Jealous!Miguel O'Hara Headcanons
Hello! Could you please write a stubborn, jealous hc for Miguel o'hara? Thank you!!
I had the brainworms, so I hope this is what you were looking for! Thanks for the ask <3
Jealous!Miguel O'Hara Headcanons
(AO3 Mirror), Main Masterlist
pairing: jealous!Miguel O'Hara x reader
summary: stubborn HCs for jealous!Miguel O'Hara.
a/n: this was meant to be a drabble and i basically wrote a full fic. i have zero self control lmfao
warnings: smut (fingering, f receiving oral, slight brat taming, etc) right at the very end, 18+ from then onwards, the rest is more pg-13
wc: 3.5k ish
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Long story short: he's a stubborn little shit.
Pig-headed as fuck and it shows up in little things.
Let's say you first met as coworkers, and you were a lab technician at Alchemax.
Think: unstoppable force meets immovable object. He likes his labs just so, with very specific equipment in a very specific configuration.
It drives you crazy, regularly having tiffs outside the labs; much to the chagrin of your coworkers.
"Jesus." Your coworker mutters, wincing at the seemingly heated argument by the water cooler.
"Ignore it, Maeve." Another coworker rolls their eyes, nudging Mave with a snort. "They're at it again . S'pose they'll tire each other out by the end of the day."
Not that they were wrong. But this time, it wasn't your fault: dealing with O'Hara's bullshit had really taken it's toll. He was insufferable, prone to nitpicking and just plain mean. You could hardly be blamed if you gave him some of your own choice words.
"My notes were basically paint-by-fucking-numbers! How could you mess up a simple distillation? When I specify precision glassware , you don't think that's fucking important?"
"Your notes ," You draw air quotes pointedly at him. "-are illegible, you fucking cretin! Maybe if you didn't write like a goddamn pre-schooler-"
"- preschooler? Oh , fuck you!"
"Get your nose out of that highschool Chem textbook, O'Hara, this is a fucking job."
"Yeah? Stop using it to wipe your ass and you might learn a thing or two."
"Oh , so that's what we're doing?" You laugh in his face, so angry your hand curls into tight fists. You get close, staring him down as you look upwards through your lashes. His own face is contorted into a grimace; bushy eyebrows furrowed into deep shadows around his eyes. You can feel his steady breathing before he speaks, low and rumbling.
"I could do this all day, princesa. "
You scoff, ignoring the way his words weaken your knees. The one time you asked for a break during a long lab and he won't stop calling you a spoilt princess. His laughter then stings in your ears now, the ghost of a smirk on his face as you storm off. Miguel O'Hara: smug bastard. He would be the death of you, you're sure.
~~~
You spend many a late night with him, unwittingly, and find out he's more than a stubborn little shit.
You find out he's funny, and shares the same anti-Alchemax tendencies you do: both preyed upon by the company immediately after graduation, young and naive.
He's kind, even though he'd never admit it, often finishing up the lab notes and doing more than his fair share of work so you can go home at a reasonable time.
You both still butt heads, but it turns into a tentative friendship - coffees in the morning hidden as blaise convenience, covering for each other at work, and defending the other when office gossip goes too far.
That's why when he comes back to work after a week-long stint away - something about a blow up with the boss, an issue described as 'miscommunication, promptly smoothed over' by anyone official - you notice… something's different about him.
You first noticed something was off when he walked in without a snide remark. You left a mug overnight at the counter, something that would usually draw a sarcastic comment at the least , but he gives you… nothing. Blank, glassy eyes as he opens up his workstation - clicking away at the keys without so much as a glance.
"O'Hara?" You call, but he doesn't even look up. You walk to his workstation and knock at the desk. He jumps. God, he looks worse for the wear. Heavy bags under his eyes and a bruise blossoming under his collar.
"You okay?"
He rubs his temples, eyes flitting up at you. "Yeah, just…. just a long week, s'all."
You put a hand on his shoulder, and you swear he leans into your touch. "We can reschedule, tonight. The calculations can wait, Miguel."
He gives you a weak smile, but a smile nevertheless. "S'okay. Need to make sure you don't fuck it up."
"Don't push your luck, O'Hara."
~~~
As you get closer, you notice just how stubborn he is to admit the growing tension between you two.
Late nights at the lab turn into takeout at your place, morning coffee turns into a pleasant 20 minutes on the rooftop away from the hustle and bustle - just you and Miguel, talking and joking with a cup of shitty coffee in hand.
Wholly, he seems more assertive at work, not as quick to roll over.
It's hot, you have to admit; watching him fight with someone else other than you.
You're at work drinks with the other technicians and engineers, nursing a watery beer when another colleague makes small talk with you at the bar.
You’ve never been that close to him, and the conversation is amicable enough, but you’re almost bowled over when you see Miguel, in the corner, staring straight at you with a stormy look.
You suppose it's a little pathetic, getting all dressed up for a casual drink. Lips shiny with gloss and gently powdered with makeup, you feel a little out of place. For all your talk at work, actually being here was another thing. Suddenly, your blouse is too tight and your skirt too short. With a manicured finger, you trace the lip of your glass filled with watery beer. You sigh. You don't want to admit it, but you were only here because of Miguel. He said he would come, and now you're sitting on a barstool counting the chips in your glass.
It was probably for the best. You sink into the absentminded chatter of your colleagues around you, until there's a tap at your shoulder.
"Is someone-" He clears his throat; a tall man dressed in a sharp suit nodding gracefully towards the empty chair. "-is this seat taken?"
You shake your head, grateful for the company. He's handsome, sharp features curving into a wry grin as he calls for a drink.
"...and something other than shitty beer for the pretty girl, too." It makes you laugh, light and lilting in the bustle of the bar.
He stretches out his hand, and you take it.
"Eddie Crouch. I work in marketing."
Eddie…. as in… head of the most profitable division of Alchemax? Your eyes widen involuntarily and you try to clamp down your immediate shock, somewhat unsuccessfully. He narrows his eyes as you tumble over your words.
"Y-Yeah, same! I mean, not same , I just work in the l-labs and I thought it was just for us guys, working behind the curtain, y'know? Not that we're not thrilled to have you here, because we a-are." You spill out, wincing. "....Is this about the performance reviews? Because I know output was down this quarter but our projections are-"
"I'm not here to talk about work." He chuckles. You squint, not convinced. As if to alleviate your concerns, he loosens his tie and undoes his top buttons with a flourish.
"Can I tell you a secret?" He leans in, and the air becomes thick with expensive perfume. He twirls the signet ring on his finger, a ring probably worth more than your monthly paycheck.
"Your boss invited me," Discreetly, he stretches a finger at your boss; a man ruddy cheeked and red-faced with alcohol. "Guess he thought it would boost morale. He's a fucking idiot if he thinks having me, the one guy that could fire your entire department without recourse, exchange empty platitudes would boost morale. But, I digress. So here I am, dragging my feet to this bar, thinking I'm gonna get in, read the lines and get out. But then, " He pauses with dramatic effect. "I see the most beautiful person I've ever had the pleasure of laying my eyes on, just sitting by the bar. Like everyone isn't already falling over themselves to talk to you."
The irony is palpable. It's sickly sweet, and a line that wouldn't usually work on you. But usually, you weren't pining over a man so prickly and stubborn, you shouldn't have feelings for. Here you were, bright cocktail in front of you and a moderately attractive man by your side. He wasn't quite Miguel, but in the words of one of the greatest thinkers of the past age: country girls make do.
And so you make lazy conversation with the man. So lost in a tipsy haze, you barely notice Miguel walk in; dark jacket on his shoulders and deliciously loose slacks. You're drawn to him, his eyes seemingly searching the room, and you sigh into your drink. Technically, he looks like shit: eyes dark-rimmed and sunken, a cut at his brow. You think he is gorgeous, eyes tracing the slope of his nose and plush lips. Like he can sense it, he glances over in your direction and you look away hastily. He's watching , you can feel its burn as you turn, pretending to listen to the man besides you. A little cruelly, you lean into him, not breaking eye contact and curling a hand around his arm to laugh at a stupid joke. Eddie laughs with you, oblivious, as you glance behind him.
Miguel stands with a drink thrust into his hands, looking straight through him, eyes low and gazing at you.
~~~
He insists on walking you home, a steady hand on the small of your back as you stumble through the streets of Nueva York.
You make light conversation, tipsy and giggly from the alcohol. Miguel seems a little more put together, but his chest still creaks with rumbling laughter.
He definitely walks on the side of the pavement nearest the street, because he thinks it keeps you safer.
He walks you up the stairs and by the door of your apartment, like a gentleman. You watch him get nervous suddenly, and he hesitates, stubbornly digging in his heels and pausing you from opening the door and coming in.
You don't want it to end, opting to take the walk up the stairs as opposed to the lift. It's one of your more questionable decisions as you stumble up the stairs, almost tripping over your own feet. Miguel is quick to catch you even though he was just as drunk. Arm around your waist, he leaves searing touches to your hip. You giggle despite yourself, and he can't help but smile at your clumsiness.
"If you break your legs I won't carry you, princesa ." A lie and you both know it. He would carry you to the ends of the earth like a blushing bride, if you asked him.
You both stagger to up the stairs and through the corridor until you reach your front door. You rummage around your bag for your keycard, it's contents click-clacking in the quiet of the hallway. Miguel watches, quieter than he was in the journey. If you looked up now, you would see something else behind his eyes - a storm of apprehension and tension.
You find your keycard, and look up to find Miguel placing a careful palm on the door. He's surprisingly still, eyes on your lips as he steps closer. You look everywhere but to meet his eyes, tracing the curve of his collarbone, the slope of his exposed forearm, and the tempting juncture of his strong jaw. You watch it tense, as he brings a gentle hand to your chin. His thumb swipes over the fat of your lip.
"Got somethin' right… there." He mumbles, before tucking his hand away. You can barely breathe. Without thinking you take his hand in yours, lacing your fingers together like a gentle hug. You bring his hand to your waist, and he squeezes, ever so gently. Your hand drops and he moves his slowly, knuckles dragging along the smooth silk of your blouse, and then sending shivers when he reaches your bare neck.
He has to bite down the plethora of things running through his head - his drunken brain threatening to spill all his thoughts. You are so beautiful and soft it makes him short-circuit, desperate to pull you close. Instead, you do: hand inching up his chest and laying to rest on his shoulders.
He kisses you, finally ; a little messy and impossibly soft. Like his lips on yours would shatter you both. You deepen the kiss and wrap his arm tighter around you, angling your chin to drink up even more of you. You both come up for air, panting in the heat of one another. Miguel's eyes are full of lust and blown out.
"Do…do you want to come in?" You whisper.
Something catches in his throat and his expression changes, like he just woke up from a dream. Do you just want to sleep with him? He's not built for one night stands, can't do just sex, especially if it's you. No matter how much he wants to, he can't, he won't, "....I shouldn't."
The disappointment on your face is palpable. You want to ask why - after he kissed you like that - why doesn't he want you? Instead you nod dejectedly. He gives you a chaste kiss on the forehead, lingering, and a shaky smile.
You open your door with a buzz, and slam it in his face.
~~~
It takes Miguel some time to properly put a name to what you two have: not knowing if the kiss was a drunken mistake, animal attraction or something more.
He's not a grand gestures kind of person, he believes in action rather than words.
Which is why it takes so long for him to admit just how in love with you he is.
He steals glances at you all the time at the office, and tries to anticipate all your needs.
When you stretch and yawn in the morning, he happens to pass by your favourite coffee place and happens to buy one too many cups of your go-to order.
So imagine his shock when he arrives from his lunch break, churros and coffee in hand, and there's one of the top brass from the night at the bar perched on your desk - 2 polystyrene cupfuls of something half drunk on the desk.
He's never been insecure, but he can't help but feel possessive, something tense and tight growing at the base of his stomach.
"What was it you wanted to talk about?" You step into the equipment cupboard, Miguel close behind you. You rub your temples, anticipating an argument. "O'Hara, if this is about my calibration tests this morning, I swear to God -"
"No, no , nothing like that." He's quick to say. "They were… okay." He strains.
You raise an eyebrow. Okay? Since when did Miguel pass up an opportunity for a mindless fight? Your mind races with his actions of the past few days. He has been different since the night at the bar, a little nicer, sure, but nothing this out of the ordinary.
"That guy you were talking to. I saw him at the bar, and now here. Who is he?"
Your eyebrows shoot up. "You do not have the right to ask me th-"
"Are you fucking him?" A pause, and you study his expression, deducing that he is completely fucking serious .
"Are you insane? You definitely don't have the right to ask me that." You make for the door, and he steps in front of it, blocking it with his body.
"I need to know. Tell me and then I'll leave you alone, I promise." His voice is low and thick with something.
You step closer and he wraps his hands around your waist absentmindedly. The pressure feels good, and makes your brain fog up.
He repeats himself, softer. "Are you fucking him?"
You look at him for a moment, before shaking your head. His facial expression is steady, just as unreadable.
"Do you want to?"
You hesitate, wanting to be cruel and say yes, just to see his reaction. Perceptive, he sees your hesitance and says something that almost knocks you over.
"I could fuck you better than he ever could," He kneads your thigh now, lips close to the shell of your ear in the tight space of the cupboard. " Princesa , look at me."
You look at him, almost whimpering and putty in his hands. He's like a siren and you are lost in the pull of his gaze. It may be the proximity, but you swear you see a tinge of red in his eyes, like deep pools of lust.
"Will you let me fuck you?" He pulls you closer so the meat of his thigh presses against your clothed cunt. Your stretchy pencil skirt rides up suggestively, and you rock your clit against him, searching for sweet pressure. You nod.
Miguel titters softly, a hand on your chin pulling your lips to his. You moan into his kiss, body aching. It's hot and heavy like the kiss outside your door, but he swirls his tongue around yours and expertly nips at your lower lip. He guides your hips to rock against his thigh, tensing to make sure it's corded muscle hits the right places. He wants to break you apart, leave you so cock-drunk, you wouldn't think of even glancing at another man.
You separate and he dips a hand under your skirt. He pulls it up and places a big palm at your pussy, with a well timed slap. You bite into his neck with the pressure. You definitely don't expect it when he rips open your stockings like they were paper.
"Fuck, Miguel."
"It's okay, baby, I'll get you new ones." Your eyes roll back as he slips aside the gusset to run a finger through your lower lips. Shamelessly, he slips a finger in, then two, basking in the wet squelch of your heat. You claw at his forearm, as he curls them into that sweet spot.
You press your forehead to his shoulder, chasing his fingers with your hips. His sharp eyes watch every movement, every stutter and start that his fingers pull from you. He's practical, a man of action, and he is desperate to show you how much he cares.
"I've thought about you… about this." He hisses as you cover your mouth to dampen your moans.
"Wanted you for so long, princesa. Want to know how you taste, what this beautiful pussy feels like. What you look like when you cum."
His wrist aches with the back and forth motion but his pace barely faulters.
" M-Miguel …"
He applies pressure to your clit, and watches in awe as you spasm, nails digging into his forearm.
" Oh, there it is. Right there, hmm? Does that feel good?"
You nod frantically with a stifled sob.
"Not quite, baby. Need to hear you say it. Or I won't let you cum."
"...fuuck you."
" Oh, you'd like that. Still not what I want to hear. Tell me how much you like it when I fuck you with my fingers."
"F-Feels good." You stutter. He stops, wrenching his hand out of your pussy to leave you clenching around nothing.You almost scream.
"You're being a brat, not my princesa , hmm? Only good girls get to cum."
" Miguel , please. I'll do anything." He guides you along his thigh, still lodged between your legs, and licks up your wetness on his other hand. "You m-make me feel so good. So good. And I want you so much it hurts, sometimes. I just want to cum, don't even need your cock. Fuck me with something , please."
"Miguel? Not asshole? Or fucking idiot, this time?"
"Please, Miguel ." Your pleas go straight to his cock. He throbs with need, cock rock hard under his slacks.
He relents, not able to bear your dopey puppy-dog eyes for much longer. He slips three fingers in, without bothering to prep you. He hisses at the tightness of your heat, pounding into you and knuckle deep with his fingers. Shamelessly, you fuck yourself back on them, hips rolling over his thigh. He can't tear himself away from the sight, palming himself through tented trousers.
You kiss and nip at his neck, as he whispers obscenities at you under his breath.
"Can you cum for me, princesa? Cum f'me, and I'll take care of you, I promise."
You clamp down on his fingers and moan into a kiss as you ride out your orgasm. It's intense: leg-shaking and leaves you shuddering in the aftermath. You were rusty, sure, hadn't had sex with someone in a while. But Miguel made you cum so hard you saw stars, with only his fingers. Your chest heaves with the thought.
You thought he would leave you, torn stockings and all, in the little cupboard. But he stays, to sink down to his knees and lap at your folds. You rest a hand on a shelf for purchase, head back in bliss. You cunt is still sensitive, throbbing at the orgasm he's just given you, as you licks you clean. He's taking care of you. You card your hands into his hair, tugging gently as he moans into your pussy.
He gives your clit a gentle kiss, and swipes up a trailing tear that rolls down your inner thigh. You watch as he pops his fingers into your mouth, cleaning off the cum. Your cum.
Miguel gives you a lazy grin in the bare bulb of the equipment closet. He seems completely unfazed by the fact his fingers were in you not a moment ago.
"Are you free after work?" He asks, and it takes a moment for you to process.
"Uhhh… s-sure. Probably?"
"Let me take you for dinner, somewhere nice."
All you can do is nod, dumbly, ripped stockings still around your ankles.
"And then I can fuck you properly, princesa."
_
_
_
More Posts from Buckys-lover and Others
SUB!ADRIAN THATS ALL I GOTTA SAY JUST SUB!ADRIAN😩‼️
Be Good For Me - Adrian Chase x Reader
Masterlist
A/N: Im so sorry for whatever the hell this is i don't know what came over me no i am not ok do not ask i've just been thinking about him all day so uh . yeah. this has been in the drafts for a while but i just decided to finish it today so </3
Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT JUST PURE UNAPOLOGETIC FILFTH HONESTLY, use of restrains/being tied up, thigh-riding, orgasm denial, hand-jobs, vaginal sex, dirty talk, sub!adrian :)
Word Count: 2.2k
••••••••••••••••••
Adrian's cock was rock hard, probably harder than it had ever been before. His wrists were tied to the bedposts (the restraints not too tight, but tight enough to ensure that he couldn't just slip himself out of them), his legs spread wide for you as he awaited your return. Shaking, sweat glistening on his skin, his face contorting in a pained pleasure as he bucked his hips into the empty space.
If he listened closely enough, he could hear you singing along to a catchy pop song in the kitchen. He imagined that you were dancing around, a smirk on your lips as you thought about your boyfriend, alone and tied up in your room, his cock vieny and angry and desperate for you to relieve him.
That thought alone was enough to illicit a whine from his throat.
Adrian knew what he signed up for when he agreed to let you restrain him. Truthfully, it was something he had fantasised about. Sure, he liked to be in control sometimes, but there was nothing more he loved than to submit.
He just never expected you to be this ruthless.
You had been pushing him to edge for the best part of an hour, only to pull away completely at the last second and leave him writhing and desperate for more.
This time, you had been gone for almost ten minutes, and it was killing him. He was so desperately horny, and he was getting pretty fucking pissed off about it as the minutes ticked by agonisingly slow.
"Fuck!" He spat out, glancing down at his cock. The tip was swollen and leaking with precum.
Only a moment later, he heard your footsteps coming down the hallway. You pushed the bedroom door open, leaning against the side frame, a mug in your hands. You wore only a button-up shirt you had stole from his drawer. "Did you say something?" You asked casually.
"I..." All words were lost on him. "No." He answered finally
"That's funny, because I thought you did." You raised your eyebrows at him, your features breaking out into a grin when you saw his eyes flick between the your face and the mug in your hands. "Oh, it's coffee." You replied, lifting the mug. "I would have made some for you but you... y'know, kinda have your hands tied." Oops. You couldn't resist. The look he gave you was deadly, but what the fuck could he do about it? His hands were literally tied.
You raised the mug up to your lips, taking a sip of your coffee, smirking when you heard a groan come from his throat, his eyes now firmly trained on the shirt which had ridden up your thighs.
You gave him a sweet smile, "Oh, just look at you, baby. You look so sweet like this. I wish you could see yourself." You mumbled, making your way over to the bed, placing your mug down on the nightstand.
You stood over him, reaching down to push his hair away from his forehead, smirking when he glanced up at you, his eyes filled with hope.
So, he tried his luck. "Please. Please touch me. P-please... I can't... I need you to touch me. I've been so good for you." His tone was frantic, a pitch higher as he desperately tried to plead his case.
He truly did look so cute like this, that much you couldn't deny. He was a beautiful boy anyway, but there was just something about seeing him all tied up, pupils dilated and lips agape as he begged you that made him all the more pretty.
You chewed on your bottom lip, your gaze glancing down to his cock, swollen and hard and waiting for you to bring him to his release. Surely it wouldn't hurt to touch him, just for a minute.
"Well... you are being so good for me. So patient..." You whispered, climbing on the bed, moving to straddle his waist, sitting yourself just above his cock. "Tell me what you want from me." You demanded, your hands running up his toned chest.
"I just want you to touch me. Just touch me. I just need to feel you. Fuck! Please!" He begged in that whiny voice.
"You want me to touch you?" You spat into your hand and reached around slowly. "You want me to touch you... here?" You asked sweetly, your fingers now wrapped around the base of his cock, his hips bucking up into your touch instinctively.
"Yes! Fuck-... Yes, please." He corrected himself quickly, knowing he wouldn't get anything from you if he wasn't polite about it.
"Such a good boy." You mumbled, your thumb rubbing circles on his chest as your other hand remained stationary on his cock. You could see he was desperate to move, desperate for any kind of friction. So, you relented. "Okay. I'll touch you. But you have to promise to be good. Don't cum until I say you can, do you understand?"
Adrian let out a low hum, but it wasn't enough. You needed an answer. "Adrian... do you understand?" You repeated, a warning in your voice.
"Yes." He panted out, squeezing his eyes closed.
"Good."
You began fisting his cock, slow and steady, watching his every movement as you pump your hand up and down. You keep track of his reactions. The way his eyes screw shut, the way his brows furrow together when you run your thumb across the head of his cock. The way his jaw clenches and his breathing starts to sound more like panting right before he cums.
He looked fucking beautiful like this, completely at your mercy. It took everything in you to not just allow him to cum there and then, just so you could watch every single twitch of his lips and every expression that flashed on his features as he came.
But you weren't about to allow yourself to break so easily.
You pulled your hand away at the last moment.
"Fff- Oh, fuck. No. No. Please. Come back. Please." His hips met the air, wrists tugging against the restraints as he searched for that last bit of friction to push him over the edge. He moaned and whined, his legs shaking, writhing underneath you, a plea for you to give him anything more.
"You were about to cum." You stated simply.
"N-No... I wasn't!" He protested weakly, still panting under you.
"Don't lie to me. You were about to cum. I told you that you weren't allowed to do that until I said so, didn't I?"
"Y-yes! You said that!" He spat. Oh, he was seething. He had gotten so close, so close to just letting go and cumming in your hand. He didn't care about the consequences anymore. Whatever you dished out afterwards, he was prepared to take.
"Watch your fucking tone." You scolded.
You moved to stand up then, but a strangled whine from his throat caught your attention. You looked down at him, eyebrows raised, daring him to speak. And he did. "Fuck... No... Please don't go. P-please don't leave me here again. Fuck. You're so beautiful. You're so pretty. I want you to stay here. I wanna look at you. I wanna see you cum. Please... Just- Fffuck--.... use me. Just don't leave. Not again."
"You want me to use you to make myself cum?" You let a slight smile grace your lips as he nodded quickly, mumbling, "Fuck. You're lucky you're so cute..." as you inched down his body (not missing how his eyes flickered down to the wet patch you had left on his lower stomach) eventually settling on his thick thigh. Your legs were situation on either side, and your hot, sopping cunt was pressed against his skin.
You began to grind your hips, pressing your cunt down against his thigh. One hand slipped up to your shirt, popping the buttons open slowly until your chest was exposed to him.
Adrian just watched you quietly with hooded eyes and parted lips, almost in awe of you as you rode his thigh. He watched the way your breasts bounced as you rolled your hips against, the way you let quiet moans slip through your lips whenever your clit brushed against his skin.
You leaned forward, angling yourself in a way that meant your clit was pressed firmly against his skin. He was being so good for you, so patient and pretty and perfect, watching you fuck yourself on his thigh. You couldn't help but breathe out a laugh when he let out a yelp as your fingers curled around his cock unexpectedly, stroking languidly, keeping in time with your own movements.
The pressure on your clit was delicious, and you could feel your orgasm building in the pit of your stomach. His quiet moans and whimpers, his hips bucking up to meet your fist, only spurred you on, urged you to grind your hips down faster against him, watching him watch you come undone on his thigh, his eyes flickering from your face, your chest and your cunt.
When you came, you came hard. You threw your head back, eyes squeezed shut, letting out an almost pornographic moan as waves of pleasure ripped through your body. Adrian groaned underneath you, your hand now loosely gripping his cock while you rode out the rest of your orgasm.
Adrian wanted to touch you. He wanted to touch you so bad. It was taking everything in him to not force himself out of the restraints, hold you through your orgasm then fuck you dizzy.
"Oh, fuck..." You panted out, your head tilted back, looking at him through your eyelashes. "That was so fucking good..."
I wouldn't know, he wanted to say, but he kept it to himself. He was sure he had softened you, broke you down. He was sure you would be kind to him now. And he was right.
"Do you wanna cum?" You breathed out, shifting back up until your cunt hovered just above his cock.
"God, yes." Adrian moaned out.
"Do you think you deserve to cum?" You inquired. Hell, you were becoming impatient now. You wanted him inside of you.
"I-I don't know... Do you think I deserve to cum?"
"Yeah. I think you've been good for me. So good." You ran your finger across his lip before leaning down, kissing him softly.
Then, you sank down on to his cock. Slowly, slowly, slowly. You sighed in relief at the feeling of your walls stretching out to accommodate him. You loved to tease him, to keep him on the edge, but there was nothing you loved more than feeling him inside of you.
Adrian, on the other hand, was about to lose his fucking mind.
He knew he wouldn't last long, not with your tight cunt squeezing his cock just right. He had been waiting for this all night. Waiting for you to slide yourself on to his cock and fuck him until he came.
"Oh fuck... Fff-... I love this cunt. I love being inside of you. You're so beautiful. So perfect. Treat me so well." He babbled as you sat still on his cock, "So good to me. My perfect princess. Looking after me so well. F-fuck... Please... Let me cum. Wanna cum inside this sweet pussy."
A few rolls of your hips and he was cumming inside of you. He remained quiet at first, and you watched his face twist, his neck straining, eyes squeezed shut until he let out a guttural moan from the back of his throat. It wasn't long until he was bucking his hips into you, cursing and pulling at the restraints, moaning your name along with 'i love you's' and 'thankyou's' as he shot rope after rope of his hot cum inside of you.
You pressed your lips against his as he rode out his orgasm, mumbling that he was your good boy and you loved him and that he had been so, so good for you.
Reaching up, you tugged the restraints loose, allowing his hands to roam freely once again. He wrapped his arms around your body, clutching you tight against him, whimpering against your shoulder while you peppered kisses on his cheeks, forehead and nose.
"You good?" You whispered, sitting up once his whimpered moans had died down and his breathing had settled. He was still inside of you, still rock hard, though you weren't surprised since you had had him on the edge for almost an hour.
Adrian glanced up at you then, a dazed and lazy (yet still shit-eating) grin on his lips. "Fuck yeah. Never been better. Ready to go again, actually."
You raised your eyebrows, but not in shock or disbelief. More because you expected that response from Adrian. "You wanna go again?"
"Fuck yeah, I do."
"You're insatiable." You mumbled, leaning down to press your lips against his, his hand coming up to cup your face. You had planned on running him a hot bath, making him a cup of coffee and cuddling up to him with a shitty Netflix horror movie, but Adrian's plans differed wildly from your own.
"Hey, can I fuck you this time?" He asked excitedly, sitting himself up against the bed frame.
"....Fine."
••••••••••••
tags because im a big dummy and i forgot (if you've already seen this then ignore </3)
@juniebugg @bvcksmurdock @neptuneswritingwork @cressida-clearwood @withahappyrefrain @all-the-captains @lindenvale @tinalbion @ladamari68 @flower-slut00 @milfodyssey @madmax2191 @andromacher @myguiltypleasures21 @osnapitzandi @flutterskies @emmaflag17 @trash--blog @jlclvsjpm @papitas-con-sal @thedamchii @abbynx @lunaticsandidiots @skateb0red @fenderenderender @possessedxparrot @transias @aprilfire18 @the-a-word-2214 @winterrfalconn
Dile (Cuéntale)
miguel o’hara x spiderwoman!reader
song inspo: dile by don omar + playlist
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 // as always, feedback is greatly appreciated, reblog and lmk what you think! <333
Translation Reblog
You’re coming back from a successful mission with Peter (Spiderman 9411). You were able to stop and capture an anomaly, a variation of Doc Ock, and send them back to their original universe. Upon your return, you make your way to HQ to brief Miguel on what happened. Everything was going fine. You and Peter were laughing and joking around together while giving report, just having a good time.
Meanwhile, Miguel was watching you both intently, narrowing in on the way that Peter casually touches you, the way he looks at you, the smile that reaches his eyes when he’s around you. Miguel was always suspicious that there was something going on between you two. A week ago, his suspicion was confirmed when Lyla mentioned that you two slept together (even though you made her promise not to tell anyone). And he couldn’t stand it.
He keeps his tone clipped and cold. Simply saying you did a good job before dismissing you. You and Peter turn to leave, but Miguel speaks up, telling you to stay behind. You don’t think much of it; after all, you were one of the few people Miguel was close to. Maybe he just wanted to discuss something unrelated. You tell Peter to head out and you’ll catch up with him later. The doors shut behind him, and you can hear them lock. The room is silent except for the occasional beeps and replays of other missions on the screens. Miguel doesn’t say a word as he steps off the platform and walks toward you. Tension lingers in the air as you face each other.
He's the first to break the silence, “What’s going on with you and Peter?”
You’re a bit taken aback, confused about where this was coming from, “What are you talking about? We’re just friends.”
He shakes his head in frustration, “No me mientas cariño; I’m not blind!”
“Miguel, no sé de que estás hablando.” But you do know. And it’s becoming evident that Lyla snitched on you.
“Don’t play dumb.” His voice hardens, and he comes closer, “Answer me.”
You’re starting to get fed up with his attitude. What you and Peter do is none of his business, and you place a hand on his chest to try and push him away, but he’s firm in place.
He grabs your wrist and leans down, a harsh whisper in your ear, “Tell me, what does he have that I don’t?”
It hits you then, and you pull back, narrowing your eyes at him, “Estás celoso?” You scoff in disbelief when you finally take notice of his jealousy. You honestly want to laugh, but the look on Miguel’s face lets you know that’d be a bad idea.
“You didn’t answer me.” He huffs.
You decided then to stoke the flames, “Let’s find out.” Maybe he’d finally cut through the tension and get to what you know you’ve both been craving.
Your heart races as the tension between you reaches its peak. With a daring glance, you take a step closer to Miguel, bodies almost touching. Your eyes lock, and the air crackles with anticipation.
You take in the way his pupils dilate at your words as he leans in, your lips mere millimeters apart, teasingly close. “Tell me you want this as much as I do.” He murmured, voice heavy with need.
His admission sends shivers down your spine. Your breath hitches and your heart hammers against your chest. You've wanted this for a long time, and nothing's stopping you now. You wrap your arms around his neck and close the remaining distance between your lips. Mouths colliding in a passionate and urgent kiss, all your pent-up desires finally unleashed.
Your bodies mold together as your tongues intertwine, exploring and tasting each other with a fervor born of longing. Miguel's hands find their way to your waist, pulling you even closer while your fingers weave through his hair, tugging gently.
Breaking the kiss, your heavy breaths mingle in the air, eyes locked with an intensity that speaks volumes.
"Don't hold back, Miguel. Enseñame. Show me you're better." Your thighs clench when you hear his growl in response.
Your lips soon meet again in a hungry, passionate kiss, igniting a fire that has been smoldering for far too long. As your bodies press against each other, your hands begin to explore, tracing the contours of each other's forms. Miguel's touch is possessive, his fingertips leaving a trail of tingling sensations on your skin.
You’re backed up against the console as Miguel's lips descend upon your neck, trailing a path of fiery kisses along your skin. He revels in the soft gasps that escape your lips.
He lifts you and lays you down; you can feel the coldness of the metal through your suit. His lips are still on your neck, and you can feel the sharp point of his fangs against your delicate skin. Without warning, he bit you, drawing blood. You gasped at the sensation, feeling his tongue soothe over the bite marks that were already beginning to heal.
“Your biting kink is showing.” You tease, still enjoying the residual sting of it.
“I don’t have a-- shut up.” He growled the words into your neck before biting you again. It was obvious that it was something he enjoyed. A way to mark you up and make it clear who you belong to now.
“Te ves tan hermosa así.” He whispers as he pulls away, eyes glued on your neck, giving a hum of satisfaction over the way you look after he’s staked his claim on you.
You watch him as he brings his hand to your collarbone, tracing the marks gently with his claws before he hooks it under the neck of your suit. You hear it first. The sound of the threads tearing before the feel of cool air.
He ripped your suit. He ripped your fucking spider suit. “Miguel!” The shock evident in your voice as he’s practically torn the suit off your body. He meets your gaze, showing no signs of remorse for what he just did. “No te preocupes preciosa. I’ll make you a new one, a better one.”
You huff at his words; you really liked that suit. But your protest quickly dies down the moment you feel his lips on your bare chest. He’s taking his time with you, marking you up as much as he possibly can. Lips latching onto your nipple, tongue swirling around and sucking while his hand gives attention to your other breast. Your back is arching, trying to get as close to his mouth as possible, reveling in the feeling of him sucking and nibbling your sensitive skin.
“Love these fucking tits.” He whispers against your skin as he holds them in his hand, loving the softness of them and how you react. You need him desperately as his kisses and bites travel further down your body. You’re squirming under his touch, and once his lips meet the apex of your thighs, you buck your hips up into him. Your fingers make their way into his hair, tugging him so he places that sinful mouth where you need him most.
“Por favor Miguel,” You can barely think straight with the way he’s looking at you. “Necesito…” Your words trail off. He looks at you, a teasing glimmer in his eyes, “Qué necesitas?”
You groan in frustration, tugging his hair again to show him what you mean. He just shakes his head at you, not willing to budge until he hears you beg for him. He’s waiting. Patiently. You know Miguel, and he’d wait forever just to prove a point.
You finally give in, “Miguel, please, need you so bad.” He tilts his head, still waiting expectantly; he needs to hear more. He needs to hear how desperate you are for him.
“Ay por Dios! Miguel, I can’t wait any longer. Please- need you…need your mouth. Anything!” You’re whining at this point, and can’t believe how pathetic you sound. But it was enough. That’s what he needed to hear before finally giving you what you craved.
He has your thighs tight in his grip, spread apart in front of him. You meet his hungry stare as his lips latch onto your pussy, sucking at your clit. Your hips buck up, grinding onto his face as a needy moan escapes your lips. He groans, enjoying the pressure, tongue lapping up your juices.
“Tastes so good, so fucking sweet~ could eat you for days…and so wet; todo para mi, amor?” He’s on a high, whining the words into you. Craving you and the way you feel with his mouth on you, trying to keep you close as possible.
Your thighs begin to tremble, and you try your best not to crush his face. He takes notice and shakes his head. His grip tightens and presses you closer to him as if he wanted to confine himself in the slice of heaven you carry between your legs. And, God, it feels good. He’s watching you, observing the way you toss your head back in pleasure, how your free hand tries grasping at anything to ground you, the way your body shivers at his touch; he’s learning your every movement, committing your body to memory.
"Need you, such a good fucking pussy- so good…eres mía, solo mía.” The sounds he makes are obscene and he’s rambling, showering you in praise while drunk on the taste of you.
You’re squirming against him, not much movement granted as large hands are holding you down, eating you like a man starved. As if he’s on death row and you’re his last meal, and you’re not sure how much more you can take.
“Miguel~” Your voice strained, barely able to speak and tell him that you’re close, so embarrassingly close.
“C’mon, be a good girl ‘n cum for me.” He encourages, tongue flicking at your clit to bring you closer to the edge. You gasped as you felt Miguel running a finger up and down your slit, teasing you before working their way inside your weeping cunt, curling up and hitting that spot inside that has you seeing stars. Your grip is still tight in his hair, thighs quivering as your orgasm washed over you, the sensation rippling throughout your whole body.
You’re vaguely aware of Miguel pulling away as you’re coming down from your high, blissed out and hazy. It felt like you ascended to the heavens. In your daze, you look at him, noting the arrogant smirk on his face and his fingers glistening in the dim light, covered with your juices. He holds your gaze as he brings his fingers up to his mouth and sucks them clean, moaning contently at the taste of you.
“I’m guessing Peter could never make you feel this way, huh?” He’s right, and he knows it. But you couldn’t help but want to push his buttons.
You hum in response, “Mm, he was pretty good with his tongue too.” Teasing, waiting for him to react. And you see it; the way his body language changes in an instant at your insinuation.
He sneers at you, baring his fangs and gripping your chin to look him in his eyes, glowing red with anger, “You better watch your fucking mouth, sweetheart.”
“Or what? Qué vas a hacer Miguelito?”
Miguel narrows his eyes at the provocation, a dangerous glimmer in his eyes. “Ten cuidado, preciosa,” He hisses through gritted teeth as he leans in. His grip tightens, keeping his gaze set on you. “Sigue hablando y verás.” And just like that, his attitude changes on a dime, the anger in his eyes replaced by a hungry glint, a low growl rumbling in his throat as he leans closer to you. You barely take the time to notice that his suit is disappearing as if it were a hologram or nanotech, leaving him naked. You feel his length press up against you, and your eyes widen in shock. He’s big. Already hard and aching for you and you feel his precum drip against the inside of your thigh. You can’t help but wriggle your hips, desperate to feel him closer. “Look what you do to me.” He whispers the words in your ear as he grinds against you. Your eyes take their time looking down. Taking in everything that’s him. His broad shoulders, rippling muscles, chiseled abs; it’s insane how strong he is. You shiver at the thought of what he’s capable of. Your gaze dips further, following his happy trail down just as he’s started teasing your entrance with the tip of his cock, “Been waiting for this,” He groans, eyes shining with excitement, “No tienes idea querida.” "Bet it won’t compare, huh?” He asks, still painstakingly teasing you, “Bet it’ll feel so much better than all the times I’ve fucked my fist thinking of you and this pretty little pussy.” You gasp at his words, clenching around nothing, waiting in anticipation for him to finally fuck you. He laughs at your desperation. “Sabías eso, amor? Fantasized about you all the time, about you being mine. Solo mía.” He punctuates that final proclamation by finally entering you. He was taking his time, the stretch of him inching in was a euphoric mix of pain and pleasure, and you weren’t sure how much more you could take. It was too much; you could begin to see him bulge through your stomach, and you shake your head, not believing that he could possibly get in deeper. “Shh, just take it.” He sighed his words, enjoying the way you feel wrapped around him. “No puedo Miguel-” You gasp as you finally feel him fully press up against you. You’re so full you can barely breathe. Instinctually you wrap your legs around his waist, trying to keep him still while you adjust to his size. He pressed his hand against your navel, pushing down slightly, feeling himself. His eyes roll back at the sensation as a groan escapes his lips, wanting desperately to live in this moment forever. "Mírate." He urges, kissing your cheek. “Mira que bien nos vemos juntos, amor.” You listen to him, looking down at where you’re joined, and you squeeze at the sight of it. You rock your hips against him, letting him know it's okay to move, and he pulls out a little before pressing back in, making you moan while he sighs contently. “Look at how well you’re taking me, like you were made for me. Only for me."
The tenderness of his words was contrasted by the roughness of his movements as he began snapping his hips against yours. “So tight,” his words coming out through a strained growl while pounding into you. “Dios! You’re squeezing me so fucking tight.”
“Feels so good, Miggy-” Tossing your head back as you moan out, pleasure engulfing you, your legs tightening around him, pressing your heel into his back as you tried to get him deeper. His next thrust was a little more brutal, his hips colliding with the back of your thighs.
“Así mi vida, así.” He growled, baring his fangs in a pleasureful grin. "Look at me." You look up at him immediately, moaning his name loosely at the feeling of him so deep inside you. So deep and big and full.
You can barely hold his gaze, trying desperately to resist the urge to roll your eyes back every time you feel him thrust back into you. You reach forward, nails digging into his bicep, trying to ground yourself in the moment.
“C’mon, you can take, can’t you?” He mocks you, his tone condescending, enjoying the way that he has you craving him. “Esto es lo que querías, verdad? But now look at you, can barely handle it-” His words cut off by a groan escaping his lips at the feeling of you clenching tighter around him.
He’s right, you don’t know how much more of this you can take as your legs begin to shake and you feel yourself quickly approaching orgasm again. Desperate hands gripping onto the flesh of your hip as he ruts into you. You let out a wanton moan as he slams home again, pulsating around him. “Cuéntale,” His grip on you tightens, sure to leave bruises by the time he’s done with you, “Cuéntale que soy mejor que él.” He whispers in your ear.
You’re nodding your head, babbling incoherently, not even aware of anything you’re really saying. He grins, knowing you’re close, and his ego soars at being able to get you there so soon. He groans as he feels you tighten around him; your eyes shut tight, and your body quivers from the intensity as your climax overwhelms you.
He slows down, trying to give you a moment to come down from your high in an effort to avoid overstimulating your senses. Soon, your body begins to relax as you’re grounded once again in reality. Your eyes are glossy with welled-up tears, and you offer Miguel a blissful smile.
“C’mon Miggy, thought you wanted to show me you’re better, I expected more from you-” You’re breathless as you speak, and it’s obvious to him that you’re just trying to egg him on, but he falls for it anyways. In an instant, he stopped his movements. His red eyes have never looked so menacing before and your breath caught in your throat. Without speaking, he pulled out, and you whined at the loss of contact.
He ignores your objection, opting to manhandle you, forcing you to turn around. He presses you down against the console, ass exposed to him. You put up a struggle in vain as he grabs your arms and pulls them back. You soon feel something wrap around your wrists, binding them. He webbed you. Effectively keeping you bound with something you couldn’t possibly hope to escape from. You felt him yank back on the binding, your hands resting above the small of your back. You hissed at the aching pain, but it was soon replaced by a moan of desperation when you felt the plush tip of his cock line up with your entrance. You expected him to tease you again, to make you beg for it, but Miguel was feeling merciless now. He drove into you without warning, making you take it as deep as he could possibly go. And at this new angle, you swear he was hitting your cervix. Your mouth opened in quiet ecstasy as he had his way with you. He kept your wrists behind your back in a tight hold, his other hand gripped firmly on your hip; you were sure that by the end of the day you’d have bruises on your hips in the shape of his fingertips. His hips were snapping relentlessly into yours, pistoning in and out of you so hard it was difficult to have a single coherent thought other than wanting more. Miguel’s growls and grunts were animalistic as they tore through his chest, his grip getting immensely tighter and his hips moving impossibly faster in this new position.
"That's better- fucking ruined and creaming on my cock. Who else can fuck you like this? No one, huh? Not Peter, not Ben, no one; only me.”
You’ve given in now, effectively broken, and all the brattiness you had left in you is gone, "Nadie! Nobody- just you, only you can fuck me like this." You choke out, legs trembling, pleasure coursing through you.
"That's right. You’re mine; mine to touch, to taste, to fuck- all mine." He harshly slaps your ass to emphasize his words. You squeal at the contact of his palm on the soft flesh, enjoying the sting it offers.
“Solo tuyo amor.” The words escape your lips in a breathless sigh, your mind hazy, dizzy with desire.
He’s all you can think of; your senses overwhelmed by everything that’s him. The way he’s holding on to you, the way he feels aggressively pumping inside you, the grunts and groans he makes that are music to your ears. You’re delirious, unable to remember what your life was like before being here with him. Miguel reaches forward, lightly slapping your cheek. “Open up, sweetheart.” You oblige without a second thought, letting his fingers in your mouth. “Suck.” Who knew a single word could have you clenching so tight around him? A whimper leaves your lips as you obey his command, getting his fingers slick and wet with your spit. Too soon, he removes them from your mouth, and his fingers make their way down to your aching clit, rubbing tight circles to get you even closer to the edge.
“Uno más querida, solo uno más.” He urges as he speeds up his movements. You’re grinding onto his hand, eagerly chasing your release, having lost count of how many times he has had you come undone.
This one hits you like a freight train, full speed ahead. You swear you black out for a moment, your body buzzing and pulsing with a delightful and all-engulfing pleasure. You’re strung out, not offered a break as Miguel keeps pushing into you.
“Quiero verte Miguel, porfa~” You sob your words out from the overwhelming power of your orgasm, trying to turn your head to see the man who has wrecked you so thoroughly.
Slowing down, he listens to your plea and grants your wish, “Nunca te voy a negar.” Before you know it, he’s torn the webbing off your wrists with his claws and turns you around, having you once more on your back, legs spread open, welcoming him in again.
He slips back into your weeping cunt with ease, resuming his brutal pace as he tries to reach his climax. He grips onto the soft flesh of your thigh, claws slightly digging in as you wrap your legs around him, securing his spot inside you.
"Dime que soy tuyo." He pants needily, using his body to drive you forward.
"Eres mío, Miguel-" You gasp, raking your nails down his back to prove it, marking him as yours. "Mine, mine; solo mío amor"
His cock jumps inside you, both of you closer to your release. "That's right. I’m all yours,” His eyes flickered down to the place where your bodies met. Watching your pussy take him in over and over again. “Let me give you all of me- wanna fill you up.”
You unashamedly whimpered at his words, “Please, please Miguel-” Your words are starting to slur as you begin to beg him.
"Please, what? You losin' your words, now? So drunk on my cock you can't think straight?" He slaps your pussy lightly, clit puffy and sensitive. But you can't say anything, not when he's getting rougher, faster— pounding into you with a new force and determination. Rubbing tight circles on your bundles of nerves that have been exploited for the sake of your pleasure. You can feel that familiar feeling building, that knot getting tighter at the base of your stomach.
You’re almost in disbelief that you got there so quick, but with Miguel, it was like he knew your body inside and out, understanding exactly what you needed and giving you so much more.
He’ll never get over it. The way you tighten and pulse around him, the way your cunt squeezes him in a vice grip, making it harder for him to hold off his own release. The way your eyes roll back and the heavenly sounds that leave your mouth. He wants to make you feel this good for the rest of your lives. "Ay Dios— You're so pretty when you cum all over my cock." And he's still going, still pumping into your sensitive cunt with the same force. Your senses are so overwhelmed; it's like you can feel every single one of your nerve endings on fire. "Fuck, gonna fill you up- that's what you want, right? Wanna feel full of my cum? Want me to breed you?" You're nodding desperately as you start to babble nonsense that you want him, need him, everything he wants to give you, you'll take. He leans down, burying his face in your neck as his groans reverberate against your skin. You feel him twitch inside you as he pushes in deeper, emptying himself inside you, letting you milk him for all he's worth, trying his best to not let a single drop go to waste.
He pulls back, arms braced on both sides of your head, caging you in. He meets your gaze, the red of his eyes barely visible anymore, hooded and glazed over from the feeling of you still squeezing him tight, keeping him locked in. When the haze subsides, his shoulders relax a bit, drawing closer to you. Miguel’s barely audible when he finally speaks again, but you hear his words anyways.
“Aunque tu vuelvas con él, dame otra noche.” There’s a hint of pain in his eyes, unsure of whether any of this actually meant anything to you.
Your heart aches at the allusion that you’d want anyone other than him, and you bring your hand up to his face, gently cupping his cheek, “Miguel, tú sabes que no voy a volver con él, soy tuya, recuerdas? Only yours.”
Relief washes over him as one of his rare smiles graces his face at your words, “Te quiero como a ninguna.” He murmurs as he leans down to place a gentle kiss on your lips. He pulls away, the start of another sentence on the tip of his tongue, but he’s soon interrupted.
With a flicker of yellow light, Lyla appears beside Miguel. “Took you two long enough! Was wondering when you’d finally admit your so very obvious feelings for each other.” She rolled her eyes behind her pink, heart-shaped sunglasses. “You’re welcome, by the way, this wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t snitch about you smooshing booties with Peter.” She adds, beside you now, close to your ear as if trying to whisper. “Lyla!” You swat your hand at her, embarrassed by the thought that she was aware of everything that just happened and mentioning the reason why this all transpired in the first place.
“Alright, alright,” She throws her hands up in mock surrender, “I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone, but you owe me for this!” With those final words, she disappears.
Your gaze meets Miguel’s, who just shakes his head in disbelief, rolling his eyes at the fact that Lyla chose such a tender moment to intrude on. You can’t help the laugh that bubbles out, giggling at the absurdity of it, and soon enough, he joins in on the joy you found in the moment.
~~~
Tagging some of my lovely mutuals and ppl who asked to be on my taglist/might be interested <3
@cozykali // @joaquinwhorres // @sunflowersteves // @fanboygarcia // @cowb00t // @mothdruid // @openforjean // @bobfloyds // @buckyytorres // @bvckysmoon // @inklore // @rhettabbotts // @wint3r-h3art // @zstrn // @golden-barnes // @ofstarsandvibranium // @sunmoonandeddie // @bubblebuckys // @ladyelissarose // @thinktankgoldfish // @harmonia-dread // @living-in-a-daydream97 // @eddiesslutwhore // @dilfsfordinner // @tarjapearce // @manyourlookingood // @lovers-in-japan-reign-of-love // @mraisedto3 //
okay okay but imagine jake’s wife is the one with the breeding kink, and he teases/punishes her by pulling out
oh BRUTAL
jake would love to see you go wide eyed and claw at him to push him back inside as he spreads his cum over your stomach.
“what is it, sweets?”
“b- but i wanted you inside me, jakey, please!”
“awh, no. not for you today, baby. been a bad fucking girl.”
ahhhh thank you my love!!! I was just feeling really soft for him and had to make it sweet, esp after vol 2🥹
I Was Made For Lovin’ You
Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader
song inspo: I was made for lovin’ you by kiss
main masterlist // nsfw masterlist
word count: 3.4k
summary: Eddie believes you’re a “quiet miss goody-two-shoes”. You’re going to prove him wrong.
warnings: SMUT (18+), minors DNI!, both eddie and reader are 18+, fingering (feat. ring kink), oral (m), sub/dom dynamics, PIV, unprotected sex (pls be safe irl), cowgirl to missionary, dirty talk, praise kink, biting kink/leaving hickeys, creampie, language, mutual pining, fluff, eddie being sweet, tattoo tracing, way too many fucking italics and semi colons, it ends real sweet tho
A/N: This is a part two to I wanna be with you but I wrote it so it could be read as a standalone. Also, I’ve never written a smut oneshot, so this was definitely a challenge, but I tried my best. :)
It’s silent between the two of you on the drive back to Eddie’s place. He has the radio tuned to the local rock station, and you can hear Metallica’s Master of Puppets playing through the speakers. You were bopping your head, drumming your fingers, and silently singing along to the song. Eddie could hear you and would turn to look at you during stop lights. He couldn’t fucking believe that you, quiet miss goody two shoes, were in his van and heading back to his place. He thought he was losing his mind but in the best way possible.
Keep reading
𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬
𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this scenario would not leave my mind- also shockingly this is over 1.5k!
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: frank castle x reader
𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬/𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤/𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 & 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐥𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝! 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭/𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬!
𝟏𝟖+ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+, language, cleaning wounds, unprotected sex, fingering, passionate sex, light breeding kink, light oral (f), unedited sorry for any missed typos!
"What the hell happened to you!" The blood-stained and bruised man stands in your doorway.
You quickly pull him inside, shutting and locking the door behind you. Frank limps towards the bar stools in the kitchen. The first aid kit is still laid out on the counter from last night's patch-up.
A faint groan sneaks past his lips as Frank sits down, finally being able to take a full breath.
"Nothing for you to worry about; you just need a few band-aids." Frank moves his hand away from his waist, revealing the gash dripping with blood.
Quickly you gather your dish towels and all the paper towels you can. They were not ideal, but the hospital wasn't an option since you had to be discreet. You remove your sweatshirt, not wanting to dirty it or the sleeves to get in the way.
Laying the full-sized towels on the floor underneath to catch the dripping blood, you hand him the dish towels. Frank begins to hold the cloth against the gash. You prep the area by washing your hands and grabbing the gloves from your kit.
"Wanna tell me why you busted the stitches from yesterday?" You mutter, applying alcohol to the wound.
Frank curses underneath his breath before shrugging his shoulders.
"Maybe I wanted to see you again," You laugh sarcastically.
"That so?" Playing along, you clean around the wound with a large cotton swab.
"Yeah." Frank smiles as you look up at him before shaking your head.
There are times where you regret offering help to the limping man you saw walking home a few months ago. It landed you in risky situations, but you're thankful you did- or else you wouldn't have met him.
Dressing his wounds and cleaning off the blood is practice for when you're put on the trauma unit at the hospital- and you have a lot of practice.
"This isn't going to heal very pretty; it's gonna scare pretty bad." Concentrating, you mumble.
"It'll match the other ones." Frank winces as you begin to restitch the gash.
Frank watches at how intently you're working on the wound. He didn't mean to bust the stitches, but it wasn't his priority in the fight. He appreciates how patient you are with him, how much you care for him. It isn't very often he finds someone he can let his guard down with- or as much as he could let them.
"This one is done. Please try to let it heal before you get stabbed again?" Standing up, you reach for the washcloth and dunk it in the bowl of water.
Ringing out the access water, you press it to his forehead and cheek. Somehow you slipped between his legs. His hands fell to your waist like they were meant to be there. You don't say anything; you like how well they fit.
You could feel his eyes burning through you, watching your every move. Dragging it down to his lips and chin, you clean off the blood. Frank wants to lean forward but stops himself.
Looking down, your eyes catch each other. His mouth is fully cleaned, your eyes drop to his lips.
Frank pleaded with you in his head that you'd lean in-, but you didn't.
"I think it's better to clean the rest off in the bathroom." You clear your throat, pulling away from his body.
Frank swallows hard and nods.
Once in the bathroom, you start the shower. Frank walks in after you, stripped down to his briefs. His top half is caked in blood and dirt. Whatever he had come from, it wasn't good- and you didn't plan on asking about it.
Frank steps in with his briefs still on, knowing you'd need to help address the wounds on his back.
The room was silent, but you could cut the tension with a knife. The water hits his skin, and he winces once more. Soon the blood and dirt begin to disappear from his skin. The minor scratches and bruises start to show through. Nothing major, so you assume the blood he was wearing was someone else's.
Stepping inside the tub, you examine his back. When he turns around, your eyes meet once more. This time they don't leave/
The two of you give in to the tension, and the silent pleads.
His hands cup the sides of your face, and your fingers wrap around his wrists. Your lips meet each other, and you're pulled under the water.
You sneak your arms under his and around his neck, his arms loop under your legs- hoisting you up and pressing you against the shower wall. You're careful your legs don't hit the stitches.
Frank's palms slide up your shirt, lifting and removing it. Your bralette is soaked through, and you can see the outline of your pebbled nipples. Frank's lips drag from your jawline down your neck and onto your chest.
"Frank-" He pulls his lips off of you the moment his name leaves your lips.
"Are you sure about this?" You ask softly.
He nods. He had never been so sure about anything.
"I promise." He replies.
Nodding back, his lips found yours again.
Your front is resting just above his crotch, but you can feel his hard-on underneath you. An unexpected moan falls from Frank's lips once you start to grind against him. Frank holds you up from your thighs, carrying you out of the shower (not daring to break from your mouth to shut the water off).
Completely soaked, Frank drops you onto the bed. While he's taking off his briefs, you do other same and remove your shorts and underwear. He stares at you for a moment, taking in the sight of your bare lower half. The gaze breaks as he hears your bra drop off the side of the bed. His eyes travel to your breasts, groaning as he watches them move as you sit up.
Frank lays you back down as he lays on his side. His lips are attached to your neck as his rough palms travel down your body. They're taking mapping every inch of you, feeling everything they could. You whine as his thumb grazes the top of your cunt. The ache became louder, and you swear he could feel it.
"Please, Frank- I need you," The words came out more desperate than you wished them, but it was true.
The arousal had pooled and coated your folds and stuck to the inside of your thighs. The plea encouraged him to spread your thighs apart, your leg hooking over top of his. He moaned into your mouth as his fingers dipped inside your sopping folds.
"I haven't even done anything yet," He chuckles, and you gasp.
Two fingers enter inside you, and you jerk your hips upward. Frank's other arm is underneath your head, and his fingers are interlocked with yours. This type of intimacy is one that you haven't experienced before, being so close and connected everywhere you could. Frank's fingers are slow but steady, his thumb grazing your clit.
You roll your hips into his fingers, wanting more.
"Keep going, sweetheart." He mumbled against your lips.
There wasn't a point in trying to conceal your sounds, so you let the small soft whimpers and the tiny whines escape you. Frank became addicted to them, pushing you closer and closer, wanting you to get louder and louder.
Each curl of his fingers hit your g spot, teasing your orgasm. The pleasure grew more intense, and fog covered your brain.
Clenching around his fingers, Frank increased his speed. His thumb toying with your sensitive nerve.
"Frank, I- please, can I cum?" Sinking into submission, you ask through a whimper.
Frank chuckles and grants you permission.
Your hips buck and jerk against his hand as you cum around his fingers. Frank's in your ear, whispering all sorts of praises as your climb down from your high.
Holding his fingers still before he brings them to his lips- tasting your arousal. He hums at the taste, knowing he had to get it from the source.
Releasing your hand, he shuffles down so that he's eye to eye with your greedy cunt.
"M'senstive, please- Fuck!" Frank cleans up all the arousal, craving more of you.
He hovers over your body, that's still recovering, and places your legs on each side of him. He drags the tip of his cock up and down your folds, spending extra time on your clit.
"Fuck, baby-" Frank moans as he pushes himself inside you.
Your eyes flutter shut, your hips dig into the mattress, and your back arches. He fills your cunt, and your body warms. Frank leans down, kissing you once more, not breaking as he begins to thrust.
Each stroke is deep and slow, making sure you feel every inch of him.
Once you're more adjusted, he goes faster- rougher than the moments before. His lips are still against yours; every so often, they drag to your jaw. Frank cups the side of your face; his eyes meet yours before kissing you again.
He was kissing you like it was the first time he had ever done it, passionately and with so much desire.
Your nails claw at his back, but he winces as you create new wounds.
"S'close- fuck!" You mumble against his lips; you know he's close too- his cock twitches inside you.
"Cum for me, sweetheart- please," He whines into your mouth.
You pulsate around him, cumming hard. Frank curses under his breath; you feel his cum spill inside you. You grind slowly against him, wanting every last bit of his cum.
Frank thrusts one last time before slowly pulling out of you. The both of you are panting next to each other, barely able to form words.
You turn to your side, facing him. Frank does the same, but this time he pushes the fallen pieces of hair out of your face- studying your expression.
"I think you might have a few more cuts on your back," You mumble, feeling the heat spread to your cheeks.
"Eh, It'll match the rest of 'em." He smirks.
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!!! 💌💖
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.
If ever a man was deserving of a blow job it’s Joel Miller
A/N: joel x f!reader. blow job duh.
He comes home at odd hours and sometimes he doesn’t come home at all. It’s not even your place–it’s his. His shitty room with four walls and a peach couch sprouting stuffing. It’s not a Joel couch. He probably would have had a La-Z-Boy.
You wait. You wait and listen to the radio. Get really well acquainted with the 80’s catalogue. You're his ears when he’s gone. It really isn’t a job, but it’s the small things you can do for him.
***
“Move over,” he mutters in a low voice. It’s the middle of the night, his hands are cold as he pushes you to the edge of the mattress. You’re an inch from rolling off before his strong arms wrap around your waist and haul you back to his chest.
“How was today?”
“Shitty.”
“Did you eat?”
He mumbles something noncommital into your hair and squeezes you, sealing you to his front to leach your warmth.
You trace his scars that drag across his forearm. You prod the dry skin, sunspots and freckles. His mouth is nearly latched to the nape of your neck, his breath puffing evenly. He’s exhausted, which isn’t a surprise. He works day in and day out in addition to all the illegal shit he’s running.
He’s always running.
***
In the morning, you push him onto his back. The sun filters through his windows, spouting through moth-eaten curtains. There are dust motes in the air. The smell of dirt and Joel, which is something like sawdust and gunpowder. Wood finish. The interior of an old car. He grunts when you slide between his legs, docile because he's still threaded with grogginess. He slept in his clothes, and you take care as you gingerly remove them.
He does peek one eye at you to make sure you aren’t some creep who’s slipped into his room to take advantage.
"It's me," you grin, and he blinks before shutting his eyes again. Typical.
You like to study him like this. He’s ruddy and baked from the sun. He’s all scrapes and silver-dark hair and his middle is soft from age. He's unnaturally strong, but some parts of him just don't tighten anymore.
Your gaze flickers from his face to the sparse hairs at his chest and then to his groin. You touch his cock, skating your nails over the shaft. It twitches, hardens almost immediately. You lower your head and take him into your mouth.
Joel stiffens, jerks a little as his knees come up and his hand flies to your scalp. “What’re you–”
You release him for a moment. “Relax, baby. Let me do this for you.”
His eyes are still foggy and unfocused, his brow furrowed so deep it might crack his skin. He’s so serious all the fucking time and you’d wish he’d just unknot himself for once. Loose the strings that bind him so painfully to his past.
You settle onto your knees before you wrap your lips around his cock, swallowing him down until the head hits the back of your throat. You gag, drool bunching around your gums as you clench the inner walls of your mouth.
He does not expect that because he arches.
“Fuck,” he growls. “Jesus–honey–”
You place one hand on his belly and the other at his balls. You tug them, massage their weight just as you draw back enough to dip your tongue into the slit at the tip of his cock. A rumble burns through his chest. The hand on your head tightens.
You hollow your cheeks and utilize a deliberate suction. After fucking Joel for months, you understand the things he likes: roughness, a dash of pain, and the promise of filth. You ease off before you return with a vengeance. You gently scrape your teeth along the frenulum, soothing the graze with a lick. It’s a sloppy blow job for sure, but that’s what he needs. His brown eyes stay locked on your own, his pink tongue sweeps over his lower lip as his hips buck against your chin. A muscle in his jaw spasms and his heels are digging into the mattress. He looks incredibly young as if you're seeing a Joel invigorated with his old youth because you're sucking him off like a porn star.
“You’re fucked,” he groans, head tipping back as he shudders through another round of you playing with his balls while deep throating him. “You’re so so fucked, sweetheart.”
You watch his belly tense, the tendons in his arms and throat snap to attention as you escalate the pressure, gag a little louder, stroke him faster while he stares at you with incredulity.
You? This? Where the fuck did you learn how to suck dick like that?
“Shit,” he hisses as you feel him swell, his cock is pulsing in your mouth and against your palm like a living thing. His fingernails are scratching beneath your hair. He’s breaking….
And then he does.
He goes all stiff and hot before you feel the warm rush of his spend salt your tongue and throat. You nearly choke on it before you pull away, hand subtly pressed to your lips. You try and leave the bed, but he's already sitting up on his knees. His cock red and hanging between his legs, all flushed and wet with your spit.
“You’re dead, girl,” he husks as he beckons you toward him. “Get back on here and turn the fuck around.”
He’s kind of smiling.
Help I have a thot so rotten I need professional help.
Rhett is working and you rile him up - so.far so usual. At one point he snaps and ties you to a breeding stand and then proceed to mount you. All the while snarling how your going to be breed like an animal in heat when you act like one. No amount of pleading and begging will help you
￫ a/n: lemme fucking tell you something anon. i got this. read it. and was in shock for the next ten minutes. i love this so so so much it’s unhealthy 😵💫 welp! we’re going down!
￫ c/w: rhett using derogatory language towards the reader, comparing you to an animal in heat, rhett being mean and degrading to you, cnc, p in v, daddy kink, manhandling you, what’s in the ask is what you’re gonna get.
you’re both working in the barn through the afternoon, moving hay and other supplies, cleaning out the horses and keeping the rest of the livestock in check. the humid summer heat has past it’s highest point since midday, but you’re both still struggling through the heat. it’s unbearably hot inside your stuffy barn and understandably, you’re both agitated.
every so often when you pass by rhett, you squeeze at his bulging biceps or at his crotch that’s already supporting a semi from your heated touches. he lets out a low grumble the fifth time you pass him by and you mock pout at him.
“what is it, daddy?” you elongate the last part of your wording with a flirtatious touch and bat your eyelashes teasingly at him.
rhett’s jaw is set firm as he scowls at you. his eyebrows are knitted tightly together in frustration as he bites back at you. “quit it. you’re actin’ like a fuckin’ whore right now and it ain’t helping.”
“but, daddy—” you whine out again, but rhett is there to cut you off instantly.
“enough. fuckin’ help me finish this and maybe, i’ll be nice to y’ later.”
his tone is firm and unwavering, and you should know better than to push him, but you excuse the heat for your lack of better judgement.
“fuckin’ fine. i’m goin’ inside and finishing myself off, somethin’ you can’t do.”
that snaps the final cord of patience that rhett has inside of him for you. he’s quick to grab at your forearm with a bruising grip as you leave the barn. you yelp out and struggle against him as he manhandles you, pushing you closer to a corner of the barn. it overwhelms you how strong he can be. your thrashing is no use.
your eyes are wide when you see him dragging you closer to a breeding stand, yet you feel the inside of your stomach somersault at the prospect of what rhett is suggesting. you still go along with it however, pleading with desperation as he ties you to the breeding stand.
“r-rhett? what are you fuckin’ doin’?!” you land with a final thud as rhett pushes your neck down to rest on the head stand that would be used for animals. you’re bent over and on all fours, with your feet teetering and scraping along the hay covered floor. your dress is flipped over your ass and you feel rhett’s hot and calloused fingers hook inside your underwear and tear them completely from your frame.
“if you’re gon’ act like an animal in heat,” rhett’s voice behind you is an ugly snarl, his teeth biting at one another. “i’m goin’ to be breedin’ you like an animal in heat.”
you hear his belt buckle clang against itself before a harsh smack is delivered to your exposed ass and the backs of your thighs. in reaction, you let out a cry that ends with an embarrassing moan. you hate yourself for being so incredibly aroused by this, but you don’t hate yourself for playing into his fucked up little fantasy.
his hands grip tightly at the flesh of your hips as he mounts you like an animal himself. you let out another pleading moan as you feel his tip push through your folds.
“rhett! please, please—” you’re begging and pleading with him, but you don’t know what for.
another curt smack is issued to your ass as he stuffs himself full inside of you. “animals in heat don’t get a say in this, quit your whinin’ or i’ll stuff your mouth with a horse bit.”
-
freaktualism liked this · 1 week ago -
j420yd liked this · 1 week ago -
corecore008 liked this · 2 weeks ago -
adlcloud liked this · 2 weeks ago -
yeanika liked this · 2 weeks ago -
badbihjami liked this · 2 weeks ago -
silly-little-puppet liked this · 3 weeks ago -
elltivon liked this · 3 weeks ago -
ayellepea liked this · 1 month ago -
mochi16sstuff liked this · 1 month ago -
maddietfwhywontthiswork liked this · 1 month ago -
kendallisme liked this · 1 month ago -
maxiesmuse liked this · 1 month ago -
spongyebobisgay liked this · 1 month ago -
neostellar8 liked this · 1 month ago -
noisyprofessorhoundsalad-blog liked this · 1 month ago -
crybaby-teardrops liked this · 1 month ago -
algu3m3333 liked this · 1 month ago -
princesshailierawr liked this · 1 month ago -
sillytoya liked this · 1 month ago -
strwxberried liked this · 1 month ago
-
sp0ck136 liked this · 1 month ago -
universallyarbiterwitch liked this · 1 month ago -
kae-pop liked this · 2 months ago -
okemsstuff liked this · 2 months ago -
astridminsstuffie21 liked this · 2 months ago -
vix1533 liked this · 2 months ago -
euphoriaasthings liked this · 2 months ago -
callsign-pyro liked this · 2 months ago -
happyclodpursecowboy liked this · 2 months ago -
selenophilemoon7 liked this · 2 months ago -
richgirlboss69 liked this · 2 months ago -
jexx233 liked this · 2 months ago -
kyoquixote liked this · 2 months ago -
3maite3 liked this · 2 months ago -
stoner-with-a-boner reblogged this · 2 months ago -
stoner-with-a-boner liked this · 2 months ago
-
devotedlyfancytastemaker liked this · 2 months ago
-
crashingdreamzx liked this · 2 months ago -
johnnyegbabe liked this · 2 months ago -
starcrushed179 liked this · 2 months ago -
tamp22 liked this · 2 months ago
-
spidermanisc00l liked this · 2 months ago -
lilalo6 liked this · 2 months ago -
wur-ld liked this · 2 months ago -
judesbeiiinghams liked this · 3 months ago -
remussvariant liked this · 3 months ago -
kei-jump liked this · 3 months ago -
gojos-pinkeye liked this · 3 months ago -
golden-experience-archeo liked this · 3 months ago
sara | 20 | nsfw side blog (18+ ONLY, MDNI) | i write sometimes :) | 🇭🇳 | main: @buckys-estrella |
180 posts