way around,” he looks at the dildo. “No, next time.”

He rests the tip of the dildo at your asshole. You nod your permission. 

As he pushes the dildo slowly into you, working it past your initial resistance and then letting it sink in completely, he moans just as deeply as you do. You hear him undo his belt and pants. Another metallic sound that you assume is dispatching with his brace, which you’re grateful for because if he creaked as he fucked you, you didn’t know if you’d be able to come again. 

Or maybe, you’d have a hard time without it now that you’d thought of it. Next time, as Anselm had said.

He runs the searing hot length of his cock along your inner thighs, which is a kindness because if he’d gone straight to shoving it inside of you, you might have fallen asleep waiting for him to get balls deep. No wonder he felt the freedom to be so strange. He’s filthy rich and has a dick the size of your forearm.

Anselm is slow and steady as you tense, then remember to relax, then clench around him as he fills you, relaxing again so the head of his cock can shove your walls open for the rest of him to slide inside. He’s so thick that the edges of your little hole sting and burn around him, but it only adds to how good he feels inside of you.

You’re brainless before he gets even halfway. He shifts you forward, your feet leaving the ground so you’re laying, bent over, completely at his mercy. Anselm lifts you up enough to slide one of his hands under your sweater and palm your breast. His other hand hooks over your face, two of his fingers sliding into your mouth, cradling against the inside of your cheek to better pull you against him. But gently, everything strangely gentle.

“You are a big girl and can tell me if you have had enough, yes?” He whispers into your ear. “You need only ask me to stop. I will give you the cookie that imbecile left here in my office and you can be on your way.”

You swallow the spit that has gathered in your mouth. “Don’t stop,” you say around Anselm’s fingers. 

He kisses your cheek and rolls his hips forward, giving you the rest of him and knocking every single molecule of air out of your lungs. In fact, you were pretty sure his dick was up there somewhere resting against your sternum. The wooden dildo in your ass ensures that your entire body feels snug and tight around him. So full and so good.

You hold tight onto the edges of Anselm’s desk, trying to push back for more, or at least hold still enough to encourage him to fuck you harder. And then he withdraws slightly, and more, and back in and good lord, feeling this much pleasure was going to do permanent brain damage.

Drool drips out of you where his fingers are inside of your mouth. It drips down your chin and onto his desk. Your eyes are rolled back in your head and you are grunting like an animal as he starts pounding into you, praising how soft and tight you are, how the sound of your wet hole is a symphony he’s going to record and play as he sleeps at night, how he wants to hear your moans in every room of the mansion, how he wants to eat his meals from the space between your breasts, how he wants to put a candle in your asshole and light it because it’s his birthday soon, and to tell him what you would want for your birthday next year. He hoped it was More.Of.This. His words punctuated by his sharp thrusts.

And you think you agree to everything because your cunt is squeezing around him like his dick is pure electricity, overstimulating your nerves and spasming your entire body. You can’t even speak, but you do love hearing how filthy he’s going to make you be for him.

God, is that wet sound echoing through the room you? It is. And Anselm is right. You want to record it and hear it too. So you can come in your sleep to dreams of him fucking his enormous cock into you just like this.

Anselm slows his hips, pushing up your sweater to below your breasts. He lays a hand gently on your lower back. You turn your head to look at him. He has a look on his face you’ve never seen. It isn’t tolerance or fondness, or his usual huffy impatience, or even the look of appreciation he has for your witty quips or when you wear a particular outfit he likes. Anselm is looking at you softly, with love.

“Please, let me finish on your beautiful skin,” he asks, beard moving in a way that tells you his lips are trembling slightly.

You almost come again as he pulls out, your walls sucking on the head of his cock like your body doesn’t want him to ever leave. He rests himself along your lower back.

Anselm starts to work the dildo in and out of your asshole as you feel him use his hand to pull himself toward orgasm. He works the dildo faster and you come again, clenching around the ridges carved into the wood, cunt squeezing tightly on nothing but your own skin and wetness. Anselm groans loudly and you feel him coming messily all over you before letting a pool of his cum gather in the dip of your lower back.

He runs his hand over your hair, taking in a deep breath as you blink and try to get your eyes to focus again. 

Anselm reaches over toward the stack of money still on his desk and takes the cookie off the top. You hear him take a bite of it and chew. You rest your head, not sure if you’ll have the energy to move your body ever again.

A scratching sensation drags through the cum on your back. Anselm clears his throat and leans forward to present you with the other half of the chocolate chip cookie, slightly shiny around the edges. You lean forward and he feeds it to you, wiping the outer corner of your mouth with his thumb.

It’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted in your entire life.

-----

Leave It On- a continuation of My Dear Birdie

yet another sugar daddy Ari 🥺🫣🥵🥵✨

warnings: age gap, daddy!kink, spanking, sugar daddy Ari, smut, minors dni, 18+

Ari loved showing you off. He loved taking you to his stuffy charity galas and parading you around like you were his little trophy girlfriend — which you were. Well, you were actually his sugar baby, but same difference. The bottom line was that he loved showing you off to other men who desired you and women who were jealous of you.

He’d buy you a pretty little dress — either an elegant gown or a strappy little cocktail dress, depending on the occasion — and it was always tight. He’d also cover you in glittering diamonds, and inform you to never leave his side unless he said so, or else. He’d press his hand to the small of your back and cart you around like you were his property, and you loved every second of it.

Tonight’s dress was form-fitted satin in the most gorgeous deep nude shade. Indecently short enough that several women had already given you disapproving looks. Not that you cared. What did it matter that Ari preferred to dress you in as little as possible? He liked making you wear barely-there dresses that showed off your curves, and he never allowed you to wear a bra because he liked the way your nipples would poke through the fabric. And panties? Forget about it.

But that didn’t mean you wouldn’t be bratty tonight. Seeing Ari looking so delicious in his three piece suit with his long hair combed back? Oh, of course you’d be a little daring.

“Daddy, this event is stuffy and boring,” you complain, running your manicured nails up and down the lapels of his expensive suit. You knew deep down he loved how high maintenance you were, and he’d happily fund your frequent hair appointments, manicures, pedicures, makeup, clothes… anything you wanted.

“Boring?” Ari quirks a brow, rubbing your back soothingly, “you want to go home, baby? You feeling okay?”

Ugh. Of course he wasn’t just your sugar daddy who fucked you good and paid for anything you could ever want. Of course he had to be the nicest guy on earth too. But you took that as a challenge to push him to his limit.

“No, but I wish your friends weren’t so boring.”

Ari pinches your ass, “don’t be a brat, princess.”

That was code for: be brattier, so daddy can punish you.

You stick your chin up, “Maybe I should go hang out with Mr. Barber over there. He looks kinda lonely, doesn’t he? I heard he’s no longer with his wife…”

That comment has you bent over the sink in the ladies’ bathroom (which was thankfully empty). And okay, so maybe you shouldn’t have brought up Ari’s mortal enemy, but as you said before, you’d been feeling extra bratty. And now, your daddy was pressing his crotch against your butt, and you can’t help but smirk.

“Don’t look so smug, little girl,” Ari warns, running his hand up and down your back and making you shiver.

“I’m not smug, Ari.”

He narrows his eyes, “Don’t call me that.”

You don’t know why you’re pushing him so much tonight. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t punished you in a while now. Maybe it’s because things have been way too sweet lately, with Ari taking you out on romantic dates and shopping trips. Maybe you need a bit of thrill tonight, a bit of adventure. A rush of adrenaline. Or maybe you’re just a brat.

“Call you what, Ari?”

“Oh, baby girl. You’re in for it now.”

He rips your dress in half. And you were so not expecting that—because he’d literally gifted you this dress today! And it was Versace for crying out loud! What the hell was wrong with him? You’re about to ask him just that when his palm cracks against your bare ass. Hard.

“OW! That fucking hurts!”

“Good. You deserve it for disrespecting me.”

“Why? Just because I called you Ari? Which, by the way, is your name—OW!”

He slaps your ass five times in succession, each slap harder than the last. Harder than he’s ever spanked you before.

“Watch it,” he warns, although you can feel how hard he is. You know he likes it when you’re bratty, you know how horny it gets him to put you back in your place, to exert his power over you and remind you of how he’s in charge. “I had a diamond bracelet waiting in the car for you, but maybe I’ll return it if you don’t stop misbehaving.”

You scoff, “Return it. I don’t care.” (You do care).

He spanks you several more times, till your ass is stinging with that delicious pain. And of course you’re wet too, your slick running down your legs because getting smacked on the ass by Ari always gets you wet.

“You’re really asking for it tonight, aren’t you? But remember, you can only push daddy so far before it comes back to slap you in the face.” Ari grabs your ass cheek and jiggles it lewdly before smacking you again. “Or in your case, your ass.”

You have two options in front of you right now. You could give in, apologise and enjoy a thoroughly good fucking. Or you could push his buttons even further, further than you ever had before, and then dare to see what happens after that.

“It’s not my fault you dragged me along to your boring event, Ari. Maybe you don’t value me that much anymore, maybe I should find a new sugar daddy. As I said before, Mr. Barber’s single now, and I’m sure he’d love it if I called him da—”

CRACK.

You’d been too busy running your mouth to even notice that he’d undone his belt. It’s only when you feel it crack down on your ass that you stop short, crying out and gripping the marble sink beneath you. Fuck. That hurt. He hasn’t done it too hard (he wasn’t sadistic and you were still his baby girl) but it’s hard enough to make you gasp, knowing it’ll leave a mark on your poor ass.

“Try and smart mouth me again, sweetheart. Try it, I dare you.” Ari grabs your jaw roughly and tugs you up till you’re standing with your back flush against his torso.

You can’t speak because his grip on your jaw is too tight, so all you can do is desperately shake your head, rutting back into him to let him know you’re done with being a brat.

“Who am I?” He hits the belt on your ass once more, and the sting makes you wetter than ever. “Who am I, baby?”

He lets go of your jaw and you sputter, “daddy, okay?! You’re daddy!”

Ari smirks, his hand wrapping around your neck while he uses the other one to spread your legs, roughly running his fingers over your wet folds and making your knees buckle.

“Oh, now I’m daddy, huh?” He slams three of his fingers inside of you and you gasp at the intrusion and the immediate feeling of fullness. “Bratty fucking baby just loves to run her mouth, don’t you? Where’s that attitude disappeared to, huh?

Your legs already feel shaky and weak, your orgasm fast approaching because his fingers feel so thick and good, and the spanking had already turned you on. Not to mention how he’d been petting you and showing you off all night — that always got you hot too. You were this close to cumming.

“Daddy, please!” You garble.

“Not so feisty now, huh?”

“Nooo, daddy, please! Gonna cum!”

Immediately, Ari’s fingers leave your cunt, making your eyes pop open in shock. He brings his wet fingers up to your face, smearing your juices all over it, making you messier than you already are.

“Bad girls don’t get to cum.” He smirks.

“But daddy! I was only teasing! Please don’t leave me hanging, daddy! I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry!” (Maybe you are, maybe you’re not… you just want to cum, in all honesty).

He scoffs, “Please. A flimsy apology like that would work on punks like Andy Barber. But not me.”

He drags you back outside. And he’d originally wanted you to go out in just your dress which is completely torn from the back, but you’d begged him to give you his jacket. Thankfully, he’d done you this small service. But everyone could tell what had just gone down in the bathroom. What with your torn dress, dishevelled hair and shiny face (he hadn’t let you clean it) paired with the fact that you were limping.

Yep. It was pretty obvious you’d been utterly wrecked — wrecked without even having been fucked. And Ari couldn’t be smugger. You were just thanking your lucky stars that at least his jacket was long enough to cover your ass with all its bruises and belt marks.

You expect him to take you home after that (he was hard after all, and you knew you’d be in for the fucking of your life once he got you alone). But instead, he makes a beeline towards Andy Barber, who looks white as a ghost at how inappropriate and fucked out you look.

“Andy, listen. We’re gonna have to leave early tonight.”

Andy manages to tear his gaze away from you. “Huh? How come?”

Ari looks at you meaningfully, “Baby, tell Mr. Barber why we have to go home.”

You look down and shake your head. There was no way in hell you were gonna say what he wanted you to say, what he’d coached you to say not minutes ago inside the bathroom. What you’d promised him you’d say.

But you don’t have a choice, because Ari pinches your ass not-so-subtly, and you yelp. Fuck.

“Tell him, baby.”

You hang your head and grit your teeth.

“I was naughty, so my daddy has to take me home so he can punish me. I’m sorry for being naughty at your event, Mr. Barber. My daddy will set me straight tonight.”

Ari looks smugger than the Cheshire Cat, you know he’s been wanting you to call him daddy outside of the bedroom and in front of other people for a while now. You’d always said fuck no, but he’d got his wish tonight. So you guessed you being bratty had paid off for one of you tonight…

But later, you find out, it pays off for you too. Ari fucks you like he’s never fucked you before. So hard and fast and frenzied, till you’re covered in bruises and your legs are shaking. And then he kisses you sweetly on the lips, and clasps your new diamond bracelet around your wrist. It’s got an inscription on the inside, which reads:

Daddy’s naughty little girl.

***

THE END SOCNSKKXKSAK BYE!

Masterlist

Last updated: November 26, 2024

Moon Knight

Give Me What I Want (Steven Grant x f!reader)

What Good Girls Get (Switch!Marc Spector x f!reader x Dom!Layla El-Faouly) No One Compares (Steven Grant x f!reader) Love You to the Moon and Back (Moon Knight trio x f!reader) Taking Control (Steven grant x f!reader, brief Marc Spector x f!reader)

Then There Were Three (Marc Spector x bi f!reader x Layla El-Faouly)

Miguel O'Hara

The Royal Treatment (Miguel x f!reader) Skip to Dessert (Miguel x f!reader) Full Body Workout (Miguel x f!reader) Finish What I Started (Miguel x f!reader)

Basil Stitt

Just One More (Basil x f!reader)

The Royal Treatment

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x f!reader

Summary: Reluctant to join the festivities at May’s birthday party, things start looking up for Miguel when he’s able to get the Princess Peter hired alone in the bathroom.

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+ ONLY, teasing, begging, oral (f receiving),fingering, unprotected p in v, pet names ( princess, your highness), fingering,  praise, dirty talk, choking, handjob, cum swallowing. Reader is referred to as small/ short in comparison to Miguel and he’s able to pick reader up, but in my head everyone is small in comparison to him so it isn’t necessarily a defining characteristic of reader.

W/C: 3.7k

A/N: First Miguel fic yayy. This has been in my drafts for forever and I finally got the motivation to flesh it out. I had a lot of fun with it.  Enjoy :)

Miguel was being his normal grumpy self, standing in the corner of the party while everyone socializes loudly around him. He quickly relocates to the backyard where he can at least get some fresh air and a little space. But all too soon everyone is making their way to the yard as well for the upcoming attraction that, unbeknownst to Miguel, would quickly pull him out of his funk.

It’s May's birthday and while Miguel adores her, the snotty kids and loud parents crowding around him make him wish he was anywhere else. Despite his natural instincts to flee, he decides to stay. He’d really love to see the look on May’s face when she opens his gift.

While he's silently cursing the obnoxious children running past, you float into the backyard, and he’s glad he held out. And you truly did float. The shiny tiara and beautiful gown almost made him believe you were actual royalty. He's so entranced he doesn't even notice the screeching children as they flock around you, oohing and aahing at your costume. May is the first to reach you and you curtsey to her, making her giggle.

The first time you speak, his breath catches in his throat. Your voice has this beautiful sing-songy tone. It's enchanting, capturing the attention of not only the kids but the adults as well. Your gentle manner and honeyed tone hypnotize Miguel and he can’t look away. You’re clearly dedicated to your craft, carrying yourself with a level of grace befitting a real princess. The kids love it, but Miguel is the most enthralled; his eyes never leave you. If you weren’t so preoccupied with the other guests, you surely would notice him staring you down.

He roams the perimeter of the group for the duration of your 'act', planning to just admire you from afar. But when his eyes finally meet yours when you head inside with Peter to grab a well-earned drink and your check, he hastily follows. He doesn’t really have a plan he just know he needs to at least speak with you.

You’re standing in the kitchen sipping your water as Peter is telling you how satisfied he is with your service. He says he needs to get back to his daughter and Miguel conveniently swoops in and offers to show you out. Peter thanks him and retreats back to the yard.

“That’s a beautiful costume” Miguel comments, hungrily eyeing your body under the guise of simply admiring your attire. You reply with a quick, 'thank you' and he expected you to drop the princess act but your voice still holds that dulcet tone that has his pants tightening. It’s not as exaggerated, seeing as you’re not trying to fool any children, but just as tantalizing.

Unbeknownst to Miguel, you had felt his eyes on you earlier but did everything you could to keep your focus on the other guests. You take your job very seriously, but his intense gaze made it difficult. So, when you were escorted inside you had to gulp down your water and try to regain your bearings.

When you first spotted him, his tall imposing frame had you a bit intimidated, yet had your mind reeling with thoughts of what he could do to you. He can make anyone feel small and you are no exception. Your mind quickly conjured up the thought of him having you caged in against your bed, pressing you firmly to the mattress as he thrusts deep inside you. You had to shake yourself out of the fantasy quickly to turn your focus back to the crowd.

When he steps into the kitchen, you're on edge again, trying to push away the intrusive thoughts. You try your best not to just stand there, mouth agape and drooling at him, making it obvious you want him to defile you. You don't know what's gotten into you. It’s not that you never get these kinds of thoughts, but this level of intensity and depravity feels new.

He’s very intriguing, but you can’t find the courage to look him in the eyes. While he's scanning your frame, you take a deep breath and try to steady the quiver in your voice. “Um, I need to change. I've got kind of a far drive. Can you show me where the bathroom is?” you ask, impressed you formed a coherent sentence, even going so far as to finally meet his gaze. 

“Oh, yeah. Right this way.” he guides you up the stairs to the guest bathroom at the end of the hall.

 “I'll just wait out here. This house is a maze, I doubt you’d be able to find your way out.” he offers, hoping to spend just a little more time with you. It may be a little inappropriate but he might just ask for your number. You nod and slip into the bathroom. 

As you go to pull your clothes out of your bag, you’re hit with a sudden realization that has you stopping in your tracks. You had your roommate help you zip up your dress. How are you supposed to get out of it on your own? You frantically reach behind you to try to get a grasp on the zipper. You don't even get close. Left with only one option, you shuffle to the door, and are welcomed with a slightly confused look from the man in front of you. You clearly hadn’t changed yet and he looks at you, brow raised.

 “Um…can you…uh… undress me?” you sputter, realizing how that sounded, and frantically try to correct yourself.

“I mean unzip! I…I can’t reach the zipper, can you help? Please?” a small smile appears on his face at your flustered state.

“Of course, your highness.” He playfully bows to you, making you giggle. Still standing in the doorway, you turn around and he reaches for the zipper. He unzips it slowly and can’t help but drag the back of his finger along your skin on the way down. You let out a small gasp as you feel a tingle spread across your skin. He finishes, but doesn’t step back.

“It’s a shame, you really do look pretty in this dress. I’m sure you look even better with it off, but the whole princess thing really suits you.” he says lowly, and you feel his breath fan against your neck. 

 "Do you have anyone taking care of you like one?” his question flusters you so you simply shake your head.   

“No? Tsk, Tsk, Tsk. Why don’t you let me show you how a princess deserves to be treated. Hm?” the rasp in his voice has your thighs clenching together and without even thinking you squeak out, “Yes, please.”

 You mentally scold yourself for giving in to a complete stranger so quickly, but no part of you wants to turn down the offer. He's obviously delighted and you feel him smile against your skin as he places his lips on your shoulder. He surprises you when he zips your dress back up, seeing as you’re ready for him to tear it off you.

 He guides you back into the bathroom and shuts the door, making sure to lock it. Then, he pushes you gently against the counter, having you face the mirror, and proceeds to pull the sleeves down over your shoulders, planting kisses from one side to the other. 

"Aren’t you going to take it off?" you ask sounding slightly confused and then clamp your mouth shut, not wanting to sound impatient.

Miguel chuckles softly, enjoying your eagerness. "Next time." he replies. "You just look so delicious in this pretty little dress of yours."

 He sucks in a deep breath as he peers at your body in the mirror, taking in your silk clad form. Then he flicks his gaze to your parted lips. You're watching him with baited breath, anxiously waiting for his hands to finally start roaming your body. They currently sit firmly planted on your waist and he can tell you're wanting more. He can’t help but toy with you, though. There’s part of him that’s desperate to give you what he knows you want but there’s another part of him that wants to hear you ask or, preferably, beg for it. The latter part wins and his hand moves to grab the length of your dress, rubbing the fabric in between his fingers. You immediately miss the warmth of his hands, something you could feel even through the fabric of the dress.

“The whole time you were putting on your little show all I could think about was lifting up the back of this gown and getting a taste of what’s underneath.” he remarks. You noticeably shiver at the feeling of his lips moving against your ear as he speaks with a low, gravelly voice. Every time he talks you can feel the rumble in his chest, which is pressed firmly against your back. You can also feel his impressive length against your backside that has been rock hard the moment he pressed it against you. All of these things in combination with one another are overwhelming your senses and anticipation pulses through you. You need him. Now.

With desperation clear in your voice, you blurt out, “Please, touch me.”

He gazes at you with a dark look in his eyes and an amused expression on his face.

“I need more.” you add. Your eyes leave his in the mirror to turn over your shoulder and look at him directly. Instead of pressing his lips to yours like he’s so tempted to do, he lets you continue.

“You said you wanted a taste, didn’t you?” you tug on his wrist, urging him to move it lower. He decides he’s teased you long enough. He presses you harder into the counter before moving away and throwing up your dress, handing the fabric to you.

“Hold this for me, princess.” you grab at the fabric although your reaction was a little delayed as the pet name has pleasure shooting straight to your core.

He caresses softly up and down your thighs, and starts kneading your cheeks. The gentleness lasts only a few seconds and you let out a gasp as he rips your pantyhose. As he kneels behind you, he lets out an audible groan. You assume it’s because he spotted the wet patch on your underwear. It must be pretty prominent considering you’ve been dripping wet the moment you saw him. Before you know it, he rips those as well.

With your arousal now fully exposed you can feel his breath wafting over your wet sex, and you shiver at the sensation. He starts teasingly sucking at your folds one at a time, placing one soft kiss to your clit before dipping his tongue into your entrance. He eats you out like he's starving and your legs shake as his tongue dances against your walls.

After exploring your heat thoroughly, he runs his tongue from your entrance to your clit, back and forth, sucking on it gently each time he reaches it. As the rhythm gets faster and faster, so does your breathing. Your teeth clamp down on your bottom lip to try to stifle your moans, not wanting anyone to overhear. What would the parents say if the party princess was upstairs getting eaten out in a frenzy by a man she just met. You push those worries aside as the pleasure builds. You bring the fabric in your left hand and join it with the right, then reach back and grab onto his hair and start gently pushing his face further into you, urging him on.

He easily brings you to the edge with his movements but before you can reach your release, he pulls his face from you. You whine, but the disappointment quickly fades as your excitement over the prospect of him being inside of you grows. Once he's upright, you attempt to face him, wanting to go down on him too. He senses your intentions but holds you in place against the counter.

 “I’m meant to kneel to the princess, not the other way around.” he playfully whispers in your ear. He appreciates your enthusiasm but he's fine saving that for another time. He's desperate to be inside you.

He bends you over and you place your hands against the counter to steady yourself. He pushes your knees apart and wedges himself between your thighs, pulling your hips back to meet his bulge and can’t help but rub himself against you. The fabric adds a wonderful friction and you mewl in response.

Reluctantly, he pulls away, then proceeds to run his fingers through your folds before dipping them into your entrance. You're soaking wet but he takes a few seconds to work you open. He knows how big he is and wants to make sure you're ready to take every inch of him.  When he knows you're ready, he pulls his fingers away and releases his aching erection from his pants. He immediately begins stroking up and don’t his shaft, coating himself in your arousal.

Blinded by your desperation for him, you hadn’t really thought about his size being a problem, until you feel him run his length through your folds. You can feel just how big he is and you take a deep breath to calm your nerves. He presses into you slowly, and the head of his dick already feels impossibly huge. But as he slides in, you stretch and melt around him. He lets out a throaty moan at the way your walls grip him.

You hiss at the intrusion, but the slight burn fades quickly as his shallow thrusts push deeper and deeper. As he gains more momentum, he's pushing your stomach against the counter and you feel yourself being pushed up onto your tippy toes. He notices and takes one of your legs and sets your knee up onto the counter and the other is left dangling as he supports your upper body. His strength to support all of you is impressive, but not surprising.

He sets one arm against your waist and tries grabbing at your chest with the other, but can’t get a good grip through your dress. So, he opts for your throat instead. His grip is loose, just to help stabilize you, but you hum in approval and you lean against him. You lift your head up to look at him through the mirror.

"Harder." you plead and grab his wrist, prompting him to tighten his grip. He growls at the pleading look in your eyes and desperate tone in your voice and squeezes firmly, adding a delicious pressure to the sides of your throat. You hear his deep breaths and grunts in your ear as he quickens his pace and the sounds stoke the warmth in your belly.

This new angle has him brushing up against that tender spot inside of you and you know if he keeps going like this you’re going to cum. He knows this too. He can tell just by the look on your face and feels you clench even harder around him when he brings his hand down to your slippery, throbbing nub and begins working it.

Your mouth falls open into a silent scream at the added stimulation and Miguel glances back up to take in the magnificent view in front of him. Your tiara is askew, slipping slightly off your head, and your lips are bitten from how you've been holding them between your teeth, trying to keep quiet.

“Look at you.” He says breathily, leaning down to kiss up the side of your neck.

“So pretty. Who’s my pretty princess?” he asks, his dark eyes meeting yours. You let out a pathetic whine and turn your head away. His words send a shiver up your spine, but are unable to hold his gaze, suddenly feeling bashful at the praise. He notices, but continues.

“Hm? Who’s my pretty princess?” his hand leaves your throat to grip your jaw, forcing you to look at him in the mirror. He slows his thrusts now to a maddeningly slow pace, awaiting your answer.

“I am.” you say, voice barely above a whisper. He caresses your jaw with his thumb, but continues looking at you expectantly. It takes you a second to figure out what he wants, but eventually the realization hits you. You take a deep breath, trying to steady your voice.

Now matching the intensity of his gaze, you reply “I'm your pretty princess.” His eyes flutter closed at your response. His hips stutter, then stop completely and he breaths in deeply, obviously trying to regain some composure.

Your lips curl up into a small smile at his reaction. His words have been flustering you since the moment he spoke. They've had you falling apart on his dick as he whispers filth into your ear while he takes you from behind. But now you get to see your words have the same effect on him, and a wave of confidence surges through you.

When he finally opens his eyes, he has this look in his eyes, like he wants to devour you, and it spurs you on.  You begin grinding yourself down onto him, fucking yourself back and forth on his dick as he stands behind you and he sees there's a playful smirk plastered on your face. A growl rumbles form his chest and he returns his hand to your throat.

 Momentarily overcome with the way your hips meet his and the drag of your wet, warm heat, his eyes fall closed again. He's tempted to let you continue, but the desire to see you cum, feel your walls spasm around him, has eyes snapping open. Without warning, he starts fucking you at the unrelenting pace he set earlier.

He knocks the smirk right off your face and you cry out as he pounds into you, his hand returning to your clit. Before you know it, you feel that familiar pressure building in your core, your breaths come in jagged gasps now, and he knows you're close.

 “I wanna feel it. Come on, give it to me.” he demands. He swipes faster at your clit you let out a squeak before you’re tumbling over the edge. Your body goes rigid against him as the waves of pleasure crash through you. You try to cover your mouth in an attempt to dampen the embarrassingly loud moans he’s pulling from you, but he pushes your hand away, wanting to hear every sound that falls from your lips.

As the aftershocks rip through you, his fingers leave your clit to grip the counter. He feels you pulsating and squeezing around him and it’s drawing him closer to his own release. His brows furrow and he's panting in your ear. You're a bit dazed from your climax, but you see the look on his face and the boldness from earlier takes over.

Before you can stop yourself, you pull his face to yours and tease, “Is princess gonna make you come?”

The noise that pulls from him is one that Miguel's never heard himself make, a mixture between a whine and a groan. His hips stutter and you hear him babble, “pretty pretty pretty” as he kisses the side of your face, down your neck.

A few moments later he’s pulling out and preparing to cum over your ass; before he can you're spinning around and falling to your knees. You don't know what's gotten into you, but you’ll attribute your brazenness to the praise he was just singing to you in combination with your post orgasm haze. You're looking up at him through your lashes and you grab him at the base, giving his dick quick, wet strokes.

You look up at him and his eyes are on you, enjoying the view from above. His lips part and he sucks in shallow breaths at the way you're cradling his balls while your arousal allows your hand to glide up and down his shaft with ease.

You smile up at him and purr, “Make me prettier.” You lean your head back, closing your eyes and sticking out your tongue, ready to feel his warmth spread across your skin.

"Oh fuck." he moans, feeling his balls tighten in response.

His body tenses, blood pumping hot, and with a deep groan erupting from his chest, he spurts his seed over you. You hum as you swallow and the tangy taste goes down surprisingly smooth. He looks down at you, admiring the way your tongue swipes the corners of your mouth, not letting one drop go to waste.

When he recovers, he wets the hand towel and cleans off the rest from your face. His movements are gentle, contrasting his previous actions, and he smiles sweetly down at you.

"All clean, your highness." he says softly. He sticks out his hand and helps you to your feet.

“I guess I better actually help you out of this, now.” he chuckles and unzips the dress, resisting the urge to pull it off you and drag you to one of the bedrooms for round two. But he needs to get back to the party before someone comes looking.

"Thank you.” you say over your shoulder and subconsciously lean into him. He kisses you quickly, yet deeply, before excusing himself to the hall to let you get dressed.

As he walks you out, you exchange numbers. When you finally reach the door, he finds himself struggling to pull his hand from the small of your back, not wanting to see you go.

“Thanks for all your help.” you say with a wink. You stand up on your toes and pull down to you for one last kiss. Before you pull away, he feels you slip something into his pocket. As you make your way back to your car, he slips his hand into his pocket, chuckling and shaking his head as his fingers feel the familiar lace material of your underwear that he ripped off you earlier. As he thumbs the fabric, he's already thinking about getting to pull them off you again.

Skip to Dessert

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x f!reader

Summary: Having gotten into an argument with Miguel before dinner, you both find a way to let out your frustration.

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+ ONLY, afab reader, mentions of previous argument/ bickering, teasing, flirting with a stranger, flashing a stranger( he sees your underwear, waiter is kind of a perv/creep, exhibitionism(kind of), getting caught in the act, oral (f and m receiving) spanking, begging, dirt talk, rough sex ( let me know if I missed anything)

WC: 3.8K

A/N: Completely stopped writing for over a month. Oops. But I got the inspiration to write again so I decided to finish this Miguel fic that's been sitting half-finished for months. Enjoy!! Also, PSA, don't flash strangers or involve them in your sexual escapades unless you have their consent. Tried to write the waiter character like he was a creep who enjoyed it and this is fiction so no harm done, but please don't do that irl.

The tension in the car is palpable, but not the good kind of tension. Not the kind where lust and desire hang heavy in the air, where you can't bear to be apart even though you're right next to each other. Not the kind where you can't keep your hands off of each other and the temptation to pull over and submit to your desires right then and there feels impossible to resist.

On any other date night, this would be the norm, but tonight, a different tension is felt between you and Miguel. Residual feelings of frustration and annoyance brought on by the argument you two had back at the apartment. The disagreement was petty. Nothing that a little healthy communication couldn't resolve. But the incredibly stressful and tiring day you two had had both of your patience hanging on by a thread, and it was just a matter of time before one of you snapped. This time it just so happened to be you. 

You were both looking forward to finally spending some quality time together, considering both yours and Miguel's schedules are so hectic. But any bit of excitement you had vanished as you walked into your shared bathroom and tripped over the pile of clothes he left in the middle of the floor. You came to find out about this little habit of his when you first moved in together. You had brought it up to him, expressing your annoyance, and asked him to try and be mindful about it. He made a genuine effort to stop, only reverting to his old ways when he was in a rush or had a million things on his mind. Today seemed to be one of those days.

You growled annoyedly, and the second he walks through the bedroom door, you get on him about it. Was it right to take your frustration out on him? No. But you couldn't help it. He clearly wasn't in the best mood either, as he marched after you when you stormed off and started arguing right back. You two spent the next ten minutes bickering and even continued to mumble angrily to yourselves and throw around passive-aggressive comments as you got ready to go to dinner. 

It was a terrible way to start date night, but as you sat side by side in the car and the negative emotions started to dissipate, you both realized how silly it had all been, and you didn't want to let it ruin your night, not knowing the next time you'd be able to go out like this.

Although the irritation you were feeling earlier had subsided, you couldn't resist messing with him. Usually, when you get into petty disagreements, you both end up in bed, letting out your frustrations and subsequently making up by fucking each other silly. But you had reservations that had been made months in advance that you did not want to miss, leaving you with pent-up frustration, so you decide to find other means of letting it out. 

You plan to do that by pushing his buttons in hopes that he'll drag you off somewhere to fuck the attitude right out of you. As you peruse the menu, you begin contemplating different ways you could rile him up until you realize the perfect opportunity to do so is standing at the table, filling your water glass.

Conveniently, the waiter has been flirting with you from the very first moment he walked up to the table, something both you and Miguel picked up on, and it's safe to say your boyfriend is not thrilled about it. Normally, you wouldn't be either, but in this case, it's working to your advantage.

As he fills your glass, he doesn't even look you in the eyes, opting instead to stare directly at your chest. Any other time, you’d tell him off for being a creep, but you see Miguel staring daggers at him, and that makes you want to egg him on further. You notice his reaction out of the corner of your eye, but the waiter doesn't seem to. Now that you think about it, he hasn't acknowledged Miguel once, his gaze only straying from you long enough for him to fill the other glass before he's looking back at you.

You proceed to ask him a question about the menu, all while pushing your tits up on the table and giving him a full view down your blouse. He doesn’t try to hide the fact that he's shamelessly ogling your cleavage and, again, neglects to make eye contact with you as he answers your question. You giggle at everything he says, and you can see Miguel roll his eyes as you do so. After chatting with you longer than your boyfriend, or you presume even management, would deem necessary, he quickly jots down your orders and walks away. 

When he's out of earshot, Miguel asks, “What are you doing?”, looking unimpressed and letting you know he’s on to your little game. But you don’t care.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m being polite to our waiter. You should try it,” you answer, feigning ignorance.

He scoffs, “Polite? Yeah. Polite means saying please and thank you, not giving him a good look down your shirt and letting him fuck you with his eyes.”

“I can’t control what he does. It's not my fault he can’t resist sneaking a peek. You do the same thing,” you respond, raising one brow as you see his eyes fall to your chest, proving your point.

His eyes move back up quickly, and he says, "Well, I also fuck you till you can’t walk. You want to let him do that too?” 

His question has your mind conjuring up the memory of just last weekend when he gave it to you so good that you spent the next day recovering in bed. You remember the delicious ache he left you with, and you press your thighs together at the thought. 

“Maybe I should. If he’s capable of picking up after himself, I’d get down on my knees for him right now,” you sass. Knowing he won't let that slide, you wait for his reaction. He slams his hand on the table, not hard enough to draw the attention of the other patrons, but it got yours. 

“I said I'm sorry, ok? I was rushing out of the house this morning and I wasn't thinking. Will you just let it go?” He asks, the frustration clear in his voice. 

You playfully roll your eyes and try not to smile. You’re not upset anymore, and honestly, you weren't to begin with. You were just agitated because you had a particularly hard day at work. You just can’t help but push his buttons. You wouldn't taunt him like this if it wasn't something he does to you all the time. He's even admitted that he likes messing with you, riling you up just to see you wear that cute little annoyed pout on your face. So, you’re just giving him a taste of his own medicine.

“Fine. I shouldn’t be giving him a show. But how about you?” You ask in a sultry tone as you run your foot up his leg and lean forward, giving him the same view you gave the waiter just moments ago. 

He licks his lips at the sight. “Fuck, you look so good in that dress. Too bad I'm going to have to rip it off you,” he says, reaching down to your foot that has made its way to the inside of his thigh, and he softly caresses your ankle.

“You tear it, you die,” you warn. This dress was expensive, and you’d like to wear it more than once. You've lost more clothes than you can count to his lack of patience.

He chuckles. “Ok. Pull it off of you,” he corrects himself.

“I don’t know if I can wait,” you whine and glance over at the bathroom, mentally calculating if you'd have enough time to sneak off without anyone noticing.

“No, not after last time,” he replies, shaking his head and smiling at the memory. You two had been just a little too loud, and as you walked out, you were met with a very concerned hostess who came to make sure everything was alright.

You pout but agree; you’d like to save yourself from that embarrassment again. You decide to give him a view of what he's missing out on and spread your legs and pull up your dress, prompting Miguel to glance under the table. He spots the bright red mesh panties he had recently bought you but has yet to see you wear. 

“Naughty, naughty,” he says, shaking his head, but it takes everything in him to pull his eyes away as the waiter comes back, carrying your food. 

“Here you go.” He sets your plates down, Miguel’s first and then yours, and he smiles down at you, this time hungrily eyeing your lips.

You can see the anger on Miguel's face, and the brattiness bubbles up inside you again. You move your hand and knock your fork under the table, feigning an “oops.” 

“I’ve got it, miss.” Your waiter quickly offers and squats, moving to reach under the table. Legs still spread, he’s met with your clothed mound, and he stops in his tracks, lingering under the table.

Realizing what’s happening, Miguel uses his foot to push your knees together, blocking the waiter's view, and he retreats from under the table. The guy must not sense Miguel's anger, or he simply doesn’t care, because when you thank him for picking it up, he replies, “No problem, beautiful, I'll go get you another one.” He then places his hand on your arm while shooting you a wink. 

Miguel, having had enough of this little display, stands up, reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a wad of cash. He proceeds to shove it into the waiter's chest, and the guy almost topples over. 

“Keep the change,” he grumbles and pulls you from your seat, guiding you out of the restaurant with his hand placed firmly on your lower back. 

“Decided to push your luck, huh?” He says as he opens the door to the back seat and pushes you inside. “Big mistake.” 

After shutting the door behind himself, he cages you in against the seat and begins grinding himself against you. Even through the layers of clothing, the friction feels divine, and your breath hitches.

“I can’t keep people from looking,” you try to reason, hoping you haven't genuinely upset Miguel. But judging by the way his hands run up and down your body, grabbing every slope and curve, it seems like you've garnered the reaction you'd been hoping for.

He kisses your neck and chest, moving down your body at a maddeningly slow pace, and continues to speak as he does so. 

“I’m not jealous because I know he wants to get with you. I love when you show your body off and all the looks you get. I get to see people crave so desperately for something they can’t have, for something only I can have.”

You feel your skin warming up, not only under his touch but at his confession. You know deep down he's never genuinely jealous. You've made it abundantly clear that you are his and that he is yours, and nothing and no one would ever come between the two of you. But knowing a part of him gets off on seeing other people staring at you or hitting on you all while knowing they'd never have a chance turns you on even more.

He finally gets down between your legs and slowly starts lifting your dress. He begins kissing and nipping at the newly exposed flesh of your thighs.

“What I didn’t like was the way he disrespected you by acting like a little perv. He’s at work for god's sake, and he has the nerve to be staring down your shirt and touching you. He’s lucky I didn’t reach over and break his wrists,” he says through gritted teeth as the image of the stranger touching you flashes in his mind and rekindles his anger.

The sentiment that he was more upset at the fact that the man was being touchy with you, which did make you uncomfortable and was unprofessional to say the least, was what upset him rather than a territorial thing did warm your heart. But the warmth blooming in your chest quickly relocates to your core as he places kisses across your panty-clad center.

"I'm not thrilled he got a glimpse of these," he comments as he massages you through the fabric. You hum at his touch.

"Maybe he wanted a taste," you tease and angle your hips closer to his face.

"If he tried that, he would’ve come out from under the table without any teeth," he threatens, and you know he isn't kidding.

“And a heel in his eye,” you add, disgusted at the thought of that creep trying anything on you.

He chuckles and slips your underwear off, and you hear a soft hum as he's faced with the sight he's been longing for. He momentarily drags his fingers through your folds, saying, “I can’t say I blame him for wanting a peek, though,” and then he dives in.

His skilled tongue has you cumming on his face quicker than you'd thought possible. As you come down, he's lifting his head, and you see your arousal dripping down his chin. The sight has you grabbing for him, and you pull him up to you. You lick up his chin and then capture his lips in a kiss, moaning at the taste of yourself on his tongue. 

You take advantage, as he's left a bit dazed by the heated kiss, and push him into a seated position with his back against the door. You hurriedly place yourself between his thighs, mirroring his position between yours. You undo his belt and pull him out. Always impressed with his size, you eye his length hungrily.

“Think he’s as big as you?” you ask, already knowing the answer, and begin stroking him slowly.

 He lets out a dry laugh, then says, “Not a chance.” 

The cocky tone with which he says it and the smirk on his face would make you cringe if it were anybody else, but you know he can back it up.

“He'd leave you disappointed, I know it. You can tell just by the way the little weasel carries himself,” he says, and there’s no doubt in your mind that he’s right.

Not able to resist any longer, you take him in your mouth. You grab him at the base and start moving your hand in tandem with your mouth, stroking up and down his dick while dragging your tongue on the underside of his length.

His head falls back and rests against the window as he gets lost in the feeling, bucking his hips every time you come up and swirl your tongue around his tip. His breathing starts getting ragged, and he gently pulls you off him. He holds you by your hair and brings your mouth to his; the kiss isn't too rough but is still filled with need.

You pull away and quickly shuffle onto all fours, facing the opposite window. He sits back, allowing you to position yourself comfortably, and appreciates the view as your ass sticks in the air. As you sink down onto your elbows, you teasingly wiggle your hips, and he smiles and grabs at the jiggling flesh before giving your ass a quick slap.

He positions himself behind you and begins rubbing his tip through your folds, repeatedly catching on your entrance, but doesn’t enter you like you desperately want him to. You whine, so he begins pushing his thick cock into you, but doesn’t get any further than his tip before he’s pulling out and rubbing his length through your folds once more.

He does this repeatedly, and not being able to take his teasing any longer, you whine, “Give it to me. Or should I go get what’s-his-name to do it for you?“

You suck in a harsh breath as he fully sheaths himself in you in one quick motion, and you feel your walls stretch around him. “Is that what you want?” he asks. 

“Mmhmm,” you reply, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as he begins moving slowly, allowing you to adjust to his size. When you begin reaching for him to get him to move faster, he knows you’re ready. He grips your hips and gives you faster, deeper thrusts that pull moans from both of you each time he bottoms out.

You both begin feeling the stress of the day melt away, adding to the mix of pleasure. The fatigue from the long day, and the never-ending problems and drama at work, and even the tension from the argument fade away as the pleasure overtakes both of you.

Your quick, shallow breaths and the way your toes curl let him know you’re getting close, and he reaches underneath you to start toying with your clit. This pushes you over the edge, and Miguel groans as he feels you pulsing around him.

He continues swirling his fingers around your clit to help you ride out your high, and you already feel your next climax building. You feel him begin to slow down and fuck into you at a gentler pace. Needing those deep thrusts back, you find yourself begging him to go faster.

“No, don’t stop! More, please. Please!” You plead as you reach behind you to grab the back of his thigh, urging him on.

He chuckles at the desperate tone in your voice. He pushes you down by your shoulders until your body is flush against the seat and then hikes your right leg up. As he’s shifting you into position, he says, “That boy wouldn’t know what to do with a woman like you. Look at you; you’re insatiable.”

You let out a sigh at the new position, his dick reaching deeper and his tip dragging along that spot inside you that has you squirming. Heeding your request, his pace quickens. His breathing quickens as well, making his impending release evident, and he tries to hold off, wanting to give you one more. 

“He looked like he was about to cum in his pants when he came up from under the table. No way he’d last long enough to give you what you need,” he continues.

“Think you can?” You tease as you look behind you and smirk, all while intentionally squeezing your walls. He lets out a low, throaty moan.

You continue clamping down on him intermittently, and his harsh grip on your hips and the deep furrow in his brow let you know he’s struggling to hold on. So naturally, you decide to tease him further. 

“Oh, I don’t think you can. I guess I’ll just have to get waiter boy to come and finish me off. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to.” You feel him place a firm grip on the back of your neck, and he uses the leverage to pull you to him and meet each of his thrusts.

Your mouth falls open and your eyes close at the feeling, but they fly open as you feel a harsh slap against your ass. You moan as he grips your stinging flesh and squeezes it in his hand.

“In. his. fucking. dreams.” He punctuates each word with a deliciously hard thrust. 

He begins rubbing your sensitive nub again, and your eyes roll to the back of your head. You barely muster the strength to lift your head as you hear Miguel mutter, “Speak of the devil.”

Confused, you attempt to focus your eyes and you see a shadowy figure rounding the side of the car. Miguel grabs the back of your head and smooshes it against the glass. As the person comes into full view, you see the familiar face of your waiter as he stands in front of the window. The fog that has formed on the glass makes it impossible for him to see anything but your face, but he definitely sees you. You know you should try to hide, but in the moment, you don’t care. It all feels so good, and you’re too cock-drunk to think or act with any reason.

The waiter looks confused, and then you see his face redden as he realizes what’s going on. He stands there for a minute, listening to your muffled moans through the window.

“Tell him who gets to fuck you,” Miguel commands.

You barely hear what he says as you feel the pressure building in your core. You babble out some incoherent response, so he repeats himself.

“Tell him. Tell him who gets to fuck you.” He’s rubbing at your clit even faster now, and you squeal at the almost overwhelming sensation.

“You, Miguel! Only you get to fuck me like this!” You finally answer. You’re not sure if the waiter heard what you said, but the way his eyes widen makes you think he does. Having the creep hear what he wanted him to hear, Miguel leans over and bangs on the glass, effectively startling the guy. He jumps at the sound and when he quickly tears his eyes away from you and shuffles away hurriedly.

As he steps away, you finally let go, and you topple over the edge once again. You shake underneath Miguel as he holds you to him, reaching his release as well. He kisses down the back of our neck before pulling out and flipping you over, so you’re face to face.

“Think he got the message?” Miguel asks, his face flushed as he attempts to catch his breath.

You cradle his face and push his hair back, admiring the view of him hovering above you. You pull his lips yours and kiss him deeply before pulling away to place a few soft kisses on his face, and he does the same to you in return.

“Yeah, I think he heard you loud and clear,” you respond.

"No, I think he heard you loud and clear,” he counters and laughs when you playfully smack his chest. You cover your eyes with your hand and groan as the reality of what you just did sets in.

“Well, I guess we can never come back here,” you say dejectedly as you mentally add this restaurant to the list of places you can no longer go because of you and Miguel’s collective lack of control.

He chuckles, and you pull your hand away and look him in the eyes. “It’s not funny! If we’re not careful, we won’t be able to show our face anywhere in this town,” you say playfully.

“Eh, worth it,” he responds, kissing your forehead.

Sketched him a bit - Basil 🌿