Oscar Isaac Fic - Blog Posts

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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.