#spiderman x gn! reader

[the-kr8tor]

Star anise for Peter in a ❣️ bottle. Where reader is the antagonist in the script and Peter is the main character. Silly goofiness commences once the director yells cut. Please!

*kicking my feet* hehehe actor! Peter 🥴 thank you! I hope you like your potion, bestie! ❤️

Pairing: Actor! Peter Parker x GN! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, CW blood mention, CW violence mention (both are fake though), FLUFF!

Katy's one year celebration 🎉

The knife in your hand trembles as sheer anger permeates through your body. There's crimson coating your hands and face, he swallows thickly at your deranged appearance, neck bobbing up and down, skin nicked by the sharp edge of your knife.

“Please don't,” he pleads, his own hands around your wrist, trying to stop the weapon from plunging into his soft skin. “You don't have to do this.” A single tear slides down his cheek, you inhale sharply at his attempt.

“Don't you see?” You seethe, teeth and jaw clenched. “It's already done.” Before the knife strikes him, you hear a loud whistle.

“Cut!” The director yells above the sound of fog machines. “Take a breather you two, until we set up the next scene!” The rest of the cast and crew scamper away towards the doors to be first in line for the catering truck. You and Peter stay on set, watching while everyone else leaves.

Peter snorts, giggling even though you're still above him with the fake knife aimed at his throat. “So menacing.”

You can't help but laugh as his hands fall limp at his side, with you mock stabbing him even making the iconic screeching sound from your favorite slasher movie. Peter acts dead from under you, tongue lolling out from the side of his mouth. When you tap him awake, he cracks one eye open with a growing smile on his lips. His brown hair is messed up for the scene, but he makes it work, adding to his charm.

“You were so convincing.”

“Yeah?” Peter tilts his head, hand snaking along your thighs up to your waist, holding you in place. “Did I look terrified?”

You whistle out, “Very, super scared of little old me.” Holding his hands above your waist, you squeeze and smear the fake sticky blood all over his hands. Peter lets out a disgusted sound, but he doesn't pull away.

“Careful now, you're starting to sound like your character.” You chuckle at his teasing, taking his hands off your waist to hold them properly. “Besides, I've got a great scene partner that's why I'm very convincing.” Peter responds by kneading your palms, a welcome comfort since you've been making stabbing motions for hours now.

“Oh? Who is this great scene partner so I may meet them.”

“You dork.” He says with endearment that oozes out from how he pecks each of your knuckles.

You lean down, lips puckered to meet his own lips halfway.

“Guys, come on!” The director cuts you both off, leaving you and Peter flustered, caught like a bunch of teenagers making out behind the school. “At least act like you hate each other.”

You look at Peter while he does the same, glancing at you with an amused raised brow. “Never!” You both say at the same time to the sighing director. Meanwhile he mumbles about how the audience will see the romantic tension between your characters instead of the opposite. His words fall on deaf ears as you and Peter look at each other warmly.

Peter makes his point across the moment the director turns his back. He pushes you gently downwards, warm hand upon the small of your back, lips smiling mischievously. You follow, hands braced on his chest, leaning down to press a sweetened kiss that has been made sweeter by the fake yet edible blood coating your lips.

Maybe they shouldn't hire real life partners to play on opposing sides.

[n1ght0f-nyx]

giving him a fast and rough handjob that lasts what feels like several hours, he lays on the bed, his thighs squirming and clenching as you bully his sticky cock, he has cum a bazillion times, cum pooling at his thighs and stomach "oh god.. please mommy..i need more...d-d-dont stop!!" he begs and pleads, and you cant help but grin "don't worry babyboy...i wasn't planning on it~" tamaki amajiki, tomura shigaraki, brahms heelshire, edward nashton, peter parker, izuku midoryia, ticci toby, Kōshi Sugawara- your favourites!!

[stellaaarree]

LOOK AT HIS POUTY LIL LIPS.ABSOLUTELY BEGGING TO BE KISSED!!

teasing miguel hehe! (fluff)

you come in, miguels most likely messing around with his gizmo. propping yourself on your tiptoes, two fingers hooking into the fabric of his suit you give him a lil smooch!

“¿para qué era eso, bonita? t: what was that for, pretty?” miguel asks, his voice a little raspy and his eyes dumbfounded. “you’re pouting.” you state, still propped on your tiptoes, holding his suit.

in response miguel’s hands land on your hips, picking you up and setting you on the desk, slotting between your legs with an even more pouty expression he grumbles. “i do not pout.” a laugh slips past your lips as you watch him get all defensive. pissing him off further you ruffle his hair. his hard-ass demeanour pleading not to crumble, especially not in the semi public.

“cariño. t: honey.” he hisses. replied with a single “whaaat?” and a giggle. its too late to save himself though. lyla in the doorway, already taking pictures of miguel (our big bad spiderman.) slotted between your legs and having his hair played with as he pouts like a baby.

“lyla.” was all miguel needed to hiss before lyla was already gone, taking her camera with her. that was gonna be blackmail for a while.

you try to do a coy apology, getting half way through your “sor-” before miguel stops you with a “don’t you start, pequeño demonio. t: you little devil.” making you giggle and pull him into another little kiss by his spider suit.

A/N, holy shit!! i came back this morning to see over 200 likes on my posts?! i actually love you all so much!! also was gonna ask, would you guys read stuff that i wrote about ghost (cod mw2)?? let me know haha because i have a few ideas >o<!!💝💝

[eyesxxyou]

*ೃ˚ :💾 perverted!miguel x reader

❝ warnings ❞ Miguel being a creep, mentions of desk fucking, sneaking into readers room, stealing reader's underwear, masturbation with said underwear, watching reader sleep, mentions of masturbating to reader sleeping

perverted!Miguel who has a crush on a new recruit and is having a hard time managing it. There's something feral that ignites within him around you and it often leads to him being particularly harsh on you because if he weren't, he'd fuck you over his desk in front of everyone, have you squealing his name with his cock bullying it's way into you partially prepared hole.

perverted!Miguel who sneaks into your dorm on campus, rummaging through your things to find any trinket of yours he can keep without you noticing it's missing. He stumbled upon some of your discarded underwear and shamefully takes them into his hands before sniffing the part where the essence of you would have been. He takes them with him, steals them as he goes to leave before you return and find him committing his sin.

perverted!Miguel who uses those underwear to masturbate, wrapping them around the length of his cock and occasionally sniffing them to get a hint of you, like he was eating you out and your taste was all on his tongue. He'd cum on the crotch of the underwear like he's cumming on your hole and wants nothing more than to leave the underwear where you'd find them, used for someone's pleasure though you had not the slightest idea who. No way you'd think it was your boss.

perverted!Miguel who occasionally watches you sleep. He doesn't touch you, though he wants to. He just watches, imagining a world where he'd have the courage to climb on top of you, press his nose to your hair while he pins your hands against the bed and grinds the swell of his cock into your ass just to show you what you do to him. The thought of it makes him hard and sometimes, if he can be quiet enough, he'd masturbate while watching you toss and turn in bed, so peacefully unaware of how he owned you for just a small amount of time.

perverted!Miguel who will never let you know his feelings because he knows you're smart and will start connecting dots. You'll call him a creep, a freak, write him off entirely as just that. He can't have that. He can never have that. So he'll have you in his mind.

[yanderestarangel]

Hear me out—

Dad body Miguel.

TW: SMUT, UNPROTECTED SEX, DIRTY THOUGHTS, CHUBBY/DAD BODY MIGUEL, FTM READER, BRAIN ROT,DILF,PRAISE.

art credits:_Insomniac_RED_ on twitter ( X )

Thinking about DAD BODY MIGUEL makes me feel feral, his voluptuous and soft belly along with some muscles covered by the softness of his skin. He could really walk around shirtless, with some stretch marks on his belly, arms and back from time to time and some hairs could be seen in the middle of his belly matching the scruffy beard on his face. He is a peaceful man towards you and bad tempered towards others.

── Maybe he's your DILF neighbor, tired single dad, obsessed with you.

You can feel his soft belly hitting your ass with every thrust he gives you as he fucks you doggy style, the happy path of hair leading up to his thick, slender cock tickled your sensitive skin while the fat tip of his cock kissed your cervix ─ his scruffy beard rubbed against your skin as he pulled your hair and gave you a clumsy kiss each of his scars glowed from the sweat on his body; you could see the growing gray hair on his arms, chest and even the hair on his head.

He would just shower soft praise on you as he slid his dick with minimal force, turning you to look directly into his eyes. "Eres tan bueno conmigo... apretándome tan fuerte. Keep it up pretty boy, I want to make you squirt for me."

You feel his hot cum leak from his tip as the friction of his soft skin touches yours with each movement ── Miguel uses his thick fingers to stimulate your clit even more, watching you squirt on his belly and dick, making him laugh and look at you satisfied and tired.

"Can you give your old man a break here? I really promise to fill you up later..."

[spdrvyn]

MIGUEL O’HARA — and places he’d kiss you in

rewatched atsv and was hit with a very strong wave of yearning for this man that (unfortunately) doesn’t exist so now we’re here! tagging @greensagephase too as she was the one who inspired me to write this, please enjoy!! (^_^) ♡

☆ his lab, at work

like i’ve mentioned a thousand times before in my other fics and posts, miguel isn’t the biggest fan of pda. he prefers intimacy when it’s just the two of you, without the crumbling pressure of his snoopy coworkers.

that is mostly why his laboratory is one of the most secure places in headquarters. with a platform that might as well be touching the ceiling, it grants utmost privacy to him and you. he enjoys it when you visit him, whether it’s to bring food or company, the fact you go out of your busy day to come see him makes his heart swell.

he loves to shower you in kisses in those fleeting moments you’re both together, before the day ends. he presses a kiss to your hairline, and takes a whiff of your shampoo. before he moves down to your forehead, your nose, then your lips. he’ll tell you about the day he’s had, you will tell him about yours in return, and he’ll wonder how he got so lucky.

☆ the park, early mornings

i’d like to think that miguel is a morning person. when he can, he goes on brisk walks in a park nearby to wind down a little before he starts a very hectic day.

you, on more than one occasion, have chosen to join him, which miguel feels guilty for most of the time. mainly because he thinks you need sleep, as adorable as you look when you’re tired. he notices how sluggish you can be when you join him, which is why neither of you give that big of an effort to make conversation. not like it makes the moment any less meaningful.

there is a way that the peeping sun reflects on you so beautifully. even with tired eyes, unkempt hair, and an “uncoordinated” outfit (according to you. but he’d be attracted to you even if you wore a potato sack), every inch of you from head to toe looks like it came straight out of a renaissance painting.

he will pull you behind a tree, pepper kisses to your cheeks, before kissing you senseless on the lips. he holds your face in his warm palms like a prized jewel, and each kiss feels slower than the next. his breath is hot against your mouth as he pauses before he leans in for one after the other.

☆ at a restaurant, dinner time

on date nights, it really depends on how both of you are feeling on where the location is. maybe, it feels nice to doll up and look nice, but if it’s too much effort, somewhere casual and near-by is sufficient enough for you and him.

either way, those nights are the ones where miguel’s romance levels are reaching through the roof. he simply can’t stop and won’t stop looking at you, and how stunning you are. he doesn’t know how you always manage to keep him relaxed, because even he knows about how high-strung he can get, but he always gets so eerily calm when you’re around.

while you’re in the restaurant, he will subtly hold your hand under the table. on the rare occasion, he’ll break his ‘little to no PDA’ rule, he will press kisses along the inside of your hand to your knuckles. he does try to be discreet, but the way you get so flustered by his boldness eggs him on.

☆ bonus: at home

when miguel comes back home, a lot of the time he lets his actions speak for how he feels.

normally, if you’re doing something when he returns, he embraces you from behind, lets out a huge sigh of relief, and clings to your back like a koala until you are both seated. if you’re on the bed or couch, reading a book or watching something on the tv, he collapses on top of you and puffs all the air out from your chest.

he will kiss you on your neck, or when he’s really tired, just leave his lips there. he’ll lay on your chest and kiss you there also, while leaving a trail down to your stomach.

i'm still so not over him. sorry to my cousin's friends who apparently read some of my stuff, i am not normal about this old man

[nosyrobin]

Imagine two readers, you can chose which one you are. Spiderman!reader and Deadpool!reader from the same marvel universe. Spider!reader who’s sorta a beginner and Deadpool!reader who’s use to their healing factor. They know each other cause of their og’s dynamics with each other. Just imagine these two readers who are just young teenagers falling into the dc universe, Gotham specifically. Deadpool!reader obviously doesn’t give two shits while spider!reader is freaking out. Now they must find their way around with each other. Sadly these two red costume freaks are noticed by bats. And not the good bats. Two teens. One with survival instincts and the other who is a healing factor goof

[bruisedboys]

looking after hobie brown with a split lip and an almost black eye and he won’t stop touching you. it’s extremely distracting and you’d tell him so but you’d hate to see the look on his face when you admit he’s flustering you. so you let him be and scrub at the stream of blood trailing from his lip to his chin. you shuffle up his lap (yeah, you’re in his lap, and what about it? he was the one who put you here. he hadn’t given you much of a choice. insisted it was easier to reach and pulled you into him before you could protest) to get a better angle and his fingers press harder into your hips, his grip on you tightening as he tugs you up his lap, somewhat helpfully. you try to ignore the way it makes you feel. the way you’re now practically chest to chest and he can probably hear your heartbeat, it’s so damn loud.

and then, the very tips of his fingers dip underneath the hem of your shirt and brush your warm skin, and you decide you just can’t take it anymore.

“hobie,” you chide, soft and entirely too flustered.

“what?” he says back, dripping with ignorance, and you’d think he was genuinely clueless if you didn’t know him so well. he pushes his hand further up your back, his rough calloused fingers practically burning a mark on your already hot skin.

“quit it”, you say, though you don’t sound very convincing at all.

“quit what, babe?” hobie presses his palm to the small of your back, forcing you ever so closer. you gasp, pressed up against him, your hands braced on his shoulders, but he only smirks knowingly. “m’only helping you out.”

[spid3rslvt]

Miguel, who spoons you from behind, letting you calmly play with his hands. He doesn’t move or comment on it, only a small smile apparent on his face as he feels you caressing the tips of his fingers down to his palm. He might be quiet, but it’s clear he doesn’t mind your actions as he triggers his claws for you to look at.

[hoshigray]

Had the most random thought, but what if you caught Miguel by surprise and sneaked a kiss on the back of his neck when he's stressed out?

An: Don't mind me, just feeling soft for Miguel because he's corrupting my brain at the moment, lol. Also, wanted to write this to distract me from the fact Pleasurable Practice got smacked with a community label ffs. But, tysm for the love on that fic <33, and [MAYBE] I'll work on pt ii for next week! Thanks again, you lovelies, and enjoy!!

Edited Note: Also, here's an ATSV masterlist I made earlier for your convenience!!

Cw: Miguel x reader - fluff - stressed Miguel bc when is he not - you give him a kiss on the neck - pet names (amorcito/little love, mi alma/my soul; amor/my love) - just you and Miguel being adorbs and him being whipped hehe~

Wc: 902

"Aaaaaarrgh!!!"

You snap away from what you were doing to find where the noise came from. Not to your surprise, it's from your boyfriend — Miguel O'Hara, who's expressing his dismay by throwing another tray full of empty containers you got from the cafeteria.

The man is descending from his [godforsaken slow-ass] station, tapping his feet and huffing by the second. His brows are furrowed in anger, and he moves a hand to soothe his forehead with his fingers. When his post finally stops, he jumps down to sit on a chair and groans into his hands.

That was the third time this week. A villain was supposed to be captured and brought into the Spider Society to be sent back to their own universe; however, that was two days ago. And for some reason, this evil-doer has been hopping in and out of multiple universes. It's been a hassle for the other Spiders to grab hold of them; Lyla has to have eyes on them within every minute of every hour, and Miguel...Obviously, he would like to have this matter taken care of already.

You get up from where you're sitting and walk up behind Miguel, whose face is still covered by his hands with inaudible curses that you can tell are in Spanish. "You okay?"

The rise and fall of his broad shoulders entail a huge sigh seething out of his system. "No, mi amor." He frees his face only to rest his forehead with a hand propped by his leg. "This game of cat-and-mouse has been going on longer than necessary, got Spiders who're tired of the chase — I'm tired, yet there's more stuff piling up and—" He stops himself with another deep sigh, and you place your hands on his shoulders. "I just can't right now...."

All you can do is hum aimlessly while massaging his shoulders, his trapezius and deltoids tense with stress. You understand that a lot is going on for Miguel, giving him his space and letting him do what he does best: being a hero. But of course, being a superhero isn't all sunshine and rainbows, and you're bound to get hit with obstacles that'll hinder your progress. Annoyingly so, if you're a leader of an organization like your boyfriend.

Nevertheless, he's only one man, and you know he forgets this fact when he's too wrapped up in work. He's dedicated to protecting his peers, his home, and you. And although you appreciate the sentiment sincerely, you wish he'd remember to not go too hard on himself before he's burnt out.

You sigh through your nostrils, your hands kneading out any remnants of tension while Miguel indulges before storming back to work. That's when an idea hits you when your eyes land on the back ends of his hair, a smile creeping in slowly. Your hand brushes the lower tufts of his brown strands, and you lean down to press your soft lips on him after pulling his suit to expose his neck.

Immediately, Miguel goes rigid at the feeling of your lips on him. And his breath hitches when your hands wrap around him, pulling him closer to you as you lay your chin on top of his head (which you realize is a rare opportunity as he's taller than you).

"Mi lindo araña," You chuckle to yourself when you notice hints of red sneaking on the lobes of his ears. "The more you stress yourself, the more you look like a grouchy face."

"A grouchy face?" His tone holds slight confusion. "You've been hanging with Peter B. too much, amorcito." He shakes his head while you giggle, and you two sink into each other's presence for a little while, taking in the silence outside of the calming breaths Miguel takes. If he were to confess, it's as if almost all his fatigue has vanished into thin air when he's in your embrace. But he doesn't say anything — he doesn't have to. Because you already know.

You set your lips on his temple. "Feeling okay now?" His body vibrates from a tiny purr, and you remove yourself to stand up straight. "Alright then, I'm gonna go to the cafeteria to get something to share. Because you clearly need a snack. And while I'm gone, pick up that tray and those empty containers off the floor before Lyla has another reason to call you a 'grumpy man-child.'"

His face molds to a deep scowl from the mention of his pixelated peer's name-calling. "I am not a man-child."

You give him a look. "You kinda are."

"And what gives you that—"

"Muñeco," Miguel quickly refrains from arguing when you call him by his nickname, the name only you can use. "If you're not a man-child, why haven't you stood up and done what I asked yet?"

The man opens his mouth, yet no words dare leave. Reddish-brown eyes are honed in on your figure as you survey his reaction, and he exhales in defeat when he stands up from his chair. Your smile flourishes. "I'll be back," is what you say as you turn to exit his domain and head to the cafeteria.

Miguel watches you leave until you're out of his line of sight, unable to fight the twinge of his lips while he moves to pick up his mess like you instructed him to.

"Sólo tú puedes darme órdenes, mi alma."

[murdrdocs]

this but from miguels perspective (gn!reader)

he thinks he's maintaining composure during the call. he manages to hold off the growl between his words, and his eyes are the usual amount of narrowed, so he thinks he's truly not being that obvious. but the envy sits heavily in his chest and the jealousy almost blinds him and of course, there's the devil on his shoulder to taunt him as soon as the call ends.

"were they just ...?" lyla's question doesn't need to be completed for miguel to know what she's asking.

"yea, lyla," annoyance is clear in his voice. to an outsider, maybe it's the usual annoyance that comes from miguel o'hara. but to the one who knows him best, it's a dose ten times bigger than usual.

"oh, someone's jealous." it's singsong, a direct taunt at his expense, something lyla's best at.

"i'm not jealous i'm upset that i now have to find another spider-person to fill in for spider-punk." lie. well, not completely a lie but mostly a lie.

lyla's tone says she obviously doesn't believe him. "uh-huh. sure." but then she's gone, and miguel's left to click on his watch and pull up the audio recording of hobie's call. all calls are recorded for ... archives and such, so it's not that weird.

miguel just needs to let out some frustration before he can focus again. he knows lyla will handle getting someone for the mission, he just needs 10 minutes on his own, with your moans lowly playing in the lab, and his fist wrapped around his cock.

he spits in his hand, the quarter of his suit between his navel and his knees disappears, and he plays the bit of audio that's clearest with your moans. when hobie deliberately paused to "think" about when he was next free, leaving miguel's ears to warm as his overactive imagination conjured up images of you, under the spider-person who upset him most.

his hand turns sloppy as he thinks about how hobie doesn't deserve you. he's too insufferable, too immature, and from the one accidental meeting miguel had with you, he could tell you were the opposite. you were sweet, pretty, the softest features and the most comforting eyes as you offered tea to the spiderman who'd jumped out of a portal and into your home.

miguel remembers scowling at the mix of items that were yours and hobie around the place, but his features leveled out when he saw you, wearing a long shirt that stopped mid thigh, a little bit of toothpaste crust at the corner of your mouth, and a bright smile as you tentatively approached hobie and miguel.

he felt disgusting in the moment, thinking about what you had under that shirt, if you even had anything under the shirt. you were young, clearly hobie's age, definitely too young for miguel, but so much nicer than most young adults, a simple fact that drew him to you even more.

he couldn't help but think about if you and hobie had just had sex while he accidentally stumbled over his words, having to take a pause all together as hobie shamelessly pulled your back to his front and rested his chin on your shoulder.

now, images of how embarrassed you'd looked then flashes into miguel's mind. is that what you looked like while your boyfriend fucked you on call to his boss? maybe your face was scrunched a little more with pleasure. maybe there were tears running down your cheeks, a show of humiliation and satisfaction.

fuck, miguel really wanted to make you cry. he wanted to see those pretty eyes well up with tears while he bounced you on his cock. not on hobie's. miguel wanted to wipe the salt water away, kiss them away, and continue to make you feel good.

he distantly realizes that he's groaning now, grunts thrown in there as his hips chase his own hand. it's messy, a little shameful, but the thoughts are coming into his head quicker than he can process.

pictures of you bouncing yourself on his cock, head thrown back. pictures of you begging to cum because you know that miguel controls when and if you do. pictures of you playing with yourself, putting on a show for him, moans high pitched and vulnerable like they are now as you beg for help.

and just as he's about to come, hobie speaks, and miguel sees a picture of the two of you, hobie being the one to get you off, eyes locked with miguel with that usual taunting look in them. but for once, it doesn't upset miguel. at least not when warm spurts of his own cum is spurting out of his dick and onto his previously clean skin.

[hobiebrownismygod]

can you do a fic where 42!miles gets hurt after you two had a big argument and now you have to clean him up while still mad at him?? sorry if this didn't make sense

yess!! This is so cute I love it!! Thx for requesting <3

TW: BLOOD, mention of being hurt/wounds, use of Y/N in place of reader's name, very very slight angst (mostly fluff)

___________

Click

You locked your window and pulled the curtains closed with a huff. Your phone was silenced, your door was locked and you had promised yourself that no matter what, you were ignoring him.

Complete silent treatment.

The two of you had had a pretty big argument (and you could barely even remember how it'd started) so of course, you decided to be petty and pretend he didn't exist.

He always tried to make it up to you when you fought, climbing in through your window late at night, with a bouquet of hand-picked flowers or a movie he rented for the two of you to watch.

He'd be pretty silent about it, pretty nonchalant, and he'd plop down beside you on the bed and hold you. Not a word would be exchanged. And you'd always forgive him.

Not this time though. You were too mad.

So you decided you'd sit down, do your homework, and if you heard a knock at your window you'd simply pretend it never happened.

He could take care of himself.

You weren't going to be his little nurse. Not tonight.

But then of course...you were never one to leave him hanging.

It'd barely been fifteen minutes from when you'd started your homework when you heard a quiet knock at your window. You ignored it.

And then he knocked again. This time, you hesitated. You wanted to open it, you really did...but you didn't. No. You had to stand your ground. You weren't going to give in.

"Y/N" you heard his voice. The tapping on the window got louder, sloppier. "Y/N!" his voice was hoarse, not quiet and playful like usual. It was different.

But you stayed silent. You weren't going to let him in, you promised yourself.

"Y/N, please." You dropped your pencil. His voice was just a whisper now and you could barely hear it outside the locked window. He tapped one more time. "I'm hurt."

You felt chills on your neck and you immediately walked towards the window, pulling the curtains open. There he was, crouching against your balcony. His Prowler mask was on, his gauntlets were hanging off his hands.

And his shirt was soaked in blood.

You stared at him for a moment, taking in the sight. He reached his arm up with a pained groan, pulling his mask off. His brow was soaked in sweat, his face glistening slightly in the moonlight. "Please." he mouthed.

Robotically, you pulled open the window. You took his arm and helped him in, and he basically collapsed onto the floor, breathing heavily.

You helped him sit up, his back pressed against the wall. You quickly got to work, like you always did when he showed up in pain, grabbing your first-aid kit from underneath your bed and snapping it open quietly.

He winced as you began cleaning his wounds, pulling his shirt up so you could get to where the blood was coming from. He had a slash right across his stomach, blood gushing out in ribbons of red. It was never-ending.

You pressed an old t-shirt to the wound, trying your best to make some sort of tourniquet to stop the flow of the blood before pouring the rubbing alcohol over it. He covered his mouth with his hand and groaned, eyes squeezing shut, tears prickling the edges.

As you worked, he fell completely silent. You did too, too focused on keeping him alive to notice his eyes on you.

Not a word was exchanged.

Then a quiet, "Are you still mad at me?"

You looked up for a moment, eyes meeting his as he stared at you. They were hooded, but filled with sadness. He tilted his head back, a quiet sigh escaping his lips as he blinked, still keeping his eyes on yours.

He looked like he wanted to say something. He didn't.

So neither did you.

But after another moment,

"I'm sorry."

It was just a whisper, so quiet you'd barely even heard it, but it meant so much. You felt your eyes tear up and you refused to look at him, continuing to gently work on his wounds.

"Say something." he whispered, pushing your hands off of him and sitting up. He grabbed your arms, holding your hands in his. "Please. Anything. I'm-I'm sorry."

You looked at him, taking a shaky breath. Suddenly, you jumped towards him, practically melting into his arms when they wrapped around you.

And just like that...everything felt better.

"Ow-" he winced as you accidentally put pressure on his sore wound, and you immediately shifted yourself, a soft chuckle escaping your lips. "Sorry."

"It's okay. I-I'm sorry. You shouldn't be sorry, I'm sorry." he stammered, taking your face in his hands as gently as he could. He smiled slightly, wiping away the remnants of tears in the corners of your eyes. "Are you crying?"

"No!" you quickly responded, pulling back. "I just-I just-"

"It's okay. You can cry" he said with a grin, sitting up again with a grunt.

"I'm not crying because of the argument, you jerk." you said with a huff. "I-I just hate seeing you like this. I get scared." your voice sounded so small in the moment, it was like a completely different person had appeared.

His gaze softened. "I see." He gestured for you to come back towards him and you did, resting your head against his chest as he held you close. "Thank you. For letting me in." he whispered, kissing the top of your head gently, his lips lingering for a moment longer than usual.

"Of course." you replied with a smile, looking up at him with crinkled eyes. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I am." he said, returning the smile before giving you a gentle kiss, hands cupping your face as he pulled you close. You giggled before snuggling up to him a little closer, making sure to be careful not to graze his still sensitive cuts.

"So you're not mad at me anymore?" he asked tentatively, closing his eyes as he buried his face in your neck. You stayed silent for a moment and you could swear you felt his heart drop when you didn't respond.

You grinned. "No. I'm not mad anymore." He chuckled, nervously almost. "You had me there for a second." he whispered, kissing your cheek gently.

"I am sorry though."

"What for?"

He froze. "For...for the argument."

"What part of the argument?"

He stayed silent and you couldn't help but laugh. So he'd forgotten how it'd started too. Funny.

"I forgot too, Miles. Don't worry."

He breathed out a sigh of relief and laughed, tilting his head back. "Jesus, you scared me."

"Not as bad as you scared me, knocking on my window like that. There's blood everywhere" you said with a frown, glancing back towards the window.

He pulled your head back gently. "Don't look at the blood, just look at me. We can worry about that later, yeah?"

You smiled, nodding before hugging him again. His fingers brushed through your hair as he held you close, breathing matching yours. A tender moment.

"I love you, you know that right?" he asked softly, lips moving to kiss your forehead one more time.

"I know, Miles. I love you too."

_______

🥺🥺🥺 im gonna cry

why did I write this it literally hurts how cute it is

:((

hopefully you liked this anon!!

______

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[bluesidez]

Can’t get Firefighter Miguel out of my head because of the Miggy discord.

content warning: nothing but fluff...for now 😗

word count: 1.3k, not proofread

Next ‧₊˚ ⋅ 𓐐𓎩 ‧₊˚ ⋅𓌉◯𓇋 Masterlist

Imagine you’re trying to get into baking or something and you’re not used to your oven AT ALL.

Cherry pies? Ruined.

Apple fritters? Apple crisps.

Chocolate chip cookies? Charcoal chip cookies.

Brownies? More like burnt brownie brittle.

Your process would be going so well until it was time to actually put your dessert in the oven and it was like your oven plotted against you.

You set the right temperatures. You pre-heated. You even placed things in the right part of the oven. How is it that everything goes wrong?

The only desserts that saw the light of day were the no-bake ones. You’re not sure how much more no-bake cheesecake you could take anymore.

The day that really sets it off is the day that you attempted to make a simple vanilla birthday cake. Your friend’s birthday was coming soon and you wanted to gift her one of those cute bento cakes.

Your icing is finished and delicious. You’ve been practicing the decorations all week and they were pretty cute! The cake just a few more minutes left to bake, then you could take it out to chill.

As you’re piping a bag of baby pink icing, you look up to see that the room is a little foggy. You turn in a panic and notice puffs creeping from the oven.

“No, no, no!!!” you cry as you turn to open it.

You can’t do anything but cough as a ton of smoke hits you in the face.

Your cake on fire. Orange and yellow light illuminating the oven.

You panic as the fire seems to grow brighter once it hits the air.

“Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god!”

Where was your fire extinguisher? You tried fanning at fire with a towel, but to no avail. You couldn’t even get to the knobs to switch the oven off.

You step back, terrified. You felt like sobbing watching the flames take over. Why aren’t the sprinklers on?

By the time you run out of your house, the fire alarm decides it can sing its tune. You call 911 with a shaky voice, hoping they can get here faster than your alarm decided to make itself known.

You stand outside peeking through your eyes as you could see the flames grow near your kitchen window.

Thankfully the firetruck makes it in time, the firefighters working quick to get inside.

One of them asks is anyone else inside and you shake your head no, thankful that it was just you.

It doesn’t take long for them to put it out and come back outside.

“Are you ok?,” one of them comes to ask you. You look up to this tall, dark, and handsome man. He’s sweating a bit obviously from the summer heat and the fire as he takes his helmet off. His hair is curly and dripping. You ogle him a bit, watching his chest move up and down.

“Do we need to call you an ambulance?” he says, placing a heavy hand on your shoulder.

“Oh! No! So sorry, I’m still a little…winded from everything,” you say, embarrassed.

“Ok, well as long as you’re fine. Do you mind telling me what you were doing?” he asks.

You cast your eyes down. Here was such a fine man standing before you and you had on pajamas and a frilly maid apron with flour splattered on top.

“I was trying to make a birthday cake. As we can see, it completely failed,” you reply. “I don’t know what happened. I followed every instruction. The oven was set at 350 degrees.”

He tilted his head at you as you whined away.

“Is this the first time that something like this has happen?”

You shake your head no, “This is the 3rd burnt dessert in a week.”

“Hm. Well I’ll have the crew here check it out.”

An hour and some change later, one of the firefighters tells you and the tall glass of water, who learn is a captain named Miguel, that you have a damaged gas line.

“You’re really lucky that you were only getting blackened sugar. One more cake and that could have been the end,” Miguel says to you with hand on his hip and another on your shoulder. “And also, never open the oven if there’s a fire. If this happens again, turn the oven off and wait until it dies down.”

You felt your head nodding, heart beating at how awkward everything felt.

Miguel looked down at you again, “Do you have anywhere you can stay over night? Or until I can get someone up here to get this gas fixed?”

“My grandma lives a couple of streets down,” you say, cheeks heated at his intense eye contact.

“Tell you what, how about you settle there for the night and I’ll come back personally to help you grab your belongings tomorrow morning?”

“That would be amazing! Thank you so much. I’m sorry for all of this,” you gesture to your house.

“It happens. Nothing you did here was your fault. Besides, I’m the captain. Fighting fires is what I do. Now, how about a ride in the truck to your grandma’s?”

You feel giddy when he practically pulls you in the truck. No seats are left so you have to settle for sitting on Miguel’s lap, heartbeat racing.

The other firefighters try to hide their smirks and snickers watching their captain hold you so softly in his arms. One big bump in the road has you clinging to him to not fall off.

You straighten back up, embarrassed by the little slip. Miguel chuckles at your actions.

You pretend not to hear their wolf whistles as he guides you to your grandma’s front door.

Miguel knocks firmly, waiting with you until she opens it.

She’s about to fuss at you for not stopping by sooner until she looks up at Miguel.

“And who is this?” she says, a bit shocked.

“My name is Captain O’Hara. I just wanted to drop your grandbaby off. Had a little baking accident.”

Your grandma listens to Miguel as he explains the situation calmly and professionally. It doesn’t stop her from fussing over you, grabbing and turning you to check for any damage.

“I’m ok grandma. I just have to stay here while my gas gets fixed.”

She thanks Miguel profusely, “Son, what’s your favorite food? I’ll have it made and sent down there for you.”

Miguel laughs heartily. You’re about to tell him he doesn’t have to answer that until he beats you to it.

“Whatever your specialty is, I’ll take it,” he says with a sweet smile on his face and holding your grandma’s hands.

“Cap! We gotta another fire at the college dorms. Someone burnt noodles in the microwave again,” a firefighter yells from truck.

“Well if you all can excuse me, duty calls!” he says and runs back to the truck.

“I can’t believe you burnt a cake! Haven’t I taught you better? And you know you’re making him that food, right?” your grandma says as you step inside.

“Grandma,” you say, affronted. “It was the oven, not me! And he might not want to even eat what I make after this.”

“Hmph,” she says, with a click of her tongue. “Well, you better get ready to use this kitchen here. You need that man as a husband.”

“Grandma.”

“I have some ham hocks in the freezer, some turnip and mustard greens. I think the church sent me some potatoes. We need to go to the store too. You gotta get him through his stomach.”

“Grandma!”

There was a silence as you and your grandma stared at each other.

“So are you thinking pork chops or catfish to go with the side dishes?” she said, grabbing a pencil and an empty envelope.

You just groaned and crumpled in your chair.

divider by: @benkeibear ❤️‍🔥

the grandma convo is heavily inspired by my own grandma lol. tagging @miguelhugger2099 @kit-and-wolfe @huniedeux @ugh-ok-fiyn because I want y’all to see this 😗

[dangerousstrawberryshark]

These men make me feral 😩 ghostface Miguel and Peter…

Need someone to make a gn reader fic of this. (Thirsty for men rn.)

[eyesxxyou]

💾 gladiator!Miguel x reader

❝ warnings ❞ blood, animal death, decapitation, smut, creampie

Gladiator!Miguel who fights to impress you, the Emperor’s son/daughter. You sit in the stands separated from the rest of the crowd in a throne lined in gold. You’re draped in the finest fabrics with jewels hanging from your neck and hair, layers of bracelets and anklets from foreign places make you shine under the sun. Your skin glows like the gold you’re layered in, lips full, eyes sparkling with amazement at the performance put on before you. He wants to capture your attention and he does.

Gladiator!Miguel who fights bulls and lions, holding up their decapitated heads before you, a prize for you to keep in your palace. There’s something primal about it. He needs to show you that he’s perfectly capable of protecting you, of courting you. He fights for his life nearly every day and he will spare nothing to show you how strong and capable he is.

Gladiator!Miguel who you visit after his fights in his small chamber to congratulate him on his victory. His hands are coated in blood that he takes his time washing from his hands in the bucket of water he changes out every day. You’re nervous talking to him, standing before his towering frame, hands as large as your face and could so easily snap your neck. You’ve seen him break necks before, of animals and human competitors. Rarely does he do it though, fighting in the arena is about putting on the show, not swift, painless deaths. The audience wanted it gruesome.

Gladiator!Miguel who you visit after every fight to congratulate him on another victory, each visit always getting closer to him until one day you seal your lips to his. Before you know it, his hands are under your robes and you’re up against the wall. You don’t stop him as he slides his cock between your supple thighs, letting out fluttery moans as his hands grasp at every piece of flesh he can get his hands on.

Gladiator!Miguel who fucks you hard and fast, his hand over your mouth so you don’t alert your guards outside. Something like this could get him killed. A body like yours was sacred. He’d be publicly executed by morning. But he couldn’t help himself to your sweet body and fuck, you felt so good around his cock. Fucking you open was well worth the risk.

Gladiator!Miguel who takes a sick pleasure in cumming inside you, knowing it’ll drip out of you all day and crust over on your inner thighs. You whimper against his calloused palm, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you pulse around him and cum on your own. You’re feeling hot in all your clothes, your thighs trembling around his narrow hips.

Gladiator!Miguel who asks as you readjust your robes, “I’ll see you again?”

You couldn’t imagine a world where you didn’t, not after all of that.

“You’ll see me in the stands. It’s just a matter of if you win or not.”

He always wins.

[cloudyzeusy]

You're Mine Now ||

pairing: miguel o'hara X top reader

warning: stepdad, cheating

Imagine DILF Miguel O'Hara he is your new stepdad yet you've completely turned him into your bitch.

When you first met him you knew that he was the one - he was your newest conquest. You started off slow just casually making suggestive comments to him but he would just laugh it off.

You then started to leave the door open while you were jerking off, walk around in just boxers and touch him sensually. The first time it happened he would tell you off but then you began to notice that his gaze lingered longer on you and he began just accepting it,

You don't really care that this is your mom's boyfriend eventually she's going to break up with him so you might as well swoop in now and take him for yourself.

Back to present day he's your freeuse slut. You make him take you anywhere while he's cooking you sneak up behind you and grope his boobs. Or you fuck him while he's on the phone with your mom.

He just moans and takes it he only stops you when he can hear your mom appearing.

Even despite that you don't care you'd gladly fuck him infront of him your mom but you don't want to upset Miguel. He's not quite as an exhibitionist as you the furthest he's let you go is eating him from under the table or making him give a blowjob when your mom was talking to you.

But you knew you would get to that point soon and when you did you would make him your housewife and move to your new home.