Work Text:
“Aaaaand, done! Who’s the prettiest girl, huh?”
Mayday coos, her little hands covering her gap-toothed grin as her bright blue eyes peer at you, warm with childish delight. The bows holding her two French braids in place hang just below either ear, and with a giggle, you whip out your phone to take a picture.
“Your Mommy and Daddy are gonna love this,” you gush, and Mayday, bless her heart, far too used to having paparazzi level photographs taken of her, just beams at the camera as the shutter sound goes off. You send it to Peter, who had left her in your care after an unanticipated mission came up.
“I think MJ might kick my ass if I bring her with me again,” he said, laughing a bit nervously, “you’re sure you don’t mind?”
You hadn’t minded at all. You were likely one of the few Spiders in the Association who not only adored seeing Mayday and every photograph Peter had to show of her, but actively sought the little girl out to show her some loving. So when Peter came to you, bashful, and asked if you wouldn’t mind watching her while he handled whatever had been dumped on his plate, you were all too happy to oblige.
Shoving your phone back in your suit pocket, you scoop the little girl up in your arms, cradling her to your chest and revelling in the way she immediately wriggles free, crawling over your shoulder with the acute coordination only a future Spider could.
“Do you need to hang out with Parker’s kid in here?”
Miguel is giving you an unimpressed side-eye from the plethora of screens in front of him, sparing a glance at Mayday as she finds herself on top of your head.
“Aw, come on, honey-“
“Miguel. We’re at work.”
“Whatever,” you roll your eyes, grabbing Mayday from your head and settling her in the gap between your crossed legs, anchoring her down at the waist, “she’s cute! You can’t deny that.”
“I can. And I will,” he huffs, turning his attention back to the console, narrowing his eyes at the screens, “when did you get so obsessed with kids anyway?”
You hum, relenting your grip on the squirming child, keeping a close eye as she crawls her way over to Miguel’s legs.
“I’m not obsessed. I don’t want kids, but I don’t not want them either? I dunno. I just see a cutie like Mayday and can’t help myself.”
Miguel makes a noncommittal sound of acknowledgment, the look he shoots down at the red-haired toddler wildly unimpressed as she starts scaling his leg. He sighs when she makes her way up his waist, crawling around to his front and up to his shoulder, smiling widely at him and giggling. He takes her in his hands then, holding her by the midriff and staring into her sparkling eyes as she makes grabby-hands at his face.
“Settle down,” he mutters, his face screwing up as she simply begins to struggle a bit more against his hands, and he grumbles your name, “come get the child.”
Laughing, you untangle yourself, rising to your feet and approaching the two, taking Mayday from him and bringing her to your chest. You bounce on the balls of your feet, smiling fondly down at the girl as a wide yawn splits her face, warmth curling in your chest as she seems to settle into sleepiness.
You don’t expect to find Miguel staring at you both when you look at him. Some unreadable emotion weighing on his visage before he notices you’re looking at him, clearing his throat and turning away with a grunt.
“Parker needs to stop bringing her here,” is all he says, busying himself with the console once more.
~*~
Miguel is still working away when you return a few hours later. Peter had come back for Mayday, commenting on how cute the braids are, and how MJ had adored the pictures. You had went to handle some of your own responsibilities, and came back to find Miguel exactly where you left him. As usual.
“Oi, workaholic. Day’s nearly out, c’mon.”
“Work day never ends for me.”
“Alright, bleeding heart. You know Lyla can handle things, right? She’ll contact you if anything absolutely needs your attention.”
“Hn.”
You roll your eyes, saddling up behind your partner who entirely dwarves your height, wrapping your arms around his middle and pointedly ignoring the irate sigh you hear, “babe, come on. You run yourself into the ground twenty-four-seven. Just take a night. Please?”
You don’t expect him to actually turn in your hold and look down at you, leaning back on the console behind him with his hands, fixing you with a gaze you’ve not seen on him before. You tilt your head, curious, and smile, keeping your hands on him.
“You okay…?”
“Mm.”
“Okay, big boy, I’m gonna need words from you soon.”
Miguel smirks a little bit despite himself, reaching out with one hand to brush his knuckles feather-light over the apple of your cheek, and you lean into the uncharacteristic display of affection.
“Funny,” he mutters, “usually, I’m the one saying that to you.”
Your face heats up at the comment, suddenly bashful, and your gaze turns downwards as flashes of memory burn hot through your minds eye. How unfair of him to so casually tease you with your own depravity when it’s always his fault. The fact that he could so easily to reduce you to a mess of incoherency that needed a helpful nudge to find her tongue again when she was too far gone? Downright rude.
“Hey,” he starts, his knuckle sliding under your chin to redirect your eyes back up, “look at me.”
There’s something different about him today. There’s an air to him that’s shifted, though you can’t quite place a finger on it. Miguel was by no means a cold or bad lover, but he wasn’t usually this affectionate or gentle, unless the situation called for it. You wet your palette, barely finding your voice.
“What’s with you today? I’m not complaining at all, but…”
He’s quiet for a moment or two, looks like he’s considering with himself internally whether or not to say what’s on his mind. That’s a look you know all too well. You’re relieved when he exhales the telltale little resigned sigh of, ‘screw it.’
“I… Liked seeing you with Parker’s kid.”
“Oh? Had me fooled.”
“That’s just because he should know this is no place for a toddler,” he scowls, “other than that, seeing you with a baby was…”
He doesn’t need to finish the sentence. A lascivious little grin curls your lips, and you press closer to him, encircling his waist entirely with both arms, your front pressing taught against his own.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Got me thinking.”
Miguel leans in, and you press up onto your toes by pure instinct, though he hovers just out of reach of your lips. His voice gravels through his vocal cords when he carries on.
“Kinda want to give you one of my own.”
You move a hand up to cradle the side of his neck, forcing him to bow lower so you can meet your lips with his.
“I won’t say no.”
The kiss that follows is nothing short of sloppy. All tongue and teeth, his unnaturally sharp canines snagging your lower lip more than once. You love it. Love every wordless reminder that he’s no normal man; he’s infinitely stronger, superior, more powerful. He could take whatever he wanted from you and you’d be helpless to say no, but he always asks, always dotes, and you love that even more. That such an abundantly powerful man is soft for you, only you, that he’d rend the world in two at the seams if you only said the word.
You’re breathless when he pulls away and his eyes are hungry. That deliberating look is back in his eye, and once more, he concedes to agreement with it. You’re hoisted from where you’re stood with a gasp, spun, and dumped rather unceremoniously onto the console beneath you. You fuss for a minute, conscious of the abundance of buttons underneath your ass, but Miguel couldn’t seem to care less as he buries his face in your neck, and if this notorious control freak can’t even find the energy to spare a fuck, you follow curtly by example.
Deft and thick fingers find the zip to your Spider-suit that sits snug against the top of your spine, the zipper coming down and parting your clothing like butter until it stops at your tail-bone.
“Miguel-“ you gasp, attempting to halt his rapid removal of your clothing, yet not physically intervening when his hands pull your suit from your shoulders, your arms and upper half coming free. You’re not wearing a bra underneath. The suit has cups woven into it, freeing you from the restriction of bra-straps, and your partner eyes your tits up hungrily.
“Honey,” you try again, and he looks at you this time, though his hands don’t play as nice. Two warm palms skirt up your rib cage, his thumbs brushing over your nipples and you bite your lip, “someone might see…”
It’s a pathetic attempt at stopping him really. Half-hearted at best, and he can tell you don’t really care, just want the comfort of knowing you could say you said something should the worst happen. So he just hums in response, ducking his head down to add his mouth to the equation, warm lips coming to suck at your tits, and you keen.
“These’ll get all swollen,” he near sneers in delight, “all full and sore, and I’ll be happy to help when they do.”
You don’t know if the implication of his words is what makes you gasp, or if it’s the contact of your bare ass against the console as he lifts you with one hand, wrenching down your suit with the other. You don’t really care.
You’re used to going without a bra. The lack of panties is a new development, and Miguel growls his delight without question.
“Laundry day.” You offer, even though he doesn’t ask, and try not to faint as the enormous man before you sinks to his knees, parting your legs as he goes.
Brown eyes drink in the sight of your exposed cunt eagerly, though it’s not unfamiliar territory for him, before flitting up to your face as he leans in, dragging your hips to the edge, and drawing a broad-tongued lick from your hole to your clit. Breathing out, you balance your weight on your hands, maintaining eye contact with Miguel as he begins to focus his attention on your bud, leisurely laps of his tongue sending pleasure bolting through your nervous system.
He works you up, gets you close, ignores your protests when he stops and lets you cool off. When his mouth returns, two thick digits ease their way into you to the knuckle, and it’s a visceral effort not to squeal. He’s far too good at what he does, seasoned in the art of making you cum, and his eyes don’t leave your face once as he works. A low rumble of pleasure crawls out of his chest when one of your hands snags his hair at the scalp.
“Miguel, I- Fffuh- Gonna cum…!”
He closes his eyes then, hoists one of your thighs over a shoulder with his free hand, and works you into an orgasm that makes your brain feel mushy and your bones like goo. Doesn’t stop until you’re twitching and whining, tugging him away from your pussy by his hair. His mouth is a mess, lips, chin and jaw shining with wetness, and God. You’ll never get over how hot he looks like that.
Miguel rises back to his feet. Unzips himself, takes the suit off. He fists his cock briefly in one hand, before he’s back between your legs, guiding the tip home and sinking in.
You’re soaked, and the stretch is easy, head dropping back between your shoulder blades as you moan at the feel of him. He hooks both of your knees over his forearms, meeting your sound of pleasure with a grunt, and rocks his hips.
“Gonna put a baby in you,” he hisses, and you’re snapped from your comfortable reverie so hard that you feel your head jerk up as you look at him. But he’s not looking at you. Or rather, your face.
His eyes are laser focused on your pussy and stomach, mouth hanging open as he pants.
“Gonna fill you all full of my cum ‘til you’re stuffed,” you really can’t fucking help the whimper that squeaks out of you, “wanna see you all fucking round with my kid.”
As if to really drive the point home, Miguel removes a hand from a leg, sliding his palm over your navel, and pressing down. You damn near scream, almost, but it catches in your vocal cords, and comes out as some pathetic, squeal-y sound instead. His movements quickly become erratic, hips smacking against your own with a disgusting schlick noise. He doesn’t stop, not when your voice is raspy and barely there, or when a needy sobbing sound declares he’s hitting against your G-Spot.
“Miguel!” You babble, “P-Please, hah, want your cum, please, fill me up-!”
The words barely leave your mouth before he’s snarling, switching his bruising thrusts for grinding himself into you. Your vision goes fucking white.
“Gonna cum baby,” he heaves, “and you’re gonna take it like a good girl, and not waste a fucking drop, yeah?”
You manage to cum again, somehow, before he does, though he’s not far behind. He doesn’t withdraw, he keeps his hips pressed firmly to your own, shooting thick ropes of cum as deep as they’ll possibly go. It makes you brainless. The noises he makes in the height of his pleasure, the feeling of him, it sends you dumb. You don’t know how long it takes for you to come back, but his lips are at your temple when you do.
“Fuck,” you rasp, simply, and he just chuckles.
“Mm.”
You take a breather, letting him pepper you with kisses, give your toes a wiggle as you find feeling in your limbs again.
“Gotta move, baby,” looking up at him, you smile, “don’t wanna be caught like this.”
Miguel just raises a brow, and the dark smirk that takes ahold of features makes your blood hot all over again. His lips meet the shell of your ear.
“Im staying inside you until I’m sure you’re knocked up, love.”
You shudder.
“So get comfy.”