#but also........................ miguel o'hara huh.

[pompomegranate]

um...... hi :)

i promise i didn’t forget about this blog i just accidentally took a five month break LMAO

[the-frostiest-of-flakes]

Reason that Night-Spider should have been in Across the Spider-Verse #187: the comedic potential

[powerin]

to be honest

i wish dana d’angelo was the evil conniving whore the 2099 fandom caricatured her into. instead of being left with this:

not only did dana not leave miguel for tyler, she was being groomed and abused by her boss while this asshole was negging his ex in mexico

[spider-man-2o99]

Spider-Man 2099 Meets Spider-Man (1995); lines by Rick Leonardi & Al Williamson, colors by Steve Buccellato

 miguel voice you are mean and i hate you. explode and die and go to HELL for EVER

[miguelhugger2099]

Hands

Summary: His hands are...big. A/N: I saw someone say this mans hands are 11 inches and i genuinely started tweaking. bro. his hands are larger than my head......

Miguel x Reader, Fluff?, Little suggestive, Drabble,

Spider-Man 2099 was probably one of the biggest Spider-Man ever. Well, if you're not counting the robots and dinosaurs–Miguel O'Hara is abnormally large for a human. Half-Human.

Standing at a whopping six foot and nine inches, his bulky build didn't help with his intimidating aura and height. So yes, he was tall but also wide.

Which also meant that everyone, at least, most people were shorter than him.

You could tell that it even became a problem. While talking to him, he'd have to bend his neck to talk to you. His posture would slouch just so he could hear you speak. When he'd look away, Miguel would rub the back of his neck, massaging out the knots that were forming from craning his head down so much to talk to the other Spiders.

You've seen tall people and you've seen others with muscles–however you were more focused on something smaller. As Miguel would type away on his monitor, viewing and discarding dim yellow screens in the air, you'd not so subtly stare at his hands. A part of you was amazed and a part of you had some sort of sick guilty pleasure watching his fingers move around. You coughed into your fist and looked away when Miguel snapped his head down at you, the familiar heat crawling up your neck.

“What?” He grumbles, his eyes squinting down at you.

“Huh? Wuh?” You turn your head around, pretending to think he's talking to someone else.

Miguel rolls his eyes, a soft scoff escaping his lips before he grabs your chin. Your breath gets caught in your throat. Miguel’s fingers squishing your cheeks and pulling you forward to him. His fingers stop near your temple and you can barely hear his voice through the haze of your mind.

“Wait–wait, say that again?” You whisper while Miguel just stares at you.

He lets go of you and you miss the heat from his palm. “You obviously aren’t focused. Either get it out of your head or leave. I don’t need someone distracted right now.” He tsks and focuses back on the monitors, hands waving in the air. You shuffle from side to side, clenching and unclenching your hands into fists. You fought with yourself wondering if you should let the impulse get to you. “Can I see your hands?” You blurt out. Miguel freezes but his eyes are in a confused wide stare at his screen. “What?” “For like a second!” You defended yourself, holding out your palms and raising your eyebrows in a pleading way. Miguel looks between your hands and face, an uncomfortable and confused glint in his eyes. Pouting, you take it as rejection, sniffling dramatically to yourself. But Miguel looks away as he places his hand in yours gently. You gasp in happiness and bring it up to your eyes. You press your thumbs to his palm, both of them looking tiny. Pressing harder, you notice little slits of his talons coming out and you giggle. Pressing over and over again, you watch as the little claws extract and retract repeatedly. Miguel’s eyebrow twitches. Then using one of your hands, you place yours and his hand together, wrist to wrist as close as possible. You blink and take a closer look at the size difference. Your entire hand barely reached past his palm, his fingers even longer.

While you marveled at how giant Miguel was, Miguel looked down at you with a flushed expression. Blush scattered across his cheeks as he noticed how small you were compared to him. He knew he was a big guy–he knew that compared to him, everyone was pocket sized. But particularly about you, it was more in his face. He had an urge to wrap his fingers over yours, wanting to see how it would engulf yours. You move his hand to the front of your face, your nose bumping into his middle finger. Even then, his hand was still very much larger than your head. “Holy shit. Do they even make things in your size here?” You laugh, your breath hitting his suit and he feels the warmth of your laugh through the fabric. Miguel squirms slightly, watching how his hand is covering your entire face. If he wanted, he could grab you right now. He could grab you, pick you up, cover your blabbering mouth easily, and maybe he can easily push your head into the mattress with a single hand– Miguel burns, looking away and pushing your face away from him. You yelp and stumble back from the force, catching yourself before you hurt yourself on the floor. “OW?” You glare at him. He’s turned away from you, back to bringing up video files and camera recordings of different universes. “Get back to work now.” He growls and you dust yourself off with a huff. You take another glance at him before sighing and facing the other way–failing to notice the tips of his ears a dark red shade.

[cherryredstars]

Hello cherry!!! Could you do a scenario where the reader is really hypersexual? But was too afraid to ask Miguel to do it multiple times a day and then one moment she can't take it anymore and begs for him to dick her down while Mig is just really suprised but also very happy and reassures her that he likes that she is so into him? Thank uuu in advance! 🩷

Pairing : Miguel O'Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Slight Oral Sex, Female Masturbation, Sexual Touching, Penetrative Sex, Slight!Mean Miguel

A/N: She’s a long one…

Unedited

He leaves your body with that satisfying hum.

Light sparks of aftershock run through your body, shaky legs threatening to close around his head as he laps the remaining release dripping from you. You sigh happily, fingers running appreciatively through his hair before he pulls away with a toe-curling suck at your clit.

“Thank you, Miggy.” You giggle, feeling that tension leave your body as it buzzes.

Miguel gives you his crooked smile, mouth still glistening with slick before he wipes it away with the back of his hand. “Anytime, cariño.”

You giggle as he flips you over, sliding up your discarded bottoms and patting your ass in his usual signal that you’re good to go. You smile at him over your shoulder, elated now that the consistent throbbing between your legs has ceased and you kiss him one more time in thanks.

You carry that happy, satisfied buzz for the next two to three hours. Humming to yourself as you go around the house doing your tasks without a single distraction while Miguel works in his little home office. Everything seemed to be going fine, tasks being completed without a single stumble. But you can feel that sharp dive approaching as the lingering effects of your last orgasm dies down. Then, you find yourself back in that disoriented, far-away state. Your eyes unfocused and staring down nothing as a discomfort settles between your thighs. Your clothes feel too tight on your body, and a rush of images of Miguel tearing them off rush into your head.

You feel guilty, sitting down and rubbing your thighs together in hopes of it going away. You don’t want to disturb Miguel again, and you bite your lip as you try to suppress an annoyed groan. You’ll have to take care of it yourself, then. Not like that ever works. No matter how long you press a vibrator to your twitchy clit or how many fingers you use to work your entrance, something is wrong. You’re too aware of the sheets sticking to your skin, or your fingers get too tired, or your orgasm just doesn’t build.

It leaves you more frustrated than anything, tears building in your lash line because it all just doesn’t work. You feel more uncomfortable than before, the stimulation at least providing something despite being unsatisfying. You don’t want to disturb him, but you don’t wanna be like this for the next few hours before Miguel decides he’s in need of a meal or a break. There is no guarantee that he’ll be done anytime soon or even have the energy to indulge you afterwords.

Absolutely defeated, you sniffle as you make the way into his office. You knock hesitantly before opening the door, calling out his name with a pout stuck on your face when he looks up at you and smiles softly. Your feet drag as you make your way to him, climbing into his lap once he makes room for you. He can feel your hot breath on his neck, and he wraps his arms around you as he strokes your hair.

“What’s wrong, huh?” Miguel murmurs, ignoring the way you slowly grind against him. He knows what you need, finding it amusing that you’re trying to sneakily work him into a state of excitement.

Instead of answering him, you whine into his neck. His chest vibrates under you as he chuckles, his hand wrapping around the nape of your neck and tugging you away so he can see your face. Your eyes are glossy, and he rubs at your lower eye a bit harshly to collect the build up of water at the corners.

“C’mon, princesa, use those big girl words.” He coos, thumb rubbing over your fluttering pulse. The look you give him is pitiful, and he smiles a bit wider.

“Need you.” You mumble begrudgingly, rolling your hips against his.

Miguel’s smile twitches, and he moves in one fluid movement as he lifts you up and makes room for you to lay on his desk. His hands dance around the waistband of your pants, his fingers running up and down the length of it teasingly.

“Such a needy girl, hm?” Miguel hums, slipping his hand up your shirt and caressing the smooth skin. You squirm under him, and his other hand squeezes your hip in a warning. “Stay still now.”

You try your best to relax into the hard wood of his desk, breath stuttering in your lungs as he drags your shirt up to reveal as much skin as possible without taking it off completely. You watch fascinated as his fingertips explore your smooth skin, eyes darkening the longer he looks down at you.

He makes slow work of removing your clothes, uncaring as he discards them to the floor and stuffs your panties in his pocket. You hold your breath as his fingers run over your thighs, slowly spreading them and revealing your glistening folds to him. He hums in appreciation, using both of his thumbs to further spread them apart to examine your irritated clit.

“Poor thing,” Miguel coos, running his finger through the slick coating your skin. “So worked up and for what?”

You whimper, stomach caving in on itself as he plays with your wetness. It clings to his fingers, little silky ribbons breaking as he moves along. He can feel your heat pulse under the pads of his fingers, and he meanly pinches your twitchy clit. He chuckles at the choked sound that fumbles from your lips.

“So needy…” He mumbles, giving your fluttering cunt a sharp slap. Your back arches, and Miguel grabs your ankles and pulls you flush against his hardened crotch.

You eye it hungrily, seeing the strain it puts in his pants. If you were to lift your hips the slightest bit, you can feel it poke at your folds. The idea makes you salivate, but not as much as watching Miguel fish his aching cock out of his pants. There is a thin shine of precum smeared over the tip, probably staining the inside of his pants. His cock slaps against your stomach as he lets it rest, the weight burning against your skin.

You can feel a small bead of precum dropping from his tip and onto you, mouth watering for a taste. However, his cock goes further away from you as it drags down your body as Miguel steps back. His head nudges your clit, kissing it. His hand wraps around him, thumb just under the swollen tip as he lightly teases your clit with small slaps. Arousal leaks from your hole, and Miguel is quick to smear it over him.

“Open nice and wide, hermosa,” Miguel whispers almost to himself, slowly pushing into your tight entrance.

He groans as your hole parts to swallow him, suctioning around his length. You keen under him, and he shushes you before he bottoms out. The crown of his dick presses into your cervix, massaging the opening with every twitch. The feeling of finally being filled after wanting it so desperately brings tears to your eyes, and you shut them to savor the feeling.

You’re pulled from your tranquil moment by a harsh thrust, jolting the desk and you. You gasp as you grab onto Miguel, nails digging into his forearms as he holds your legs around his waist. He does it once again, grinning at the way your mouth falls open as a tide of pleasure washes over your body.

“Gonna give you want you need, don’t worry.” He coos, his hips beginning to piston in and out of you at a steady pace.

A wobbly ‘okay’ and a barely recognizable head nod is all he gets from you, mind already foggy from the way he forces your walls to part over and over again as he feeds your cunt his cock. Your gooey walls spasm repeatedly around him, thanking him for each thrust. It makes him growl, seeing the pure, primal need your body has for him. He rewards you with fast, tight circles on your clit that cause your legs to lock around him and tiny cries to spill from your lips.

The burning build of a release bubbles in your stomach, and a series of whimpers and moans are your best bet at warning Miguel. He takes little notice, already aware by the way your cunt practically milks him in a plea to not pull out. With a few whiny breaths and sharp pinches to your clit, your body shakes as you come. Miguel coos gentle praises at you as he tries to get his own release out of you.

Your body buzzes so intensely as you climax, unsure if the overwhelming warmth in your body is because of satisfaction or the fresh load of fertile seed Miguel pumps into you. Either way, it leaves you melting into his desk as he rides out the aftershocks of his orgasm. You lay there with your eyes closed, lazy smile on your face as content fills you. This was exactly what you needed, and you sigh happily as Miguel slowly massages your skin.

You open your eyes slightly, whining when he picks you up and takes you to straddle his lap as he sits in his chair. It jostles his softening cock inside of you, and you make a noise of discontent as you snuggle closer to him. His large hand holds you flush against him, rubbing over your heated skin slowly as he gets comfortable.

“Just sit still and relax, yeah? Got work to do still.” Miguel murmurs into your skin, littering light kisses to your shoulder and neck as you yawn. You tiredly nod, sinking into him.

You’re fine as long as the buzz remains.

[murdrdocs]

just thinking about miguel o'hara ... coming out of the shower ...

white towel tied low on his waist, v-line extremely visible, hair leading from his belly button down to the patch that you can just barely see also made known by your wandering eyes. he moves around the room casually, talking to you about something that you just respond to in curt "uh-huh"s, all so you can look at the defined muscles of his shoulders, chest, back, arms.

everything is visible there, with just the most important parts covered, and it's nothing you haven't seen before, but it always gets you. especially with the way his hair waves more when wet, dripping down onto his shoulders, hanging over his chiseled face.

"you listening to me, amor?" his voice is low as he asks it, and he's been speaking the whole time but these words make you jump in your seat. you sit up a little straighter, take a breath, then repeat the same sound ("uh huh"). he continues speaking, and you think you're in the clear.

his back flexes as he digs into the drawer, then he turns to face you and you're met with his abs before you will your eyes to drag up and meet his. chocolate brown, framed with long, wet lashes. his pink lips parted, thick eyebrows furrow for a second, then almost-perfect teeth put on display when he smirks, open-mouthed, then closed.

"something you want?"

[hoshigray]

Pleasurable Practice

Here's what I got: when you're left in headquarters to study for an upcoming language skit, your boss and work crush, Miguel O'Hara, does what he can to help his subordinate. And he does, in more ways than one...

A/n: It's been a week since I saw the film in theaters, and my brain hasn't been the same. I tried very hard not to write for this man, but here we are. Sighhhh, I swear I wasn't this bad when playing EoT (curse you Oscar Issac, and the ATSV art department!!!). And it doesn't help that my social feeds are full of him...Anyway, I hope you enjoy this piece! It's WAY longer than I wanted, but I guess that's meant to show how much fun I had writing, hehehe~. Also, ty so so much for 600+ followers!!

Cw: Miguel x fem!reader - some ATSV spoilers so tread carefully - sexual context so minors DNI - fingering (fem! receiving) - cunnilingus - clitoral play (Miguel's fangs lightly brush your clit, but doesn't bite it) - praise - kisses on the stomach - pet names (amorcito/little love, mi alma/my soul; amor/my love; vida/my life) - sexual acts in public - outside intrusions, but you two don't get caught.

Wc: 2.8k

"Hey, Lyla. You sure you wanna leave me here?"

"Aww, you scared something would happen without me?" She chuckles when you shrug. "You'll be fine; everything's been taken care of for today. If something pops outta nowhere, you know where to find Miguel or give me a call. Alright, I'm outta here. Cya tomorrow~."

"Bye, Lyla~" With that, the pixelated woman signs off from your line of sight, and you slump into your chair with a sigh.

It's late at night in Nueva York. The Spider Society headquarters is still active, but fewer people occupy the halls and sectors in these late hours, you being one of them. You're sitting at a conference table by the teleportation room, taking in Margo's shift. But since things are quiet around here, you use this time to work on your homework.

Well, you would've if a pair of hands didn't suddenly come from behind and blocked your vision. "Guess who?"

You shake your head with a smile. "Aren't you supposed to be at Earth-50101 hanging with Gwen and Pav?"

The hands are removed, giving your shoulders a quick rub. "Can't say a quick bye before I'm off?" Hobie Brown walks from behind to sit on the table, avoiding the scattered papers on the surface. "What's all this? School?"

"Yeah," You pick up a paper with color-coordinated dialogues. " I got a reflection to finish and need to read this script for a skit in my modern language class on Wednesday."

"What language?"

"Spanish." You flip the script for him to look at. A giggle slips from you. "Suppose you can't help me, huh?"

Hobie grins. "Yo lo haría si pudiera." Your eyes go big. Of course, the guy who "doesn't believe in consistency" would know a thing or two about other languages.

".....Please stay and help me."

"Can't, perhaps next time." Another heavy sigh as the tall other gets up from the table and opens a portal to Pavitr's universe. "We'll save some snacks to bring back tomorrow. See ya then."

"Bye, Hobie." You groan with your head meeting the table surface as the portal vanishes with Hobie's dismissal. In despair, you lift your head up and proceed with your work.

It's about 11 p.m., and you were able to finish your paper in about two hours. It's now time to work on your Spanish script. Unfortunately, your class partner can't be here (obviously) to say his lines with you, but you two promised to highlight your lines and recite on your own downtime. So you follow through with the blue lines — your lines — avoiding the red lines and announcing all the words to the best you can.

After the third time around, you start to get to the rhythm of it. So in tune with what you're doing, you don't mind your surroundings as you circle around the table with your face glued to your script.

"What're you doing?"

However, it all comes to a halt when a voice startles you. So used to the silence and your own tone that you didn't notice a familiar man creep from behind you. Your eyes widen at the tall and well-built figure before you.

Miguel O'Hara, Spider-Man 2099 and the leader of the Spider Society — your boss who you have a major crush on and is still waiting for you to reply after nearly scaring you to death.

"O-Oh, Miguel, umm," you quickly straighten yourself up, but the heat in your face encroaches. "Sorry, didn't see ya there. I was just looking at this script."

"A script?" He slightly tilts his head, surveying your moves as you sit back at the table. He follows and peers behind your shoulder to see what you're working on. "For what?"

"It's for a skit in my Spanish class. I'm reciting my lines for Wednesday." He nods at your answer, glancing around to see you're alone. "Lyla signed off for a while, but she told me to tell you that if you 'need anyone to put a leash on you,' Jessica would answer the call."

The man narrowed his eyes and sucked his teeth, "of course she said that..." was all he murmured under his breath from his pixelated peer's words. With a heavy sigh, he turns back to the paper in your hand and extends out his. His silent request is answered when you pass him the sheet to skim. A brow is lifted. "Is the skit like some kind of married couple or—"

You confirm. "Yes. Our unit is on relationships, and my partner and I wanted to do a skit where the husband — my partner — comes home and surprises his wife with their favorite flower and then gives a nice speech on how much he loves her." Miguel still reads the script, but you continue on. "Luckily, our instructor said it's not our final where it's required to talk entirely in Spanish. So, we can say some English phrases or words if our brains go blank."

Miguel finally stops examining the script and eyes at you. "I can help."

Huh? "Excuse me?"

"You're the blue lines, right?" Correct. "Then I can be the red lines and help you practice."

Wait, no! "Oh no, there's no need for that, Miguel! I'm sure you're busy looking at the screens on your station and—"

"No pasa nada, Y/n," You gulp when he grabs a chair and sits close to you. "I'll say your partner's parts, and you reply with yours." There's no use in arguing with him out of this, so you just follow suit.

For the past thirty minutes, you and Miguel have been practicing. Sometimes he'll call you out on words you forget or mispronounce, which hurts your little heart being scolded like a child. But then there are times when he praises you for saying something correctly without second-guessing, or he'll ask for a pen to scratch off something and write a better phrase for you to say. And you can tell that your memorization's been improving thanks to his help. Maybe there was no need to be nervous.

The time is now 11:46, and you feel way more confident about this skit than before. Miguel can also tell by how much you've performed that you'll do fine on Wednesday. Guess that should do it. He puts the script down and gets up, heading back to his original post.

"Hey, wanna do the actual skit with me?"

Huh? "What?"

"Well, I was thinking," You squeak. "Maybe we can try acting out the skit without the paper now that I'm kinda getting the hang of it? But, I mean, that's only if you're okay with it, ya know..."

His brows trench down. Miguel knows he shouldn't do it; there are many universes in his post that he needs to keep an eye on in case anything pops off. He can't afford to just act out a scenario for some class. However, when he glances back at you, he faces mixed feelings. Your eyes look at his, nibbling on your bottom lip, and your fingers fidget with each other as you wait for his answer.

Miguel knows he shouldn't...but it won't hurt to comply this one time.

"Fine," your heart skips when he turns back to face you fully. "But don't mention it to Lyla or Jess. I'll never hear the end of it from those two."

"Of course!" You reassure him as you ready yourself, mentally calming the happiness brewing inside down. "You go."

He nods and plays the scene. He acts like he opens a door and holds an imaginary object. "Estoy en casa, cariño."

"Oh, bienvenido a casa, bebé!" You rush to Miguel and give him a hug. You feel him go rigid, and you freeze. Wait, he's still my boss and not my actual partner! Oh, God, I bet he regrets doing this now...Ughhh!! Commit now, cry later!

You quickly improvise and pull him by his spider suit to come close, placing pretend kisses on his cheeks. "Llegas pronto a casa, mi guapo muñeco. Is something wrong?"

Miguel stares at you for a few seconds before he blinks and coughs. "Ahem, Querida, vine temprano porque es tu cumpleaños. Y quería darte esto." The hand with the invisible object comes up, and you take it.

"Dios mío, ¿mi flor favorita en mi día especial?" You give the man a warm smile and place a hand on his cheek, stroking his skin lovingly. Miguel hitches his breath. "Eres demasiado buena conmigo, muñeco. Pero no tenías que regalarme nada."

It takes Miguel a moment, but he coughs once more and returns to the task. "Puede que la flor no fuera necesaria, pero tenía que conseguirla para ti, mi amor." He puts a hand on yours that's still on his cheek, now it's your turn to slow your breathing. "Cada vez que veo esta flor, sólo puedo pensar en ti. No sólo hoy, sino todos los días. Veo todo lo que haces por mí y nunca lo doy por sentado. You are my everything, Y/n. Tú eres mi mundo. Mi luz. Mi corazón. Mi… Mi…"

He stops, noticing your expression and shallow breaths. Your eyes never leave his, mouth agape, and your attention entirely on his words— no, on him. Even in this little act, you dare not move or say something out of turn. Listening to the man before you intently, your hand still in his.

He knows he shouldn't, but Miguel leans into you, and a small gasp leaves you before his lips press onto your soft ones. "....Mi alma."

Your brain short-circuits, the feel of his lips overtaking you. You awkwardly kiss him back, resulting in a moan from Miguel. He grabs your waist while pushing himself forward, making you walk backwards until you hit the table. The bump has you two break the kiss, forcing you back to reality.

Miguel says nothing, and so do you, your eyes honing in on his deep red orbs. Your thoughts go too fast that your head pounds. What? What was that? Did he mean to do that??

"Túmbate."

He captures your attention. "What?"

"Lie down, mi amor." He commands in a stern voice. Hesitance restrains you, yet you still follow orders and sit on the table with your back to the surface. A small smile creeps up on Miguel, and he leans down to plant more kisses on your sweet lips. "Good. Now, say your part."

Slow smooches from your chin to your neck leave you breathless. Although the heat in your face is unbearable, you play along and stick to the script. "My wonderful husband...Y...You are so thought—"

"Se supone que está en español, Y/n." He corrects you. Lifting your shirt to reveal your abdomen. Miguel kisses your exposed tummy while his hand snakes past your bottoms, pressing a finger down on the wet spot of your clothed vulva. Your toes curl as your first moan leaves puffy lips. "Try again."

You intake a deep breath. "Ere...Eres muy considerado con—Mmmm....conmigo." Your bottoms and undergarments are now off, your bare cunt out for Miguel to see. The older man props your legs upward with both hands as he brings his face close to your pussy. He lightly blows on it, and you bite your lip from the cold air. "Keep going, mi vida."

"Cuando....no haya luz en mi—Oooh!!" Miguel flicks your clitoris with his tongue before nestling it between your soaked folds, sucking and laving your essence. "Nnnmp! Mi-Miguel, I can't do thisss...Your tongue, it feels so, so—Oh Christ..."

His ruby eyes peek at your face. "But you were doing just fine, Y/n." The way he says your name feels so sinful, so forbidden. But so pleasing to the ears. "Repeat it."

His tongue goes back to torment your slit. The risque noises the wet muscle makes with your slick-covered chasm ring your eardrums. Ecstatic whimpers fill the space around you, and you grab tufts of Miguel's brown hair when his tongue flicks your clit again. He's impatient, so you concede.

"Cuando no haya luz en mi vida....Haaaahhh, sé que estarás ahí para protegerme." Miguel pushes your tender bud against his teeth. His canine brushing on your pearl, causing you to jerk. "Eres mi sombra...Mi—Ahhhh!....escudo....Mi rey."

He chortles, "Good job, mi alma."

Satisfied with your cooperation, the man sucks on your precious sex as his forefinger nestles between your folds, your slick providing lubricant to naturally push his digit through your entrance. You jolt with a sharp cry, tears falling from your beautiful face.

His tongue and fingers go faster, and your release climbs higher with every lick. The stimulation of your poor cunt and clitoris is hardcore that you come in a few seconds, the walls of your chasm fluttering around Miguel's fingers coated with your personal fluids.

Your heavy pants slow down to steady your body that subsides from the aftershocks of your orgasm. Miguel withdraws his mouth and fingers from you, standing upright to take in your figure.

He scoffs with a tiny grin, licking his lips. "Amorcito."

You open your mouth to say something, but a flash of colors and shapes captures the attention of both of you. Your eyes go wide. Oh no, someone's coming!

With haste, you immediately grab for your bottoms and underwear before taking cover under the conference table, using it to quickly put your clothes back on before someone enters through the portal. That someone was Jessica Drew, making her arrival known by revving her motorbike.

"Jess," Miguel puts on his usually serious face. But on the inside, he's almost as nervous as you. Because he swiftly pulls a chair out to cover his erection lower regions.

"Hey, Miguel! I thought I'd find you here." The woman addresses him when she's done a lap around the table. Her portal vanishes from the scene. "I've been trying to call you through your watch. You not wearing it?"

He looks down at his wrist where it was supposed to be. "...I was using the restroom, so I left it on my station."

"Mmm, I figured." Jessica then notices the paper and backpack on the table. "This is Y/n's stuff, right? Where are they?"

"R-Right here, Jess!" To her surprise, you come out from the table with your bottoms fully secured. "Sorry, I was looking for my pen before packing up." You smile to ease the awkward tension and your racing heart.

"Oh, okay then." Jessica nods to your words and turns to Miguel. "Anyway, I was calling you up because I need backup. The guy I was dealing with somehow switched places with another villain. Took care of the other one, but my guy's elsewhere."

He hums. "Lyla."

"That's me." The yellow-pixelated woman with pink heart-shaped glasses appears once more.

"Where are the coordinates of the anomaly Jess was handling?"

"I'm sorry, you want me to do what?"

"...."

"What's the magic word?" The tiny woman teases him while you and Jessica hold in your laughs.

Miguel's brows furrow with a slight pout. "....Canyoupleasesend—"

"Woah, woah, woah," Lyla gets closer to his face with each word, raising his irritation as she does so. "Little too fast there."

"Can you please give us the co—"

"Already gave it to Jess."

"Then what was the point—"

"You know how much I love to pester ya," her smile doesn't help squander his frustration, not when he also hears the exchanged giggles between you and Jessica. "And call that payback for not having your watch on you."

To avoid their eyes seeing Miguel's situation, he leaves and fetches his watch quickly after being repeatedly teased by the two women. He returns ready with his mask on and the device on his wrist. Lyla and Jess are waiting for him, same with you and all your stuff packed up. It's 12 in the morning now, you have to get home. "Ready?"

"Yup, see ya there." The woman on her bike starts it up. Lyla disappears when the dimension is opened. "Bye, Y/n!"

"Bye, Jess!" You wave goodbye to the woman, who does one final lap before entering the portal to her new destination. And now you're back to being alone with Miguel, who you find looking at you. You gulp and say your thoughts. "Don't worry, I didn't tell them! And, sorry that it happened. I was being a little too close to you in the first—"

"Hey." Miguel lifts a hand to stop you from rambling on further, and you listen. "Your skit. When is it again?"

It takes you aback that he asks, but you still reply. "Wednesday?"

"Hm. Alright then." And with that, he walks to the portal to his next mission. But before he exits, he peers from his shoulder and proclaims something.

"Tell me how you did on Wednesday, then we'll continue with this talk."

[slushycoookie]

Hey, Hey, It's Your Birthday! ~ Miguel O'Hara x Fem! Reader (18+)

Word Count: 3.8k

Content: You go to the fair with Miguel. Brief mention of vomiting. Miguel hates those rides to death. Fried butter (yeah, it's a content warning). Face sitting. Oral sex, fem! receiving. Vaginal sex.

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY WIFE AND GR! MIGUEL CREATOR @bluesidez! It's officially your birthday for me now, but you deserve everything you want in life and more. So take this little something something I made for you.

GymRat! Miguel who's very excited about your birthday.

He’s planned for it ever since you two were together: what to do, where to go, and what he would do to you. However, that last part was for later.

He didn’t give you many details of what he was planning, either. He only told you to wear something comfortable but still cute due to the cooler weather. He didn’t leave you any room to ask questions, either.

GymRat! Miguel who picked you up early.

The place you two were going to was open all day, but he thought it was best to go early. When he greeted you at the dorm, he was blown away. Your outfit, albeit comfortable with the black cargo pants and matching long-sleeve shirt, was cute.

“You look gorgeous.” Miguel said with a kiss, careful not to mess up your make-up.

“Thank you. So do you.”

He looked down at his denim jacket and sweatshirt, grinning at your compliment.

“Anything for my baby.”

GymRat! Miguel who still doesn’t tell you where you’re going. He did say the drive was far, about forty-five minutes away and to get comfortable. You pull up a fall playlist and connect your phone to the aux cord. There, you two make those minutes fly by, jamming out in the car.

GymRat! Miguel who gave himself a mental pat on the back at your gasp when pulling up into the parking lot.

It’s a fall fair that’s supposed to be there for a few weeks before moving on to the next state. You had mentioned going to one would be fun. You couldn’t think of the last time you been to one. Miguel thought taking you to the fair would be an impressionable birthday gift with many things to do.

The rides, the food, the games. Everything there to make it the best birthday ever. At least, he hoped so.

“What do you think-”

“I love it!” You hug his neck and pepper his face with your kisses.

GymRat! Miguel who decided to start with the rides first. Work up a good appetite and not worry about you two throwing up later.

There were a myriad of options to choose from. Rides that spin you high in the air, shake you back and forth, or spin you while you're sitting down.

“What do you want to start with?”

You hum, taking a look at your options.

“I saw one where you have to grab on handlebars while the ride spins very high.”

“You gonna be okay with that?” Miguel watched the ride in question, seeing the ride go high up in the air as people held on tight.

You merely nod, taking his hand to stand in line.

As you two got closer and closer, Miguel kept asking if you were sure you wanted to do it and how there were many other rides the two of you could go on.

“Are you sure you don't wanna go on this ride?”

“Huh? What? I'm fine.”

“Mmhm.” Your cute grin isn't lost on him, “It's okay. I'll hold your hand the entire time.”

“I said I was fine.”

GymRat! Miguel who was not fine.

His heartbeat could be heard in his ears, and sweat clung to his neck. His legs almost shook when he stepped on the ride, and you were blissfully unaware. Children halfway below his age were more ecstatic than him, gripping onto the two bars and grinning with glee.

You matched the energy of the children as you shimmied, chain in front of you for security.

“You ready?”

“Uh-huh.” Miguel gulped and you leaned over.

“Hey, we really don't have to do this if-”

“I'm fine, I'm fine.” He gives you a smooch as if to reassure you. But it was also for himself.

GymRat! Miguel who had his eyes shut the entire time.

Surrounded by screams, a mix of enjoyment and fear while the ride spun around and around. Miguel had a death grip on the bars when the ride slanted, angled in a way where he felt higher than before. He tried to take a risk by popping one eye open, but at the wrong time, the ride made them so high up that he could see the cars in the parking lot.

At least he heard you enjoy yourself, your screams matching the pitch of the kids.

“That was so much fun!” You hold on to his arm, giggling and laughing. Miguel was holding on to you too, a little dizzy, stomach twisting. Didn't help that someone quickly ran out of the ride to vomit in the nearest trash can.

“I'm glad you had fun…”

“Baby, are you okay?”

“Mhm. What's next?”

“I can get you some water or something.” You start looking around, but he stopped you.

“I'm ok. Really.”

He was going to kick Gabriel's ass the next time he saw him. Giving him so much trauma to the point rides make him uneasy. But that wasn't going to ruin your day.

“Okay. I saw this one ride that drops you. Come on.”

Miguel’s stomach churned at that as you’re pulling him along. It still does it when you two are strapped in next to another couple. He's watched six other people before him release blood-curdling screams once the ride drops them, and he wasn’t looking forward to that.

“Can you hold my hand?”

You instantly take it, seeing his uneasy face. “I got you.”

GymRat! Miguel who hated that ride the most.

As the two of you went higher and higher, the grip on your hand got stronger. His heart picked up in speed, and sweat reached his palms. You gasped at how high up you were, seeing the entire fair in your line of sight. Miguel admires your incredulous face, the uneasiness going away at how much of a good time you were having.

Then came the drop.

You and Miguel let out the same shriek when the chairs dropped down. The drop hit his stomach and made him queasy. And it only lasted two seconds.

“Fuck that…” The guy from the couple next to you two let out.

Miguel wanted to fist-bump him in solidarity.

You were just fit as a fiddle, with no hints of being sick or anything worse.

“So fun!”

“Very fun!” Miguel then groaned, holding his stomach.

“Ok, let's get you something to drink.”

You got two glasses of water, and he gulped it down like he hadn't had a drink in years. Good enough to make him feel better. Although he wasn't sure if he could take going on another death ride.

“You know, I saw think I saw a ride that's perfect for you.”

When you took his hand, you led him to a car line, similar to a zip line that takes you all across the fair from above. It was not extreme or intense, which would make him sick, but a nice, gentle ride.

GymRat! Miguel who was grateful for your generosity.

He can do heights if he isn’t hurled at unpredictable speeds.

The car line was peaceful. It was slow, taking the two of you through the entire fair. He could see those death traps, making more fairgoers its victim. The rows of games that you pointed out were the ones you wanted to go to later. The scent of fried food hit his nostrils, an endless amount of options to pick from.

“See? This isn’t so bad right?”

“It’s not.” He kissed your hand, and you smiled at the affection.

When getting off of the ride, your stomach growled in unison—time to eat.

The lingering scent of fried food and freshly popped popcorn radiated all over the fair. You two ordered from a few stands before carrying the food to a wooden bench. Miguel sprawled out his arms as if it were a gourmet meal.

“Bon appetit.” He kissed his fingers for emphasis.

It was standard fair food. A hot dog and fries topped off with an orange slushie. But there was a main thing Miguel wanted you to try.

“Ever had these?” He presents to you fried oreos, displayed on a tray with a dash of powdered sugar.

“No. How good are they?”

“Better than fried butter.”

You scrunched your face, “Ew, you had that?”

“Blame my brother.”

Miguel handed you a cookie, dusting some of the sugar off so it wouldn’t stain your clothes. He leans forward while watching you take a bite, a glint in your eyes.

“Oh my god.”

“Is that a good ‘oh my god’ or?”

“Gimme some more.”

He handed you another one, and you hummed at the crispy yet fluffy texture. “Why haven’t I had these before?”

“I don’t know, but that’s what boyfriends are for.”

You managed to get powdered sugar on your shirt, which Miguel quickly wiped off. He also made a mental note to tell the group chat that the fried oreos were a win.

GymRat! Miguel who declares the rest of the rides off limits since you two ate.

You weren’t mad at all once you saw the endless number of games on display. There were so many options to pick from, from knocking off bowling pins to aiming three darts at balloons to win a prize. This was your day, so Miguel wanted you to pick the ones that caught your eye.

One game involved you two blowing enough water in a hole to fill a clown head. You stretched your arms in preparation while Miguel rolled his neck.

“Winner gets this little guy!” The booth owner showed you two a small, orange rubber duck.

“That’s you.”

Miguel playfully rolled his eyes, “You just called me cute.”

The timer counted down. 3…2…1!

Miguel was hyper-focused in trying to get the water into the hole. His eyes darted back and forth between his clown head filling up and then yours. You’re obviously a pro, as your head managed to have more water than his. That wouldn’t stop him, his thumbs pressing the buttons harder, under the impression that more water would shoot out.

But he had to admit defeat as the bell rang at your victory.

“Yes! In your face!” You jumped up in your chair and did a little victory dance. Miguel couldn’t be upset since your dance was adorable.

The rubber duck was presented to you, and you showed it to him with glee.

“You got a name for it?”

“Hmm, I like Miggy.”

The two of you laugh at the honking noise the prize makes when you squeeze it.

The next game consisted of dart throwing. Miguel saw this giant, blue teddy bear, making his mission to give to you. He wasn’t bad at playing darts, but now, with his girlfriend watching his every move, he was going to be great at them. The objective was to pop the same colored balloons to get the prize. He had to pop three white ones to get you the bear.

“You got this.” You cheered him on and kiss him on the cheek, before giving him some room.

GymRat! Miguel who lined up the first shot perfectly, hitting the white balloon with ease.

Your cheer made his chest swell before moving on to the next one. The balloon was slightly higher, but it wasn’t an issue. He stretched his arms when the second balloon popped. Almost ready to win his girlfriend the prize.

The third time he throws the dart, the wind blew and it curved to the blue balloon, popping it.

Miguel threw his arms up, “Are you serious? Did you see that?”

“I saw it.” The guy who ran the booth said, “No prize for you.”

“Let me try again.” Miguel started digging into his pockets and you stop him.

“Hey, it's okay. I don't need it.”

“You don't, but today is your special day and I'm getting you that bear.” He pulled out more tickets for the owner. Three more darts are placed in front of him and you continue to cheer him on.

Everything was the same. He managed to hit two balloons, but not the third one.

“This game is rigged.”

“Or maybe, you suck.” The guy teased.

Miguel tsked, pulling out more tickets. “One more time.”

“You know, I think I saw the same bear at the game with the goldfish.” You whispered but he shook his head.

“No, I saw the bear here and I'm gonna get it for you here.”

“Okay, babe.” You accepted defeat, walking back with your hands up.

Once again, three darts were placed before him, and he took a deep breath. Miguel took his time, not caring if a line was forming behind him. He was going to win this for you. The first dart hit its target, then the second one. On the third, he paused, waiting for any amount of wind or subtle distraction to keep him from winning that bear. With confidence in his chest, the dart landed, popping the final white balloon.

Miguel hugged you tight while you cheered for him. A couple of passersby applauded him for his achievement.

The booth owner frowned, handing him the stuffed bear. “Congrats.”

Miguel presented the bear to you with a giant smile. Seeing it overshadow you when you tried to hold it, he decided to hold on to it for you.

“I should get you something.” You ponder among all the booths you haven't gone to yet.

“It's your birthday, not mine.”

“For my birthday, I want to win something for you.”

Miguel wasn’t going to push back and let you decide where to go.

There was a booth that included a ring toss. And a cute stuffed bunny with a bow that practically had Miguel’s name on it.

The game was simple: toss the rings on the bottles. If you managed to get five, you won the stuffed animal. Easy peasy.

“Let me know if it's hard.” Miguel said, “I can always do it.”

“It's okay, I got it.”

He didn't doubt you at all. Not when you managed to toss five rings with ease. Able to carry the medium-sized prize in your arms. Miguel was so glad to have someone like you.

Before returning to the car, Miguel circled to the food area to grab another batch of fried oreos. The two of you munching in the car as he drove back.

“Did you have a good time?”

You nod, licking the powdered sugar from your fingers. “I did! Thanks for taking me.”

At a stop light, Miguel gave you a peck on the lips.

“The day isn't over yet. Are you okay with staying at my place? Peter won't be there until tomorrow morning. So it's just us.”

“Of course, I'm okay with that.”

GymRat! Miguel who contained his excitement when pulling out a couple of gift bags.

After returning from the fair, you two showered, put on something comfortable, and turned on a vlog about restaurants making bread. Your eyes lit up at the bags in front of you.

“Oh god, don't tell me you went overboard.”

“I didn't go overboard. Just see.”

He hands you the first present, the glitter-covered bag shining in your eyes. You pull out a pack of satin bonnets, in various colors from blue to pink.

“You know I got a bunch of these, right?”

“It doesn't hurt to have more.” You pulled out the same pack, and Miguel quickly grabbed it. Uh, wait. I think those are mine.”

“You got some bonnets too?”

“The nice lady at the register gave them to me for free, and I thought, ‘We could match.’”

“We could.”

You open the pack and choose the blue one, putting it on. Miguel did the same and you two quickly go in for a cute selfie.

“There’s more.” Out of the bag, there's a hoodie with the same satin texture. “Just in case you didn't feel like wearing your bonnet.”

“Why would I sleep in my hoodie though?”

“Sometimes the heat doesn't work in these buildings.”

You snort and pull out a few satin pillowcases. Miguel doesn't look at you and pretend the bakers making cheese-stuffed bread was more interesting. Only to get smacked in the face with one.

“How many satin-related items did you buy?”

“Only those!”

“Are you sure?” You started digging into the bag, but your suspicions were relieved when there was nothing else.

“See?”

“There’s still another bag.”

Miguel handed you the next one, a bit smaller and lighter than the first one. You raised your brow, and he swore on his life that there was nothing else related to satin.

Instead, you pulled out a pink sweatshirt, white shorts, and matching sneakers. Miguel gave himself another mental pat on the back for getting your sizes right.

“We don't have to workout every day, but I thought if you do want to go to the gym with me, we could wear these one day.”

He went into his dresser and pulled out the same pair.

“I can't believe you wanna match with me.”

“I love you. I'd wear anything you wear.”

“Careful, I might take it to heart.”

“Please do.” Miguel held your hand in his, “I would wear anything you'd ask, I'm so serious.”

“Miguel…” You pushed the gifts aside to kiss him. His hands are on your back, not once having you part ways from him. Your giggles are absorbed into his mind as his lips cover your face.

Now, he could bring up his next present.

“You should sit on my face.”

“You know it’s my birthday, right?”

“I know.” Miguel tugged along the hum of your pajama pants, “This is another one of my gifts to you.”

Your eyes flicker with uncertainty, not meeting his gaze. “You know I’m heavy.”

“Baby, do I need to bring up how much I lifted last week?”

He met your eyes. Of course, he wouldn’t force you into something you didn’t want to do. He wanted to cater to you in any way he could.

“Okay.” Miguel would get up and click his heels together if he could. “You have to pinch me if I’m smothering you.”

“I don’t care if I die in between your legs.”

“Miguel…”

“Okay, okay.” He gave you a reassuring peck, “I will.”

GymRat! Miguel who felt his pants getting tight already when you slowly pull off your pants. You’re taking your time, as if you were waiting for him to back out and change your mind. He was adamant. He wanted you on his face. Nothing will change his mind about that.

He helped you maneuver on the bed. Already he can see your pretty cunt above him. Your thick thighs enclosed around his head. He’s had too many dreams about this.

“Don’t hover. You better sit.”

“Fine.”

Once you sit, he’s immediately on you.

Miguel can’t help but groan into your cunt, you being his most favorite thing to taste. His fingertips press along your thighs to make sure you keep steady. His tongue parted your folds and bumped along your clit. The tip circled around it, making you shift above him.

His toes curl, hearing your sweet sounds of pleasure. Not to mention with every flick of his tongue, your thighs squeeze along his head. Miguel grunted into your pussy when you do that. Your hips rock into his face, and he moves with you. His lips enclose around your clit to suck on it.

“Aah!”

Miguel placed a hand on your back, not stopping when he sucks once more. He’s rock-hard at this point. The urge to pull down his pants to fuck you was increasing. He flattened his tongue and licked a stripe up, your back following the same motion. You grip his hair after that. Miguel’s tip leaking cum when you pull on it. A shiver surrounded him, groaning to get you to do it again. You get the hint.

He’s alternating between sucking your sensitive bud and prodding your hole with his tongue. Surrounded by all of you, the love of his life. Miguel’s tone was light when he mentioned being okay to die between your legs. But he was serious.

The rocking of your hips picks up speed. The tight grip he has on your thighs waver, having trouble keeping you steady while eating you out. He knew you were close when your thighs tightened around him. You’re whimpering, begging for him to keep going.

“Please don’t stop, please I’m almost there…”

Miguel doesn’t. One last suck to your clit, causing you to tremble above him. Your moans reaching to the ceiling while you squeeze around him tighter. It does get harder to breathe but he doesn’t tell you that. He inhaled when he could, prolonging your orgasm by circling your clit.

He masked his disappointment when you got off—licking his lips while watching you come down from your high.

“You got any more gifts for me?”

Miguel pretended to think it over, “I think I have a few...”

Your naked body was pressed along the wall. He sunk his wrapped cock into you while his tongue brushed along yours. Miguel made sure your legs were tight around his waist, holding the underside of your thighs.

He thrusted up into you, shaking the room of his apartment. It’s a very good thing Peter wasn’t here. Miguel’s been wanting to do this to you for a long time. His quick thrusts into your slick sex, you holding on to the nape of his neck while crying in his shoulder. He hoped all of the other presents didn’t compare to this.

“You feel so good…” Miguel muttered, focusing on your plump, delectable body. “So good…”

You couldn’t say anything back as his tip pressed along your G-spot. Your mouth wide open, eyes rolled to the back of your head. He swore he could see a dribble pool from the corner of your lips. His grunting and groaning align with your moaning and whimpering. The melodic sound of skin smacking against skin in the background.

“Oh, I love you…I love you…” You babbled, nails digging into his neck.

Miguel shuddered, thrusts faltering. “I love you too.”

With the combined sensation of his pelvis rubbing along your clit and his cock hitting your cervix, it doesn’t take long for you to climax again. Your walls around him cause his balls to tighten. Miguel wasn’t too far behind, and he unloaded into the condom. His heavy breath fanning your head.

GymRat! Miguel coated your face with kisses before nuzzling your neck. Still having enough strength, he placed you on his bed, not resisting to give you another kiss, especially since your face had a look of pure bliss.

“Happy birthday.”

[exhaslo]

ngl you should really write more like feral miguel idk if i spelled it right…

MHMMMMMMMMM I LOVE me some Feral Miguel O'Hara. With all the stuff I got going on it's hard for me to squeeze more shorts in, but fear not. I got chu fam.

Warning: Smut, P in V, breeding, size kink, and oh so so much more.

Summary: You just had to interrupt Miguel after he specifically told you not to.

--------------------

Miguel has has enough with the week. Each day just kept pushing him closer and closer to the edge. Everyday there was something going wrong, something to add to his stress; and everyday you were there to tempt him. Not only was Miguel ready to murder someone, but he was also ready to fuck your brains out.

Groaning lowly to himself, Miguel tried to ease his pain. He was nearly rutting against his desk, trying to distract his brain from his aching cock. It had been a few days since he touched himself. It had been a good fifteen hours since he had heard your voice. Smelled that sweet scent you gave off. Drank up the way your suit hugged your body so perfectly.

"Shit," Miguel cussed as he shook.

Miguel had to stop thinking about you. He was getting harder at the thought of you begging and crying under him. Maybe, just a small touch. He did sent out a message to everyone to leave him alone for the rest of the day.

"Miguel~ You sounded stressed earlier, so I brought you a little gift~" You cooed, holding up a bottle of liquor.

"You need to leave," Miguel hissed. You swung up to his platform, leaning over him,

"It isn't good if the leader is stressed!" You huffed.

Miguel inhaled deeply, taking in your scent. His eyes open wide as he snapped his head in your direction. You smelled stronger. You were trying to open the bottle, squeezing the bottle between your thighs. Miguel hovered over you, grabbing the bottle and your hands. He brought one of your hands to his lips, licking them and inhaling the scent more.

"M-Miguel" You stuttered, growing red. Miguel pinned you against his desk, his tongue swirling around your fingers,

"Te dije que te fueras. No puedo parar ahora, no después de oler tus dulces jugos en tus dedos. (I told you to leave. I can't stop now, not after smelling your sweet juices on your fingers.)" He groaned.

You squeaked, growing more embarrassed by the second. Miguel swapped your fingers for your lips as he feverish kissed you. His hips rutting into yours, desperate for contact. His bulge was practically fucking your cunt. If only the suits were not in the way.

You muffled a moan as Miguel lifted you onto his desk. His talons ripping the bottom of your suit, revealing your soaked sex. He licked his lips, deactivating his suit. Unable to wait, Miguel held your hips as he kept swallowing your moans as he entered his cock within you tight gummy walls.

"I'll taste you next time, right now, I just need to fuck you," Miguel groaned lowly, slapping his hips into yours.

"Y-Yes!" You whimpered, shaking as his tip bruised your cervix with each thrust.

Miguel grunted as you moaned under him. Finally, he got to shut you up by shoving his large cock inside your pussy. His pupils were blown as he watched your face contort with pleasure. His pace grew faster and harsher, wanting to hear more. He had the whole rest of the day to fuck you. To make you his.

"Look at you, swallowing my cock so good. Tú también querías esto, ¿eh? Querías que mi polla te follara así de bien. Nadie más puede hacerte un desastre como yo. Nadie más puede convertirte en mamá. (You've wanted this too, huh? You wanted my dick to fuck you this good. No one else can make you a mess like I can. No one else can make you a mommy.)"

"Mhpm~ M-Mig..." You cried out, reaching your orgasm. Miguel rutted into you deeper,

"That's right. You're mine. Let everyone know who you belong too." He grunted, feeling you twitch and suck him in more, "Say it. Say what you want me to do to you."

"A-Ah~ M-Miguel!" You held onto him, feeling your vision blur from his brutal pace, "I-In...I-Inside!"

Miguel could only smirk as he gave you what you wanted. He thrusted his cock deep into you. His cum filling your womb. Miguel watched as you took deep breathes, relaxing from your high. He tilted his head as you gave him a satisfied look,

"We're not done yet. I have a lot of stress and a lot more to teach you," He started to slap his hips once more, watching you whimper, "I'm going to make sure you think of nothing but me. We have the whole day for you to learn your lesson,"

---------------------------------------------------------------

Don't know why, but I totally had this other idea while in the middle of writing this one hehehe, won't tell you guys what it is until after I do my mini series~

[f4nrir]

GAUZE PLAY WITH MIGGY!! its so overwhelming, its too much, he cant take it anymore!! just tying him up and overstimming him while he sobs n yells n squirms around, cock bright red and soaked in his own cum. poor baby gets so stupid off the pleasure, hes so sensitive and he feels like hes going crazy. making him cum so much that even once hes empty, you keep going until he squirts,, he didnt even know he could do that, and you wanna see more of it >:3

also just in case you dont know what gauze play is, its taking a piece of gauze (or sometimes something like pantyliners/hoses) and soaking it in lube before rubbing/polishing someones cock with it, typically focusing on the head. sometimes wrapping the whole piece around their cock and jerking them off like that. its sooooooooooooooooooooooooo

delicate

一 pairing ; miguel o'hara x male reader

cw: sub!miguel, (m receiving), dom!reader, (reader giving), teasing, overstimulation, gauze play, implied bondage, usage of a gag.

miguel’s cries filled the room with each touch on his cock, the wetness of the fabric sending sensations all throughout his body that was indescribable. he whimpered as you trailed the material along his pelvis and up his cock, before briefly wrapping it around his sensitive tip. “mierda! stop, no more please! can’t take it” he yelled against the gag you had him in, flinching harder than before. 

“you just don’t learn, huh?” you placed your hands on his hips and pinned them down to the bed, snickering at his pathetic cries as you touched him. 

miguel begged further, attempting to buck his hips into the air but you shot the opportunity down. “too overwhelmed— it hurts, i don’t like—“ he followed that with another orgasm, painting your hands with his cum.

“your body says otherwise, pup” you licked some off of your hand and absorbed the taste in your mouth, humming contently to yourself before pulling him into a kiss. miguel moaned against your lips as he tasted himself on your tongue. “you taste so good, hm? tell me you agree,” miguel hesitated for a moment before caving in, “i do. thank you, sir,” he murmured and you chuckled, rewarding him by taking your hand off of his cock. he frantically mumbled thank you under his breath as he felt some relief after a few orgasms, stimulating him the whole time without any break. that is until you placed the gauze back on his aching tip, moving it around to find his most sensitive spots. 

a loud cry emitted from miguel as tears began rolling down his face, his fangs suddenly becoming prominent as they pierced through the gag he had on his mouth. “¿es demasiado para ti?” you teased as you continued to use the gauze while peppering soft kisses along the side of his shaft. [t: is this too much for you?]

you watched as miguel threw his head back into the pillow, moaning and crying into the gag as his eyes rolled to the back of his skull. attempting to soothe him, you placed loving kisses on his hips and inner thighs. the sounds of his moans and cries only encouraged you to keep going as you found joy in toying with him, especially seeing him so helpless as he’s bound with restraints. 

just before you thought he was done, he reached another orgasm as cum squirted from his tip. you muttered praises under your breath that were loud enough for him to hear and rubbed his thighs to soothe him. a stream of incoherent words and your name fell from his mouth as he rode his climax, his body convulsing like you’ve never seen before. 

“you did so good..” you coo before you wiped your hands with a towel and undid his gag, along with his restraints. he looked at you with his pretty dazed eyes, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he weakly wrapped his arms around your waist in contentment. 

[bruh-anator3000]

im obsessed with the Black Cat, I hope that's clear, too. and Miguel. And Logan and Wade, so what if we mashed them all up in a blender and see what happens?

Edit: I didn't mean for this one to get so out of hand, but it did, so its a short story now I guess.

Warnings: sexual themes, hella suggestive, SPOILERS HINTED from the new Deadpool, tension sexy styles, I might get Gambit '97 involved so we can listen to '4 big guys' for part two, it is a love triangle/square, trust and don't worry. Everyone's bisexual. No pronouns for reader used, but written w fem!reader in mind, that's why I'm saying bisexual, but this could just be gay for my amabs.

Parinings: Black Cat!reader x Miguel O'Hara x Logan Howlett x Wade Wilson (uh-huh. I said what I said)

~~~◇◇◇~~~♡♡♡~~~◇◇◇~~~♡♡♡~~~◇◇◇~~~♡♡♡~~

Like, you didn't want to bring your roommates along with you for this heist. God. You didn't even want their sticky fingers on the paper plans. But you were running low on rent, Blind Al was a bitch now that they suspended her coke supply, and your normal crew got sick!

Dr. Boris Korpse was the smartest man alive. He could hack any system, jimmy any lock, and blew the ones he couldn't up. Bruno wasn't the brightest, but he was the bravest. And he had the muscles to prove it. He was a great getaway driver, too. And they were sick.

Wade was smart... enough. Logan was... decently strong. Logan was more of a brute, actually. Careless with his strength when it came to it, but trusting Wade Wilson to drive you home safe? With his self destructive streak? It was safer to have him do the code cracking. Hopefully.

"I wonder how many people caught the earlier exposition is from the actual comics," Wade grunted under his mask, typing in a special security code into the keypad.

Looking around with furrowed brows, he did realize it was just you three, right? You glanced at Logan, wondering if he understood what Deadpool was saying. He only gave a slight shake of his head.

"It's a quick in and out," You reminded the two, walking past the gates as the hissed open, thanks to Wilson. How he knew the password so easily, you didn't know. He said something about 'writer being too lazy to build up to the reveal,' which made it 'easier to follow if he just knew.'

Logan grunted as he followed. It frightened you how well he could retain the plans you've gone over so many times this week. It was great for him, and for you! But also sucked, because they guy replacing your 'smart guy' still needed a refresher.

You take your stance beside the large bars hiding the painting. Idly looking around while Logan let out a primal roar as he pried the gap between the metal bars wider.

"I bet that's what it sounds like when you're close, huh?" Wade snickered, pinching the yellow fabric on his hips. You cringed for several reasons. Wade's constant immaturity. And, God's above, Logan's ridiculous outfit.

Honoring the X-men or not, the yellow was as bright as a trafficlight.

You slipped through the widened gap now, ignoring Wade's whistle behind you. "You do realize this is supposed to be a silent mission?" You sneered, now on the other side of the enclosure.

Wade shrugged. "Don't worry, peaches. Nothing bad ever happens to the sexy ones. Logan might get left behind, but you and me?" His mask hid the way he bit his lip and winked. It looked like he was just staring at you.

"Alright." You sighed and moved on. That was the best way to handle these two. They gave you no other choice. I mean, you could give in and fuck them, but you were planning to save that for later if they did a good job tonight.

With the painting carefully removed, the bars bent back in place, and Wade managing to keep his pants on for a few minutes, all that was left to do was leave. You had Logan carry the painting as you all ran back to the World War 1 exhibit - the way you entered through.

You made sure the two were in front of you the entire time. You couldn't risk them getting lost, their bulk and dead brains might break something if you weren't watching them carefully. And the red and blue lights glowing as you ran past were not any help.

You stopped dead in your tracks. That wasn't your normal bisexual lighting. There were no sirens, either.

You jogged back a few paces, stopping by the archway of one of the many halls in the museum. Face to face with the digital glow of a blue and red mask.

"Hey Spider," Grinning softly, you leaned on the doorway. The Spider-Man hung upside-down on his red wire webs, per usual. You didn't need to see his sexy face to see that stoic pout he always wore.

"Good evening." He greets in that deep voice, hinting with an accent you loved. The red outlines of his eyes squinting as you boop his nose. "Are we really going to do this tonight?" He scowls, and you swoon.

He flips down, landing on his feet. Broad shoulders and thin waist beautifully extenuated by the suit that was more code than fabric. Towering over you, red blades on the back of his forearms.

"At least take your mask off," You taunt. To which he does. When has Miguel ever denied that request? As infuriating as it was, it was also a very freeing day when the two of you finally put the suits aside and fu- talked. In bed.

His brown curls looked neat today. Dark red eyes watching your every move. That pout on his sharp angled face was too cute. He was so grumpy all the time.

He glances behind you, leaning over slightly to look at the damage you've done. "Portrait of Madame X?" He notes the missing piece of work. Thick brow arching in suspicion.

You shrug. "She's an idol of mine." An idol worth 20 million to your buyer. But he didn't need to worry his pretty little head about the details.

"Do you want a 10 second head start?" He offers, placing a hand by your head and leaning in. Keeping you between his hard chest and the wall. His lips parted with a slight smirk.

"Bub, where'd you go?" Logan's gruff voice grows closer. Wade skipping alongside him. Both of them stopping dead in their tracks at the sight of Miguel.

His mask quickly ripples into place and he steps back, snarling. "Who are you?" His eyes dart to the painting you were supposed to be stealing, in some other man's hold. Keeping his body towards and more in between to block you from the other two, he snarls.

"I am soaking wet right now." Wade groans softly, admiring this little stand off. He wasn't kidding, Spider-Man had been in his 'hit' list for a few years now.

Miguel bristles, back going tense. And as great of a view that was, you knew it meant trouble.

"No, they're with me." Grabbing his broad and beefy shoulder, you push him back. Accidentally putting yourself in the middle of this odd triangle you've created.

Miguel glowers at you. "My regulars were out. I needed an extra hand." You shrug it off. That's all they were. Extra hands. In a heist. You totally weren't going to make out with them on the car ride home.

Tension thick, your shoulders weigh down as you look at all three of the men. A tinge of embarrassment hits you as you realize how similar their figures looked. You definitely had a type.

Wade breaks it up, or attempts to with another sentence you don't exactly understand. "Jesus, if the writer would get over themselves, I would fuck you two so hard." He gestures to Logan and Miguel. Earning an angry grunt from both of them that just seems to further his excitement.

"I'm so pissed we have to wait for a part two."

"Part two? Of what?" You raise a brow, looking at Wade.

He waves a hand. They don't get it.

...

But you do. And if you want a part two, please let me know! This was just an idea festering (that got out of hand a little) and I'm not sure what to make with it just yet. I also need a title for this, so if you guys have any suggestions, please let me know. Love you!

[eternalsams]

Like Cats and Dogs ➻ Miguel O'Hara

pairing: Miguel O'Hara (Spider-Man 2099) x Spider-Woman!reader

warning/content: black cat and golden retriever energy, Miguel is a party pooper

summary: you finally find the way to travel across the dimensions and you meet an interesting person.

words count: 1.5k

a/n: English isn't my first language so please take that into your consideration. Also, this is straightly inspired by a conversation I had with an AI of Miguel and I had to share this because it was so fun.

You slowly open your eyes, your pupils adapting to the new light around you. The night sky faces you and the high buildings reach the stars. You look down at your bracelet and close the portal you just came from. You immediately notice the other person in the room and jump back, arming your web shooters and aiming for the man in the room. "Who are you? Show yourself or I else shoot!" You threaten and the man steps closer, revealing himself calmly. He's tall, oh so tall. He's got broad shoulders and a strong jawline. His fists are clenched but what makes you relax is the big spider drawn on his body. The suit he's wearing looks like yours, only yours have a yellow spider on your back. "Do I know you?" He asks calmly but watches all your movements. You walk around him, inspecting his suit from every angle. "I don't know... Do I?" You say, staying at a certain distance from him, not knowing if he was dangerous or not. His jaw clenches and I can see he's getting impatient. "My name is Miguel O’Hara. I’m Nueva York‘s one and only spider man. My life is pretty hectic and full of one bad thing after the other." He introduces himself, hoping you would cooperate and do the same. He takes a step closer and you get a good look at the dark veins in his eyes. "Do I know you?" He asks again.

You chuckle and stand back in front of him. "Did you practice this little speech of yours in front of your mirror this morning?" You cross your arms across your chest and raise an eyebrow. He frowns and take a step towards you, menacing. "My life is not a joke. I’m doing everything I can to protect this city from any threats. Why do you want to fight me?" You look down at his fists and can see his laser web wrapping his hands, threatening you. You slightly smile and look back up at his red eyes. "You think you're the only one with these bad boys, huh?" You shoot a short web to the wall next to you. His lips part and you can see him deep in his thoughts for a second before he looks back at you. "You... are like me?" You simply shrug. "Seems like it, big guy! But you... seem different, evolved..." You slightly frown and grab his hand, inspecting his talons and then grabbing his face to look closer at his fangs. "Are you a vampire or something?" You ask him before he rips your hand off his face. "I am not a vampire." He growls. "Oh... Are you a demon then?" You ask excitedly and shook his shoulders, which seems not to please him that much. He yanks your hands away a second time and steps back from you. "Not a demon either. Why are you here? What do you want?" You exhale loudly and pace slowly in front of him. "I've heard about you, Spidey... So I left my dimension to meet you. I still don't know if I'm glad I met you or not though..."

He stares at you, confused and search for his next words. "Other dimension? What are you rambling about. If you weren’t so annoying I’d knock you out." You roll your eyes out and chuckle. "Have you ever heard of the multiverse?" You cock your head to the side, enjoying how confused he looks. "The... multiverse..? You can travel through dimensions?" He raises his eyebrows. "Yup!" You clap your hands and shoot webs on the ceiling to make yourself a swing, sitting down on it. "You, my friend... are from Earth-928 and I am from Earth-634. You're the Spider-Man here and I'm the Spider-Woman of my dimension." You explain to him. "You're kidding..? I don't have the most... normal life but this? What brought you here?" He looks back up at you. "I told you! You did! I was doing some research about the multiverse and I had a weird vivid dream where I saw multiple Spider-Men, and so I knew I had to meet some of them, including you!" You point at him and he blinks. "So you came here, to my world, based on a dream? You’re crazy! I guess that's a good thing..." I grin at him and pat his cheek. "Aww, Spideyyy.... You're being soft on me!" He slaps my hand away and growls. "Hey! I'm not being soft!"

"You so are!" You chuckle and pinch his cheek like a grandma would do. He slaps your hand once again and keep it away from his face. "Don't you dare touch me again!" You hold up your hands in surrender with a sly smirk. "Okay, okay... So... You single, Guapo?" You wiggle your eyebrows. "Why? You wanna take me out on a date?" He huffs, as if the mere idea of dating you was ridiculous. "Maybe... We could have a bunch of inter-dimensional babies!" His little smile quickly drops and he blinks. "What? You're clearly insane..." He sighs. "Oh, come on, Mr Vampire... Don't you ever smile or crack up?" You can see he doesn't like the nickname but you don't really care. "I do smile. Just not with you." You step closer and have to tilt your head back to look in his eyes. "I wanna see that fangy smile!" You say excitedly. "I don't need to show you anything." He looks like he’s on the defensive, and looks a bit disturbed that you might notice he’s a mutant. "You’re from a different reality- how am I supposed to trust you?" He frowns and crosses his arms on his toned chest. "I'm literally a different version of you! We're the same! You're a vigilante, I'm a vigilante. You save people from bad guys, I save people from bad guys... What else do you need to trust me?!" You throw your arms up and exhale loudly. "You’re from an alternate reality. For all I know, you’re a supervillain pretending to be good. I need proof." He just stands there when you're pacing in front of him. "Alright... Tell me what you wanna know." You sigh and face him. "Why are you here? You said because you saw a vision of me. Why did you feel the need to find me?" He asks, tilting his chin up to look down at you. "Curiosity."

"You’re risking the health of your reality just to satisfy your curiosity?" He raises his eyebrows, almost speechless. "Yeah, my dad always told me I was too curious for my own good... But hey! What can I do about it?" You chuckle and shrug. "Maybe try not to put your home in danger if you get a passing whim! You're so weird..." He sighs and pinch the bridge of his nose. "So, tell me, Mr Vampire... What else do you need from me so you trust me?" You ask with a sly smirk. He growls and throws his head back. "I'm not a vampire, for the last time! Stop calling me that!" His fists have charged and begin to crackle with a blue electric energy, he seems ready to fight with you. You slightly laugh and hold your hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry... It's just so easy to mess with you, big guy!" He shakes his head and grits his teeth. "You’re so obnoxious. You know that? What do you wanna know about me?" You think about it and smile widely, pointing at his face. "Can I touch your fangs? I wanna check if they're sharp..." He frowns and looks weirdly at you. "No! What is wrong with you? Why are you so obsessed with my fangs?" He takes a step back from you, keeping his distance. "I'm not obsessed with your fangs." You immediately respond but you both know you're lying. Your gaze catches something else and your eyes widen. "Are those claws?!" You exclaim and almost jump on him, grabbing him arm and inspecting his hand. "What are you doing? You can't just touch me without my permission. I'm not some play thing, okay?" He says in a little voice, way less confident. You smile and softly touch the end, feeling how sharp the claws are. "You're fascinating..." You lead his hand towards him and watch the claws retract when his fingers touch his suit. "Hey! Stop that! No touching me without permission. That's a rule! And why am I so fascinating? I'm not some kind of experiment! And they're not claws, it's talons!" He exclaims, getting rid of your touch. "No... You're just so different from me..." You ignore his request not to be touched and grab his other hand, checking again his talons.

"Don't you get the message?!" He pulls his arm out of your grip. "Stop touching me!" His fists crackle with energy as his anger returns. You step back and hold up your hands. "Alright, alright... Calm down, Guapo. I'm sorry, I didn't want to upset you or hurt your feelings." He seems to calm down and his shoulders relax. "It's just that I spent months working on travelling across the multiverse and when I finally do it, the first person I meet is a Spider-hero, just like me. It's all so exciting!" You grin and you can almost see a smile creeping his way onto his lips before he looks away, shaking his head. "You're so weird..." He sighs and you smile even more. "Oh, trust me I know."

[cherryredstars]

PLSSSS GIVE US A SECOND PART OF RIBBON

I NEED IIIIIIIIT it gave me 🦋🦋🦋

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Fingering, Makeshift "Collar", Fluffy Miguel

A/N: Enjoy, my love!!!

Unedited

Part 1

You won't even look at him.

He finds it amusing, tapping his fingers on the desk's surface between the two of you. He knows from your peripheral vision, even as you try to keep your attention on the professor, that you can see his wrist. You can see the pale pink silk contrasting against his rich skin and the black of his jacket. Your pretty pink bow. The same bow that happened to go missing once it was untied from your wrists.

The same bow that has slight discoloring at one end from where it soaked up your smooth arousal not even twenty-four hours ago.

He's wearing it like a prize, proud of what it symbolizes. It isn't just proof that he was able to slip between your pretty thighs, but proof that you own him. It marks him as your territory. Fuck if he doesn't look like a silly school boy, practically radiating from his spot besides you as he absentmindedly fidgets with the smooth material. He doesn't give a fuck about the teasing remarks he got from his friends when they had seen it, could care less about the jealous looks girls have been glaring at the bow. The only reaction he cares about is yours.

Your cheeks are flushed, big doe eyes fluttering as you avert your gaze from him. You squirm in your seat, shifting every now and then in a futile attempt to find a comfortable position that doesn't make you feel hot and stuffy under your pretty clothes. Some part of Miguel hopes all your movement is partially to blame on how sore you are between your legs, trying to distract yourself from not only his wrist, but also the aching hollowness he's left behind from the day before. He can picture it in his mind: you waking up with a cute wince as your inner thighs ached, a plump pout on your lips as you tried to find the bow from yesterday before deciding you don't have time to look for it and rushing out of the house with your hair loose. Or maybe it was a conscious decision, one made after recalling the way Miguel whined into your neck about how pretty your hair looked free and flowing around your shoulders and pillow.

He has to bite back a groan at the thought.

The class ends all too fast in his opinion as the hour and thirty minute lecture comes to a close and you begin to promptly shoot up and put your things away into your tote bag. Then he finds that the class couldn't end soon enough when you go to leave, your small hand barely wrapping around his decorated wrist as you pull him along. His tail is practically wagging as he lets you drag him out of the class, finding it amusing that despite your fast paced steps he has to walk slowly to not trample you. His heart is pounding horribly fast in his chest as you drag him around campus, his skin burning beneath the ribbon until you enter the school library and drag him to the very back.

He almost pouts when you drop his wrist, turning to him with your arms crossed over your chest. His eyes drop there quickly, admiring the way your breasts are pushed up before he looks back at your face. He's not particularly ashamed as you give him a knowing look, a smooth smirk tugging at his lips.

"That's mine."

You say it simply, stating the obvious as you point at the pink on his wrist. Miguel holds his arm up, a faux look of surprise on his face as he twists his hand around to get a good view of it.

"Huh, is it? I can see why you wear them. It looks pretty on me, don't y'think?"

His lips twitch as you let out an exaggerated sigh, your eyes rolling in annoyance. You hold your hand out expectantly, your shoes making a dull thumping noise as it taps against the carpeted flooring. Miguel simply stares at your hand, eyebrows furrowed as he slightly angles his wrist away from you. He's acting like a spoiled child, possessive over his favorite toy. Your eyes narrow, your hand dropping as you groan. You simply don't understand him, he hates you. Yet, he's clinging on to your precious bow.

"Miguel." You sigh, your hand coming up to play with your loose hair as a way to calm down. "You're giving people the wrong idea wearing my bow."

Miguel crosses his arms over his chest too, matching your stance. He straightens up, towering over you as he spreads his feet shoulder width apart.

"I think everyone is getting the right idea."

You quirk your brow shaking your head, "And what idea is that?"

Miguel's cheek flush, but his face stays the same. Serious and determined. He doesn't want to say it aloud. That's the purpose of the bow anyway: an unspoken, but obvious sign of who he belongs to. He doesn't want to make a fool of himself by saying it out loud. He's spent all this time silently pining after you, he's not ready to have it crash and burn at his feet. Especially not after he knows what it's like to have you. Not when the feel and taste of you are already implanted in his memory.

He shifts uneasily on his feet. "I think you already know."

You lean back onto the bookshelf behind you, lips puckered in a purse. Of course you already know, you just don't understand why. Surely he's only doing it for an ego boost, bragging about how he got you in his (well, technically your) bed despite the fact you dislike him. You rub at your temple, eyes closing shut as you feel an oncoming headache.

"Yeah, but you don't like me." You finally say, opening your eyes and giving him an unamused look. "Why would you want people to think we're a...thing?"

Miguel takes a step forward. Then another, and another, and another until the tips of his shoes are centimeters away from yours. He casts a shadow over you from how tall he is in comparison, blocking out the already scarce light. If you were anyone else, you would be terrified of him looming over you. But you know that he wouldn't hurt you, especially not after the way he handled you yesterday. All sweet praises and desperately soft caresses. Your mind goes a bit hazy recalling it, and you have to blink rapidly to vanish the thoughts. Even as your core grows hot.

Miguel's hand, the one with the ribbon, comes up to your face. His brows are furrowed, but they relax slightly when his fingers run through your hair, pushing a strand back behind your ear even as it comes loose and falls back into place. He's quite a moment, and it takes great effort to even your breaths to not reveal the frantic state of your heart right now. He's simply studying you, taking you in.

"Who said that?"

His words are hushed, warm as they fan over your face from how close he is. It reminds you of the voice he had used when he asked if he can take off your dress, his hands hovering on your back as he pressed kisses along your jaw. You can feel his lips ghosting your skin as the memory hits you, and a slight shiver runs up your spine.

"I- what?" You mumble out, your mind scrambling to collect itself.

"Who said I don't like you?"

He mocks the tone you used, and your mouth drops to open. An instinctive 'You did!' crawls up your throat, but it gets trapped between your vocal cords. Your brows furrow as your mind works to find a moment of proof that you're right. Trying to pick through all the teasing until you find a time where the words slipped out of his mouth. But, you can't. Your mouth snaps shut, averting your eyes to his ear as embarrassment stains your cheeks.

Miguel hums knowingly, bringing his wrists between the two of you. You both look down as his hand comes up to pull at the ends of the bow. The silk dents under the weight of his thumb and pointer finger as he tugs softly at it, watching as it unravels. You gulp, suddenly feeling nervous as Miguel looks at you, your eyes meeting his. You flinch in surprise when his thumb presses on our chin, slowly guiding your head up so he can see your face properly. It leaves your neck entirely exposed, and you tense when the soft silk brushes the nape of your neck. Miguel's eyes drop to look at what he's doing, hands slow and careful as he starts tying the bow. His fingers move skillfully as he crosses the two lengths together, flipping one over the other and forming two loops. He tugs until it's snug against your supple neck. It's loose enough that it doesn't choke you as you move your head, only applying enough pressure to let you know that it's there. It blends perfectly into your outfit, like it was always there.

He follows the length of one of the ends down, brushes over your clothed breast slightly before his hand skims your thigh. It makes you jolt, both of your hands grabbing at his shoulders in surprise. Your eyes shoot down, blushing at the obvious bulge in his pants, but your eyes trace the movements of his fingers. The rough pads float over your skin, dipping occasionally into your inner thighs before returning to the apex. You can't help but squirm, hands tightening on his shoulders and your thighs flex.

Miguel's eyes are hazy and half-lidded as he watches you. His fingers gain more and more confidence as he watches you become putty, slipping under your skirt until his pinkie skims the edge of your panties. It causes a little gasp to part from your lips, doe eyes wide as you look up to him. He can feel a hunger burning in his gut, driving him to cup is hand completely over your clothed cunt.

"Miguel!" You hiss, bucking into his hand. "W-what are you-?"

He coos down at you, shushing you lightly as he leans down. His forehead meets your shoulder, resting there despite the weird angle that already is causing an ache between his shoulder blades. Your hands slide into his hair, your eyes looking to the ceiling when he grinds the palm of his hand into your clit. A wave of deja vu washes over you as his lips plant small kisses to your skin, inaudible mumbles breathed against your skin as he huffs at your scent.

"Just wanna make y'feel good." You barely make out. "Show you how much I like ya."

You have to bite your lip to prevent a lewd sound from escaping when his fingers move your panties to the side, stroking up your soaked slit. Your hands tighten in Miguel's hair, pushing his face closer to your neck. A full-body shiver runs up your spine when his tongue licks at the skin just above the ribbon, dampening the edges of it and leaving a shiny line on your skin. You swear your knees are on the verge of buckling when he repeats the action, switching between licks and suckling around the pink silk. His fingers toy with your slick, gathering it on the tips of his fingers and massaging it along your clit before dipping them inside of you again.

Miguel eats up every single quiet noise you let out, mind echoing with the soft squelch of your cunt and the shaky moans you produce. He has to flex his thighs to physically prevent his knees from bending so he can hump your leg like a damn dog, his cock aching to swap places with his fingers. But he knows you wouldn't want to risk anyone finding the two of you in such a compromising position, and he isn't very keen with he idea of anyone but him seeing how pretty you look when waves of pleasure hit you. So instead, he focuses all the pent up need into curling his fingers into you. The soft sound of his palm hitting against your mound drives him nuts, feeling your slick drip from his fingers until it's practically pooling in his hand. He makes sure his fingers find and press into that one gummy spot that was you gasping, your legs shakily trying to close from how good it feels.

Miguel's eyes roll back as you let out a shaky whimper of his name, your legs locking as your body shakes. He can feel the way your walls clench around his fingers, squeezing them tight as you come undone. Miguel practically whines into your neck, his jaw unhinging until his teeth sink into your neck. He pulls away when your body goes slack, indents marking above and below the silk. His hand is sticky as he slowly pulls his fingers out of you, the dim light reflecting on the glossy liquid. Your cheeks are beautifully flushed, hot pants leaving your parted lips. Miguel can't help but slip his two creamy fingers past your glossy lips, eyes hypnotized as you lazy suck at them with no complaints. Miguel has to pull them out fast, feeling his cock twitch dangerously in his pants. He shuts himself off from a groan by stuffing the fingers in his mouth instead, licking up the remaining slick and your saliva. It's heavenly, and he's not a bit embarrassed when he licks up his palm too.

You hum at the sight, a soft smile playing on your lips as you slouch forward, taking your turn by leaning on his shoulder. Miguel's clean hand cradles the back of your head, his lips pressing into your hair as you float down into the present. You sigh tiredly as you gently push away, Miguel's arms quickly wrapping around your waist so you don't go too far.

You definitely don't mind being wrapped up, not if it's by him.

Part 3

[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.

-

TAGGING: @fandxmslxt69 @buckysblondie @leucoratia @avatricu @rexxesgirl @hoe4fiction @erissco @dil3mma @ashjbu @mfrnchsk @sanjisluvbot @deputy-videogamer (if you'd like to be added fill out this form)

[mafiaanomaly]

"Morning Routine"

Pairing: Miguel O' hara x Reader

Tags: Fluff, a bit of flirt in the end

Summary: Reader woke up early in the morning to get ready for work but reader is trap in Miguel's arms, Miguel was pretending that he was still a sleep as he was acting very clingy today...

so here's the thing : Miguel O'hara is a light sleeper. an incredibly light sleeper, which isn't surprising-- what, given the nature of his job being spiderman, protecting the multi verse and everything he's ever had to endure.

oh? accidentally drop your phone on your face at an ungodly hour while he's sleeping next to you? he's awake. roll over in bed with utmost caution? he's awake.

breathe? oh, he's definitely awake.

you blindly reach for your phone on the nightstand, sleep very much still heavy on your eyes. you squint when you glance at the time, suddenly very hateful of your phone's auto brightness adjustment as it blinds you. that's certainly one way to wake up, huh?

the time reads 7:09am. you've got to leave for work in about 30 minutes, which is fine. no rush, no problem. except that--

well, except that Miguel is laying on top of you, head on your chest, lulled to sleep by the sound of your heart. it's become a habit of sorts-- the way he seeks comfort in your existence, the depth of your humanity an anchor & serenity in his life as you weave your fingers through his hair, slowly push him to the edge of slumber in peaceful means. it's reverent, holy, you think, and had you not been working today, you think you would have been able to stay in bed with him all day.

"Miggy?" your voice is quiet, soft-- you wish to gently break his slumber, hand gently patting his back.

he doesn't wake up. you call his name again, pat him a little bit harder. he still doesn't wake. you're insistent on avoiding rude awakenings, so you try this for a few more minutes, no longer groggy and now filled with a slight determination.

7:16am. you need to get ready.

you lean your head back into the pillow, glare at the ceiling.

here's another thing : Miguel O'hara is also a liar.

heavy sleeper, my ass, you think. he tends to be clingier after returning from missions or from HQ after work, which is entirely understandable, and you truly do not mind, but you really, really, don't want to deal with another scolding from your boss. you still entirely, listen to the sound of his breathing.

yeah. he's awake.

"Miguel O' hara. you are awake."

he holds his breath instinctively. you feel it.

"listen, pretty boy. i gotta get ready for work." your fingers run through his messy bed head. "i need you to move."

he doesn't move. doesn't even react. he keeps up the facade.

7:19am. jesus christ, Migg.

you pinch the bridge of your nose, let out a sigh. you try-- keyword being try, to sit up, but suddenly he's so much heavier, and you realize that he becomes dead weight just to make this so much harder-- which says a lot, because he's already incredibly muscular, and god, you think you can win against those arms? think again.

"Miguel, i swear--"

"call in."

when you lie back down, a means of waving the white flag, he finally looks up at you, dark brown eyes gentle and exhausted. there's something so incredibly tender in the way his gaze meets yours, hand reaching for yours as if it's instinct. you're the one holding your breath now, swallowing hard when he smiles that reserved smile that only you have the pleasure of seeing.

"stay with me, please." he squeezes your hand, once, twice, three times, and somewhere in that means an i love you, and you both know this.

you can't win. you can never win against him.

7:27am. oh, whatever, it doesn't matter anymore, you think, so you set your phone aside, focus on Miguel instead.

he notices the conflict in your eyes, then a brief contemplation, and the quiet admittance of defeat. he feels your body relax beneath his as you squeeze his hand four times, the kindest of smiles falling on your lips.

"fine, pretty boy. guess i'm sick, huh?"

"got a cold?"

"hm? sure."

he grins-- that shy little grin that you love so much, and you pinch his cheek, the curl of your lips growing ever so slightly.

"what a shame," he murmurs, "guess i should warm you up."

"i lied. suddenly i feel fine. i'm going to work."

"no, wait--"