Synopsis: Stephen has been very busy the last few days and the reader decides he needs a moment to relax.
Word Count: 2k
Warnings: SMUT: Handjob and some dirty talk. Use of the word daddy one or two times. Mostly fluff.
A/N: Working two jobs I haven't had much time to write, but I managed to finish this one for you guys and I hope you like it.
One of the things you tried not to do was disturb Stephen when he was working. You were still getting used to the idea of living together, even though you had been dating for almost 2 years and you were used to him sleeping in your apartment or you sleeping at the Sanctum almost every day, but actually living together was completely different and you wanted to show him that you knew how to respect his space and that you understood how busy he was.
However, since Stephen had set the date for the next mission with the Avengers he was always stressed, always worried and barely left the library, always reading and preparing for whatever he had to do. - As time went by, you stopped asking him to explain his missions to you. Today was no exception, Stephen was in the library, he was there all day in fact and even though it was Saturday, Wong was still wandering around the Sanctum instead of going back to the Kamar Taj like he normally did on the weekends, and you were bored and upset at being left aside and knowing that soon you would be alone in that huge house.
But you weren’t worried about yourself, you were worried about Stephen. He had barely been eating the last few days and when you brought it up he always said he was fine, but all that nervousness and stress couldn't be further from fine. You just wish you could find a way to make him stop and breathe for a minute and perhaps relax a little bit before going out on his mission. If you could just get him to talk to you a little, or eat something healthy, you'd feel less worried.
You found yourself searching for Wong to make sure he wasn't in the library too and found the Sorcerer Supreme in the Window of Worlds room doing who knows what. Having decided, you went to the library and found Stephen at his desk reading a huge book. He was so absorbed in his reading that he even noticed you approaching, even though Cloaky broke free from his shoulders and flew towards you.
He only noticed you when you were already at his side, asking so that the sentient relic could leave your both alone for a moment. Cloaky flew away happily and you smiled feeling a warmth in your heart. Sometimes you caught yourself thinking it was weird to have so much affection for a piece of clothing, but Cloaky was so much more than that you end up telling yourself every time.
Stephen sighed heavily as if he expected you to complain to him, even though he knew you never complained. Maybe he simply knew he had crossed the line today.
"Sweetheart, I know its Saturday and I know I should be spending some time with you, but I really need to find this specific spell..."
You shushed him wrapping your hands around his shoulders and positioning yourself right behind him. "I know. I didn't come here to complain, Steph. Do what you have to do." You said in a honeyed voice and began to massage his shoulders slowly. "I just want to spend some time with you while I can, if that's okay. I promise I won't disturb you."
He sighed heavily as you started working on a knot on his right shoulder and you could feel him melting under your touch and that was one of the things you loved most in the world.
"You could never disturb me, sweetheart. Hmm, this feels so good. I don't deserve you, Y/n."
"Shh. Enjoy it."
You smiled to yourself and continued with the massage and Stephen did his best to turn his attention back to his book which from what you could see was all written in runes.
It wasn't your intention to distract him, but you couldn't help but feel a little proud when you noticed how much he was melting into your touch, the slight moans he made every time you put more pressure on an area of his shoulders that needed to be worked on more carefully and – of course – it didn’t took long for dirty thoughts start to creep into your mind.
As the minutes passed, your hands began to become more daring, going down his defined chest covered by his blue robes and he sighed contentedly when your lips began to place little kisses on the back of his neck, going up to bite his earlobe and finally whispering into his ear.
"Does it feel good?"
He groaned, lolling his head back and closing his eyes and resting it on your chest.
"It's perfect. I'm so tired, sweetheart. You have no idea."
You nodded "Yes I do. I’ve been worried about you all day. That's why I'm here. I wanted to make you relax a little bit."
He hummed positively, "God, it's working. I love the way you work your hands, Y/n. They're delicate, but firm at the same time. Perfect."
You felt your heart flutter in your chest and decided to dare a little by running your hand down his chest until you reached his belt. "Yeah? What if I use them here. Do you think I can make you relax even more?"
Stephen almost purred feeling your fingers ghosting over a growing bulge. He let out a low moan when you held him over his pants, rubbing your hand against him to tease him and then you dedicated yourself to unbuckling his belt.
You placed a kiss on his neck and walked around his chair, placing yourself between him and his desk. Stephen moved the chair back, giving you more space and watched you kneel in front of him with a big and warm smile.
You unbuttoned his pants and quickly took his cock out. He was already half hard and you couldn't resist giving him a little kiss on the head as he moaned a little louder this time but quickly tried to compose himself.
"Sweetheart...Wong is still at the Sanctum."
You smiled mischievously, licking your hand and started pumping him up and down slowly.
"I know."
Stephen let out a nervous chuckle, but his cock quickly hardened in your hand. "You know he could come in here at any moment, then.” Though his words should sound like a warning, his voice broke with sweet moans and you thought they were really cute.
“Oh fuck... these hands... devilish."
You giggled, stopping just for a second so you could spit on his cock and go back to stroking him. The wet, lewd sound only adding even more to his pleasure.
Stephen bit his lower lip hard to try and suppress a loud moan at which you tsked.
"It's okay, let me hear you, Steph. Wong is up stairs, it's just you and me here. You know I love hearing your moans, they make me so wet. Sometimes I touch myself just thinking about it, replaying the sound on my head."
Stephen gasped as you held him tighter twisting your hand while moving it up and down. His legs shook a little and he moaned loudly for you just the way you loved to hear.
"So fucking dirty, sweetheart. Oh I love it! I love when you work your hands in my dick. The best handjob I ever had."
You smiled proudly. "Yeah? You're flattering me just because you want me to make you cum."
Stephen moaned even louder this time.
"God yes, please. I need you to make me cum, sweetheart. But it's not only because of that. You're perfect. You know I always say this. You’re always so good to me."
One of the things you loved most about Stephen was how controlling and rough he could be in sex and at the same time be sweet and affectionate. He was always so sweet when he let you have control over him like that, and you loved it.
You spat on his cock again and started working with both hands, rotating one from the base to the tip and the other massaging his balls. Stephen let out a groan and caressed your face, his thumb pulling your bottom lip down.
"Why don't you put that little mouth to work for me, uh? I'm dying for a blowjob."
You smiled mischievously, but even though his voice sounded so pleading and sexy, broken by small moans, you didn't give in. You know he would take back control to himself if you let him fuck your mouth, and you were loving that little submissive moment of his.
"I want you to cum on my hands, Stephen. You just told me how much you love them. They are not enough?"
"Yes I do. Shit! They’re more than enough, sweetheart. I could cum just from thinking about them as I did so many times. " He whispered between moans and his thighs trembled under your hands and his cock throbbed. "Fuck… but I need it faster, need more."
You bit your lip holding back a moan of your own. Seeing your man in that state was a huge turn on for you.
"Fuck Stephen... I'm so wet right now. Pussy is begging for you, and I know you want me too. So badly. You wanna put your cock inside me, don't you? Fell my pussy stretching around it..."
"Fuck yes." Stephen groaned and his cock jumped in your hand.
You started to work both hands on his cock, feeling him throb beneath them. He was so close, all he needed was a little push.
"Come on then, Steph, show me how much you love my hands. Cum all over them, make a mess for me. I just want you to feel relaxed, you deserve it. Have been working so hard these last few days. I just want to make you feel good."
"Oh yeah, sweetheart..." He moaned loudly. "Keep talking to me."
You smiled, satisfied now that you had him the way you wanted. "Give me your cum, daddy. Love you so much. I just want to be a good girl for you, wanna make daddy cum in my hands. I know you love my hands, Stephen. Show me how much. Give it to me."
Stephen let out a loud groan and started to cum. Warm and thick ropes of cum spurting from his cock and spilling onto your hands.
"There you go, Steph" You praised.
"Oh fuck... oh sweetheart. God, I love you, sweet girl." The words escaped his trembling lips as his body shook. His cum running down your fingers, some soiling the top half of his robes. A delicious mess.
He caressed your face, laughing softly, the sound making your heart jump in your chest.
"Such a good girl for daddy. Love you so much, Y/n."
You smiled sweetly at him watching as he conjured a cloth and began to clean himself as best as he could, but you knew it would take a lot more than that to get the smell of cum out of his robes.
He took your hands and began to gently clean them and then got rid of the dirty cloth and buttoned his pants and belts again with a flick of his fingers.
"I'll let you get back to work now." You said, getting up and threatening to leave, but he was faster. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you closer to sit on his lap.
"Do you really think I'm going to let you go that easily?" He threatened with a smirk.
"I don't want to disturb your work, Steph."
He buried his face in your hair inhaling deeply.
"Too late for that, don't you think? Or did you really think I could go back to work after a handjob like that?"
You let out a small giggle "I didn't mean to."
He pulled your hair to the side and purposefully rubbed his goatee across the crook of your neck making your skin prickle. "Well, I think that was exactly your intention and now you got what you wanted."
"And what exactly did I want?" You asked, feigning innocence.
Stephen bit your earlobe "Making me hard for you, wanting to fuck you senseless until you ask me to stop."
"That’s not true." You said petulantly, turning to look at him and pulling him to your lips. "I never ask you to stop." You said biting his lip.
Stephen held you tight in his lap, standing up and opening a portal to his room. Work would have to wait.
Reblog please! Leave a comment if you liked it. Interact! I will love to read all of your comments and opinions. It inspires me to keep writing ;)
Apparently some people think America Ferrera's speech in the Barbie movie is "corny" or "obvious" or something like that. But here's my personal perspective
First thing out of the way: I am nonbinary. I am not a woman. I am AFAB, though, and was therefore socialized like a girl and young woman, even if I felt like those words never really applied to me. Most of the time, though, other people who don't know me will see me as a woman. It's whatever.
No, this movie is not saying anything new. It is not a groundbreaking statement to say women face all these exhausting contradictions that cause them to bend over backwards to do the slightest thing.
But I don't think it's supposed to be groundbreaking. I don't think most people at the Barbie movie are going to have a huge revelation because America Ferrera said something that never heard or thought before. In the context of the movie, the character is speaking to a literal doll who has only recently learned that the real world is kinda shitty for a lot of people. Because this doll is literally something little girls project on, and little girls very often grow into women who deal with this shit. Yes, this is feminism 101, because it's speaking to a character who, until a day ago, lived in a matriarchal society where she never HAD to learn feminism 101. The oppression she faces is literally new to her!
And let's not forget that this is being said by a Latina woman in a blockbuster film. How often do you see that? She describes herself as a "boring mom with a boring job," and then she gets to rant about the fact that she's expected to always be extraordinary, but at the end of it all, she just wants her daughter to love her back and have a good day. And because of that, she's the hero of Barbieland!
Yes, it's cheesy. No, it's not subtle in the slightest. But sometimes, it's nice to hear someone say the words out loud.
And honestly, if you're going into the Barbie movie expecting subtlety, that's on you.
theres just something so sad and lovely about the way barbie went from freaking out over flat feet and cellulite to truly appreciating the lady at the bus stop to going back home and finding out all her friends had basically become slaves to finally accepting herself at the end.
greta gerwig managed to condense almost everything a women regularly feels into a 3 hour movie, and that makes me so, so represented and also emotional.
Oh I’m fine it’s just that mothers stand still so they’re daughters look back and see how far they’ve gone and that you have to be thin but not say you want to be thin you have to say you want to be healthy but you have to be thin, and it’s just that I want to be the one who does the imagining not the idea and that-
•He likes to hide stuff he doesn't like. Dresses that are too short or just not his taste. Food he doesn't like the flavor of. Perfumes with too strong of scents. He won't tell you he doesn't like them, he'll just hide them so you can't find them.... Out of sight, Out of mind.
•He always hides your high heels. Even your kitten heels. Even though he towers over you already, he likes the size difference so much, he doesn't want you to be even an inch taller than you have to be. But he won't argue with you if wanna wear them, he'll just pout in silence.
•The only time he'll tell you he doesn't like something is while fucking you. Telling you he didn't like that shade of red while filling you to the brim from behind. He doesn't want to upset you so he only says that kinda stuff when you're feeling too good to care about the fact that he hid all your low cut tops.
•Miguel's love language is watching you. Watching you while you work, while you cook or while you sleep. Not in a creepy way, he just likes to take in your beauty, studying all your habits. Learning facial expressions you make when you're confused or what your first response is to something surprising. Sometimes you find it strange, but he makes up for it by knowing literally everything about you... even stuff you yourself don't know.
❛ summary | after a discus malfunction, you're bitten by an anomaly and refuse medical attention. you're in a state that you refuse to show to miguel-- at all costs.
❛ tags | NSFW, sex pollen, mention of a wound, slight chase, miguel o'hara doesn't like to be ignored, cum eating, creampies, abnormal amount of fluid, venom bite, slapping, some insecurity, spanish is not translated, sexual memories.
❛ sy’s notes | my obligatory ABO-sex pollen fic for ATSV. i usually make a ABO/Sex Pollen piece per fandom I write in, so here's one for Miggy 🐝
“All done!”
You slipped out of HQ’s packed infirmary with a jaunty bounce in your step. Crispy, coppery blood was matted onto your forearm concealed behind a hastily tied bandage. You weren't concerned about it. It would resolve within the hour. Likely less. As would your elevated body temperature. Despite the doctor's prattle about the benefit of further testing, you found their concern to be a non-issue. These things were virtual non-issues, even if the doctor and your man thought otherwise.
The hallways at HQ were like any other day in your city. Congested with the coming and going of spiders in their daily lives. A glimpse at any group might reveal decadent flirting and haughty laughter. Some were in a rush to their own worlds, but most were completing work assigned by the Spider Society. The one you were looking for reclined against a wall with his arms interlocked one over the other. His displeased rumble prompted you to his presence above all other voices in the crowd.
“You should have let them run the tests.” His voice was teased with concern but became mild, little more than a drab sigh at your refusal. You blew off his concern with a shake of your hand, gone yellow and bubbly behind a bit of ineffectual gauze. His eye glazed over the wound. You couldn't tell what he was thinking behind his mask, but you didn't need to. You only needed to convince him you were right.
“It’s stopped bleeding, Miggy. It’s just a scratch,” You held up your arm, flicking it with emphasis. His eyebrows raised for a moment, then flattened, staring at you with a dull rictus. “It was just a brief malfunction of the discus.”
Technically it was more of an impalement, but if Miguel wasn’t going to ask, you weren’t going to invite him to delve deeper. Otherwise, you might spend the next few hours of your life fixing a wound that surely would have closed up by the time results were back. The injury site mildly itched. That was all. Never mind, the slight, honey-colored rash migrating from the puncture site to your elbow. Or the referred pain. Minor things.
“You’re being stubborn.”
“You’re the one to talk.” You snapped the discus free from your sash and chucked it toward Miguel. He caught it with an unsurprising amount of ease, claws clicking in unison against the ineffectual metal.
“¡Qué problema!” he mocked, his voice dry and absent of discernible emotion.
You closed the distance between your bodies to slide your arms around his broad neck. His other hand came to your lower back. It was warm, the way he touched you, from the bundles of affection that fluttered in your belly to the heat dappling across your chest. You missed this every day. It made fleeing the infirmary all the more worth it.
“I put the anomaly in another discus. One that actually works, no thanks to your programming.”
“That’s what happens when you take things without asking.” He flicked the discus between his thumb and index finger, waggling it for emphasis. It was true that there had been nights that went with banging, clacks, clatters, and the occasional outburst when things weren’t quite going his way. There were a few discuses on his desk. You just so happened to take the one that malfunctioned. “I was working on it. ¿Qué era?”
“Oh,” you mumbled. “Just some stingy bees. What harm could they do?”
His eyes roamed your wound. You couldn't help but look down too, both horrified and fascinated by the way the rash had moved in just a brief few minutes. The colour had begun to fade. You glanced up, flattening your mouth into a slight, forced smile.
“Fine. If you're sure.”
To be fair, you secured many anomalies with and without the help of others. They all went into their cozy, temporary forcefield homes until they could be fairly redirected to their appropriate dimensions. In the downtime, you could help or hinder Miguel's progress. Then, your watch would alert you to another disturbance and the cycle would continue.
Until that morning.
Your watch blared, and blared, and blared some more. The early morning sun began to rise and cast offensive beams of light into your room. Usually, it didn’t bother you. But this morning, everything offended you from the scratch of silky sheets on your naked body to Lyla illuminating what darkness was left, all golden and cute. You wondered if that was how Miguel felt when you forgot to pull the curtains, strung out on the bed after he finished with you.
“Woah! Oops!” she turned, covering her eyes with her spindly fingers. A growing ache throbbed between your legs. It wasn’t quite the same dull soreness from Miguel’s late-night visit last night, either. “Sorry, sorry. Miguel--”
“He can handle it,” you bit out, snappier than you intended. It wasn't like you. “Or-- Jess. No, Gwen. Gwen can do it, she loves--”
“He asked for you.”
Of course, he did. You scrunched a pillow over your head. Your Miguel couldn’t see you this. Absolutely not. You debated getting up, ignoring what you called a negligible ache that was quickly morphing into a terrible pounding. You can't believe how quickly the thought fell apart, pushing yourself to sit up in bed. The ghost of his scent floods your nose, flashing memories of the night before.
Something at work set him off. Something that commanded no intimacy, but the mechanical release of his rage that wouldn't destroy precious resources. He sat on the edge of the bed, driving your mouth onto his cock with the aid of your hair bundled around his fist. You recalled the shakiness of his thighs under your fingers, his firm legs spread wide fucking your mouth with cold abandon. He chased his own orgasm selfishly, needing the release, needing to see your body painted by whips of his cum sprayed across your exposed breasts. He pulled you off in silence, inspecting the drool and cum that spilled down your chin and throat in rivulets. "What--"
Your face tightened, glancing down at the growing tension in your belly. Everything began to annoy you, especially the scratch of the sheets against your skin, your bed empty of his presence. How could you tolerate that uniform plastered to your ass? You buried into the offensive bed. This was fine. This was normal, recalling what you'd done last night. Surely, the burn had to do with the whole being launched through not one, but two crumbling buildings the day before. The dust and rubble. Were you close to your cycle?
“Tell him I’m dead,” and without another word, you resolved the call. Within seconds she popped up again, bent at the waist because this was your life now. Never could you just… take a day off. There was always something. You muffled your screams of protest into the mattress and dug your feet in, kicking off the sheets, the blankets, the pillows, all of it.
“Is this a fit? You’ve never had a fit before,” Lyla noticed. A fit? She thought the burning of your body was a fit? Damn AI. Resolve.
Resolve. Resolve. Resolve.
It became cathartic after a good while. Or it would have been if not for your senses hyper-fixating on every minor change in your body. Despite your apprehension, you knew. What was once a dull pain radiating from your forearm morphed into something much worse. Something you couldn’t blame on the rather average experience of being pelted through the average event of windows and concrete. It was more than a tingle. It burned as it coursed through your body.
You stumbled over the bundle of bedding into the bathroom. It was there that you realized that to your horror, you weren’t just lubricated, now you were soaked. Your fluids coursed down your thighs as you dabbed the region clean with a bundle of tissues. It did little good. Touching the area exasperated the issue. Maybe you needed an orgasm, maybe ten. An hour or so later, you slammed the heel of your palm into the mirror, fracturing it into shards of terrible glass that crumbled onto the countertop. Beads of blood dabbled onto your reflection.
“If you d--” resolve.
So not a reaction to your average bee sting. Correction. A great, big, fat colony of hissing, buzzing bees. The act of recalling information was like jamming your hand into fluid water to snatch a tiny hair tie. No matter how many times you tried to recall the information, you couldn’t quite grasp it. It was there, floating around your head, but inaccessible. Your mind traveled back to Miguel. How gentle his lips could be, trailing soft kisses along your neck and shoulder when you rode him in reverse. How deep he'd go.
"Fuck off!" Your watch blared again. Its beeping filled your bathroom, echoing over and over. You reached behind the door to pluck a silky white slip from its hook and dragged it over your head. You were about to resolve the call again when the hot timbre in his warm voice saying your name gave you pause. Your Miguel, popping up in a golden haze. You found yourself gazing at his full lips, full and plump. If only he was here. He could have his lips on your--
“What are you doing?”
Lost in thought, you failed to realize that Miguel had been calling you by name again. You shook your hazy mind free of the thoughts that formed a swirling cloud over your head. You slumped down the wall and onto the floor.
Help was what you failed to say. As your mouth opened, nothing came out. The words were not wording. The vulnerability of asking for help was palpable. You soothed yourself by shifting your hands underneath your skirt. What would he think if he saw you here-- ripped asunder by your own biology? Whore. Miguel lowered his gaze, his eyes squinting at the sweat dabbling down your neckline as he looked you over. He wouldn't want you anymore.
“Are you listening? ¡Coño! What is wrong with you!?”
Resolve.
You resolved him. Your Miggy-- resolved. Oh, you swallowed dryly. He wasn’t going to be happy about that. It wasn’t a matter of if Miguel would come for you. It was a matter of when. When he had time to separate himself from trashing-- whatever was the closest object to him in the lab-- to take out his rage on you. You reached for your medicine cabinet. You had more important things to worry about. First on the list? The searing heat.
Your watch was better off tucked away in a chest in the closet.
Night came with no solutions. You crouched on your window sill, chest rising and falling. You sought to stare at anything but the mindless buzz of the tv screen inside. Even with light pollution, some stars winked in the distance. Your body was a bundle of warm heat, buzzing with irritation after a fruitless day of soothing your body. You grew accustomed to your pert nipples against your silky slip, the lubricant coursing down your leg. At first, denial. Now, acceptance. You thought tomorrow might be better.
You felt his presence before you heard, smelled, or saw him. Through the sea of scorched sensations battering your senses, there was one that stood apart. A tickle that niggled at the back of your head. It could have been anyone, but you didn’t have to guess to know who it was. “Lyla."
“You haven’t called him all day,” Lyla squeaked.
“Called all-- I answered his call!” Your dress was matted to your body, cloaked in an abhorrent amount of sweat. It was only minutes ago that you retrieved your watch confident that you could bullshit something, anything, for a few days of reprieve. You jammed your shaking finger to resolve the call.
“Not all of them. Miguel was worried.”
“Worried! Lyla, that is not worried,” you spat. That was your Miguel, scaling the side of your apartment. His talons cracking the siding of your apartment. The reverberations spiraled up your legs, sending waves of anticipation lapping at your core. After your long day, you weren't sure how you were still somehow upright. With every crack of his talon into the brick siding, you were running out of time to come up with an excuse.
In a bid to escape, you fell into your room. The hard floor knocked the breath out of your dry lips. You stumbled onto your feet and supported yourself with a bookcase of less than half-read books. “Lyla, he can’t see me like this!”
“Then tell me what’s going on,” she popped back up. “C’mon, you can tell me, it can’t be that bad.”
If her tone was playful in some half-baked attempt to neutralize your fight, the threat was imminent. Your hand connected with the top of the window, applying pressure to close the window. A hair too late. At the same time, Miguel’s clawed hand curled around the bottom of the window sash. You were too slow for the man who excelled with power, speed, and efficiency. You weren't going to win this fight. Not with your body threatening to crack at the very sight of your man's strength.
Though you saw him nearly daily, he always took your breath away. His sinewy body was always a sight, his suit accentuated his thick and fine cut. You moistened your lips, longing to run your fingers through his thick dark brown hair as you did every night. You caught his sharp gaze a second longer than you should have.
“Open up,” he whispered coolly.
He was a distraction. The wind was not on your side either, blowing wisps of his scent into your overwrought senses. His natural musk mixed with the sweat of a hard day's work. Somewhere in there, bitter blood. You could smell the caramelized scent of the flaky, buttery empanadas and hot coffee you shared the day before. It gave you pause, his intoxicating smell and the sultry trill of his voice. But you couldn’t let him see you, not like this.
“Oop, there he is. Just checking on you,” Lyla chittered. Resolve.
“Miggy, please go away,” you sobbed in frustration, shifting to shoulder the window. “Why are you so stubborn!?”
“It’s who I am.”
The window cracked all at once. With mere milliseconds to respond to the sash careening into the upper rail, you whirled past the bedroom door. Miguel broke into a run behind you with long strokes of his legs. He made contact, sending you barreling into your lazy sapphire couch from the impact. You saw stars for a fraction of a second before you lurched on your palms and elbows, scrambling off of the couch and across the floor. His hand caught your ankle and dragged you underneath his body.
“¡Ay!” you bit out. “No, no no no. Miggy!”
“¡Callate!”
His hand wrapped tightly around your throat to force complacency, pinning you back to the hardwood floor. Your palms slammed onto his chest, drawing lines down his chest. Bits of pathetic electricity fizzled on his broad, muscular chest, a consequence of your fading focus. That focus was eviscerated when Miguel threw his hips flat against your core. Your frantic fidgeting against Miguel soothed some of the terrible, buzzing pressure rattling between your legs like warm honey on a sore wound. The ache for his relief became more important than the impulse for substantial breaths.
“Don’t move. Why are you--”
“I can’t help it,” you cut him off, straining against his large palm to stare at his crotch. His gaze fell on yours, following the path to his soft cock. His eyes widened with the sudden attention. Tears threatened to spill over from your eyes, pricked with spikes of pain. "It's too much!"
You ate your shame with his body crouched between your legs and his large palm choking the air out of your throat. The influx of air not only brought your scent, but your day-long desperation to fix what you believed was wrong. He could smell it now. He could see it now. He could hear it in your voice. He knew why you failed to answer his calls. The violent jabbing of the resolve button. Throwing your watch into your cramped closet to ignore the calls. The pheromones that soaked your apartment. It was unavoidable.
“You can’t help it,” he repeated. Miguel considered you with razor-sharp eyes, nearly as sharp as the talons that rescinded into his arms.
"I'll see about that." His hand left your neck to reveal bundles of bumpy shivers that soared across your skin. He raised his finger to wipe away the wet tears that fell from your flushed cheeks. Then dropping lower, Miguel chased the thin straps of your gown with his claw and slid the offending fabric off of your breast. The nub was as hard as it had been hours ago when you twerked the nipple between your fingertips and dreamed of Miguel.
“You’re...” he cupped your breast in your palm and massaged your nipple with one sharp twist of his thumb. The gasp that left your lips wasn’t one you were proud of. Your undulating hips that ground down on his cock weren’t entirely unwarranted. You needed it. "Hot. As if you're in heat."
This couldn’t be happening. From a ball of rage to one of arousal, he released a tiny amused chuckle. You spent much of the day in different parts of the apartment with your hand, toy, ice, and water into your body to soothe this terrible ache. So Miguel wouldn't see you like this. It was this moment you sought to avoid after your long day: The moment of Miguel's disapproval. Now he laughed at you.
“Happy?” you sobbed into the forearm that kept Miguel stable. “Go away, someone else could use your stupid help.”
“Don’t you need me?” Miguel dipped his head down. Strands of his dark hair tickled your hypersensitive skin. With the lightweight fabric of his suit, pressing your cunt back against his clothed bulge felt wonderful. You bit your lower lip and watched his cock jut against its fabric. You lifted your puffy eyes to his gaze and found a wicked gleam there. He knew it wasn’t enough contact for the pressure and painful spasms to abate. Deep down, you knew that Miguel was your only hope for relief. Who else could, or would, you call in this condition? Mostly because Miguel always fixed everything.
"Miggy," you murmured. After this pitiful display, he wasn't rejecting you? Your mind flowed weightless and light. The terror of your day faded under his careful caress. In its place, comfort that he would take care of you.
“Don’t you?” His hand snaked between your folds and found it soaked wet, the low throbbing of your pussy palpable. He retracted his fingers and spread the sticky fluid between his thumb and middle finger. At some point, silence became better than an answer. Miguel brought his hand down on your cunt for a sharp slap. Bundles of nerves cried out under the abuse. It shook free a squeal from your lips, bitten raw by the pressure of the day. Your head bobbed into a mechanical nod as to save yourself from another slap.
“You know how to ask. It’s si Miguel, por favor Miguel.”
You needed the warm sensation of his cum. But making those words proved too difficult. Your canines pierced bloody holes in your lower lip. You clawed up his forearms, trying to leverage and force him closer. Miguel grabbed your shoulders and thrashed them back down onto the floor. You felt bad for the downstairs neighbors.
“Say it.”
“Miggy,” you looked into his eyes. They were blown wide, nearly fully black with a thin outline of scarlet, chasing the outline of your exposed breast. For all his talk, you realized he wasn't immune. Even with his face tight, his eyes focused on the same thing you needed. Maybe, all this time, you were baiting Miguel with half-assed answers. They were invitations. Invitations to come to fill this need you had. You would be lying if you said that wasn’t what you wanted this whole time. Finally, you had him where you wanted him.
Miguel broke eye contact first. He cupped his plush lips around your nipple, suckling the breast taut and wet. You cried out in surprise and arched into Miguel’s mouth, enticed by the fangs that grazed your nipple. As quickly as he came, he was gone.
You lurched up, palming Miguel's dick through his pants. His hips bucked into your palm. He refused to make any sound as he considered your next movements, releasing Miguel’s cock from his suit. Impatience and need coalesced into your brave movements, sliding your palm against him. He was impossibly thick and hard, dribbling at the tip. Miguel huffed a small noise as your palm ran over him. You dared to call it a moan.
Miguel sneered and shoved you back onto the floorboards. “I’ll only tell you one more time. Ask me properly.”
"You do too, don't you?" You giggled. A noise that grated his ear. With the belief you wouldn’t bolt, Miguel shifted back onto his knees. You wouldn’t. There was nowhere left to run. Not that you even wanted to, fat and hungry off Miguel's growing desperation.
"Come here." He snaked his hands underneath your knees, dragged you close, and pushed them to your chest. Your eyes fluttered shut. Moments later, the sensation of his thick dick sliding against your engorged folds forced them back open. It gave you just enough relief through the pulsing pain to look at him with your hazy eyes. From this angle, you appreciated how large Miguel had gotten. His round cock-head bobbed and crested over your mound as it rubbed against your aching clit. His face was trained, focused. He wasn't going to relent first.
The nagging pressure never abated. You sought something more, something better, the sensation of being filled. With every glide, you squeezed your walls in protest to his absence. Your hips protested the restriction of your movement, shimmying against the firm hold he had that kept you in place. You wanted more than that. You wanted true relief from his teasing. Miguel drew back to inspect the fluid over his fat shaft as held you down. You gave in, whining at him like a brat.
“Por,” you scratched his forearms. “Por favor, Miggy. You don’t know what it's like.”
“All fours-- face down.”
The cacophony of desire battered and overcame any other human emotion you could have. You complied, crawling onto your fuzzy indigo rug for what came next. Miguel’s gloved hand skimmed across your ass, middle finger skimming toward the center. He followed up his gentle touch by reeling back his hand and cracking it across your ass, searing the nerves alive. Once, twice, and then a third. Tears pricked your cheeks again, a consequence of your nerves being overwrought and now assailed.
“Miggy!”
He shushed you with fervor, another thwack beating the jiggling flesh hot and red. Your legs trembled under the weight of his slaps. “Ignore my calls again and you’ll get much worse.”
“I didn’t-- you wouldn't want me,” your lips parted in defense of what you’d done. Miguel dipped down to spread your folds, rolling his index finger along your pulsing walls. Your body drew him in, squeezing and urging him forward. Your swollen walls were impossibly tight, straining to bring him in more and more.
"You know I do."
The need for more devoured any other thought, any threats of what he’d do next time. You rolled your hips to ride his hand. In place of a slap, Miguel slid another finger slid in beside the first to stretch your walls open. He faltered at your next words and slid his fingers free.
“Not like… not like I need you.”
“Who decides that?” he pressed on your upper back to force it down. You complied. Miguel stumbled forward, finally pressing his thick head to your pulsing entrance. His round head pressed, just barely, into your wet hole. You clenched down, inviting him into your warmth. You weren’t sure he’d actually give it to you. It was so damn close.
“You do, Miggy,” you murmured, pushing back. He watched as his shaft slowly disappeared into your body, your apprehension of retaliation rendered you too slow to finish.
“That’s right, I do.” Miguel snatched your waist and forced you to take the rest, a soppy squelch lubricating his shaft. The sound that slipped from your lips was entirely uncouth, punctuated by his unforgiving thrusts. Your walls strained around his cock. No matter how many times you took him, the drag of his cock and slap of balls against your body always felt somehow like the first. It filled that ache-- the consistent burning need to have him here, inside of your greedy body, scratching something that you could not itch all day. It’s what you wanted.
“That’s right, I do.” Miguel rumbled, short, punctuated thrusts beating your clenching cunt into complacency. The pleasure ruptured through your cunt-- battering his dick in response. He let loose a sharp grunt followed by a string of curses. Your sweet release spilled over his dick and balls, dripping down your thighs. Your legs threatened to shook, but Miguel was unwilling to allow your trembling legs to give out.
"Ah! Miggy!" His fangs punctured your shoulder to force you to stay in position, his pelvis stuttering against yours. His growl punctuated the warm, soothing cum that soothed your walls like warm honey over a wound. Your walls milked him free of his cum, spasming in response to his orgasm. He pieced himself together against your back, pulling his fangs free and settling a soft kiss over the burning wound on your shoulder. As if he hadn't been the one to tear his fangs into the crook of your neck.
“You’re not letting go,” he hummed in annoyance. He turned his attention down to your ass, ghosting his fingers over the healing bruises over your backside. You squealed, jerking forward. He followed you forward, punching a hole in the floor by your side. “Fuck, don’t move!”
You cast your attention back toward Miguel. He huffed forcefully out of his nostrils. He motioned toward your ass as if it were obvious-- your walls were clamped over his cock, unwilling or otherwise unable to let him go, as if he had any more cum to give in that current moment. You took it all.
“I. I didn't-- I can’t--”
“Yeah, I know. That Bee venom does that. Mine should neutralize it.”
At some point, you murmured. It sure as hell wasn’t doing it now, keeping him seated into your cunt that bubbled with the mixture of his and your release. “You knew about it? I could have died!”
Miguel chuckled.
“You wouldn’t. You’re too stubborn to die,” he sighed, fiddling with his watch. The tests-- that you never had ran. Ones that he suggested. Ones that you refused quite openly. “Why would I deny myself the fun?”
His cock slipped free. Your hips dropped and fell slack against the floor. You weren’t proud of the cum that oozed out of your ass over your decimated room, nor the fact that your useless neighbors hadn’t called for help once. Not that you needed it-- but still. You palpated your stomach, slightly distended. Miguel bent down and gathered the mixture of your bodily fluids on his fingers, suckling his own fingers dry. You watched his wet tongue swirl around his fingertips. It wasn't fair.
“Fun? What fun!? Do you know how long I-- You’re a mean man, Miguel O’Hara.”
He lurched over, his breath tickling your lips. He kissed you, salty and sweet. Your nose scrunched up, pouting against his lips. He left the room for the kitchen, fetching a wet cloth to clean his body with. He zipped himself back into his suit shortly after and dropped the sodden cloth by the cum puddling under your ass.
Summary: After risking your life to save one spider, Miguel had enough and decided it was time to discipline you.
Tags: SMUT, NOT BETA READ, face slapping, spanking, gagging, Miguel has a big dick, overstimulation (?), multiple orgasm denial, rough sex, pussy slapping, unprotected sex, pain kink, bit of aftercare in here yup.
Words: 2.8k
idk how Tumblr works as well but user @/octobersoot said something about reader being a brat to Miguel and I had to revamp this one idea lol. I hope this counts as reader being a brat, i have to read again once shit calms down lol.
Spanish speakers, do correct me with the last one in the translation, thank you in advance :DD
cariño - honey || mi vida - my life || guapito - handsome || coño - fuck (literally means cunt but google said it can also be used as like 'fuck!' or 'shit!' in English)
"NO DON'T!"
When you ripped yourself from Miguel's hands and jumped down into the black hole to catch the Spider-Man that fell into it, you had two thoughts.
If you die, Miguel would pull you from hell to kill you.
If you lived, Miguel would make sure you'd regret it.
As the void approaches, you latched onto one falling debris and leaped out to get closer to the guy whose wrist’s flicked to release some webs for you to catch on but you ignored it. You’ve seen how using webs to catch someone goes and it didn’t end well, you’re not about to make the same mistakes.
Reaching out to grab the falling Peter's hand, you webbed to the nearest stable item you could before feeling Miguel’s webs wrap around your waist. The momentary fear and adrenaline from saving the spider drained out of your skin almost immediately. Hearing the angry man barking orders above you, you prayed early for your soul.
You're not religious but you'd certainly need a diety's kind soul to take pity on you today once you’re left behind doors with Miguel alone.
"AY COÑO, WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?! DID YOU GET YOUR HEAD HIT SOMEWHERE??"
You grunted, tugging President Spidey with you. "Just pull us up!"
"I should let go of you for being so stupid!"
"Then fucking do it coward!"
Despite his comments, it took one tug from Miguel to pull you and President Spider-Man to a safe spot on a building they were resting at to watch the consequences of altering canon events. The anger radiating out of his body would be enough to trigger your senses, his glare searing a hole through your skull.
Looking up sheepishly, Miguel’s face was contorted into subdued rage. The absolute fury lashing in his dark red eyes made your heart drop to the soles of your feet.
You're absolutely fucked and you don't know if you regret it or not.
On one hand, he's going to murder you and split your body into pieces to feed the kraken version of Doc Ock. But on the other, he's unfathomably hot when he's glaring through your flesh and soul.
How could he be so alluring while plotting your murder? You have no idea.
"We're going to have a talk." His darkened voice made your spine tingle, you nod and turned to run towards Hobi but the firm hand on your shoulder halts you. "Don't move, I'll break your knees if you do."
President Spider-Man shrunk beside you, more intimidated by the threat directed towards you than you do.
"Is that a threat, boss?"
"No cariño, it's a promise."
Leaping down to greet the quarantine squad, he left the two of you on the rooftops. President Spidey turned to you, worried to the nines for your soul.
"D-do you need to universe hop? You're free to hide at mine, since it's my fault you're gonna get grinded later."
You laughed, slapping him in the back to which he wheezed at. "Don't worry, he won't bite."
•=•=•=•=•=•
Despite your shit attempt of comforting President Spider-Man, he didn't leave your side, ready to jump in front of you if Miguel happens to snap in the middle of the journey back to HQ. Hobie however, attempted to pry him off of your side with an amused smile.
“Have you realized how fucked you are?”
President Spidey hushed him, to which the man raised an eyebrow at. “Don’t say that.”
When you all entered the office, Miguel halted and you all followed. There’s a buzz in the back of your head and a glance at the nervous wreck beside you tells you that he felt it too.
"Everyone except my wife, leave."
President Spidey almost spoke up, probably to request to stay next to you until Hobie swung his arms around his neck and pulled him out, but not before saluting to you.
"I'll burn the ministry in your honor."
His voice echoed in the dimly lit room until the hatch closed shut, isolating you and your husband from the outside world until further notice. You watch as a yellow holographic lady materializes over his shoulder, Layla whose gaze immediately met yours.
"Layla, make sure no one tries to enter my office until I say so. Go hang out with Spiderbyte in the meantime."
"Don't break the poor girl, she didn't do—"
"I don't want to hear it. Leave."
Sparing you a pitiful smile, she dispersed into the air. With no hatch to escape to, nor any obstacles to run behind, you were left standing a few footsteps away from the man.
"I thought we had an agreement to keep ourselves safe during missions?"
There was a simmering anger hidden behind his words, tone almost dark and bitten back.
"I was safe, you just need to place a little faith on—"
"The last time I did that, the people I cared about died."
You wanted to defend yourself, bring up being safer since you're Spider-Man and all that but you knew it wouldn't end well. Seeing the seething anger radiating off of him, that's the best course of action.
Hanging your head down with a sigh. "Alright, I'm sorry."
"Sorry's not gonna cut it this time, cariño. I think I have to drill it into you."
Your brain clicks, realizing what he said and you frown. "Fucking is not gonna help us right now, Miguel!"
"Well I don't see you complaining every time it happens, do I? If I recall, you've begged, cried and screamed my name again and—"
Your hand moved faster than your brain as you slapped the man. You gasped, bringing both hands up to your mouth as you watched him go silent.
"I-I'm so sorry, I didn't mean—"
"No no no, I see how it is."
You waited for his next move with bated breath, goosebumps prickling your skin. You debated on taking a few steps back but before you could, he surged with his hands grabbing your neck and slamming you on the wall, stealing the breath from your lungs and you gasped.
“You know the words, mi vida?”
You curled your eyebrows at him. Does he mean your safeword?
“F-fucking get your hands off of me, let's talk."
The light slap on your cheeks shocked you, mouth falling ajar at the action. You couldn’t deny the fact that the sting left by his hand has stirred your desires awake, nor can you even dare to mention how breathless—figuratively and literally—he left you.
Miguel observed your eyes, cautious of any hurt flashing in them before putting more pressure on the side of your throat and you greedily inhaled more air as much as you could. Dark spots crawl from the side of your vision and fear starts to claw at your heart.
Yet the uncomfortable slickness and ache between your thighs says otherwise.
"Your words."
"I'm not using them!"
The grin curling his lips sent shivers down your spine, doom looming over you.
"Good."
Before you could say anything, he released your throat and you fell to the floor, inhaling greedily for air as your vision slowly repairs itself.
"I've been wanting to tame that mouth of yours since earlier."
You coughed, peering up at him through your eyelashes. "R-really? I thought you liked that about me?"
"Oh really? I thought I said I only liked your mouth, not your voice."
Grabbing your jaw, he forced you to look up before pushing two of his fingers through your lips, pressing down on your tongue as his suit disintegrated to reveal his formal clothes. Miguel's hand threads through your hair, caressing the back of your head before tugging. With a wicked grin, he continued.
"Strip."
It was a command, not a request. The low timbre of his voice sends jolts of pleasure down your spine. Following his heeds like a hypnotized woman, you made quick work of your clothes, tossing them to the side and unshackling your web shooters.
Reaching up, you unbuttoned his pants and took care of his fly before shrugging the clothing down his thighs. The tent in his boxers sent shivers down your spine, a promise of pleasure behind its confines.
Pulling it down, his girth revealed itself to you and your tongue grew heavy inside your mouth, a few dribbles of pre-cum on the tip and the prominent veins giving it an illusion of being larger than it already is. Miguel pulled you closer making you kiss the base of his dick.
"What a sinful face you have, cariño. I'm starting to like this more."
He guided his length to your mouth, smearing his clear arousal on the plush of your lips making you open up only for his hand to come down harshly against your cheeks once more.
The sharp sting immediately melts into hot arousal pooling down your thighs.
"Do you really think you deserve me, mi cielo? After speaking back to me earlier?"
"I want it, please?"
He scoffed. "'Want' it? Do you think you own me? That's funny."
His webs embraced you and he pulled, making you stumble to the floor with a yelp. Being bound tightly by Miguel who towered over you with sadistic glee and glowering eyes, made you feel small all over.
Yet the sick bastard at the back of your head smiled an ugly grin.
"How about we try it again? Maybe if you ask nicely, I'll give you what you wanted."
He pulled you back to a standing position, his hand immediately locking onto your jaw, forcing your eyes to meet his dilated and darkened red pairs that seemed to tempt you to drown yourself in them.
Your eyes fell to the hand pumping himself leisurely and groaned.
"Please? Guapito, I need to taste you."
"Do you deserve it?"
"I'm more of an action type of person than a talker."
He said nothing, watching as you fall back to your knees before tapping the head of his cock onto your lips. Once your mouth opened, his hand on your jaw crawled to the back of your head and pushed.
The sudden and wide intrusion down your throat got you gagging yet Miguel only found pleasure from the throb of your muscles constricting around him.
You remind yourself to breathe through your nose, trying to force yourself through it but your throat complains and you knew you couldn't take it. Slapping his thighs thrice, he pulled away immediately, clicking his tongue while you coughed and gasped for air.
"Bold talk. I knew your mouth wasn't fit for speaking at all. Such a shame it can't do anything at all."
Still focused on the throb in your throat, you weren't able to react fast enough when he pulled you flush to his chest by the web and carried you to the platform where a cushioned chair awaits.
He sat and you ended up on his lap with both his calloused hands grounding you by the shoulder and hips. Miguel's burning eyes roamed the expanse of your chest, one hand rising to trace his gaze with his fingertips and pinching the stiffened peaks of your mounds making you moan from the slightest touch.
"Maybe your pussy could do a better job."
The hand soon crept around your neck with his eyes where it pressed against its sides once more.
It was maddening how you could feel his hardness pressing against your folds yet unable to do much about it. The firm hand on your hips prevents you from grinding down on him. He does reach down to your clit, palming your engorged bead but before you could revel in it, he pulled away.
"Did those slaps get you this wet baby? Didn't know you're such a slut."
Your cheeks lights up and you slapped his cheek lightly for the name he called you, only for Miguel to return it harder.
"You don't get to slap me, slut. The only thing you're for is this pussy."
A wet slap resonated in the room and you cried, thighs closing from the impact on your heat, embarrassment burning your body before shame crawled up your throat as you realized his demeaning behavior seems to only goad you further.
He didn't give you a chance to prepare when he pushed his cockhead into you. Tears brimmed in your eyes as the burn of the stretch stung your veins and stirred your desire further. Every inch inserted tore you apart, the sensation a mixture of heaven and hell, it was delicious as it was painful.
Seeing the struggle in your face, Miguel reached down to roll your clit in slow circles, whispering affirmations into your ears. The moment he sensed your accommodation to his girth did he pull out till his head remained, angling his hips before inserting himself back again to hit the spongy spot on your walls.
You whimpered and moaned in his shoulder as his pace grew with a manic fervor. The pain slowly transitioned into pleasure with the frequency of his thrusts, your nails dug into his shoulder as he pushed himself deeper and deeper into you, narrowly missing your uterus as he pistoned into you.
Mind whirled in ecstasy and lightness brought by his fingers on your throat, you only grabbed onto him for dear life as he quickly dragged you to the edge.
Feeling the familiar pulse and tightness of your walls around him, Miguel suddenly pulled away and you cried.
"Why did you pull away?"
His hand came down with a loud crack! as it collides with the globes of your ass in quick successions. Your hips twists as you clenched desperately on air. Desire clawed at your throat and you whimpered, body already missing the rush of pleasure he brought with every push.
“Do you think you deserve it, baby?”
You nodded and he chuckled darkly. “I don’t think you do.”
Despite his words, Miguel entered you once more, picking up his previous pace. Your previous orgasms arose, walls clamping down onto him, desperate for the release you craved so deeply. There's a wet sound echoing in the room along and you flushed deeper yet far too desperate for euphoria to care.
His deft fingers found your clit with experienced accuracy and slapped it with every thrust of his hips.
You shouldn't be enjoying every bit of pain yet here you were, moaning and wriggling your hips for more stimulation like a mad woman.
"My cariño's such a slut taking all of this pain like the whore she is. Bet you liked that spider guy huh? Jumping off like a fool to save a dick, so pathetic."
Miguel pulled away and you cried, the itch of dissatisfaction searing through your body. You clawed at his back as if the pain could threaten him, in response, Miguel swats your rear once more.
"A little slut like you doesn't deserve to cum. After that stupid stunt earlier? Do you think you deserve to come?"
"Yes yes yes."
He slapped you across the face but you could care less, whining.
"Stop being a dick and give it to me, please!"
Clicking his tongue. "Such a desperate slut, I'd slap you for that, but I'm feeling a bit generous."
It was his fingers that attacked you this time, deftly rubbing your clit. Your hips stuttered up to follow his hand.
“Might as well count how many, right?”
Your mind grows lighter as time bleeds against each other. His objections to your orgasms grew frequent as the intervals between your nirvana grew shorter, you have lost count of how many he has denied you and has long stopped doing so, body now laid motionlessly on top of his as you sobbed onto his shoulder from frustration.
Miguel didn't care, in fact, he reveled in your misery every time.
His hips pistoned faster, tip almost always nudging your spot with every thrust as his lips caught yours in a weakened dance, there was a shift in the air and you knew he had finally relented on dragging it out.
"Come for me, darling. I want it all, give it to me."
The pleasure that bursted in your veins wasn't like the others from before. The ecstasy woke every nerve ending in your body alight, limbs growing weightless from the shock of pleasure from your orgasm as electric shocks reverberated from your core and to the tip of your fingers.
Your thighs convulsed violently and you screamed, arousal squirting to drench his stomach. Miguel's arms curled around you protectively as you shivered, whispering hushed affirmations in your ears while the impact of a long-denied orgasm shattered you.
"You did so well for me, mi vida. I’m here, no more of that."
Miguel soaked in your every moans and sobs as he murmured something you couldn't catch, mind far too foggy to process.
You didn't even realize that he didn't came, focused solely on comforting you through your high.
His racing heartbeat matched the pace of the throb in your head, you could hear your breathing echo in your ears yet in the state of exhaustion, you found it calming, melodic even. Miguel’s fingers that gave and tore your pleasure away now caressed the back of your head, gently as if you’ll break apart.
You could make out his chapped lips pressing kisses onto your temple as exhaustion won over your body, eyes falling shut with the melodic rhythm of his heartbeat lulled you to sleep.
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