Bob Floyd Is A Pleasure Dom Btw

Te Lo Ruego

miguel o’hara x fem!reader

nsfw masterlist | main masterlist

word count: 0.8k

summary: miguel is desperate for just a taste

warnings: SMUT (18+), minors DNI, miguel being a munch and pussy drunk, that’s it, it’s just him being desperate to eat you out <3 also, spanish (translation at the end)

A/N: I read two words and was inspired to write this...took me about an hour and now this is all i’m thinking about, please enjoy // as always, feedback is greatly appreciated, reblog and lmk what you think! <333

Thinking about needy!miguel tonight

I’ve said it once before, and I’ll say it again: miguel is a munch!

This man has hypersensitive senses, and whenever you two are together and about to get intimate, he can smell you so strongly, and it drives him absolutely insane (esp if you’re ovulating)!

He just needs to taste you, needs to have his mouth on you, needs you to come undone on his tongue. 

He gets so desperate. Kissing you under him, leaving bite marks on his way down your abdomen to your soaking heat. He’ll groan against your skin, your scent hitting him harder the closer he gets.

“Me estás volviendo loco” - And you can see it. The way his eyes glaze over, full of hunger and desire. The way his fangs and claws come out, unable to control himself. It makes him go primal, and he just needs a taste…

He’ll spread your legs in front of him, leaving bites and kisses along the inside of your thighs. His finger will trace the hem of your underwear, dipping down to rub the wet patch that’s already developed on the thin fabric. He’ll wait (not so patiently) for your permission to take them off.

Sometimes you’ll tease him, not letting him get what he wants just yet (even though you want it just as badly)

That’s where the begging comes in.

“Te lo ruego querida,” He’s trying so hard to keep his calm, panting against your skin, the scent of you making him dizzy with desire. He’ll lick his lips in anticipation, meeting your gaze. You gasp, the red of his eyes barely visible anymore because of how blown his pupils are.

“Por favor~” He whispers, his eyes never leaving yours. “Déjame probarte.” You actually whimper at his words. The way he begs you, the way he looks at you. Like you’re the only woman in the world, the only one that can have him aching for just a taste.

You can never hold out for that long, not when he’s practically whining, pleas leaving his mouth like a waterfall as he nuzzles your clothed cunt. Now it’s your turn to beg, asking him to please, just take them off already.

You don’t have to tell him twice.

A stream of ‘thank you’ being repeated over and over as he finally removes your panties, tossing them aside.

His gaze drops down to your bare pussy, and he can’t help the moan that escapes his lips. You look just as good as you smell, and he’s in a daze for a second before he finally places his sinful mouth on your heat.

And the moan of satisfaction he makes when he finally gets to taste you? You swear you could come right then and there.

Oh, he’s obscene.

His mouth is diligent, taking turns between suckling on your clit and dipping his tongue into your hole. Whatever his mouth isn’t paying attention to, his fingers handle.

Occasionally he’ll take his mouth off you just to shower you with praise.

“Always taste so good.” He’ll moan against you, the vibrations of his timbre adding more to your pleasure.

“Necesito-” He whines, eyes glossy as he meets your gaze. “Siempre necesito probarte.”

“C’mon baby, please… please, need you to cum for me.” He begs as he grinds against the bed. Needing you to come before he does in his boxers.

And, fuck, he just keeps going. Never letting up, never giving you a break because he just needs to keep his mouth on you. Needs to keep you coming more and more.

“Solo uno más, yo sé que puede darme uno más.” He always says that. Always says just one more, and he’ll stop. But he just keeps begging you for more. Saying you have one more in you. That you can come again. That he just needs to taste you one more time.

Eventually, he lets up. But only after he’s thoroughly wrecked you.

“That’s it,” He shushes you gently as you come down from your…shit, you don’t even know how many times he’s made you come. But you just focus on his sweet words. “You did so good for me; so proud of you.”

Some nights, that’s where he stops. Because that’s all he wanted. And he’ll take care of you, cleaning you up with a washcloth, bringing you some water and your favorite snack, getting you some comfy clothes, and holding you close as he tells you what a good girl you were for him.

Other nights though, he’s insatiable. You coming on his mouth is only the start because now? Now, he needs to be inside you. And stay inside you until he’s pumped you full of his cum at least twice.

I guess that’s what you get for being with spiderman; he has the stamina to go all night long.

—

Translation:

Me estás volviendo loco - You’re driving me crazy

Te lo ruego querida - I beg you, darling

Por favor - Please

Déjame probarte - Let me taste you

Necesito - I need

Siempre necesito probarte - I always need to taste you

Solo uno más, yo sé que puede darme uno más - Just one more, I know you can give me one more

—

tagging some mutuals and ppl who might enjoy this🫶

@zstrn // @joaquinwhorres // @dilfsfordinner // @chshiresins // @1800-fight-me // @thelmis // @harlekin6 // @banana-cheese-cake // @freeshavocadoooo // @fandoms-writings // @slocalari // @miggyyyyohara // @tarjapearce // @solesurvivorjen // @cozykali // @sunflowersteves // @cowb00t // @mothdruid // @inklore // @golden-barnes // @yourmommaissofine

OH MY GOODNESS THIS WAS JUST PERFECTION??? I LOVE LOVE LOVE IT

while we untangle

Pairing: Steven Grant x F!Reader (implied Marc Spector x F!Reader) Wordcount: 2.9K Warnings: Explicit AF. SMUT. DID. Wounds. Oral. CUM eating. Sry. Summary: Things happen to Steven. He ends up with dates he doesn’t remember making. He finds his fridge full and fishes with two fins. There is an attractive woman inches from him and he should just shut up and take it as a sign from God or Gods. Whatever. A/N: wow i wrote this instead of working on wys because i hate myself. title from Rufus Du Sol's No Place. i know vague shiz about moon knight but this is my current headcanon of marc being aware of steven and steven just doing his best (lmao). idk if this is really spoilery.

Steven doesn’t quite recall when he started dating you. He does not remember how it happened. You just appear and he simply goes with it because you’re soft and warm and you call him by his name.

It’s a little like magic. He falls asleep and wakes up and you’re there.

“Hi,” you murmur by the side of his bed. His body is aching. His shoulder is screaming. He feels his bones bunching up against the thin shell of his skin.

“What?” He shakes his head. “Who-?”

Their first conversation (that he remembers) is just fragments of words. It is a series of cut-off questions.

Who? What? Where?

You lean forward so quickly he nearly misses it. A flash of your hair and your eyes glittering like fish scales in the blue dawn light. You touch his jaw and use your other hand to comb his sweat-damp curls back from his brow. He wants to say something because he feels naked in front of you - this stranger in his sweats and one of his t-shirts.

Who are you? Who are you?

Instead, he says: “I’m sorry…I didn’t expect guests. I would have cleaned…”

He would have. He would have made an effort. You smile at him and that’s when he notices the gash at your hairline. The strange bruising along your collarbone.

“Did we…?” he finally asks because why else would a girl be in his apartment - at his bedside. Your lips quirk and you shake your head.

“I’m - do we know each other?”

He really shouldn’t press his luck. Things happen to Steven. He ends up with dates he doesn’t remember making. He finds his fridge full and fishes with two fins. There is an attractive woman inches from him and he should just shut up and take it as a sign from God or Gods. Whatever.

“In a way,” you hum as you stretch your arms above your head. Your joints crack and that cut on your forehead beads with blood. A few hours later, he will notice that it’s gone. He will notice that marks on you never last longer than a day.

“In a way?” he echoes. He is lost in this conversation just as he is lost in most conversations. Everyone seems about five feet ahead of him at all times.

“Yes - in a way, but,” You shoot your hand out and grasp his own tightly. He notices his palm is covered in raven-black grease and you don’t seem to mind. “I suppose we should meet formally.”

You tell him your name and he repeats it - rolls it around over his tongue like a smooth marble. His accent is thick and often too chewy in his mouth. He doesn’t know why he even uses the term “accent” because shouldn’t it just be his voice? His tone. His.

He feels like he’s trying to shove himself through a narrow hole. Nothing fits.

***

He starts waking up with you - coming to with you - in weird places. One time, he’s restocking mugs etched with incorrect hieroglyphics and the next thing he knows he’s coughing up blood on a rain-soaked street. It’s thundering. The clouds spiderweb with lightning. There’s the smell of wet leaves and garbage and a neon Exit sign is blinking above him.

“Marc! Help me out here.” You’re a few feet away punching the hell out of a man in back. There’s a splash of blood. It splatters over your nose and chin. You’re in this tight suit that shimmers grey-blue in the rain. Weird. When your eyes meet his, you suddenly grimace. Your expression flits between seemingly concerned and incredibly irritated.

“Who’s Marc?” He rubs his forehead. His teeth feel loose in his mouth. “Wait - where are we?”

Wait. Wait. Wait. He’s always colliding into a disaster or conflict before he can confirm what it is. Where - when - what -

“Fuck,” you growl and then the man you’re fighting socks you right in the temple. You stumble to your knees. Steven doesn’t really think - he doesn’t have to - he rushes forward in some hopeless attempt at protecting you and - well - everything goes black again.

***

He wakes to the tinkling music of a Carnival. He’s got his hands wrapped around a pole with chipped gold paint. There’s a thousand colors blurring into a mosaic of blues and pinks and purples and reds. Yellow as buttered popcorn. Green and copper as scarab beetles. He can taste sugar on his tongue. Cotton candy. His stomach aches.

He looks down and sees the white mane of a wood worse. It’s uncomfortable between his legs. He blinks. He shakes his head.

“You okay?”

He turns to find you sitting - riding - next to him. You’re straddling a unicorn, which oddly seems fitting since he’s about 67% certain you don’t exist. There’s an unreadable expression on your face. A strange transformation. You go from cheerful to anxious and he feels as if he has interrupted something. You bite your lip and reach for his hand. You thread your fingers together as the carousel picks up speed - as it circles and whirs like a cyclone.

That terrifying, obnoxious jingle of music.

“Hi Steven,” you tell him, which he doesn’t understand. Why are you greeting him when you’ve obviously been with him for a while. Are they on a date? This must be a date. Did he drink? He swears it was 4 PM last he checked, but the sky is black-navy. Violet and midnight.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters as he clings to the pole with one hand as you hold onto the other. He leans his too-hot temple against the wet-cold surface of it. “I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t know what else to say.

***

His eyes flutter open and it’s day again. The midafternoon sun peeks through his heavy blinds. You’re sitting next to him - hunched over like a curled C. One of his heavy mythology books in your lap. You’re reading about Isis and Osiris and he wonders if all his pieces are scattered over the Earth. It would make sense. It would honestly be a relief. An explanation.

There’s a white bandage around your arm with old blood staining half of it. It’s practically brown. He sniffs a metallic tang in the air along with the harsh scent of antiseptic.

He lifts himself up gingerly. More soreness. More agony in his back and the constant headache that thumps at the center of his forehead. He leans into you out of reflex, his chest brushing your shoulder. He touches your arm - drags his finger down the bandage.

“I didn’t do that did I?” He can’t trust himself. He doesn’t know anything. He loses days and nights and you are the only constant in his life. The one unmoved variable.

You twist around to look at him. You’re visibly exhausted. He wonders when you sleep because he’s never seen you do it.

“No,” you assure him. They’re so close that your breath fans over his lower lip. They’re dating and they aren’t. “Dating” is the only word he has for it because he wakes up and you’re in his room or literally in his bed. Sometimes you haul him to a restaurant or coffee shop.

Eat, Steven. You’re very pale.

They’ve never kissed though. They’ve never done anything beyond you looping your arm through his as you take him around London. He hadn’t realized it until now, but every errand they go on has been for his benefit.

You need more shampoo. You need another jacket. You need to get your haircut. Do you want another fish so he has a friend?

You let him talk to you. You let him vomit his words all over you because he has no one else. His mum’s voicemail. His mirror. His mind. One minute, he’s spilling his guts to a living statue and the next he’s spilling his guts to you.

And you respond. You nod and agree or disagree or drop your chin into your hand and listen intently. You laugh when he says something he actually meant to be funny.

“You’re such a weirdo,” you tease in between sips of coffee. It makes his lungs expand to the point he can finally get a full breath in. He is wide awake.

He shifts on the bed. The springs squeak. His sheets are scratchy and he notices there are granules of sand in the folds of linen. Bloody hell and all that.

There’s a wrinkle between your brows as you watch him watch you. You don’t avert your gaze like so many others do when he makes them uncomfortable. He can’t help it. He forgets himself sometimes. You’re different. You meet his stare straight-on.

His voice is low and urgent when he finally asks: “Why do you take care of me?”

You suck your lower lip between your teeth. It turns a color and he has to stop himself from swiping it with his tongue - from digging his thumb into the flesh. “I promised someone I would.”

He should question that. Who?

You know who.

The voices have returned. Swelling and shivering at the back of his head. They distract him. Solid. Tempting.

You know her mouth. You’ve tasted it before just not as you. You’ve had her. You’ve felt her. She’s ours.

He doesn't know what to do. He’s aware of his own awkwardness. He’s aware that he often misses social cues even though a large part of him seems to understand them. He just can’t get there.

“Steven,” you whisper like a secret - like their secret - every fucking letter deliberate and compassionate.

He wants to feel this.

He surges forward and kisses you. His body does it before his brain even catches up. He grips the hinge of your jaw and crushes his mouth to yours. You squeak in surprise before relaxing - before allowing him to cradle your cheeks between his hands and continue.

It feels familiar.

His lips move against your lips. His tongue traces your tongue - teasing and caressing and it subtly changes from sweet and careful to frantic and dirty. Your hand is on his chest - right where his heart thumps. He scrapes his teeth over your lower lip before soothing it with his tongue. He makes a demanding sound and pulls you closer.

He senses that he’s been at this threshold a thousand times previously. He has to move forward. He knows the steps. He needs to take you - plant himself inside you where he’d be safe. He’s been safe.

His hand palms the crown of your skull. He tilts your head to deepen the kiss. You respond gracefully - your own fingers now locked in his t-shirt. They trade kisses in his dusty room with all of his old books and white-noise sound machines and cheap cutlery. You sigh into his mouth - your breasts crushed against his chest. Your heart. His heart. Pound for pound. Sharing a rhythm. How much would they weigh? The bandage on your arm chafes the inside of his bicep.

You shiver and it surprises him - the fact that he’s capable of arousing such a sensation out of you. He wants to go further.

He wedges himself between your legs. He doesn’t know entirely what he’s doing and yet he does. He’s had to have done something like this before. Maybe, at school. His twenties? He should know though no distinctive memories come to mind. No images of teenage lust in a backseat or fumblings in a dark theater.

Still - he appears to be getting it. Gestures before thoughts. It’s like the act itself is already written on his bones - taped somewhere in his mind with instruction.

At some point, they get naked.

You are spread out on his pillows and he uses his hands to open your thighs. He watches your cunt - shiny and pretty in the afternoon light. There are bruises on your hips - along your ribs. He wants to ask, but doesn’t.

You already know, Steven. You saw her get them last night. Fighting. You have some too.

That voice that’s like his voice, but not.

He slips his fingers against the seam of your folds - nudging between them and watching the effect it has on you. He thrusts to the knuckle before twisting his hand so he can press his thumb to the peak of your sex. You’re so wet and hot and each jerk of his fingers makes you tighter. The repetitive clench of your walls as he eases you through it. The push of slick more erotic than anything he’s ever even dreamt of.

“Oh,” you moan softly. “Oh - shit.”

“I-I think - is that alright?” he stammers - his chest tight - his cock so hard that it juts against his stomach.

You nod furiously. You open your arms to him - come come come - be with me. He goes - capturing your mouth - tongue warm as it slides over yours in a desperate, messy tangle. Your hand circles his cock, grasping him tenderly. You stroke him slow as he fucks into your palm. He kisses you. He kisses your throat - your breasts - your cheeks. You lead him - let him in - and then the head of his cock is rubbing right up against your pussy. It’s furiously hot - making slick sounds as it slips through the seam of swollen flesh.

You stare up at him, lips twitching and kiss-bruised. He keeps his eyes fastened to your face as he sinks in too quickly. You stretch around him - nails digging into his shoulders. Your mouth parting. Oh - it’s like this.

You feel like home. You feel like him. He knows this. He knows the wet clutch of your sex around him. Vice-like. Murderous. He rocks down and you glide with him. He draws back until he’s nearly out of you before snapping forward - punching a moan from your lungs. A push and pull. He tilts his hips and you follow - knowing the ebb and flow of his movements like you’ve done this before. You fist a hand into his curls as you nip his jaw. There is the loud liquid suck of your body greedily accepting his cock again and again. It’s so crude that he can’t quite believe it.

“Steven - fuck,” and now he is acting without thought. He is allowing the insides of himself to take over. It’s like a dance that he is watching from a step away, but oh he feels every second of it. He savors the soaked clasp of your cunt. The smell of your sweat and your hair and your lush skin as it slaps against his.

You shove him away and he groans as he rears back on his heels. His pleasure is dismantled. It is interrupted. You rise up on your knees and kiss him hungrily - nearly swallowing his tongue before you turn around. You get on all fours - your grip taut around the bed frame. His gaze traces the lines of your body - the curve of your ass that hitches into his hip bones and fitting snug.

You know what to do. You’ve done it before. Our girl likes it like this.

Ours. Ours. Ours.

That voice unbearably deep and vibrating with power. It’s like heartburn in his chest - bubbling up his throat.

This is for you, Steven. Trust us. Trust us.

He takes himself in hand and guides it back into your spread, dripping cunt. He bottoms out and you respond beautifully - a fragile wisp of a sob as you blossom around the length of him. You bury your forehead into his pillow. You bite the blanket.

Steven has never been able to keep quiet, but now he is out of words. He grunts low, rumbling noises and sometimes: oh god - fuck - so good -

He hopes that it’s enough for you to realize that this is everything he’s ever wanted. This true connection when he’s always felt like he’s living behind glass. He’s grateful.

He reaches around to pluck at your clit - something he wouldn’t have known to do or hadn’t done before and yet he does. It’s imprinted. The second he touches the swollen nub of it, you seize up like you’ve been electrocuted - pleasure ringing through your veins and limbs and he meets it by grinding deeper into you and there are filthy words flying from your lips in heaving, breathless whimpers and Steven blushes bright red because he can’t quite believe he’s done this with you - even as his cock spits inside you - even as he fills you to the brim without wasting a drop. When he eases himself out, there is his own pearly seed sliding down the backs of your thighs. It seeps between your swollen folds, dripping onto his comforter, which he will never wash again -

He touches it with his fingers - mesmerized. The voice in his head is throaty and smug: do it, Steven. I know you want to. She’ll love it.

He listens. He flips you onto your back - mouthing at your throat and tits before he travels downward. He forces your knees apart and buries his face between your legs - lapping and sucking and devouring what he has done to you. You arch up - hips jerking against his face. His nose hooked enough to deliberately scrape against your clit as he licks from your fucked-open pussy.

You cry out, yanking at his curls until it stings and he’s sure he’s missing patches of hair. He won’t let up. He latches and remains there - his hands now under your ass as he lifts the bowl of your pelvis up - like a platter - like an offering to the Gods - overflowing with nectar - a ritual -

He’ll repeat it. Day in and day out. He will perform this.

His skin burns with arousal. A fever. You know it’s him doing what he’s doing as he feasts - as he suckles his own come from your sex. He does not know this and yet he does. Another lifetime perhaps. Another yesterday. All of his memories are wrapped in plastic and yellowed with age. Opaque. Potentially not his. But this is clear. This he is sure to remember.

He knows. He knows. He knows this and there aren’t any lost hours between them. It is one long day and one long night of this tryst where he doesn’t wake up with a broken jaw or bleeding gums. He does not question your presence or why his fish die or why you care enough to keep him alive when no one else seems to notice him. He’s Steven and you call him by that name.

being fucked so hard from behind and they lay on top of your back while they’re fucking you senseless and moan in your ear

home is where you're mine

premise: in nevarro you and din can finally breathe and spend your days christening every surface of your home.

pairing: din djarin x (f)reader

word count: 911

warnings: eighteen+ content, established relationship, riding, unprotected p in v, tiny little taste of possessive!din, domestic life, public-ish encounter, 'etyc' means dirty, 'mesh’la' means beautiful.

note: did i have an absolute panic attack over actually writing in the mando world instead of doing an au? yeah yeah i did, but thanks to my bbys @psychedelic-ink and @pedrito-friskito i got over it and wrote this filth <3.

The skin on Din’s neck feels as hot as your body does. The sun, having gone down hours ago, did little to cool the warm air—the humidity that’s clinging to your body and making sweat gather at your brow and run down your spine as your breath heaves your chest with your ministrations. 

There’s an ache in the heel of your foot that you ignore. That does not deserve a second thought, maneuvering around, or changing of position when this one feels too good. 

When Din is letting you take control, letting your fingers move to the only skin visible and hold onto it like a lifeline. Like you’d float away from the building pleasure if you didn’t have something, some kind of contact that wasn’t his gloved hand bunching up your dress at the top of your ass so he can grip and pull you down onto his length. The only helping hand he’s giving.

Since the two of you had made—what you hoped was—a permanent home in Nevarro. Until another bounty called Din away, now giving you a place to safely wait for his return. A cabin big enough for the three of you. A space that wasn’t covered in scrap metal and piles of weapons or debris. 

You know, in truth, that you’d live under any conditions if it kept Din on your side. The child on your hip or by your feet. 

But this place felt special. Like the three of you could finally take a deep breath and let your guard down for half a second without feeling remorseful over it. 

The porch had quickly become Din’s favorite spot to relax. To put his feet up and watch the sky, the terrain—Grogu, as he basked in the daylight and played with his food. 

Which is where you found him tonight after the child had drifted to sleep and the two of you were alone. The planet seemingly quiet when it knew the two of you needed it. When you leaned against the doorway and Din held out his hand to you. Pulling you into his lap. A calming silence shared between the two of you as you took in the stars. 

A moment that seemed too good to pass up. To not continue to take advantage of the space you had been given to have Din inside of you. 

No need to sneak around or find a darkened corner. 

It’s as if the two of you needed to break in every surface within the new space. Home. 

Your cheek pressed into the wall, a counter, a table. Your fingers leaving indents in the fabrics of seats, beds, and blankets. It was only right that you carry on that same streak in Din’s favorite spot. 

“Should we-” he began, the shake of your head cutting him off as your hips rocked against him. As he grew the more your sweet whimpers fell, and your fingers danced along the beskar of his chest plate. “Etyc,” his gloved hand coming down to tap at your ass, making you grin.

It didn’t take long for you to free his cock and position him at your entrance. To get yourself this close from the motion of your hips, the angle making the fabrics of his pants rub against your clit with each gyrate. Each time he bucked up into you just a little harder than the last. 

You let out a gasp when the warmth of his glove covers one of your breasts. His fingers pull down the—now—flimsy fabric from your shoulder to reveal it to him. To rub his thumb over your nipple in circles that make your moans grow in octaves. 

“Mesh’la,” Din groans. 

If this were in the darkness of your room, your roles would be reversed. Your vision cut off from him while he saw you in full. Running his mouth along your body. His teeth nipping at your breast until your body was pushing against him for more, to be filled by him. 

And if you asked him to take you to your bed right now, he would. Happily. He’d draw out your orgasm by making you fuck his tongue, pulling away when you were at that precipice only to shove his cock inside your trembling walls. Repeating the actions until you’re begging him to let you come. 

You have many nights for history to repeat itself, though. 

Right now, you’re so close, and the way Din’s hips are moving in tandem with your own lets you know he is too. That neither of you could move even if you truly wanted to because your pleasure is too much. Coming to that crescendo that makes you see a galaxy behind your eyelids when you can feel him twitch against your clenching walls from reaching your climax together. 

The gloved hand at your breast trails up the column of your neck, gripping your chin to bring your forehead to the warmth of his helmet before splaying the palm over your mouth. “The sounds you make when you come are just for me.” He grunts, your hips moving in unison one, two, three more times before you’re both coming. Your moans fall into his hand. Caught and absorbed by the fabric as your body clenches and trembles against him. The deep bravado of the groan he tries to bite back shakes your chest as you lay against him. “Mine,” mixed into the jumble of words he spews breathlessly. 

Ahhhhh thank you love!! So glad you liked it🥰🫶

Dile (Cuéntale)

miguel o’hara x spiderwoman!reader

song inspo: dile by don omar

main masterlist // nsfw masterlist

word count: 4.5k

summary: Miguel gets jealous of your relationship with Peter. He’s on a mission to prove he’s better.

warnings: SMUT (18+), minors DNI, porn without much plot (I need him carnally), jealous/possessive miguel, biting kink (pretend his bites aren’t paralyzing y’all), miguel being a munch!, unprotected sex (pls be safe irl), overstimulation? (he makes you cum a lot), creampie/breeding kink, dirty talk, operating under the assumption they’re both nude under their suits, Spanish (I’ll put translations in a reblog), mutual pining/a confession!?, way too many italics bc I need to emphasize everything.

A/N: this was just supposed to be a short concept piece…and it ended up taking me three weeks to write bc I just kept adding more. anyways, felt weird to write miguel speaking spanish if the reader doesn’t understand so this is technically latina!reader (actually really happy ab it bc I always wanted to write latina!reader for myself 😊).

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YES YES YES THANK YOU!

honestly so happy that you delivered on my breeding kink ask because this was just perfection!! but also very glad you didn’t crash!! I mean I would’ve probs had the same reaction tho bc I mean breeding is my #1😌

and idc what anyone else says, for sure, without a doubt in my mind, Adrian has a breeding kink

omg he’d want to constantly have you filled and full of him cum or child and the thought makes me go absolutely feral, like insane, foaming at the mouth, screaming and creaming 😩‼️

and trying every single day??? my man is determined, and I’m so glad he is, wouldn’t want it any other way

also dad Adrian??? yes yes yes 100 times yes, he’d be such a good dad, like the best, his kids would be his whole world 😭

anyways thank you for writing this🥰

idk if you talked ab this before but thoughts on Adrian having a breeding kink👀

and another

pairing: adrian chase x reader (gn pronouns, has a vagina/womb)

rating: e+

word count: 1,813

one-sentence synopsis: ever since you decided to try for another baby, adrian has been determined to make it happen, without pause.

author's note: i'm sorry but i got this message while i was driving and i gasped out loud and almost crashed my fucking car holy fucking shit. i also sent screenshots of this message to a couple of my friends, one of whom said, "of course adrian has a breeding kink. any character you touch automatically gets a breeding kink by osmosis." and then i was like so of course adrian has a breeding kink and let's talk about it. and i started writing a headcanon thread but then i basically started writing fic and now i just wrote a fic. i'm so sorry. i love breeding kink i love pregnancy tropes i'm sick in the head i'm not sorry!!!! (i am sorry for my long-ass author's note though)

read on ao3!

Adrian’s on you the second you’re in the door.

This isn’t a surprise, nor is it unwelcome. You laugh, telling him, “Adrian, I just got home from work, I’m all sweaty—”

“And?” Adrian asks, breath ghosting over your skin as his lips just barely lift from your throat to speak. “What, you want to shower so I can get you sweaty all over again? Waste of water.” With his teeth hovering over your pulse point, he tells you, “Conserve.”

You huff another laugh, breathless this time. Adrian kicks the door shut behind you, twisting to shove you up against it. His hands are already tearing your coat apart, pushing the buttons through their holes with a haste that nearly rips the threads holding them together. He’s already introducing teeth to your throat, his large hands hot where they glide up under your shirt.

This has been your homecoming every day for— weeks now, actually. As soon as the two of you decided to try for another baby, he was determined to try every. Single. Day. Usually, multiple times a day. Sometimes even multiple times a time. He’s told you over and over that he’s intent on giving you as many babies as you want, as many babies as he wants— which is apparently infinite, and you’re drunk enough on him and the way he makes you feel that you’re willing to give him that in return.

Adrian reaches down, scooping you up with his hands tight around your thighs. You hitch up onto him, wrapping your legs around his waist. You cup his jaw in your hands, pulling his face up to bring him into a bruising kiss.

“C’mon, let’s go,” Adrian breathes, drawing you up and away from the door.

He uses his sheer strength to carry you up the stairs, to your bedroom down the hall, where he nudges the door shut gently and throws you down on the bed. The frame creaks; Adrian reaches up to steady the headboard with one hand gripping the curved top of it.

“Shh,” he shushes the bed before ducking down to kiss you. He uses his grip on the frame to brace himself, dropping to take your lower lip between his teeth for a moment before separating again. He pushes up and off of you, stripping his shirt off over his head in a rush. You honestly don’t know why he bothers wearing as much clothes as he does when this happens every day.

Adrian is desperate to get his hands on you like it’s the first time he’s ever done it, like he’s never going to get to do it again. He gets you bare under him, his hot skin sliding hot over yours, enjoying the rub of his coarse body hair over the friction burns you’ve already gotten from him in the same spots for the same reasons over the last few weeks.

Last few weeks, months, years. He loves to do this to you, with you. His cock is already hard, gliding slick over your thigh, and he reaches between you to find your entrance already wet.

His fingertips dip inside you, his eyes flickering up to meet yours above the rim of his glasses, through the thick fringe of his eyelashes. He grins, says, “You want me to fuck you so bad already, don’t you? Look at you.”

“Yeah,” you tell him, writhing slightly, twisting on your back to push your hips, hoping for more friction from him.

“I want to fuck you so bad, too,” Adrian says, looking down to his fingers slipping inside you. He fucked you before you went to work, and you relax easily around him now. He draws you up, burying his face in your belly, mouthing at your flesh with hot breath and biting teeth and slickness. His fingers fuck into your cunt, and breath punches up out of your lungs, rasping. “Oh, fuck, look at you. I want to— want to fill you up, want to give you my baby, want—”

“Yes,” you breathe, head dipping back into the pillows. He’s twisting his wrist, getting his thumb on your clit so you inhale sharply, hands flying up to grasp desperately at him. You twist your fingers in his hair, your other hand reaching without success towards his elbow, wanting him to push harder, deeper.

“You’re soaked,” Adrian comments with admiration, staring down between your slick thighs. “Fuck. Can I fuck you? Please, can I fuck—”

“Yes,” you tell him, “I want— Go ahead, you can—”

Adrian’s already slipping his fingers out of you, and you’re crying out, wanting to draw him back in. He doesn’t waste time, slotting himself between your legs. He lines his cock up with your hole, pushes into your tight heat like he never wants to be anywhere else.

His head falls forward, burrowing into your chest. You kiss the top of his head, your hands going to his back, gripping his shoulders. Adrian gathers you into his arms, wrapping around to your back, pulling you in close, dragging his mouth up to spread the flat of his tongue over your nipple before he introduces his teeth.

“I wish you were pregnant all the time,” Adrian tells you. “You should never not be pregnant. It’s, like, what you’re made for.” He pushes deeper into you until your hips are flush with his, until he’s pressing so deeply into you that your core is throbbing. He lifts his head, bright eyes meeting yours, sweat smudging his glasses. “God, you don’t know what you fucking look like. You don’t know how you make me feel, knowing that I’m the one doing this to you, that you and I love each other so fucking much—” He lifts his head, bites into another kiss with you. Muffled, his lips to yours, he continues, “—that I just can’t stop fucking— breeding you, that I can’t stop filling you, seeing you like—”

His hand threads up, climbing your side to tangle in your hair, and you fold into him, collapsing like a house of cards. He takes his as his cue to start fucking you in earnest.

He lifts your leg to adjust your angle together, and this new slant gives you friction against it, lets you grind against him until there are sparks rocketing through your core. You grapple for him, and he fits himself into your hands, biting a bruise into the soft underside of your jaw.

You can feel the chaos in the way he moves, his madness, his hunger for you. It’s obvious in everything about him: what he says to you, what he does to you. He never wants you to stop carrying his children; you never want to stop carrying his children. It really is like you were made for each other.

“Oh, fuck,” Adrian bites off into your throat. “Can I— Can—”

“Yes,” you tell him, and he’s losing his rhythm, fucking you with abandon. His hips snap into yours, ferocious in his claiming of you, his determination to take root in you. You can’t help the prick of tears in the backs of your eyes, the burn in your nose, the smile that touches the edges of your lips. This is, you think, one of the best feelings you can feel. There’s very little you’ve found to top it, anyway.

Adrian mumbles your name into your skin, curses and praises and rambled nothings as he drags you over the edge and pulsing into your orgasm. You gasp out, shaking, trembling like you’re collapsing, a dying star inside you. You drag him in closer, unable to release him.

“Please,” you beg him, “please, please, please—”

He gathers your head in his hands and pulls you in for a long kiss, spreading you open, licking behind your teeth. The searing heat of him consumes you as he cums, floods you, fills you.

You’re gasping for breath, clinging to him, as he says, “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” kissing along your hairline, smearing sweat along your skin.

Your chest heaves as you struggle to breathe. Adrian’s hand glides down your chest, between your nipples, to settle over your belly. His thumb strokes over your navel, his face dropping to kiss your flushed skin.

“Hey,” you breathe to him. He lifts his head, glasses askew, hair rumpled, waiting for you to speak. “Guess what?”

“Uhh— Is this a rhetorical guess what or a real guess what?” Adrian asks. “You really want me to guess? Because my brain, it’s not working at top—”

“Adrian,” you cut him off. He refocuses on you just as you tell him, “I’m already pregnant.”

For a second, he just blinks. Then, he laughs, surging up to kiss you again, one hand sliding up to grip at your hair. He’s still rooted inside you, and the rough movement jostles you. You bite off a noise into his mouth; he draws back, pressing a soft kiss to the bite he’s left on your lower lip before separating.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demands. He kisses your cheek, your nose, your lips again, before he says, “Oh, fuck yes, fuck yes, fuck yes—” He laughs, then delightedly cheers, “Fuck yes!”

“Adrian, be quiet,” you tell him, unable to stop laughing yourself at his obvious joy, at your own corresponding glee. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t get so much as a hi, how are you before you were taking your dick out at the door—”

“I did not hear you complaining at the door,” Adrian says, smiling.

You’re about to respond when there’s a hard bang-bang-bang-bang against your bedroom door, a tiny palm flat against the wood.

“Are you home, Daddy?” your daughter demands from the other side of the door. You don’t know why she asks when she just heard his voice, but it makes you laugh, dropping your head back.

“If the two of you wake up the baby, I’m going to be pissed,” you promise Adrian. He ducks to kiss your cheek again before slipping out of you.

“I got her,” he assures you. “You stay here, you take care of our baby until I can come back and celebrate right—”

You have to shove him off when he ducks down to kiss at your throat again, your daughter slamming on the door, demanding his attention all over again. Sure enough, you can hear the baby start crying in the nursery across the hall.

You grab the pillow from up off the bed beside you, bringing it up over your head and burying your face in it. Adrian ducks to kiss your hip.

“Okay, I promise, I’ll deal with them,” he says. You smile as he drags his face up over your belly. There’s nothing different yet, but he still presses a kiss there, says, “Love you,” and jumps up off the bed.

-

adrian chase taglist:

@violetrainbow412-blog @bigassbisaster @amysuemc @sunflowerfive @papitas-con-sal @saturnngal @neptuneswritingwork @jewishdelis @myguiltypleasures21 @pinkygunslingy @violinchick @r3tr0sp3ct @chaseadrian @breathing-in-waves @rishlurh @x-milf-hunter-x @goblynnrockz @theowritesstuff @jaysfav @themartiansdaughter @dallasvakarian @missscarlettangel @pieriinova @samantha24015 @hillaryroadheadcllinton @ohmybubbletea @buckys-estrella @witchywcmans

IVE BEEN DRIVEN TO INSANITY FR

On mating seasons there was nowhere you could hide from Miguel. Be it on another dimension, up in the roof, some hidden spot in the city, he didn't care. He'd always bring you back to his private quarters and wouldn't let you go until your womb was full of him.

Hands held by his webs above your head, body slick in sweat as he ripped another crushing orgasm out of you. Legs shook in a poor attempt to prevent him start another. The count was lost after the fifth one.

"T-Too much" you whined in between coarse breaths. His hands melded you like putty, this time he brought your knees up to your shoulders as he propped above you in a mating press position

"Cute you think I care, preciosa." as he spoke, you felt the so ever good stretch of his cock deep in your already punished and full pussy.

"Uno más y ya está.*"

To your luck, that's what he had been saying to you for the last couple of hours.

----

Uno más y ya está*- One more and that's it.

Maaaannn hearing harrison whine out your name while hes in the shower aaaaaaaa

NO WAIT NOW WE’RE TALKING

just after he helps you out gardening next door, you go back round to his to drop something off he forgot. “harrison!” you call out into his house.

you can hearing the shower running and you go over to the bathroom door. you obviously don’t want to go in (although at the back of your mind you’re picturing it so clearly), so you part your lips ready to let him know you’ve left the drill on the kitchen table.

but you don’t get that far because you hear your name being panted, no not panted, whined out behind the noise of the water running over his body.

you remembered harrison’s door didn’t have a lock on it. you shouldn’t. you really shouldn’t. but God you’d beat yourself up if you never just even peeked. inching the door open you thought your heart was gonna jump out of your chest, the heat rising to your cheeks.

you were greeted with the view of harrison slumped against the cool tiles, palming his cock and gently rubbing his thumb over his red and aching tip. his eyes where screwed blissfully shut and his hair damp hair moped over his forehead. chest heaving up and down as his lips continually parted to whine your name.

i gonna S(CREAM) 🫠🫠🫠

thank you so so so much for this wonderful thot my dear anon!!! 💌💖

ME TOO BABE😩

Te Lo Ruego

miguel o’hara x fem!reader

nsfw masterlist | main masterlist

word count: 0.8k

summary: miguel is desperate for just a taste

warnings: SMUT (18+), minors DNI, miguel being a munch and pussy drunk, that’s it, it’s just him being desperate to eat you out <3 also, spanish (translation at the end)

A/N: I read two words and was inspired to write this…took me about an hour and now this is all i’m thinking about, please enjoy // as always, feedback is greatly appreciated, reblog and lmk what you think! <333

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