#boxer!miguel o'hara x author!reader

[pxgeturner]

Miguel O'Hara is a world-renowned professional boxer, and Hobie's other best friend. One night he finally makes the two worlds collide and sparks immediately fly between the two of you. But will he distract you from meeting your publisher's deadline? And will you distract him from getting World Champ?

a boxer!Miguel x author!reader story

started march 31st, 2024

Iron Fist gfx library

Prologue I. A Match for the Ages II. A Party for the Ages III. A Lecture for the Ages IV. A Meeting for the Ages V. A Date for the Ages VI. A Song for the Ages VII. A Run for the Ages VIII. A Story for the Ages IX. A Fight for the Ages X. A Victory for the ages Epilogue

—

© pxgeturner 2023. I do not consent to any of my work being copied or translated.

[kechiwrites]

quick study

miguel o'hara x obsessed lab tech!reader

kinktober countdown, day one (spanking).

synopsis: Miguel wanted you to move on because he was weak. Because he'd always been aware he was gonna give in to you eventually, always knew you’d wear him down and he'd take that sweet ass of yours for a ride.

wc: 3.3k

cw: stalker!reader, but like...in a cute way, spanking, (mentions of) drunk sex, oral (male receiving), handjobs, no gendered pronouns, afab!reader, riding, praying, miguel prioritizing getting his nut over his personal safety, reader has a tattoo, my piss poor spanish (used sparingly, i swear, no use of y/n ever.

author's note: i do headcanon miguel as vaguely catholic, and as an ass man, argue with the wall. mdni. special thanks to kitten, kee and ketsl for being my soundboards and spanish tutors.

Miguel’s head is pounding, like he took a brick to the back of the head, twice. 

A fucking heavy brick.

His mouth is dry, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth, the sandpaper sensation making him desperate for water. Light pierces through the parted section of his blackout curtains, forcing the geneticist to screw his eyes shut tight. He turns, ready to slide back into the easy unconsciousness of sleep, when a low moan startles him. Immediately, his entire body tenses, and he shoots an arm out to take hold of the intruder. 

For his troubles, he ends up with a handful of soft, warm skin and an even more drawn out sound of pleasure. It's enough motivation for Miguel to fully open his eyes and take in his surroundings. His wide, scarred hand covers an exposed shoulder, long, powerful fingers pressed to your shoulder blade. He knows that shoulder. Fuck. He knows that fucking tattoo. The spindly, intricate black ink design decorates your back, disappearing under his black blanket. His heart races with panic, thudding in his chest, he doesn't remember a fucking thing, certainly not taking you home to his place after a lab wide staff social with an open bar. Definitely not stripping to his fucking birthday suit and watching you do the same. 

Wait. Okay. Maybe you’re not naked, maybe you’re just topless. 

Miguel shoots a quick prayer to Guadeloupe, lifting and kissing the gold cross that hangs around his neck, before he raises the blanket covering your lower body, praying to see any kind of underwear covering you.

No goddamn dice.

Miguel does not see underwear. Instead, Miguel gets an eyeful of the ass he's been fantasizing about for months. It's perfect, just like he thought it'd be. Soft, perfect and begging to be bitten, spanked, groped. Your tattoo stops right at your tailbone, the pointy arrowhead-esque end tapering off between the twin dimples bracketing your lower back. 

You fucked. There's no way you didn't. There's no way, drunk or sober (and you had both been ridiculously hammered) he would get you to strip down and not sink his teeth into every inch of your body he could get his hands on. He removes his hand from your shoulder, and nearly screams when he unveils a faint half circle decorating the skin where your shoulder becomes your neck. He suspects there's a lot more where those came from. 

You begin to stir, probably jarred from sleep by the sound of Miguel lamenting his own birth. You open your eyes slowly, sleep in the corners of your eyes, squint near identical to Miguel's. You come to a lot slower than Miguel, casting confused glances around the room before your bleary gaze settles on Miguel's face. Your confusion is palpable, like you’re trying to understand where the fuck you are, and why the fuck Miguel is there too. He can almost see when you remember the night before, the social, the drinks, the way you giggled and sighed, drifted after Miguel from room to room in the ritzy hotel bar, where the party had been thrown. 

"Do not say a word." He growls, reaching over the side of his bed to search for a pair of boxers. "This didn't fucking happen. You're gonna wipe this shit from your mind, understand me? Whatever I did, whatever we did? Never happened." He spits. Irritation at his lack of self control heats up his skin, making him want to claw at his face. He can't find his underwear, his fingers only coming across a tiny g-string that you must've shirked. Or maybe Miguel had torn it off you? Or- fuck, he didn't know. He didn't know anything. 

And wasn’t that a trip. 

All that fucking time holding himself back, restraining himself, all for me to blow it over fancy whiskey sours? Nice fucking going, O’Hara. 

"I…I guess you aren't very…happy about it huh?" When you do speak, directly against his order, the pain and embarrassment in your voice are glaringly evident, and they cut through Miguel's wallowing almost immediately. He lifts his face from his hands, and claps both of them onto your shoulders, shaking you a bit, watching your head bobble from side to side while you clutch his blanket to your body, attempting and failing to hide your chest from view.

"Look…I don't fucking remember it." He hisses through his teeth. Your mouth parts in surprise, eyes wide as petri dishes, and he removes his hands like he's been scalded, his palms tingling from the contact. He balls his hands together, till his knuckles crack with the strain, trying to suppress both the urge to touch you again and the urge to hit something. 

It isn't fair. 

Miguel is not fucking stupid. Yes, you are crazy, and a stalker and probably more than a little dangerous. It was painfully, excruciatingly obvious you were obsessed with him, even before you’d formally met. 

Alchemax’s lab technicians rarely have reason to linger, they pick up samples, they drop off samples, occasionally they’ll ask for input on a report or two. But you? You always seemed to just be…around. Loitering on his floor long enough to wave a hello, to ask him if he wanted a coffee or a bagel, to show off your new “lab shoes”. Which, sure, isn’t all that odd on its own, definitely not cause for alarm, maybe you were just friendly, or bored. No, what tipped Miguel off was how you acted when you thought he couldn’t see you; the long stares, the bit lips, the quiet little laughs to yourself, like you were picturing things. Then, he’d caught you stealing his lab coat, snatching it from his locker and pressing the stark, white fabric to your face before shoving it into your bag and scurrying back to your lair home. The security camera that recorded you couldn’t lie. 

And, call him an idiot, he hadn’t reported you. And you’d stepped it up. Started speaking to him directly, cornering him when he was alone, “running into him” after work hours, before work hours, on weekends. Soon, he was seeing you everywhere, dodging your attempts at “quality time”, praying to God you’d realize he’s fucking boring and move on to some other unfortunate victim.

Not because he was afraid. He balances lab hours with bench pressing, and you…definitely don’t. He watched you struggle with jostling snacks out of the faulty vending machine on the 13th floor.

Miguel wanted you to move on because he was weak. Because he'd always been aware he was gonna give in to you eventually, always knew you’d wear him down and he'd take that sweet ass of yours for a ride. Just once, then he'd let you down easy, so you didn't get clingy or assign more meaning to the hookup than there was. He also knew that crazy people gave the best fucking head, the kind of shit that'd make a grown man weep, the kind of head Miguel would consider doing time for.

And he was too fucking drunk to remember it happening.

"Oh! That's okay!" You chirp, dejection quickly forgotten in the wake of Miguel's confession. You drop the blanket along with all modesty, exposing the curve of your tits and the soft jut of your stomach. Every inch of your skin looks velvety to the touch, tailor made to make Miguel salivate. You push back the cover, flipping nimbly onto your hands and knees. Slowly, you crawl towards Miguel, prowling towards him with single minded focus. The temperature of the room skyrockets, and the geneticist's breath stutters at the sight of your breasts sandwiched between your arms, your hips and thighs swaying and shifting while you advance. Your eyes almost glow in the lowlight of his bedroom, catching the sun filtering in and casting them in golden light. Your hair falls forward, sticking to the spit slick surface of your bottom lip. You look like temptation sent straight from hell, a succubus created by the devil with the sole purpose to drag Miguel to the fiery depths by his cock. 

"I remember everything." Your hand falls heavy on his thigh, and he can't help the interested thump in his groin. Your nails scratch his skin, the sensation so feather light, he worries he imagined it.

"Uh…" he stumbles for words, eyes dropping to the hand brushing his inner thigh. He needs to shut this down. Has to shut this down. Sex with you was supposed to be a one time thing, even if his recollection of that one time was lost in the haze of intoxication.

"And I can remind you. I can be so good at reminding you."  You’re whispering, but it doesn't fucking matter. Every word spilling from your bee stung lips thud through his mind like the heavy bass at a nightclub, knocking insistently at his ear drum for access to his brain. He begins to pray for strength in his mind.

"I don't think that's-" You sink your teeth into your bottom lip, leering, hungry eyes following his happy trail before they flick back up to meet his eye playfully.

Dios te salve, María; llena eres de gracia, el Señor es contigo. 

"You liked it so much. Said you never fucked anyone without a condom before. Said it felt perfect. Said you couldn't go back." 

Yeah, that fucking sounded like him. 

Bendita tú eres entre todas las mujeres. Y bendito es el fruto de tu vientre: Jesús.

"Look-"

You mouth a kiss at his shoulder, a sweet little gesture that turns into you dragging your tongue over the large vein lining the side of his neck. You puff a hot breath against his skin, crowding close enough for you to crush your chest against his, the hard tips of your nipples making themselves evident.

¿Cómo coño va el resto de la oración?

He's lost in the drugging spiral of your eyes, choking on his own tongue when you wrap a firm hand around his cock, squeezing and stroking with graceful finesse. His hips helplessly jerk to follow the movement, chasing the mindless pleasure you provide. He lets his head fall back, Adam's apple bobbing with each dry, laboured swallow. 

"Fuck." He whimpers, fucking whimpers, trying in vain to resist, but when you lowers your mouth and wrap your lips around the head of his cock, flicking your tongue against the crown, he lets go of it all.

And you, you don't miss a step, cementing your hand around the hilt and forcing the entirety of his dick down your throat in one go. Then instead of bobbing up and down like a goddamn normal person, You swallow. Again. And again. And again. Milking Miguel for all he's worth, never granting him a second of solace. Your tongue sneaks out, easing the path of his cock, dragging the flexing pink muscle against the spot where his shaft meets his balls. All the while humming and giggling as best you can manage around his length, sending vibrations through his legs to the soles of his feet and back again.

Crazy person. Crazy head. He fucking knew it.

He grits his teeth so hard he's worried they'll shatter, knotting his hand in your hair and grinding your face against his pelvis, fucking your face like it was the last thing he'd ever do. 

And with the way you were sucking him off, it just might be.

"Fuck!" He coughs, banging his free hand against his headboard, "I'm gonna-" he tapers off into a drawn out groan, planting his feet in preparation. Unfortunately, You pick that exact moment to pull off, shocking Miguel with cool air on his spit soaked dick. His cock twitches angrily, the tip near purple with need. 

"W-whuh?" He stammers, his mind racing to keep up with the lightning fast developments between the two of you.

“You can’t come yet! That’s not how it happened.” You sing-song, like you’re teasing him, like this was a cute little game you and him were playing. You swing your leg over his hip so you can straddle him. The light from his window illuminates your side, lighting up your silhouette with warm orange sunbeams. “No, no, no.” Your laugh is the tinkling of glass wind chimes in the entryway of a haunted house. “You came right here.” You pat your abdomen, and Miguel has to bite on his knuckle when he catches your meaning. His eyes drift lower and the scientist is blown away by how visibly wet you are. He tries to reach out, to touch, to feel, but You grab his wrists before he can make contact. 

“We gotta get you to remember, Miguel! I’ll show you.” You push his hands back, until both of his arms are bent and his head is resting on his joined hands. 

“You stay just like that,��� you murmur, your eyes liquid pools of molten colour, hooded with desire. “I’ll take care of everything.” It’s all Miguel can do to nod like a fucking idiot when you take hold of his cock again, giving it two or three strokes before you notches his head against the already clenching entrance of your cunt. You begin your descent, shuddering with pleasure and keening loudly, letting air whiz through your teeth when Miguel is only half inside. 

“Ah…wanted this so bad. And now I get it again. Couldn’t think of anything else.” You rock your hips, allowing another inch of Miguel to sink inside your pussy. You continue to speak, tone delirious and euphoric, “So deep already!” You press a finger to your stomach, sinking onto his erection and following his place inside you with the tip of a digit. You both follow his path with your eyes, until he’s fully seated inside. He watches as your eyes roll back into your empty little head, watches you palm your chest and swivel your hips, rubbing your clit against Miguel’s pelvis in time with your teasing hand. From the new vantage point Miguel can see the imprints of his own teeth decorating your legs, a trail of his hunger from the night before.

You rise and fall on him, dropping the weight of your mass onto his hips, gripping his shaft like a vice. Every resounding clap throws Miguel’s mind into disarray. 

He wishes his hands were on your hips. 

He likes keeping his hands behind his head. 

He wishes he could watch your ass shake and roll against him. 

He loves watching your tits bounce with every thrust.

He couldn’t decide what would be better, couldn’t decide how he wanted the image of you riding his cock permanently imprinted in his mind. 

Guess he’d just have to do this again. 

Bummer.

“You know,” you pant, fucking up and down on him, never losing your rhythm, even as you feverishly speak to him. You brace your hands on his shins, forcing your own back to arch, showing off your chest even further. “I think I could get addicted to this.” Your voice is breathy and high, and you laugh out loud, giggling non-stop, expression caught between delight and disbelief. “I-I can’t give this up. I can’t forget, Miguel. I won’t.” 

Madre de Dios, you are a psycho.

You circle your hips again, clenching down on him before letting yourself fall forward, squishing your breasts against him, and grabbing at his face, dipping your tongue between his lips until he kisses you back, tangles his tongue with yours. Miguel’s head spins, your scent, the slide of your damp skin on his, your greedy little cunt throbbing around him, all reduce him to rubble. He bites into your shoulder again, in nearly the exact same spot he had the night prior. Miguel wrenches his hands from their relaxed position, bringing both palms down on your ass, hard. You shriek out loud, tongue lolling out of your mouth, the impact shoving you brutally over the edge.

His dick aches for the same release, jolting and twitching as he takes control, planting his feet again and fucking up into your dripping entrance. He pushes your body up, so he can see all of you. Stare with incredulous, hardcoded lust at your swaying form. Miguel spanks you again and again, on your tits, your ass, your thighs, smacks what he can reach of your belly and grunts when you beg for more, raining down blows on every available inch of skin.

“Miguel!” You cry out, pussy fluttering around him. You try to grab at him, try to maintain your hold, wrapping your hand around the cross on his neck. Later, he’ll be grateful for the necklace’s strong chain, otherwise the childhood gift would’ve been long gone. Miguel wrenches your hand off it, letting you lace your trembling fingers with his. 

Even being fucked like a ragdoll doesn’t stop you from being strange. You eyeball your joined hands, a manic, out of control grin smeared like paint over your face. “O-our hands are k-kissing!” You huff out, bringing your joined palms to your lips and sucking on two of Miguel’s fingers, fucking your mouth with them like you did with his cock.

Strange as hell, but fuck if you didn’t make him moan like a bitch. 

Your pussy clings to him, refusing to let him go, every drag in and out tears at the already frayed fabric of Miguel’s control. 

“I’m gonna-” he repeats, and you cut him off again, though this time, mercifully, you don’t pull away. 

“Inside! Come inside” You demand, words slurred around his fingers. You crash down on him even harder, forcing him so deep he swears the tip of his cock breaches your cervix, and by the way you, his little stalker, bucks and screams when he comes inside you, he’d say it's more than a little likely. Heavy gluts of his seed fill you quickly, painting your insides white in waves.

“Ooooh.” You collapse forward, your cheek pressed to his chest, ear directly above his heart. Your shoulders jostle and shake in the aftermath, body shivering with the last remnants of your orgasms. Miguel feels appropriately drained, as though you’d been drinking directly from his life source, draining his vitality through his dick. Your fingers are still intertwined, and Miguel can’t bring himself to break the connection, staring at the union and squeezing your soft hand in his own brutish palm. 

“You are…fucking persistant.” He mutters, shifting you further up his body but not completely pulling out, allowing for your head to find rest in between his neck and shoulder. 

“Mmm.” you murmur, beyond words. “Sorry.” your voice is raspy, well used, and Miguel can’t help the little surge of pride he feels, remembering your screams.

He snorts and reaches down to grope at your ass and thigh. “You aren’t sorry.”

“Well…no. But!” You lift your face to stare at him, “I promise I’ll make it worth your while. You can come in me as many times as you want. You can leave me chained to your bed. Oh! Or you could use my-”

“I get it!” Miguel covers your mouth with his hand, exhaustion settling deep in his bones despite waking from sleep not long ago. “Fuck. Just…shut up for now, okay? Can you do that?” He feels your plush lips open against his palm.

“Aht!” He cuts you off before you can disobey, and relaxes in full when you elect to nod, closing your mouth and settling against him again.

“Good. Let’s just be quiet, hm?”

You linger in silence for a while, you, breathing in the scent of Miguel’s skin and Miguel, brushing his fingertips against your spine.

It’s serene, it’s sweet, he can almost pretend you’re normal.

“I give a really great tit job too.”

Almost.

find the rest of the masterlist here.

whew, squeezed it in under the wire. i promise tomorrow's will come earlier.

support city girls with daddy issues and catholic guilt, reblog what you like.

[miguelswifey04]

boxer! miguel o’hara x doctor! reader (part 1)

summary: where you’re the new doctor at the boxing gym and you meet miguel o’hara, the famous and most strongest boxer. will you and him both explore the depths of your desires or keep it professional?

🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱

you were hired to be the new doctor of the UFC gym where the famous boxer, miguel o’hara, was part of. being a well known olympic-level doctor for the USA women’s gymnastics team the UFC immediately hired you on the spot since you wanted a chance of scenery. it would be a lie to say you didn’t miss the bonds and friendships you created with the women on the gymnastics team but you needed to do this. you needed to expand your horizons.

now after the first fight of the new season, miguel o’hara had become victorious but was definitely battered up. he was sent to you after his win to be fixed up but lo and behold he wasn’t expecting to see a pretty doctor like yourself to be the new doctor around here. his eyes widen for a moment as he sees you. “oh, you must be the new doctor..." he says with a weak smile. he was beaten up pretty bad and was furrowing his brows due to his exhaustion. you glanced at him and smiled sweetly, “yes! i am.” you fixed your doctor’s coat and went to put on gloves. miguel’s eyes wandered to your figure taking in your slim and muscular build. he was a little curious to see that you were athletic and in shape but he quickly looked away when you turned around to face him with that pretty smile of yours.

standing tall, his muscular form showcased his battle-worn physique. his brown skin glistened with a fine sheen of sweat, testament to the demanding match he had just endured.

tightly bandaged hands, speckled with patches of dried blood, were evidence of the brutal punches miguel had delivered. despite his injuries, the aura of authority clung to him, radiating an air of confidence and power.

he approached the doctor, his steps slightly unsteady from exhaustion. taking in the your slightly shorter stature, curvy yet athletic figure, his eyes roamed over every delicate curve with a mix of appreciation and desire. miguel’s gaze lingered on the doctor's mocha skin, drawn to its inviting warmth, contrasting with his own deep brown eyes.

“mmm, a new doctor, huh?" miguel’s voice was hoarse, a result of the intensive match. it carried a hint of a rugged charm, overshadowed by a layer of weariness. "you’ve got your work cut out for you, doc. gonna need some tender loving care after that fight."

the ache in his muscles made a massage seem tantalizingly appealing to him, but miguel wondered if the doctor's touch had the potential to ignite a different kind of fire within him. nevertheless, he needed to maintain his professional demeanor, at least for now.

“name’s miguel o'hara, but you can call me migs," he introduced himself, granting the doctor permission to address him as such. "so, doc, what do you think? can you patch me up and get me back in fighting shape?

you nodded your head as you patted down the bed where’d you needed him to sit on, “yes of course! nice to meet you, migs. my name is dr. y/n but you can just call me y/n.” you smiled sweetly as miguel followed your instructions and watch him situate himself on the bed. “likewise, doc.”

“this isn’t something i can’t do after all i have experience as i used to work with olympic gymnasts.” you carefully touched him.

he extended his bruised hand towards the doctor, seeking their touch. the injuries inflicted upon his hand during the fight throbbed gently, acting as a reminder of the intensity with which he fought. miguel’s eyes never left the doctor, his gaze filled with an intensity that could rival the fire burning within him.

“but let's put those skills to the test, doc," Miguel continued, a subtle grin playing at the corners of his lips. "my hands might be a little roughed up, but i’m sure you can work some magic and bring them back to life."

he leaned forward, his toned body shifting slightly as he closed the distance between them. the scent of sweat and adrenaline clung to his skin, mingling with the subtle allure of his natural musk. the enticing combination teased the air between them, heightening the small space that separated their bodies.

“as an olympic-level doctor, you're not afraid of a little challenge, are you?" miguel’s voice dropped to a low and seductive tone, his eyes glinting with a mixture of playful challenge and raw desire. "because I could use a little TLC, doc, especially from someone as skilled as you. think you can handle it?"

miguel obediently took a seat on the bed, his body relaxing under the doctor's gentle guidance. the softness in your voice soothed him, creating an atmosphere of trust and comfort. though he was used to handling situations with authority and dominance, in this moment, he allowed himself to surrender control and place his well-being in the doctor's capable hands.

his dark brown eyes followed the doctor's every move, studying your grace and precision as you prepared to tend to his battered hands. miguel’s hands were strong and calloused from years of training and fighting, a visual representation of the skill and power he possessed in the ring.

as your nimble fingers began to unwrap the bandages, miguel’s senses were immediately heightened. the gentle touch against his skin sent a shiver of anticipation coursing through his body. he fought the urge to lean even closer, wanting to immerse himself in the doctor's touch, in their essence.

“you’ve got quite the touch, doc," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "feels like you know just how much pressure to apply, how to bring out the healing without sacrificing sensuality."

his gaze never wavered, their eyes locked in an unspoken understanding. miguel’s fingers twitched involuntarily, as if craving the doctor's touch, wishing to trace the contours of your body, to imprint the sensations on his fingertips.

he leaned back slightly, exposing more of his hands to your tender ministrations. as individual strands of bandage fell away, his injuries were laid bare for inspection. bruises and cuts painted a vivid picture of the relentless battle he had endured.

miguel indulged in the anticipation, wondering how the you would heal him, wondering if your touch would ignite a new fire within him, a different kind of intensity. he relished the moment, knowing that in the your hands, his body would be both vulnerable and safe.

———

a/n: i need to stop with these AU’s 💆🏽‍♀️

this is definitely going to be in parts <3

tags 🏷️: @kairiscorner @dracuilina

[kairiscorner]

omgomg imagine reader being the radio announcer at the hq and miles and his gang came and messed around in her studio playing a super bass boosted version of barbie girl it almost sounds like earrape or they do sum silly shit like putting on goofy sound effects on the hq’s speakers (it completely pisses miguel off but readers just vibin ;p)

OH LMAO I HAD AN IDEA LIKE THIS WHATTTTT omg i should write about that, BUT THIS IS TOO GOOD TO PASS UP HEHE (sorry for the shitty spanish aaaaaa)

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

miguel o'hara x radio announcer!reader

greeting everyone in HQ a good morning and reading out reminders from miguel and the other higher-ups, occasionally taking song requests and reading out anonymous messages left for you to read aloud from all kinds of people in the spider society, was your daily routine that you never tired of doing. you always had a beautiful, melodic voice; it was an unforgettable, sweet one that everyone yearned to hear. without your voice, how could anyone start their day? well... they could always start it with an unscheduled, unplanned airing of a very crispy version of 'barbie girl' by aqua at 6:30 AM in the morning.

as you drank your coffee at your booth, surprised that the song was playing but not too surprised that you began wheezing it out of your mouth, you looked around as to what could've been making that noise. being an expert here at the radio booth, you knew exactly where to look; since you never got any request that you knew of to play such a bass boosted song, you knew from the get-go that you were being hijacked. you saw that a few cables and wires were stolen, and they lead all the way to... downstairs. you looked down, and there were the four trouble makers: miles, gwen, pav, and hobie. they all smirked, grinned, stifled laughter, and showed you a thumbs up.

you heard the crashing of glass nearby and the scraping of metal not long after, you cheered the kids on with a smile as you heard angry screaming in spanish and english by a familiar, groggy and deep, guttural voice from a man who did not want to be bothered by his 30 minute slumber. thus, miguel o'hara has awoke. he yelled up at your booth with bloodshot eyes and furrowed brows, "qué es ese maldito ruido?! did you authorize for this shit to be broadcasted at 6 FUCKING 30 IN THE MORNING?!" miguel exclaimed in an angry voice as you looked down at him with a sly smile and with mischievous eyes. "don't look at me... i'll get shy." you teased with a slight wink as miguel looked at you all confused and frustrated.

you didn't sell the kids out, you bought them just enough time to run off scot-free as miguel remained ever so angry at whoever played that damn, bothersome music so early in the morning. you'd feel bad... but being able to see him in such tiny boxers that he wears to bed with disheveled hair and hearing his low, sleepy voice was quite the treat for your eyes. maybe you should let these kids hijack your station more often, no?

tags !! @miguelswifey04 @binibinileonara @luvstarrstruck @melovetitties @arachnoia @ophanimgold @popeheywardssecretgf @meeom @simsrandomstuff @hisachuu @wreakingmarveloushavok

[jedijesi]

Caught In the Cat's Web Chapter 6

Miguel O'Hara x Felicia Hardy!Reader

Previous Chapter 🕸️ Series Masterlist

Warnings: Violence, Fluff, Smutty, she/her pronouns

Word Count: 5k+

Summary: Felicia and Miguel go undercover at the Mafia's gala to retrieve the Green Goblin's mask.

Co-Author: @stclairesplace

A/N: THIS IS MY FAVORITE CHAPTER SO FAR!

Nueva York, Earth-838

Felicia woke up the next morning with a throbbing headache. The dull pain throbbed behind her eyes as she blinked and tried to regain her bearings. 

"Good morning, sleepy head," a voice, soft yet unexpected, startled the poor woman. Felicia's eyes darted toward the source, and there stood LYLA with a mischievous smirk on her digital face.

"Fuck! How long have you been here?" Felicia asked, her heartbeat still racing from the sudden surprise.

"Miguel asked me to watch over you. Your vitals are great, no concussion, thankfully. You're just gonna be sore." Lyla's figure flickered as she glitched around Felicia, her artificial eyes inspecting her wounds with a concerned gaze.

“O-Oh.” Felicia looked around the room, remembering how the night ended yesterday. “Is Miguel here?” 

“On his way back, actually. Want me to alert him?”

Felicia shook her head, her hand instinctively moving to her temple, massaging the throbbing headache that seemed to intensify with each movement. She winced, trying to fight off the persistent discomfort before speaking. "No, no, that's alright," she murmured. "I should sneak out." 

“Sneak out?” Miguel questioned as he opened the door. “That's not very polite.” 

“You eavesdrop, now?” 

Miguel rolls his eyes, “Super hearing plus thin walls makes it easy to hear your loud ass voice.” He says as he strides over to the side of the bed. “Here.” He says’ holding out a cup for Felicia. 

“What's this?” She hesitantly takes the drink. 

“You always get an iced latte with oat milk” He shrugs.

“What did you do to it?” She asks, taking off the lid and giving it a sniff. 

“Be grateful, you brat.” Miguel crosses his arms. Felicia smirks at the remark, she slowly takes a careful sip, humming at how the flavor runs down her throat. Miguel sits on the bed next, facing Felicia. “May I?” He gestures to the bandages. 

Felicia nods, watching Miguel as he slowly and meticulously removes her bandages. He reaches to the bedside table where he left an extra towel from last night, using it to wipe the leftover healing gel from Felicia’s skin. 

“How’s it looking, doc?” 

“No more gashes, just faint scratches your makeup can easily cover,” Miguel says as his thumb slowly runs over each faint cut. 

“My hero.” Felica purrs teasingly but stops in her tracks as Miguel’s thumb runs along the cut below her bottom lip. 

Felicia’s trance is broken as Miguel stands from the bed. “LYLA’s making the final adjustments on your suit to make it withstand more power, so it should be ready before we go to work today.” He says as he walks out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, Felicia following. 

“Well in that case I can’t wait. Not to say that this very oversized t-shirt and boxer shorts aren’t the look.” She teases.

Miguel looks at her with a dark look on his face, a slight smile forms from her witty response as he walks down the stairs towards the kitchen.

Felicia sits down at the kitchen counter on the barstool, Miguel across from her leaning over the counter so he stands at her level. Her body language changes drastically from sass to insecurity, her hands tentatively holding onto her coffee cup.

She decides to be the first one to talk. “Look um- about last night-”

“Felicia…” Miguel cuts her off. His hands on the counter slowly move closer to hers the more they speak. “I know I don’t seem like the most approachable in these kinds of things, but um- you can always come to me. I don't want you to feel like you can't call for backup or that you're alone.” 

Felicia nods to him in gratitude. She had never noticed it before, the way his eyes looked right now. Who would’ve thought that the always cold, warning glare could become so soft, so fast? They got so caught up just staring at each other that they almost didn’t hear LYLA greet them.

“Ahem!” LYLA clears her throat. “Are you two going to stare at each other like lost puppies still or can I finally say my piece?” 

“What is it LYLA?” Miguel asks begrudgingly.

“We just got an alert from the vault. There was a pretty nasty fight with the an unidentified subject last night. Looks like they stole the Green goblins mask from the vault and left the universe, Miguel.” 

Miguel now stands up straight, face etched with concern about the high price of tech being stolen, especially in the wrong hands. “Were you able to track them down? Get a precise location?” 

“Was I able to track them down, of course I was! Why else would I be here?” She asks mockingly. “It looks like there’s going to be an auction tonight in Earth- 1048 at 9. If my calcs are correct they’ll try to sell that thing for cuckoo bucks to the local gangs and VIPs such as Hammerhead and Kingpin.”

“Okay so we go in stealthy, get the mask, get out. Simple Tuesday afternoon.”

“Sorry Mig, but not so easy this time.” 

“Great.” He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. ”Why’s that Lyla?”  

“Not only is it an auction, but looks like there's going to be their annual gala beforehand. And unfortunately, the place is well locked up and guarded with all the VIP, so you’re gonna have to go to the gala, Miguel.” LYLA says with a smirk. 

“Alright then undercover it is. Alert Jessica to get ready.” 

“She's taking the weekend off with her fiance, remember?” 

Miguel frowns. “I can just do it alone then.” LYLA shakes her head no. Miguel lets out a heavy sigh as LYLA glitches to Felicia, making large gestures to her. 

“Don’t worry big boy you had me at valuable. I’d love to come with and browse.” Felicia rises from her chair, scantily walking over to where Miguel and LYLA stand. 

“No. I don't think so.” Miguel scoffs. 

Felicia rolls her eyes, “You remember I used to do this like every weekend for fun, right? If anything I’m more qualified than you.” 

Miguel hates how right she is. “Felicia, are you sure you’re even feeling up to this?” He questions her.

Felicia nods. “I miss this stuff, plus I could use a distraction anyway.” 

Taking a moment to pace the kitchen, Miguel hesitantly agrees. “Alright then. We’ll meet in the conference room later, form a plan, and get dressed for the part.”

LYLA starts jumping excitedly, “Oooohhhh I can’t wait to start working on your aliases!” 

After Felicia puts on some more presentable clothes, she and Miguel call a meeting in the conference room to inform Miguel’s group of highly-ranked Spider-People. Miguel and Felicia stand at the front of the room, watching as decorated members swing in, filling up the room. 

Miguel clears his throat before grabbing the attention of the Spider-People. “We summoned you here today because there was a break-in at the Vault late last night.” A series of whispers ensues as Spider-People panic, trying to understand what's going on. “Enough!” Miguel bangs his fist on the table to bring the commotion to a standstill. “When Jessica Drew gets back from her leave, the two of us and LYLA will conduct an investigation. For now, the Vault tower is off limits, understand?” Heads nod in response to Miguel’s demands. 

LYLA appears in the middle of the table to take over. “Tonight is a Gala for some of the largest crime families and VIPs. That's where the wings are. All of you are to be on stand-by while Miguel and Felicia infiltrate-”

“Felicia? Felicia Hardy?” A Spider-Man stands up, scoffing. “Come on! We all know the infamous Black Cat, if you wanna launch an investigation, start with her.” Felicia feels her blood boil, trying her best to contain herself. “She's probably using us all to get her dirty paws all over the Vault.”

“Don’t you accuse me! I’m innocent!” Felicia leans over the long table, pointing her finger at the smug spider. 

“Why don’t you just settle down there, son, and let them speak, alright?” Web-Slinger speaks up, trying to get the heat off of Felicia. 

The Spider-man rolls his eyes, “Yeah? Where’s your suit? You ditch it after the security cameras saw you in it? Wearing that trashbag isn't gonna make you innocent.” He gestures to the large black hoodie Miguel gave Felicia. 

“Felicia Hardy has nothing to do with this!” Miguel snaps, his booming voice startling the crowd of heroes. “You have no right to know the details of her whereabouts last night, I personally, oversaw her mission and her locations. If I hear someone accuse the Night Spider or judge her based on her variants, we will be having a one-on-one talk, understood?.” The heads of each Spider-Person in the room nod, feeling the intensity of Miguel’s statement. Felicia on the other hand, stood there in surprise, studying the stern look on Miguel’s face. “Felicia and I will be heading out tonight. LYLA, fill them in on the rest, we're done.” Miguel grabs Felicia by the hand, dragging her out of the meeting. 

“Miguel?” Felicia tries to gain the hysteric man’s attention as he storms down the hall, with her in hand. 

Once the two enter the elevator, Miguel turns to Felicia with regretful eyes. “I’m sorry that Spider-Man accused you.” 

Felicia shrugs. “I've been accused of a lot worse. Are you alright, though?” 

Miguel nods. “Yeah, it's just that… I know you've been through a lot within the past 12 hours and I really didn't want to make things worse. You didn’t deserve that.” 

The elevator doors ding open, prompting the two to walk out and down the hall to Miguel’s Penthouse. “Is it alright if I shower? Maybe get some makeup for these cuts?”

“Of course, mí casa es tú casa.” Miguel nods. “I’ll have LYLA deliver your outfit and supplies to your room for when you're done.  

LYLA had completed all the planning for the heist, the only left to be done was dressing the part. Out of everything, getting dressed was apparently, the most difficult part for Miguel.  

“Just flip this piece over there and then this moves under here. And then tha- Miguel, no! Now you have to start over!” LYLA yells frustratingly at Miguel trying to help him tie his tie to his suit.

“LYLA it’s been a while for me just calm down for a second! I can’t concentrate on all this yelling!” Miguel fires back at her. 

“What’s with all the commotion out here?” Felicia’s voice comes from the hallway. 

It isn’t until she steps out from under the shadows that her full profile is on display, and it’s one that Miguel knows he will never forget. She wore a tight black dress that hugged her curves perfectly with two leg slits that showed off her legs. Her face was made up with smoky eyes and light makeup to cover the bruises and cuts. While her platinum hair was let down resting over her shoulder and perfectly framing her face. When Miguel saw her, he felt his heart skip a beat and neither he nor LYLA could peel their eyes off of her as she sauntered to them. 

“Is that what you call a tie?” She gestures with a giggle to the monstrosity of a knot that gathers around Miguel’s neck. “I’ll help you. Stand still.” Felicia rocked onto her tip-toes to fix Miguel’s tie for him, his eyes never once looking away. Once she was finished she patted it successfully, cheering “All done! Oh by the way I thought these might help with the whole disguise, Mr. Kent.” She says handing him a pair of simple black-rimmed glasses.

“Thank you,” Miguel mumbled to her quietly,  still half flustered with her face being so close to his. 

“Mhm. Are we ready to go?” Felicia asks cheerfully, impatient to take her mind off of the chaos from this past week. 

“Yes, mhmm all ready.” Miguel stutters out. He opens up the portal quickly. Before stepping through after Felicia goes first LYLA sends him off with a not-so-subtle wink and points to Felicia’s outfit. Miguel lowers his head in an attempt to hide his smirk, not wanting Felicia to catch on. 

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

New York, Earth-1048

The portal opened up in a dimly lit alley just outside the grand building. The echoes of lively music and joyous laughter reached Felicia and Miguel's ears, promising an evening of revelry and luxury inside.

"Madam," Miguel said with a chivalrous flourish, holding his arm out for Felicia to take. His eyes sparkled with a mischievous twinkle, knowing that their mission demanded a bit of theatrics.

"Why, thank you, sir," Felicia purred with a playful smile, slipping her arm through his. Together, they stepped out of the shadows and into the opulent world beyond, bathed in the radiant glow of the gala's lights.

As they entered, the grandeur of the interior overwhelmed them. The intricate marble architecture reached up to the heavens, seemingly daring the stars themselves to shine brighter. Towers of crystal-clear champagne glasses sparkled like liquid diamonds, and candle-lit chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting a warm, enchanting glow over the opulent guests.

The scene before them was a living tableau of wealth and elegance. They couldn’t help but take a moment to admire the intricate marble architecture, towers of champagne, and candle-lit chandeliers. Guests adorned in gowns and tuxedos, with jewels that gleamed like captured stardust, mingled and danced. Each conversation, a whispered secret in the language of the elite. Each step, a waltz through a world of privilege.

Felicia and Miguel stood for a moment, awestruck by the sheer opulence around them. They had infiltrated the heart of affluence, a world of wealth and excess that seemed worlds away from their usual reality. With determination in their hearts and masks of sophistication in place, they prepared to navigate this glittering labyrinth, where secrets and intrigue hid beneath a facade of glamour.

Felicia wanted nothing more than to forget about the green goblin’s helmet and mingle with the mafia wives wearing the biggest stones she’d seen for wedding rings. Instead, she cursed to herself, trying to comprehend why doing the “right thing” was more important. 

“Down, Gatita,” Miguel muttered to Felicia, bumping her side with his elbow to take her out of her trance. “I see you eye-fucking those stones.” Felicia sighed, forcing herself to look away, despite them practically screaming her name. 

The two strut through the gala, offering a series of fake smiles to passing guests. As the waiter waltzs by with a tray of tall champagne glasses, Felicia snags two for her and Miguel, helping them pass as the average party-goer. 

The music from the jazz band stops as the announcer takes the stage. “Thank you, everyone, for attending, the auction will start in twenty minutes.” He informs the crowd before the band continues once again. 

“Come on,” Felicia says, leading Miguel to one of the marble columns at the edge of the crowded grand hall. 

“What are we doing here?” He asks. 

“Scoping out the situation.” She says, taking a sip of her champagne. “What do you see?”

Miguel studies the crowd for a moment as Felicia leans against the column carelessly. “A bunch of rich fucks.” He shrugs. 

Felicia shakes her head in disappointment, swallowing what's left of the champagne in her mouth. “How are you the leader of the Spider Society?” She whispers. “I had a feeling this was your first time, though. Come here.” She wiggles her finger in a come-hither motion, prompting the gigantic man to bend down. Felicia fixes Miguel’s hair, running her fingers through it before subtly pressing a button on the temple tips of the black glasses. Suddenly, Miguel’s world is illuminated with information as the locations of cameras, guards, guns, and the layout of the room are on full display. 

“Holy shit,” Miguel mumbles, blinking his eyes as they adjust to the new scenery. “Do you have a pair?”

Felicia shakes her head as she studies the crowd. “In my goggles, but after a while you start noticing this stuff without them.” She states. “You know the drill.” 

The two wait for the twenty minutes to pass, studying their environment and listening to the band. “Wanna dance?” Felicia nods to the group of couples in front of the stage slow dancing. 

Miguel scolds Felicia. “No.”

“You're no fun.” She huffs, crossing her arms and taking another drink from the waiter passing by. 

The song finishes, leaving Felicia as bored as ever until a sultry melody fills the air of the dazzling ballroom. The soft strains of Feeling Good by Nina Simone reverberated through the space, capturing the attention of everyone in the room. As if drawn by an invisible force, Felicia hands Miguel her glass before finding herself stepping onto the dance floor, her body moving instinctively to the rhythm. As she swayed and twirled, her movements exuded a sensuality that seemed to captivate those around her. A sultry smile graced her lips as she explored her own body with gentle caresses, lost in the music and the euphoria it brought. Amongst the crowd, Miguel leaned casually against a column, his gaze fixed solely on Felicia.

Just as Felicia was caught up in her own world, a stranger from the audience approached her. With confident steps, he joined her on the dance floor, their bodies intertwining like a passionate tango. Though initially intrigued, Miguel's smile gradually faded into a look of discomfort as he watched the other man touch Felicia during their waltz. Miguel still admires the way she is dancing, but a small part of him wishes that he was the one she was dancing with. 

As the song reached its crescendo, the final notes hung in the air before fading away, leaving behind a silence in the crowd. Breaking free from the embrace of the stranger, Felicia graciously thanked him for the dance as he kissed the back of her hand. With a glimmering smile, Felicia made her way back to Miguel's side. Her eyes still sparkling from the excitement, as it had been so long since she had gone to a gala or danced.  

Once the announcer takes the stage, Felicia finishes her glass, trading with Miguel for his full glass and walking off. Miguel walks in the opposite direction to the champagne tower located adjacent to the stage. He places the empty drink down, before focusing on Felicia’s location, highlighted in his new glasses. Through the crowd, he watches as she places thumb-tac-sized devices around the room. 

After a few minutes, Felicia gives Miguel the signal, as she finishes, prompting him to slowly move towards the room behind the stage where the valuables were kept. 

“For our third item of the night, we have Green Goblin’s mask. It's said to have information and recordings of Spiderman, and other super-powered individuals.” The audience oos and aws over the mask, intrigued by all that it holds. “We will be starting the bidding at 3.5 million.” Paddles begin to rise rapidly as the attendees excitedly bid for the one-of-a-kind piece. After a few minutes of bidding, the clack of the gavel on wood echoes through the hall. “Sold for 15.7 million dollars!” 

Miguel tried his best to hide his disgust, but it became difficult as the room of greedy idiots cheered. Finally, a staff member carefully whisks the mask away to the back, prompting Felicia to set off her EMPs and disrupters. Like an earthquake, the building rumbles, creating a series of cracks through the marble infrastructure. Panic radiates through party-goers as Felicia chugs the rest of her drink before blending in with the mayhem. 

While chaos ensues, Miguel slips into the back but is immediately met with six large men, guarding the jewels and valuables of the auction. Not wanting the word to get out of a Spider-man, Miguel doesn't transform into his suit, instead, he cocks his arms, taking a swing at the first man. The others pull out their weapons but are too late as Miguel throws a smoke bomb into the middle, disorienting the men, and hindering their vision. Not wanting to accidentally shoot each other, they don't fire their weapons. However, this gives Miguel the advantage as he solely relies on his spider-sense to locate each man. It doesn't take more than two minutes for Miguel to sneak up on each guard, choking them out, stabbing them with his claws, using their weapon against them, or using his poisonous bite. 

As the smoke clears, the only life left in the room is Miguel. Unfortunately, his suit jacket had been ripped during his maneuvering, forcing him to leave it behind in order to not be suspected of the crime. Hastily, he grabs the Green Goblin mask from its podium, before dashing out of the side doors. 

As Miguel emerges, he finds Felicia waiting for him along with a pile of bloody bodies at her heels. “Finally!” She groans. With the mask in hand, the two sprint to the elevators at the end of the hall. “What took you so damn long?” 

“Long?” Miguel questions, baffled by her question. “There were six guards, I took them out quickly!” 

“I still don't understand why you were so adamant about being the one to get the mask. I could have done all of it without you in half the time!” 

“Take this.” Miguel ignores Felicia, handing her the mask. 

“What why?” 

“I don't have anywhere to hide it, I trust you more with it.”  

Miguel rolls the sleeves of his white button up to his forearms as Felicia presses the elevator button. Once the golden doors open, the two quickly rush inside, pressing the rooftop button, 70 floors up. As soon as the doors shut, they let out the heavy breaths they seemed to be holding, getting a hold of their bearing now that they were in the clear. 

“Well I guess that could’ve gone worse”, Miguel says. 

“Right, yeah, definitely.” Felcica breathes out, resting her elbow on the bar, and leaning back to calm down.

Miguel leans on the elevator wall adjacent to her. “You still have the mask, right?” He asks, paranoid. 

Felicia rolls her eyes in disgust, raising it as proof. “Do you have no faith in me? Of course! You think I would be able to lose something this valuable?” She fires back with a smirk. 

The elevator begins to slow down, signifying the next floor is approaching, only it isn't their floor. Simultaneously, a chill goes down Felicia and Miguel’s spine as their senses tingle, prompting their heads to whip around, looking at each other. 

“Feel that?” Miguel asks. 

“I feel it.” Felicia nods as Miguel searches the elevator for any kind of assistance. 

“We need a distra-” Miguels stops in thought, and moves closer to where Felicia stands in the corner of the elevator, his body now completely covering her and the mask she holds. “Kiss me” He rushes as the elevator dings, signalling the new floor. 

Without hesitation, Felicia’s free hand wrapped around Miguel’s tie, tugging his head down to hers. Their lips press together, trapping them in a fiery kiss. The handful of henchmen who entered the elevator, averted their eyes from the passionate scene, far too uncomfortable to watch. Miguel’s hands firmly wrapped around her waist, while one of Felicia’s hands secretly held the mask against his chest. Her free hand, tugged his hair, pulling a low moan from his throat. 

Eleven floors later, the elevator slowed the pace again to let the group practically run out to leave the two alone again. Miguel and Felicia are barely aware of their absence as their lips mod together, tongues fighting for dominance. Her hand moves around his neck and hairline, occasionally grabbing a lock of his hair, making him groan again, addicted to the sound. Meanwhile, his hands were sliding everywhere desperately exploring Felicia’s body. His strong, calloused hands ran along her waist and up to the pit of her back, where he could feel her strapless bra through her thin dress. Without warning, Miguel scoops her up, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist for support. He pins her against the wall of the elevator, their bodies pressed together as they continue to kiss and pant heavily. Miguel separates only long enough to start pressing hot, wet kisses down the side of her neck. Felicia panting heavily above him, the feeling of his fangs teasing her neck, driving her wild. His head moves back up to kiss her on her jaw, her chin, and then her lips. Before their lips could reunite the elevator bell dings, announcing they’re arrival on the roof. 

The bell snaps the two out of their trance, both baffled by the moment. Miguel lowers Felicia to her feet before turning to fix his tie and run his finger through his hair to compose himself. Meanwhile, Felicia stands behind the man, catching her breath and adjusting her dress quickly before exiting the elevator in complete silence. Miguel walks the barren rooftop, making sure no one is around before making a portal with his watch back to Headquarters. 

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

Nueva York, Earth-838

After emerging from the portal and back into headquarters, they act and look as if nothing ever happened. Their minds play tug of war, one side vowing to never do such a thing again while desperately wanting to recreate the moment. 

In silence, the two rush to the vault where a team of Spider-People and LYLA waits. Felicia hands them the mask before taking a step back, letting Miguel handle the rest, unable to think with her mind clouded.

After, Miguel and Felicia make it back to his apartment. She wasn't sure whether she should stay or leave, but after a moment, she ultimately decided to stay as leaving could make things worse. As soon as they walk in the door they walk their separate ways. Miguel retires in his room while Felicia bolts for hers. She walks into the attached bathroom and splashes cold water on her face in an attempt to wash her thoughts away. This doesn't work though, leaving her to focus on her reflection as she thinks to herself. 

What the hell is happening right now?

She’s unable to stop thinking about how amazing his lips and hands felt on her body. How she wanted- no, needed to feel it again. 

I need to talk to Miguel about this, right? Felicia sighs, letting her head drop in shame. I’m gonna look like such a fool.  

Felicia makes her way to the bedroom door, taking a deep breath before pressing the button to slide it open. She jumps, as she is met with Miguel’s chest. With nobody able to speak, they simply look into each other’s eyes until she sees the way his eyes shift, just like they did in the elevator. 

Not a word had to be uttered before the two crashed their lips into each other once again. Miguel taps her on the leg signaling her to jump up, her legs to wrapping around his waist as he starts to make his way inside the room to the bed. Their lips remain interlocked as he lowers her on the bed. They part for a moment to breathe, causing Felicia to smirk as she sees the way his eyes look at her like she’s his prey. His body hovers over hers as they continue to lock lips once more. Her nails slid along his back, as his knee rubbed against her between her thighs, causing her to gasp at the sensation. Before things could go any further, Felicia lets out a light wince, causing Miguel to pull back immediately, concern written all over his face. 

“What’s wrong, gatitia?” He rubs her thighs in soothing, circular motions. 

“Oh no- nothing, just rubbed a sore bruise from the other night or something that’s all. I guess it still hurts.” She smiles sheepishly. 

Miguel mutters out a soft, “I’m sorry”, taking his hand and gently raising her dress to reveal her aching side before delicately caressing the spot. 

“It’s ok, you didn’t mean to.” She smiles softly, causing Miguel to reciprocate as he leans back down. Before their lips could meet again, a knock sounded at the door. 

“Fuck.” Miguel groans with annoyance. “One moment!” He yells as he reluctantly stands up to answer, leaving Felicia to hastily fix her dress before following him down the stairs. 

He opens the door revealing Webslinger with a lopsided grin. “Hey partner how’d the mission go?” He peeks inside to see Felicia standing by the end of the couch in her breathtaking dress, tilting his hat in greeting pairing it with a smirk.

“It went just fine, thanks for asking.” Miguel says, lacking emotion. 

“Yeah, anything I need to take care of down at the vault for ya, boss? Put your mind at ease?”

“No thank you, it's all been taken care of. For future reference, you might wanna chat with LYLA about stuff. We’ll cover everything in the meeting tomorrow morning, alright.” He said before pressing the button to slide the door shut before Web-Slinger could utter a sound.

He turns back to Felicia, who has a small, shy smile on her face, her hand fingers with the ring she wore. “I’m probably gonna turn in for tonight, what with today’s events and all.” 

Miguel hesitates to respond, wanting to ask her about everything. “Yeah, right, that’s good I’ll- I’ll probably turn in too. Get some rest.” He forces a small, pathetic, shy grin. 

“You too,” she replies reciprocating the awkward smile, before finally turning away and retiring back to her room. 

Miguel found himself standing in the middle of the living room alone, bathing in the serene, nocturnal glow from the wall-length windows. He wasn't sure how long he stood there, quietly reflecting, but it was long enough to realize he had no regrets.

Chapter 7

A/N: lmk if u wanna be added to the series masterlist!

Taglist: @leahnicole1219 @oscarissac2099

[pxgeturner]

The manager at Gimnasio Dorado has just posted a peek at his file and boxing stats for double world champ “THE BEAR” O’HARA. here it is!:

[pxgeturner]

finally I'm ready to share this with you all! 🫶🏽

to be tagged in updates go here or go to the series m.list

[pxgeturner]

boxer!miguel in Iron First moodboard 🥊🥇🌹🧸

[pxgeturner]

Miguel O'Hara is a world-renowned professional boxer, and Hobie's other best friend. One night he finally makes the two worlds collide and sparks immediately fly between the two of you. But will he distract you from meeting your publisher's deadline? And will you distract him from getting World Champ?

before you follow. m.list. Iron Fist gfx library. series m.list. tag list.

Prologue. I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. Epilogue.

wc. 1.5k

an. hi. its me! Giselle, or gi, or gigi to few (not to be confused w gg, that is one of my moots. she makes really cool art.) n e ways here is the awaited Prologue for Iron Fist. Oh goodness I'm so nervous. I just want to make a few things clear. the reader is an author (obvs). She's recently graduated uni and is Latina! I write with a woc!r in mind always. I try to be as inclusive as possible, pero porque soy Mexicana, r might lean towards being more Mexican but I'll try to keep her Spanish standard and not be too specific to my family's culture. much love! hope you enjoy <3

please don't forget to reblog! likes do nothing to boost engagement.

Your foot taps against the floor. The damn blank document stares back at you. Mocking you is what it’s really doing. Fuck you, you think, I achieved my goal. I published a book and it is a damn bestseller! Only problem is that the readers want more. It’s been… some time since your first book. And sure, Jess said you can take a break before starting a new project. But you also know that it’s good to ride on existing publicity. At least be able to make an announcement that you’re writing something while all this excitement lasts. Maybe you should write something about vampires. You love vampires and how they fit into romance and how them drinking blood is a euphemism just a bit away from, the whole cannibalism-equals-all-consuming-love trope and how when a vampire attacks it’s often an allegory for rape and— but you have nothing to add to the conversation. You have nothing new to say, no new perspective or hot take, or twist. You have nothing. No ideas.

Not a single word on the page.

You have an idea, leaning forward to peck the keyboard. “F-u-c-k. T-h-i-s!” You highlight the text and italicize it.

Fuck this. At least it’s words on the page.

You reach for your cup and take a sip. “If all else fails I can ride on the rest of the signing bonus and royalties for a bit since the book is doing good, and once that dries up, I can apply to be circulation assistant at a library or something.” You sigh and take another sip. “But nobody has to know for now.” You get up, searching for your phone. You find it resting on the arm of the couch, you grab it, sliding onto the cushions, resting your head where your phone just was. “God, don’t make me a one hit wonder, I wanna be a star. I wanna be the one to push that bitch Colleen Hoover into obsoletion. Please God. Please.”

You open your phone and look for your mother on speed dial.

“Hola, nena!” Your mama’s voice is happy, she must be having a good day. You move into the kitchen. You need a snack.

“Hey, mama, how are you?” You hold the cell with your shoulder as you look through your pantry.

“Good, good,” you find a pack of roasted seaweed snacks and grab it.

“I went on a date anoche.” Your shoulder drops and the pack of seaweed slips out of your grasp.

Mi mami fue a una cita. Con un man! You stand there, trying to process that she is actually back on the dating scene.

“How did it—” you aren’t holding your phone anymore. You use the wall as support to lower yourself to pick up your phone and snack.

“—ay, mami, lo siento, mi cellular se cayo de mi mano.”

“Todo bien, hija! I’m glad you’re ok.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m ok, I’m ok. Anyways— how was the date? What’s he like? Am I going to have a stepfather soon?” you joke.

“My time for marriage is gone, muñeca, I’m just looking for companionship, pero, tu lo sabes.” You hear some subtle clinking in the background of the call, she must be stirring her coffee. You open your snack and park yourself on the couch. “Are you writing?” Ugh. Not you, too.

“I was, just finished for a bit before I called you.”

“You called me to procrastinate.” You choke on your seaweed from the accusation.

You clear your throat, “I called to check in with you. I call you practically every day.”

“But right now you called me to check up on me as an excuse to not write. Nena, I know you.”

“Okay, fine. I might be having some writer’s block,” you admit, sighing.

“And that’s okay, nena, but then you need to get out, get some inspiration. Allow the world to give you a story.” There’s mama, with her easier-said-than-done advice. But, maybe you should get out of the house.

“Alright, I’ll go out soon.”

“Tonight,”

“—I will go out to the Chinese place across the street and nothing more. I’ll talk with Hobie when he gets back to see if he has any ideas.” You hear your mama make a noise in her throat.

“You still live with that boy?” Here it comes. You’ve lived with Hobie Brown for three years and have known him for five. She’s always been apprehensive of him, since he’s radical and looks like he’s been in jail, with all the metal in his face, and why does his hair look like that? But Hobie is the one who’s kept you sane all these years. He’s held you while you cried and pushed out of your comfort zone when you were getting too stuck into your routines, most likely by dragging you to a concert or a protest. You help him thrift and flip clothes and ever since that one time his stylist had an emergency and canceled, you now help him tighten his wicks every so often. On days like that the two of you stay in, watching nostalgic movies and listening to any demos he’s recorded recently. He’s like a brother to you at this point.

“Yes, mama, I still live with Hobie. Nothing’s changed.” You move the phone down to your chest and take a deep breath.

“I didn’t like him when I first met him,” you clench your jaw as she continues— “…and although he’s one of those kids, I can tell he is a good boy. I’m glad he takes care of you.” You relax. “But it wouldn’t hurt to have someone you could kiss.” “It would be nice, but right now it’s not happening.” “Alright, muñeca. I’ll leave you alone for now, but keep your eyes open for a nice man.”

“I will, con cuidado, mami, besitos.” You make a kissing noise into the phone, and she responds with a goodbye of her own, and you wait for her to hang up the call.

You sigh, and look at the coffee table. Hobie left his song book at home, weird. It’s open to the song he was working on the other day. It’s a slower song, you can still hear the melody. You drum your fingers to the tune. He’s on an unfinished verse. You pick up a pen from the little catch-all dish and scribble down a line or two.

…

Hobie weaves through the roar of chattering, anticipating fans and into the tunnel, and walks past employees and into Miguel's prep room to see him tying his shoes. “Hey,” Miguel looks up. “Hey.”

“Are you excited?” He moves to sit by the boxer, shimmying up against his shoulder.

“Haven’t really been excited for one of these in a while.” Miguel breathes.

“Well, one step closer to retirement!” Hobie bounces out of his seat. He turns to face his friend, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You’re gonna do great, you big fuckin’ bear of a man.” He ruffle’s Miguel’s hair.

Miguel gives a half-ass hum in response.

“Well then, I’ll be out there, mate, cheerin’ you on.” He puts his hands in his vest pockets and walks out the room.

As he reaches the empty doorframe, Miguel speaks up. “Thank you, Hobie.”

“Anything for you, mate.” Hobie nods and goes to join the audience. Miguel fastens his gloves and puts on his robe. He warms up waiting for his coach.

“Ready, O’Hara?”

Miguel turns around. “Always ready for a fight.” He clenches his jaw. Walking down that hallway, the festive colors lighting up his path and the music blaring, he does his little bit, the movements molded into muscle memory.

This is it. This is his last year fighting. If he gets world champ again, he’s free.

Soon, he gets to fight his last fight. And dammit, the world championship will be his last match. Then, he’s never gonna have to come back.

He weaves under the ropes, entering the ring. Sitting on the stool, he shrugs off the robe and lets Carlos put the mouthguard in.

“You are going to show this guy exactly why people call you el oso!” Miguel beats his gloves together and nods. He might not like his job right now, but he really wants to hit something and goddammit if his opponent doesn’t look so beatable right now.

Coach Carlos steps out of the way, and Miguel stands to walk to the ref as he calls for him to center.

“We went over the rules in the dressing room.” Right before Hobie got here. “I want to remind you to protect yourself at all times, and obey my commands.” Ring the damn bell already. “God bless you both,” I don’t need it but this kid might. “Touch up,” here we go. He touches gloves with his newbie opponent and each goes back to their respective corners.

Miguel takes an orthodox stance.

The bell rings.

Miguel lands the first punch. He also lands the last.

[pxgeturner]

Mickey & Chapis in Iron Fist moodboard 🥊📖💋⭐️

[pxgeturner]

author!r in Iron Fist moodboard 📖🎀🎞️🖊️

[pxgeturner]

SO. I'm just thinking abt a posting schedule. and I just need someone to make the decision for me. mwah!