#spiderman x

[for-ests]

Damsel | Miguel O'Hara x Reader

Summary: On Earth 777, you remain the sole protector of your world after your fluke visit to help save Earth 1610. Every night, dreams from another universe haunt you. Some faces are familiar, while others are not, one handsome and striking face above all. The longing grows, and so do the anomalies on your planet—until something goes wrong, and you’re pulled back into the spider-verse you thought you’d never see again, straight into the arms of the man you suspect to be your soulmate. Word count: 6, 892 Rating: Mature (violence & smut)  Pairing: Miguel O’hara x F! Spider Reader

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Bodies intertwined, breaths heavy and lust-filled. A moan escaped your lips, pleading with the male on top of you to continue.��

“Hermosa-” He said, voice strained with euphoria as you laid across his muscular chest. Eyes rolling back, you moaned, feeling him plunge deeper into you, making you shudder, making your entire body twitch with unmatchable pleasure. Quickly than ever before, you released yourself upon him, crying out an unfamiliar name, swaying your hips to prolong the pressure, the thrusts. You wanted to hear more from this man; you wanted to heal him with your body. You wanted him to think of nobody but you, crave nothing but you. 

He felt too good. He was too handsome underneath you, begging for more, craving it. Staring into his eyes, trying to memorize the features that kept visiting you in your dreams, you felt the pressure building up again, so fast and so harsh that you released yourself again by the expression of desire on his face alone. Euphoria, buried deep inside of you, your pussy squeezing him of everything he had, wanting all of it and everything inside his soul. Body trembling and thoughts spinning, you leaned down to kiss him. 

He met your lips with the same amount of need, still pounding into you, desperate to reach his own high, one that only you could seem to bring him. His hands grasped harder at your skin, tongue prying your lips open to swallow your sweet moans. 

The stranger squirmed underneath you. “You feel so good baby.” He groaned against your lips. 

Every part of you was on fire, whines and whimpers loud and clear, unable to think about pleasing him—he was playing with you too well. His fingers stimulated you in the most perfect way that you saw stars; you saw everything you had ever hoped for. 

Love was what it felt like—something you had never experienced, a fable you yearned for but never took the step. But with him, it was euphoric, more than you could ever fathom. 

The stranger felt so good inside of you, so good that it made you forget about anyone else you took to bed. His scent was consuming, and so were his hands. They slid up your hips, cupping your ass, guiding you further upon his staggering length. 

Another moan was called into the night. 

“Y/N, fuck…” He drawled, almost out of breath, his own whimpers mending with yours as he released himself inside you. 

In response, you mewled, legs shaking as he pushed you onto your back against the unfamiliar bed. Your hands demanded contact, your lips pleading with him for another kiss. 

He obliged, and it was laced with love and admiration, pulling you deeper into the abyss, into a promise. 

“Please…” You whispered, craving to speak his name, your nails dancing around his broad shoulders, hooking into his flesh as he thrust his entire length inside you. 

Crying out, you started to wake, desperate to glimpse his face again, wishing you could remember it in the morning. His whispers filled your ears, the way he felt on top of you was intoxicating, and you were addicted. It was too real, as if it could be real.

His name… What was his name….

Nameless, was the man you wanted, the man you needed. “All mine.” He groaned, hands holding your face as if he, too, wanted to study your features. He worshiped you, his eyes grazing over your exposed body, taking it all in as if it was the last time he would ever see you. 

His chest was so unique, so built, and attractive. His physique, in general, and his voice were everything you could ever wish for. It was so seductive that it made you spread your legs further apart. You wanted him so bad; you wanted him to impregnate you. Anything for this man—you would do anything. 

Something you had never thought about… ever. 

“I’ll find you.” He promised, feeling himself slipping away. 

Then, the walls pressed in, claiming to suffocate you, whisking away the man you suspected was your soulmate. 

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Snapping awake from an incredibly realistic dream, you clutched the sweat-riddled shirt stuck to your chest. 

Your breaths were deep and heavy, and you tried your best to settle them. Who was that?

Squinting your eyes, even if it was almost pitch black in your bedroom, you tried to remember his face. 

He was towering and handsome, with so much pain in his eyes. It was as if he had experienced everything you had, the same tale, the same fate. 

Confused, you shifted in your bed to stare at the clock. 3 am. Had you been somewhere else in that dream? The surroundings were unfamiliar, yet the man was the same. You had dreamed about him before, but not nearly as realistic. 

Y/N… 

The unfamiliar man said your name, had spoken it like he had a million times—as if he recognized you. And finally, when you closed your eyes again, you saw what he was wearing crumbled on the floor. 

A suit that was similar to yours. Fuck. 

You knew there were other spider people in the multiverse; you had dreamed of them before. But not of this tall, dark, and handsome stranger. A voice had never been so vivid, so intoxicating. 

To release your anxiety, you pried open your bedroom window and crawled out onto the balcony. 

Your universe was unique. Forests of vibrant green stretched across the entire planet. Wild rivers roared into waterfalls, lakes, and streams that sourced an abundance of fresh food. The only downside was your earth was sparsely populated compared to the ones you dreamed about, different than the one you had seen almost a year ago. 

Slipping your legs through the railing, you set your face between the metal barss, gazing upon the city you called home. A rushing river separated the East from the West, and you were lucky enough to snag an apartment that hung above it. Your porch was littered with potted plants, vines swirling and swaying in the wind from the neighbors above. 

It was peaceful and beautiful, incredibly unique. Miles and Gwen would have loved to see it, and so would the other spiders. 

You thought of them often, even if you hadn’t seen them since. Even if you were from different universes, you were older and had felt responsible for them at the time. They reminded you of yourself when you were first bit. 

How your event came to be was far different but just as painful. 

You weren’t lonely, your dad was still around, and you had many friends. But after your mother’s untimely death, there were years when nobody knew your identity or abilities. It had always been about avenging your mother and what those scientists did to her.  

Once you killed the one that tortured her, you were ready to use your abilities for good. And it ended up being the best thing that ever happened to you. The support from your loved ones and the public was something you weren’t expecting. 

But, despite the overwhelming support and how breathtaking your universe was, it didn’t come without problems. There were many, and mutations were rising. You were on overtime. 

The last month had been excruciating. Every single day you were called onto scene, sometimes multiple. So when your phone began ringing from inside, a sigh of exhaustion left your lips. At least this time, you wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep after such an intense dream. 

You quickly untangled yourself from the railing and sauntered into the kitchen, picking up the phone. It was the chief of police, and you couldn’t even say hello before he started speaking. 

“Damsel-” He blurted, utterly frantic. “We need your help now!” 

“What’s going on?” You asked, putting your phone on speaker while you grabbed your suit, tearing off the bedtime shirt you were wearing. “Another mutation?” 

The chief didn’t reply for a moment, and on the other end, all you could hear were gunshots and screaming before an explosion rumbled in your ear, the walls of your house shaking a few seconds later. 

“Worse-” He said, his voice cut off as the sounds of trumpets overtook the entire feed. Your stomach churned as you slipped into your green and purple suit, pushing your mask over your mouth. 

“Why the hell didn’t you call me sooner?” You screamed back. “What is that?” 

“We didn’t know it was going to be this bad, our intel was wrong!” 

“Where are you?!” You yelled into the speaker while your wings flared out. A second passed before you pried open the doors to your balcony, feet planted on the railing. Another explosion echoed on the line, and the rumbling followed, shaking the trees and plants surrounding you. The birds were starting to get antsy, darting around you and shrieking with a warning. 

They must be close. 

“The experiments—Haffkine headquarters—” The chief's voice was strained, and there was adamant fear in it. “Hurry, Y/N, please—” Then the line went dead. 

“Shit,” You cursed before flinging yourself off the balcony. It must be bad. It’s never been this violent. Usually, you were the first to arrive on scene when it came to a rogue experiment, and your heart panged in dismay to know that the chief and all the other policemen were fighting that alone, that they had been led into a trap. Nathan was your father’s best friend; you couldn’t lose him. 

The city was practically silent, no doubt from the battle that raged on only a few miles away, but you would get there in less than a minute. You had to, and you were scared of what you’d find. 

Wings buzzing behind you, you dove down to the river, shooting down the canal faster with the natural breeze before taking a sharp turn toward the headquarters. You smelled the smoke before you saw it, a raging fire that billowed with black smoke—chemicals. Zoning in with your eyes, you saw the policemen darting around frantically, their guns emitting small yellow bursts at the fire. 

And what came out of it made you physically gasp. The largest, most disfigured experiment yet. It had to have come from a rhino, those poor creatures injected against their will with a human subconscious, but the problem was the rage virus they couldn’t seem to delete—rage that repeatedly resulted in death and destruction. 

The rhino—man—thing trumpeted as it rose to two legs, making him almost two stories tall. Your eyes narrowed. You were almost there; two more seconds, and you could land the perfect hit square in its chest. 

Darting your eyes around, you saw the chief tucked behind a squad vehicle, gun drawn and shooting bullets that seemed to do nothing. Whatever this creature was, was far more formidable than the others you faced. The scientists were getting more innovative, and the squadron was running out of bodies to stop them. 

“Nathan!” You warned as you zipped past him, straight to the beast, swinging your legs in front of you and forming a point, commanding your exoskeleton to extend and harden the flat of your feet, designed to kill. 

And when you collided, the aftershock of your kick was so forceful it echoed, causing your hair to blow over your shoulders, and the leaves on the trees surrounding you were ripped off their branches. 

You used the force of your wings to dislodge your dagger-like legs from the mutant's side, thrusting them back in repeatedly to maximize the damage, but the mutant only stumbled back, roaring in pain and anger, blood beginning to gush from where you had gored it. You hardened your fists and aimed for its eyes, punching with as much force as possible to stun it.

It was all futile as you stared into the creature’s eyes, wide with loathing and confusion, its big horn trying to buck you off, but to no avail. You dug your nails into its neck, searching for another way to bring it down. But its skin was so thick that you were having trouble. It was healing too fast, and you were starting to panic.

Your nails could only do so much, and one split-second decision would buy you enough time. You crawled up onto the mutant’s head, dodging the elongated hooves that were punching itself, trying to knock you off. 

It roared again and again—you knew it could feel pain, and that’s what bothered you the most. That’s what made your job so much more complicated. But there was so much blood on its skin already, the blood of innocent people that it killed. You couldn't save it, there was no going back. 

Ripping both of your hands free from its skin, you raised them above your head and cleaved both of its eyes out. It bellowed in agony, and you jumped away, glancing over your shoulder to find it flailing to the ground. 

Flying to the chief, you knew you only had less than a minute for an explanation before the rage would start again. For any normal mutant, your first kick would have been a kill shot. 

“What the hell is going on?” You hissed at him, flexing your already bruising hands. The exoskeleton could only take so much damage. 

“I don’t know, Y/N. But there are still civilians… some of them have died already. The tranquilizer didn’t work. Whatever it was injected with is not in any of our files.” 

The hairs on the back of your neck shot up. “Does it have a different genetic gnome?” 

“Yes.” 

You thought hard, but you couldn’t think for long. Of course, there was one way to quickly diffuse the situation, which is why the chief called you—but it was too soon and would be agonizing. 

“Was it a human or a rhino first?” 

“I think a rhino, there are more inside, locked in cages.” 

You grit your teeth before wiping away the sweat that was gathering on your forehead. “You want me to do the thing don’t you.” 

“I’m afraid it's our only hope.” 

You looked at him wearily. It would hurt like hell, and you didn’t even know if you were capable enough to withstand it. But you were running out of options. All your training and the powers you were given would mean nothing if you couldn’t do it.

“Gather up the civilians and your remaining men, evacuate everyone, even the scientists. I will distract it long enough until everyone is gone.” 

All Nathan did was nod, then he was gone. And it was just you standing between the monster and all the remaining people on your earth. There was no other way to explain it, for not many were left. It was only you versus the future of the home you cherished. That was what made you cautious. 

The enemy was bigger; he was stronger. Biologically, he was everything you strived to be. You were meek in comparison. You only had the enhancements of an insect, and were fighting something foreign to your planet. 

Watching the beast and how sluggish it seemed to move, you tried to calculate your movements like a counter-attack. You had the advantage of flight but not brute strength. One wrong move, and it would all be over. 

There!

The time seemed right; the rhino was trying to stand on its hind legs again, the eyes that you sliced still bleeding dark. You lunged, your wings propelling you faster than it could even glance in your direction. 

Nails pointed and jagged, you sunk your fists back into his flesh, purposefully aiming for the already closing wounds on its chest. It was the swiftest way, for even the experiments could not be revived if their heart was missing. And all that data would be lost, therefore setting the illegal scientists back a few more months from achieving their goal. 

Etching another blood-curdling scream from the rhino, you took a deep breath, slackening your jaw. It was going to hurt. So bad. But at least you would consume the most vital piece, what the evil surrounding you were searching for. 

The key. 

But you were slammed into the dirt before you could even unlock your jaw. The blow came so fast that all you could think about doing was protecting your face in its vulnerable state—that was your weakness. 

“Y/N!” The chief yelled from across the concrete-cracked street. 

“Puny, insect filth.” The experiment drawled under a growl. 

Stunned, your eyes widened. They weren’t supposed to be able to speak. “Nathan!” You screamed back, coming back to your senses a millisecond too late. “Leave!” 

The beast stomped down on your arm, and you cried out, hearing it pop. You clamped down on your lip to suppress the wail of agony that bubbled in your throat. Why didn’t it kill you? That’s what it was programmed to do. They weren't supposed to be intelligent, they weren't supposed to follow orders. 

Unless your capture had a purpose behind it. And you wanted to vomit at the thought of it. No...anything but that, anything to avoid that experimental torture again. You decided then that death would be more fitting and bring you peace. 

Morphing elongated hooves, the rhino hooked your already limp arm and twisted it behind your shoulder. Searing pain filled every sense you had, and all you could do was beg for it to stop. 

“Stop!” You cried out, trying to reason with the rhino. “Who did this to you?” 

“I can help—” You choked out before you felt the tug on your wings. 

No, not your wings, anything but that. They were connected to your spine, tearing them could kill you, make you immobile, and then your earth would be left unprotected from everything and anything. Even if you weren’t much—you were still something, at least for your people, your family…your friends. 

The pull caused you to start sobbing. Any harder—

But before the inevitable happened, before you closed your eyes and accepted your fate, the sound of splattering webs filled your ears. As your vision cleared, you saw webs covering its face, and it released its crushing pin on you in the next breath. 

Hardly scrambling away from the genetically modified rhino, you lifted your head enough to see a girl in a white spider suit. 

“Gwen?” You called out in confusion, watching her spin webs around the experiment's shoulders, around its legs and hooves. Watching in a daze, you heard the rumbling of a motorcycle less than thirty seconds later. 

The unfamiliar woman whirled past you with only a side glance, her eyes focused and determined. 

Holding your broken arm in one hand, you stumbled to your feet, turning to find an open portal behind you. 

What the hell was happening? Of course, you were relieved, but… it made no sense. It had been over a year since you’d seen Gwen, and the last time you did, she did not have the power of multiversal travel. Tears had been shed for her and the other spiders, suspecting you would never see them again. 

You stood there for a minute, baffled, barely registering the pain shooting through your arm as it started to heal. 

“Need help with that?” Gwen called, jumping toward you. The spider woman took over, webbing the creature down even further. 

“What—How?” Too many events were unfolding, and all you could do was sputter unstrung words. 

“There’s a lot to explain, Y/N.” She said as you raised your arm to her. Gritting your teeth, you hissed as she popped your shoulder back in place. A minute passed as you just stared at her, how much she had grown, her new hairstyle—all of it. But then your eyes fell to the glowing yellow watch strapped to her wrist. 

“Opens the portal.” She said, watching where your eyes moved. 

“I was about to die.” You replied, still hazy from it all. “Were you able to tell?” 

All Gwen could do was nod, face shifting with darkness and a hint of guilt. “I couldn't let you die… and from the looks of it….” 

“Your universe is… strange.” The other woman rolled to a stop beside you. “We’ve been keeping an eye on it for some time but didn’t know the extent of the anomalies.” 

The two spiders glanced at each other.  Events weren’t aligning the way they were meant to. You could sense it. You were never meant to die, but someone was. Even if it was all based on predictions. 

“And you are?” You cocked your head down, eyes widening as you realized the woman was pregnant. “Are you supposed to be here?” 

She laughed in response, knowing what you meant. “We’re fine, the name is Jessica.” 

“Nice to meet you—“ You were almost smiling until what sounded like metal beams snapping in half filled the silence. It had only been a few minutes; the webs should have subdued it longer than that. The rhino should already be dead. 

And when the front doors of the lab burst open, your fears became a reality. More beasts were charging toward you, not as strong. It was evident by the size of their horns. But it was a distraction, the purest form of retaliation undoubtedly from the scientists still waiting inside to be arrested. 

It was an assassination attempt. 

“Fuck!” You yelled, glancing at Gwen with a panicked expression. “I need back up.” 

Jessica also glanced at Gwen with a shrug. “We can help but we can’t intervene.” 

Your face scrunched in confusion, too dismayed to ponder what that meant. Instead, you barked off the most straightforward orders that would make sense. “I got the big one…the other guys are easy enough, and the scientists are inside.” 

Jessica seemed satisfied with that for a reason you couldn’t configure. “Gwen’s still in training.” 

“I think she’s fit to graduate after this.” You grinned, rolling your shoulder around to find it already better than before, still not perfect, but it was something, and you still had a trick up your sleeve. “I really should have invested in some webs.” 

Gwen frowned, but only briefly before she forced it into a smile. Little did you know that would be the reason for your friend’s upcoming death, written in the timeline the second you received your powers. 

You caught her hesitation but decided to let it slide. Because you had to, there was no other choice as the webbed rhino snapped its leg out of the cacophony. 

Gritting your teeth, you let your wings buzz to lift your feet off the ground. “Gwen.” You paused. “Jessica.” 

They both looked at you. 

“What you’re about to see, you cannot repeat. Not yet.” 

They didn’t answer, and you didn’t care. At least you could trust Gwen. You could trust Nathan, too. He was the only other person besides your father that even knew. 

Your heart dropped. Where was Nathan? 

Gwen and Jessica vanished from your side into the oncoming battle, but you stayed behind—utterly frozen. 

Desperately glancing around for his uniform, you came up empty-handed. There were no civilians, and you breathed a sigh of relief, which meant he might still be in the building. 

What if they captured him? 

“Nathan!” You screamed, knowing the rhino was still closing in on you. It was only a matter of seconds, a couple more strides. 

“Y/N!” He screamed back. 

Your head turned to find him behind the experiment, emerging from the front doors with a panicked expression, immediately surveying the other spiders zipping around him. 

You shot up into the sky before the rhino pierced you with its horn, still staring at Nathan as you brought your heel down on top of its skull. It stumbled in reply but then roared back to life. 

“Get out of here!” You screamed at him again. 

Then, you saw the shape his leg was in. He was limping, and another blotch of red was soaking through his shirt. 

You wanted to fly over to him so badly, you needed to, but that would entice the beast in front of you to follow. That was what the rational part of your brain said until the doors burst open again, revealing a man in a lab coat, brandishing a gun. His eyes were bloodshot, anger pumping through his veins.

Time moved in slow motion, and you saw it all. You could hear the tear of his chest cavity, the veins popping, bones breaking—what should have been you. 

A second too late, Gwen ripped the gun out of the scientist's hand with her web and restrained him to the front door. 

“NOOOO!” You cried out, abandoning your current battle and propelling yourself into his direction, landing at his feet as he tried to lift himself back off the ground. His face was bruised, and then he coughed out blood. 

“What happened?” You pleaded, pressing your hand over his heart, drenched in fresh, crimson blood. “No….no, no, no!” 

“Too many inside,” Nathan tried to choke out, his words wheezing past incomprehensible. Blood was gathering between the gaps in his teeth, pooling out too fast from multiple portions of his body. And before you could even reply, he became limp in your arms, his breathing faint. 

“Stop!” You gasped, catching him in your arms. The world crashed into you. “Nathan, please. Stay with me!” 

Even though it was useless, you tried to shake him awake. You tried to ignore how badly his body was mauled in the places it shouldn’t be. This man was like an uncle to you. He was your protector. He couldn’t die, but he was. 

He did.

“They’re… here…” Nathan lurched forward in your arms with another cough. “To help you.” 

Weakly, he raised a hand to your face. “It will all be okay.” 

You couldn’t breathe, but you could feel the tears streaming down your face, the sadness, the rage, and everything in between as his touch against your cheek slackened, and his chest refused to rise once more. 

Something inside of you snapped as you released his grip. Not another death. You couldn’t handle it. Especially Nathan… someone that had sacrificed himself time and time again for your safety until it resulted in his own death. 

All you saw was red. 

The pain of your injuries was no longer. Instead, it fueled you. When you finally pried your eyes away from his lifeless body, your senses cleared. Only one experiment was left. 

And Gwen and Jessica were struggling to defeat it. Gwen, too, was heaving for air, and Jessica had lost her bike. 

It was now or never. It was time to finally unleash what was hiding inside of you, a part of you that only Nathan had seen. This was for him. The pain no longer mattered, and neither did your fear. 

As if it was programmed to only fight you, the rhino stormed in your direction, lashing out with rage and disgust, as if you were the one to personally infect it with an incurable virus. “Damsel!” It screamed through a drunken slur. 

And then, you opened your mouth. A rush of adrenaline flashed through your body, and you let it consume every fiber of your being, overtaking the excruciating pain of your jaw breaking into pieces, elongating to triple in size. For your entire life, you dreaded the moment where you would be consumed by the monster you were so desperate to hide. 

Now, you were giving in. Now, you were ready for vengeance. 

Blood was what you craved. 

And when you launched yourself at the rhino, its eyes widened in response, only able to glimpse the inside of your throat before you clamped down on its eyes and ripped them both out with one grotesque bite. 

Despite the screams, despite how it stumbled and thrashed, you shoved your entire weight against it. You fell with the beast, your claws pursuing the same fate, tearing across the leathered skin, digging deeper and deeper, ripping out clumps of flesh with each swing. 

And then you heard it, the beating of its heart. 

You became the same beast you were trying to defeat. You became a rabid animal, intent on a feast, to destroy the agency trying to overtake your precious planet, the agency that murdered your best friend, that tortured your mother. 

No more. Not again. 

Your claws sliced the thick veins keeping the heart in its chest cavity. You were coated in blood, it was pooling across your arms and soaking into your suit. You could only smell the iron, and it was enticing. 

A squelch filled the deafening silence. You could feel the eyes of your newfound friends on your back, along with dumbfounded bystanders. But this was your unholy form, the form Nathan tried to protect you from.

Then your entire face curled, mangled and monstrous–consumed the still-beating heart, swallowing it whole. 

You were standing on top of the body, now shredded into an unrecognizable carcass, its heart and the power injected into it dissolved from your stomach acid. 

Heaving in sorrow and pain, with your jaw still exposed, you stumbled off the mountain of flesh. You resembled the insect you were named after, and it killed you inside. 

Gwen and Jessica were there to help you, and you let them catch you even if you were covered with blood. 

“Get… get away from me…” You said, flinching from their comforting touch. “Don’t look at me.” 

The hairs on the back of your neck shot up once their warmth released you. When you turned, you saw the perpetrators, and then your eyes glanced at Nathan’s body, still battered into the dirt. 

“Y/N…” Gwen warned, feeling the bloodthirst infecting your mind once again. 

“You don’t get to intervene!” You yelled at her. “Not again!” 

Jessica took a step back, her eyes wide. There was no way you could pick up on something you didn’t understand. 

You lunged toward the scientists but stopped a mere inch from their faces. “Look at what you’ve done!” You pointed at the countless bodies littering the once well-groomed park lawn. “This is your fault!” 

You knew you looked terrifying from the looks on their faces. Unsightly was your true form. Iridescent eyes desperate for blood, your claws lengthened for optimal damage, but your mouth made people scream, and your enemies cower in fear. Your jaw was mandible, and when it unhinged, you could swallow a head in seconds, crushing your prey without effort. 

And now, they were staring into the bloody mess, your multiple sets of teeth threatening to take a bite. 

The drawback, though, was that it hurt you in the process, and the scar that appeared every time took months to heal. None of that mattered anymore. Everyone had seen it. And you would do it again to avenge your father’s best friend. 

“Y/N…” Gwen whispered, setting a hesitant hand on your aching shoulder. “Let me help you.” 

“It hurts.” You faltered, turning your face away from her and Jessica. But the touch was enough to bring you back to reality. 

“It's okay.” Jessica reiterated. 

“Web them all.” You demanded, slapping Gwen’s hand away and turning on your heels. You marched back over to Nathan’s body and fell over him. 

You heard the commotion unfold, but it was quick, and you knew the scientists would be stuck until reinforcements arrived. All you cared about was Nathan, and you began to sob. You needed to let it out right then and there. And as you wept, it mixed with the agony it took to force your jaw back in, to move your face back together. 

This wasn't fair. You never asked for this. 

When the transformation was done, you buried your face into his chest. “I’m sorry,” You whispered, letting the sobs rake through your entire body. “Thank you for everything.” Your voice was a faint whisper, unheard to anyone, only to Nathan’s soul as he passed on. 

You tried to tell yourself that would be enough. 

Minutes passed, and the dust from the battle settled. Neither of the girls had the strength to move you. Maybe they were afraid of how you would react, what they would see if they made you angry. 

Finally, when you could cry no more, you stumbled back to your feet. You were unsure if you had expected them to stay or leave, and you couldn't configure which alternative brought you more peace. 

You had no more goodwill to give. That much was certain. “Why are you still here?” You snapped. 

“Come with us.” Gwen replied quickly. 

You tried to object, wings snapping out straight. "No—"

Almost snarling in reply, Jessica raised her hand to silence you. “Now, Y/N.” 

A whirlwind of colors greeted your eyes, drying the tears from your grief-stricken face. It was unlike anything you’d ever seen, and you were entirely entranced. Even if grief, fear, and sorrow were constricting around your heart, for a brief moment, you were distracted from it, only focused on the beauty of the portal and what lay beyond it. 

Both women saw how your eyes glistened over and how wonder consumed them. For some reason, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was what was always supposed to happen. 

Gwen tentatively curled her arm around your own and pulled you forward. “It’s okay, you’ll be safe and you’ll find answers.” 

Squeezing your eyes shut, you nodded. For in that moment, the other alternative was more terrifying to face. 

Then, you felt weightless and were transported into another universe. The motion of it made your knees buckle, and you swayed, trying to steady yourself—but Gwen and Jessica were there to help you. 

“Where am I?” You asked between deep inhales, feeling your vision spin. Now your feet were planted on large slabs of obsidian tile. 

“Spider Society HQ.” 

“I’m not though.” You whispered, blinking rapidly to see clearer. Your entire body was still caked with blood, and your whole mouth was so sore that every word you spoke took immense effort.

“You’re a variant,” Jessica assured. “But we had to make sure.” 

Make sure? Your mind screamed. Nothing made sense, and all you could do was follow that same gut feeling that led you there in the first place. Trust didn’t come easy to you, but you trusted Gwen. 

“We’ve been watching your planet for about a year.” Gwen said, letting you lean against her until you reached a chair to slump into. “Remember when you got pulled into Miles’ planet?” She asked. 

“Y-yeah…” You replied, still slightly dazed, your eyes attempting to take in your surroundings. There was way too much technology surrounding you, and it was all so bright despite the darkness of the walls and flooring. 

“You were pulled in because you’re connected. You are one of us. It was just too early.” 

Gwen said something else, but you couldn’t catch it because Jessica approached you with a glass of water and a wet rag. Without a word, she stood above you and wiped off the blood around your eyes and forehead. You graciously took the glass and chugged its contents, hesitating to ask for more. 

Laughing, Jessica looked at you with sympathetic eyes. “I’ll get you more.” And then she disappeared again. You could already feel your strength returning, even if your arm was still throbbing in discomfort. 

A minute passed in awkward silence. You observed Gwen carefully as she paced around you, waiting. The room seemed to resemble a conference room, with a platform displaying holograms. 

“Are we waiting for someone?” You finally asked as she pulled her hood down. 

“Yes. I’m still new here, you know.” 

“I can tell,” You chuckled, your typical attitude creeping back. It was better than wallowing in the guilt you were frantic to shove away. “I’m glad to see you’re doing okay Gwen, I mean it.” 

She stopped in her tracks, turning to face you with a smile. “I missed you too, Y/N.” 

You stood up from your chair, shakily but without assistance, taking place by her side. “After I shower and talk to whoever you want me to, we can catch up.” You said, looking down at her with a genuine smile. “I wanna hear all about it.” 

“I wish I could have seen more of your planet.” Gwen frowned. “From what I saw it was beautiful.” 

“Oh!” You laughed, realizing she had only seen the Haffkine campus. “That building has been an eyesore for decades.” 

About to reply, Gwen stopped with a smile as the doors creaked open to reveal Jessica. 

“I found him.” Jessica said with a huff, her boots echoing down the hall. Again, she presented another glass of water to you. 

“Thanks.” You said gratefully, relishing in the condensation that cooled against your palms. Water had never tasted so refreshing as it did at that moment, a moment where the trajectory of your entire life would shift. 

“Drink up.” She said, “You’re gonna need it.” 

Behind her, a suited man waltzed in. His presence was commanding, and your eyes couldn’t leave him. Statuesque, muscular, and aloof. He paid you no mind at first, treating your arrival like he would any newcomer. He was a spider, the darkest of blues highlighting a sculpted build. The color of red stitched into precise lines, the hue a little too close to the shade of the blood still soaked into your usual green attire. 

Hesitantly tucking your wings tighter against your body, you stood up straighter. On your planet, the males were not even as tall as him. Which said a lot since you were somewhat on the smaller side at almost six feet. Every single person you’d met from a different universe felt small compared to you. 

“Earth 777?” He asked, raising his hand against the hologram and opening what seemed to be statistics of the planet you called home. 

“Yes, her second canon event reached fruition.” Jessica replied. “We had to intervene, though.” 

The strange man tensed instantly. “Why?” He snapped, heaving a deep breath before taking his mask off, setting his hands on the desk with a thump You stared at the back of his head. Fluffy brunette hair greeted you, complimenting his broad shoulders. For some reason, he felt familiar, a distant memory. 

“An anomaly was detected on the planet, intertwining directly with the canon event. To have it happen, we had to assist.” Gwen said, her voice low with precaution. 

“Pull up the history, Lyla.” He grumbled. 

“Saving her meant saving the planet. If she died, the incursion would happen. I know it's rare, Miguel, but it was necessary.” Jessica approached him, not seeming as on edge as Gwen, but at a respectable distance, for assurance perhaps. She also looked at the screen with squinted eyes, rubbing her belly while examining the information.  

The name caused your heart to stop beating. 

As if sensing your epiphany, the stranger looked over his shoulder at you. All the dread in your heart dissipated when your eyes locked with his. A deep vibrance of earthy brown, the same familiar color as the trees of your homeland. 

It was the man from your dreams, the one you had only a few hours ago—it was him. His features were the same, the bridge of his nose, the shape of his lips, the lull in his voice even came back to you. 

Your grip on the glass slackened, sliding through your fingers and shattering against the tile below. The sound was excruciatingly loud, and it ricocheted off the mile-high ceilings. Gwen and Jessica snapped their heads toward you in surprise. Even the hologram of a woman widened her eyes, staring at you in confusion. 

This time, he turned to face you. It all became clear for both of you within the next draw of breath. 

You took a step closer over the broken glass, looking up at him with soft and hesitant eyes. “You’re…” Your breath escaped, but barely, your heart pounding so loud it was all you could hear. 

His eyes were wide with disbelief, his handsome features immediately softening when he looked beyond the blood and dirt. He had seen your face countless times, but only in his dreams. Too many nights had been spent longing for you, wondering where and who you were—and now you were standing right in front of him. 

He didn’t know what to do or say, so he froze. All he could do was speak his mind, and the shock of it all slammed into him with such force he was breathless. You were the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, illuminating the angel that visited him in his dreams. 

You could feel his eyes exploring your body, remembering the exact positions that supposedly made you cry out his name. You were doing the same, wondering how they could become so clear. The connection was more potent than mere lust; it was heavenly. Even if the memories were scattered, months had been spent trying to piece them together. 

“It’s you.” Miguel whispered, cautiously reaching out and brushing the back of his hand against your cheek. 

A careful touch that made your heart swell. Your soulmate from another universe.

⋆｡ ☼ 𐦍 ☼ ｡⋆

hi there! thanks for reading, if you'd like me to write another chapter please let me know! I will also edit this again later, I didn't intend for it to be so long...

[punkhummingbird]

[hawkofkrypton]

OH MY GOD

THEY BOTH HATE THE BRITISH GOV’MENT ✨

[c1nnam00n]

me seeing that my fav character barely/doesn’t have any fanfics OR imagines

[ruerecs]

PSA! you don't have to have smut in your fic to make it good.

for all the butthurt people in my reblogs, i’m literally a writer too. that’s literally why i made this post, never said you shouldn’t. just said you don’t have to? (all the people complaining about this post just know i’m laughing at your replies🙂‍↕️)

[candywraptor]

From novahee_ on Twitter

[miggyyyyohara]

AY PAPI- I MEAN DADDY please- i mEAN SIR!

Follow this artist on Instagram @ narutoss.ramen 🫶🏻🤌🏻

[komy-0o]

Spideypool 🕷️🥩💙¡¡

Déjenme contarles mi hiperfijacion actual

[jay-wasstuff]

Deadpool telling Peter about Logan like

[xbellaxcarolinax]

Scent

Miguel O’Hara X f!reader

Summary: It was an intoxicating scent. And he knew it was yours. (In which Miguel goes feral when you ovulate)

Word count: 4k+

Warnings: Language. Obvs. S m u t. Obvs. Oral, f receiving. P in V (no protection), cum eating. Cheesy probs. Reader says Miguel's name a lot lmfao not beta read.

Minors DNI.

Honestly, I don’t know how any of this stuff works. This is some bullshit and none of it makes sense. Enjoy.

...

Miguel was fucking losing it. 

He couldn’t focus, couldn’t keep his head on straight. There was a thick fog clouding his judgment, disorienting him like a fever he couldn’t sweat out.

It started with a scent.

Light at first, a barely there whiff of something. 

It lingered at HQ, trailing between passageways and different conference rooms. There were times when it didn't linger at all for weeks. Then it'd start right up again, progressively getting worse.

It was an intoxicating scent. And he knew it was yours. How could it not be when you spent the most time with him?

It happened once a month for a week at most, and like clockwork, his body reacted viciously, betraying him of all logical thoughts. Your scent seized him by the throat in a sort of chokehold. Some days were unbearable, your scent so strong that he’d have to fight with every muscle and nerve in his body not to touch you, to not bend you over and—

Well. That wasn't a healthy thought.

Recently (the last two months to be exact), he’d have to excuse himself and step out of the room for a few minutes whenever you’d arrive from your world to report for duty, sneaking off to the restroom to tug on his cock till he felt some relief. Images of you would flash in his mind: you on your knees with your lips wrapped around him, or the pained face he'd imagine would twist your features when sinking down on his thick length. He'd come in his hand, sticky ropes of white, using his release to coat his stiff length and go again.

He never truly felt satiated. It was something to keep his appetite at bay. But once he’d come back and face you he’d get hard all over again, drugged out on whatever smell it was that emanated off of you.

He’d salivate like a dog and his bulge would grow uncomfortably large in his skin-tight suit. It got to the point where he couldn’t face you, and whenever you’d greet him he’d return it with a simple grunt, giving you a clear view of his broad, imposing back. He never looked at you anymore unless to sneak in a quick glance and even then, it’d make his cock twitch in desperation, the head weeping, begging to be touched.

He was fucking feral, like a Neanderthal, primitive and obsessed.

You smelled rich, mildly tangy—not like the fruity perfumes some of the spider ladies wore around him. No, it was something else entirely, something earthy, like what he imagined was between your delicate legs. Like wet cunt ready to be taken. 

And God, did he want to take it.

…

"Miguel." 

He tensed up at the sound of your voice, running a hand through his unruly dark hair. Maybe the cafeteria at HQ wasn’t the best hiding spot.

It was the middle of the month—July fifteenth to be exact—which meant you had that smell again.

You were ovulating.

He knew enough about female anatomy to put the pieces together when he realized that about two weeks after his body reacted to your scent, you'd be in a terrible mood.

"What crawled up your ass?" He'd asked you once, keeping his eyes on all his monitors but immediately noting your discomfort. You sat on a chair beside him, head in your arms as you leaned on the desk.

He could feel you glaring daggers at his profile.

"Shut up. I'm on my period, asshole."

He did shut up after that.

Blood immediately began to rush toward his cock, bringing it to life.

You stood in front of him, one hand on your hip while the other held a plastic container from the empanada joint everyone had a taste for. 

"What?" Miguel uttered, keeping his eyes trained on a particular stain on the otherwise pristine white table. Any distraction was a welcomed distraction.

You pulled back the chair opposite of his, plopping down on it unceremoniously. The action sent waves of your aroma toward him like a crashing wave, engulfing him completely. He stiffened, dropping his head slightly while the heel of his hand pressed over his growing bulge. 

"You gonna tell me what the fuck is going on?" 

“I…don’t know what you’re talking about.” He said through gritted teeth, fangs visible when he grimaced. His scarlet eyes wandered over your face for a few seconds before he ripped them away, barely avoiding the twitch in your brow and the growing frown on your lips.

“Seriously?” You scoffed, “You’ve been avoiding me for, what, two months? I’m surprised I got a hold of you. You’re never in the cafeteria.” You ripped open the container, digging inside to grab the fried little snack. “Do we have a problem I’m not aware of?”

Miguel watched you take a bite of the empanada, committed to memory the way your tongue lapped at the grease coating your lips. His hand pressed harder over his cock, and at that moment he cursed himself for implementing the suit-only rule. He could really use a pair of sweatpants right now.

“Well? Do we?” You challenged him, defiant as always. You had this look in your eye that he’s seen before—your adrenaline was about to kick into overdrive. Always ready for a fight.

He sighed, shaking his head, willing himself to breathe. He felt sweat begin to bead across his hairline, strands of his hair sticking down the sides of his face. Your scent was becoming unbearable, overwhelming him to the point where he felt lightheaded. He licked his dry lips, carelessly running the tip of his tongue over his sharp canines only to pierce through the delicate muscle. The salty taste of iron exploded in his mouth and he grunted, pinching his eyes shut in frustration. 

"Mig."

“No!” He finally barked, slamming a fist over the table. It shook from the weight of his large hand, the empty container almost flying off the surface. You went wide-eyed for a moment at his outburst before pressing the last bite of your snack between your lips, unfazed.

“It clearly doesn’t seem that way,” you replied calmly, but the twitch in your brow remained and your eyes narrowed. You wiped your mouth and fingers with a brown recyclable napkin meticulously, “if you have a problem, say so.”

One thing you had in common with Miguel was your bluntness. You always cut to the chase, saying what you needed to without much thought. It was one of the things that he appreciated in a fellow spider person but right now it only served to irritate him. That last thing he wanted was to deal with someone as fucking stubborn as him.

He must've looked like hell because when you regarded him, the hardness in your eyes softened immensely as if only just realizing his disheveled appearance. You went to touch his hand over the table but he snatched it away before you could, glaring. 

"You don't look so good,” you reasoned quietly, stung by his actions, “d’you need some help?”

"M'fine."

"I don't think—"

"Listen to me very carefully," Miguel hissed, nose flaring and skin burning hot, "I need you to get away from me." 

"What—"

"I'm not gonna tell you again," he seethed, cock struggling to break free from the constraints of his suit, "Go. Leave."

You were stunned into silence, tapping your fingers over the table awkwardly before grabbing your mess and leaving without another word.

Miguel watched you leave with a groan, dropping his head back in aggravation.

He was so fucked.

…

You hadn't shown up to HQ in a while. He couldn't blame you. 

While that should've been a win for Miguel, it wasn't. Sure, the violent attacks on his body had diminished somewhat, but now, just because you weren’t around as much didn’t mean you didn’t leave his thoughts for a second.

He could've called you—had that stupid watch to contact you—see if you were okay. But his pride assaulted him every time he so much as glanced at his watch. 

His thoughts circulated and continued, imagining you in all the positions he wanted to put you in, which landed him back in the restroom for a daily cock tug when he should’ve been working.

The spiderverse needed to be controlled and admittingly, you were one of the best on his team. You were stealthy and intelligent—he needed you more than he'd cared to admit.

And...he missed you.

But you were off fighting crime and restoring the peace in your universe—at least that was the excuse you'd given him, only showing face when it was absolutely necessary.

Which, as of late, wasn’t very necessary.

And still, he suffered.

...

Earth- 0708. 

A shit show of a universe where the height of winter was in the middle of fucking August. It was snowing, small tufts of flurries lightly coating the ground in white.

Miguel knew exactly where to find you. Sunnyside, Lowery Street off the seven train. On the corner of a bodega by the broken lamp post. He could walk to your apartment complex blind if he really wanted to.

And there it was. He could smell you upon arriving—through the concrete and rusty red brick, up the five floors to your window—he could smell you. His hands shook (not from the cold) as his claws gripped the aging wall, his cock doing its usual swelling.

You must have sensed him immediately, slamming your bedroom window open and peering out into the darkness before he could even make it to your window. The cold wind blew and carried your scent. Mierda. 

“Miguel?” You called out, squinting down at him as he scaled the dusty brick wall. When he finally came face to face with you, he lowered his mask, revealing his flushed face and sweat-slicked hair. He could see his breath come out in short, little puffs.

“You couldn’t use the front door like a normal person?” You asked with a roll of your eyes, crossing your arms.

“When were we ever normal people?” It was meant to come out smooth as butter but Miguel’s voice was hoarse, throat seemingly drier than the Sahara. He cleared it, stepping through the window, turning around to quickly slam it shut. He was concentrating, forcing himself to take a deep breath before turning around to face you, except, you were already gone, disappearing deeper into your apartment.

He grunted, rubbing his eyes. He thought he’d gotten better at controlling himself. The gentle breathing helped, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t struggling to keep his cock under control. It twitched a few times, and he groaned, exiting your bedroom. It was now or never.

You were in your tiny kitchen, stirring a cup of tea while the TV in the living room softly played some sitcom he remembered you were into. You were in a black hoodie and gray sweats, your hair messily thrown up in a ponytail. He’d seen you this way more than he could count. When did you become so pretty? Miguel didn’t understand it. You were under his nose this whole time, and he never really looked at you. Well, that was wrong. He did, of course, he did, but he never indulged. He was too much of a workaholic for that.

“What do you want?” You asked, monotoned, “I took care of all the bad guys so I know you're not here for that.” You propped your elbows on your kitchen counter, resting your chin in the palm of your hand as you peered up at him. You’d always told him he looked massive in your apartment as if his shoulders would cave the entire place in, and now, with you looking at him like that—all doe eyes and confusion—just a tiny thing, well…his cock twitched.

He swallowed thickly, jaw tense as he looked away from you to collect himself.

“I gotta ask you somethin'.” The words rushed out of his mouth, the flashing images on the TV seemingly more interesting to him than anything else.

“Shoot.” 

“It’s… gonna sound weird, bare with me.”

“O…kay.” 

Miguel turned away from you as he always did, hoping to curb his sweltering need to take you against your wall like a beast. “Are you ovulating?” It was quiet for a beat, and his heart flew into his throat in pure mortification.

“What?” 

“You heard me, I’m not repeating it again.” 

“Miguel, what the fuck—” 

“Just—answer the Goddamn question, por favor.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, bowing his head in frustration. He felt hot, his body burning as if molten lava flowed through his veins. His tone must have done something because when he looked over his shoulder you were on your phone tapping a few buttons.

“...Yes,” you finally answered, bringing your gaze to meet his half-lidded eyes, “according to my app.” 

“Mierda,” He groaned, dropping his head in his hands, “fuck. Okay.” 

“You gonna tell me what’s going on, Miguel?”

“And you ovulate mid-month? Between the twelfth and sixteenth? No don’t—don’t look at me like that, please,” Miguel choked as he began to pace back and forth, ignoring the incredulous look on your face that was both humiliating and overwhelmingly arousing at the same time, “Just—just answer.” Another beat of silence engulfed you both as you searched the information through your period tracker with a shaky hand.

“Uhh, yeah, t-that’s right.” You placed your phone down on the counter, your tea now cold and long forgotten. “Mig…what’s with the questions? How d’you even know that?”

He finally paused his steps to run a hand through his hair before facing you from a safe distance, hoping you wouldn’t notice the growing erection burning hot between his legs from the angle he was in. If you noticed the large space between you both, you didn’t mention it.

“I haven’t been ignoring you,” you snorted at the comment, and again, he pinched the bridge of his nose, “I haven’t been ignoring you by choice, me entiendes?” 

“So what is it then?” You took a couple of steps closer while he took a couple of steps back.

“It’s your scent—you smell so fucking good and it's driving fucking crazy, muñeca.” 

“I-I don’t understand, Mig, what—”

“Look, I don’t understand it either,” he ran a hand through his locks again and again as if ready to rip the strands off, “all I know is you have a…scent when you ovulate every month…and, well…” he dropped both arms to his sides, standing there like an idiot as you stepped closer to drink him in. Your eyes traced him over, his broad shoulders and muscled arms, his thick thighs, and his engorged co—

“M-Miguel?” Your gaze was pinned to his bulge, pushing against the confines of his suit. “Why didn't you tell me anything?”

The question made him burn—made him bare his fangs and curl his hands into tight fists.

"What did you expect?” He spat, pacing again, “How was I gonna tell you some shit like this?" He licked his lips, his body feeling feverish. If he didn't leave soon he was sure to do something he'd regret.

“Miguel, come here.” He ignored you, much too irritated and embarrassed to do anything but just stand there. His jaw clicked, the bone shifting under the skin as he grinded his teeth in frustration. He could hear your footsteps padding softly behind him until you stood in front of him, craning your neck just to make eye contact.

It was unbearable being in your presence. He was going lightheaded again, the arousal almost blinding.

“Mig? D-did you need some help?” You whispered, your fingers ghosting over his chiseled abdomen, ready to trail lower but his large hand gripped you by the wrist, halting your movements.

“No.” He choked, “I’m not gonna force you to do something you don’t want to. Just came to tell you.”

“What if I want to?” You continued, lifting your free hand to press your warm palm over his heaving chest, “What if I told you I’ve wanted to do this for a long time?” 

Miguel hissed as soon as you cupped his erection, gently rubbing your palm up and down the smooth surface of his bulge, hidden behind the silky fabric of his suit.

“Poor Miguel—all this suffering, all this grief, when all you needed was for me to relieve you,” you tutted, feeling how incredibly hard he was, “so I have a scent, huh?” Miguel groaned, his head lolling to the side as he watched your careful movements. The friction wasn’t enough, but it was more than he could have asked for in the last few months. His hand was nothing compared to yours. “What do I smell like then?”

“Like wet pussy,” he swallowed thickly, hands fighting the urge to grip you by the waist, “smells amazing, muñeca.” He hissed again when you gripped him firmly.

“Yeah?” You smiled, your eyes just as hooded as his, “And what do you want to do to me?” 

A growl rumbled in his chest. Without saying another word, he pushed you back against the closest wall, caging you in his large arms.

“You have no idea the things I want to do to you.” He whispered, brushing the tip of his nose over yours. Your eyes fluttered, lips parting to take the tiniest breaths, chest heaving in arousal. 

“Show me.” You breathed before Miguel kissed you. He curled around you, sealing you away from everything that wasn’t him. Your scent had his head buzzing, had him licking wildly into your mouth, his fangs grazing your skin more times than you could count. 

He pawed at your hoodie, his claws sinking into the black fibers of the fabric. “Do you care about this?” He said between kisses, skimming the delicate skin underneath.

“It was an ex-boyfriend’s.” You yelped when Miguel tore into the hoodie immediately, ripping apart the seams with ease. You weren't wearing a t-shirt underneath, leaving you bare above the waist.

“Not important then.” He muttered, tossing the thick shreds of fabric aside in favor of touching your bare skin. He noted your eyes, how blown your pupils were at his actions. You were cold, nipples pebbling and goosebumps forming over your arms. Miguel cooed, his thumbs reaching out to rub the sensitive nubs on your chest, tugging them between his fingers. Your head fell back against the wall, a mewl escaping you. 

“Miguel,” you moaned, arching your body into his skillful hands. He brought you flushed against him, pressing his face into your neck and licking a stripe up to your ear.

“¿Qué pasó, hermosa? I barely touched you,” Miguel chuckled, lifting you up in his arms with ease and walking to your bedroom. He threw you on your bed, and within seconds, your sweats were pulled down with your panties, hastily tossed to the side. 

He observed you like a beast on the hunt, eyes trained on your glistening cunt. There it was, the source of his misfortunes for all those months, weeping and swollen with arousal, just waiting to be fucked. His mouth watered, watching you slowly swirl your fingers between your folds, coating two digits with your slick before presenting them to him.

“Wanna taste?”

He saw how your juices clung to your fingers like glossy webs when you wiggled them toward him. He kneeled in front of you, gripping your wrist in his hand and lapping at your essence, plunging your fingers into his mouth. He moaned in relief as if tasting you was the cure to every issue he'd encountered.

You gasped, mouth slightly ajar as you watched him. It was so obscene how this man took pleasure from your taste alone, coating your fingers entirely in his spit. You whined, the sensation of his tongue causing your cunt to flutter, desperate to be filled.

“Miguel,” you whined, “get rid of the suit.” He chuckled over your fingers, letting you feel the tip of his fang over the soft pads before releasing them with a gentle pop. He stood to his full height, dwarfing you, glowing in that suit of his. Slowly, the tech that held his suit together scurried down the length of his body like falling stars until he was completely nude. His cock sprung forward, finally released from its prison, standing large and proud.

“Oh my god,” Miguel heard you mutter, saw how your eyes were trained on the angry red tip, shining with precome. His chest puffed with pride. You licked your lips, mind already set on the task you'd given yourself. You moaned, desperate for a taste of him.

He didn't give you much time to react, surging forward to place a hand around your delicate throat, putting the slightest bit of pressure before pushing you down flat. 

"Next time. I need to taste you." His eyes were glowing, burning red in the dim lighting of your bedroom. He knelt again, grabbing your hips firmly and pulling you roughly toward the edge of the bed before devouring your cunt like a starved man.

"Shit," you cried, hands immediately tugging on his hair as you threw your head back, "M-Miguel." He was insatiable, tongue swirling around your clit several times before lapping at your soaked folds, moaning at the tangy taste. 

"Que rico," he muttered to himself, the vibrations of his voice over your cunt causing you to cry out. He continued his assault, dipping his tongue into your hole, a testament of what was to come. Then, without warning, he plunged his middle finger inside, immediately hitting something that made you see stars. You choked and heaved, pulling at his hair as he fucked you with his thick finger while sucking on your clit.

"Fuuuck, Miguel, I-I think I'm—" you threw your head back, eyes rolling as you came, gushing all over Miguel's mouth and hand. You trembled, almost sobbing when he hadn't let up, feasting on your juices as his finger continued to thrust into you.

"M-Miguel, I can't," you whined, your hands fighting to lift his head away from your aching cunt, but he ignored you, too drunk on your taste to stop. He carefully added a second finger, easily finding a rhythm to thrust into you. The stretch had you gasping for air, thighs trembling on either side of his head. If two fingers were too much for you then his cock would surely be a challenge.

Miguel's eyes were closed, tongue hungrily lapping at the wetness you produced, and within seconds had you falling apart with a wicked moan. Your cunt squeezed his two fingers when you came again, coating his hand and chin with your slick. You sobbed, begging him to stop, and he did, placing a wet kiss on each of your inner thighs before carefully pulling his fingers out.

"Look at me, hermosa." You hiccupped, craning your neck to look at Miguel with blurry eyes. He already had his red gaze pinned on you, and when he had your attention he placed his cum coated fingers into his mouth, humming in approval at the taste.

You were mesmerized, not even fucked by his cock yet but somehow already drunk on the anticipation. You whimpered, watching him lap up the last of your juices on his fingers.

"M-miguel?"

"You taste so fucking good," he growled with a shake of his head, pushing his face into your pulsating cunt one more time to breathe in your intoxicating scent. His hot breath over your pussy made your toes curl, sighing in contentment when he placed a quick kiss on your swollen clit.

Miguel climbed on the bed, caging your hips with his muscular thighs. His cock slid against your folds, your slick already lubricating him. You were still shaking, your hands now finding purchase on his biceps.

"¿Estás bien, amor?" He asked, leaning down to pepper kisses over your tear stained face. He was getting sappy, he knew. He couldn't help it, not with the way you came so pretty for him.

"Mhm," you sighed, letting him arrange your trembling legs over his hips, his cock pressing more firmly into your aching wet core. 

"Good." He spit on his hand and ran it over his stiff shaft a few times before pushing your thighs up so that your knees touched your shoulders, effectively folding you in half. He lined up the head, ready to push in, but stopped when he heard you whimper.

"It's been a while, Miguel," you explained with wet eyes, "I haven't...in a while a-and you're so big—"

"It's okay, I know you can take me, hm?" Miguel brushed a few damp strands away from your sweaty face. He leaned down to kiss you, and he knew you could taste yourself on his lips. It made his cock twitch over you, and with no further delay he notched the head of his cock into your hole, slowly pushing in.

You moaned, eyebrows knitting at the stretch of him. He panted, pushing inch by devastating inch, all the while watching your face for any signs. You were falling apart, eyes screwed shut and nails digging into the meat of his arms.

"I can't," you choked, your hips fighting against the offending pain, but Miguel was quick in securing you in place, continuing to spear you with his cock, "M-Miguel, y-your too big, it's too much!"

"Shhh, hermosa, si puedes," Miguel closed his eyes for a moment, relishing in the way your cunt fluttered over him, fighting to take him in, "look how good you're doing for me, mm, así mismo." 

He pushed deeper, swallowing your cries with a kiss as he bottomed out, his balls pressing nicely against your ass. 

"¿Ves? " He cooed, bumping his nose against yours as you whimpered, "I told you, you could do it." He chuckled at your glare, kissing you again before thrusting experimentally into you.

You moaned, tossing your head back, exposing your throat. You felt full to the brim, completely stuffed. Miguel wasted no time surging forward to lick and nip at your neck as he moved above. Each thrust shook your bed, the springs of your mattress coming to life as Miguel fucked you deeper. Your pussy was drenched, soaking his cock as he glided in and out of you effortlessly. The stretch burned but it was delicious, and Miguel knew you were cock drunk when your mouth fell open, tears running down your cheeks.

"¿Así te gusta, hermosa?" Miguel moaned, his breath fanning over your skin as he pounded deeply into you. His cock reached something within you that had a sob ripping from your throat.

"Oh my God," you whined, feeling the constant slap, slap, slap of his balls against your ass, "Fuuuck."

"That's the spot?" He heaved, his fangs glistening with saliva, "That's where you want it?" He continued his relentless pace, hitting that spot with precision over and over again. The sounds of your squelching pussy made him feral, slamming into you until you screamed, watching you fall apart before his eyes.

You came hard, gushing all over his cock, vision blurry and head in the clouds. Miguel helped you ride your high until you were nothing more than a quivering mess below him, sobbing as he continued to thrust before emptying his load inside you.

He grunted, head tossed back as he pressed his hips tightly against you, filling you up with everything he had. 

"Fuck," he groaned, pausing to give himself a moment to breathe before slowly fucking his cum into you. It was too much, leaking out of your hole and over his cock, soaking into the sheets below. "Even better than I imagined." He muttered, shifting to pepper kisses all over your face again. You sighed in content, feeling comfortable in the way his cock was still nestled in you.

"¿Estás bien, muñeca?" Miguel asked, dropping his forehead against yours. He still had you folded in half, his large arms on either side of you. You nodded with a sigh, turning your head to place a chaste kiss on the inside of his wrist.

"Good," he grinned, gently snapping his hips against your ass, letting more of his spend leak from your hole, "cuz I'm not done with you yet."

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Can you write a college roommate head cannon for miguel O’Hara ( 18+ f!reader)

ik you asked for HCs but I have no self control... my bad, anon!

College Roommate!Miguel O'Hara Headcanons

(AO3 Mirror), Main Masterlist

pairing: College Roommate!Miguel O'Hara x f!reader

summary: Miguel is your roommate. And he’s hot. That’s it, that’s the tweet.

warnings: 18+ as fuuuck. F-receiving oral, using toys, masturbation, voyeurism (-ish), grinding, praise, service dom (idk?) Miguel, recreational drug use (reader and Miggy smoke a blunt). Minors DNI

a/n: I am a firm believer that modern day Miguel listens to 90s rnb, back when men were men: unabashedly, unashamedly down so fucking bad for their partners. he just gives me those vibes!!

edit: I'm writing a full fic for this! Rigor Mortis, college au fic, read here.

wc: 6k

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

I'm thinking you become roommates but he's your last choice. 

Very last minute: you have a big falling out with your now ex-boyfriend, and the plans for flatsharing next semester goes right out the window. 

So all the good places are taken, and you're going apartment-hunting, but everywhere's either too expensive, too dirty, or there's a predatory clause hidden in the lease: shitty landlords and blaring red flags in 9pt Times New Roman. 

When you stumble upon Miguel O'Hara; a student in private accomodation who, lucky you, is in need of a roommate; it feels like a godsend.

Rent is affordable and he's nice enough; refusing to grunt more than a few words to you, but is clean, organised, and from what you can tell, is barely in the apartment. 

You sign onto the lease, desperately, hoping you've just been lucky and trying not to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

You give a thousand mile stare at the blank document in front of you. A bullshit paper due in exactly 12 hours. Yes, you left it until the final stretch, and yes, it's 10k words. Very doable. You're not fucked. Nope.

You blame it on the banging from next door. Paper thin walls; obscene noises. Cries of Yes Miguel and Just like that, daddy have been plaguing you for almost an hour. His stamina must be superhuman, the way the woman in his bed has been howling. Howling may seem extreme, but she sounds like a dying cat: cock drunk and babbling over Miguel O'Hara? 

Your new roommate had been nice enough. Quiet, unassuming, and seemed more than absorbed in his schoolwork. So you didn't expect him to unashamedly fuck the girl he's been tutoring for the past week. It all clicks. The "perfect roommate" turned out to have one teeny tiny little flaw: loud, obnoxious sex, well into the early hours of the morning. 

On autopilot, you're clicking through tabs on your bed. Perhaps you're a prude, but the sex noises are abrasive, excessive, to the point of parody. Persistent, Miguel's low voice reverberates in the walls of your bedroom; making heat pool at the base of your stomach. 

"You want it, hermosa? Tell me…. such a pretty girl… like that?" It's muffled, but his voice is unmistakable. Low, greedy, heavy with want. God, the last time someone's spoken to you like that was… 

You shake your head free of cobwebs. No. You're not rewarding him. You can't . Your roommate is shameless, and inconsiderate, and really fucking annoying . 

The smacking noises increase, coupled with banging on his side of the wall. Resolute, your face hardens. From where you perch on your bed, you slam the wall with the side of your fist. 

"O'Hara! Keep it the fuck down!" 

~~~

He's a biochem major, up to his ass in assignments and he still has time for societies, internships and tutoring. 

The only times he'd be in the apartment really was an impromptu session, and you didn't notice at first, but it became more obvious as the semester went on.

As a so-called tutor, he only seemed to pick the prettiest girls - they would twirl their hair on your kitchen counter and bat their pretty lashes at him when they didn't understand. Favours for a couple of friends, is his only response when you ask. 

It felt like you'd open the door to a new girl every week and you are baffled. Donned in makeup and short skirts, they'd waddle in asking for Miggy, or drop off half-finished assignments whilst craning their head through, trying to catch a glimpse of him. 

The absurdity would make you laugh if it wasn't affecting your sleep. 

Not that he's not absolutely gorgeous, but he's so quiet you would never have thought he had it in him: to have a revolving door of women lining up to lay underneath him. 

This time, her name is Sarah: pretty little thing in Miguel's Advanced Math class.  She perches on a stool, wearing a tight dress that is wholly not appropriate for a tutoring session. She's one of his regulars, if you can call it that, and has been failing for at least 2 semesters. You flash her a smile as you pad through the kitchen, searching the cupboards for a snack. God, she is gorgeous; dolled up for another long session with Miguel, no doubt.

"Where's he gone?" She asks politely. 

You shrug. "I couldn't tell you, sorry."

"It's okay… I'm just a bit stuck." You almost snort and catch yourself. For some reason, you didn't think they actually did any work, merely a pretense for the… cardio later on in the day. 

You glance at her sheet of paper, scribbles in purple pen with large swathes crossed out. Leaning over, you scan the page.

"Right here." You point and she follows with a manicured finger. "You fucked up with this integral and I think… yeah, I think that messes with the whole thing."

Her eyes light up as she follows you, explaining with a piece of cookie hanging out of your mouth. She's definitely smart, just a few little mistakes here and there that you're happy to point out. Thanking you fervently, she rushes to correct it. 

"Ah, it's no problem. I get mixed up with it too." You smile and notice Miguel by the doorway, watching with a strange look in his face. You roll your eyes as you walk past. What a fucking weirdo. 

"Thought I was the tutor?" He croons.

You raise an eyebrow, voice low as Sarah is engrossed in her work. "...I don't want to fuck her, Miggy , if that's what you're worried about."

A little cruelly you push past him, shoulders clashing against one another. Is he smiling ? For now, you blame your perpetual tiredness when you think you catch the hint of a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

~~~

You're a light sleeper, and it all makes for a tired, delirious combo. You sleepwalk through the day, scramble to finish assignments and whilst it's not all O'Hara's fault, you can't help but blame him for a lot of it. 

After you successfully get through one long week, you decide to celebrate. That means a couple hours of mindless hedonism: your favourite movie, greasy food…. and your trusty dildo. Not at the same time, of course. 

Miguel's not home, and he's not tearing down the walls with some other girl, for once, so you decide to treat yourself. 

You've been going through a dry patch, and you'd hate to admit it, but he does sound good through the thin drywall. 

It was a joke gift; given to you by a friend for your birthday. An obnoxiously purple dildo with a suction cup at its base. Aptly named Hugh, due to its - ahem - large stature. Standing tall at 7 or 8 inches, far bigger or thicker than any partner you've taken in the past. Sitting around a small diner booth with your friends and opening the bag to reveal him, had been quite the experience, for sure. 

It wasn't your fault you had gone through a dry spell in the past few months. With work, with school, with relationship issues, you hadn't had the time or energy to sleep around. Not that you were desperate for drunk, lackluster sex, followed by an awkward dance of ubers and shitty coffee in the morning. Like many, you preferred to do it yourself. 

Laptop open, you ease yourself onto the toy, already slick with lube. Prepping yourself with your fingers had been quite the task, tabs open to something on a lewd website. It's cheesy, but you didn't really like the bright lights and plastic of usual porn. The moans felt too fake, the sex devoid of any real passion. So you found a couple of independent creators; couples, mostly; carnal fucking with fervour only borne from real love . It's embarrassing to admit it, but your favourite parts are the little kisses and touches in between, or light laughter after a rough session. As if to say: it's okay and I'm still here. 

On your screen now is a longtime favourite video, a broad man bullying his fat cock into his partner. You can't help but think he looks like Miguel, not as pretty but tan with strapping shoulders, and large hands that wrap around the neck of the girl in the video. 

" F-Fuck," You breathe, sinking down onto your toy. You bet Miguel's palm on your throat would be deliciously rough, and you imagine how he'd fuck the brat out of you like the man on your screen. 

What hadn't occurred to you, however, was that the thin walls went both ways. Whilst you were quieter than many of the girls Miguel brought home, you were fairly shameless with the moans and curses that fell from your lips. Headphones on, you were blissfully unaware that Miguel had slipped into the apartment some time ago. The slap of your thighs to the floor, the desperate whine as you roll your hips over the toy - he can hear it all. 

Miguel has a conscience, so he does feel some amount of shame when he slips a hand down his trousers and presses an ear to your shared wall. He closes his eyes and bites down lusty groans, fisting his cock to your pretty noises. Noises he's been wanting to hear from you for months, now, imagining it was you underneath him instead of his usual partners. 

He times it just right, squeezing around his tip in time with the steady slap just beyond the wall. Are you fucking yourself? On your knees, hands flat on the floor, churning up your insides with a toy… or maybe ass up, dildo attached to something…? He almost cums with that mental image, wondering what you'd look like on your knees for him. Is the dildo as big as him? He knows you, knows you'd want it to hurt - for his cock to stretch out your pretty pussy when he cums deep inside you. 

All things he thinks about with a hand around his cock, and he's already close. But he wants to cum with you, listening intently for the signs. 

" Fuck," Your voice comes out muffled, but it makes him buck up into his fist all the same. " Need it… oh God, I-" 

He speeds up, wondering what it would be like to have your thighs shake underneath him, what it would take to have you babbling and begging for more. How would he break you? Maybe on his cock, where he'd watch you squirm as you take his length. Or on your knees, choking around him and licking up his cum. Or, God, thighs wrapped around his head, riding out your high with his mouth sealed on your clit, crying for him slow down, for him to-

" H-Harder, Miguel, please." 

He releases, sudden and intense, spilling white ropes into his boxers. 

" Fuck, Miguel…"

He fucks his fist through it, overstimulated from the way you say his name. It feels like the only way it should be said; spilling from your mouth, haphazard and desperate. Like honey, like treacle; sweet things he didn't know he had the capacity for. He lets that feeling wash over him, panting, bringing his forehead to rest on cool wall. 

~~~

He's hot. He's smart. He's a whore.

A total blindspot for you, and no matter how much you can't stand him; you still find yourself stealing glances whenever he's home. 

And he does seem to be home a lot more, often choosing to study on the dining table rather than his room. It's like he does it on purpose, using the warmer weather as an excuse to wear tiny tank tops and loose gray sweats - showing off the muscles of his broad back and arms perfectly.

Funnily enough, when he's not around those girls, he's bearable - seems to have grown a couple of brain cells in those short few days between sessions. 

You laugh and joke, sometimes, and he surprises you by suggesting a movie one quiet night. 

He offers you his sweater to snuggle into, you eat your weight in greasy takeout, and your roommate seems like an actually decent guy?? 

You had fallen into an easy routine: O'Hara leaves a flask of coffee for you to snatch up in the morning, hair damp from the shower and all, and you meet him with netflix and instant noodles in the evening. A push and pull that works in the little space - much smoother than your rocky beginnings.

After a truly shitty day, you come home to a quiet apartment. Almost sleeping through an exam, forgetting lunch, missing the bus home, and having to trek back through pouring rain in a thin coat. Everything that could go wrong, did, and you are left with the pieces. You trudge through the living room into the kitchen, the wet squelch of socks on laminate floor haunting every step. Shedding your limp outerwear, you lay the contents of your backpack onto the kitchen counter: clumps of loose paper, the damp leftovers of a textbook, bleeding ink. Your main concern, however, is your laptop slick with rain water. 

With baited breath, you put it on the slab, and press the power button. A click, a stuttering whir, and the screen flickers on. Then, just as strained, it putters off. Dead. Completely dead. Your legs almost give out, and you lean on the counter to steady yourself. Half of your life was there; including the final project that would make up a good chunk of your grade. It takes you everything not to collapse onto the floor right then and there. 

"How was it?" You hear the click of a door and Miguel calls out from the hallway. 

You wince."...F-Fine?" 

You hear footsteps, as he gets closer. "Are you asking or telling me?" 

You clear your throat, desperately trying to keep your voice steady. "Fine. It was fine. I'm just… it was fine."

Back still turned, you fumble around with the wet contents of your bag, hoping he doesn't notice. 

"Long day?" He says warmly, head poking into the kitchen. Haphazardly, you spare him a glance from behind your shoulder. He's dressed in a sweater that fits snug around his chest, rolled up to expose his forearms, and loose sweats. In his hands, he drinks from a cheesy mug - your mug, donning a stupid pun. He looks warm. Cosy. Domestic. For some, reason it makes your heart sink even further. 

Long day? "Something like that." You manage to squeeze out. There's a pregnant pause as he comes closer. Rummaging blindly through a cupboard, you try to hide behind its door. If he sees you like this, now, you don't know if you'll be able to hold it together. 

You close the door, and all of a sudden he's there, mug in hand. 

" Fuck, man- " It makes you jump, as he squints and takes a sip of his coffee. 

"You look… wet." 

"That's because it rained, Miguel." Snapping at him, your tone is biting. You're tired, stressed and in desperate need of a cry, but he is unrelenting in his gaze. 

"Are you ok?" He asks, unfazed. 

There's a lump in your throat and all you can do is nod with a tight expression.  His eyes flicker towards the counter and you shuffle, trying to cover up the mess. And then you watch it happen; initial confusion, a flash of realisation, and then worry; all in the space of a couple seconds. 

Gently, he pulls you aside to inspect the damage. "Mierda. This is pretty bad. You sure you're ok?" 

He's got a hand on your arm now,  The dam breaks and you crumple into tears in the kitchen floor. Of course, he comes with you, rubbing your back as you blubber through the details. 

" Nothing's going right for me… and I've got my final project on there… I'm barely keeping up as it is…" All he does is nod, face tight with something you can't quite name. It must seem pathetic to him, you think, shamelessly crying on the kitchen floor, complaining to your poor roommate. He can't leave you like this, because he's a decent person - but internally, he must think you're going crazy. 

It helps, having him there: a steady presence by your side. Slowly but surely, your tears subside. 

"You could've asked me to pick you up." He hands you some tissues off the counter, and watches as you mop up the tears. "I would've come, if you called."

"I didn't… I didn't think we were…" You search for the right word. 

"...friends?" He offers, with a small smile. "You think I let just anyone steal my sweaters?" 

"First of all," It makes you laugh, despite yourself. "You offered. And second, I've seen what you do with your friends, and I don't know if I have the energy for it."

"Ouch." Bashful, he rubs his chest like it aches. He sits a little close to you, knocking your shoulders with his own. "I know this girl who's crazy good with computers. I could ask her to take a look, if you'd like? Might not be able to save it but maybe we could recover the files?"

"...I'd like that, to be honest."

"Muy bien ." He leaps to his feet, palm stretched towards you to help you up. "I'll run you a warm bath or something. You're creating a puddle and it's going to ruin my floor."

"Our floor, asshole. I pay rent here, too." 

~~~

You find that you enjoy being around him, and he feels the same. 

You can't help but compare him to your shitty ex who you were planning to move in with: and even with his quirks, Miguel is better in every way. 

There is harmony in your household, for a while, and you almost look forward to coming home to him after class. Almost. 

It doesn't last long, because of course it doesn't. You'd thought you'd come to a tentative ceasefire, able to casually rib and joke with each other - takeout and B-roll movies aside. He leaves you leftovers from food he makes, you turn down your music when he's studying, and he even woke you up the other day when you had slept through your alarm.

Beyond the wall, his music is loud: a playlist you recognise as the one he puts on to (unsuccessfully) mask the noise of his usual late night adventures. Cheesy love ballads, heady RnB that leaks into your own room. You'd rather die than admit his taste in music isn't horrible, but it usually means a long, long night for everyone around. With finals around the corner, there's no way you can let this stand. 

What kind of person does that? Lull you into a false sense of security with Snakes on a Plane and pepperoni pizza? 

Absorbed in your own work, you hadn't even realised he had someone over; let alone was gearing up for obnoxious sex. You'd bang on the wall, but you feel like you guys are past that: crossed a threshold of intimacy that means you can shout at him up close and personal. 

So you stomp over to the hallway, banging at the door to his room. In the short trip there, you've worked yourself into a frenzy. How many times have you told him to keep it down? That it was rude and inconsiderate to flaunt his sex life in your face; to fuck other women so loud you were practically involved? There was something about the little smile he would give you afterwards, when you catch him shepherding his latest out the door in the morning - like he gets off on it, enjoys it, when you react. Even when you think you're over it, he still manages to drive you absolutely crazy. 

“Miguel? Open the fuck up!"

You're still fuming when the door opens with a click, and Miguel appears in the sliver of the doorway. He opens it so that his frame is half swallowed by the door, top half peeking through with a lazy hand in his hair. And of his top half, he's bare from the waist up, black band of his boxers sitting low on his v-line and loose sweats. 

All the wind is knocked from your sails, and you lose your train of thought. 

"Yeah?" 

"I…" You clear your throat. "I don't care who you fuck, but when I'm doing work-" 

"-I'm not." He chuckles. "There's no one here, hermosa. Just me. And you, I guess…"

There's something about the way he says it, lazily, as if it's his first time saying those words - wrapping his tongue around your name to see how it fits. If it fits, how it tastes. His relaxed posture, the way his hair falls…

"You're high." Your brow shoots up. "... you're high!" 

With a finger pressed to his lips, he grabs your hand and pulls you into his room, eyes darting around the hallway. 

"Shhh! You can't-" Now, he gets close, whispering like he's saying something he shouldn't. "You can't tell anyone. "

"I won't." You breathe. His face is serious at first, and then you're both giggling. You've never seen him so carefree, and it's nice to see Miguel walking around without the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He's still holding your hand, pressed close, and you see him drag his eyes up and down your figure. "You want do something you'll regret…?"

"...I've got a 9am, tomorrow, I really-" 

"-shouldn't?" He finishes, dragging his hand up your bare arm, pupils blown. He gets up to your shoulders, tucking your hair behind your ear. It's sinful, the way his touch is gentle but gaze heavy - violent in the way he practically eyefucks you. You feel bare, in little sleep shorts and a t-shirt.

He steps back, lounging on his bed, and makes for a half finished blunt by the adjacent window sill. Sighing, you sit by him, sinking into the mattress. He pats you closer, dangerously close, and you comply. One arm curled by your waist, the other brings the blunt up close and you wrap your lips around it. When Miguel brings a lighter to the blunt, you lean into it, knuckles brushing your lips. 

You take a drag, long, heavy, eyes closed. And when they open, you're met with his own. Maybe it's the weed, maybe it's the heady atmosphere, but you swear his eyes are low and deep with lust.

"Good girl." He rumbles, cupping your chin and tracing a thumb to your lips. He separates, bringin the blunt to his own lips before leaning back to pass it to you. As quick as he gets close, he pulls away; leaning back into the expanse of his large bed. And he looks good, head drawn back and the curve of his tan arm drawn upwards. Tufts of hair from his chest, the trail that leads down suggestively - and without inhibition, you basically drool over him. God, there it is. You feel it kick in and let it wash over you. 

His music, long forgotten, blends into your downy haze. You want to sit in his lap, rest your head on his chest. You get it now: if this is the view all those women he tutors get to have, then you finally understand. 

"Come closer, hermosa ." You barely register the nickname, only focused on the way he says it, the delicious way it rolls off of his tongue. You nod, and shuffle closer. His siren song sounds sweeter, somehow, up close. 

You pass the blunt between you both, and watch it dwindle to the last dregs. Lying down next to him, he clutches your hand and takes the butt between his fingers, letting its flames die as you watch. You giggle and his gaze softens.

"I didn't expect this from you." You look up to see an upside-down Miguel, hiding a smile. 

"Expect what?" He drags himself downwards, to rest his head by your side. 

"All…" You gesture vaguely. "This. Don't even think I've been in your room for this long, before."

His room looks exactly how you'd expect it: tidy and modest, a row of trophies neatly lined up on a shelf, a telescope pointing out towards a window. There are posters by his bed; science related, mostly. You tilt your head in the direction of one of them.

"Is this what they see?" You mumble to no one in particular. 

He manages to catch it, sluggish in his response. "...Is this what who sees?" 

"All the girls you fuck." It tumbles your of your mouth, before you can help it. 

He tilts his head too, looking at the poster and you watch the sharp lines of his jaw besides you. Even at this angle, he's so pretty. 

"Huh. I guess they do." 

"It's not very romantic, is it?" You blink, oblivious. Your question is met with a noncommittal shrug. "What was her name last time? Cassie, Clara-something…"

"Katie." He hums. 

"Katie." Ignoring the twinge of disappointment at his quick response, you hope it's the weed and not jealousy that made you pretend to forget her name. 

You sit up on your haunches, tracing the valleys and mountains of his bare chest with a leisurely finger. You try not to notice the way he shivers at your touch. 

"I could hear everything. Every, 'Yes daddy'," You feign a moan by curling your lips into an O-shape. You bring your other hand to your hair, head tilted back with exaggerated movement. "And 'right there, Miggy, right fuckin' there' ." 

Technically, you're making fun of him and laughing, expecting him to follow. But he doesn't, head back and eyes boring into you - only bringing a hand to press yours at his chest. 

"Thin walls, Miguel." You clear your throat, sensing a shift in the atmosphere. Too far, probably. "Sorry, shit. I didn't mean-" 

"I hear you too." He says softly. "I heard you, the other day."

Head filled with cotton, it takes a moment for his words to really click. So he elaborates, lacing his fingers with your own. 

"Fucking yourself, hermosa ." He says it lazily, like the vulgarity of the act doesn't register.

Your eyes widen in horror. How much exactly did he hear?

"...and I heard you say my name." 

"It was…. i-it wasn't like that-" Fuck. You can't think straight as it is: and his voice is low and silky, rubbing circles on your hand close to his chest. Even now, he oozes confidence, the steady thump-thump of his heart giving away nothing. 

"Hmmm? Then what is it like?" You blink at him, unable to answer. "You're a hypocrite. You complain about all these women I supposedly fuck, but then-" 

He pulls you closer, so that your lips almost touch his. "-you lock yourself in your room, touching yourself and thinking about your poor roommate. What am I meant to do with you?"

A pause, and in your daze, you can't breathe. For all your theatrics, it's too easy for him - to prod and tease, and for you to chase after him. You move to kiss him, but he grabs your chin at the last second. "Not quite. I want to hear you say it."

"Fuck- " You crumple, hiding your head in the crook of his shoulder. Even in your haze, the nerves bubble up from the base of your stomach. "Fuck me, please , Miguel."

He places a hand on your thigh, leading you to straddle his middle, other hand wrapped around your waist. He grinds your lower half into his, leaning up to bring your lips together. 

He tastes sweet, greedily lapping up your moans in the clash. You're not thinking, not really, lost in the heat of his body, desperate and eager when you kiss. To contrast, Miguel cups your chin, pulling you away for air whenever you sink too deep. Somehow, he still manages to look smug, taunting you with a flash of his little fangs whenever you separate. If you weren't feeling the effects of that blunt, you may have had the means to be embarrassed at how much you want him - needily grinding against him and pawing at his chest. 

It's too slow, too leisurely, like a punishment; and he refuses to give you what he knows you want. Your whines betray you when he finally slips a hand down your shorts. 

"¿Paciencia, hmm?" He grabs a handful of your ass, clothed cock catching on your clit. It rips another moan from you, which he happily swallows with another kiss. "Patience, princesa."

You hump against one another like teenagers, your hands planted by his head for purchase. Hips moving of their own accord, you chase the relief Miguel provides: with his hands kneading your ass, length catching at your clit, and teeth nipping at your bare neck. 

He licks a stripe up your collarbone, soothing the blossoming hickeys with a hum. 

Fuck, how can he be so casual ? You don't know if it's the weed or something else, but he is in his element, hand dipping down your back to graze at your pussy from behind. He hisses when he realises how wet you are, swiping his fingers down your slit and taking them out to pop them in his mouth. 

Now, flushed and face hot with embarrassment, you look up at him with big doe eyes. It makes Miguel feel guilty for stopping you so close to your climax. Beautiful : lower lip hooked under your teeth, plump and swollen and kissable. He'll make up for it later: a promise he whispers into skin. 

"You're soaked." He cups your cheek to press a kiss to your forehead, and all you can do is whine. His gaze dips down, to the swell of your tits in that thin shirt.. 

"What did you think about when you touched yourself?" It's soft, said in the warm press of your bodies; hook-shaped and hazy and you fit like you were made for one another. The thought lingers, plants a dangerous seed that makes you forget that the man underneath you is your roommate : unrepentant whore, Miguel O'Hara. 

"You." You've seen it first hand, he eats hearts for breakfast; and yours is on a platter for him to devour.

He laughs, deep and rumbling, hands resting on your waist. "I know that, baby. You don't have fantasies? Fuck yourself to the thought of someone touchin' you just right?"

Not just someone, him, you think. Your voice dies in your throat at the way he looks at you. "Just… n-nothing really-"

He hums, grinding your hips onto his. "Speechless, I can't believe it. Is this what I need to do to get some fucking peace around here?" 

You roll your eyes, "Don't be a dick, Miguel. When I shout, it's because you deserve it."

"...there it is." Eyes shining, his face stretches into a shit-eating grin. Wide, unabashed, unambiguous. "You back with the living, sweetheart?" 

It makes you laugh, even though you hate to give him the satisfaction. 

"What do you want?" He kneads your thigh and pleasure pools at the base of your stomach. 

You mumble something begrudgingly.

"Hmm? Can't hear you, baby."

Louder, now. "...want to sit on your face, Miguel." 

Lowly, he groans, shaking his head. "Mierda… of course you do."

Expertly, he helps you take your shorts off, dragging the thin material down your thighs. You clambers upwards, wrapping them around his shoulders, watching intently as he kneads the soft skin. It's tentative, at first, and you place your hands on the headboard to perch just above his mouth. 

He licks, diving in with the flat of his tongue: a long upwards stroke that ends with him sucking your clit. Moaning, your hips jump and he chases your pretty pussy up, large palms pushing you back down. He concentrates on your bundle of nerves, lips around your clit like a man on a mission.

And, God, does it feel good; he watches and learns from your every movement, committing your body to memory. His moans vibrate deliciously, tension building at that spot faster than your mind can register it. Then, you clench around nothing, gushing into his mouth whilst he eases you through it. The noises he makes are obscene; one leg off the bed and a hand snaked under his boxers. He's getting off on it; watching you crumple and sob around his tongue. 

And when you begin to move off, thighs sore, he doesn't relent, sealing his mouth on your pretty little hole. 

"Miguel.. fuck-" After your first orgasm, it surprises you when he continues, tongue fucking you with fervour. He presses you close, impossibly close, and your body fights against his ministrations. Heat, everywhere, and it's too much. The haze of the blunt begins to wear off and you are left with biting clarity. You want more of him, deeper; drunk off of just his tongue. 

You card your hands in his hair, and he moans: deep and wanton, with his eyes fluttering shut. He wants to look, to watch you when you cum on his tongue for a second time. Back arched, the curve of your tits peeking through a tiny top, fucking yourself on his face. He wants it hard , wants you to take control and use him to get off. 

"Right there, fuck… "

Like you can hear his thoughts, you press yourself down harder, riding the deep ridge of his nose for relief. Miguel complies and leans into it. He eats you out like a man starved and the carnality of it all brings you to a second peak. You cum once again, legs wrapped tight around his face. Head back, he laps it up readily. 

You separate with a wet pop, and Miguel looks blissful : fucked out and panting, wiping the slick off of his face with a forearm. Exhausted, you lean back onto the mattress beside him. 

"That was…" He searches for the right word, and it's your turn to finish for him. 

"... good. " Scarily good. So good you won't be able to see him around the apartment without remembering what he looks like trapped between your thighs. 

Gently, he turns to cup your cheek and bring your lips to his. It starts off sweet and deepens rapidly, making that thread at the pit of your stomach tighten, again. He grabs your thigh, bringing it closer, and you feel his length poking your stomach. Fuck. 

"You haven't…?" Your hand makes for his trousers, and he stops you. "I want to, Miguel. Want you to feel good too."

His head sinks into your shoulder. "I know, baby, I know. Not like this. Not yet."

You nod, still wrapped up in his arms. You haven't even fucked, and it feels more intimate than it should. 

"You've got a 9am tomorrow." He smiles with a hand underneath his head. 

"I've got a 9am tomorrow," You repeat, sighing. "...and my life is falling apart. I'm failing half of my classes as it is."

He turns to you, lazily. 

"I could tutor you, if you'd like."

…

"That's not fucking funny, Miguel."

_

_

Miguel taglist: @d1lf-loverrr, @afro-hispwriter @ilovemiguelohara @weedxgirlx420 @ladydovahkiin180 @aaliyuh3 @sweetanimebakery @vvitcxen @rosecoloredlenses708 @daikondal @magikmina @impettywhenyouare @alonelygirlsuicidenote @plushyplants @javi0ca @rheeves @starrfruit @nikirikii @marsbars09 @foxglove-grove @mimooyi @crosshairclown @dead-by-light @kynamitedessert @naarra @wanderlustingcastaway @sagejin @cookielovesbook-akie @tangerineloverrr @gobblegluckgluckgod @wolfiepirate @jxxey3 @ebrysteria @elliemm @manchuria @youngghostpeachslime @weasleybuns @ilovemuppets @vauriz @bonbyon @aimno256 @ancientbeing10 @tvije @venus1224idkpleaze @neteyamsbulletwound @chickenjefferson-blog @maki-z @jasjasthings

_

edit: the full fic xx

[ghost-with-a-teacup]

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐈𝐧 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader

Summary: Everyone at HQ was convinced there was something going on between you and Miguel. Just...no one knew what. But one group of spiders were determined to figure it out.

Warnings: None! Just a lot of goofiness and a whole lot of fluff :3

When you have a superhuman with superior senses, they’re bound to be perceptive to their surroundings. Now when you have an entire lobby the size of multiple football fields filled with superhumans with superior senses, very few things will go unnoticed.

It’s why people very quickly realize that you and Miguel have…something between the two of you. It’s just that no one is quite sure what.

Camaraderie? Maybe, you were one of the first spiders to join the society.

Friendship? Perhaps, but it was known that Miguel wasn’t one to do friends. Not with the amount of loss he has gone through.

A relationship? This one seemed the most unplausible. Miguel was, well, Miguel. Stoick, cold and calculating. Meanwhile, you were you.

You had a light that drew people in, kindness that knew no bounds and warmth like a fire on a cold winter’s day.

Everyone knew the saying ‘opposites attract’, but it was like comparing night and day with the two of you. Regardless, a small little group within the society were set on trying to figure the two of you out.

~

“Ain’t no way the two are together, she’s too good for him!” Hobie argues, his legs kicked up on the table in front of him.

“I don’t know, maybe that’s why they work together. Because she makes him better?” Miles says, but his tone of voice failed to hide his skepticism.

“I think you should just leave the two of them be. Besides, what happens if you figure it out or not anyway?” Peter says, feeding Mayday as he does. Immediately a chorus of arguments breaks out from the group.

“OKAY! Okay, forget I asked,” he says with a shake of his head, while Mayday just laughs at the commotion.

They spot the two of you walking into the cafeteria making conversation none of them could make out.

“Look at them,” Gwen says, “have you ever seen the guy happier than he is with her?” she asks, and Hobie snorts.

“C’mon mate, you call that happy? Mans got that frown tattooed on his face, can he even be happy?” he says, but they all continue watching intently.

You glance over to the table they were surrounding, and they all brush off your gaze pretending as though they weren’t just studying the two of you like specimens under a microscope.

You wave your hand, a bright smile on your face while Miguel only glances over for a moment before continuing to walk. You jog to catch up to him, grabbing a tray and picking up things you wanted for lunch.

They watch as they see Miguel pick up the empanada, the last one left. He pauses for a split second, holding it before turning to place it on your tray. Almost as though they were straight out of a cartoon, they freeze at the interaction.

You seem to be slightly surprised as you, saying something to him but he only brushes you off before continuing on.

“Did…that just happen?” Pavitr asks. Everyone at HQ was aware of Miguel’s fondness for the food (even if he did hurl one right at Miles when they first met), there was no way he would give one away so easily for just anyone, right?

“Somebody pinch me,” Gwen says, and Hobie jumps at the request.

“OW!”

~

Miguel never lets anyone help him out when he’s injured. That was just a known fact. He could walk into HQ battered and bruised and wouldn’t even look in the infirmary’s direction once. After depending on himself for so long, he wasn’t going to stop now. Besides, what were First Aid kits for after all?

The only way he was going to the infirmary was if someone dragged his unconscious body there themselves.

Well, unless you were there.

“Miguel O’Hara I swear to god, you better get your ass to the infirmary or so help me I will tie you up and drag you through the halls myself,” you say sternly as you both reemerge in the Lobby. The rest of the Spiders there continued with what they were doing, but their attention was zeroed in on you both.

“I’m fine,” he says, glaring at you as if trying to say ‘Just try’. Had you been anyone else, you would have backed down by now but you didn’t.

“You wanna test me right now? That was a nasty hit, I will not be letting it get infected under my watch,” you retort, and he puffs.

“This is nothing, I’ve dealt with worse,” he scoffs, and in an instant your finger shoots out, making contact with the side that got hit with the anomaly’s flames. Miguel can’t help the sharp intake of breath as the pain from the impact hits him.

Your eyebrow raises, an expression of disbelief on your face before it softens. Murmuring softly, you say something that only he can hear.

For a moment he studies your face before sighing, finally relenting. With a triumphant smile, you place a hand on the man’s broad back, leading him towards the infirmary with a gentle but firm hand.

There, Pavitr is laying in bed recovering from an awry mission of his own. The doctors had ordered bedrest for the next 2 hours at least. Superior healing or not, they were not going to risk it. So there he lay, slinging his golden bangles up and down bored before he hears the two of you come in.

“Mr. O’Hara-" a doctor’s voice can be heard, but he is quickly interrupted.

“She’s got it from here,” he says, Miguel’s tone final. A small “yes, sir” can be heard before footsteps fade away, the doctor’s office door closing once more.

“You know, you should really let the professionals help you,” your voice can be heard.

“You dragged me here, you can deal with the consequences,” he says, and you just laugh fondly before your voices quieten, murmuring too quietly for Pavitr to hear.

Curiosity builds as he recalls the conversation he and his friends had, and before he can stop himself he shifts silently to the side, just enough to be able to catch a glimpse of you both from the small gap between the hospital curtain and the wall.

There, Miguel sat on the bed, a disgruntled expression on his face but his eyes were soft as he watched you fuss over his side.

He only watches for a few seconds before pulling away, this being a clear invasion of privacy, and his boss’ privacy no less.

It wasn’t going to stop him from telling everyone else though.

~

“This is a bad idea. This is a really, really bad idea,” Miles says, grasping onto the ceiling like his life depended on it.

“It’s only a bad idea if we get caught, so Shut. Up,” Gwen says sharply, hanging from her place on the ceiling as they watched the fight from above.

Gwen had come up with the mighty fine idea of sneaking into a mission between the two of you. It wasn’t often that it happened, Miguel more often than not only went on missions with only Lyla by his side. But when he needed a partner, it was always you.

“Why did you have to bring me with you,” he whispers, “Miguel already doesn’t like me. He doesn’t need more of a reason to.”

“Because I needed backup and you can turn invisible. And let’s be real, Hobie would be laughing his ass off getting us caught, Peter would bring Mayday which would get us caught, and Pavitr is already on a mission, now shhh,” she whispers, turning back to watching the scene below.

You swung from pillar to pillar in the abandoned factory with practiced ease, a carefree laugh escaping your lips as Miguel stands on the ground fiddling with his watch.

“The anomaly’s last known location was here,” Lyla’s voice echoes out, and you let out a sigh.

“Why can’t villains have easy powers. Maybe a giant blob that is easy to take down? Why do they have to be so complicated? What’s this one again, a freaky shadow monster?” you think out loud.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Miguel retorts, glancing up toward you for a moment before turning back to Lyla. “Do a scan of the place, will you?”

“What do we say~” Lyla responds, and you giggle softly while Miguel huffs.

“Please,” he mutters.

“What was that?”

“Please, Lyla,” he says a little louder now, irritation growing in his voice.

“Already done,” the AI snickers, and he groans out loud as your laughter bounces off of the walls, a fist held out for Lyla to bump.

“The two of you will be the death of me,” he says lowly.

“Oh, don’t be like that, grumps. You’d be too stubborn to die,” you retort before tensing up, the hairs on the back of your neck rising with the familiar feeling of your heightened senses at work. The moment you sling yourself up is the moment a loud thud sounds out from where you once stood.

“Oh, I forgot to mention that the anomaly was in the far right corner,” Lyla says before disappearing.

“I really need to do a rewrite of her code,” Miguel mutters to himself.

In your previous spot emerges a dark figure, plumes of smoke emerging and dissipating from its form and allowing it to disappear into the shadows with ease.

With a simple nod, you get to work. Like a well-oiled machine, you work in practiced synchrony, bounding across the walls and slinging webs.

And just like that the anomaly is captured, the force field around it effectively trapping it for the ride back to HQ so it can be sent back to its own universe.

“That was…kinda lame,” you snicker, pulling off your mask

“Told you so,” Miguel says as he opens up a portal for you both, dragging the anomaly behind him.

“Don’t say that to me,” you pout.

“What, can’t handle the truth?” he retorts, a smirk playing across his lips as your bickering voices fade through the portal.

“…was that a smile,” Gwen asks as she watches the spot where they both had stood.

“Was that what it was?” Miles asks, a shudder racking through his body.

~

It was late at night at the HQ, and at this time everyone else had already gone back to their own universes. The few that lingered were the ones finishing up after a late-night mission.

Or, you were Peter B. Parker frantically searching through the kitchen for a bottle of milk for Mayday after a playdate with a select few spiders that went on for way longer than expected.

Mayday was an easy baby. Always happy and smiling, but that all disappears when she was hungry and you did not want a spider baby on a rampage.

“Alright, alright, give Daddy a few seconds to warm up your milk please?” Peter pleads as Mayday continues to babble angrily, crawling all over him.

She pauses for a moment, attention drawn elsewhere as she hangs off of her father’s back before leaping.

“Hey, lil spider!” You say with a laugh, catching her in your arms. “What are you doing here so late?” you ask.

“Playdate with Miles, Gwen and Hobie. Time really flew and she refused to leave until now,” Peter sighs tiredly, and you pat him on the back before putting her up onto your shoulders. “What are you doing here so late?”

You shrug, grabbing two mugs from the cupboard.

“Working late. Like you said, time really flew,” you say, but Peter knew that wasn’t the full truth.

“Working so hard that you need two cups of coffee?” he asks, holding out the bottle for Mayday to take, which is what she does happily as she snuggles up in her father’s arms.

“What can I say, caffeine doesn’t really work on me,” you grin, pouring the coffee from the machine. “Goodnight, Peter, Mayday,” you say, ruffling her red hair fondly.

And as quickly as you appeared, you disappear.

~

People didn’t often disturb the big boss man Miguel when he was working. Not if you wanted to stay on his good side.

It was even less often that someone barges into his room full of screens as he monitors the Archno-Humanoid Polymultiverse, let alone a group of them.

“We heard you talking to someone! And laughing,” Gwen says hesitantly as if she couldn’t even believe it herself. But she was invested in figuring out what the deal was between the two of you now.

“Well, do you see anyone around?” Miguel deadpans, his arms wide and gesturing around broadly. You could barely stifle the giggle as you sat on a beam high up on the ceiling, going unnoticed.

“W-well, no…But!” she says, and Miguel raises an eyebrow which makes Gwen shrink in her spot slightly before recovering. “But we heard you. There was someone here, wasn’t there?”

Hobie, ever the perceptive one tracks his eyes along the ceiling before spotting you swinging your legs with an amused look on your face. It seemed as though no one else had noticed though.

Miguel watches Hobie spot you and his eyes narrow in his direction, as if saying ‘I dare you to say anything’ to which the spider only raises his hands in mock surrender.

“No. There wasn't." He says, his tone final. "If that’s all you’re here for, I have important work to get to. So why don’t you go bother someone else, yeah?”

~

“I give up,” Gwen says, slumping in her chair. “We’re never going to figure it out.”

“Figure what out?” Jess asks, walking up to the group.

“Whether or not there is something going on between those two,” Miles says, nodding towards you and Miguel talking over in the corner of the room.

Jessica only hums, a knowing look in her eyes but she doesn’t say anything. Only asks a simple question.

“What makes you think so?”

“Everyone here knows that there’s something there, even if they want to admit it or not. She’s one of the few people he tolerates, they’re together almost all the time and he actually seems happy around her,” Gwen reasons.

“You could have just asked, you know,” you say, coming up on their conversation with an amused look on your face.

Their expressions range from flustered to simply amused and you can’t help the laughter that bubbles up as you make eye contact with Jess.

“And to answer the question,” you reach down your suit, pulling out a simple chain with a ring dangling off of the end.

“We’re actually married.”

The group goes silent for a moment, eyes wide as they stare at the necklace in your hands, trying to process your words.

Then, all hell breaks loose.

A/N: Hehe, I'm quite happy with this one :3 This is my first attempt at writing Miguel, sorry if I butchered him but I am absolutely hyperfixating on him after seeing ATSV in theatres yesterday.

Based on the prompt by @imslightlycreative though slightly changed :)) I hope you all enjoyed <3

Part two out now!! Read it here.

[c1nnam00n]

me trying not to smile from the fanfic i just read

[natashowlet]

Miguel O’Hara icons

[jasperlore]

Can you post more of your Spideypool art? Like Wade gifting take out to Peter…?

COMING RIGHT UP!!

and a little bonus of spidey ready for the cold weather <3

[pedroslvt]

If i speak---

(_sleeparalysis on tiktok)