#miguel o'hara x deadpool

[scout-is-missing]

「 ✦ sweet dreams of holly and ribbon ✦ 」 ⤷ summary: Deadpool visits Miguel on Christmas eve ⤷ word count: 2,989 ☆ ⤷ content warning: grieving, fluff ⤷ pairing: Fem!Deadpool reader x Miguel ⤷ A/N: Me posting a Christmas fic during new year's? It's more likely than you think! ↳ Masterlist ☆ Rules ☆ Prompt Lists ☆ AO3

[01]

As it turns out, actions have consequences.

Miguel knows this truth intimately. His entire existence is shaped by a series of bad decisions—most regretful, all irreversible, and the ensuing consequences that come back to haunt him later. He’s older, now, not much wiser, and yet, somewhere beneath the rubble of regret, he still hopes, absurdly, for a break.

True to her word, Deadpool continues to visit him.

It’s not unpleasant, most of the time. She arrives unannounced, making an over-the-top show of bypassing his security updates, “by skill alone,” she insists. He pretends to be irritated by her antics, her innuendo-laden quips, and the terrible puns that he’s sure she rehearses nightly in front of her mirror. And she’s gone just as quickly as she appears, flashing a grin and sashaying out the door, searching for another hapless victim or a greener pastures to poison.

Like a hurricane, leaving chaos in her wake.

A force of nature, unstoppable and unpredictable.

Miguel tells himself he’s sturdy enough to weather her storms.

It occurs to him, though, that Deadpool’s presence is partially his fault.

Vampires, he’s heard, can only enter a household if invited, before being able to come and go as they please. Not that he thinks Deadpool is a vampire (though, honestly, with her, who knows?), but the principle feels the same: By allowing her in, tolerating her mischief and offering even the barest hint of a welcome, he’s given the merc a permanent free pass into his life, handing her permission to disrupt it as she pleases.

Now, she’s everywhere.

Popping up during Miguel’s rare patrols to fling terrible jokes and snacks his way or sprawling across his office floor to colour disturbing doodles while he works, which she proudly dubs “masterpieces of modern art.” At first, he assumed Deadpool’s only sporadic appearances meant she was moving on, her chaotic energy drawn to new, more interesting prey. But then he realized her visits always happened between her jobs. 

When she wasn’t busy with her brand of mercenary madness, she found her way back to him.

She was around often enough that her absence felt like a tangible weight on the days she didn’t come.

He calls it Stockholm syndrome. Lyla, adjusting her heart-shaped glasses, cheerfully, helpfully informs him that Stockholm syndrome isn’t real.

He clings to the term anyway.

Things don’t really get easier, even with (or despite) Deadpool’s more frequent visits. They ease Miguel’s loneliness, sure, but it doesn’t heal his wounds and make the ache in his chest disappear like magic. 

Grief doesn’t fade.  It burrows under the skin, a wound that festers no matter how many bandages you wrap it in, a constant ache that lingers, no matter how much time passes. 

Day by day, he copes. 

Miguel returns home a little more often. His kitchen countertops remain dusty, but his office slowly recovers from the worst of his depression-fueled chaos.

Abandoned projects are shoved into corners, ignored but not forgotten. He learns to grow around the gaping hole in his heart, even when it threatens to swallow him whole.

His office shows faint signs of life. Baby steps, Lyla calls them.

(He doesn’t let her judge the nights he spends rewatching home videos. The ones where a version of himself, happier and whole, laughs as Gabriella runs barefoot through his living room on Christmas morning, slipping over wrapping paper when he attempts to show him a new trick she had learned. )

The holidays bring with them a specific ache. An emptiness that swallows the progress he’s made. Christmas was supposed to be a time for joy, for family, for moments that Miguel never got to have. He never saw Gabriella’s face light up at the sight of her presents or heard her complain about itchy sweaters. He had so little time with her, and what he has now are scraps of a life that doesn’t exist anymore.

It’s Christmas Eve, and he’s buried in work.

The others are long gone, celebrating with the loved ones they’re fortunate enough to have. It leaves the Spider Society’s headquarters eerily quiet, for once. Even Peter’s off playing family man.

Miguel’s only company is the dull glow of his screens, filling his vision, different responsibilities all competing for his attention as he multitasks. To his right, there’s raw data to analyse for his day job, to his left are the files of potential spider-people to recruit into his growing collective. Centre stage, a home video playing on loop. 

Deadpool’s entrance is startlingly subdued this time. She slips in so quietly, she might as well have strolled through the front door with a welcome mat under her arm. For someone so loud and larger-than-life, it’s easy to forget that she’s also disturbingly good at her job, stealth, included when it suits her.

Miguel notices her leaning casually against the desk behind him, the crooked angle of her Santa hat adding an odd whimsy to her usual leather-clad figure. Her gaze lingers, unapologetically, shamelessly, on his broad shoulders before flicking to the home video looping on his screen. She doesn’t comment, though the tension in her posture suggests she’s actively fighting the impulse. Instead, the merc picks up an empty takeout container, inspects it with a grimace, and shakes it like it might suddenly produce something edible.

Miguel doesn’t turn to look at her. He doesn’t have to. He knows she’s there, waiting for him to react, to acknowledge her presence. But he waits. Waits for her to say something cutting or inappropriate, for her to pry into the life he keeps locked behind layers of stone and silence. To tease him for falling apart again—or worse, to pity him.

He braces for the inevitable.

But she doesn’t do any of that.

“Your taste in takeout is abysmal!” she says instead, her voice dripping with mock disapproval. The corner of his mouth twitches despite himself  “Where’s the spice? The thrill? The flavour, Miguelito?” 

She drops the container back onto the desk with an exaggerated sigh, the sound echoing in the quiet room.

When she glances back at him, her mask doesn’t hide the sharpness in her gaze, like she’s peeling back the layers he keeps so carefully guarded. Like she’s trying to assemble all the little broken pieces of him into something she can understand. Something whole. Trying to understand the whole story based solely on the little glimpses he allowed her to see.

“Better bland than expired.”

She doesn’t take the bait, which is unusual for her. He eyes the screens in front of him, already getting overwhelmed by all the responsibilities he needs to return to. He can already feel a headache starting to form, and he knows, that Deadpool’s presence will only serve to make matters worse.

But somehow, despite himself, he didn’t tell her to leave. He did tell her to do as she pleased, after all, he knew, deep down, it wasn’t something he could ever take back.

Like a vampire, Miguel’s mind supplies. In his weakest moment, he’d let her in. He hadn’t even tried to stop her, too tired, too resigned, and too drawn in by the light she carried with her. He’d bared his neck, and she’d sunk her teeth in. Her presence became a mark he couldn’t erase, a tether he couldn’t sever. 

He’d let her in, foolishly, willingly, and now she was everywhere.

Deadpool steps closer, her presence as loud as her voice is soft.

“I always thought you’d go big for the holidays,” she says, a thread of wistfulness threading through her usual bravado. “Big feast, tamales, flan, the works. Maybe even some singing. You have a deep, dramatic voice. I bet you’d kill at carols.”

Miguel snorts, barely glancing her way. “I don’t sing.”

“Not yet,” she quips, lightning-quick, her tone regaining its usual teasing edge. “Give me time.”

His lips twitch, but the moment flickers and dies as his eyes return to the screen. With a flick of his wrist, he minimizes the video of Gabriella. He doesn’t need her catching sight of it, doesn’t need her insight slicing him open when he’s already frayed at the edges.

She leans in closer, hands on her hips, and inspects his workspace with the exaggerated scrutiny of someone who knows it’ll get under his skin. He doesn’t miss the flash of her eyes: sharp, always searching, as though she’s piecing together a puzzle he didn’t even realize he was giving her.

“You know...” she murmurs, her voice deceptively soft, “I always figured you’d be good at this kind of thing. Cooking, hosting. You give off big, ‘don’t get in my kitchen’ energy.” She waves vaguely at the mess of his desk. “I figured, at least once a year, you’d make some grand feast. Surprise the whole Spider Society. Show everyone you’re not just an emotionally constipated vampire.”

Miguel doesn’t rise to the bait. Not immediately. But her words linger, brushing against memories he tries to bury. Family dinners he’ll never have again. Voices that won’t ever echo through his halls. He minimizes another screen, obscuring data reports and his daughter’s ghost alike.

“I came here with expectations, man!” The woman adds, leaning back against the desk now, her head cocked and her posture lazy, though her eyes gleam with something sharper. “You’re supposed to be brooding, not boring.”

She’s joking, but her voice lands flat against the weight of his silence. When he doesn’t respond, she sighs, her theatrics dialled up to mask her displeasure.

“Come on, Spidey. Even big, scary, emotionally stunted vampire-dudes need to unwind sometimes.” She gestures dramatically, like she’s pitching a rom-com. “You know what you need? To find yourself stranded in a small town in the middle of nowhere during the holidays. Maybe meet a single mom and her precocious kid who teaches you the true meaning of Christmas. Hallmark loves that stuff, and I could definitely pull a few strings—”

Miguel pinches the bridge of his nose, his frustration evident even in the smallest motion. “I’m not a vampire. And I don’t need to unwind.”

The slight twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him, though, and she caught it. She always did.

"Of course not. You're Miguel O'Hara. A man with the emotional depth of a teaspoon—"

"Can you get to the point?" he interrupted, glaring at her.

Deadpool pushed off the desk and started pacing dramatically, arms spread wide. "The point, dear Miguel, is that it's the holidays, and while I'm not exactly what you'd call 'festive'— I mean, unless you count stringing someone up in Christmas lights as festive. I thought you might appreciate a little...cheer."

Miguel snorted, leaning back in his chair. 

"Breaking into my office to annoy me is your idea of holiday cheer?"

"Well, duh.” She stopped mid-step, turning on her heel with a grin that Miguel could hear even through her mask. "And, because I’m such a benevolent holiday spirit, I even brought a gift!"

With a flourish, she whipped out a brightly wrapped package from one of her hammerspace pockets. It hit the desk with a muffled thunk, the sheer volume of tape on the underside suggesting that the wrapping process had been nothing short of a battle. A crooked red bow perched on top, that at the very least, suggested a genuine effort. The wrapping paper, of course, was adorned with her unmistakable logo, turning the whole thing into a self-promoting eyesore.

Miguel eyed the package with the wariness of a man who had been burned one too many times—literally, in some cases. He could never quite tell when Deadpool was being genuine, and the twinkle in her voice only heightened his suspicion.

"If this explodes—"

"Relax, it's not a bomb." Deadpool crosses her chest solemnly. He can tell by the way her mask moves that she’s trying hard to keep a smile off her face. "Swear on my questionable moral compass."

Miguel hesitated before picking the package up, his talons grazing the edges of the poorly wrapped package to cut through the layers of excessive tape and garish paper, revealing...a scarf. It was lumpy, uneven in all the wrong places, and unmistakably handmade. The navy and red stitches, his signature colours, he notices, are woven with more enthusiasm than skill.

His gaze caught on the uneven blobs of red yarn near the middle. Blobs of red yarn created a pattern that vaguely resembled his mask—an earnest effort, even if imperfect. As chaotic as the woman who made it.

"I made it myself!" she declared, her voice bubbling with pride. That much is obvious, but Miguel is kind enough not to voice the thought. Her gloved hands clapped together, and she leaned forward just enough to invade his space, her masked face tilted as if daring him to be unimpressed by her efforts.

He stared at the scarf for a long moment, then shifted his eyes to her. Then back at the mask, then back at her. The hardened lines of his face softened, a flicker of something tender breaking through his usual cold expression.  

"...Why?"

Her bravado faltered, just for a second, before she recovered with a playful shrug. 

“Because you’re always brooding up here, and I figured you could use something warm. Not just, you know, emotionally—but literally. It’s freezing in this place!”

Miguel turned the scarf over in his hands, his thumb brushing the uneven stitches. He could feel the effort in every imperfection, the way each loop of yarn reflected intense trial and error, intense persistence on her part for a gift she didn’t have any obligation to give him. It was ridiculous, clumsy, and...incredibly thoughtful.

“You realize I have enhanced thermoregulation,” he said quietly, his fingers lingering on the rough yarn. “I don’t get cold.”

She let out an exaggerated groan, throwing her hands in the air. Half frustrated at him for breaking the delicate, sweet moment they had built, and undeniably charmed by… By how weird and nerdy he could be. Of course, he’d say something like this.

“Wow, buzzkill. Do you always have to ruin the moment, or is that just a holiday special?” Despite her words, her voice was warm, almost affectionate. “Just take the stupid scarf, okay? Humour me for once.”

Miguel didn’t respond right away, his fingers lingering on the uneven loops of red yarn, tracing the clumsy pattern that tried so earnestly to copy the sharp, angular shapes of his mask. There was something disarming about the imperfections, something that softened the edges of his thoughts. Slowly, he wrapped the scarf around his neck, the knitted scarf bunching awkwardly against his collar. It wasn’t comfortable, not in the traditional sense, but it radiated a warmth that had nothing to do with the yarn and everything to do with her.

Deadpool stepped back, her arms crossed, but the usual sharpness of her posture had melted into something softer. Her head tilted slightly, her masked face angled as if she were waiting for something. Not thanks—She knew him better than that. 

Something deeper, quieter.

"...It’s not bad,” Miguel murmured at last, the corner of his mouth twitching into the faintest hint of a smile. Barely there, but real.

Her laugh came softer this time, stripped of its usual bravado. It lingered in the air between them, warm and genuine. “High praise from you, Spidey. Careful, or I might start thinking you like me.”

Before he could respond, she stepped closer, closing the space between them in a way that made his breath hitch. Deadpool’s gloved fingers brushed the edge of the scarf, adjusting it with care as she tugged it into place so it would sit just right. The touch was light, fleeting, but deliberate—lingering longer in its meaning than its physicality.

"You should wear red more often," she murmured, her voice softer now, almost contemplative. “Brings out your eyes.”

Her words hung in the air, heavier than her usual quips, settling in the small space between them like a secret shared too closely. She didn’t step back right away. Her presence, unyielding and grounding, wrapped around him as surely as the scarf she’d so carefully fixed. He hadn’t realized how much he needed that kind of weight until she was standing there, filling the empty spaces he usually drowned in.

For a moment, it was as though time itself paused, the sharp edges of his grief and guilt dulled by the unexpected softness of her gesture. Her gaze, hidden beneath the mask, felt unspoken but palpable— something uncharacteristically vulnerable, like she wasn’t sure if she’d stepped too far or not far enough.

Then the moment broke, so quick and fragile he might as well have imagined it. She patted the hero’s chest twice, the motion forcefully casual but hurried, as though trying to shake off the intimacy of the moment.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Webs,” Deadpool said, slipping back into her familiar mask of faux cheerfulness, trying to inject levity back into their conversation. “I just wanted an excuse to touch all this prime real estate. Who could resist?”

Miguel raised a brow, smirking faintly despite himself. “You’re incorrigible.”

“And you love it,” she shot back with a grin in her voice, but there was something just a little off about it—something a little too forced. Her actions had the faintest edge of hesitance, her usual confidence tempered by something closer to uncertainty.

Before he could parse it, she was already retreating, slipping back into the flurry of movement and action that defined her. A whirlwind in and out of his space, gone just as quickly as she’d arrived. Her absence left the air around him feeling quieter. Much, much emptier.

Miguel let out a quiet sigh, his fingers brushing the edge of the scarf again. Lumpy, uneven, and utterly ridiculous. But it was also, without question, the warmest thing he’d worn in years.

[totally-not-a-slug]

Have you noticed that Miguel and Wade are both tragic father figures?

yes. It's what makes these two mix so well somehow

And I always think about the tragedies they've gone through and the ways they've coped with that, how different outcomes made them who they are

I can imagine Miguel and Wade speaking about their lives and Miguel how he's able to act so lively despite all he's gone through, and Wade saying that even all he's gone through he knows he's not alone, and that Miguel isn't alone in his hardships either. They'll go through hardships that come their way together.

The Tragic father figures who have each other,

Trauma fathers, parental figures who've faced the horrors if you will

[skullywullypully]

You heard of

Miguel x Peter B

Miguel x Y/N

Miguel x Lego Spiderman

Now get ready for

Miguel x Deadpool !

[totally-not-a-slug]

This art is going in my mouth Wade's words of based knowledge

Bad bitch, cute face and some nice titties

[a-door-to-somewhere]

Anyways obviously the only correct way to have Deadpool in the spiderverse is if there's just one Deadpool. And he keeps ending up in different universes causing shenanigans but it's always the same Deadpool. He switches art styles/appearance depending on universe. The go-home machine can't figure out if he even has a home universe. (Believe me Miguel has tried.) He hits on most age-appropriate spideys and then hits on their MJs too. Villains in most universes seem to inexplicably know him, or at least know of him. He keeps getting kicked out of HQ. He's 100% aware that all this logic only works because it's an epic crossover and the writers wanted it that way.

[breadly-art]

I'm down on my knees, I wanna take you there 🎶💕

Warmup (I'm fighting with artblock)

[librababe99]

Hi Loves! This will be my first time EVER participating in Kinktober and honestly i'm so excited to do this🤭 Below I will be posting my lineup.

❥・All of these stories will be "Character x Reader" and I promise there won't be any use of Y/N.

❥・Female Reader or Gender Neutral Reader will be featured.

❥・ If you'd like, you can comment your choices below and I will tag you OR use this link: CLICK HERE

Logan Howlett x Reader: Knife Play (ft. Claws)

Scott Summers x Reader: Sensory Deprivation

Old Man!Logan x Fem!Reader: Pregnancy kink

Young!Charles Xavier x Fem!Reader: Face sitting

Remy Lebeau x Virgin! Reader: Praise kink

Young!Erik Lensherr x Fem!Reader: Threesome (Ft. Charles)

Hank McCoy x Fem!Reader: Cunnilingus

Wade Wilson x Reader: Dom/Sub, Lingerie

Piotr Rasputin (Colossus) x Reader: Thigh Riding

Miguel O'Hara x Fem!Reader: Breeding

Tony Stark x Fem!Reader: Infidelity

Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader: Breast worship, titty fucking

Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader: Period Sex

Loki x Fem! Reader: Seduction, Body Worship, Collaring

Victor Von Doom (RDJs vers.) x Reader: Corruption

Peter Parker x Reader (Andrew Garfield's vers.): Bondage

Johnny Storm x Reader: Wax play, temperature play

Reed Richards x Reader: Sex Pollen

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader: Mirror Sex

Dick Grayson x Fem!Reader: Shower sex, deep throating

Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader: bimbofication

Clark Kent x Reader: Breath play, choking

Hal Jordan x Reader: Drunk / anonymous sex

Billy Butcher x Fem!Reader: Brat Taming

Soldier Boy x Fem!Reader: BDSM, Sadism/masochism

Homelander x Reader: Somnophilia (Sleep sex)

Joel Miller x Fem!Reader: Edging, orgasm denial

Javier Peña x Fem!Reader: Lap dances, Rough sex

Jack Reacher (Alan Ritchson's vers.) x Fem! Reader: Size kink, overstimulation, creampie

Old Man! Logan x Fem! Reader: Food play (ft. Whipped Cream)

Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader: Roleplay, Hunter/Prey

[bobbeshwar]

y’all not ready to talk about how most fanfic writers/readers on here are JUST like the booktok gooners. Writing ridiculous shit about barely legal reader x 30+ year old characters. And yall AGE THEM UP.

i understand having parental issues and all that but this is NOT something we should be romanticizing and normalizing you don’t understand how it absolutely takes up my feed. just like how yall are tearing those middle-aged women apart for sexualizing absolutely ridiculous things, yall should realize you’re part of the problem. there is absolutely NO reason for Nanami to be 42 in that fanfic and for reader to be 20. it adds absolutely nothing to the plot, and romanticizes borderline-predatory relationships. the reader is always cute, shy, virginal, did you stop to think about how strange it is to write that???

if you’re hating on proshippers as someone who writes shit like this look in the mirror. and go to fucking therapy.

[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!

[obsessedwithspiderman2099]

Can you please do a Miguel O’Hara scenario where F!Reader is his Deadpool and even though he finds her irritating sometimes he has a soft spot for her?

A Spider-Man and A Mercenary

Pairings: Miguel O’Hara x fem Deadpool Reader

Word count: 776

Synopsis: A familiar Deadpool variant manages to break into the spider society again…

A/N: Thank you so much for requesting!!! This was such a fun dynamic to write between Miguel and us as Deadpool 😋

It was just like any normal day in the spider society. Anomalies were being dealt with, and no spiders were bothering Miguel as he got to stand in his office looking over everything.

Suddenly on one of the security monitors, He spotted a certain Deadpool breaking into the building. Miguel groaned, not you again. If any regular Deadpool broke in, normally he would just ship them back home. Easy. But no, of course the most obnoxious one was located on earth 2099.

“Ay, Dios mio…” Miguel pinched the bridge of his nose, already hearing your loud voice echoing through the already busy hallways of the spider society. He sighed, turning off the intruder alert and resting his hands on his hips as he waiting for you to stomp into his office to torture him further.

You had done this continuously, annoying him with your constant yapping and endless flirting.

Miguel finally heard the door open, signaling your entrance.

“What do you want.” He grumbled, refusing to look at you and instead focusing his gaze on the numerous yellow screens surrounding his office.

“Heyyyy, how’s my favorite Spider-Man doing?” You say, waltzing into his office, or what you call his spider-cave ( he never got the reference).

“You know you’re not supposed to be in this building.”

Miguel crossed his arms, finally looking at the familiar red leather suit you’re sporting.

“How many times do I have to kick you out before you get it?”

“Guess you’ll just have to do it again.” You say, giving him a wink before strolling further in. He scoffed, glancing at his screens for a split second.

Meanwhile, you immediately begin to look around the large dark space, pushing random buttons and causing havoc.

“Hey-HEY!” Miguel pushed himself away from his desk and quickly grabbed your wrist and pulled you back from the buttons that were connected to important multiverse things. “Why do you insist on being such a pain in my ass?” He glared at you with his usual scowling red eyes, the lack of sleep present underneath them. “Has anyone ever told you how sexy you look mad?” You smirk, looking up at him.

The height difference between the two of you was comical.

“You. All the time. It’s infuriating.” Miguel said bluntly, narrowing his eyes down at you.

He lets out a tired sigh, obviously frustrated by but also oddly used to your antics. “Can you just stop moving and causing chaos for five minutes and just act like a normal Human??” “We both know I’m not.” “I’m fully aware of that…” He scoffed, pulling you a bit closer to him.

His fingers curled around your wrist, keeping you from trying to wander off again.

“Oooooo, feeling handsy today are we?”

He rolled his eyes at the comment. “Don’t flatter yourself, I’m just trying to keep you from touching something you're not supposed to.”

Despite what he was saying, he kept you close. His fingers gently caressing the red leather surrounding your wrist. Your annoying energy and presence alone was exhausting to deal with, but a part of Miguel couldn’t help but be drawn to you. Something about you.. just made Miguel’s heart beat a little faster. (And sometimes made his face red)

You start tapping on his arm, bringing him back to the present. “Yeah riiiiiight.” You tease, and he finally comes up with the bright ideas to try getting you out of his office.

“Are you hungry?” Miguel asks, noticing the way your face immediately shoots up to meet his. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“If I take you out to lunch will you stop bothering me and breaking into my office??”

“Awww, you're finally taking me out on a date? Took you long enough!”

You bat your eyes at him, again trying to poke his buttons.

“It’s not a date. Don’t get any ideas.” Miguel responded quickly, activating his mask to hide the slight redness that covered his cheeks.

“Can we listen to wham on the way?” You say, already skipping to the exit at the thought.

“You just can’t make this easy for me, can you?” He said, rolling his eyes at your request.

“Fine, whatever. We're listening to wham, just promise you won’t try to start anything else.”

“Can’t make any promises spidey.”

The familiar cheeky smile on your face beaming. He sighed, a mix of annoyance and amusement on his face. “Of course you can’t..” He followed after, opening the door for you. “After you.”

“What a gentleman.” You happily walked out, taking his hand in yours. He saw this, and couldn’t help but give the tiniest smile.

Maybe this ‘date’ wouldn’t be as long and grudgingly annoying as he thought.

[scout-is-missing]

「 ✦ for once, you let go ✦ 」 ⤷ summary: Amid his grief and responsibility, Miguel learns that the one person he’s always dismissed, his universe’s Deadpool, might be the only one stubborn enough to care for him anyway. or what do you do when your deadpool stages an intervention? ⤷ word count: 2,876 ☆ ⤷ content warning: Angst/comfort, grieving, fluff ⤷ pairing: Fem!Deadpool reader x Miguel ⤷ A/N: I see a lot of black cat x miguel and spidersona x miguel but hadn't seen any deadpool fics, so I figured I might as well write it myself! ↳ Masterlist ☆ Rules ☆ Prompt Lists ☆ AO3 [next]

Miguel wasn’t sure how long it had been since he last left the Spider Society’s headquarters. He knew it had to be a long time, because he couldn’t quite remember how many weeks it had been since he last went home (and last time he was there, there was already a thin layer of dust gathering on his kitchen’s countertop) and his office at the HQ was quickly filling up with empty takeout boxes and old, discarded notes.

It was just natural for Miguel to not leave. There wasn’t exactly anything to go home to in this dimension, and if he was going to be lonely , he would much rather spend that time doing something useful by protecting the multiverse and atoning for his many costly mistakes.

Lately, he rarely even left for patrol.

Lyla was tasked with keeping an eye on the happenings of his universe, and if anything major showed up, he’d deal with it swiftly, effectively. Being back at HQ just in time to finish his paperwork.

After all, Nueva York could survive a few weeks without him patrolling every night, but the multiverse couldn’t survive the anomalies being left unchecked.

And Miguel couldn’t let another universe be destroyed.

But then again, he didn’t think anyone would notice, or even care about his absence. Aside from Lyla’s teasing about him becoming a hermit (he had long since blocked her from being able to recommend him to a grief counsellor), it’s not like he had any close friends or family looking out for him anymore. 

Not in his universe, at the very least.

It’s what made his swift escape to another universe so easy in the first place. It was a clean break—he made sure it’d be.

Until one particularly mundane day. Peter B. was off on the closest thing the Spider Society had to paternity leave, giving Miguel peace for once, and he had just returned from a solo mission and recruited a new, promising Spider-Man. By all accounts, Miguel was in a good mood.

There was only one problem, though.

He felt observed.

He didn’t need a spider sense to be familiar with the feeling, although it felt similar to how it was described to him. A tingling in the back of his skull, raising all the little hairs on the back of his neck, screaming “danger, danger!”, begging for him to turn around and search for the source.

Miguel remained calm, however. If an anomaly had escaped its enclosure, Lyla would have warned him about it. If someone was inside his office, it would be someone his AI knew and was in cahoots with, which means—

“Webs!”

A figure drops from the ceiling behind him, the sound of bones breaking makes Miguel cringe. There’s a grappling hook on her gloved hands, and he doesn’t need to deduce much at all to know that she attempted to use her grappling hook to swing around like he does with his webs. It wouldn't be a first.

“Deadpool.”

He sighs, not having enough energy to fight the merc’s presence.

Ever since the Deadpool variant showed up in Nueva York a little more than three years ago, she had been a constant, annoying presence in his life.

It started with little things. She would follow him around during his patrols, rambling on and on about nonsense and only giggling in response to his threats, making a sly comment about his bloodlust being attractive or something similarly unhinged.

Regretfully, her presence was sometimes useful. Her disregard for the law and skewed moral code meant she was more than willing to do things he was reticent about, and more than that, it meant that he was always assured of having help for the right price, if he knew how to ask.

(He tried not to think about how she never cashed his checks or how her mask scrunched up when she smiled and said his company was rewarding enough.)

As much as he loathed to admit it, Miguel grew used to her constant presence.

It was sometimes nice to sit on a rooftop with her, eating whatever dubious street food she insisted on buying and listening to the merc’s inane chatter. It was okay if he didn’t feel like talking— Deadpool would happily entertain herself by talking for both of them.

After he established the HQ, it was only a matter of time before she broke in. No matter how many security measures he put in place specifically to keep his Deadpool, and other Deadpool variants, out , she always managed to find a way inside, sitting in his office and cackling like a maniac when she was caught.

And worst of all, she managed to form a friendship with Lyla.

(It would have been something easy to fix, but for whatever reason, Miguel could never bring himself to do it.)

“What are you doing here?”

“I missed you!” Deadpool sat up, folding her legs beneath her gracelessly. The grotesque sound of her previously broken bones snapping back into place filled the room. A disturbing, crackling symphony that she didn’t so much as flinch at, accustomed as she was to shrug off injuries that would incapacitate anyone else. “My man, my dude, my bro, my little ray of perfect sunshine, the fire in my loins—”

“Do you want to get kicked out?”

His sharp tone cut through her rambling, but it only made her laugh harder. It wasn’t just laughter: it was that full-bodied, head-thrown-back cackle she did whenever she knew she’d gotten under his skin. The sheer joy she seemed to derive from his discomfort was almost impressive as it was annoying.

As her laughter subsided, she leaned forward, elbows propped on her knees, cheek resting in her gloved palms. Even through the mask, Miguel could feel the weight of her gaze— sharp, teasing, and utterly shameless .

He didn’t need to see her eyes to know she was batting her lashes at him in mock flirtation

“I’d love to get manhandled by you if that’s what you’re suggesting,” she drawls in a sing-song voice, sweet as honey.

He groans in annoyance, turning back towards his screens to review the details Lyla gathered about the worrying influx of Green Goblin variants they had managed to capture recently.

“I’m busy .”

“That wasn’t a no.” The smile in her voice is less annoying than it should be “And besides— you’re never too busy for me.”

“Even if that was the case, which it isn’t, I don’t want to deal with you right now”

“You wound me, Spidey.” Deadpool’s hand goes to her chest, gasping over dramatically and gripping at the leather of her costume, “I can’t believe you’d say such a thing to a poor, innocent, young maiden. Can you hear the sound of my heart breaking? Is that pleasurable to you? I should have known that was your kink, you sick, sick man.”

He rolls his eyes so hard he can almost see the back of his skull.

“Why are you really here?” 

“I told you already. I missed you.” She replies, easily. She stands up to her full height, leaning against one of his desks, inspecting one of the takeout boxes he left on top of it with distaste. “I haven’t seen you in forever . I thought you croaked or something. I needed to make sure someone would find your dead body and put it to rest. I was even arranging a lovely funeral service in your honour.”

As annoying as she could be, there was a sense of familiarity in their banter. 

Deadpool tilted her head, eyes crinkling behind her mask in that way that told Miguel she was smiling — that too-wide, too-pleased smile that always preceded something ridiculous. She tapped a finger to the side of her head.

“You can’t get rid of me, big guy.” She announced, her tone still annoyingly sing-songy, there’s an edge of softness to it he’s desperate to ignore. “I’m like glitter. You’ll be vacuuming me out of your carpets for years .”

“I don’t have carpets.”

She only scoffed in response.

“Of course, you wouldn’t have carpets. Mr. Practical over here, huh?” She waggled her fingers at him like she was performing some kind of spell. “No carpets, no comfort, no love, no heart. Just spreadsheets and multiverse monitors. No wonder I’m your only friend.”

Miguel's jaw clenched at that, his eyes narrowing at the screen in front of him. He scrolled down a report he wasn't really reading, if only to keep from having to look at her.

“I have friends,” he muttered.

“Oh, yeah?” She leaned in, hands on her hips like she’d caught him in a lie. “Name one.”

His fingers froze over the keyboard.

“Peter”

She scoffs

“That doesn’t count. There are like, three hundred Peters working for you.”

He could hear her trying to suppress a giggle behind him, and it only made him press the keys harder, typing in absolute nonsense. He heard the soft creak of leather as she shifted, leaning against his desk like she owned the place.

“That’s what I thought,” she said, smug as ever. Her fingers drummed on the surface. “Don’t worry, baby . I’ll always be your Number One.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Okay, mi amor .”

He let out a long, slow breath, staring at the screen like he could bore a hole through it with his eyes alone.

Then, the tapping stopped. The silence that followed wasn’t like her usual silence, the kind where she was building up something stupid to say. It was quieter, heavier. She shifted again, but this time it sounded like she was sitting down on his desk, legs probably swinging like a kid at a playground.

“Hey,” she said, her voice a little quieter. “I meant it, you know. I was worried.”

His fingers stopped typing. There’s a beat of hesitation— but Deadpool pushes through it. It’s strange, in a way. He can tell she’s being serious for once, that she’s mustering all her care and worry for a proto intervention.

Miguel doesn’t know how he’s supposed to feel about it. 

What are you supposed to do when your Deadpool stages an intervention?

“You’ve been locked up in here for weeks. Not eating, not sleeping. Well, eating, but takeout doesn’t count. And I get it, I do. You’re doing that broody, self-flagellating guilt thing you love so much. Very Catholic of you, by the way. But…” She hesitated. “It’s different this time. I just know it is.”

Miguel turned his chair slowly, eyes sharp as ever, pinning her with a look that had made villains far scarier than her cower. But she wasn’t scared of him. She never had been, he can’t kill her in a way that matters.

“What do you mean by different?” 

Miguel asked, his voice low and dangerously even. He’s trying to keep calm, trying to stop himself from blowing up at her like he seemed to be doing so often lately— it’s a warning sign, in the way a cowering dog growls before they bite. He doesn’t want to get into this. Doesn’t want Deadpool from all people to speak to him softly and beg him to look for help. 

She isn’t deterred, shrugging, swinging her legs in lazy arcs. 

“Usually, you have a plan. This time you’re just… drowning.” She speaks, pausing, a little uncertain of how she’s wording things. “No direction. No light at the end of the tunnel. Just endless dark. I should know. I live there rent-free, baby.”

His gaze didn’t waver, didn’t soften. But she wasn’t trying to break him down. Not really.

She glanced at him then, tilting her head back far enough that her mask caught just enough light to show the faint outline of her grin. “You don’t have to say anything. I know how you are. Tough guy, big shoulders, all that.” She gestured vaguely in his direction. “But I’m annoying enough to stick around, so, yeah. I’m sticking around.”

He stared at her for a moment too long, eyes shifting to her hands — her fingers curled just barely on the edge of his desk. He wondered if she realized she was gripping it like an anchor, as uncomfortable as he was, but more willing to push through the discomfort.

He let out a slow breath, feeling the weight settle on his shoulders again. Heavier, every day.

“...What do you want me to say?” he muttered. His talons flexed at his sides, curling into fists. “That I’m tired? That I’m angry? Do you want me to say I’m grieving , too? Will that satisfy you?” 

He bit out the words harsher than he intended.

Silence followed.

Then, slowly, the faint sound of a thump as her boots met the ground and she stood.

“Y’know…” she said quietly, her voice oddly steady, “Grieving isn’t something you just power through like it’s another mission objective. You can’t… ‘Complete’ it. It’s… messy.”

Her footsteps were light as she approached him. She had that predator's grace, the one she never seemed to realize she had. Her gloved hand brushed lightly over his arm, hesitant, like she was testing the waters.

“You think I don’t know that?” he muttered.

“I think you do know that. I think you know it too well , and that’s why you’re drowning in it.” Her grip tightened, firm and grounding. Not pulling him away. Just… anchoring him. “I don’t know what happened to you, ‘Webs. You don’t tell me stuff like that, and I’m not about to go digging where I’m not wanted. But…” She squeezed his arm. “I’m here. Not to fix you. Not to ‘help’ you. Just to be here.”

The words hung in the air between them, fragile and raw in a way that took him off-guard. This was the last think Miguel ever expected from a Deadpool visit. Miguel didn’t speak, didn’t move— he couldn’t, paralysed like he had been afflicted by his own venom.

He could hear the hum of the monitors, the faint, distant chatter of the Spider Society far beyond the walls of his office. And her voice. So painfully earnest it cut through all of it, demanding to be heard.

It was strange to hear her like this. Deadpool , who was chaos incarnate, who made it her mission to annoy him at every opportunity, now stood still, solid, and steady .

A constant in his mess of a life.

He’d always dismissed her as a pest, a distraction he tolerated for reasons he didn’t like to dwell on. She was loud, unpredictable, utterly ridiculous , and yet somehow, beneath the layers of absurdity and deflection, she had always been there.

She wore her heart on her sleeve, but it was wrapped in layers of irony and humour so thick that even he, with all his brilliance, had missed the weight of it. She cared fiercely while pretending not to care at all, a paradox wrapped in tight leather and awful innuendo.

And now, here she was, standing before him with no armour at all. 

“I don’t…” he started, then stopped. Words failed him. What could he even say? Should he thank her? Apologize for underestimating her? Admit that her presence, chaotic, relentless, infuriating as it was, had become something he didn’t want to lose?

He felt… unmoored, vulnerable in a way he hated to be.

But not alone.

“I’m here,” she repeated softly, breaking the silence. “Whether you like it or not.”

Her voice carried a quiet strength, a promise. It was a simple truth wrapped in a joke, a quick route to denial if he ever brushed off her sincerity.

And it was that honesty, more than anything, that unravelled him. He didn’t realize how much he’d needed to hear it, from anyone , until now.

He exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. 

“You’re annoying,” he muttered, his tone more tired than sharp.

Her laugh was soft, almost fond. 

“Yeah, well. You’re no picnic either, Webs.”

He turned back to his screens, his gaze unfocused as his mind replayed her words.

The silence stretched on, but it wasn’t the heavy, agonizing kind he’d grown used to. It was… easier, much lighter.

The realization settled over him slowly. She cared. Truly, deeply cared. And she didn’t ask for anything in return. Not gratitude, not acknowledgement. Just the chance to be there, to care and be cared about in return.

It was more than he deserved. More than he’d ever allowed himself to hope for, after everything he’d done.

“…Do what you want,” he muttered, turning back to his screen. His voice is softer than he intended it to be. “You always do.”

There was a beat of silence. Then she snorted a laugh, loud and unrestrained.

“ For fuck’s sake , that was practically an invitation , Spidey. Don’t you know what happens when you invite Deadpool in?” She leaned in close, her mask practically next to his face. “I never leave.”

Her words hung in the air, warmer than they should have been.

He didn’t answer this time, but she didn’t need him to.

Deadpool stayed where she was, quiet for once, her presence like static on an old TV— ever-present, a little fuzzy, but not unwelcome.

And Miguel let her stay.

[totally-not-a-slug]

cute stupid shit for F&B{fangs and blades}

this ship is my fucking brainrot, so you will be the victim of my hcs and blabble Since Wade acts so goofy Miguel would assume he's an idiot, an idiot he shamefully fell in love with. So? Miguel would flirt, confess, and of course insult to Wade in Spanish thinking he wouldn't understand a thing. but,,yk how Wade canonically multilingual, and knows Russian, German, Japanese, ASL AND Spanish? Yk where I'm going with this..?

Wade knows what he's saying but would most def act like he doesn't (until the whole dating stuff, embarrassment on Miguel's side NNSBHCB) Miguel: Te amo.. Wade: Yo también te amo, mi vida. Miguel: What. Wade: What?

Wade calling Miguel "Mi vida.." chef's kiss "My immortality can never make me feel as alive as you do, Mi vida." i just UGHHSC Wade covers his face a lot, I can see Miguel always giving him a long stare because he wants to see his face more. "so he can admire him more properly"

He does drag him around with his little tech made webs, he for sure gets jealous over Wade gushing over other spidermen.

Their first kiss was when they wore their masks, or..one of them half way. I can see Miguel lifting up Wade's mask and landing a surprise kiss.. Miguel hates to admit how much he cares about Wade, he "doesn't" care if he can't die. he absolutely does, he worries about losing him so much he doesn't want him to get hurt. He uses the excuse of "You can still feel pain can't you? and the regeneration will waste both our time."

ALSO ALSO BECAUSE IM DOINF THIS IM ADDING THIS BECAUSE I CAN!!!

Wade's daughter Ellie, Wade would be so scared of getting attached and somehow causing her to get hurt along side with Wade. I would also like to mention how he froze seeing Elle, why? because she looks so similar to Gabi{started crying when I realized that.} but with enough reassurance and comfort they're a cute little family UGHHHSHC Miguel gets Ellie Deadpool merch with the excuse that she wants him, he for sure got some for himself I'm TELLING YOU i will be back later to tell you more that comes from my insane mind..

[silico-778]

the superior spideypool

[smallandangry24]

DEADPOOL AND WOLVERINE SPOILERS

okay so HEAR ME OUT: what if Miguel was wrong about Canon events, but not entirely? What if it wasn’t the absence or alteration of a Canon Event that caused Gabriella’s Universe, but the death of the original Miguel O’Hara — that Earth’s Spider-Man. WHAT IF HER UNIVERSE COLLAPSED BC THE ORIGINAL SPIDER-MAN WAS THAT WORLD’S ANCHOR BEING

[invalidname19]

[fr3g-fr0g-0racl3]

Screw everything I ever said about never doing fanfic again, if that shit could get me money I’ll write it. It can be gross, I just don’t want to be poor anymore (I may also have a severe problem with wanting to write things for myself but who knows)

I will be completely honest, Deadpool & Wolverine caused a whole ass chemical shift in me. I want to write fics about them. Fics where someone is with them. Fics where you guys break up or are separated. I crave writing, give suggestions please.