#anyway me + miguel when please <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[fandxmslxt69]

"911 whats your emergency" hi i'd like to report an act of stalking this fic was literally my soul dumped into words

WHO let you put my insecurities in my face like that (screaming crying throwing up i feel so overjoyed when people put into words feelings I always thought were just a Me thing but aren't and i just SCREAMS INTO THE VOID ABOUT IT TO YOU.)

SUMMERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR I WANT TO CRYYYYY

BECAUSE WHY DID THIS HIT SO CLOSE TO HOME OMFG....

Miguel >:( HE'S SUCH A....A TEASE? AN ASS? I JUST GHGNHGNGHGHG FERAL.

i need more i feel like a starved sickly victorian child begging for just another piece of the really yummy stuff plspslpslspslspslspls

IN ANOTHER UNIVERSE, MAYBE

SUMMARY: It's always been hard being the sibling of a superhero. Lately though, it feels next to impossible.

PAIRING: Miguel O'Hara & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 5,136

WARNINGS: Angst, enemies-to-lovers adjacent, descriptions of a panic attack/dissociate behaviours, inappropriate use of medication/alcohol consumption.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, first of all, the amount of love I've received from this fic has been insane??? Like, y'all really knocked it out of the park, both here and on AO3 and I'm absolutely astounded? Thank you so much! You guys have literally motivated me so much so hopefully this chapter lives up to the hype of the first? :)

CHAPTER LIST / LAST CHAPTER / MASTERLIST

-

“God, I am never drinking again.” 

You stumble into the living room with your hands against your eyes, palming the sockets roughly. It’s morning, maybe even early afternoon, and already the sun is pushing through the blinds, coating the apartment in enough light that it makes you squint. On the couch Miguel grumbles under the covers as you walk by, pulling the fabric over his head as he readjusts his position, directing himself away. 

You’re surprised to see him there but say nothing, opting to wander into the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of water, noticing a fresh sticky note on the fridge: Call me when you’re up —Pete!

Hm, he must’ve gone over to MJ’s for the night.

Peeling the note away, you continue your trek for hydration, grabbing a glass that you fill and chug down twice before feeling satisfied enough to continue. Or at least, enough to survive considering just how sore you are. From your knees down you can feel the leftover aches from walking home; the many miles you’d managed to travel in your drunken state now heavy on your mind. There are at least one or two blisters on each foot thanks to your poor choice of footwear while the muscles surrounding your shins feel like they might actually be burning through your flesh.  

As you walk back through the living room you try not to groan at the pain, turning your attention to Miguel who’s now reluctantly awake. 

“Morning, grandpa.” 

You walk over and press the sticky note to his forehead, ignoring the way he swears under his breath and looks at you with narrowed eyes. 

“It’s not nice to assault people with sticky notes before they’ve had coffee.”

Shrugging in response, you walk back to your bedroom to grab your phone, listening to the creak of your couch as Miguel shifts out of place. 

It’s weird that he’s still here. After everything that happened last month, you were certain you’d never have to see him again. Being Peter’s boss and not much else, he’d become nothing more than a disdainful memory as time went on. A poor impression from the past that Peter never talked about. If you were honest, you weren’t expecting to hear about him so soon, much less see him, especially without his mask. 

So seeing him here, sitting so nonchalantly on your couch is a bit strange. Off-putting in a way that leaves you emotionally winded as you sit on the edge of your bed, staring at your notifications. 

There’s about half a dozen apologies from Peter alone, each variation more extreme than the last. Mixed between there’s a few memes and a picture of him pretending to cry on MJ’s floor with the caption sorry for being the worst brother, which you immediately save for future use. There’s also one from Harry asking you to send him a work email that you ignore and another from Gwen once again asking you to come for brunch. 

You glance at the time, noticing that it’s nearing eleven. She and Harry are probably already at their usual spot, munching away on overpriced, organic eggs and inhaling mimosas. (Something you'd normally enjoy but can’t quite fathom doing thanks to the pain currently rippling through your body.) 

Groaning, you curl further into the bed, feeling your head shift like an ocean wave that sends you flying across the room. In response, you shut your eyes as tight as possible, hoping that if you roll with the movements you’ll get used to them faster. 

Immunity through the power of will and all that. 

“I see you’re still alive.” 

You refuse to open your eyes. You need to focus on getting better —on pushing through the swirling motions that attack your brain because if you don’t you’ll be stuck here all day, helpless and in pain and way too dizzy. No longer will you be a person, but instead a shell. A fragile casing of sensitive flesh stretched over bruising bone that will slowly but surely deteriorate over time. 

“Are you always this dramatic?” 

The urge to argue persists, flowing through you just quick enough that you find yourself opening one eye, noticing his stance. 

He’s standing nonchalantly in the centre of your room; hands placed neatly on his hips. On his face, the tiniest of smirks pokes out of the corner of his mouth, prompting you to lift your head, blinking at what feels like a rare sight.

“Are you always this hostile?”

“Only in the morning.”

“Even towards complete strangers?”

“Especially to strangers.”

“Makes sense why you don’t have many friends.” 

“And how would you know that, stranger?”

He’s got that teasing tone that Harry always has. The one that sounds so condescending that it borders flirtation. Immediately it makes you roll your eyes and direct your attention back to your phone, realizing just how little you want to continue this conversation. You’re too hungover. Too sick and tired to do this whole back-and-forth thing, so instead you call Peter, putting the call on speakerphone with a sigh.

It rings twice before the other end clicks to life, a very joyful and awake Peter greeting the both of you. “Good morning friends, how are we doing on this beautiful morning?”

Almost in unison both of you grumble out a quiet fine that makes Peter laugh, prompting you to look at each other with shared disgust. 

“Are you hungover?”

“What do you think?”

“Gwen called me this morning,” he says, changing the subject. “She wants to go for brunch.”

“That’s nice, but I will not be attending on the account of the fact that I’d rather die.” 

“So dramatic,” Miguel chimes in.

Ignoring him, you place your phone onto the pillow next to you and tighten the covers around your throat.

Your head is still spinning but less so, the waves feeling more like lakeside tides than oceanic swells, leaving you thankful. There’s nothing worse than the spins after a night out. You can handle the stomach aches and even the vomiting but the second you can feel that mental drift you’re a goner. 

“Okay well, MJ and I are going to go if you change your mind. Miguel, you're welcome to come too.”

“No thanks,” he says, unsurprisingly. 

There’s a pause after that. One that lasts a solid five seconds but feels like a lifetime longer thanks to the way Miguel continues to stand there, staring at your pathetic frame tucked haphazardly beneath the covers. 

“You know staring is rude, right?”

“Is it?”

“Yeah, and weird too considering I barely know you.”

“You saying it’s weird for strangers to stare at strangers?” 

“A little, yeah, so knock it off.” 

He gives in, his eyes diverting towards the window before they move to the door, motivating his body to leave the room without another word. Once he’s gone you let out a sigh of relief and listen to his footsteps, hearing the way they move through the living room and into the kitchen. 

It makes you wonder why he’s even still here, taking up space in a home he isn’t really welcome in. You figured it was obvious from the beginning that he was nothing more than an overnight guest. A protective stand-in meant to slip away in the dead of night with no word or note. He was never meant to linger the way he is now and a part of you wonders if he already knows. If instead of picking up and applying said social cues, he’s opting to ignore them for some higher purpose. 

It wouldn’t make much sense but then again, you don’t really know Miguel so maybe he’s just a lingerer. Maybe he’s socially awkward and doesn’t understand that when you’re being mean to him it means you want him to leave your house so you can vomit in peace. 

“I see you guys are getting along.”

“Swimmingly.”

“Did you two have a good night?”

“Yes, oh my god it was amazing!”

“Really?”

You offer a fake laugh that Miguel walks in on, raising his brow in confusion. “No, we had a terrible time. Your boss is mean, Peter.” 

Offended, Miguel opens his mouth to speak but quickly closes it, watching the way you smirk beneath the covers, watching his brows knit together.

“How am I mean? I walked you home didn’t I?”

“Sure, begrudgingly.” 

He scoffs, his palms moving to encompass his hips again. “I didn’t realize I was supposed to enjoy walking you home. I’ll remember that next time.”

Next time?

You narrow your eyes and stare directly at him, noticing the way he mirrors your expression. It’s subtle at first, the way the crinkles of his eyes sort of deepen to match the lines across his forehead. His skin is rough —aged looking most likely due to the fact he probably slept terribly— and the bags beneath his eyes are the heaviest you’ve ever seen, even rivalling Peter’s on some of his rougher days. Like you, he looks more like a corpse than a person, his face devoid of anything other than the sickened frustration of having to deal with your attitude.

“I’m gonna be honest if you’re ever running late again, please call someone else.”

It’s obvious you’re talking to Peter but as you speak you continue staring at the man in front of you, glaring at the way his weight shifts beneath your gaze.

You hope he’s uncomfortable. You hope he’s embarrassed or at least feeling a little self-conscious for acting like such a child in a space that he hopefully never feels welcome in. If you were him you’d certainly be.

“Yeah, so, anyway, is that still a no to breakfast or…?”

-

You’re beginning to regret ever wanting to get involved in Peter’s double life. Or at least, its most recent developments. Up until last month, everything was fine. Simple and controlled and not at all hectic like it is now. Back then, everything was smooth sailing when it came to helping. Your only responsibilities being lie to May and make sure the window was always unlocked before you went to bed. Two very mundane tasks you could practically do in your sleep. 

Nowadays, it feels like an endless loop of stress. Kind of like when you were eighteen and just finding out that your brother was a superhero for the first time. Everything is complicated again. The stakes feel higher than ever before knowing the truth that there’s a world out there just like yours, endlessly repeating. That instead of just one Spider-Man there’s probably a million variations doing the same thing Peter’s doing. 

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you look at everything differently —intensively. With each new person you pass you wonder what their version is like somewhere else. Are they still male or female? Are they younger? Older?

As you walk into brunch alongside Peter and MJ, it’s all you can think about as you stare at Gwen, remembering her counterpart. How she looked so familiar but you couldn’t quite place it. 

You realize now that it’s because she’s your Gwen, but not. A direct copy but a good decade younger. They have the same hair colour and eyes and that little gap between their front teeth and upon seeing her it makes you wearily shift into your seat, putting on your fakest smile. 

She’s already a bit tipsy when you arrive, you can tell. Her eyes are half closed and the grin plastered across her face is hazardously wide. 

“Oh, my god, hi! I’m so glad you came!”

If it weren’t for the table between you she’d be pulling you in for a hug, tightening her grip around your shoulders until the air inside you was gone. You inhale nervously at the thought, wondering if other Gwen would do the same. 

It’s hard to tell what traits transfer over. Considering she’s a spider person in her universe it’s more than likely she’s completely different, right? Perhaps relating more to Peter. It’d make sense that all spider people kind of have the same vibe. Perhaps like your brother, they’re nerdy and into photography and have partners with nicknames that double as their initials. Like him they'd live double lives, trying their best to find the balance between being crime-fighting arachnids and regular civilians with the help of their sisters. 

Or brothers. You figure in other universes you’re probably a guy too. Hell, maybe even in some you're the spider person having to navigate through life with the help of your brother. 

“Sorry we’re late,” Pete grins, pulling out the chair beside you so that MJ can sit down. “Somebody had a bit too much to drink.”

You shoot him a look as he sits at the head of the table, sticking out his tongue for good measure. 

You hope in the universe where you have superpowers you give him a hard time. 

“It’s fine, we overdid it too,” Gwen says, looking at Harry who rolls his eyes and looks at Peter, the two of them sharing a knowing glance. 

“Hope you wore a condom,” you say, at which MJ and Gwen gasp, both of their mouths curling into cheeky grins that you can’t help but share. 

Its always been obvious that the two of them are together, even though neither of them would ever admit it. It’s weird but Gwen says it’s a part of the intrigue, having this unlabeled relationship that she can just ride without the responsibility of making it a bit deal. 

Both you and MJ think it’s because she secretly likes the drama of it all, but knowing how she’d react to such a claim, neither of you says that out loud. 

“Did you make it home okay?” Gwen changes the subject before anyone can even join in, making you sort of sad because you love to tease. 

“Relatively. Threw up on the walk home but that’s New York, baby.” 

“Walk home?” Harry questions.

You freeze, remembering Miguel. He doesn’t exist in this world. At least, not to anyone other than you and Pete and maybe MJ. You’re not entirely sure what he’s told her but you figure she knows in some capacity because he wouldn’t have called you otherwise. 

“I mean drive, sorry, drive home. I’m still hungover.” You try to laugh it off but Harry and Gwen share that look. The familiar one where they think you’re lying but know better than to actually bring it up. It’s the same look they give you sometimes when you’re covering for Peter and you hate it, feeling your chest tighten every time it’s shared right in front of your face. 

It reminds you of how you felt having Miguel around. Something about the way he looks at you every time you talk fills you with that familiar twang of insignificance. Like whatever you say isn’t good enough. 

With your friends you know it’s because you’re insecure about your lying capabilities. With Miguel though, it’s different. Yes, it feels the same physically but emotionally it’s an entirely new set of feelings. Ones that have you second-guessing their origins, remembering the way your stomach would twist each time he’d insult you. Each time he’d look at you with those dark eyes and pouting mouth. 

Thinking about it now, he reminds you very little of Peter. Aside from the moniker of Spider-Man the only similarities (so far) you can confidently say that they share is the art of sarcasm and deflection. The way their voices can become so monotonous at the drop of a hat is unparalleled, even with all the tension, and it’s frustrating. 

It makes you wish you didn’t wear your emotions on your sleeve. Like Peter and Miguel, you wish you could box it all up in the form of calm words so that nobody even got the chance to look at you the way Harry and Gwen still are. 

Secretly, you wish you were the spider person of this universe. Not because you want to save lives, selfishly. No, you mostly just wish you were stronger like them. Less like yourself and more like your brother who sits at the head of the table holding MJ’s hand with the biggest smile you’ve ever seen. 

And not so secretly, you want what he has. You want to be confident and to have people look at you in a way that’s filled with adoration. To have them survey you and conclude that you’re decent rather than picking out your flaws. You want May to look at you with fondness. You want her to be proud of you in the same way she’s proud of Peter and to affirm your belief that you’re doing alright for yourself even without filling her desires for grandkids. 

You want Harry to look at you with respect. To stop looking through you just because you’re Parker’s sister who just so happens to be smart too. You want him to take him as seriously as he takes Gwen without the sex. Without the implication that to be valued, you need to provide him with something worthwhile. 

You want Gwen to appreciate everything you do for her. To stop taking advantage of you at work and in life —to provide you with the comfort of an actual friend. 

You want value, you decide. Whether that’s through the gain of superpowers or not. All you want is a little bit more than you’re given and you wish you could express that as you sit at the table, watching everyone talk and laugh as if you’re not really there.

Beside you, MJ leans into Peter as he talks, resting her chin on her hand in longing silence while the two across the table sit, completely engrossed. You try your best to listen in too, picking up that the story involves his boss over at the Bugle. Something about how his last few pictures of Spider-Man were so good he nearly fell off his chair. 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes and pull out your phone, scanning the screen mindlessly, clicking on apps and profiles over and over again until the waitress shows up and asks for your order. You get a mimosa regardless of your hangover and a bagel breakfast sandwich with all the extra fixings, knowing you need it. Then you wait. Wordlessly exhausted, wishing that instead of deciding to tag along you’d stayed at home under the comfort of your covers.

-

Once you step over the threshold of your apartment you let out a sigh of relief and sink into the couch alongside Peter who rubs his face. By now your social battery is running at a negative ten, making your mind fill with nervous thoughts that have you frowning as you curl into yourself, clutching your knees to your chest.

You shouldn’t have gone, you decide then. Regardless of the extended invitation, it was obvious you were only invited because Gwen was drunk and felt bad. That’s usually how it went nowadays. 

“They’re a lot, aren’t they?”

Peter’s always known how much you struggle with people —how you overthink every interaction after it’s happened. It’s how it’s always been and he’s used to it. 

As you nod, you feel his hand against your shoulder, tightening. It’s a gesture of understanding but at the moment it feels like pity so you brush him off, frowning even harder. 

“You okay?”

You aren’t. You’re overstimulated from the amount of interacting you’ve done in the last twenty-four hours. From Harry and Gwen to Miguel and back you haven’t had a break all day and you can feel your mask slipping. Physically, your chest is aching for a breath you can’t quite get, the realization of your interactions pushing you over the edge and all you want to do is scream.

You were such an asshole today. Sure, you’re always kind of mean but this morning specifically felt like a step above the rest with the way you argued with Miguel as if you knew him. As if last night was just another night between you, adding to countless others. You were brash and unwelcoming and rude, and despite how you feel about him sometimes, you still feel pretty shit about it.

“Do you need anything?”

“No.” 

Your tone is stubborn, dripping with an arrogance that has Pete sighing because he knows he can’t do much. When you’re in these moods all he can really do is let you live through your anger —to explore the hate you feel inside in private. It’s how you’ve always done things. So when Peter looks at you with sympathy you can know that’s it. He won’t press the matter further. He’ll just get up and leave and go to MJ’s for the night. Check-in in the morning like he usually does.

As he stands you’re met with feelings of both relief and regret, watching the way he carefully pats your head and steps over your legs. Inside, your stomach drops as he wanders to the doorway, slipping on his shoes and coat without saying a word, knowing that it never solves anything —just makes it all messy. 

Again, like always, you wish you were like him in these instances. Because maybe then you could have a normal relationship that doesn’t rely on boundaries you wish didn’t exist. Instead of pushing everyone away you could sit with them —talk to them. Express instead of repress. Prove to them that the love you want is the love you deserve. 

If you were in any other universe you’re certain you could do it. In this one though? 

You’re too scared. 

-

When you’re alone, it happens, the calm before the storm. 

As the hours move and you lay exhausted on the couch staring at your phone, you find yourself scrolling. Distracting yourself from the inevitable breaking point by watching YouTube video after YouTube video. First, you start with your usual poison, simple documentaries about things like haunted houses or murder cases that remained unsolved. Lazily, you click thumbnail and thumbnail, half absorbing all the names and dates and details as you lie prone, trying not to think about it. 

It takes hours for you to fully accept your emotions and when you do it’s a mess. Now lying in bed, it’s nearing eight and your deep dive on unsolved mysteries has turned into videos discussing the topics of the multiverse. You’re not sure why you decided to delve into all that but regardless, as you do you’re in your head again, clutching a pillow tightly against your cheek as you try to steady your thoughts. 

You bet Miguel’s world has a version of you that’s nicer. One that treats him with respect. They’re probably a spider person too which is why he looks at you with such disdain every time you argue. You’re a lesser version of them —no comparison. They’re better and it drives you insane, thinking that the approval of a man you hardly know is important. 

Aside from Peter, there’s absolutely nothing connecting you. You’re from different worlds both literally and figuratively, so it doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter.

Except that it does, doesn’t it? Deep down, regardless of how well you know one another, this man has managed to find his way inside your skin. You’re not sure when or how or why but somehow he’s always there, lingering at the back of your mind like a memory. Like he’s absent until he’s not —until something reminds you that he exists and that he thinks you’re too inexperienced to understand that he doesn’t like you. 

You figure he doesn’t like you because you’re stubborn. You’re sure there are other reasons but that’s the only one that really jumps out. The way he speaks to you is a direct example of that. Changing subjects often, he doesn’t like when you push his pull. Doesn’t like when you defy his authority or pry. He wants complete and total control and when you’re around he knows he doesn’t have that. You don’t trust him enough to give it.

His version of you probably gives him whatever he wants. Probably spoils him by following him around like some lost fucking puppy. They’re probably older than you —experienced— and have the backbone of an earthworm. 

He probably loves it. 

Shoving your face into your pillow you let out a loud groan, letting the tears well and overflow against the fabric of your pillowcase.

It’s sudden, the storm. Erupting out of nowhere over something that shouldn’t matter. Quickly, there’s a rage that fills inside you, quietly creeping from the depths of your soul in the form of breathless gasps and shaky hands. 

You turn upwards to face the ceiling, the tears coating your eyes in a layer of disarray. You can’t see anything but the blurred beige above you. Everything moves like brushstrokes across the canvas, thick and liquidy and not quite good-looking. It makes you blink in annoyance and throw your forearms over your head, trying to stop the world from letting you see or shake or feel anything other than regret. 

It’s painful, the storm. It feels like a deep wound being opened back up again. All the build-up of scar tissue is there, shoved amongst the perfectly good parts. Usually, they linger there together but as the wound is peeled open by your own hand, you can feel the worst of it start to push. 

As it surfaces, you can feel the catalyst begin to wake. The rate at which the chemicals in your brain begin to increase, pushing you over the edge.

It fucking hurts. 

By now your wound is gaping, ripping at the base of your chest. It’s hard to breathe under all the pressure of the damaged flesh. Under all the memories of a life you once thought was good. Decent 

In another universe, you hope to god you feel just like this. Like the world is caving in and you’re the last survivor. At least then you wouldn’t feel so alone —so beside yourself while everyone else so carelessly continues moving. 

It helps calm the storm. Thinking of you —another you. Regardless of if they’re better or worse or completely equal to you, the thought of this feeling extending across the expanse of a place you don’t quite understand fills you with ease.

It closes the hole in your chest —pushes all the tainted flesh back inside for safekeeping. Slowly, it settles into something you can handle again, sewing up the edges that’ll inevitably leave a new scar. 

As you sit up from your bed, brushing past the tears to clear your vision, you feel your breath begin to steady. A slow one-through-five inhale, followed by another one-through-five exhale, each one becoming stronger than the last as you look towards the window, noticing the familiar blue and red spandex standing silently on your fire escape. 

He doesn’t move when you notice him. Doesn’t fly through the air or duck out of sight. Standing there, it’s as if instead of flesh he’s made of stone, unwavering in his attempts to watch you carefully through the window. It’s scary if you’re honest. The way he looks so detached from the world. Even without seeing his face, it’s as if there’s nothing behind the angered design that adorns his features below. His emotions feel completely blank underneath the fabric, making you wonder. 

What’s he thinking about?

As you inch toward the edge of the bed, you see him twitch. It’s subtle. The fingers of his right hand sort of jolt lightly in the air, and it’s over before you can even think about it, so you don’t. Instead choosing to forget as you move towards the window. 

Surprisingly, he still doesn’t move. All he does is breathe, letting the rise and fall of his chest ruin the image of his fixed stance. He’s nervous, like you, you determine. Scared, like you.

It motivates your movements, pushing you through the room until you’re standing in front of the window, reaching for it with shaky hands.

Why hasn’t he left yet?

You push open the window, slowly, watching his body begin to move towards it, his leg pushing through the moment you step away.

“What are you doing here?”

He doesn’t respond. At first, you assume it’s because he’s embarrassed and doesn’t know what to say but then he moves. Lifelessly, he brushes past you and wanders into the living room, forcing you to follow as he drops onto the couch with a groan. 

Seriously, why is he here?

You open your mouth to repeat your previous question but are interrupted by his mask. Almost instantly, it disintegrates before your very eyes, revealing fresh injuries that have you holding your tongue because laying there, he looks like Peter after a rough night. Maybe even worse thanks to the shiner that takes a good portion of his left eye. 

“Do you have any painkillers?” 

You don’t even respond before you leave the room, wandering into your bathroom to grab the usual meds you give Peter. They’re prescription, originally given to you for period cramps, but they do wonders on a battered body.

When you reenter, Miguel’s face is scrunched in pain, struggling to find comfort. Because of this, you practically run to the kitchen, grabbing all the usual items: water, ice packs, scotch, carrying it all in one go. 

“What’s the scotch for?”

You untuck a glass from the crook of your elbow and settle on the floor beside the couch, pouring it halfway to the top before downing it.

“None for me?”

  You pour another one. “You’re not meant to take it with pills but Peter always says it makes him sleep better.”

“Okay.” 

You’re no doctor, but you’ve experienced this same formula countless times. If he takes one pill with one full glass of water then drinks the scotch, followed by another water he’ll be out like a light in no time.

“Pill, water, scotch, water,” you instruct, watching him closely as he follows suit, chugging back everything in under a minute.

After it’s done he settles into the couch again, tucking ice packs against his face and chest before glancing your way with a grin. “Stuff’s nice. Goes down good.” He sounds like he’s been hit by a bus, his voice rubbed raw, scratching your brain in a way that makes you squint as you pour yourself another glass.

“Good cause it cost a pretty penny.” 

“Yeah?”

You nod, opting to sip this one, still feeling the burn of the other radiating throughout your chest. “Ben bought it for me. A graduation present or something.” 

“Wasn’t that ages ago?”

“Your point?”

All he does is grin and close his eyes.

-

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[fairlyang]

Ready 🕷️

w/c: 712

pairing: husband!miguel o’hara x wife!reader

tags: 18+ smut. halloween special<3 giving out candy, he’s thinkin, breeding kink, pregnancy, unprotected sex (duh), creampies, dirty talk

kinktober masterlist | main masterlist

being miguel’s wife where you loved decorating for the holidays and being as extra as you could. so for halloween you found those cute inflatables to put in the front yard so the kids would know you’d be giving away candy.

you found such a perfect couples costume he found it hard to say no to because of your excited face.

he heard the doorbell ring and the trick or treaters have started for the night. he went downstairs from getting changed to find you bending down holding the bowl of candy to small kids.

you were complimenting them on their superhero costumes then waved goodbye. you shut the door and turned around to find your husband as handsome as ever.

“a real shame about that wig…” you joked and stepped forward to him, fixing the orange ascot.

“you’re fucking crazy if you thought i was gonna wear a blonde wig…” he scoffs making you chuckle.

“well it seems i’m just more committed to the cause then.” you tease and pull away.

the doorbell rang once again and you quickly went towards the door, opening and gasping at the little princesses in front of you. their little hands reached into the bowl and it warmed your heart.

miguel was watching you closely, eyes softening and a small smile appearing on his lips just imagining you as a mom. you’d be the best, the most nurturing mom ever.

it’d be the cutest thing to have a daughter and for her to look just like you, your mini me.

this conversation has been talked about plenty of times, always going back and forth if you’re really ready.

but watching you be so sweet and affectionate tugged on his heartstrings way more than he expected. it usually did anyway but tonight was just different.

he was ready.

you closed the door and turned to look at him again, this time his facial expression was much different.

he looked at you in your daphne blake costume, looking so gorgeous in that purple dress and matching heels, that not so cheap looking wig and he knew what you’d be doing after all the candy was done.

it was a brutal two hours later that he was finally able to take you into your bedroom, lift your dress up, rip your pink tights, and ensure you’re coming out of the bedroom pregnant.

he had already came inside you once doggy style on the edge of the bed, then had you ride him which had you tired too quickly so you were just grinding back and forth. you quickly came up with the bright little idea to spell his name with your hips repeatedly and by the third time he realized what you were doing, having no choice but to cum again.

after placing a towel beneath you so the cum can leak out for a few seconds is when he decides to flip you onto your stomach.

so now you were fucked out of your mind, makeup destroyed, wig barely intact as he fucked you prome bone style but making sure his body was barely hovering over yours. you were feeling so sensitive but at the same time didn’t want him pulling out because he was fucking you so good.

he was hitting the right spot with every thrust, going even deeper than before, practically hitting your cervix as you moaned out for him, “fuck baby- p-please-“

he moaned into your ear then kissing the side of your neck as he felt his cock twitching again. if this didn’t make you pregnant, he’d just have to try again tomorrow. the whole day if that’s what it takes.

he was determined and mind set.

“gonna be so pretty when you’re pregnant baby.” he grunted and you clenched against him.

you both moaned, going back and forth with dirty words, “yeah? gonna make sure you fill me up baby?”

“it’s what you deserve, my love.”

“please don’t stop-“

“c’mon, let’s have that family we’ve dreamed of.”

“please give it to me-“

you turned your head to kiss him and with the sloppiest of thrusts and slow kiss, he spilled his last load into you murmuring sweet i love yous as you both came hoping three rounds would be enough

[tteokdoroki]

Denji blushes when you hold his cock hand

☆༉ — DENJI. pretty boy.

about. let’s pretend this ask isn’t years old but yeah actually he does omg :( !! started writing this ages ago but finished for @miguelism mwah <3

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact. characters aged up to 20s, smut, nsfw, handjobs, exhibitionism, praise kink, college!au, gn!reader, roommate!denji.

“denji…”

“uhuh— i mean, uh, yeah?”

“has anyone told you, you’ve got such a pretty cock?”

you feel the entirety of denji’s length twitch within your hold— his head full of sunshine blonde hair falling back on the wall you’ve caged him against. your fingers are soft, pillowy around his thick shaft and your thumb presses to his leaky slit curiously, watching his face for a reaction. “y-you’d be the first…ah—fuck!” denji whimpers, golden brown eyes falling away from the world as you give your wrist an experimental flick, testing the waters on what you can do to him. “that’s nice…that’s real nice.”

you giggle, his precum oozing into the seat of your palm the more you start to jerk him off in the right space of aki’s bathroom. “yeah? i want you to feel good, denji.” you doubt that your roommates would want to be woken up by slick sounds and whiny whistle tone moans, so you step forward and reach out into the dark— pressing your lips against your boyfriend’s in a slow, syrupy kiss.

it’s adorable how he chases the warmth of your mouth, like a moth drawn to a candle flame, when you pull away to check the door only briefly. “come back, baby…please,” he pleads while he feverishly fucks your hand as if he’ll never get the chance to do so again. “feels good when you’re close…when you kiss me ‘n you use…shit, y-your t-tongue on me!” pleading turns to soggy, pathetic whimpers that are muffled by your tongue as you push your way back into denji’s mouth to shut him up.

you make denji feel like he’s going fucking insane, desire ripping through is chest, lewd squelching noises from his cock bleeding arousal all over your hand overlaying his soundtrack of moans and tongue lapping over tongues. opaque white slings around your knuckles as it drips from his creamy tip, only serving to guide your fist up and down his throbbing a little easier — as if it were a makeshift flesh light.

he really is so cute like this — pliant and needy underneath you, his body seizing up at your sensual ministrations and his skin shiny with sweat under the moonlight. the chainsaw devil can’t help but hiccup loudly despite how you pacify him with sweet, loving smooches. tears slip down the apples of his cheeks and track salt along your tongue too where they land at the corner of denji’s mouth. “you look so pretty with your cock in my hand,” praise for denji comes easily to you — he deserves to be cherished, to know that he’s good and loved. squeezing the base of his length, you push your thumb through his seedy slit just to see him cry, circling his bright red and mushroomed cockhead in order to lube him up more.

a pink flush blossoms across the expanse of his milky skin with every pump of his dick and his his head falls back against the wall with a dull thud. you lick your lips at the sight of his adam’s apple bobbing and his body shuddering, revealing to the naked eye just how desperate denji truly is.

“do you think you could cum for me, denji?”

the stutter in his hips tells you the answer, but you want a verbal one anyways — so for a moment, you stop palming his dripping wet cock and wait for his response.

“well?”

“please, i can do it,” he pants, eager to please — his honey brown eyes crazed and delirious. “j-just call me pretty again. ‘nd i promise i’ll—“

even with his back pressed right up against the wall and his shoulders quivering in anticipation of his impending high — denji still towers over you. so you stand on your tippy toes, languidly flicking your wrist to get him off, in order to whisper your command into the shell of his ear. “make a mess for me, pretty boy.” you simper, mouth falling open to mock his moans like you’re right on the edge with him.

denji cums with a shout and his release spills into your spoiled palm like a stream of molten igneous rock, painting your knuckles a gooey white. you have to cover his mouth with your remaining hand, muffling any sounds that escape him since his brain quite literally short circuits, reducing the poor blonde to nothing but tears and brainless babbles.

you do your best to keep him quiet while he twitches through the aftershocks — after all, it would be a shame if some else got to see your pretty boy blushing with his cock out.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[cupcakeinat0r]

A Nerdy Middle-aged loser Miguel with a dad bod who teaches your genetics class

pt. 4

After seeing you flirt with that other student, Miguel went back home to his penthouse with a mixture of emotions.

First, he felt angry, and on multiple occasions. For starters, he was upset to see you smile for someone else. He wanted to make you smile like that.

Then he got even more mad that he's mad about that. It was so childish. There shouldn’t be anything between you guys anyway. Buying you things and hugging you and giving you pet names and head messages was already pushing it to the very edge.

Then he was confused. Miguel was starting to think maybe you liked him in that way, too. Was it all just platonic to you? Was it the way he looked? Did he do something wrong?

His heart drops at the thought that maybe he made you feel uncomfortable, or worse, unsafe. Feelings of concern cloud his mind making him toss and turn in bed.

This thought alone was more than enough proof to him that he needs to start treating you like what you are: his student.

<3

That next morning, y’all had class. You scurried in at your usual 2-5 min late mark, Miguel’s eyes reluctantly following you. You sat down and smiled at him, but you weren’t met with your usual sweet, adorable professor's smile. Instead, you just get a surly glare before he starts the lesson.

The whole lecture, Miguel is using every fiber of his being to not look over at you, because he knows that if he does, he’ll fall for you all over again.

When you ask him for help, he doesn’t get as close as he used to, keeping his manly musk away from you. When you raise your hand to answer a question, you’re not his first pick. When you leave little treats for him on his desk, he doesn't even touch them or acknowledge them. And when you leave class and say “Bye, Professor O’Hara! Thank you for class today!”, there’s no more “ Thank you, Mama.” No “Sweetheart”. Not even “hun”. Just “bye”.

It would be like this for about a week, treating you the way he treats the rest of his students. Miguel’s heart was breaking, but this was for the best. For the both of you. You could get anyone you wanted, and he shouldn’t put his job on the line. Besides, you seemed to be very happy with this new guy. Miguel truly believed that he didn’t deserve you anyway.

You were so confused. It was like two different people. Like night and day. You wanted answers. Luckily, y’alls tutoring session was coming up, and there’s no room for him to avoid you then.

You knocked on his office door to be met with an indifferent man. He opens the door with no greeting, completely dismissing you as he lets you in. No gift in sight, though you were expecting that given his drastic change in behavior.

You set your bag down and sit at your seat, Miguel giving you a paper filled with practice formulas for the final. Without even looking at you, he sits at his desk and does something he never did: tend to his own work.

“Just let me know if you have any questions. Otherwise, finish those formulas and you’re good for the day.” He doesn’t even look at you when saying this, his words slightly muffled as he spoke into his hand.

Everything felt so off, it was making you want to cry.

“Professor O’Hara… are you okay?” There’s genuine concern in your voice, but his gaze doesn’t leave his paper.

“I’m fine. The formulas, please.” This is the driest you’ve ever seen him. What’s gotten into him?

“You sure?” All you get is a tired sigh from him before he, without lifting his gaze still, uses his pointer finger to tap on the paper before you.

Not wanting to anger him, you start the practice. It’s dead silent in the office. The air feels stale. Did the lights in here always feel this clinical?

“There. I’m Finished. May you check them, please?” You ask softly, still hopeful that he’ll somehow be normal again, only to be disappointed again.

He finally peels his eyes from his own work and onto yours, his eyes quickly skimming through your paper.

“Good. You may go now.” He mutters in a monotone voice, and back to his papers he goes.

“Professor O’Hara… are you sure you’re okay, you seem off?” You ask one last time.

“Like I said, I’m fine. It’s none of your concern, anyway. See you tomorrow for class, and don’t be late.” The venom in his voice makes you wince. You could cry right here right now.

“Did… I do something wrong?” You feel a ball form in your throat. It's when he hears your voice crack when he finally lifts his head and looks at you for the first time in a while.

Sitting in front of him, just across the desk, is his one weakness. He sees worry, sadness, and confusion on your face, immediately wanting to get up from his seat to take you in his arms and apologize to you; that you can do no wrong and that you’re perfect. All he wants to do is comfort you in this moment, but he can’t do it in the way he wants to. He promised himself he'd distance himself. Partially to save his job but more so that he would prevent heartbreak.

The welling in your eyes only makes it 10x harder.

“Mama-“ the pet name slips and he instantly catches himself. He takes it back by substituting it for something more professional: your first name.

“… of course you didn’t do anything wrong. Everything is fine.” Miguel struggles to maintain his stoic front, but nonetheless still manages to keep it up, making sure you don’t know his true desire.

“Things are not fine.” You snap back. This makes Miguel look up at you from the papers in his hands.

“You don’t say hi to me when I come to class, you don’t look at me during lectures, in fact, you never look at me even when I’m talking to you, and now you’ve started calling me by my actual name… something’s wrong, so please, tell me.” You plead, inching closer to his desk.

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m your professor. Besides,” he looks down at his paper again since looking at your pout was becoming unbearable, “I’m sure you’d prefer attention from someone else.” He adds, but this time, there’s actual emotion behind those words. Up until now, he has been incredibly bland, but that last statement was lined with something… like jealousy.

You started thinking. You began to connect the dots.

The only thing that had changed in the past few days was the new transfer in the class. You had gotten along with him very well, even sitting next to each other every class and leaving together.

It clicked.

“Professor O’Hara… I’d say you’re jealous.” Your pout grew into a cheeky smile, seeing right through Miguel now.

“Well, I’d say you’re sadly mistaken. That’s a ridiculous accusation.” You knew you won when he got defensive. He tries to play it off by retreating to his paper again, but it’s pretty evident you stroke a nerve. His fist clenched around the poor ink pen in his hand.

“Oh my God… you’re totally jealous.” You’re completely smiling now, holding back a giggle since you didn’t want to ridicule Miguel to his face. But you had to admit, it was cute.

“And who could I possibly be jealous of, hm? Enlighten me.” He looks up at you through his glasses, the fine line along his brow creasing as he raises it.

“Well, the transfer, of course! How did I not realize!” You allow a chuckle to slip as you confront Miguel.

Miguel responds with silence, cowering back to ungraded papers.

“Awe, Professor O’Hara… he’s gay.” You laugh as you say this. Miguel stops writing to look at you again, his gaze finally softening with small glints of hope.

“… he is?” He asks softly, his hard facade thrown away at last. There he is. There’s that big, soft, kind loser you knew.

“Yes! He’s as straight as a circle!” You chuckle some more. Miguel furrows his brows as he tries to make sense of the situation.

“But you two are always so… touchy. I just assumed that… ” You roll your eyes at Miguel’s oblivion. He’s so cute.

“Oh my goodness, that’s normal! He’s like one of the girls! We're just best friends.” Miguel’s shoulders seem to relax as he sits in relief. His lips begin to curl. He’s not sure if he’s smiling because now he knows you aren’t interested in that guy or because he’s making you smile and laugh.

“Well then, that’s- that’s good to know, mama… because, you know,” he clears his throat, “I wouldn’t want anyone to bother you, is all.” He lies. He looks back down at his paper to hide his growing smile. He shouldn’t be this happy about a student’s lack of a romantic interest.

You break into a fit of giggles at it all, shaking your head as you make your way around his desk, “oh, Professor O’Hara, you’re honestly too cute…” Miguel sees you coming in the corner of his eye, assuming you’re going in for a hug, but instead, you bend down to press a tender kiss on his sculpted cheekbone, pulling back with a soft mmmmmmmmmwah!, The small smack! of your glossy lips. Dumbfounded, he looks up at you with hooded eyes, unsure if he’s asleep or this is reality.

Miguel can feel his face warm up, a tingly sensation taking root at his cheek and spreading to the rest of his body. Yeah, I’m awake. Miguel is in the clouds, looking up at you as if you were an angel that descended from the heavens (to him, you are). It took every bit of restraint to not pounce and absolutely smother you in sloppy kisses. Not yet.

You reveled in your successful advance, smiling down at him as you twirled one of his small curls at the back of his head. He looked absolutely adorable like this. The lipstick stain on his cheek makes you chuckle. It was a little funny; you had this man, twice your size who wore a scowl the majority of the time, absolutely hypnotized. You lean against his leather chair, your elbow resting on its shoulder. You speak sweetly, cocking your head to the side.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow then?” Miguel zeroed in on your lips, examining each and every move they make, his mind fogged. He looked absolutely adorable with that lipstick stain on his cheek.

“Good. Have a nice evening then, Professor, and get some well-deserved sleep, kay? Thank you for helping me. You’re the best, as always.” You trail back to your bag and start to leave, practically skipping.

He can feel his heart palpitating and dick twitch under the tight fabric of his pants with each praise and sway of your hips. It’s like you've put him in a trance. He's completely forgotten why he was mad or sad in the first place.

Of course, you wanted to kiss him on the lips, but you don’t wanna go too fast, either. You didn’t want to seem easy, but it was so damn difficult not to with those plump lips of his. Then your eyes went to other places, like his meaty thighs and the way his stomach spilled out of his khakis, his hard cock print just below his pudge leaving no detail up to imagination.

“Oh, and please,” Miguel shakes out of the haze, “It’s ‘Miguel’, mamita.” He smiles at you.

You smile back at him and wave goodbye, “See you later, Miguel.” His name in your mouth sounds like a siren song. You strut out of his office with the new knowledge of your professor’s infatuation with you. This whole time, you assumed he was just a really nice teacher. You didn’t think your feelings would actually be requited.

So that’s why he bought you all those clothes and gave you head messages!

And he definitely is fucking his hand in his office after that kiss! Isn't he just dreamy ?!?!?!?

< 3

The next morning, after class, you helped Professor Miguel clean up by wiping the boards for him. He was at the desk, piles upon piles of ungraded and unread papers awaiting his review.

You watched him, hunched over his desk, brows knitted, and looking stressed out of his mind.

"Miguel," he immediately perks up at your sweet voice.

"You aren't gonna do all that by yourself, are you?" You get closer to his desk.

Miguel chuckles and sighs as he looks at the comically tall pile he has to work on, "Have been for 5 years, mama. Now, you're not gonna volunteer yourself, are you?" He playfully mocks you, but he isn't really joking.

"Of course I am! There's no need to do all this by yourself. You work yourself too hard, Miguel." you start sectioning off a thick bundle of papers, but Miguel waves his hand in refusal before placing it on yours, "No, mama, thank you, but I can manage on my own-" you lightly slap off his hand.

"I am not asking. I going to help. I want to." You divide the pile into two, then pull up a chair next to him.

"Mamita, porfa, va ja. It's getting late and this takes hours. no quiero que tu camine a ete hora." He persuades softly as he lays his beefy arm across the back of your chair, making circles on your shoulder with his thumb.

"Well then, we better get started." You say with a pen already in hand and your first research paper in front of you.

Miguel responds with a deep chuckle in his throat, starting on his own pile seeing that he doesn't have a choice. He softly smiles, stealing a glance at you from time to time. He's just happy to be with his favorite person. His girl.

A/N: Yippie! A kiss! It's on the cheek, but still, it’s a step forward!! Finally! I hope you all enjoyed it!!! n tysm for all the love on this series < 3 I didn't think I'd stretch this out as much as I am pero liiiiiike he's all I think abt ur honor!!!

Want more DadBod!Miguel? Here’s my master list, bae !!

Tags < 3

@safixiovi @mukeovernetflix @mochikisses @miguels-cock-piercings @miranexx @bunnibitez @deepdiveintothedeephive @faretheeoscar @sillygardeneggperson @librababe99 @sariespi @little-lovelace @monstersimp @oharasfilipinawife @obi-mom-kenobi @pomakori @rxckstarss @mochimoqa @princesatracionera @queerponcho @froggygal @yaysposts @koko-1025 @kikaaauu @lauraolar14 @anotherprettyprincess @kaidxra @farrowroyale @pigeonmama @exactlyyoungchaos @fayeofthenightingale @s4dow @hartsucks @amberbalcom14 @ce3stvu @helen-j-magnus @tatooieve @wait2nourh @angzlo @stargirrls @hyjionie @walmaerts @bammzyboomy

[suguru-getos]

“i have scars in my hands from touching certain people” — cult leader! geto x monkey! F->reader

genre: fluff, angst, comfort, budding building relationships between sugu and the reader. taunting, trauma. it’s a mix of everything really. (mentions of gore & killings, mentions of locking up the reader, suguru has caged her basically but he’s very suguru-like about it :3)

the lunch was so eerie, quiet, but so unlike the geto estate’s normal day to day. suguru was sitting eating quietly at the head’s chair, to his right side was mimiko, nanako to the left, manami, miguel, larue and a few others he proudly calls family seated. the farthest from him was you. and somehow the nearest — for you sat right in front of him at the other leader chair. you’re not one to talk anyways, despite the silence being deadly.

suguru found you a few months ago, when his temper got the better off of him on an italy trip with his dearest precious angelic girls. your friends were taking a seat right behind, the dinner place otherwise secluded. maybe it was how loud you all were, or perhaps, how disrespectful your friends was when the waiter asked her to tone it down a little upon suguru’s urgency. he was here for some peace and quiet. it was liberating as is in his head to tolerate monkeys around, breathing, heart beating against their chests & living… he couldn’t help but kill everyone.

the sound of bodies trampled by something you can’t see, some screams— you were luckily in the rest room & you didn’t dare come out. suguru knew better though, he knew you were here. his eyes had lingered a little too long when you came inside this place anyway. he gets up, eyes clinging together in his usual smile, headpatting nanako. “i will check if there are others.” the girls wished their geto sama wasn’t so temperamental all the time. but whenever suguru was amongst monkeys, it seemed like the infinite, ocean-like patience he harbors fades & evaporates from within him. she sighs, watching suguru walk towards the entrance of the restroom. a few more screams… “happy birthday to me.” she scoffs, looking down.

when it came down to you, a terrified little girl leaning against the restroom corner of one of the stalls, eyes closed, ears covered, he knew he might just make an exception. maybe it was to show mimiko & nanako that he didn’t kill them all & he is working on his actions… maybe he just knew you’d have nowhere to go, all your companions & friends were dead. he purses his lips, eyes blearing hard in annoyance. "get up." you still remember the command that ran through your skin. you get up, trying not to cry at the man, big and looming, a feet taller than you, his face smeared in blood. "please don't kill me. i wouldn't say anything..." you manage to croak, voice hoarse at the panic it brings you.

"i wouldn't. shut up." he seethes, a warning pretty clear the way your shoulders slump and you quiver. you don't want to make sure you die right here.

...the rest is history, suguru took you to the room in italy, the girls just mingled with you within a few days. then, he took you to japan. you had work, you had a life, but you didn't want to say anything after you saw your friends lifeless. you hated geto suguru, but your silence was all you could possibly do.

it's been a few months to this now, eventually, you're at a stage where things have changed. your family thinks you have 'moved in' with your boyfriend, you had obviously resigned from work and on being asked to serve your notice or pay fine, suguru slapped the fine on their faces. you just exist in this estate when geto sama is on his meetings, when the girls spend time learning, when miguel and larue are on missions... sometimes you take out time out of your already free day to write. but there's nothing else to your routine except being suguru's monkey pet.

you are traversing through your thoughts, and suguru clears his throat to snap you back to reality. "y/n. you didn't answer the question asked." oh shit- "sorry- what question?" "do you like the food?" he asks, observant, and ever so keen to know things about you. you have no idea why he does that. you have known he hates humans. the only people he has tolerated is your brother and your mom. when they came to 'visit' you. he played the boyfriend bit quite well, also. "yeah, s' great." you hum, taking another disinterested bite.

"really? i didn't like the spice level, you like spices too, don't you?" he hits you with another question. manami and larue are gazing at you, they don't know what kinda mood suguru is in at the moment. there are times he just locks you up for hours because he doesn't wish to contaminate the house with monkey stench. you don't want it to be one of those days either.

"i like it." you answered, not sure what is it that he wishes to hear.

suguru has also been like a quiet cat in the last few months. he just observes you, watches you keenly, accompanies you on your walks and has attached himself to a fleeting hope that you would eventually open up to him. you haven't asked him anything about himself, or ever expressed your discomfort. you don't want to talk about the instances where you and him have almost kissed for several times. or when you seek him out with sillies like, "do you want to take a walk? do you want to go and eat ice cream? do you wanna watch a movie?" there are moments with suguru which almost feel a little too domesticated. its not all bad.

there are moments when he clutches at your wrist and you feel the burn seep through your entire body, and then you hate yourself for it. there are moments you hate him and wish for him to die when you remember it's your friend's birthday and she's no more. there are a total of good and bad and even which you can't possibly count. there are times suguru hugs you for good mornings and then there are times he doesn't want to see your face. you both are struggling to accept each other.

"last time this was made, you didn't take a bite." he raises a brow. "so i made sure they had something you liked for store." he crosses his arms. raising a brow. oh goodness.. suguru geto and his fierce memory. "i like it now." you scoffed stubbornly.

the chair slides back and your heart sinks, suguru is coming towards you. there is a layer of panic in your body language that isn't unreadable despite there having enough close moments between you two. you flinched when he takes the last footstep, standing in front of you. his hand yanking the plate away and shoving it closer to your face. "does this look like the plate full of something you love?" he's right, you have barely taken a bite or two. you swallow thick, unsure why you're being lectured like a child. "sorry... i was just busy thinking about something but, i'll finish it." you mumbled, eyes glossed up at the sudden change. maybe its him who is in a bad mood today.

"no, i said i got something else." he yanks the plate against the wall, the crockery breaking the same time as a stray tear falls down your cheek. oh he's mad. its so evident the turmoil suguru is in when he's around you. you wish he didn't have to go through the psychological torture either, but its him that needs to understand that too. "don't be mad and ruin the dinner for everyone geto." your words have a slight gnaw, a warning. you don't know where you muster the strength to say all that but... you just do.

suguru is tamed just like that, a heavy sigh followed by an eye roll. you get up, wanting to leave when you feel his hand clasp around your wrist, tight, restricting some of your blood flow.

"i said, i got some food for you y/n" he raises a brow, why are you so difficult and why can't he kill you off. he knows he has a soft corner for you, he knows he ... loves you. which is why this hurts. he hates that fate had to choose no one but a fucking monkey for him. the very kind he hates has this much control over him. he wishes so bad that the feeling goes away, but his heart is taut between needing you near him and wanting to push you away.

"please." he murmurs like an injured lion next, leaning his hand away when you hiss in pain. so frail and breakable. he's so afraid to touch you wrong even, you're like a little bunny and he's this... big bad wolf. can't even hold you up well without hurting you. always extra careful... delighted to be extra careful. your hand reacts to his hold, turning redder and slightly blue. even though you're the one that's bruised, suguru is the one that's hurting.

"don't understand how weak someone can be." he hums, holding your hand gently and glaring at the wound. he hates this so much. then, there's always you attacking with words as well.

"oh you mean these physical wounds? eh, they're no problem. you can lock me up again if you're scared of hurting me physically, geto." you remind him that these are physical wounds, that this is something unrelated to the mental wounds he's given you.

"i have scars too, little one. so many scars from touching you." he replies, he also, means the emotional scars. you are a living, breathing reminder that his hate isn't enough after all.

"eat your food." suguru ends with a hum, despite everything, he can't let you go.

[love-anddeepression]

Father Mine- 2. Miguel O’Hara x teen!spider!reader

Just note- this and father mine aren’t in the canon of Miguel’s and mini Miguel’s story line<3 also this is absolute crap and I’m so sorry it has a lot more plot and less of Miguel and mini Miguel interaction. Though whatever they do have is pain. (ALSO THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR YOUR LOVE I LOVE ALL OF YOU) please comment and reblog if you liked it :DD

Warnings: angst. FATHER MINE PART 1 Part 3

“Where is she?” He asks Jess.

“She didn’t follow.” Is what the woman replies and that’s that.

A spark of worry shoots through him but he ignores it. Now is not the time to worry about anything but the anomaly.

He scans his surroundings and tries to look for wherever the kid may be.

A part of his mind still screams he’s just a kid.

That weak thinking, letting things slide mindset was ahat got Gabriella killed. It was what killed an entire universe. He couldn’t let more people be killed for the sake of the life of one man.

“Split up. Look for him.” He orders Ben and Jess and they leave promptly.

Not now. Not now. He’d check up on you after.

——————

“Miles!” You whisper-shout at the boy.

He almost shouts but you cover his mouth with your hand, “you’re in the wrong universe, you’re on earth-42.” His eyes widen, “I’m here to help you.”

“Why should I trust you?” His eyes narrow at you.

“I don’t know.” You look down, “But I’m asking you to trust me anyways.”

After a beat of silence he talks, “how did you know I was in the wrong universe?”

“You were bit by a spider that was from here. It’s venom altered your dna to this universe. And the go home machine scanned your dna, which was this universes and sent you here, I’m running out of breath and I can hear your mom from this univers walking here so let’s please just go.” You pull him out through the window just as the door opens and Rio steps in.

You and Miles drop down into an abandoned alleyway, and you hide a wince because of the pain in your leg. He turns invisible and you open a portal. Just as he walks through, Ben comes into view and sees you.

“Mini Miguel! You’re here! You know your dad was pretty worried you didn’t show! I’ll tell him you’re here wait- I” you web his mouth and eyes and as he flails about you launch yourself upwards and unhook his watch.

“I’m sorry, Ben.” You apologise to his mumbling form as his hands thrash around to remove the webs.

You jump into the portal and it closes.

“We’re in Miguel’s APARTMENT?” Miles’s all but shrieks and you wince.

“Jeez, bro. Don’t worry. He won’t look here.” You hand him a bottle of water from the minibar.

He drinks it all in one go and breathes deeply. You calm him down, “this is just for a few hours. Then I’ll shift you to your own universe.”

“Why not now?” He asks.

“You need to eat, and you’ll be fine. No one’s going to be named Captain tonight right? You can’t help anyone if you’re half dead.”

He clenches his jaw and sits down as you go to the kitchen and get a leftover pizza from the fridge. It was from that family night you had with Miguel and Lyla the day before Miles’s arrival.

You head to the living room after heating his food and his eyes are transfixed on a photo frame in his hand.

It’s a photo of you and him that Lyla had managed to sneak and Jess had printed for your birthday.

“He seems nice. When he’s not trying to kill me.” The boy scoffs.

You don’t answer, just handing him his food.

He eats in silence and you take the time to clean the house. Even if you did hate him just a bit, it didn’t mean he deserved to live in a messy house because he was too busy working.

“You really love him, huh?” Miles piped up and you look up from fluffing a cushion.

“Hmm.” You hum in response, “I don’t know.”

“If you didn’t you wouldn’t be here fluffing up his cushions and cleaning his home. Or should I say your home as well.” He raises an eyebrow.

You throw the cushion, “his home. Come on, we need to get to his office so I know what universe you’re from.”

He follows you to the window and has to swallow a gasp when you walk through it and float like you’re walking on air.

You chuckle, “it’s an illusion, sort of like that Indiana Jones movie.”

“The thing with the grail?” His voice is shaky as his foot comes to rest onto the platform connecting the window to the opposite balcony.

“Yeah, I got it made to fuck with Miguel.”

He huffs out a laugh, “I bet he would have freaked out?”

“You have no idea.” You smile a little at the memory as you jump of the platform and land lightly on the terrace.

Every few minutes you usher Miles into the few dark alleyways in the futuristic city of Nueva York to use the hidden pathways that are used by the underground thug gangs that you had managed to sniff out.

It takes about half an hour to reach the tower, and Miles turns invisible, “you couldn’t have done that before?” You raise an eyebrow.

He just looks sheepish and you try not to roll your eyes, “come on.”

He follows you through the entire area, sees them all wave and smile at you as you walk to where spider-byte may be.

——-

“Ben, come in.” Miguel speaks, “Ben!”

With a groan, he phones Lyla. She picks up immediately and her voice is frantic, “you need to get back. Now.”

“What? Why?”

“It’s Miles.” She informs him, “mini you is with him.”

His eyes widen under the mask and without a word he opens a portal to go home, “Jess. We’re going back to base.”

————————

“1610. Earth 1610.” You recite as you make a portal.

As soon as it opens, the door to the room swings open.

It’s a sort of déjà vu if you think about it.

The same room, the same scenario. But this time it’s you he’s after.

Your blood runs cold and you push Miles inside, “save your dad.” Are the last words you say to him as the portal closes in time just as Miguel pounces through air.

He looks at you and you freeze. His eyes are red and his fangs are out.

As he stands to his feet, your breathing becomes uneven.

Fuck you’re panicking. And it’s weird, because you’ve faced evil villains before. You’ve fought people that make Miguel look like a shortie.

So.. why the fuck are you so scared? Or were you always just a coward?

“You’re hurt.” He says in an eerily calm voice.

“Why-why do you care?” You huff out and his eyebrows furrow.

“What do you mean?” He raises his hand and you flinch. You notice the way his eyes widen and the hurt that floods the pools of his eyes.

He takes another step forward and you back away, “Stay the fuck away from me.” Your hand shoots forward. Only widening the chasm between the both of you.

“What. Happened? Who hurt you? Was it Miles? Did he force you to help him?” He snarls.

You stare at him dumbfounded, “Who hurt me? Are you serious?”

“I’ve never been more serious in my life.”

You scoff, “I helped him of my own accord.”

It’s then that he takes a deep breath and a step back.

“That’s right. I helped him get away!”

“….how could you do this to us? To me?” He points to himself.

“What are you going to do now? Try and kill me like you did him?”

“I would never. I am your father-”

“You are a selfish monster.” You say and his breath hitches. The look on his face breaks your own heart and all you want to do is hug him.

“Don’t say that.” He points at you, “you don’t mean it.”

“I meant every damn word.” You scowl and reply, “you are not my father. I am not your daughter.”

He schools the hurt on his face, “So be it.” He webs your watch and breaks it into tiny pieces in a matter of moments, “it’s cute that you thought you could one up me. Really.” He chuckles, “You are relieved of your duties effective immediately. You will never be allowed into Earth-928 or any other dimension hereafter.”

He webs you closer to him as he opens a portal into some obscure universe, one you’ve never heard of, and just before he pushes you in, you glimpse the tears in his eyes, your own running down your cheek as you scream profanities at him.

The last thing you see is his face before you’re thrown into complete darkness.

[mcu-coworkers]

Jealousy

Summary: Miguel can't seem to get his way and for reasons he couldn't believe.

Word count: 2k+

Warnings: None(sneaky Miguel)

A/n: here is pt.3 I hope you guys enjoy I will be giving a pt.4 which will be the final part if anyone would like to be tagged just let me know and I'll be happy to! I hope I got every one who wanted to be tagged in Pt.3 there were so many of you and I just want to sat thank you from the bottom of my heart for loving my story! I hope you guys enjoy!xx

Tags list: @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @m4zapan @luciiferian @stinygirl009 @anonymoussomebody345 @watamoteru @smolrain08 @amberpanda99 @hantheconqueror @mhm-ok-sure @chuckle-nuts. @a-helpless-romantic @witchofwhimsey @rin-matsuoka345-blog @cherripunch26 @anneliese500 @theleftkittycollection @ok-boke @nanushkka @gugggu6gvai @joestarbitch @distractionforyourthoughts @tanchosanke @lokiseason @hao-ming-8 @sport-lova @munixumai @capybaraaa . @dearrdarlingg @riddle-me-im-sirius @melovetitties @liyanahelena @bat1212 @christinesdemoness1958 @musicpookie @luujjvi @ilovejeansosomuch @m0chac0ffee @perrierbottleofproblems @zayxcc @shyshyshy-19 @futuristicpandakid @lilyevans1

Parts: One Two Three^ Four

Credits to the owner:)^

It had been quite a few months since you removed yourself from the spider society.

You thought that in doing so you lost your friends but Pete, Hobbie, and Gwen all stuck by your side and visited you every now and then.

Not all at once, you didn't want Miguel to figure out that they were coming to you and yell at them for it or worse, come too.

In that aspect everything was great.

When it came to your healing journey, you had good days and bad days.

Or more like bad nights.

During the day you kept busy working in your world's Alchemax, and at night you dealt with spider business which was slow this time around.

This is when you found yourself thinking about him.

The silence of the city only made your thoughts louder and all they reminded you of was Miguel.

But you hadn't given up on your promise to yourself, you would move on.

And then you decided to get a dog.

He was the best choice you could have made, your sweet little milo.

May Day absolutely loved him, she wanted to bring him to her birthday party but to be honest you didn't even know if you’d be taking yourself.

Pete didn't want to hide anything from you so he told you as soon as he found out that Miguel actually agreed to not just let him throw her party at HQ but go to it as well.

Risking him speaking to you and ruining all of your growth was not in your plans.

You had to be honest with yourself, if Miguel spoke to you with the slightest warth you knew you’d break so for your own sake staying away from him was best.

So, that's where you were with all of this, sitting on a rooftop enjoying a slice of pizza thinking about whether you should show up tomorrow or not.

Deciding to call it a night on saving the city you swung home looking forward to Milo’s greeting cuddles.

Back at HQ Miguel watched as everyone scurried to put together the decorations for May Day's birthday.

The chaos was loud and he almost regretted agreeing to it.

“Ay dios.” he mumbled as he walked past Gwen and Hobbie pretending they were there.

“So you think she’ll come? May Day is her favorite spider. She wouldn't miss it, right?” he heard Gwen say.

Suddenly he froze.

“There is a chance if you ask me.  I   believe in her.” Hobbie replied webbing up the sign he was putting on the wall, much easier than tape.

Miguel began walking again hoping no one would notice how he stopped to listen in on the conversation.

Walking into his office space he called for Lyla, “Give me the list of spiders coming to this party.” he said pulling up his screens.

“But boss, that's hundreds?” she asked confused but the request.

“That's fine, just give it to me, Please.” he asked, growing impatient with his AI.

“Alright calm down here it is, Who are we looking for anyways?” she said, sliding it over to him.

“No one, just making sure its a safe list.” he said looking over his shoulder.

Bles mary janes heart for added the yes, no and maybe option it made him easier to see who was actually coming.

All the names had a yes except for one, one big red MAYBE and it was next to yours.

Shoulders dropping in slight disappointment he let out a sigh.

These past months he’d been gloomy.

The only time he perked up was at the mention of your name, but sadly that's as close he got to you these days.

He found out that Pete, Hobbie, Gwen and even fucking Miles anomaly Morales snuck off to see you.

He was jealous.

He hated that you let them into your life.

Each time they came back laughing about something you said, he was jealous.

Everytime they mentioned a fun moment you shared, he was burning in jealousy.

It made him sick. 

His blood boiled knowing someone else was making you laugh when he just wanted to have you to himself.

He liked it when you spent hours in his office “helping him” with reports.

He only ever gave you simple tasks just to keep you at his side.

To watch your face when you were focused on the footage, the way you bite your lip when you think you're getting close. 

The way you kept eye contact and showed interest in whatever it was he said made him think about other things you could do together whilst keeping eye contact.

God, you drove him insane in the best way.

But not having you close like that was driving him insane in the worst way.

Spiders voluntarily left him alone now not wanting to cross him on a bad which now was very frequent.

The only reason he stuck around at the end of team briefings was to see if he’d hear any news on you.

He didn't think anyone noticed his intent, But then there was Jess always on his six.

She knew from day one that you had fallen, but oh was he gonna fall harder and he did.

She saw the way he searched for you in a room, how he’d ask you and only you to help him on reports.

Nothing went past her.

“Did a villain sneak onto the list?” she said, creeping up behind him.

Quickly removing the screen he looked over his shoulder letting out a simple shrug to answer her.

“Just want to see who   I‘ll be dealing with for the evening.” he said trying to cover up his annoyance.

“Anyone stand out?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nope. All good.” he said standing up, “  I‘ll see you tomorrow Jess, get some rest.” he said leaving his office.

Smiling to herself, Jess knew he was slowly breaking down. 

All it would take to finish the job was see you.

She knew you had RSVP’d to come yesterday but she made Lyla change it just to confirm her suspicions further.

And he did just that.

----

Mentally preparing yourself for today was the hardest part.

You planned out your evening.

Go in, greet everyone, stick to Hobbie, Gwen and Miles, hold May Day, and then make the excuse that Milo had an accident and you had to get back home.

A solid plan.

Suddenly a portal opened and in walked Hobbie, “My lady.” he greeted extending an arm.

Taking his hand you stood up, “Oh, one sec.” you said as you sent a signal activating your suit.

“Woaahhh the new suit is wicked.” he said watching it go on.

“It's nano tech, you like it?” you said as it reached up to your neck before stopping. 

“Killin it, as always.” he said before walking into the portal.

Well, here goes nothing.

“Be good Milo, Mommy will be home soon.” you said, patting his sleepy head before walking in.

Deep breath, here goes nothing.

Walking in you put on your brightest smile.

“Hey! There she is and get a look at this suit, this new?  I   like it!” Peter yelled, taking your hand and spinning you.

“Hey guys! Nice to see everyone again, Miles nice to meet you.” you said laughing.

“Nice to meet you, very nice lady, thank you for not hunting me down.” he said, shaking your hand viciously.

Laughing at your inside joke you pulled him in for a hug secretly taking a peak over his shoulder.

You could feel his stare on you, you just didn't know from where.

The party went on as planned, you stayed cautious, had  a good time with your friends and held May Day until she eventually fell asleep.

Everyone told you that you had a gentle way when it came to kids so falling asleep just came to them naturally.

Taking that as your sign to leave you handed her over to Mary Jane and went to go look for Hobbie.

“Hey, has anyone seen Hobbie?” you asked not being able to find him.

“Rooftop, girly pop.” you heard Jess say as she hugged you goodbye.

“Oh great, we can open a portal there. Bye guys guess  I‘ll  see you around.” you said waving to the rest of the spiders.

Making your way up you looked around the rooftop to find it empty.

Huh. Maybe he went for a swing. You thought looking over the city.

He’d been told a couple times not to but that only made him do it more.

“He’s not here.” you heard behind you. Well shit.

“Thanks Jess.” you heard making you chuckle to yourself.

Of course.

“Well then it makes no use to stay up here.” you said turning to walk away.

“Wait, just give me a second.” he said, reaching out for you.

“One. Welp there is it and look I've given you five extra just by standing here.” you said sarcastically.

Trying to leave once more he actually Physically got in your way this time.

“Please.” he said trying to get you to look at him and you could've sworn you heard sincerity in there.

“Fine. talk.” you said crossing you arms sitting on the ledge trying to create some distance.

“ I   am sorry,” he blurted out.

“ I   don't forgive you. We done here? Great.” you said standing up ready to bee line it for the door.

Your tactics were failing you and your front could only last for so long.

“No no wait just-” he was cut off  by a beeping sound coming from your suit.

It was your alarm for Milo’s dinner time.

Gasping you stood up from where you sat.

“Oh Milo.” you said turning off the alarm.

“What? Who the fuck is Milo?” he said anger began to rise up in his chest.

“Really wish we could finish this but  I‘m late to a very important dinner with someone who does respect me, so excuse me.” you said finally getting past him.

Stunned  by your response he watched you walk past him.

Who in the actual fuck was Milo and what rights did he have over you?

Following you back into the party he watched as you asked Pete to get you back home.

“Oh yeah sure, How's Milo by the way?” he asked while opening the portal.

Again with this fucking Milo.

“Oh he's really great, miss him more every second we're apart.” you said, putting your hands on your hips.

Time was moving real slow right about now.

But for Miguel it was moving a little too fast, he didn't want you to get back to Milo. 

He wanted you here, patching things up with him.

“Gotta love Milo am  I   right? May Day sure does.” he said, quickly shutting up when he realized Miguel was still there.

“Well thanks for the portal, tell Mj the party was great, take care pete.” you said hugging him goodbye.

Just as you are about to be free Miguel grabs your hand.

“Will you come back, Please?” he asked, the desperation in his voice could be heard from miles away.

“ I   don't think so Miguel,  it took me a while to realize that there was nothing wrong with me. And Milo helped with that even if it's just been a couple of months and  I‘m still getting the hang of things. He loves me for it and he needs me.” you said, smiling at the thought of your sweet little furbaby.

Standing up straight Miguel let your arm go, “Lucky Milo.” was all he said before you took it as your queue to leave.

Defeated by the night's outcome he went back into his office and let out some frustration on the nearest machine.

There it was again, feeling sick of jealousy.

Someone else had your attention, time and love.

And all he had was your rejection.

At this point in time Miguel wished he was anybody else other than himself.

And just like that jealousy started following him wherever he went, never letting him go.

All because of some Milo.

[simpcityy]

I’m Not Her (Father Miguel O’Hara x Teen! Daughter Reader)

Summary: Miguel O’Hara is your biological father but it’s not great being his daughter when he’s hooked in the past still.

Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel or any of its characters. This is very short as well! Just a little prompt I thought also, I know the song is about a girl who loves a boy etc., but I thought of it more as father and daughter way. *Ahem* Him thinking of Gabi rather than the present daughter he has…I’m sorry if I confused you.

Word Count: 500

Warnings: Use of female pronouns, Use of (Y/N), angst, Father Miguel, overall, it’s just sad. Uhhh I think that is all for now.

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6

Being the biological daughter of Miguel O’Hara has its ups and downs but mostly downs according to you. Walking through the Spider Society, you held some reports from Jess, she was on her way to hand them over to your father but seeing the kind person you are, you decided to do it for her so she can rest. You're amazed how a woman so pregnant can still fight. Walking down the halls, you were alone with your thoughts. The time he left to be a father to another girl..a girl named Gabriella…were you not enough for him? What did Gabi have that you didn’t? So many thoughts running through your head only to be snapped from hearing Mayday giggling in the room. Taking a deep breath, you pushed in ready for the chaos. “Hey! (Y/N)!” Peter smiles holding an energetic child. “Hey” You responded before looking over at Miguel who was looking at the videos that hurt you the most. Videos of him and Gabriella. You only frown a bit before masking it. “I'll just drop this off” You dropped the files onto a flat surface before walking to the door. “Hey Boo! You going to ask him?” Lyla appears in front of you smiling. You look at her and back to Miguel before shaking your head. “No…he has better things to do” You whisper walking through her, leaving. Lyla watches you staying quiet before next to Miguel. “Files were dropped.” She brought him back to reality. “Hmm? Who?” He mutters looking at the AI. He goes down his platform and picks up the files you left. “(Y/N) did, she was here not long ago” Lyla looks at her phone scrolling through it. Miguel looks at the door where you left not long ago.

Sitting out on the roof of your dimension, your thoughts only seem to be filling you up with anger. Why did he leave you to be a father for another kid…yeah, she lost her father but so did you…he left you to be with her. You groan out in frustration before looking at the time. “There is not enough time left” You mutter before getting up and going back to the house. A home where you stopped waiting for him to come home. Upon reaching your room, you changed into your pjs before walking over to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, you pulled out a cake you ordered yourself from your favorite shop. Placing it on the table, you put the candles on and sat down in front of it. “Happy Birthday to me…happy birthday to me…” You began to sing before letting out a sob. Your candles were put out from your tears. Another year alone and many more to go.

“If I could be her…but I’m not her and she’s not me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: This was just little one-shot. An idea that always comes to mind whenever I listen to that amazing song! I am working on part 3 of the Biomedical Engineer x Miguel. Hopefully this weekend it comes out along with the last part of my first father figure Miguel x reader. Please check those out if you haven’t. I’m stuck if I should make this into a full series as well, but I don’t know if people would interest in it. Anyways, as always sorry for any grammar errors. Thank you all for the support! Remember to stay hydrated and to keep on simping! (Simp City Population: 62!) Thank you so much for the follows and please you are welcome to reblog my works for others to be aware of this new Miguel O’Hara simp writer!

[kyokosayuki]

This might as well be the absolute weirdest take on Miguel i have EVER seen but let's.. assume this is meant in good faith. Seeing as the person who asked this might be young or simply misinformed.. Tunes already covered it quite well but I'm gonna add my 2 cents under the cut (since it's important to me. as a german)

First of all: Fascism is a very hard to define term. You know examples of fascism, but the definition itself varies. And yet if you go through them you will see that a lot of these will actively contradict miguel and the spider-society. already staring with the fact that there is literally. no killing. they send everyone who finds themself in the wrong universe back, cause as tunes already pointed out: they are literally decaying while endangering the inhabitants of these universes.

Let's see: most fascist in definition glorify violence and see themself and their fellow fascists as better. They want to expand their own territory (mostly through war), eradicating any trace of the others they perceive as lesser, or use them as free labour. none of this is something miguel does. and you would really have to read his treatment of miles in the worst possible faith to come to the conclusion that it's motivated by fascism.

"But Vin!" i hear you yell. "What about the Authoritarianism he exhibits?" well my dear audience member that lives in my head: if you want to read miguels place as leader as authoritarian (and not as him becoming leader by default since no one else wants to have that burden on top of their already existing ones), he could also very well be a communist. which funnily enough is also opposing to anarchism! So if you really really reaaaly want to ascribe political systems to fictional character you could also just say miguel and hobie are leftist infighting. it's a bit of an oversimplification, but definitely a funnier one than saying miguel is a fascist.

and please, let's not kid ourselves. if we didn't know that there IS another way (in virtue of this being a movie) a lot of us would sympathise way more with miguels side. are you really willing to find out if your whole reality will collapse JUST to see if they can save one guy. it's easy to say yes as long as it's not real, as long as it's not YOUR loved ones in that universe. this isn't something you can solve simply by saying one of them is wrong, this is not how things work. even if you are willing to risk it, the person next to you might not. and that is not an evil thing, they are not a bad person for that. they are simply scared.

and while we are at it: one of the biggest flaws in y'alls theories (yes, i also mean the cult one) is the fact that hobie is allowed to be there in the first place, despite very obviously being a constant nuisance and possible disruption. why is he there even though we see miguel being so over his antics (and as funny as i find his behaviour, i do understand miguels frustration). reading miguel as the leader who has the last word in everything also seems to me like ignoring the constant hints that he gets bullied into doing stuff by the other spider-people, especially jess and peter. jess needling miguel to take gwen with them despite his insistence ending with him begrudgingly giving in is just one example.

and in general, thinking that you would handle it better than him is a thinking that i don't understand. I'd handle it differently, sure, but better? debatable. I'm think I'd be just as scared to take the risk, especially if it's on me afterwards. like no matter which way he would lose! either he was right and another universe is destroyed, or he is wrong and all of those loved ones of all those spider-people died for literally nothing. i know i am repeating myself but i need you guys to understand what kind of situation miguel has backed himself in.

anyway, to get back to the original point of this whole thing: please think twice about assigning real life things with weight like political ideologies to fictional character without any real evidence backing that up. At best you sound like you're trying to simplify complex issues into good and bad, and at worst you sound like you are being really disrespectful towards the groups of people who had (and still have!) to deal with the consequences of fascism in real life by watering down the actual dangers of fascism.

What you think of the idea of Miguel being in a fascist position in Atsv? Like how Hobie clearly opposed him and everything

I'm new to the comics but I know he's from a super corporation fascist future, so I don't know we can exactly put him in that position, since he is slowly try to get away from Alchemax views

OH BOY asks that get me placed on three different callout posts fkjdshfkjdhskj

tldr: no i don't think miguel is in a fascist position in atsv nor do i personally think hobie views him as a fascist.

long answer:

How does Hobie view Miguel

I think, per his own political activism and the fact we don't see him shying away at all from active confrontation with people like cops, if Hobie sincerely thought Miguel was a fascist he wouldn't participate in the spider society's directive at all. He's really open about his reservations about how it operates, the fact he's mainly here to support Gwen and deeply critical of the harm Miguel stands to perpetuate in his pursuit of conformity to the canon*, but I think if it was an open/shut case, he wouldn't participate at all and would be making an active effort at radicalising those around him. The latter of which we don't even see with Gwen, who he's clearly close to. He only questions her decision to hide the truth from Miles.

* <- by this I mean his remarks re the Go Home Machine. For the longest time, Hobie (and the narrative in it's tonal presentation of the scene) characterising this act as something warrenting suspiscion really confused me because like. what else is miguel supposed to do. the villains will literally die if left in different dimensions and have been shown to go on to enact harm if left to their own devices.

But I think what Hobie the character is driving at, as he is in his entire conversation to Miles, is urging caution to Miles about committing to a cause that's so afraid of a repeating tragedy that they're pursuring conformity to canon at the expense of questioning the harm they stand to perpetuate (this extending to Miles once he's viewed as an anomaly), and Hobie is asking Miles to interogate that. Also like. as a punk anarchist of COURSE Hobie dislikes the idea of conformity informed by fear (not of Miguel I mean, but the wider supposedly unchallangeable cosmic power).

2. Is Miguel in a fascist position of power?

OH BOY the big one. Putting aside the entire thing that is being unable to apply fascism on a one to one basis because no sense of ultranationalism/centralised autocracy and the whole thing about universal collapse being real and not an imagined threat being used to consolidate power. imo no.

We see no evidence of Miguel trying to consolidate personal power with what little we see of the spider society structure. There's no inherent restrictions on the watches (aka Miguel doesn't restrict Gwen and Peter's personal freedom to Miles' dimension. It was up to Jess's discretion to handle the training of her protoge).

He seems to have just ended up the defacto leader by virtue of having created stable interdimensional travel watches, running admin on mission intel if the multitude of screens are anything to go by and being the living traumatised reminder of what rebelling against canon invokes to the rest of the people he manages. Other characters speak of his leadership not as if they're afraid of him retaliating against them if they don't do so positively (in fact Jess and Peter make fun of him to his face), but rather sympathetically to his past.

He's essentially like. the traumatised poster boy for their entire mission statement as well as the dude who coralled everyone into this for the purpose of trying to wrangle the damage anomalies were causing when spat into different dimensions.

Even him sending Gwen home, while really fucking nasty and awful of him to intimidate her like that, speaks less to me of trying to crush opposition by virtue of it being opposition, but rather an indication of Miguel's own sunk cost fallacy thinking, given how clearly atsv signposts Miguel's grief and guilt (w the latter i mean both at the intial skipping dimension action and his subsequent approach to canon w the society) as sincere. It's him hitting absolute rock bottom and betraying the responsibility he holds to Gwen as an adult yeah, but I don't read the action as one about consolidating power for the sake of such.

I think Hobie is aligned with the sincerity of the intention to protect people, otherwise he wouldn't be participating at all, but is deeply critical of both what the centralised nature of the watches promotes (the only avenue to helping the multiverse is with miguel) and the harm Miguel stands to perpetuate in pursuit of utter conformity to canon.

And when the latter actualises in the pursuit of Miles, Hobie peaces the fuck out with his alternate watch.

[fhrlclln]

NSFW request please! Could we get Miguel cockwarming his Spider!fem!S/O while they’re both still in their spider costumes? He couldn’t help it with how great she looked fighting some bad guys!

miguel o’hara x spider!fem! reader

ANON THIS IS SO SEXY. THE SPIDERSUIT IS ALWAYS AN A+ PLUS FOR ANYBODY WEARING IT, LIKE LOOK AT MIGUEL’S ASS LMAO. but anyways, cockwarming, hehe, i love you anon. <3 i added a lil sexual frustration into the mix ; ) cuz i felt like that would be so miguel lolz.

nsfw under the cut

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for as long as he had known you, miguel never had once experience this more intense feeling that he ever felt following the years you two had been together. you were spider-woman, as of many others but you were his spider-woman what mattered. and jesus, he thinks, as he stares at you with this embarrassing bloom inside of his mask whilst you’re swinging and kicking some couple of brutes causing havoc around nueva york. eyes strained solely on you as he merely grips his opponent’s neck tighter, not noticing how he was choking the poor man. the only question in his mind arousing as he tries to shake it off.

why did you have to wear that suit today?

he gulps, watching how you flex your each move as your ass kind of jiggled when you jumped. the tight-skin spider suit you were wearing made it worse as he feels the blood rush down to his trousers— or tights per-say. it was the suit he made specifically for you, similar to his color palette but overall suited your previous style perfectly. and he can’t help it, you just… just looked so fucking good kicking ass when your tits and ass are hugged tightly by your spidey-suit. he lets out a shaky sigh, still gripping the man’s neck not until someone interrupts his oogling.

“ahem! miguel? we got a couple of more coming in! maybe ogle later?” lyla flashes immediately in front of his face, he doesn’t notice the smirk right away from his assistant’s face as he focuses back on the mission, still glancing at you with sudden frustrating feeling clawing at the back of his neck and his crotch. he dodges an incoming bullet as it slightly grazes his shoulder making him wince, annoyed he got lost on focus.

“i know!” miguel grits his teeth as lyla disappears. he gazes hard on you as you suddenly felt your spidey-senses tingle as you glance at miguel, who merely glares again making you wave innocently at him in greeting as you bashed some thug’s head to the ground.

what was with him? you think, a little confused. huh.

•••

there was something definitely going on with him.

“you feel now what you’re doing to me, huh? speak, my love.” he whispers harshly against your ear, both of his arms wrapped around your waist as your body arches when he sinks you deeper on his cock. you gasp out, your mask thrown somewhere, discarded as the bottom piece of your suit was pushed down to your ankles while your top stayed on you uncomfortably. he was a menace when the two of you got back, immediately dragging you with his attitude to meet him in his lab for a ‘briefing’ for the next mission across the multiverse he says… but nope.

this. this certainly wasn’t you were expecting for a briefing. being tortured and cockwarmed for how many minutes you can’t remember since he fucked an orgasm into you roughly a while ago. his spent cum still nestling in you, painting your tight walls and his still hard cock inside you as well. he looked absolutely wrecked and pent-up when he murmured something about you in his suit that he made when he roughly groped your ass when he got his hands on you alone. you weren’t complaining! just that you wished he’d moved right now feeling the tip of his cock hit your cervix making you squirm again uncontrollably.

“miguel, please, it’s—“ you pleaded, moaning as he cups your breasts, massaging them with his big hands as you leaned your head on his big shoulder, whining loudly “‘is not fair.”

“not fair, hermosa? what wasn’t fair was you looking too good in this fucking suit.” he says with a chuckle, kissing your neck, nipping it lightly, fangs grazing your skin as you felt yourself shiver at the feeling of danger on your neck. you moved your hips a little, desperate for the movement of his cock thrusting into you but miguel was relentless. his way of punishing you when you literally think you didn’t do anything wrong! not his fault he couldn’t keep his dick calm around you.

“mhm, nu-uh, mamí. be a good girl for me and warm my cock up.” he slaps your thighs in warning sending shockwaves to your core along with your favorite nickname he has for you. gripping the meat of your thighs harshly as he chuckles when you swear at him with your cock-drunken mind. the feel of his cum in you, making you feel sticky and satiated at the same time was driving you nuts when his huge prick is filling you up to the brim, you can’t help it anymore, you need him.

“miguel, fuck you.” you whine again as he kisses your cheek. you can’t help but grin as you wiggle your hips again as you clench around him to tease him a bit to see what he’ll do. miguel smirks, grabbing your jaw, squishing your cheeks as he sets a final warning for you and your brattiness with a promise of a good fuck later. just that he wants to savor this moment a lil longer when he finally rips your suit to pieces that he can always make one for you after this.

“stay still or you’ll regret it.”

｡･:*˚:✧｡

listen, i wouldn’t mind my cause of 💀 be miguel’s cock— 😽🤭 ALSO MIGUEL CALLING US MAMÍ HAD ME ON MY KNEES RN *pats my shoulder* <3

[ddejavvu]

Ohh man I am a whore for Miguel O’hara!! Can we have something with him pulling readers hair?? Either like during sex ORRR like as a “hey. behave” kind of a vibe!! You’re the best <3

I'm so flattered you think I'm the best even if it did take me over a year to finally watch the movie and meet Miguel 😭 you're too kind my love <3 anyways how about both <3

this post is 18+, minors dni.

Miguel doesn't (always) tie you down in the bedroom, but there's an implicit direction not to move. It's not that you can't, or that he doesn't like it when you do, but serving you fulfills him. Knowing- Proving that he knows you better than you know even yourself, taking you apart piece by piece without you needing to move even a muscle - that's what feeds him.

Sometimes, though, you can't keep yourself still. You can't let him handle everything, it's too much, it's too good, you need more. It's tantalizing, really, the way that his skin glistens with sweat; his shoulders impossibly broad, his muscles taut and toned. Your hands tremble slightly as they fly to his back, unable to meet around the width of his torso.

"Miguel," You moan, barely more than a breath against his ear as you nose greedily at his sharp jaw. Your hips roll on instinct, grinding up into the thrusts he's already slowly easing into your waiting cunt. It's painful- he's big, and you're not properly stretched yet, but you don't care. You need more. You're barely able to press more than an open-mouthed kiss against the corner of his mouth before you feel a sharp pain at your scalp, thousands of strands of hair all caught in his firm grip as he tugs.

"Easy, mama," He orders, nudging his nose against your own as he uses his grip on your hair to pull you back down to the mattress, waiting until your hips fall before advancing again, ever-so-slowly pushing his cock back into your aching hole, "This only works if we go slow at first. You wanna be all sore in the morning? You have to let me stretch you."

"But I want it now, please," You feel pathetic, begging like a starved man, "I don't want to wait, I just want you to fuck me now."

"I know," He croons, craning his neck down to kiss against the pout of your lips, "But be patient, querida. I don't want to hurt you. Just behave," He urges, pulling once more at your hair, a reminder, "And you'll get more when you can handle more."

[yawnderu]

She Wants Me Dead - Miguel O'Hara x Reader | Part I

I support women's rights and wrongs.

cw: toxic situationships, pathetic Miguel O'Hara, femme fatale reader, suggestive situations.

1 2 3

I love her so bad but she treats me like shit.

Miguel knows it's wrong. Hell, he has known from day one she was never someone anyone should ever get involved with. Oh, how he wishes he was strong enough to lock her up and throw away the key that held his love for her.

Oh, take this veil from off my eyes.

''Hey, big guy.'' His body tensed up when he heard the voice coming from behind him. His heart aches. He hates when you do that, showing up all smug as if you don't disappear for days, contacting him only when you need him.

''I missed you.'' He barely glanced down at you, noting how you always appear to make yourself smaller, even more adorable. Your soft, small hands running up and down the muscles on his back before your arms wrap themselves around his waist.

''... why do you do this to me?'' Is all he can ask, turning around and leaning down as he picks you up with ease, your legs wrapping around his waist while your arms hold his neck for support, face nuzzling his neck as you take in his scent. He closes his eyes, trying to focus on anything but the way your body fits perfectly on his.

''Do what? I like you— You're the best.'' A soft kiss is delivered to his jaw and he flinches slightly, breath hitching and neck growing rigid as you keep brushing your soft lips against it. He hates how his whole body language changes to show a degree of submission to you. He, the Spider-Man 2099, a 6'9 beast of a man who can tear through anything with his sharp claws and talons, becoming absolute putty under the hands of a villain much smaller than him.

''You know... You're the only superhero I like. Not only because you give me money— I mean, a big part is because of it, but you also look cool.'' You praise lazily, knowing he'd love any compliment coming from your lips.

''You know what? ... You're my favorite villain.'' I hate myself. His body is still tense from holding you so close, yet he can't help but want you, despite all he knows about you. Despite the way you use and abuse him. His voice is husky, but it's true; he's completely under your spell. A soft snicker comes from your lips, instantly making him roll his eyes.

''How much do you need this time?'' He changes the topic. He has a feeling and he knows you'll ask for a big amount of money, but he wants to hear you say it. He already pays for your lifestyle, yet somehow that's not enough for you, so he bends backwards to please you and avoid anything that can make you angry, upset, or leave. He has the money for it, anyway.

''Hmm... Just around $3000.'' You shrug your shoulders and look up at him with the same cat-like grin that makes his knees weak every. single. time.

''Just three grand?'' His shock is clearly feigned, yet you still snicker softly and his eyes lose a tiny bit of the edge in them. ''if it'll make you shut up for another 10 minutes, I'll give it to you.'' He shrugs his shoulders, acting uninterested as if he wouldn't lose his shit if you actually didn't talk to him for 10 minutes after your return.

''After that, I'll stop for a while. I'm not your cashcow.'' He adds as an afterthought, giving you a sharp look.

''You're not?'' You ask teasingly, voice laced with mirth as your lips brush against his neck again, planting a kiss right on his pulse. ''What if I do this, papi?'' Your tone is seductive, voice barely above a whisper. Miguel nearly stumbles back in surprise, plump lips parting slightly before he regains his composure. It takes everything he has in him to stay still, allowing your warm tongue to lick a clean line across his neck, muscles tensing up under the warm mass.

''You little—'' He can't even finish his sentence, your lips latching onto his neck after his suit disengages just enough to give you space to kiss, sucking on the previously covered skin as you leave your mark.

''Little what...? Little slut?'' You tease, gently licking the mark you made before starting to make a new one right below, being mindful enough to make sure that body part will be covered by his hologram suit.

''... Yes.'' He gasps softly in surrender, a low moan escaping his parted lips as he holds you even tighter, his fingers digging into the fabric of your clothes. He can feel his entire body shake from his knees up.

''When will I get the money?'' You finally let go of his poor, now marked up neck, looking up at him with the same smirk that he sees on his dreams and nightmares.

Miguel takes a second to catch his breath, looking around to make sure no one is near his office before he replies to you. ''When do you need it? Today? Tomorrow?'' His tone is even and businesslike now that he regained his breath.

''Today would be great.'' He brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear, internally slapping himself yet wondering how someone so beautiful could be so evil. So shamelessly manipulative.

''You'll have it by tonight.'' He confirmed, his voice firmer and his expression serious as he looked down at you, still carrying you like you weight nothing— and for a man his height, you don't.

''But it'll be the last time. I'm not giving you any more money after this.'' He adds while looking at one of his monitors, afraid to look at you in fear of his resolve wavering.

''So I'll have to ask another man for money, Miguel...?'' Your tone is controlled and dangerous, though he can hear you feigning sadness at the news. Your hand holds his cheek, thumb right below his high cheekbone as you force him to look at you. ''What if he wants something else from me?''

Miguel bites his tongue and clenches his fists. God fucking dammit. He knows better than this. He hates when you make it all about you, and he hates how he falls for it every single time, as if he didn't know all your tactics by now.

''... Fine. You can have your money.'' His voice is rough, almost a growl, yet he knows better than to argue.

''You're amazing!'' You praise, arms raising slightly as you fake excitement, as if you didn't know he'd relent anyway. He rolls his eyes, a huff of air coming out of his nose as he gives you an unamused look.

''I'm doing what any good man would do, mami.'' Keep telling yourself that. ''And I'm not amazing, I'm a dumbass.'' He knows full well he's being played by you, that you'll turn those comments on him and use them as ammo, yet he doesn't care. The truth hurts either way, so he chooses to ignore it, he chooses to ignore the little voice in the back of his head and he chooses to love you.

''I'm serious.'' You give him an honest smile— something totally different from those teasing and smug grins you give him when you get your way. Just a pure smile that shows you're having fun with him, in a good way.

His gaze softens slightly when he realizes how honest your smile looks, the way it reaches your eyes and lights them up like stars he could gaze at for eternity, yet eventually the sun has to rise, this time in the form of the harsh reality.

''I see right through you, muñeca. I know your game.'' Miguel says, not rudely and his words don't hold his usual snark.

''It was never a secret.'' You shrug your shoulders, clearly not affected by him knowing you're playing him like a fiddle.

''Never said it was.'' The corners of his lips pull up in a subtle, knowing smirk as he looks down at you. ''But you should know that even without all the manipulation and the games... I'd do anything to help you. I'm a sucker for you, mami.''

''You'd do anything for me?'' Of course that's all you got out of his sentence.

''... Obviously not anything. I draw certain lines.'' He answers with pure honesty, trying to make it seem cool despite having you so close to him. ''But you know me. It doesn't take much to get whatever you want out of me.'' My heart is more yours than mine.

The corners of your lips tilt up into the smirk he knows all too well, yet you don't reply, simply staring up at him with your head slightly tilted to the side, examining his features like you have him under a microscope.

''You could have any woman... so why me?'' You ask curiously, the question that has been eating at your brain finally leaving your lips.

''Why not you?'' He turns the question to you, eyebrows slightly raised as he gives you a knowing look before elaborating. ''You're smart, charismatic, beautiful... Why any other woman when you have it all?'' You hum in acknowledgement, thinking about his words.

''Is it tiring? Loving me?'' Your tone is much more honest this time, as if you're deep in thought. His heart fills with fake hope as he sees your honest expression.

''Tiring? No...'' He replies in a whisper, voice rough for a moment as he thinks about it. ''No, mami, but it's hard.'' He matches your honesty, adjusting you so you're more comfortable as he carries you.

''I know you use me, but I still love you either way. It drives me crazy.'' He admits with a soft chuckle, a small smile on his lips despite the hurt in his eyes, showing you just how honest he's with you.

[miriadalia]

About Keenry and how the CK writers ruined one of the best relationships of the show...

I'll try to keep it short.

These are the reasons why I think Tory and Robby shouldn't be endgame in Cobra Kai anymore:

Their miscommunication will only lead them to more heartbreak.

Back in season 4 I became a fulltime Keenry shipper, especially after the Prom scenes. And the main reason was because we could see how they understood each other, talked things out and worried about the other... After the season 5 breakup nothing was the same for them anymore.

With Tory wanting to solve her problems always on her own and with Robby escaping and assuming things before talking with her properly... They made it pretty clear they have communication and trust problems. And I get it, they both have had hard lives. But I hoped that after they made up in the last episode of season 5, they both had learned their lessons...

Flash forward to season 6 and instead we had more of the same but a thousand times worse.

Their SECOND break up

Listen. I know many couples go on and off for years and then end up getting married anyways, especially when they started their relationship pretty young... But I don't think that's healthy at all.

If you feel the constant need to resort to a break up or pause to fix your problems then that probably means you don't actually go well with that person.

And that's fine. That doesn't mean one of the parts is a horrible person. Just means it doesn't work and even if it's hurting it will be for the best in the future.

And yeah, I think the same about Sam x Miguel in case you're wondering.

The "love triangles" they used to kind of made them up again

They really run out of ideas in the writing room. We already had the drama: Tory mom died and she had to fix her relationship with the Miyagi Dos. She could have been forced to fight Robby in the tournament because of the rules, not because she was angry at him.

Why did Robby had to go through literal SA with that freak of a girl while thinking his second girlfriend had also cheated with another guy??

Why did Tory had to be captain with a guy that was made to be just a cartoon villain instead of an actual companion? And why did she also had to experience watching the boy she loved kissing another girl for the second time??

Kwon and Zara were such a wasted potential it makes my blood boil. They had multiple time Taekwondo champions with really good acting skills and they just went with the psycho gang freak and the superficial jealous bitch (ahem, abuser). But that's for another post...

The solution to these "misunderstandings" was... Pushing their respective freaks to defend each other

I'm talking about Tory pushing Kwon in the hall and Robby throwing Zara like a potato bag during the brawl.

"You really choose her over me?"

"It's not even close"

WTF was that?? It wasn't a choice in the first place!! Robby was drunk to the point of unconsciousness. Who on earth wrote that?

And are Tory and Robby supposed to be back together just because he said that?

He also said: "I know you better than that. I shouldn't have let Kwon get into my head" Well........ Your actions didn't show, honey, you immediately accused her of hooking up with him during the last fight.

Kwon's death and its impact in both their lives

Even if they didn't like him and Kwon made things even more difficult between them, he was still a teen like them.

Look at Tory's face in the picture above. Do you think she can handle any more death after what she had to go through with her mother? Do you think she will be magically cured by the power of Robby's love and fight Zara to "get revenge" in part 3?? Please, don't.

Even if a year has passed between the Sekai Taikai and the new tournament, this kid is traumatised. I don't think she should be fighting at all for a long, long time.

Robby, I can see him fighting, but I'm really disappointed on how his character arc went... Yes, he has finally gotten over his second place complex and understood he is a good leader if he wants to... But I can't see how that can improve his relationship with Tory.

So, lastly, I hope this is what one of the CK creators meant when he posted that "some high school relationships last forever, other don't". It makes me sad if it has to be Keenry the one that doesn't end up being endgame. But at the same time is the only solution I see to this poor writing...

[love-anddeepression]

Everything is fine -2

A/n: aaaaah thank you so much for waiting for part 2! sorry it's been so long im having fever and i had electoral campaigning to do so i've been so busy :DDD enjoy some revenge and a moment&lt;3 not proofread so please excuse any mistakes

Part -1

The house is quiet when you enter. Spotless. As if it’s been frantically cleaned and the dust has been swept under the rug. You want to laugh. The bedroom door swings open but this time, he’s awake. He’s reading a book, his bottom half covered by the blanket. He looks up as you close the door and place your tote on the desk.

“Hey, baby.” he smiles and you let the corners of your mouth lift a little.

“I need some air.” you say and draw the curtains, unlatching the window and pushing it open. The night breeze is cool and the air in the room seems fresher. You stick your head out a little and breathe deeply, looking down.

You’re known to have the most absolute, shit eyesight, but even you can the the glow of red eyes a floor below you. You smile and draw back, Taking a towel from the cabinet and heading to the bathroom without a word, leaving your husband confused.

He can hear the shower turn on, and a few seconds later, the singular lamp in the roo switches off, leaving him in complete darkness. 

Miguel swears in frustration and huffs under his breath. His eyes come to focus as he gets used to the dark.

The only sounds are the rush of water in the shower, yet he feels the silence is eerie. The wind picks up, it’s almost howling, It sounds like a wail. His breathing quickens a little, and his eyes fall to the little expanse to the outside world.

He freezes. There’s something outside.

On the 18th floor. Staring at him. It’s eyes glow a deep red and he can see claws gripping the window sill. 

He wants to shout, to scream, to fucking move. But he can’t. 

The bathroom door swings open and he looks at you, then back at the window.

There’s nothing. No one.

“What’s wrong, honey?” your voice is soft and breezy, “It’s just the dark.” 

He looks almost manic, hunched over as he looked between you and the window, “There w-was something there. With red fucking eyes and it was staring at me.”

He looks at the window again and that’s when he shouts, “There!” he points and jumps off the bed, “Right there!”

You look to where he points and in the dark, you know he won’t see your smile. But Miguel will. 

You tilt you head, “Miggy, there’s nothing there. Are you okay?”

“Wha- how can you not see that?!”  he sputters and you walk over to him, turning his face away from the window, “Calm down, love. I think we should go to a doctor. In fact, I’ll make an appointment tomorrow, it’s the weekend anyway.”

 He takes your hands off his face and sighs, “I know what I saw.” he hugs you.

Your eyes flit to the window and you see one of the scarlet eyes shut in a wink. And then they disappear.

Your hand smooths his hair down, “We’ll be just fine.”

—---------------------

“I think it’s just stress, Miggy.” you say as you drive back from the clinic. He’d been subject to a number of tests by the doctors trying to find something wrong with one of the head scientists of the corporation that funded their work. Of course, they found nothing, but they did advise him to rest,  “After all, you spend so much time at work.” you shake your head in pity, “I’ll take off for a few days.”

“No!” he winces when you turn to look at him with an eyebrow raised, “I mean, no, you don’t have to. I’ll be alright. It’s just stress. You dob’t have to sacrifice your work.”

“Oh nonsense.” you wave him off, “It’s not a sacrifice to take care of the man I love. Unless, you want me to stay out of the house.” you chuckle, “You want me to stay out, honey?”

“No.” his voice breaks, “Of course not.”

A ting! Sounds from his phone and you peak at the notification thats from Dana.

“Is Dana coming over?”

He double takes, “How- nevermind. Yeah, she said she’d be visiting in an hour or so.”

You hum, with a small smile and swerve to the right, and he jerks and almost hits head on the window. You park, “Could you bring the groceries in?” you gesture to the shopping you’d gotten done when he was at the clinic. You smile and get out, leaving him behind.

He sighs and gets out, shutting the front seat door while opening the back one and taking out the paper bag. He notices a man standing opposite the car with his back turned to it.

He’s wearing the same clothes that Miguel’s wearing. And when he turns around he takes his shades off and he stares at him with red eyes. Miguel draws ina sharp breath.

If you ever see someone that looks identical to you, run away and hide.

His phone rings and he looks down at it and cuts the call. When he looks back him, the figure has disappeared. Shit. Shit.

Run away.

Hide.

He looks to his right, to where the entrance to the building is and he doesn’t even take a step before pain blooms across the back of his head. He doubles over with a groan but is pulled back by his hair and he can feel a sharp pain at his neck.

Then, darkness.

—-----------------------------------

“Miguel, I swear to god.” you pinch the bridge of your nose, “This wasn’t the plan!  How do I explain how he magically arrived here after fainting downstairs? You know the plan was that I dru-”

“Tell him a tall, nice man helped you.” he snarks and you resist the urge to throttle him. You settle for a glare that makes him chuckle.

“Relax, Sweetheart. He’ll believe you. Now I've healed the puncture with bacta spray and the wound is gone.” he gestures to the man currently spread out on your shared bed, “I need you to wake him up, tell him he passed out from exhaustion. I’ll take it from there.”

You look up at him, “Thank you. For wasting your time on this.”

His hand comes to rest on your shoulder and it tingles, “No time wasted, I assure you.” he nods reassuringly, “Now wake him up.” He rolls his shoulders and settles down on the plush couch you have that faces the bed.

You flick some water from the bottle you keep on the bedside table onto your husband’s face and when he wakes with a start, you fall into the role of the worried wife.

“Oh my god! Miggy! You’re finally awake!” you cup his face, “I was so worried! Are you okay?” His widened eyes look inyo yours and his furrowed eyebrows soften.

“I-I blacked out. There was this guy who looked like me and-” his gaze travels behind you to fall on the couch and he freezes at the sight of the menacing man staring at him with those fucking red eyes. 

Run away and hide.

“Baby.” he looks back at you, “Do not  look back.”

The room is silent. You can see Miguel in the reflection of your husbands eyes. Like the snap of a branch, the doorbell rings and youre forced to turn around, much to your husband’s protests. 

You lock eyes with Miguel and look back at your husband with incredulous eyes, “Miguel, are you crazy? There is nothing there!” 

“Can you not see that?” he stretches his hand out to make a point and Miguel scowls.

“I can see absolutely bullshit!” you raise your voice.

The bell interrupts whatever he was going to say and take a deep breath. 

“I’m assuming that’s Dana?” you raise and eyebrow and he nods, “I’ll get it.”

“No! Don’t leave me with that fucking thing!” he points to where Miguel sits and then at you. You groan.

“Then you go and open the door!” 

“FIne!” he storms out, wobbling just a little. You hear the door open and your stomach drops when you head Dana’s voice.

“Hey.” Miguel says and you look down, “You’re going to be okay.”

You nod, “I’m going to be fine.”

He gestures to the door and you steel yourself before stepping out, a smile making its way onto your face as you spread your arms and greet Dana who replies with her high pitched voice. Even your husband seems to be in a better mood and you can’t help but remember the hologram.

“I love you” he kissed her neck softly and she giggled.

“Hey!” Dana says your name, “You okay?” 

“Youre going to be okay.”

You snap out of you daze, “Yeah, sorry. Long day.” you smile again and she pouts almost condescendingly.

“Awwww, I’m sure you’ve had a tiring day. Writing is such a hard profession.” she says airily.

You grit your teeth, “Tea?”

“Yeah honey, I think we’d like that.” Miguel smiles.

As you walk to the kitchen, and get out the ingredients, Miguel recounts the events of the day to Miguel and she scrunches her nose and laughs. She, too, says it’s just stress. Only this time, he listens. You swallow hard and go back to boiling the tea.

The apartment is built in an industrial style, and very much an open plan. The design is such that Miguel can see you from the bedroom. He can see your hands flying to open and close cabinets and crushing cardamom and washing tea cups. Living a life so different from the one you live with him.

The teacups clink as you place the tray on the coffee table. They take the cups and sip the tea with relish, like they always do. Miguel sighs contently and Dana groans with satisfaction.

“Have fun.” you grin, “I gotta shower. I’ll see you in a bit.” you whip around to speed walk awkwardly to the bedroom. Cursing at yourself inwardly because really? That’s the best excuse you could find?

Paces away from the bedroom, your eyes meet Miguel’s. The variant of your husband. This variant who had patched you up, and got you food and held you and was currently waiting for you and wasting his time on your petty revenge.

You breathe from your mouth so they can’t hear the sniffles you’re trying to hide as you shut the door.

```````````````````````````````

The door shuts with a click as you step in and in five seconds, Miguel curses his stupid enhanced hearing and winces. You give him a sad smile and he moves to wrap his arms around you. Your hands go around his neck and you look up at him. After a few moments, his head dips, and he’s so close. So close that the both of you are breathing the same air. Noses nuzzling each other, cheeks rubbing against the other and lips leaving their light feather touch on the other. 

He can hear the small sniffle you try to hide and he does the only thing he can think of to make you think of anything else. His head hides in the crook of your neck and he breathes in your scent. He relishes the small sounds that leave you. He lets them envelop his senses, so he doesn’t have to hear whatever is going on in the next room. His hands travel the expanse of your back, fingers teasing under the hem of your shirt.  It’s a messed up dance you’re both in. He knows that. But, god, you’re so soft and-

Oh.

He breathes out a moan. Your lips are on his neck, gently mouthing at flesh. Your eyelashes leave whispers of kisses in their wake that make him lurch forward and pick you up. Your legs wrap around his waist like it’s an instinct.

The windows bathe you in the setting sunlight. And you look ethereal.

But. You’re not her. You’re not his love. Her smile was different, her hair shorter. Her eyes are softer. His head wracks with guilt but then he looks at you again. You’re doing the same. 

He can hear the laughter from outside, but it’s like time stands till as the both of you look at each other. Searching for what is missing. Using the other for their own comfort.

Like a reverent follower, he gazes at you. Like you’re his saint. He wants to say the words. To tell you to use him. So that the both of you can have some semblance of comfort in each other. Your head dips down and your lips brush his and his eyes shut. Succumbing to the feeling.

Two thuds are heard and you pull back, “That was fast.”

“Wait, you used the drug?” his eyes widen and you smile.

“Well, what’s left now but to take them to HQ?” you chuckle.

The hall is silent. There is no laughter.

He smiles.

[sanguineterrain]

it shall pass | miguel o'hara

Summary: Miguel isn’t alone, not anymore. Sometimes, he needs to be reminded of that.

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x gn!reader (some Spanish endearments are female-gendered, but other than that, no gendered descriptions.)

Word count: 1k

Content desc: bathing together, Miguel has a tough day, insecurity, established relationship. Lots of fluff bc he deserves to be taken care of!!!!

A/N: hi guys! I’m back with more Miguel <3 as usual, it’s not anyone’s responsibility to correct my Spanish, but I always appreciate corrections, if offered. Also, I try to use Mexican slang only, since Miguel is Mexican, so if something is off with that, please feel free to let me know. 

Translations: 

Hola, cielito - hi, sweetheart

Mi amor - my love

Estoy sucio - I’m dirty.

Solo para que pueda sentirte - Just so I can feel you.

¿Puedes hacerlo frente a mí, por favor? - In front of me, please?

No es nada - It’s nothing.

Tonto - fool/idiot 

Yo no sería nada sin ti - I’m nothing without you.

Es verdad - it’s true.

If you enjoy, please let me know through comments/reblogs ♡

the divider

Even after eight months together, Miguel enters your apartment like a cat burglar. Like he should not be here. 

You'd told him, at first, to stop that and used the truth as your reason: because he didn't need to. This is your home, but it's his too, and it puts pins in your heart every time he comes in like he's doing something wrong. Like he's waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Then you'd tried humor. You scare the soul out of me when you do that, Miguelito. Maybe we should put a bell around your neck.

It hadn't done anything. He still acts like he's not allowed to jingle his keys in the lock and leave his shoes by the door and help himself to your shampoo and orange juice. 

So when you hear his footsteps at the door and you can track him as he heads for the kitchen, you’re worried. You rarely hear him coming. Miguel always finds you immediately, even if you're a block from the house. You'd asked him once how he knows it's you; he told you it’s because you have a distinct step. 

You might find that a little unnerving if you weren't so damn enamored with him. 

"Miggy? That you, sweetheart?"

He appears like you've summoned him, hunching in the doorway of the kitchen. You turn from the chopping board with a smile. It dims as you take in his appearance. 

"Hey," you say, putting down the knife and walking to him. 

"Hola, cielito," he says quietly, gaze downcast. 

You reach your hands up and Miguel bows his head slightly so you can cup his face. Your thumbs brush over his smooth jaw, caressing up and down in a pattern. 

"What happened, mi amor?"

He shakes his head. Miguel isn’t small, but you learned early on that he holds the most weight in his eyes. Every shard of guilt, every worry, every fear, they all sit in those crimson eyes. 

“Just—” He clears his throat, swallows. “Just a hard day.”

He brushes your hips with the pads of his fingers. You make a small noise, encouraging him.

“Touch me,” you say. 

He opens his mouth and maybe it’s because you’ve known him for so long, but you hear the words before he dares to say them. I don’t deserve to.

“I want you to,” you say before he can speak. 

“The dinner…”

You shake your head. “Don’t worry about it, Mig. We can eat later.”

He’s still in his suit. You try to scan him for scratches or bruises, but the technology repairs itself, which makes it impossible for you to detect anything. 

“Estoy sucio,” he mumbles, still not touching you.

You think for a moment. Then you lace your hand with Miguel’s and tug him towards the bathroom. He follows, brow crooked in confusion but he trusts you. You know he does.

The bathtub had been a special installation. A treat, for you and Miguel. He doesn’t use it on his own; only at your prompting. But you’re glad for it anyway. 

You kneel and turn on the faucet, plugging the drain. You look up at Miguel, tilting your head at the tub. 

“What soap do you want?” you ask.

“The one you use,” he says.

You smile and take the honey and cloves bubble bath: one of the few things you allow yourself to indulge in. Miguel tightens his hands into fists. 

“Will you join me? Not—solo para que pueda sentirte,” he clarifies. 

You soften immeasurably, reaching to remove your shirt. 

“Yeah, baby,” you say quietly. “Of course I’ll join you.”

His hands relax. 

You stand to slip off your shorts. The tub fills quickly, and it’s only another minute before you have to turn it off. The water is foamy. Steam rises, and all the mirrors fog up. Miguel silently removes his suit. You watch his back muscles shift as he gracefully steps into the water. His shoulders are strung with tension. There’s a quickly fading bruise on his right shoulder and another on the side of his ribcage. You can’t do anything except let them heal.

“Want me to wash your hair?” you ask as he settles in the water, barely sloshing any.

“Okay,” he murmurs. 

You start to climb in behind him, equally bare, but Miguel stops you with a hand on your thigh. 

“¿Puedes hacerlo frente a mí, por favor?”

He looks up at you. A dark curl has fallen out of place, sitting over his eyebrow. It makes him look so young. He is young. You forget that sometimes. 

“Sure, honey,” you say, changing your position. “Sorry.” 

He shakes his head. “No es nada.”

You take the little cup you keep on the edge of the tub and scoop water. You shield Miguel’s eyes as you wet his hair, pushing the water back over his scalp. Then you take the shampoo, lathering some between your palms. Miguel bows his head forward so you can reach. His hands creep to your waist again, more solid in their hold this time. You can feel the blunt divots where his talons rest in his fingers. They trace tiny circles on your skin. He’s trying to ground himself.

“Do you remember when we first met?” you ask.

Miguel snorts. “How could I forget? I was such a tonto that day.”

“You were not!” you insist, smiling. 

“I was. I can’t believe you agreed to a date with me.”

“Well, I don’t know why that’s so hard to believe. I was very charmed by you, O’Hara. Still am.”

You fill the cup with water and cover Miguel’s eyes again as you rinse the shampoo out. You gently scrunch definition back into his waves. His hand slides up your back and Miguel pulls you into him, so your chest is against his. He rests his chin lightly on your shoulder. You wrap your arms around his neck in response. 

“I missed you,” he says into your skin.

“You saw me this morning, mi amor.”

“I know.”

Miguel is warm and all-encompassing. You lightly massage the base of his scalp, nose pressed to his hair. He smells like the both of you. 

“Yo no sería nada sin ti,” he says.

“That’s not true,” you say, squeezing his shoulder. “Not true, Miggy.”

“Es verdad. You make me better.”

“We make each other better,” you correct. “And I have a year and a half of proof.”

Miguel sighs and it sounds a little wet. You hug him tighter.

“I got you.”

The water turns cold. Neither of you feel it, wrapped in each other.

[lacedinweb22]

Vampire Next Door ♱✮♱ Miguel O'Hara x reader Miguel's POV Chapter 3: and I remember her... ˚○◦˚.

ch. 1 ch. 2

Your neighbor is strange, to say the least. Miguel O’Hara: Alchemax’s newest scientist, genius, most sought-after bachelor … and according to your wildest suspicions … a vampire?

── ⋆⋅⟡⋅⋆ ──

She looks just like I remember her. 

Plump rosy lips, that same flush of color in her cheeks, soft hair that falls perfectly into place, and a beautiful, contagious smile, one I’d let myself be infected by, that is, if I wasn’t thinking of the one million things I had to do, the people I had to protect, and that piece of shit tied up in my bathroom.

When she talks, when I stare hard enough, I can find little changes in her: the way she carries herself, the way she looks up at me, the slight change in the colors she wears, but still, even through that, I see her, and I remember her… and the thoughts from then rush back.

But I’ve changed … a lot in the past two years. A lot. So I wasn’t too surprised when she didn't remember me. There were three hundred people in that hall, and I was just one of many TAs. I do remember making eye contact with her more than I could count. I thought she’d notice, thought maybe she’d feel it,

but guess she didn’t.

Anyways, can’t be too involved with new girl. I acknowledged the odds that she round up across the hall from me, but also acknowledged the risks. I can only keep work so far away from home. Shit follows me. 

She let me walk through her apartment. It’s empty, but just from the one box I carried, I can tell she’s going to make it her own. 

Boots. She had her own style then and she has her own style now, and I know her place will reflect that when she’s done with it. I wonder if she’ll invite me over at some point, when she’s done decorating and settling in. 

Now, I stand in her empty bathroom, watching her unpack. Today’s my off day, so I figure I’ll bother her a bit, jog her memory. 

The walls are thin, I know that now. 

The fucker thumps against my wall, forcing my visit at her place to be cut short. I rush to my front door, he whines through the red webs I shut him up with. I flash her a smile, “Ha yeah, gotta help the little guy, I’ll- uh I’ll catch you later,” I say, blocking her from seeing the inside of my apartment. 

I know I seem like an asshole, and the shitty side of me, the Spider-Man side of me, wants her to perceive me that way. I can’t afford to get close to anyone again. Not after what happened.

I slam the door shut. 

I storm over to the bathroom. The anomaly I’ve caught, who I still need answers from, sits tied up in the bathtub. He glitches in the red stringy mess he’s tied up in.

I would have brought him to HQ, but Jess would want to help, probably scold me, and I had to deal with this one on my own. 

“Maldito idiota, I told you, I’m not letting you go, and I’m not letting you die until you tell me who fucking sent your ass! How did you find me in this universe?!” I kick him as he lays sideways on the tile floor.

He rolls his eyes.

“Coño, I didn’t want to have to drag you across my freshly mopped floor, but you’re disturbing the neighbors.”

Dragging him to the kitchen, I question him a bit more, rip off the webs on his mouth, and when he smart-talks, I shut him back up and relent. 

Letting out a self-pitying groan, I tap my watch. The portal opens and I drag him back to HQ. 

My suit activates upon arrival. Jess looks me up and down from the platform.

“I hope I’m wrong about where you just came from, Miguel,” she mutters, looking down at her watch.

“Shut up, leave me alone … Peter Parkedcar, anomaly control. Pick-up in my office, please,” I speak into my watch.

I leave the anomaly glitching on the floor, and shoot web to pull myself up to the platform. 

“What did I tell you about bringing work home, Miguel?”

I storm by her, ignoring her scolding, heading straight to the hologram screens. 

“Yo sé, yo sé,” I mutter, swiping across the screen.

“Hmm, your hair looks nice. It’s … different.”

“Different?” 

“You don’t usually have your hair that way, is what I’m saying. What’s the occasion?” 

How can she tell? 

“Are you seeing someone?” she asks, standing behind me, reaching her hand beside me to help organize my tabs.

“No, why would I– no,”

“Miguel … I’ll get it out of you eventually, so might as well tell me now before you start letting it affect your work, act weird, and end up making a mess of yourself … a mess that I’ll have to clean up … not that I’m complaining I just–”

“There’s a new girl, someone I knew back at NYU … and now she lives across the hall from me. I don’t want her to get in the way.” 

“Get in the way of what? Stop bringing work home and she won’t be in ‘the way.’ Easy,” she shrugs. 

I exhale. It was … recent. Time won’t fly. The pain in my chest deepens, I remember it all for a second. I feel her eyes looking up at me. She knows. 

I look down at the hand she’s now rested on my forearm. She looks up at me, brows knit together, her worry visible even through her goggles.

“You can let it go, Miguel. You can have a life outside of … this.”

“This is my life. This is my responsibility.” 

“No. There are hundreds of us, Miguel. It’s all of ours. You know … if I could find love, create life, and still be here kicking ass and being a good friend to you, then so can you. You can live again,”

I sigh, head hung low. It takes a lot to admit to myself, how exhausted I am … from everything. I haven’t breathed in months.

“Let yourself live again.”

I breathe back the tears welling up. 

“Yo sé,” I manage to mutter.

“Invite her out, Miguel, put yourself out there,” she encourages, patting my back then jumping off the platform.

“How’s … Baby doing?” I ask, turning around to watch her leave.

“Baby’s healthy and happy,” she calls out, rubbing her belly.

“Gracias a Dios.”

“Miguel, do yourself a favor… be more like Baby,” she mutters walking out.

I let myself chuckle then look back at the screen. 

My fingers subconsciously open that file. I feel myself smile, watching my past self be happy, full of life.

Let yourself live again.

Maybe I’ll try.

○◦˚.˚◦○˚

ch.4 here >:D

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