#across the spiderverse fic

[honestsycrets]

mío | baby-fever!miguel o'hara x wifey!reader

❛ pairing | miguel o'hara x wifey!reader, starved prequel

❛ type | oneshot, explicit

❛ summary | after watching mayday, miguel develops a bad case of baby fever, longing for a family of his own.

❛ tags | explicit, miguel has baby fever, babysitting, talk of family planning and contraception, f!reader, breeding, pregnancy kink, much fluff, some angst, starved!reader, miguel being frustrated and cute, clean that kitchen, one stereotype of latina women, Spanish is not translated, best friend!peter, self edited.

❛ request fulfilled | could you possibly write an imagine in which Miguel and his wife take care of mayday? + multiple requests for more starved reader/miguel.

❛ sy's notes | written to fulfill some requests. i do have another daddy miguel blurb to fulfill, but my future works should be nice and angsty.

Peter has it out for him.

It’s the only logical reason why he’d do this shit to him.

Miguel stood in his dark room in a pair of scratchy jeans, dragging a belt loop to loop when he heard the door to his room draw open. A resonant schwap, schwap, schwap.

“Mi reina?” Miguel cocked his eyebrow up, extending his claws.

“¿Sí?” you called back from the bathroom, the distant scent of his favorite perfume wafting into the air. Miguel threw a look to the bathroom, reaching for the bedroom door. It burst open before he could open it. 

“Hi, Miguel! Where’s your wife?”

Peter dragged his feet into the room, whirling around with a sloppily put-together backpack that leaked diapers onto the floor. An exasperated breath left his lips, dripping in the way he looked at Peter.

Unfortunately, his little wife liked Peter a bit too much for his taste.

“I should have known.” Miguel ran his hand through his hair, strands of mocha brown flyaways wisping along his tawny forehead. “Why are you here?”

His normally disheveled appearance was a little more disheveled. It wasn’t his appearance that bothered him but how it reached his eyes. Shocked, confused, tired. Peter pat his deltoid, awkward laughter choking in his throat. It bubbled on the edge of an overwhelmed sob.

“Well, you see, your wife said she’d watch Mayday because I have a date, and I haven’t had a date in a really, really long time. Like, a really long time—”

“Is Peter here?”

His head snapped to your bathroom where you came out, threading a golden hoop earring. You probably already knew the fight that was heading your way-- but for your part, you couldn’t be bothered to care any less.

“Got it, you need this date.” Miguel cut Peter off, standing behind you with his massive arms crossed. “¿Por qué no me dijiste?”

“¡Mi nena! Muévete Miguel,” you giggled, shoving your way past Miguel to Peter’s child carrier, sneaking your hands underneath her little armpits and whirling her around. She cackled, a glittering warmth to her mischievous eyes. You came to a stop, settling Mayday against your chest, nuzzling your foreheads together in some secret pact that the two of you shared.

Oh no, no, no, no. Not this. It hits him at once.

The sight of his wife— beautiful and cuddly with a very young baby in her arms. The only sight more beautiful was at the altar on his wedding day, your shy smile behind a sheer veil. It had been a long time, too long, since he had someone to call him father. He can still picture her glimmering eyes, the way she looked at him in nothing short of admiration, looking past the things that he’d done to see him and only him. Glimpsing at Mayday, remembering Gabriella’s soft, small face, it took him a moment to snap free. 

He's so fucked.

“You would have said no, amado mío.” 

You’re a natural at this, scooting by both men to set Mayday on the bed. Your tiny fingers spiraled out from her belly to change her diaper. Peter jittered uncomfortably, looking as though he wanted to jump in himself. You cleaned her, replacing the dirty diaper with a clean one. “We’re going to a market with Tío Miguel--” 

“Don’t bring me into this.”

“Are you sure it's okay? I’ll be back at five, it's just a few hours, really--” 

“¡Vete! A ratty house robe and a dirty spider suit aren’t sexy. Look at mi Miggy,” now you’re just buttering him up. He shifts his weight from one leg to the other, inspecting the ground. “Wear something nice.” 

They’re sexy to her, he might have murmured. Not on a date, you bopped him. Mayday’s bright eyes tracked the space between you and Peter before you broke away to wash your hands. Peter’s clammy hands cupped Mayday’s sweet face, littering at least a dozen sickly daddy kisses over her tiny face. But Miguel what if--

“Adiós, Peter!” You returned to force Peter out of your room. Miguel peered at Mayday whose head snapped to the side, cheek against her fiery hair as the door clicked shut. He braced himself for the shrill that would inevitably come with her realization that her daddy was gone. She whined, grabbing her toes and tipping nearly off the side of the bed. Miguel begrudgingly hovered at her feet, blocking her from rolling off the bed. He could do this, he told himself, he could resist those giant baby eyes staring up at him.

He didn't need a baby, he didn't.

He blames Peter for having such a good baby.

She doesn’t ask for much other than requiring chest-to-chest contact with Miguel. It’s not that he doesn’t want to hold her, he finds himself aggravated by how much he likes to be around her. In a market full of things to look at food trinkets such as necklaces, body scrubs, and empanadas, it’s all her. Miguel props her up with an arm just under her bum, her tiny finger peeking curiously into his fangs. He snapped his teeth playfully at her, a nip, nip, nip, missing playfully every time. It rips ping a toothy grin across her face. 

“No biting Miguelito,” you called out, sliding your fingers in a teasing ring around his muscled back to chest. You leaned up on your tippy toes, placing a small little kiss on his lips. You ran off to go get her a pineapple whip after her tiny fist yanked your hair over and over again. You relented, staring at what she was cooing at. Sweets-- obviously, sweets. All the little ones loved sweets. 

“She likes it.” 

“Ya sé,” you said, “But we don’t need anyone noticing you’ve grown fangs.” 

“Tch,” he clicks his teeth in protest. She does too, throwing you a mean look for interrupting her fun. You plucked up a bit of the whip on your spoon, cutting through her displeasure through the power of sugar. 

"There's a lot of people here, Miggy, let's go to the park." You point toward the park, pointing away from the mounds of fresh produce and locally sourced goods toward a healthy patch of green grass. Miguel is glad-- he’s sick of being stared at for his huge frame. Despite the ring on his finger, people still seem to try their luck. He couldn't be more disinterested.

You lay a picnic blanket as Miguel holds Mayday's treat. Mayday sprawls across his chest, trying to take just one more bite-- then another-- Miguel looks down, chin level, eyebrow raised. She offers a bit on her tiny index finger to Miguel. A peace offering. “She’s not going to wait.” 

“Give her to me.” You kicked off your sandals on the edge of the blanket, dropping your things on another corner. You pluck Mayday from Miguel’s arms and set her down on the blanket in a way that is too easy. As though you wouldn’t have much of a learning curve in becoming a mother. No, no— you never mentioned anything about kids. Did you even want kids? He couldn't bring his heart to ask, to hope again.

“I didn’t know you were so experienced with kids.” 

“Mami had six,” you noted, plopping down with the whip by Mayday’s side. She sat with a small slant, reaching out toward the sweet treat again with those chunky, adorable hands. You brought her into your lap, at last relenting. “When you’re the oldest, you have to learn a little something to help out. Can you imagine-- being pregnant six times? Ay no.”

“How many times do you want to be pregnant?” he blurts out. Usually timed and precise, the question causes him to pinch his brow as he sits beside you. “Si quieres,” 

Your other hand comes on top of his and shifts it away from his face. 

“As many as will make you happy.” 

Shock. He chews on that response, his eyes glued to Mayday lapping at the last spoon of sweets you are willing to give her. She falls into a fit of complaints, a conniving look at the sweets, just as you lift her onto your shoulder.

"I never thought about it."

"No more, your papa won't forgive me if I bring you home all sugared up," you tsked your tongue at her. You patted along her back in small, tight circles until her angry huffs faded away. He reaches for the baby bag, slipping free a soft yellow blanket with white spiders strewn across the front. Miguel slides the blanket on top of Mayday’s small body, her groggy eyes sliding closed.

The more he watches you with Mayday, holding her so close, swaying as you held her, the deeper this ache burrowed in his chest. You would look beautiful all swollen with his child. Never mind Mayday or Peter, he can nearly see it, feel it under his fingers, the feeling of your taut belly under his skin, or the kick of tiny feet against his palm.

“We’ll see, Miggy.” 

We’ll see-- the answer seems too noncommittal, too distant to be a satisfactory answer. With Mayday sound asleep, you settle her between your plush thighs. She expelled bursts of energy that milked her energy dry.

A little old woman passed by, her cane pierced soft grass as she moved closer with a bag of tomatoes and green beans. Her face, aged by time, pulls into a wide smile. He doesn't like her smile.

“You two are doing a great job. How old is she?” 

You blink, looking up into the woman’s cool blue eyes, her dark hair peppered with thick grey and white strands. You tuck Mayday in her soft blanket, sparing the woman a kind smile that Miguel doesn’t quite have the patience for. 

“Oh, oh. Thank you-- um, a couple of months,” you recount, perhaps thinking of Peter’s anxious pacing or his delighted shouts about becoming a father. 

“Adopting is a great option. Back in the day, my husband was a bodybuilder too. Had a low sperm count don’t you know. Steroids shrink things. Oh, but these days you can do all sorts of things like IV--”

A what-- Miguel’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull at the suggestion. Was this old bitch’s suggestion that he couldn’t do it-- couldn’t get you pregnant? He could easily do that. If he wanted you pregnant, you would be shocking pregnant. He’d be damned if some old woman put it in your mind that he couldn’t.

“We’re babysitting for a friend,” he blurts out. “I have--” had, “a daughter.” 

“Oh, do you? I’m sorry. I thought-- well, it doesn’t matter what I thought, have a good day."  

She’s saying that, but it comes out slanted. You don’t bother correcting Miguel, not on this. Rather, your hand inched toward his, picking up on the energy that was pluming from his body in waves. Irritation-- annoyance-- the little old lady hobbles off. You’re in your mind well enough to bid her goodbye. But you know better than to say anything more, slumping your cheek on Miguel’s firm chest. It makes the ache of Gabriella's memory a little more bearable. 

 Low sperm count his ass. 

It bothers him long after Mayday is gone. Peter, for his part, looks refreshed. He supposes that’s what happens with a full day of opportunity to empty your balls after weeks of no relief. It bothers him long after you come back from the kitchen, his favorite dark red slip plastered to your perfect body. It would look beautiful, full of his children— he just knows it. 

“I may have hijacked the kitchen a little bit,” you teased, the waft of warm chicken and brewed spices filled his nose. He had no appetite. “But I made you some pollo guisado.” 

“Hm,” he grunts into a pillow. “Later.”

Beside the bed, he has a bowl of brightly colored condoms. With your sensitivity to birth control, it is the best option available. It wasn’t, however, something he was ever happy about. He should be able to feel your body. Not once had he felt your body pure and unadulterated, warm and perfect for him. He was your husband. He wanted that moment— to fill you up just once, watch his cum dribble out of your cunt. It would be perfect. You set the food away, bowl and spoon clinking together.

“Miguel.” 

Forget your warm body. This room is too quiet. It is almost stifling in its silence. Mayday’s sweet huffs, the memory of Gabriella’s laughter. A proper home full of a child's giggles. He’s going crazy-- he has to be-- this isn’t normal. This isn’t Miguel. 

“Mi vida, don’t pout,” you reach out, rolling your fingers through his long brown hair. Your fingers tease along his scalp, turning around his ear. Your fingers tickle his lobe, your voice cemented in a concern that he wanted nothing more but to fix if it were anything other than this. “Miggy. Miggy, what is wrong? You look sad.”

“I’m not sad,” he says with a whine on his pillow. How silly he must look with his broad arms wound around the body pillow, squeezing its fluff for life. If he said the words well enough, you might believe them. 

“I know you are,” you nudge the pillow loose. He takes you instead, the air thickening with the closeness. You fed off the tension, sliding your leg over the sheet that covers his naked hip. “Tell me why.” 

He turns his hands over your thighs, traveling past your hips to ghost along your belly. 

“Sí, Miggy?” 

“I need…” he trailed off, finding the words nearly impossible to admit. They grow into a ball and cement in his throat, present but stubborn. Rather than break the words free, he swallows a bolus of desire and frustration. “It’s nothing. Let it go.”

The issue was— you loved him enough to let it do so. 

Miguel doesn’t want to press the issue. He knows you. All you want is Miguel’s happiness. Sometimes, he worries it is at the price of your own. The distance he places between you and him is intolerable. It bothers him every time he finds you babysitting Mayday.

Today, while Peter goes on a small date, you and Mayday make his favorite empanadas. She’s covered in a dusting of flour from head to toe. Peter would have fun with that. 

“Miggy you’re back?” you called as Mayday’s chubby hands shot out, nearly plopping off the counter if not for Miguel’s quick reflexes, setting her back in place. 

“Empanadas?” he settles the words in a small kiss to your lips. You glance at him over your shoulder. 

“It's... it's Gabi's birthday, isn't it?"

You’re too good for him. Despite the day coming and going, no one else notices his grief today. Not even Peter who came in alongside him, reading the room, and snatching up Mayday off the countertop. He’s babbling something, a thank you, see you later— you kiss Mayday with only the sweetness a mother could know.  

“Peter! Mayday made these for you,” you reach out to a box of uncooked empanadas. “Take them home!”

Her first empanadas— the delight is palpable. Peter may have snapped a photo, or ten, of his little flour girl on the way out, empanadas in hand. Then there’s silence. Miguel returns the nearly forgotten bundle of empanada dough and filling to the fridge in the space of unspoken tension. Miguel dips down to your neck, caramelized perfume warm on your neck. His lips trace the warm pulse of your neck. 

“Mami,” his voice mesmeric, warm like the filling you used to make him happy when no one else could. Your doting attention, even in the face of real issues like work and babies, was always on him.

"Sí, mi vida?"

His hands coast around your waist, using his strength to gently turn you around. It isn’t important right now. What is important is how he lifts you up onto the floury surface, purring his need into your slight ear. “I want a baby.”

“¿Qué?”

“Una niña,” Miguel leans his fingers along your collarbone. 

“Oh, Miggy.” You puff the words. They come out almost wounded. You know him so well, the vulnerability of the words causing him to look down. Your warm palms cradle his cheeks, forcing him to look into your eyes. “You miss being a father, don't you?”

You’re not stupid. Neither is he. He thought he could wait— watch Mayday grow up and not feel this sundering longing. As though he could stomach never feeling a child in his arms again. The ghosts of the past that came with Mayday’s longing haunt him day by day. 

You devour his insecurity, winding your legs around his waist and forcing him forward. He stumbles into your embrace, as though he were not a man who could decimate villains and spiders alike. When he was here, in your arms, he barely felt like the weapon of a man that he is. 

“Miguel. Speak to me.”

“You’re right,” he can’t lie— can’t hide the longing that comes with the thought of his own child on his chest. Not Mayday, no matter how many times she cuddled up to his chest. At the end of the day, she would never be his. You drew your lip into your mouth, nipping it fat and red, a bob in your head. His heart beats faster, strumming as though it would break free from his chest. Whatever it is you’re thinking he’s not sure. Only that it’s been so long.

“I just want to make you happy, will this make you happy?” you nearly whisper, knowing that there’s no one but him to hear the words. It’s what he wants for you, too. As he stands there, coursing his fingers along your thighs and hiking your dress up your hips, he can’t help but feel the foggy discomfort of forcing you into parenthood before you were ready. 

“It will.”

As well as it could. It would never erase Gabriella-- and, in the vulnerability of begging his wife for another child, came the guilt. Not only the guilt of failing to be a proper father or to protect her but moving on without her in his life to a beautiful family she would have loved. The feelings surge in his chest, a well of uncomfortable emotions in his eyes, threatening to fall. 

“Miguel,” you’re whispering, your fingers cutting across his sharp cheekbones. You cup his face, drawing your lips together in a commanding kiss. You never liked being ignored or forgotten. He’s not sure how he could now, with your tongue flicking between his lips, begging him to come back with a sugary sweet whine. “Stay with me, Miguel.” 

“I am,” he says, gripping either side of the counter by your hips. He feels your eyes on him, soft and careful, pressuring him to meet your gaze. He searches for an inkling of an answer in your gaze. "¿Qué piensas?"

“We can try,” you bite your lip, sliding it free between your teeth. “If you don’t have a low sperm count,” you tease. “Maybe it’ll take.” 

“¡Por dios!” He throws a curse to the side as if he believed in such a being, throwing a look back at you. “You don’t actually believe that vieja.” 

“Ay Miggy, of course not.” His lips work into a budding smile. You leaned up against his stubbly jaw, setting soft kisses there. Your lipstick stains his neck, dragging down to his prominent adam’s apple. He looks down at you with heady eyes, tracing the way you suckled a mark on his throat. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like them a little more when others noticed them, little marks of possession. Miguel’s fingers come up to the straps of your dress, easing them over and down your slight shoulders. You pull back, words forming puff against his neck. 

“Not right here,” you inhale a soft breath. “Someone could come in.” 

Miguel eases his finger over the small bud of your breast, rolling his thumb along the silken skin, His hand comes up, encompassing your neck and shoving you back into the cabinets. It isn’t comfortable, not by far. He works the nub to its peak before turning his attention to the other. His mouth covers your breast, fangs grazing your nub as he suckled and tugged gently. Miggy, you pull him back up, stripped of your touch. Your hand slide across Miguel’s chest, tracing the taut muscles of his chest. 

“Who would come in?” 

“Peter,” you answer. 

It’s always Peter. He supposes that you wouldn’t want your friend to see you here, cunt stuffed with Miguel on the very same counter you earlier made him empanadas on. Miguel snatched the dress that fell along your hips laxly, utilizing it to yank you off the counter. You fell forward into Miguel, a heavy wall of muscle, your lips failing to form anything of use. You looked at him, cheeks flush and eyes doting, he’s the only one you see. 

“The balcony, then.” 

“Dianche, Miguel! Do you want all of Nueva York to see me?” 

“Maybe.” 

No, but see Miguel breeding you? Undoubtedly yes.

He couldn’t simply choose the bed, that would be too easy. Miguel set a kiss on your forehead, soft and scratchy with his stubble. You return it by dragging him down for another kiss, a wave of warmth coming over him as you force your hips back onto him, rolling your hips against his, teasing him. Miguel doesn’t appreciate the tease and gently pushes on your hips, motioning you to face the counter. 

“Bend over.” 

"Can't we go to my room?" you complain but comply all the same. Miguel’s palm ghosts your spine, dragging his fingers smoothly over the middle of your back and past the dress that gathered around your hips, He strips you of the little cover the dress gave, eager to have you bare and rid of the thin clothing that served as a veil from prying eyes. Miguel can cover you from the prying eyes of others if necessary. Not that he cared if others saw him fucking-- he’s all the more eager to have you all to himself, here and now. 

“No panties,” he notes, his warm hands on your inner thighs. “It’s almost like you knew.” 

“I might have,” you return, spreading your legs obediently for him. He palms your vulva, your hips shifting down over his hand. Sticky and wet, he wonders if his need to breed you has rubbed off on you too. His fingers shift, sliding over your soft hole. “Apúrate Miguel, you’re so slow.”  

“Can’t you be be good for once.”

You were always bossy. He likes it, most the time, being led around by what his pretty little wife wants. Today he wants to take his time, curving his broad fingers into your glistening cunt. Your wetness drips over his knuckles, fingers teasing the velvety soft walls he has never felt without a condom. A pleasured cry wracks in your chest, turning your head over your shoulder to watch Miguel’s fingers stretching you out. No matter how much your walls gave under his fingers, you would still ache when he penetrated you. It was the favourite part, the rich pull of his dick into your hole, bottoming out as best he could in your stomach. He soothes your complaints by grazing his other hand against your perky clitoral hood, finding the soft nub there for relief. You settle your arms on the floured surface.

“I never-- ah-- am,” you threw back.

Miguel slipped his fingers free, cupping your cunt with his palm for a teasing slap. You want to be good-- it’s just so hard, your cunt pulsing in the abswnce of his touch. He drags his sodden fingers to your lips, glazing them in taste of your lubricant. You suckle your tongue around his thick digits, savoring your own taste, his soft grunt of approval spurring you on. You feel like such a good girl with his fingers crooked in your mouth. 

“Are you ready?” Miguel stands fully upright, dragging your hips to his. He’s hard as the counter you were pathetically clinging onto. His hipbones ground into your plush ass, dick pulsing in his immediate ache to feel your cunt. He backs up, fiddling with something at the waist. You don’t need to ask to know that it was his big cock grinding between your cheeks, smearing fluid over your slit.

“No condom?” 

“No condom,” he affirms. You bow your head, nodding gently over the countertop. The head of his cock drove into your wetness, pushing past bundles of nerves. It’s impossibly different without the bag over his dick. It’s been so long. His world blinks out, savoring the feeling like he was an inexperienced teenager again. 

“Carajo, you’re so good,” he finds himself cursing, leaning over your back. 

“Now he says I’m good."

“Shh,” Miguel clips with a mean nip at your nape, lining it with soft kisses, encouraging you on to take him. Warm and wet, Miguel can only describe the slide into your cunt as untethered delight. Released from the bondage of his usual condom, he’s a mess against your soaked cunt, gripping you for a semblance of stability. 

I just want to make you happy. For all your needy complaints and little quips, he knows you do. Otherwise he wouldn’t be here, with your hands cupped on top of his, squeezing for more closeness. Miguel laces your fingers together in a needy weave, drawing back to stroke his cock right back into your wet body. You lead one of his hands between your legs, urging him on to stroke your clit. Your walls clamp down on him, teasing out bursts of pleasure with how deeply he was buried. Miguel’s lips part into a whine of his name, skin slapping against skin. He sets a kiss in the crook of your neck, breath nearly unbearable. 

“Mami,” he gasps, the word coming out between his unstable thrusts. Your eyes shut hard, sparks of pleasure winding and building in your core. “Give me a baby.”

“Sí papi,” you heave, “I”m trying to.”

Miguel knows what you like-- and you like him desperate. His voice so low and rich that you gush around his swollen length, falling apart below him. He catches your body from dropping in an instant, his thighs shaking as he works you through the fibers of gentle pleasure. Hot pressure builds low in his stomach. 

“Qué bella eres. I’m going to finish, fill you and knock you up,” he whispers, drawing himself free and admiring the hazy space of pleasure and reality. Miguel turns you back to face him. You think you may complain-- you didn’t cum, or something of the sort. He shifts you to sit on the counter, spreading your vulva for inspection. Miguel spat on your cunt, rolling his fingers over the swollen folds to spread you apart. He slipped into the space between your shaking legs. You felt him thrust into your body hard and sharp. Your hands reached out, dragging Miguel’s shoulders forward, clinging onto his body. 

It comes all at once, Miguel’s stuttering thrust forward, a deep groan filling the kitchen, his hand clasped onto your thigh so hard you know he’ll bruise it. You catch his moan in a kiss he doesn’t reciprocate, buried so deep in your body that all he can think to do is to force you to take all of it. He shakes himself free of the web of pleasure that he’s enveloped in, looking at you past the thin rivulets of sweat you wiped away with your loving thumbs. 

“I think there are better positions for baby making,” you lean in, kissing him gently. He returns the kiss this time, eyes light of the strain and stress of the last few days.  “Like… not this.” 

Miguel pulls back, his soft cock slipping free from your warm entrance. Miguel watches as his seed dribbles from your hole, grunting in acknowledgement. He swipes your mixed fluids and rolls it between his fingers. 

“I’m open to suggestions.” 

He loves his wife. More than anything. What he doesn’t love is how Peter seems to know that you’re trying for a baby.

The thing about having a woman from his same cultura was this: you loved to talk with your best friend. Who, just so happened to be Peter. He doesn’t even have to say anything, just staring at him with a quirk on his lip and a terrible glitter in his eye after he’s resolved another meeting.

“Hey, Miguel.” 

“Don’t start.” 

He’s crowded with work at his desk-- he has no time for Mayday’s curious little eyes to glitter at him, Peter to be doing that shit he did when he wanted to be helpful. He offered his hands up, shrugging. 

“I’m just saying! I’m a man, you’re a man,” he mumbles, inching a little closer and closer. “If you want a baby--” 

“Let me guess. She told you.” 

“Mayday could use a spider buddy,” he held Mayday up, out of her carrier. Miguel glanced down at her wild hair, exhaling air out of his nose with a little huff. “Sooner than later?” 

“I’ve done it before,” Miguel throws back. “I know how to knock up my own wife, Peter. I don’t need help.”  

Peter is offering help as if Miguel hadn’t tasted the changes in your body when he ate you out. Never mind that he saw you nauseated this morning, too sick to handle a call that Miguel promptly answered. He knew his seed had stuck-- you wouldn’t feel so miserable otherwise. It doesn’t matter, he’d answer them all if it meant another little one in his arms at the end of it all. Just so long as you and the baby were safe. 

“Are you sure? I know--” 

“I’m damn sure.” Miguel turned around, his head in his hand. “I’ve had enough of you. Why don’t you do something useful? Bring her something for her morning sickness.” 

“Oh,” realization fell over Peter like a hammer, looking down to Mayday who looked right back up to her father. For all that Peter knew about his love life, he was shocked that you hadn’t told him how awful the smell of breakfast meat made you feel. His hand fell away, a film of pride slipping from his practiced features when Peter spoke. “But... She’s already pregnant?” 

He leers. Peter scuttles away. 

Privacy is important to Miguel. You knew the damn rule. No telling Peter about the inner workings of your bedroom. For that, you were going to fucking get it. You likely knew you were going to get it-- even if you were likely already pregnant.

He can’t wait.

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[fettuccin-e]

Honey-Sweet

Description: You're far too sweet for him. He's determined not to ruin you, despite the fact that he seems to ruin everything, and everything about you just seems to make his fantasies worse. But one night can change everything, apparently, when Miguel finally sees how completely not sweet you can be.

Tags: Miguel O'Hara x Reader, afab!fem!reader, hoooh boy a lotta smut okay, oral (m and f recieving), unprotected piv (pls oh pls wrap it up irl fuck them kids), riding, doggy, missionary, some fluff bc i'm not completely deranged, light degradation (w/c: 2.1K)

A/N: oh lord the Miguel brainrot is REAL folks okay this is fucking crazy. I WANT THIS MAN TO **** ** **** * ****** ******* okay he has me fuckin frothing at the DAMN MOUTH actin like a DAMN DOG okay so please enjoy a bit of a miguel smutfest

You’re too fucking sweet for him. That’s what he tells himself. Miguel O’Hara doesn’t do sweet.

You’re fucking sweet with the way you bring cookies in for the other Spiders that accompany you on missions. You’re sweet in how you brought in a ridiculous hand-made baby blanket for Mayday when Peter first brought her in, emblazoned with his Spider-Man logo to wrap her up tight in. You’d kissed the baby on the head, whispering tiny sweet nothings into her bright red hair, and Miguel had had to hide the emergence of his fangs at the sight of it.

You’re too sweet, too kind for him. You organize little movie nights at the office, you make him stay a little longer on missions so you can see the tourist spots from different universes. And the way you look at him, all wide-eyed and bright and smiling… it does things to him.

It makes him want to bring you flowers, kiss you on the cheek. It makes him want to plan fucking candle-lit dinners and bake cupcakes with you. All sweet, too sweet.

But, because he apparently can’t stop himself, you also want to make him do decidedly not sweet things. Like grab at your tits through your suit, pinching your nipples until your knees go weak and you whimper his name in your gorgeous little voice. Like force you down on your knees, fucking his cock into your hot mouth while tears leak down your cheeks. Like tying you up with his webs, eating your pretty cunt out while you struggle against them, whining that “it’s too much, too much Miguel.” Like fucking you deep, so fucking deep on his cock, making you squeeze around him while you scream for him, beg for him to fill you up with cum. He thinks about watching it leak out of your achy pussy, dripping down your thighs.

But you’re so goddamn sweet, too gorgeous and lovely, and he can’t ruin you, he can’t. 

So when you finally wear him down, finally get him to go to coffee with you, he tries to be just as sweet as you. You hold his fucking hand, you kiss him on the cheek. You smile into his mouth as his lips meet yours in front of your apartment door. Miguel swears that his heart will pop with how much it swells when you’re near him.

He brings you flowers, walks you to your door, brings you lunch while you’re filing post-mission paperwork. And God, it’s beautiful. It’s fantastic and bright and so wonderfully domestic that Miguel wonders if he’s died, gone to some heaven he doesn’t deserve. He’s determined to revel in the domesticity of this… thing he’s created with you, his disgusting fantasies be damned.

He doesn’t like to think about how he has to fuck his hand after he drops you off at your house, his lips still burning with the touch of your soft, soft kiss. He thinks about how your lips would look stretched around his dick.

He’s content. He’s happy. For the first time in so fucking long, he’s happy. And he’ll happily tug on his dick by himself for the rest of damn time if it means that he gets to revel in your soft, pretty, wonderful sweetness for a little bit longer. He will not ruin you.

But.

As he kisses you softly in front of your apartment, the both of you still suited up from your latest mission, you tug him closer. You pull him down into your hungry mouth, and you lick into him like you’re starving for it. He can’t help how he growls at the feeling of it, his big hands coming to clutch at your hips. God, you’re pretty, fucking addicting with the way your tongue tangles with his and how you whimper when his hands cup your ass, tugging you up just that extra inch.

“Take me to bed, Miguel,” you gasp between feverish kisses, and fuck, he’s gone.

He hauls you into his arms, and his knees almost go weak at the way you wrap your thighs tightly around his middle, the way you lick into his mouth all over again.

And Miguel has spent so much time in his head, thinking, no, knowing that you’re sweeter than goddamn pie. It’s in every fucking breath you take, every moment he spends with you. 

But that night, as he lays you onto the bed, gently, gently like you deserve, he learns that you’re not as sweet as he thinks you are.

Not at all.

Not with the way you roll him over with your strength, begging for him to disengage his suit, looking at him like you want to devour him as it dissolves around him, leaving him bare to your gaze. You graze a reverent hand up his chest as he heaves under you, whispering, “God, can’t believe I’ve waited this long to have you like this. You’re so pretty, Miguel.” 

Pretty. Pretty? He can’t be the pretty one, no, not when you’re unzipping your own suit, and he can see everything. Every inch of supple, soft skin. Your nipples, hard and peaked and begging for his touch. Your pretty, pretty pussy; he can see how you’re practically dripping, the wetness between your legs glistening in the soft lamplight.

And you’re not sweet, not sweet at all, when you nip and suck little marks down his chest and abs, grinning up at him like a damn siren when he gasps at your touch. Fuck, you’re the opposite of everything he thought when you take his cock into your mouth, bobbing deeper, deeper until you just can’t anymore, jacking the rest of his cock while you kiss and lick and suck at him.

You grab his hand with your free one, and pull it into your hair. You pull up from his cock, and Christ, there’s a line of your spit that connects you to his throbbing tip, and Miguel thinks that he might die. 

“Fuck my face, baby?” you rasp, and yes, that’s it, Miguel is going to fucking die here. But he can’t refuse you, with those gorgeous eyes gazing up at him, the tip of his cock on your tongue. 

It’s not sweet, not at all, when he forces your head down on his cock, pressing himself deep into your pretty little mouth. And you moan like you love it, just taking it as he thrusts roughly into your mouth. Your spit runs down his shaft, your little whimpers and the way you choke when the tip jams into the back of your throat all echoing in his ears. 

He can’t hear himself, but God, you can. You relish the way he growls every time he pushes you down deep, telling you that, “You’re such a good girl, hermosa. Mierda, mi nena perfecta.” Your pussy throbs.

He isn’t soft, isn’t gentle like he told himself to be when he pulls you off his cock. You gasp for air, and Miguel groans as he pulls you up by your hair, dragging your spit-slick lips to his mouth. He can taste himself on your lips, all sticky and hot and puffy. 

You whine against his mouth, murmuring little pleas of “fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” into him, and his cock twitches, red and aching desperately for your touch. 

“Have to make sure you’re ready,” he mumbles, even though he aches, even though his claws threaten to show. 

“Nononono,” you whine, and then you sit back, hovering over his cock, fucking monstrous compared to the tiny opening of your dripping pussy, and press down.

Fuck, it’s like heaven inside you, all perfect and wet and hot, and you whine, muttering that, “It’s so fucking big, God, stretches me so perfect, so fucking perfect, so much bigger than I could have dreamed-“

“Nena,” he interrupts you with a hoarse groan of his own, “gotta stop, ‘s gonna, gonna hurt you, oh fuck-“ 

And you grin at him again, filthy and raunchy and not sweet at all, as you say “I fucking want it to hurt, Miguel. Wanna feel you in the morning, wanna feel you all the time.” And you press yourself the rest of the way down his thick cock, gasping for air, your hips twitching like they can’t decide whether to run away from the sensation or seek it. 

“Fuck, wanna feel you all the time,” you murmur and Miguel can’t decide whether you’re actually talking to him or not. “Want you to fuck me so hard I can’t breathe, fill me up so fucking perfect, God, oh my God, ‘m so fucking full,” you roll your hips forward in desperate little circles, a weak attempt at getting him deeper. An endless stream of “fuck me, fuck me, please please please,” starts to leave your lips again, and you sound so desperate, so needy, that Miguel can’t help but roll you over, pinning you underneath him, and fucking his cock so hard and so deep into you that you dig your fingers into his back and sob.

He does what you ask that night. He fucks you and fucks you and fucks you, until tears leak from your eyes and your bed is soaked with a mixture of yours and his cum. And God, you scream for him, begging him for more, deeper, harder.

The slick sounds of your bodies meeting over and over must be heard all over the building, but Miguel can’t bring himself to care, not when he’s able to fuck you like this, disgusting and filthy.

How could a sweet, lovely, soft thing like you love this so much?

From that night on, it seems that all bets are off. From that night on, it seems that you make it a mission to show him exactly how not sweet you are.

Fuck, there’s no sweetness to you when you hump your hips into his face the next morning, practically smothering him in your pussy as you squeal and tangle your fingers in his hair. He digs his fingers so hard into your thighs that he’s sure they’ll bruise, and licks up your juices. Your pussy is honey-sweet on his tongue.

You’re not soft when you ride him into the mattress, throwing yourself down onto his cock and moaning as you stretch yourself out. You drag your nails down his chest as you bounce desperately in his lap, and Miguel kind of hopes you draw blood.

There isn’t an ounce of innocence when you sink down on your knees under his desk when he’s in a goddamn meeting, pulling his cock out and sucking at him until his claws shoot out and leave splintering holes in his desk. He has to hide his fangs from the video camera when you choke. 

When he finally, finally cuts the meeting short, feeding the other Spider-Men some bullshit excuse about a new anomaly, he presses your head to the base of his cock and shoots his cum down your throat. He means it as a punishment, but when he pulls you off his cock, and sees you with your eyes all glassy and smiling lazily, he can’t help but bend you over the desk and finger fuck you until you cry and scream and beg for him to fuck you with his cock.

You are so far from sweet when he fucks you on the floor after a mission, tensions run too taut and adrenaline racing through your veins. You throw your ass back onto him with every thrust into your sloppy cunt, moaning as he growls, “Such a fucking slut, can’t get enough of this cock, huh? My sweet, sweet girl, what would the rest of the Spiders say if they knew what a fucking whore you are for me?” 

And when you choke on your spit around your screams, he leans down to whisper that, “I know, cariño, I know. I'm gonna take care of you,” before he shoves your face down into the carpet and mounts you, shoving his fat cock down into you again and again and again.

Miguel is positive that he’s died and gone to heaven.

It’s not to say that you’re not the same, sweet girl who brings cookies to the office and holds his hand. No, you’re the same, perfect, sweet girl, only that you let him thank you for the cookies by eating you out on the kitchen floor. You hold his hand while you jerk his cock and swallow his moans with your kiss.

You’re just the right kind of sweet for him.

#yeah so #i wrote this in a TRANCE #want this man to throw me around like a ragdoll #can you tell that im ovulating #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 x you #across the spiderverse fic #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x reader

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐀𝐏 𝐌𝐘 𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader

genre: smut, minors dni

word count: 4k

summary: after finding him wounded in an empty alleyway, against your better judgment, you decide to patch him up in your apartment. you expect that to be the end of it, never to see him again, that is, until you do.

warnings: piv, rough sex, dirty talking, biting, claws make a brief appearance, mild degradation (he calls you slut once), mention of female masturbation

You live in a world without heroes. Yet, the villains roam free. 

You’re used to it by now, walking through the damp alleyways. You hear a shout here and there, always keeping your head bowed as you walk past whatever might be going on. Once upon a time, this bothered you. But after a knife to your stomach and a punch to the cheek, you learned to look the other way around, no matter how painful it might be. Sometimes you find yourself wondering why this might be. You always assumed some type of ying yang situation should be in place, making everything right, but you seem to be living in a world without good. Without light.  

You don’t know what prompts you to do it. You’re walking back from work, the scent of rain and the stench of exhaust thick in the air. All you want to do is get to your cramped apartment before the downpour. 

You think it’s the wind that makes you turn your head, you hate when your eyes water and dry out. When you do turn, you stare into the familiar abyss of the alleyway behind your apartment. It’s truly pitch black. Despite the darkness, you see a faint movement in shadows, a loud sound, a crash. You see a flash of red, blue. Your eyes narrow—what the? 

You know well that you shouldn’t, that whatever was lurking in the shadows would be bad news, but you do it anyway. With a grunt, you open the flashlight of your phone and take a step closer. There’s a man laying on the cold ground, he doesn’t seem to be moving. 

“Hello?” you call out. No answer. “Um, are you drunk or high? Should I call an ambulance?” 

The broad figure groans and your heart nearly lurches. “No,” he mumbles. “No doctors.” 

With a slight tremor in your step, you come closer. You shine the light into his face, his brows furrow, an annoyed scowl etching into his handsome features. Your lips part with a soft exhale. He’s so handsome. 

Then you get a good look at the rest of him—what the hell is he wearing? 

“Do you need help?” you ask, unsure. He doesn’t seem to be bleeding, his eye looks a bit swollen though. Wait, scratch that, you think you spot some blood on his lips. “Should I get you anything?” 

Maybe you sound foolish, but you know better than to just call 911 for a random person. Everyone is a criminal these days. Fuck, if he was a criminal you should call the cops, this city is seriously starting to cloud your better judgment. 

“No cops,” he chokes and coughs, as if he can read your thoughts. “Go away, I’ll be fine.” 

No, he won’t. 

He knows it. You know it. 

“I live right next door,” you answer against your better judgment. “I have a first aid kit. I can patch you up if you want? I don’t wanna brag, but I am a nurse in training.” 

He makes a sound that is similar to a chuckle but the sound quickly fades into a vicious cough. You tuck the phone into your pocket and lean over, “Alright big guy, you’re coming with me,” you attempt to throw his arm over your shoulder but that proves to be more difficult. “Can you stand? Even a little.”

He nods and straightens up a bit. You’re still carrying most of his weight but you manage to get him past the door and onto your couch. 

You must’ve thrown him a little too hard because he lets out a loud grunt, teeth sinking into his bottom lip to stifle the sound. 

“Sorry,” you mutter. “Just wait for me here, I’ll come back with water and the first aid kit.” 

The man makes another sound. You’re starting to think this is his only form of communication. 

When you come back, he’s still where you left him. Albeit looking a bit more alert now, eyes constantly scanning your humble apartment. You can’t really blame him though, you would do the same thing. You eye him warily, then place the glass of water on the coffee table. He glares at it like it’s poison. 

“I’m not going to hurt you.” 

He scoffs, “I don’t think you could even if you tried,” he answers, tongue moving over his bloody bottom lip. He points at the table. “And there’s a coaster right there.” 

“Who are you, my mother?” 

Despite your sharp tone, you place the glass on the coaster and sit on the coffee table, the small first aid kit in hand. “Does that thing have a zipper, or. . . ?” 

His right brow and lip cock up simultaneously. You’re acutely aware that no matter what you do, you’ll never be able to understand what’s going on in that head of his—Not that you want to. He’s a stranger. A man that looks strong enough to hold you by the neck before you can reach the pepper spray nestled in your bag. 

The silence makes you uneasy, and when you finally open your mouth to speak, he leans forward. “Don’t freak out,” he grunts. 

“Why would I freak out—” The rest of the sentence dies in your throat, his suit glitches—glitches—like a damn video game. It blinks once, twice and you swear you can see little particles glimmering on his skin, fading away from reality. Panic flaring in your gut, you look down. 

Pants still on. And here your thought that the entire thing was a one-piece suit. 

“I said don’t freak out,” he repeats, eyebrow raised and head tilted to the side. You snap your mouth shut. 

“I’m not freaking out,” you say, voice shrill. “Who’s freaking out? Not me.” 

His shoulders are broad, arms muscular with thick veins meandering down. You’ve never been a fan of veins popping out but whoever this man was made it look good. You swallow over and over in a weak attempt to wet the inside of your mouth. You fail helplessly. You’re not even aware that you’re holding the first aid kit with an iron grip, knuckles aching from the pressure. His torso is completely bare now.

“I don’t have a zipper,” he says unhelpfully, unaware of you behaving straight out of a 1950s cartoon. 

“I can see that.” 

God, he is the weirdest stray you ever brought over. 

He points at the box, “So do you actually know how to use what’s inside or were you just bluffing when you said you were a nurse?” 

“A nurse in training,” you quip. “And no, I wasn’t bluffing.” 

With great strength, you finally drag your eyes down his torso. There’s a splatter of blood, some of the drops rubbed into his skin and the crimson trail is followed up by a giant slash across his stomach. The bleeding had stopped which was a good sign. You lean closer, your fingers fiddling with the box at the same time, narrowing your gaze you notice the wound is deeper than you had initially thought. 

“Whoever it was that attacked you got you good,” you murmur. Without a second thought, you slide off the coffee table and kneel in front of him, you miss the glint in his eyes as he looks down, miss the way he spreads his legs so you can fit better. 

“How do you know it wasn’t me who attacked them?” 

The rough tone of his voice prompts you to look up. For someone who’s been stabbed, he’s eerily calm. His arms are spread over the backrest, chest slowly rising up and down as his eyes flit across your face, searching. The muscle in his jaw twitches, lips stretching into something resembling a snarl. Suddenly you’re hyper-aware of where you are, the position you’re in. The sound of danger rings in your ears—you don’t even know this man’s name. Your breath catches in your throat, stomach jumping. You don’t know why you initially felt so comfortable with him, as if you were long-lost friends, but you aren’t. You were being reckless. 

“Scared?” he asks, venomous, hunching over your frame, caging you in. Heat radiates from his thighs, a stark contrast to the cold fear gripping your insides. He hooks two fingers under your chin, lifts your head up. Your bottom lip quivers. “You should be. You live in a dangerous world.”

“And you don’t?” you counter, your voice barely above a whisper, your words hanging in the air, challenging his assertion. The question slips out before you can fully comprehend its weight, and you see his jaw tighten as he ponders for an answer.

You meticulously cleanse the wound, removing dirt and debris with steady hands. The sting of antiseptic fills the air, intermingling with the charged atmosphere. You’re not shy with the way you touch him, a simmering annoyance warming your gut. He can take it, you think applying further pressure. He doesn’t make a sound. 

The dim light of the room accentuates the harsh contours of his face, and his piercing gaze feels like it's cutting through your soul. You drag your teth against the smooth surface of the inside of your cheek. You’ve never had a patient stand this still. 

Finally, just as you complete the final wrap of the bandage, he gives you an answer. 

“Not the same one as you do.”

Miguel O’hara was his name. He told you just before disappearing into the neon lights of the dark and cold city. You didn’t think much of it, you were sure you wouldn’t be seeing him again, which meant remembering his name was useless.

But your mind wouldn’t let him go. You tasted his name in the dark hours of the night, hand between your legs, coming as you thought of scenarios where instead of dousing his wound in antiseptic, you took his cock into his mouth, helping him in a different way. His suit left little to the imagination and now that your imagination roamed free, you’re glad that it was. 

Convinced that he’ll never show up again, you continue on normally, half in fear due to the chaos around you, trying to do your best. 

That was until he did show up. 

You step out of the shower, water trickling down your skin, softened by the warm steam. The towel hangs loosely around your chest, on the verge of slipping off. You never quite mastered the art of securing it tightly, but living alone means you don't have to worry about walking around naked if it happens to fall off.

The window cracks open, cold air seeping through, chilling your freshly warmed body. Tension instantly builds in your body, your eyes slowly moving to the window. You see him then. Miguel. He pushes the window open and climbs in, not saying a word. You hold the towel tightly around you—a dream, you think, it has to be. 

With quick, large steps, he crowds your space, forcing your back against the wall. The air is knocked from your lungs, your throat convulsing with a sudden panic. He’s not touching you. 

“M-Miguel,” you whisper. “I didn’t—I didn’t think I would see you again.” 

“Neither did I,” he answers, large hands cupping your waist and pinning you to the wall. “I’m tired,” he adds, words dropping from his lips more like a punch than a plea. Like someone is squeezing the words out of him. 

“What do you need?” 

His eyes drop to your lips, a hungry gaze that sends shivers up your spine. You hold your breath. He’s so close, close enough that you feel his breath on your damp skin. He tilts his head to the side, eyes closing. 

“I need to not think,” he answers painfully slow, tasting every word. “I need to not feel. I need to not worry. I need to disappear for a while.” 

Miguel takes a long, languid breath. Filling his lungs with the scent of your watermelon body wash. His tongue pokes from between his lips, moving over the bottom one. “Can you give me that?” 

His fingers tighten, the soft fabric of your towel bunching in his palm, you swear you feel the bite of nails despite the fluffy exterior. Your eyes search his. You know nothing of him. Only his name that he’d begrudgingly given you. Your pulse quickens, the rush of blood loud in your ears. He’s not here for you, that’s something you need to keep in mind before going any further. He’s here for the release, for the simple act of having another’s warmth surrounding him. You’re an escape. Something simple and easy he doesn’t have to think about when he runs off to deal with whatever he deals with. 

After seconds that feel like hours, you decide you want to give that to him. You don’t mind the hurt you’ll feel after. Letting him take what he wants knowing that’ll affect you more than him. Something about him makes you not care. 

“I can,” you breathe, instinctively searching for his lips with your own. “Do your worst Miguel O’hara.” 

You drop the towel, damp fabric pooling at your ankles. His eyes widen briefly before smiling something wicked. His forehead touches yours, nose brushing your own as his lips ghost an inch away. Your breath catches in your throat, the need growing between your legs. A chuckle drops from his lips reminding you of gravel. You don’t share his humor, you just want to feel him. 

“You don’t want my worst,” he grunts. “You’ll break.” 

“I won’t.” 

He scoffs but doesn’t argue. Miguel doesn’t attempt to probe you wrong, breaking things is meant to have consequences. You either try to fix it or ponder over what you’ve done, he wants none of that. Instead, he presses flush against you, body firm in contrast with the soft swell of your chest and stomach. Your nipples tighten. He crashes into you, tongue hungrily slipping between your lips as his mouth moves greedily.  You feel hands on your chest, kneading, squeezing, pinching. You moan into his mouth, he swallows the sounds, grinding himself hard into you. You’re shaking, his body suffocating. 

“If I touch you,” he says into your mouth, fingers skimming the outside of your thighs. “Will you be soaked for me?”  With a whimper, you nod. He grins, canines looking sharper compared to what they did before, “Such a good little slut,” he growls. 

Contrary to what he’d said, he doesn’t slip his fingers between your legs to see if you’re telling the truth. Instead, he slots his thick thigh between your bare legs, pushing the muscle up until you’re left gasping, your hands flailing as you wrap them around his broad shoulders. The pressure makes you dizzy, the fabric of his suit softer than what you expected, a delicious friction over your aching clit. You moan openly into his neck, teeth scraping against the vein. 

“I’m going to fuck you like this,” he murmurs. “Up against the wall,” his suit fades away, cock hard against the soft planes of your stomach. You shudder as precome smears over the skin. He continues, licking your lips. “Then up against the window, want you to be loud. Want you to scream and tell me to take. . .” 

The emphasis on the “t” sends a million tiny needles biting into your skin. Your chest heaves with the brush of his lips, you want to feel it again, the plush feeling of faux softness on your mouth. But he doesn’t give you that. He smiles a cruel smile, one that chills your skin but lights a fire in the pit of your stomach. He tilts his head. 

“And take. . .” 

You chase his lips, he refuses to give you what you want. 

“And take. . .” 

Your frustration grows, a desperate sound twists through you, and your fingers curl around his neck, knitting through his hair as you give the curls a warning tug. He doesn’t seem to be affected in the slightest. He drags his lips down your neck, hitches your one thigh up his hip, and positions his length against you. He doesn’t look at you, nor say another word. He fills you with one hard thrust, knocking you back against the wall, your body sliding up the rough interior. The stretch of him lingers on the line of being painful. There’s a bite to it, but also a deep pleasure that makes your legs shake. 

“So fucking wet,” he rasps, sinking his teeth into your neck. It feels sharp enough that you think he breaks the skin, blood filling his mouth, but that’s not the case. The feeling quickly passes when his mouth crashes into yours in a messy kiss. He doesn’t wait for you to adjust, he doesn’t care. He takes what you give him and he does so violently, splitting you into two with every thrust. 

He grabs handfuls of your hips, lifting you off the wall before slamming you back down with renewed fervor. He angles each thrust to the point of almost pain. You cry out, a long, desperate noise that almost drowns out his own, panting gruffly. You can feel the heat in your veins coursing through you as pleasure builds, the almost unbearable sensation sending you into overload. Your toes curl, your nails dig into his skin as his name leaves your lips in a plea for him to not stop. His hands grip you tighter as his movements become more violent, eyes locked together as they both reach the brink of ecstasy. 

The look in his eyes, the furrow of his brows, the parting of his lips, the damp curls at the base of his scalp—it does something indescribable to you. You arch your back to give more for him. All your focus narrowing on the feeling of him. 

Suddenly your body strains as he stills, the thunderous rumbling of your orgasm hitting you full force as you feel yourself tighten around his shaft in an attempt to prolong the blissful pleasure. His grip slackens and you fall forward against him, boneless as you feel the last throes of your orgasm lingering in your veins. You lick the salt off his skin, your body grinding sloppily against him. 

“Fuck,” he hisses between gritted teeth, still achingly hard inside of you. “Already?” 

“I—I never came that quick before. . .” you answer with a slight slur of speech, you’re tingling all over. 

You’re not sure but you think you see a hint of pride in those dark smug eyes, “Don’t think you’re off the hook,” he says. “You’re mine until the sun comes up.” 

Miguel is a man of his word. 

He fucks you up against the window, just like he said. Your breasts pressed up against the cold smooth surface as he takes you from behind. It burns. It burns yet you can only beg for more. You scream his name, fog up the window, the rough drag of his cock forcing the roll of your eyes every goddamn time. The feeling of being stretched wide never passes, each thrust like the first time. 

He holds you by the nape, pushes you forward, the pressure only adding to the fire. You figure out soon he likes holding you like that. He enjoys shoving you up against things, adding to the idea that you’re just a fleeting moment and nothing more. When he pulls out you instinctively search for him with your hips. His cock lays heavy over the curve of your ass, he spreads you and presses his cock between the globes, rocking until thick ropes of come land on your back. You shudder, breathless, your vocabulary reduced to only his name. 

You feel a grip on your chin and he turns you enough so that he can slot his lips against yours. Your neck aches but your part for him anyway, allowing the taste of him to flood all your senses. When he parts only a string of saliva connects you, your breathing coming  in heavy pants. 

A second later the world around you blurs and you quickly find yourself straddling him above the bed. The old furniture creaking in protest. You forget how nervous you would be if it were someone else, how self-conscience you would be riding a man but Miguel doesn’t give you a chance to think about it. His feet planted firmly on the bedding, he snaps his hips, burying himself deep into the tight fist of your cunt, over and over, until you’re stupid for him. 

His name rips from your throat, you can’t even think of saying anything else. You attempt to muffle yourself with the back of your hand but he’s quick to yank it back down. 

“No” he utters a low, guttural sound, hands coming up your back. “I said I wanted you to scream.” 

He sounds unhinged, like something snapped inside of him. You feel teeth on your collarbone, nails dragging down your back, sharp, leaving long lines of irritated skin. A pleasurable pain blossoming over your skin. 

You begin to unravel as you thrust your hips against him, his movements setting off white-hot sparks of pleasure like incandescent lightning. Moans rush from your lips as his name is repeated in a mantra and you cling to him desperately, your hands clawing at his back and your nails digging into his skin as you spiral ever faster into oblivion.

Miguel is relentless in the way he drives into you. You can feel him swell inside you, every thrust pushing you closer and closer to the edge. He moves his hands to your hips, pushing and grinding against you as every muscle in his body strains. 

His breathing is quick and harsh against your ear, his voice a hungry growl, “That’s it, take it. You were waiting for this, weren’t you? Hungry for a cock no matter who it belongs to.”  

You can’t answer. 

Miguel’s hips thrust harder, faster—his orgasm crashes through him, his hands gripping your hips painfully as he spills his hot seed deep within you. You find yourself trembling as aftershocks of pleasure ripple through you, your body feeling like electricity as you come down from the high. You clench tightly around him, your own overwhelming orgasm ripping through you, overstimulation making you cry out. 

He spins you both, bringing you to lay underneath him. Miguel collapses against you, breathing heavy as his grip on you slowly relaxes. He holds you for a moment, your heart thrumming as his forehead briefly rests against yours, breaths mingling. Then, with a satisfied groan, he pulls away. You let out a hiss. It feels achingly empty. 

You’re surprised when he starts pushing your legs apart, watching his spend trickling down your folds and making a mess on the sheets. He pushes globs of cum back into you with thick fingers. Your head falls, back arching into his touch. “You made such a mess,” he says, sounding almost transfixed. Cramming fingers inside of you and curling them, your body seizes. 

After that, you’re not sure when he leaves. Sleep takes you and when you wake, he’s gone. No note, no message left behind. The only evidence that he was here is the ache between your legs, and the taces of him still lingering on your thighs. 

You’re sure you won’t be seeing him again. He got what he came for. 

The next night he’s back, climbing through the window for more. 

#miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x f!reader #miguel o'hara x female reader #across the spiderverse fic #across the spiderverse fanfiction #oscar isaac characters #oscar isaac character fanfiction #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 x you

[livelaughloveloak]

｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡

ﾟ。 📝꒱ PAPER HEARTS 𓂃𓏲

　ﾟ･｡･ﾟ

ʚɞ pairing : earth42! miles morales x reader

ʚɞ summary : the only thing saving you from the long and boring lectures from your English teacher is the balled up piece of paper you and miles write notes to eachother in.

ʚɞ author's note : I had this idea for DAYSSSSS but now I finally decided to do it.

tap tap tap

You bounced your blue pen on your desk, eyes drooping from pure boredom. It was another long tiring day of school and the summer heat was making it even worse. You were close to falling asleep until you felt something hit the back of your head.

You snickered and used the last ounce of energy to bend down and pick up, it seemed to be a balled piece of paper that was ripped straight out of a notebook that the school had provided you guys.

You opened it only to see familiar writing in black ink. You read the writing on the top then shortly after following what it told you to do.

You turned around seeing your boyfriend, Miles that sat right behind your desk. He pulled up the front of his hoodie to cover his mouth, horribly hiding the fact that he was laughing. A few chuckles after he finally pulled down his hoodie and muttered a “my bad.”

You scrunched your nose and turned back to your desk, pen in hand ready to write.

You giggled at his little drawing and placed a kiss beside it, causing your lipstick to mark the piece of paper.

You put your pen on the paper and started writing your response. After a while of writing your eyes widened as soon as you finished your sentence. “ah shit, forgot I was sleeping over.” You thought while scribbling out the previous sentence you wrote, updating it right under so Miles wouldn't be confused.

you hid the note under your desk, discreetly reading it so your teacher wouldn't start raising suspicion. A smile grew on your face reading his last sentence.

What a dork.

﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉

July 2, 2023 | All rights reserved to @livelaughloveloak • Do not repost, reupload, translate, modify, or claim any of my work as your own. ✮

#miles morales x you #miles morales x reader #miles morales #atsv #across the spiderverse #earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles morales #earth42 miles #atsv imagines #across the spiderverse fic #miles morales imagine #miles morales x y/n

[simpcityy]

I'm Not Her Pt.2 (Father Miguel O’Hara x Teen! Daughter Reader)

Summary: Miguel O’Hara is your biological father but it’s not great being his daughter when he’s hooked in the past still.

Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel or any of its characters. This short One-Shot has made it into a series! Read part one please to understand the prompt better. (Linked Below)

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: Use of female pronouns, Use of (Y/N), angst, Father Miguel, overall, it’s just sad for now. Other dimensional Miguel… Uhhh I think that is all for now.

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6

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

You woke up to the smell of bacon being cooked. Odd? Who is cooking if no one is home. Sitting up from your bed, you glanced at the time seeing it was 10am. Walking out of the room the smell of bacon got stronger. In front of you was your father Miguel cooking breakfast. You quickly rubbed your eyes wanting to make sure you aren’t dreaming. “Buenos días, cariño*” Miguel glances back at you hearing the creek of the floorboards. You only stood there in shock. He’s home for once and calling you with love and affection. “I…Um…good morning?” You finally replied back sitting down on the chair slowly. He placed a plate in front of you and took a seat across from you. “(Y.N) …Escucha, sé que no soy el mejor padre*.” He began. “I know I left you all on your own, but I have to man up and fix my mistakes.” He looks at you before slowly holding your hand “and I know it won’t be easy, but I’ll try my best.” He smiles before slowly releasing your hand. You only stood there stunned thinking about it. Did Lyla talk to him? Did Peter? So many thoughts were running around your head before letting out a sigh. “I …what made you have a change of heart…you know that yesterday was my- “he cuts you off, “I know it was your birthday and I’m sorry” he pulls out a box from under the table. You were so shocked about this new side of your dad that you didn’t even see the box when you sat down. “Happy Late Birthday “he smiles, sliding the box towards you. You slowly open it inside before gasping seeing the latest technology you’ve always wanted. You dug your hand till it hit the bottom and saw a ticket to your favorite concert. “How did you know I wanted this? I always begged you to let me see this singer, but you wouldn’t hear me out…I…” you are feeling so many emotions. “I told you I was going to try my best to fix this” he smiles before letting out a grunt as you tackle him into a hug “thank you! Thank you!” You chanted. Miguel only lets out a small smile rubbing your back affectionately. You let him go and walked to the top cabinet grabbing a glass to fill. “let’s have breakfast before you head to work “you smile enjoying this small moment with him. Maybe your wish did come true, to stop feeling alone. 

You walked down the halls of your high school. It was going to be your last year and you promised your friends you were going to make it a blast. Humming out a song you unlocked your locker. “Hey boo you’re in a much better mood.” Lyla appeared inside your locker snapping a selfie with you. “Glad you’re here, did you talk to my dad?” You asked her while collecting the items you’ll need on this day. “ wha? No, I didn’t. Why do you ask?” She looks at the selfie editing it. “He came home and made breakfast. He also got me tickets for the concert.” You smile enthusiastically looking at the AI. Lyla watches you “he did?” She was concerned, if she remembered correctly…Miguel was at the base this morning working but then again, he did slip out for a moment so maybe that’s where he went. Lyla only smiles “I’m so glad boo! Maybe Peter talked with him?” You nodded “I was thinking the same. Alright, I got to go Lyla.” You closed the locker going on to continue your education. Lyla stood in the pitch dark of the locker in deep thought “I’ll have to talk to Miguel” she mutters before disappearing. 

School for once was a day you enjoyed, maybe it has to do with the fact you're slowly getting your father back. You’ll have to thank Peter once you get the chance to visit the Society HQ. You start to wonder what made him realize he has a daughter here. All this thinking made you hungry, spotting your favorite empanada stand. You walked over and got in line. ‘Maybe I’ll order extra to bring home’ you thought before smiling, giving your order to the kind old lady. Once you reached home, you closed the door behind you. “Are you home?” You call out placing the bag on the table. “Ya has vuelto de la escuela*?” Miguel emerges from the kitchen door. He glances at the bag. “Y eso?” He walked over looking into the box. “ I got you some empanadas” You smile before letting it falter seeing him sniff the bag. His face of disgust was present, “I’m not hungry, you eat it.” He quickly replaces the face of disgust into a smile. Something wasn’t right here, he loved empanadas. He would never reject it. “But it’s your favorite?” You sat down and grabbed a couple for yourself. Miguel grabs a glass of water, his back turned to you. He panicked for a bit before adding on, “Yes but I think I ate too many last time that it just makes me dislike it” He walks over rubbing your head, “It will go away and I’ll go back to liking them okay?” He pressed his lips to the side of your head before sitting down next to you. “Cómo fue tu día en la escuela*?” He asked. You only nodded taking his excuse before smiling, feeling his lip on the side of your head. “ It went well!” You ate the empanada while telling him how your day went. 

Lyla stood behind Miguel watching him work away. “Hey Miguel” She appears in front of him. “Quick question” Miguel looks up at her and only grunts telling her to go on. “That was nice of you to get (Y/N) tickets to the concert” She sits on his shoulder waiting for his response. His answer only made her glitch and worried for you.

“What tickets?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Authors Note: Thank you so much! Your comments and likes made me see how this NEEDED to be a series. I'm still working on the other two projects hopefully next week I'll be able to complete the series for Location Status. So, I can focus on my other projects. Sorry for any grammar on the first part, I was using a tablet and it was all new to me. Remember to stay hydrated and to keep on simping! (Simp City Population: 66💕) Thank you for the likes and reblogs! Please reblog so others can be aware of my works! ILY 💕

Spanish Translation: (Remember some have double meaning or similar meaning) 1. “Buenos días, cariño: Good Morning Sweetie 2. Escucha, sé que no soy el mejor padre: Listen, I know I'm not the best father (Dad) 3. Ya has vuelto de la escuela: Are you back from school? 4. Y eso: And that or whats that? 5. Cómo fue tu día en la escuela: How was your day at school?

#miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara fic #across the spiderverse fic #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel ohara x fem!reader #father figure miguel ohara #miguel ohara x platonic reader #miguel ohara x daughter reader

[petertingle-yipyip]

Question…? - Miguel O’hara

//the miguel brainrot brought this piece to life tbr. it’s kinda just for shits and giggles but there might be more. depends on how this one does//

Pairing: Miguel O’hara x Reader

Word Count: 3,868

Summary: The latest recruit to the Spider Society hits a bit too close to home for its head honcho. But with great power comes great persistence to get answers.

You landed on the roof of your building and pulled your mask up, wiping a hand down your slightly sweaty face. You looked at the bright display of the neon billboard across the alley and saw the breaking news story of your latest bust of the local Midnight Sons crime syndicate. You smirked slightly as you watched the reporter talk to the police who had to reluctantly admit that you, Arachne, had caught them. He tried to dance around it but the fact that your webs were covering the background made it obvious.

Just as you were about to head inside, you felt a tingle shoot down your spine. An unfamiliar yet not unwelcome sensation crawled across your skin so you quickly replaced your mask and spun around, web shooters ready. Instead of being greeted by a foe, you were greeted with a large and seemingly unstable orange circle that vaguely resembled a doorway.

Before you could say anything, you had to drop to your stomach as a motorbike came barreling through. You rolled to your back and flicked a quick burst from either wrist to latch a web to both tires. You kicked yourself back and pulled the bike with you, forcing its rider to disengage and land on the opposite side of the roof.

“Not bad.” She said, though her back was still to you as you stood slowly. “I knew you were quick, but I didn’t think you’d be that quick.”

“Right… And you are?” You asked carefully. You didn’t feel she was a threat, but something about the way she triggered that sixth sense made you tense. “I mean, you came at me full speed on a motorcycle so you owe me that.”

“Jessica Drew.” She turned to face you and the first thing you noticed was her belly. “And I’m just like you.”

“I’m not pregnant!” You decided quickly, a hand covering your stomach.

She laughed and shook her head. After a second, you hesitantly laughed with her. “I meant the Spider Woman thing.”

“Ah…” You nodded before slowly lifting your mask again. “That’s what I felt?”

“Mhmm..”

“I thought I was the only one.”

“Yes and no.” She moved towards her bike, which you hurried over to beside her. “If you’re interested, there’s someone I think you should meet.”

You followed her through the orange and ended up in a massive complex. There were dozens upon dozens of variations of… you.

A cat version. A monkey version. A dinosaur. A plushie. A cyborg. An avatar. A video game. Other girls, other guys. Any type of Spider variation you could imagine, it was there.

As you were taking it all in, you were hit with the sharpest pain you’d ever had in your life. It took over your entire body, felt as if you were being yanked apart and haphazardly put back together. Your insides felt rearranged and your head spun violently while everything seemed to be ignited. But the pain only lasted for a second.

Jessica told you it was your body glitching from being outside your own universe, which she also explained was granted the official title of Earth-3505. She slipped a blue band around your wrist and you felt every ounce of tension in your body disappear. She explained the device on her wrist, how it kept her from glitching while allowing for travel to any dimension.

You had to admit. All the tech and different universes blew every single theory and experiment you had ever known out of the water.

You were talking with Jessica through the long walk down a rather dark and drafty hall that led to a wide open work area. She called to the man on the platform, which began to lower at an agonizingly slow pace. Awkwardly, you rocked on your heels and fiddled with your web shooters, checking the cartridges and scratching away the dried remnants from your earlier endeavors. You tugged the neck of your suit and dusted imaginary dirt off before running fingers through your hair and giving it a small shake in an effort to look a bit more presentable.

When you heard the gears click into place you looked back and found yourself in utter shock, despite him not even facing you yet.

And as someone who would fight the Bloodstones, a werewolf, and the literal avatar of a god of the moon, it took a lot to render you speechless.

The man on the platform was massive. The width of his chest and shoulders alone was at least the size of a twin mattress. His height towered over yours and you could tell even from the distance he was at. His upper body narrowed ridiculously into his waist, though his legs were proportionately built as well. And covering that Hercules-esque physique was a fitted red and blue suit, just like everyone else you had seen in that building.

So why hadn’t he given you the same tingle Jessica did?

You were snapped out of your thoughts when an elbow came roughly into your ribs.

“What?” You asked quickly, an innocent obliviousness in your voice.

“Introduce yourself.” Jessica hissed.

“Right.” You nodded and took a hesitant step forward. “I’m Y/N, from Earth 35-something.”

“3505.” She whispered.

“Yeah, sorry. Anyways, I’m like you and her and everyone else here… Back home I’m called Arachne, like the.. The myth. I’m sorry, are you not gonna face me?”

“¿Mande?” He said sharply and the sound of his voice drove your pulse to jump.

“If you’re gonna have your back to me the whole time, why am I even here?” You pushed, though your resolve was slowly shattering as you watched him turn around.

The room may have been dimly lit but you could see what looked like a red tint to his eyes.

“Why are you here?” He asked tightly as he hopped off the platform and stalked closer to you. You swallowed hard and flattened your two middle fingers against your palm to feel the trigger for your webs. “Why are-“

His sentence cut off abruptly when he got a few feet away from you.

“Miguel?” Jessica asked from beside you. You had forgotten she was there but you felt a bit more relaxed to know you weren’t alone in that room. “What is it?”

“What did you say your name was?” He asked. His words were intended to be more gentle, more intimate maybe, but they still had enough of an edge to keep your fingers where they were.

“Y/N… And you’re..?”

His face fell at your uncertainty, though you doubted Jessica noticed. He recovered rather quickly, as if your words reminded him of something painful. Something he already knew.

“Miguel O’hara.” He stood a bit taller, if that was even possible.

“It’s nice to meet you… You built all of this?” You asked lamely in hopes to fill the silence that you felt would suffocate you if you ignored.

“Yeah.. It’s a way to preserve the multiverse. Everyone here was hand picked to serve a bigger cause, to protect each other’s universe and canons.”

“I assume that’ll get explained if I get in?” You turned to Jessica who nodded with a small, amused smile.

“¿Perdóname, si entras?” His head cocked as the corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk that you felt was sarcastic. “No.”

“What?” You and Jessica asked at the same time.

“No.” He enunciated, hands at his waist and leaning forward.

“Why not?” You asked angrily, stepping forward with no regard to the size difference. “I can take anyone here!”

“Miguel, she’s really good.” Jessica tried earnestly. “I think you should give her a shot.”

“No.”

“C’mon.” She pressed.

“No.”

“What are you afraid of?” You challenged suddenly and the glare he shot your way made you hesitate.

“Afraid?” He laughed. “Afraid.. I’m not afraid.”

“Then what?”

“She looks just like her.” Miguel said, more to Jessica than you.

“Who?” She asked softly.

Miguel shot her a different look than the one he gave you. This one has more longing, more pain. You looked like someone he used to know. Likely someone he lost.

“Lyla.” Jessica said softly, waiting a moment for a hologram woman in a fur coat to appear at her shoulder. “Show Y/N around a little more, please.”

“Who- Oh.” The hologram spoke before disappearing and reappearing in front of you. She leaned in and lifted her heart shaped glasses before blinking away and reappearing up at Miguel’s side. A quick back and forth of hushed comments brought her back to you as she ushered you out of the room.

Lyla spoke quickly to you, bouncing around within your field of vision. She pointed out different Spider People, different villains. She showed you the machine that sent people home and the training center. While you were wandering the vast exercise area, you met two boys playfully roughhousing who seemed to create the golden retriever with black cat meets boys will be boys dynamic.

“Ooh! Who’s the new girl?” One of them ran up to you with a palpable excitement.

“Y/N Y/L/N.” You smiled and the other one leaned in close.

“Look at that.” He said with a small smirk, seemingly changing color with each sentence. “Got little fangs and all. That’s mad.”

“Whaaaat? Let me see!” The first one pushed the taller one aside and replaced him, though he leaned in significantly closer.

“I’m guessing these aren’t normal for Spiderman.” You laughed and gently pushed him back. “What’re your names?”

“Hobie, Hobie Brown.” He offered you a short salute.

“Pavitr Prabhakar.” He gave an extravagant bow. “How long have you been a spider person?”

You blew out a sigh and tried to calculate the numbers. “A few years? It happened my senior year of high school, and then the two years there... And then.. All I know is its been a while. You guys?”

“Couple months.” Pavitr answered with a small hop. “It’s been so easy.”

“Three years.” Hobie answered simply. “And yeah, it’s not bad. Your universe a mess, then?”

“I think mine is a weird one based on what you guys have said.” You answered awkwardly. “Werewolves, swamp things, Egyptian gods, monster hunters.”

“Sounds like a fantasy book.” Hobie scoffed.

“That’s the Midnight Sons for you.” You shrugged. “There’s normal stuff too, like other vigilantes. Daredevil and Black Cat and the Widow.”

“Were they bitten by a spider too?” Pavitr added with wide eyes.

“Who, Widow? Not that I know of.”

“How’d you get the little-“ Hobie made a vague fang gesture. “You a vampire, too?”

“Well, no.” You rubbed a hand over your mouth, suddenly embarrassed of your teeth.

“You’ve got everything else. Figured you had the little blood suckers and allat.”

“There’s rumors of one guy but I haven’t met him.. Actually, the spider that bit me was a mix between the same thing that created my world’s Goblin and just the radioactive spider. It was supposed to be able to cure something but…” You shrugged.

“Do they do anything?” Pavitr asked, still looking at your mouth intently. He slowly reached a finger forward so you leaned away and gently pushed his hand to the side.

“Uh..” Your brows furrowed. “Idunno.” You mumbled as you shrugged.

“You’ve never tried to bite anyone?” He laughed and Hobie facepalmed gently. “I totally would’ve.”

“I’ll try it when I get home.” You laughed slightly. You glanced around and noticed the AI woman - Lyla - was nowhere to be seen. “Can I ask you guys something?”

“Go for it.” Hobie nodded and Pavitr’s head bounced up and down like a bobble head.

“The little AI, Lyla… Does she see everything?” You asked quietly.

“You trynna do somtin’ you shouldn’t, aye?” Hobie quirked a brow.

“I wanna try to talk to Miguel but I get the feeling that she’ll keep me away.”

“Why?” Pavitr whispered loudly,

“Cause he sent me away, said I looked too much like someone.”

“Oy, Pav.” Hobie nudged the smaller boy before leaning down and plotting quietly. They went back and forth for a few moments before looking back at you. “Make it quick, yeah?”

“I owe you.” You grinned.

Pavitr and Hobie shared a small fist bump before Pavitr reached his fist towards you. You chuckled slightly and returned the gesture before the two ran off. It was only a few moments before sprinklers went off in the room. Lyla popped in and out of view, speaking rapidly and tapping small screens in front of her. She appeared in front of you, disheveled glasses and jacket hanging from her shoulders.

“Do. Not. Move.” She said firmly and you held hands up in surrender. She pointed two fingers at her eyes before pointing to you, gesturing up and down your body before disappearing again.

You leaned around slightly to ensure her digital frame was nowhere to be seen before you booked it out of the room. Your wet feet slipped on the sleek tiles so you opted to swing across the complex and back to Miguel’s workspace.

You wiped a damp hand across your face as you entered the hall again before you pulled yourself to the ceiling and crawled down the long corridor. Jessica left in a huff, muttering that he was unreasonable and that she wasn’t done. You watched her freeze and turn around, squinting her eyes in suspicion. You stayed still above her in hopes that she wouldn’t find you but with the water subtly dripping from your suit and hair, you thought you were caught. With a small smirk, she turned back and left.

You blew out a small sigh and continued down your path until you reentered Miguel’s wide open room. His back was towards the entrance as he vigorously typed and swiped various projections away. He was muttering to himself, broken Spanglish as he worked in that increasingly frazzled state. His head cocked over his shoulder as you clung to the space above the door.

“¿Qué estás haciendo?” He asked tightly, unable to face you fully. “And why are you wet?”

“I just…” You spoke, realizing you had no idea how to start. “May like some explanations.”

“I don’t have to explain anything to you.” He spoke simply, clearly trying to shut down the conversation.

“Okay, but… What if I just ask some general questions that have simple answers? Is that okay? I mean, can I ask you a question? Well a couple, but you know what I mean.”

“Can you please stop, just for a second?“ He sighed and pressed his palms against the table. You pursed your lips slightly and drummed your fingers against the wall while you waited for him to say something. “You don’t take ‘no’ for an answer, do you?”

“I don’t usually have to beg like this.” You confessed. You shifted your feet and leaned your shoulders against the wall behind you, allowing your hands to aim webs at the edge of his platform. You pulled yourself over and stood in front of him. “Miguel, please…”

“Ay, dios mío. You sound just like her, too.” He spoke to himself, though the desperation in his voice was hard to miss.

“Listen, if you don’t want me here because whoever I remind you of, that’s not good enough of a reason.” You insisted. Your words finally got him to turn and face you, which really drove home just how big he was. You gave a nervous chuckle and crossed your arms in an attempt of defiance. “I can prove myself against anyone here. I know I can do this!”

“It’s not about whether you’re-“ He began before he leaned down closer. You pulled back and teetered the edge of the platform. “What was that?”

“You got a little close.” You defended with a shrug.

“Not that, cariño.” He shook his head. “Open your mouth.”

“Okay!” You said loudly, trying to push him by his chest. “That’s not how you- Ugh! Whatthehellare-“

Your words became an incomprehensible jumble of syllables when his hand came to your face, fingers pressing gently on your cheeks to keep your lips apart. His pointer finger was free to manipulate your upper lip, exposing one side of your mouth. With a satisfied smirk, he let you go.

“Thought so..” He offered a lazy smirk. “Lemme see your hands.”

“Is this like.. part of the initiation process or something?” You tried to joke as you held up one hand. He took it by your wrist and gave your palm a gentle prod, just missing the trigger for your web shooter. “What are you looking for?”

“You always talk this much?” He mumbled with a small eye roll as he let go of your hand.

“It’s just a question.” You muttered and poured slightly.

He sat back on the edge of a table behind him, allowing for a more even eye line. But even at the new lowered height, he was definitely taller than you.

“How can anyone focus around you?” He said with a shake of his head.

“I can put the mask on, if it helps.” You offered awkwardly, reaching for the side pouch you usually tucked it away in.

Miguel looked back at you and laughed. A seemingly genuine sound that, up until that moment, you weren’t entirely sure was possible.

You took the opportunity to move away from the edge of the platform and stand more in front of him. Your hands rested lazily behind you and you simply looked at him for a minute.

The obvious physical stature was still as intimidating as ever but there was something in his expression. Something haunted, something guilty. However, when his eyes met yours, there was a softness there. A certain longing.

How does anyone focus around you? You thought as you took in his features for a little longer.

“You always stare like that when you’re not talking?” His brows raised with a slight smile as his arms crossed over his chest.

“Not usually.” You answered with a shrug of one shoulder in an attempt to ignore the blush creeping across your cheeks. “I take it you didn’t find what you were looking for with my hand, but you didn’t send me away again so maybe that was a good thing… Maybe I can…”

“Go ahead and ask your questions.” He nodded, adding a tired sigh at the end as if to say he was giving in. You thought he was curious as to what you wanted to know.

“What’s the big deal about my teeth?”

“Your teeth..” He chuckled slightly. “Most of the spiders around here don’t have fangs, cariño.”

“Right but why do you care?”

“Cause I have them too.”

“What do yours do?”

“Paralysis. Yours?”

“Dunno.” You confessed. “I’ve never bit anyone. Can I see?”

“No.”

“C’mon!”

“No.”

“Fine.”

You flicked a web at his chest and yanked him to lean forward, earning a small Spanish exclamation from him. You kept hold of the web with one hand and put the other on his shoulder as you leaned in slightly. His eyes darted between yours in slight shock before he broke into a small smile, enough for you to see a moderately more pronounced version of the same teeth in your mouth.

“Woah.” You said quietly as your eyes drifted to where your webs met his suit. “Wait..”

“What is it?” He asked lowly and the tone sent a shiver down your spine.

“Your suit. It’s all tech?”

“Mhmm.”

“That’s so cool.” You breathed with a smile, which faded as you squinted and noticed a falter in the colors. “It’s like a projection, which means if I…” You gave another slight tug on your web and watched the distortion of the colors where your palm was pressed against him. You laughed slightly before looking back at Miguel.

The web suddenly snapped and you stumbled backwards. You looked down and saw the excess still wrapped around your wrist. The tensile strength was much stronger than that so it shouldn’t have betrayed you so suddenly. It had never failed before. Turning your head back to Miguel, you saw the projections from the pads of his fingers.

“You were looking for claws?” Your brows raised as your head jerked towards his hand. “You could’ve asked.”

He simply shrugged.

“Let me ask you something…” He said calmly as he leaned back to his originally sitting position. “Why do you wanna be here so bad?”

“Good girl.” You gestured to yourself. “Sad boy.” You gestured to him and he shook his head with a scoff. You offered a small smile before wandering in a small circle, your back now to Miguel. “We all have this one thing going on.. And it’s always one thing after another, situations and circumstances and miscommunications. Losing people and losing fights, it’s all part of the job but… Honestly, I don’t know why. Maybe I just like the idea of not being alone, of not being the only one.”

You turned back to face him and saw he hadn’t looked away.

“It’d be nice to not be the only one with fangs, either.” You smiled, flashing your pointed teeth.

“You never told me why you’re wet.” He commented after a brief moment of silence.

“Oh.” You laughed nervously. “Funny story.”

You heard the muttered complaints come down the hall at the same time the tingle of another spider person hit your skin. Your eyes went wide when Lyla popped up in front of you, glaring at you with tightly crossed arms. You offered an innocent smile with hands up in surrender.

“Y/N!” Pavitr yelled with a wide grin as he entered the room, Hobie sulking behind him. The boy turned and began patting his friend’s shoulder excitedly. “It worked!”

“What worked?” Miguel turned to you.

“Those two-“ Lyla said angrily as she appeared in front of Miguel and pointed at the two spidermen. “-set of a fire alarm in the training center.”

“And that was your idea?” He looked to you again.

“Nah, mate.” Hobie answered casually. “Was all me.”

“You?” He shouted and then wiped a hand down his face. “I don’t- I can’t deal with you right now. Both of you, go help mop up and dry the training center. Just- Get out of my sight.”

Hobie offered you a salute before sauntering out, Pavitr quick on his heels. You smiled to yourself before you hopped off the platform, shooting a quick web to help control your descent.

“Where are you going?” Miguel called after you, causing your stride to pause. You spun to face him with a playful smile.

“To help clean up.. They did it so I could talk to you, after all.” You shrugged.

“Come back here when you’re done.” He tossed a device your way, the same device the other spiders had around their wrists.

“Gonna miss me already?” You teased as you fit it to your wrist, replacing the temporary band you were given.

“Always, cariño.”

You realized you hadn’t found out anything in regards to who you looked like from Miguel’s past, but with the confirmation that you’d come back, you figured you’d find out in time.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara fanfiction #miguel o’hara fic #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #spiderman fanfic #spiderman 2099 #2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 fic #across the spiderverse #smatsv #across the spiderverse fic #spiderverse fic #spiderverse x reader

[ivystoryweaver]

Would you mind writing a Miguel x f!reader fic where they are in a relationship and the reader is captured by a villain who's goal is to torture and ultimately kill her to gain information on the spider society? While the reader is missing and enduring the torture, she finds out from the villain that she's pregnant. Angst, hurt/comfort

I'm sorry this took so long, this idea is so freaking rad, i needed some time. I gave it a try!

Content: Hurt/comfort etc. See the ask above. Cursing, torture, injury, blood, pregnancy, violence

Word count: 2k

My Masterlist

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Your eyes slowly blinked open, heavy with exhaustion and burning as if you'd slept in contact lenses for a week.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Your body ached. You felt cold. And wet? Why did you feel clammy in your own bed?

Drip. Drip...

Shifting uncomfortably, you found that your arms wouldn't move. Why couldn't you move your arms? A small whimper escaped your throat as your reality became plain to you.

This was not your bed. It was dark. Damp. And your arms and legs were bound. You were tied to a hard, metal chair. Panic spiked through your chest as you struggled against your restraints.

Squinting, you attempted to make out any details about your surroundings, but it was too dark.

"H-hello?" You rasped, finding your voice. You coughed, your voice hoarse from lack of use and from a terrible thirst. "Hello?" You tried again, pulling forcefully on your restraints.

As your breathing grew more shallow, you realized you were most certainly in trouble.

But why?

"I see you're awake."

You let out a small yelp when a sinister voice made itself known as someone emerged from the deep, shadowed corner.

"W-who are you?" You cried, squirming in futility. "Where am I?"

"Patience," the voice chided.

Your eyes strained but you still couldn't see.

"I have a few questions for you." The voice was male. Deep. That's all you could tell in the darkness.

"What?" You coughed out, desperate for water. "What do you want with me?"

No matter how you struggled, blinking, staring - your eyes would not adjust to the darkness.

You smelled his foul breath before you felt it brush your ear from behind you, caging you in with sickening possessiveness. "Tell me about the Spider Society."

Whimpering, you tried to shake him off you. "I don't know what you're talking about. Let me go."

You definitely knew what he was talking about. Your husband was the damn leader of it all.

He moved in closer, the stench of him making your skin crawl and your stomach churn. "We both know that's not true...Mrs. O'Hara."

Okay, that was more privileged information. Miguel at least attempted to keep his real name a secret.

You chomped down on your lip to keep from giving anything away but the bile in your stomach was not cooperating. You weren't sure what could possibly be worse than losing your stomach contents while bound, in some unknown, pitch black location.

"Not feeling so well, are we?" The voice taunted, after you wretched pitifully. "Maybe you have the flu?"

"Leave me alone," you spat, wiping your mouth the best you could manage with your shoulder.

After a long pause, the mysterious man granted your wish.

You were left in darkness - hungry, thirsty, cold and bound.

The biggest question besides where were you, and who had taken you was - how would you get out of here? Would Miguel be able to find you? You would die before endangering him or any of his friends or co-workers.

The man who had taken you must have realized this about you, and began to test your resolve.

You lost track of time. In the darkness, it could have been days that passed, or mere hours. It took some time for you to realize that you were being tortured - just not in the traditional slice-and-dice or head-dunked-in-water type of way.

They left you alone. Dark. Isolated. Then, without warning, some sort of bright light would shine on you - the brightest you'd ever seen. It burned red-orange right through your eyelids no matter how tightly you squeezed your eyes shut.

Your skin prickled with heat and you started to sweat. Just as you felt you would burn alive, the light would shut off. You cried out, blinded as colorful spots swirled before your eyes, making your stomach roil.

The darkness would consume you until you were freezing again. Then it would start over. Blinging light, blinding darkness. Over and over. Questions about your husband. And the other Spiders. It felt like a month had passed, it was so never-ending.

They tried to feed you but you couldn't keep anything down. You felt constantly sick. Someone even cleaned you up several times, since you weren't allowed the use of a restroom.

Finally, a needle was jabbed roughly into your arm, making you whimper in protest. Maybe it was poison. Probably for the best.

"Fluids," the voice informed. "Can't have Mrs. O'Hara dehydrated, can we?"

"Go to hell!" You weakly shouted. "I have nothing to tell you."

"You're lying," the man sneered, sickening you by brushing your matted hair away from your face with calloused fingertips. "You're going to tell me about your husband, I promise you."

You spat in his face, though your dehydration didn't afford you very much spit to begin with.

"I know you think you're strong," he taunted, pushing his disgusting hand over your abdomen, making your skin crawl. It was humiliating enough that people were cleaning up your messes, and now he wanted to touch you?

Miguel would rip him apart.

"I wasn't sure at first, why you can't keep any food down," he went on, rubbing your stomach possessively. "You're not sick - we tested for that."

"You...what?" You groaned, completely revolted at the feel of this man's hand, and the thought of him running some sort of tests on you.

His foul breath tickled your ear as he pushed two fingers hard into your abdomen. "You don't seem to respond well to our...techniques." He menacingly breathed. "But maybe you'll change your mind to protect your child."

Shuddering, your body went limp as tears stung your eyes. "I have no children. If you know who I am, then you know that."

Pressing your abdomen forcefully, he made you gasp in pain. "You do now." Then he nuzzled your ear. "That's why I'm giving you fluids. Can't let anything happen to your unborn child. Especially one that's half-spider."

"No!" You wailed, jerking against his hold on you. "No, I'm not! I'm not..." Tears spilled down your cheeks as you realized the truth. The nausea, the fatigue - your period was late. "No..." you whimpered.

"You know I'm right," the voice taunted. "And now that you know, I'm sure you'll be much more cooperative."

After that encounter, you were released from your bonds, given the chance to shower and change clothes. You actually attempted to choke down a meal as well.

Then it got worse. True, there was no more light/dark torture. And you weren't left in the freezing cold, but now the questions were asked with a knife to your abdomen. This was after you were shown proof of your pregnancy. A rapid heartbeat. A positive blood and urine test.

Miguel wanted to be a father so badly and you had tried for almost three years. Hell, his very favorite activity was trying to get you pregnant. He kept better track of your cycle than you did, and trying, if nothing else, had been a delicious endeavor.

So, if anything happened to this baby - if you let anything happen, Miguel would be devastated. But you couldn't endanger his life, nor anyone in the Spider Society. Despair filled your heart and mind as a choice placed itself before you.

Days upon days must have passed. You managed to not answer any important questions, but you paid like hell for it. Tiny cuts littered your body. The mysterious man used the knife, but thankfully, not anywhere near your abdomen.

Until one day, he did.

You cried and you begged, but because you wouldn't answer him, he did the unthinkable.

That was the worst mistake he ever made.

Now that you knew he was willing to hurt your unborn child and likely had already done so, there was no way you would ever talk.

"My husband will rip your fucking throat out," you croaked as warm blood pooled in the waistband of your pants, dripping down your legs.

"Like the vampire he is," the man sneered. "I know what he is. A monster."

"You're damn straight," you panted, feeling weak from blood loss. "He's going to use his talons to do everything you've done to me, cut for cut. You'll wish you were dead, I promise you."

"At least I'll die knowing I took his child from him," he darkly laughed. "If he ever finds you - which will never happen."

"Don't be so sure, pinche pendejo," the voice of your husband pierced the darkness.

Your entire body gave out, not only from exhaustion and blood loss but from overwhelming relief. A door was flung open and light was able to spill into the room.

"H-how did you..." the mysterious man croaked, calling out for his comrades.

Gripping him by the throat, Miguel lifted him several inches off the floor. "Spiders love the dark." Raising his free arm - talons fully extended, Miguel tore into the man's flesh, rapidly slicing him to ribbons, before doing just what you predicted. Baring his fangs, Miguel sank his teeth into the man's throat and ripped out his jugular.

The man's limp body dropped to the floor, making you whimper in relief...and honestly, a little bit of horror.

Whirling around, Miguel used the sleeve of his spider suit to wipe the blood from his chin before dropping to his knees.

Crimson eyes scanning you frantically, he didn't know where to touch you first.

"Baby? Baby are you hurt?" His hands flew all over you, stopping when his fingers grazed your abdomen.

"Miguel," you whimpered, hands pressing as hard as you could manage into your knife wound. Blood seeped through your fingers, warm and sticky.

"I've got you, honey, hold on," he soothed, easily lifting your much smaller frame into his arms.

"More of them," you murmured, collapsing against his chest, the solid warmth of him the first relief you'd felt in days. "There are more..."

"They're dead," he answered you, pressing a quick kiss to your hairline. "You're safe, mi vida."

"My stomach," you slurred, feeling consciousness slip away from you. "M-my baby..."

"Hold on, baby, hold on," Miguel whispered, gripping you tightly.

"Miguel...I'm sorry."

That was the last thing you remembered.

The next time you awakened, you didn't know where you were. Panic snaked its way around your heart until your eyes landed on the sleeping form of your husband, adorably cramped in a chair beside your bed.

Stupidly attempting to sit up, you winced, feeling the sting in your abdomen. Then you remembered - you had been stabbed. Multiple times - but those were shallow, feeble attempts to get you to talk. But then he tried to kill you. And your baby.

Fear gripped your heart, squeezing the breath out of you as you yanked your blankets away, pulling up the soft gown you wore to try and see...

"Hey, hey, it's okay."

Miguel was suddenly awake and at your side, gently grasping your arms to stop your flailing. "You'll rip your stitches."

"My baby," you gasped, your chest heaving with shallow breaths as you fruitlessly fought the massive strength of your husband's grip.

"Calm down, honey, please." Forcing your arms still, he eased onto the edge of the bed, holding you still. Dropping his forehead to yours, his heart shattered at the sight of your tears.

"I'm so sorry," you whimpered, even as he shushed you soothingly. "My baby - "

"Is fine," Miguel swore, reaching up to tenderly caress your cheek. Easing back, his scarlet gaze locked onto yours and he nodded reassuringly - the faintest smile brightening his eyes. "Our baby is okay. Strong heartbeat. You're eleven weeks along."

Shaking your head in disbelief, your lip trembled. "But - but he stabbed me. He tried to kill my baby..."

"I know, sweetheart," Miguel soothed, gingerly pulling you into his arms. "I know he hurt you. I'm sorry. So sorry." Rocking you slowly in his protective embrace, he pressed a fierce kiss to your temple. "You're safe now. You and our baby. I promise you."

✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧

Miguel O'Hara Masterlist

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#this is my first ask #as in request #i have no idea what i'm doing babes #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara x reader #tw torture #tw pregnancy #miguel o'hara x f!reader #across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse fic #au #i gues

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

spider society

pairing: miles morales x gn!spidey (platonic)

WC: 3.3K

warnings: cursing and slight spoilers!

summary: a new friend is welcomed but is quick to become foe.

A/N: SPOILER WARNING FOR ATSV!!!! i wrote this in a day and on little sleep, so that will explain if this is terrible. also barely proofread so apologies for any writing errors. i did the best i could for the scene based on memory and clips from tik tok.

masterlist

earth-42

the lobby was crowded. like always. spider people here, there, everywhere. floor to ceiling as they traversed to their different destinations whether that be another dimension to fix anomalies or just the food court to get some lunch.

your headphones covered your ears to keep the loud conversations at bay as you mind your business. nothing to do, just tapping finger to finger in random patterns as you observed everyone with your background music. with your eyes landing near the entrance of the building you saw gwen and hobie, along with someone you’d never met before but excited for the new face. literally new face.

“gwen! hobie!” you shouted after pushing the bulky headphones down to your neck before rushing towards them. they waved you close to them, gwen with a friendly smile and hobie with his watchful eyes but only filled with kindness.

you stopped before the three of them and gave the two of them quick hugs before they could make any objections. attention now on the new person. his was tall and lean and looked a few years younger than you. black kid with curly hair and wandering dark eyes.

“hi, i’m y/n l/n. or spidey or spider, if you want. but best to use my name since we’re all spiders.” mouth moving on its own. “sorry. just haven’t seen a new face or person in a little bit. no offense to the peter’s,” you leaned closer to his face and he leaned away slightly from the intrusion, “but there are too many of him. and a lot of them sound closely the same.”

“don’t let peter hear that.” gwen joke. she gave a quick nudge to her quiet friend. “this is miles morales.”

“h-hi. yeah, i’m miles. nice to meet you, this place is just… wow.” head turning in all directions to get the full scope.

“yeah, kinda crazy. but miguel worked hard to make all this happen for us. kinda nice to physically see you're not alone in the fight.”

“speaking of-“ gwen got cut off by miles glitching out and dropping to the floor in pain. you knelt with him and touched his shoulder. “he doesn’t have a watch?” frantic as you check his wrist for the bulky device but not finding it. gwen bit her lip but avoided eye contact and looked at someone behind you.

“here,” you heard the motherly voice of jessica drew, “day pass.” and saw how miles caught the flimsy band before slipping it on.

“why don’t we get some food?” trying to break the sudden tension jessica brought with her. but before anyone could agree or disagree with your idea, she spoke up. “actually the three…” her eyes lingered on you and the touch of your hand to miles’s shoulder, “the four of you need to see miguel. it’s urgent.”

you didn’t like that. you don’t like it whenever miguel calls for you and it’s not for a job. you tried making an excuse, “actually, i should get-“ “don’t lie your way out, y/n. just follow the rules.” jessica commanded.

she started to walk away, then gwen and hobie followed after her. “hey,” miles tried to make eye contact. you felt like shrinking into yourself. “don’t worry. i’m sure it’ll be fine.”

you knew it wasn’t but didn’t bother. a weary smile, “why don’t we stop by the food court?” fingers circling his wrist as you tugged him along. “miguel loves the empanadas and it wouldn’t hurt to keep him on the nice side.” miles happily agreed.

-

the walk to miguel’s ‘office’ was always dark and quiet. too quiet, the sound of just your breathing and footsteps sounding like blaring sirens that bounced off the walls. you hated the walk. instinctively you wore your headphones over your ears and played something, but at a low volume to still hear miles and hobie converse. gwen led your group, her back the only thing you saw as she didn’t bother with facing any of you. she felt closed off.

you eyed hobie as he nicked bits and pieces from walls, tables, and junk. you didn’t stop him like miles was trying, just watching with pure curiosity, wondering what he was up to. always doing something to rebel.

miles turned to you and you saw his mouth moving, but only faintly heard his words. pausing the music and moving the device back to your neck you asked him to repeat his sentence.

“so, how does one get recruited for this spider society?” he held the to-go box in both hands. his thumbs rubbing at the top in a nervous sort of gesture.

“i- i don’t think you’d like it very much.” not wanting miles to be stuck like the rest of you. “catching anomalies is very annoying. and very busy. wouldn’t you like to stay in your dimension? with your friends and family?” voice going soft and melancholy. fingers toying with the device at your wrist.

you didn’t notice how miles eyes softened from your tone or how gwen looked fully over her shoulder towards you, knowing the true meaning of your words. and hobie continued to knick bits.

“well…” miles tried to restart the conversation, “i mean. at least with the watch, i can visit my friends. i can hang out with you more.” a playful nudge to your arm pulled a smile. a new friend, you liked the thought.

“why not just make your own watch?” hobie commented. he broke something off a defective project and stuffed it into his vest pocket. “you look smart enough to build from scraps.” he kicked his thick boots at objects in his path.

“i wanna do this by the rules. by the books.” he shrugged his shoulders. face looking just a bit glum.

“are either of your parents' cops?” a simple question you posed.

he looked confused but still answered, “my dad. gonna be captain soon.” he smiled down at the ground. he must be very proud of his family.

now you nudge his shoulder, “well, i bet your dad is proud of you. knowing or not knowing. but sometimes, you shouldn’t play by the book.” a hushed whisper.

“aye, y/n!” hobie slapped his hands on your shoulders, “that’s what i like to hear! screw the system. do what you need to do, my guy.”

“guys!” gwen raised her voice, “please can we just-“ she trailed her sentence off with a tilt of her head. the four of you were getting closer.

“miles, just remember,” hobie leaned towards miles, “don’t join the establishment until you know what you’re fighting for.”

the hallway widened out and when you looked up, miguel had his back turned as he stood on his platform. miles looked to gwen and she held a hand up, “yeah. i know, but it’s his thing. so just…” and she trailed off again.

gwen and miles walked further into the light as you and hobie stayed near the dark. hobie situated himself along the wall, fingers playing with whatever he got his hands on. you leaned beside him with your arms crossed over your chest and hip cocked. just from this show alone, you know miles is in for a miguel tantrum.

“how’s it been?” eyes on hobie, “um… okay.” you picked at the nylon of your suit, “sometimes if i’m bored, i go to other places. they let me as long as i don’t cause trouble. sorry i haven’t visited recently.” a twist to your lips.

hobie waved you off, “ain’t a problem. pop by whenever. gwendys around most times.”

your heads turned when miguel raised his voice and threw the food box to the ground. you pushed away from the wall and walked closer to the light.

“what’d i do?” “miguel. it’s not his fault.” miles and gwen’s voices mixed. you heard a thwip and turned to see hobie stealing the free food.

“he’s screwed everything up! just like doctor strange and that little nerd from earth-1999999.” miguel pinched his nose bridge.

“i visited there once. interesting place.” miles seemed to be the only one intrigued by your story. “they have this group called the avengers.” eyes widening at the word.

“are they like a band?” miles cocked his head. “no earth’s mightiest-“

“who the hell cares!”

you flinched at the boom of miguel’s voice and slinked back into the dark shadows by hobie. automatically he threw an arm over your shoulder and pulled you to his side.

“someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” he muttered. you wanted to comment but felt if you even made a peep miguel would be on your ass. hobie, always the kind friend, noticed your silence and slipped your headphones back on. you didn’t need music at the moment just something to muffle the noise.

eyes watched how miguel and miles spoke. their bodies tense, miguel using his looming height advantage to have more authority. mile's lanky arms fling about and look from gwen to miguel. with your headphones, you couldn’t hear, but you saw how miles turned around and his face was graced with a smile as he ran to someone.

“oh great. humbling reality spider-man has joined.” hobie’s words muffled before you made your ears free again.

you saw peter parker, peter b parker, as he liked to be called. he and miles shared a hug and you started to look at the walls and ceilings.

“why do you have a baby carrier?” miles pointed at the carrier peter always wore.

“mayday!” you squeal when you see her crawling your way. the two of you were well acquainted since you’ll babysit for peter and mj on short notice. or whenever really, they were such a kind family.

the little bundle of joy yipped when you crouched to her level and pulled her to your chest. her tiny hands setting on your shoulders as her blue and green eyes darted over your face. a gloved hand smoothed some of her flyaways and wind-swept hair.

“you have a baby!” you heard miles. “i have a baby! yeah, it’s crazy kid.” peter sighed.

“how’s my favorite web crawler? huh? causing trouble for your dad?” cooing in a baby voice. pretending she could understand every word and would reply in detail about the chaos she brings. you pinched at her chubby cheeks.

“can we get back to business? serious business?” miguel always brings the mood down.

“you are the only serious spider person. we’re supposed to be funny. throwing quips as we punch bad guys.” peter grumbled and made a mocking tone of miguel. he looked about ready to send everyone away.

“lyla, do the thing.” the computer teased miguel for a moment before doing the thing he asked. she pulled up the web of life and destiny.

“it’s called something very scientific, but i like to just call it the spider web. short and simple.” a side comment to miles. “cool.”

“these are canon events. things that can’t change no matter what or the universe collapses.” getting bit by the spider. uncle ben dying or someone close to you. a captain saving a kid but getting killed in the process.

miguel showed different versions of spider-man in those different scenarios. he specifically showed the spiders mourning the death of captain stacy.

you pressed mayday’s head into your shoulder, not wanting her to see this. you turned to gwen and saw her poker face, but you could see the emotion swimming in her irises. she hadn’t been back to her dimension in a while, always crashing in different spots.

“miles,” you looked away as you bounced the child, “what you did back in pavitr’s reality, it broke canon. that’s what caused the black hole and hopefully, we can stop it. but it doesn’t always happen.”

you felt eyes on you. you didn’t like the sudden attention. but you were starting to get why jessica brought you here. why miguel pointed a finger at you to miles confusion. he wanted you to be on his side.

“y/n… do you want to tell miles what happened?” you ignored him. playing with mayday, knuckles caressing her rosy cheeks. “y/n… the kid needs to understand the importance.” you sighed and pressed a kiss to mayday’s temple.

“understand what?” miles walked closer to you. “y/n? what happened?”

you licked your lips. “my reality is gone. i… i got to love my gwen stacy. i didn’t lose any family or a captain who i was bickering friends with. i- i got to have it all. i ‘broke’ canon, but i don’t believe that crap.”

“y/n…” miguel had a warning tone.

“everything was wonderful. not once after each event happened a giant hole formed until one day it just did. it was just a normal day. gwen and i were having a date at this ice cream shop she loved, she looked so pretty. she always did. we were walking towards the met since she kept saying we needed to visit more.”

you raised mayday above you and flashed a toothy smile. she giggled and you pulled her close to rub noses. a sigh as you continue your story.

“it- it just happened out of nowhere. i can’t even place what the cause would have been. one minute it’s a normal day and then next a black hole a few blocks away which then changed into… reality being eaten away.”

you didn’t notice the tears falling until little hands touched your cheeks. mayday stared and baby babbled. a hand to your shoulder, peter giving a pitying look. you handed his daughter back to him and wiped your tears. done with talking, but miguel finished the story.

“they already had a watch and when i noticed what was happening and the rate it was destroying everything… i managed to pull them out in time. they are the last remnants of their home reality.”

it was quiet. no one was speaking and it still felt too loud.

“but… what’s this got to do with me?” happy that miles pulled the attention back to him.

“you are the first anomaly.” miguel voiced. “your spider bite wasn’t from your dimension, you already had a spider-man. and yet somehow… everything is fine.” he seemed pissed at the simple fact.

“miles in two days your dad is gonna become captain.” gwen spoke. her tone seeping in sorrow.

miles looked around. his face scrunched in confusion and growing anger. then he did another look at the images of different peters with captain stacy. his face was dropping.

“your- you're saying i just have to let my dad die? to- to avoid reality crashing? cause it’s a- a canon event?”

“yes,” miguel replied as if that didn’t sound crazy.

miles turned to gwen, “your dad. he’s a captain right?” she nodded. “you’re just, what? just gonna let him die?” her eyes fell to the floor.

“we have to do things to keep reality stable. it’s not always pretty, but it comes with the cost of being spider-man. you can’t have both.”

“i can! i know i can! i can be spider-man and miles!”

your senses went off just a bit and you took account of all the people starting to crowd the room. this felt wrong. it felt like a trap, and for once you're the bad guys. peter and gwen tried to calm miles down, he was understandably upset at everyone shouting orders at him. you wanted to pull miles away and hide the both of you from miguel and the others. this wasn’t right.

“this will hold you for a few days.” and miguel dropped one of his devices to the floor that changed to a red-screened cage.

“miles!” you rushed to the holoprojection and started to bang your fist along with miles. gwen and peter were bickering with miguel. and hobie popped up beside you with his palms facing miles with a knowing smile.

hobie pulled you away when you started to see the electricity start to spark. then suddenly there was a loud boom and explosion of air. everyone was swept off their feet. hobie was able to keep you upright.

miles stood free and looked at his palms as he panted. he quickly looked your way and you only could say, “run.” and he took off.

“no!” miguel roared.

he started to chase after him, but you shot a web to his feet to slow him down. his crazed eyes widened at your disobedience. “you have no idea what you’ve done.” he extended the red blades from his arms, cutting himself free and rushing out of the room with others following.

your chest was panting with fear and worry. you looked to hobie for help, but he stood in a portal and threw his watch away. “for the record i quit.” and he was gone in the blink of an eye.

you were the only one on miles’s side.

you shot web after web at different spider people. at their feet, wrist, faces, anything to slow them down and give miles enough time to form a plan and execute it. you tried to catch up to him, but a few people gave you a taste of your own medicine and fought you.

you were being held down by one of the many peter parker variants, “stay out of our way!” he shouted as he webbed you uptight. you struggled against the hold but it was no use. so you were left alone once the tower was emptied, you just hoped miles was okay.

-

you were sure how long you’ve been webbed up. your body started to get that prickly feeling when it wasn’t getting proper blood flow through the body. wiggling your body in the hold, hoping to loosen it, a voice called out.

“y/n?” eyes connected with miles who was hanging upside down on a web. one side of his suit was ripped, but he looked safe.

“oh thank goodness. i tried to catch up, but as you can see, i’ve been webbed.”

miles looked around. when he eyed you again he looked hesitant to free you, you understood. some of his friends that he’s known longer turned on him behind his back. but you knew he was a different case, miguel was just using this canon logic as a cover.

“go miles. i don’t want to keep you from getting home.” a reassuring smile to his tired eyes. but he didn’t leave, he started to pull at the webbing and helped you free.

“let’s go.” he led you to the go-home machine. he was able to go invisible as he worked the computers so you stayed on the ceiling in the dark shadows.

when the machine was up and running he hopped in and called your name. you looked to margo, spider byte, who was busy with lyla as the two tried to stop the stitching process. you dived in and stood beside him, the two of you getting anxious the longer it was taking.

“stop the machine!” miguel was charging forward. you knew margo shouted a comment back without hearing her.

the machine was getting closer, it was about eighty percent closed. you thought you were in the clear, but miguel sunk his blood-red claws into the threading and started to rip at it. you pushed miles behind you, “just let us go, miguel!”

“i can’t do that, y/n! why can’t you understand i’m doing this for everyone’s safety!” he growled. the threading was holding.

“because this canon shit is a lie! if miles wasn’t supposed to be spider-man, his reality would have broken a long time ago! you’re just trying to manipulate everyone!”

your body lifted into the air. it was time to leave. and just before you were gone, you did one more reckless thing. you tore the watch off your wrist and threw it to the ground making it shatter. you stared directly into miguel’s burning eyes.

“i quit.”

-

a/n2: i actually wrote a little more after this part, but it just didnt end off well. i wrote this from like the hours of 8pm to 6am (i did sleep a little in between dont worry)

#spiderman x reader #spider-man #spider-man imagine #spider-man x gn!reader #spider-man x spidey!person #spider-man fluff #spider-man angst #spider-man across the spiderverse spoilers #spider-man across the spider-verse #across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse fic #across the spider verse imagine #miles morales #miles morales imagine #miles morales x reader #miles morales x platonic!reader #miles morales angst #miles morales fluff #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #Spotify

[addicted-to-dc]

Spider-Man 2099/Miguel O’Hara X Spider!Reader - Twice Bitten (Part 2)

Here’s part 2!! I am so exited to keep this series going. No idea when I’ll have time to do the next part, but I’m sure it’ll be soon. I’m too obsessed to leave this alone. 

Link to Part 1 --- Link to Part 3

Contents: Angst, fluff, sexual tension, light body horror(?). It’s Miguel O’Hara, I think he warrants a warning himself. Friends (ish) to lovers.

Word Count: 1,700

You groggily wake up and push yourself out of the bed. Scratching your face, you immediately walk onto the wall and do your morning stretches. One pop here, a LOUD pop there, and you’re groaning against the wall as your tense muscles finally relax. Walking up the wall and onto the ceiling, you notice how your suit feels more snug than it should.

Hopping down, you land on the ground and head to the nearest reflective surface you can find. Your eyes nearly bulge out of your head at the sight of you. The suit is ruined with tears you don’t even remember getting. Do you look… bigger?

Your muscles have grown, but how is that possible? You feel like you’re going through the bite all over again, your body once again changing overnight. The next thing you notice is your neck. The bite is still there but scarred over where his teeth punctured the deepest. You pinch the bridge of your nose. How the hell are you going to deal with this?

A fresh suit lays folded on a nearby table. As soon as you grab it it retreats back into a bracelet. You pick it up and examine it. Your eyes drift back down to the table again, spotting tight underclothes. Looking down, you slowly take off your suit and finally see the all of the damage.

Your veins are practically neon, barely noticeable to the naked eye. Leaning closer to the mirror, you examine the bite. The neon is at its strongest there, but it’s overwhelming with your eyes. You lean forward, examining them. The whites of your eyes are gone, replaced with the same neon hue. Your normal eye color is gone, a haunting red staring right back at you.

Shoving your worried thoughts aside, you quickly change and place the new bracelet on. With the flick of your wrist, the suit rematerializes. You let out a sigh of relief when you recognize the same suit design. Your attention shifts back to the bracelet, now blending perfectly with the suit. Your brain itches to explore this new piece of tech, but the door opens before your self-restraint went out the window.

“I see you’re awake, good,” Miguel says, entering the room. “How are you feeling?”

“Like my 15-year-old self again,” you sigh, finally finding the button that removes your mask. It instantly disappears, leaving your curiously confused face behind.

Miguel lets out a laugh, one that shakes his upper body. He stops a few paces away from you, almost hesitant to get close. You watch as his face falls slightly, finally seeing how much he’s changed you.

“My bite doesn’t do this,” he says quietly, his eyes drifting away from you.

You close the distance, placing a hand on his shoulder, “The bite may have changed me, but we still don’t know why. What does it usually do?”

“It’s venomous, usually paralysis follows.”

You try to bite your lip to think, but the fangs immediately poke you. Wincing, you sigh and massage your temples, “It could be a million things. The interdimensional travel, maybe substances from different dimensions have different reactions, or just my DNA just reacts this way. I’ve had my suspicions from… previous experiences.”

His eyes darken at your hesitant look, shame burning across your face as you think about the symbiote locked away. Your symbiote. You push the memories down, forcing yourself to look at Miguel.

Miguel knows, he made it his mission the whole night to learn everything about you. Your story isn’t a common one, an outlier to all of the Peter Parkers, Gwen Stacys, and even Jessica Drews. There were whispers of your dimension from the others, but they all stayed away. Some have no idea how you’re still alive, the Spider that went too far and somehow came back.

“We’ll figure this out,” Miguel sighs tiredly, now his turn to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I’ll give you the tour, some food, and then we’ll deal with this at my lab.”

Your melancholy demeanor instantly shifts, a smirk growing on your face as your eyes light up. He nearly loses it when the tips of your fangs poke out from under your lips. “Gonna get me that dinner you promised?”

“I didn’t promise anything,” he mumbles, the smile on his face betraying his tone. “Come on, we have a lot of ground to cover.”

The door opens, flashing a bright light. You wince, lifting a hand up as you follow him out of the room. Your mask reappears, the covering on your eyes softening the overwhelming brightness. Once your eyes finally adjust, your eyes widen at the sight before you.

Hundreds, no, thousands of different Spideys walk along the numerous pathways that lead to who knows where. Miguel’s words knock you back into reality.

“Sensitivity to light, I hope you have sunglasses.”

You look at him, who also has his mask on. “Are you a vampire? A spider vampire?”

“Spiders have fangs,” he states matter-of-factly.

You know he’s defending himself. Did you strike a nerve? A searing pain erupts in the back of your head, your spider-sense going haywire as more and more Spiders walk near you. It’s like your senses have been dialed to one thousand. You feel him grab your shoulders, guiding you back up as the pain stops as quickly as it started.

Your brain goes a million miles per hour, trying to think of some explanation why this is happening. You were perfectly fine alone and with Miguel, why are your senses going haywire?

“You’re different than the rest, aren’t you?” you ask, the puzzle pieces finally fitting together. “You weren’t bitten by a radioactive spider, you…” Your words fade away, unwilling to finish the sentence.

You clutch your head again as more and more people pass by. Miguel quickly wraps his arm around your waist and swings away, the pain alleviating as you get further and further from the crowd.

“I’m fine, just let me-” Your words die as soon as you crush your web shooters, small sparks and web fluid flying everywhere as he swings up to a platform.

As soon as he lands you slump to the floor, staring at the broken web shooter. You used the same pressure you always have, it was designed to resist-

Miguel’s hand covers the broken tech, his other wiping the foreign tears off of your face. You didn’t even realize your mask is gone. You finally realize that it’s dark in here, probably for his comfort. Without a word, he gently removes both of your web shooters and sets them onto a nearby table. His hand returns with new ones. They seamlessly adhere to the suit.

“You’re awfully quiet for a Spider-Man,” you joke, your voice cracking when he pulls his hands away.

He remains silent for a few moments, as if he’s running with the bit, but he finally speaks. “Lyla, can you send some breakfast up here… Please.”

A hologram of a woman with a bright white coat and huge heart glasses appears in your face, scaring the shit out of you as you hit your head against the table behind you.

“Sorry,” Lyla apologizes to you. Her attention then diverts to Miguel, leaning close. “What’s gotten into you? So polite, is it because-”

“Lyla, please,” Miguel interrupts, his tired look silencing Lyla.

She looks between you two, her confused look morphing into a smirk. “I see where this is going. Don’t stop on my account.”

Your attention moves to the bracelet, fiddling with it as she drones on and on, congratulating Miguel for opening up again. You accidentally make your gloves disappear with a push of a random button. You move to fix it but Miguel’s growl paralyses you.

Miguel goes to slash at her, but she’s already gone. You stare at his talons, baffled at his control. You immediately snatch his hand, examining it. His talons retract, making you look back at him. You release his hand with a smile. “Sorry.”

“You got it right.”

“I got what right?” you question him, moving to sit across from him.

“I’m not like the others,” Miguel explains, his mask fading away. “I wasn’t bitten by a spider, more like… I had to splice my DNA with one.”

“So,” you begin, “you’re more spider than the rest of them?”

“I think you now have that title,” he whispers, his face disappearing as he covers it with his hands. “I’m supposed to fix anomalies, not create more.”

He mutters a few things under his breath, some Spanish that goes in one ear and out the other. You can tell he’s beating himself up. Whatever is haunting him, you know it’s the reason why he’s working himself to the bone to keep order. Your head tilts, confusion dominating your features once again. How do you know that?

Miguel’s face reappears, his brows furrowing. “Did you say something?”

“No, why?” you ask.

“How do you know what?”

You lean back in shock, “Did you just fucking read my mind?” It’s like the floodgates in your brain finally open, immediately standing up to pace around the platform. You forgo biting your lip and bite onto your finger, trying to figure out how exactly your minds can be connected like this. Is it because of the bite? Is he lying about being a spider vampire? Honestly that would be kind of hot-

Your pacing ceases as you accidentally bite too hard on your finger, puncturing deep with a hiss. You’re too busy examining the wound to look at Miguel. Your spider-sense goes off, urging you to turn around.

Miguel invades your personal space, his eyes completely glowing as he leans in close. As soon as his face is mere centimeters from yours the warning goes away. His warmth is intoxicating despite you feeling like a furnace right now. You feel him grasp your bleeding hand, guiding it up to his mouth as he licks the blood off of your wound.

Your entire body shivers, the urge to bite growing more and more tempting as his lips relocate to your ear.

“I’ve already bitten you once, I think it’s fair to return the favor.”

#miguel o'hara x spider!reader #miguel o'hara x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman x spider!reader #spider-man 2099 x reader #across the spiderverse fic #Twice Bitten

[amazingmsme]

Hell Hath No Fury Like A Spider Scorned

AN: Took me long enough, but I finally finished my spiderverse fic! I had such a blast with this one, I hope y'all enjoy! Miles has some serious beef with Miguel & they just need to spend some quality time together!

After defeating The Spot, things started to settle down. The multiverse was ultimately safe, for now at least. And things were actually going pretty well for Miles Morales. After they won, Miguel officially welcomed him into the Spider Society, even giving a tense, begrudging apology. It wasn't much, but it was a start. But now, he was able to see his friends on a semi-regular basis and even picked up a few new tricks of the trade. He buckled down on his classes and managed to pull out an A in Spanish by the end of the year. After months of waiting, he received an acceptance letter in the mail. Of course, his parents threw a huge party to celebrate, bragging to their friends about how smart their son was. As much as it could embarrass him at times, he couldn't be happier that they were so proud of him.

Naturally, there were a few hiccups along the way. The biggest being when he was home alone after a patrol, standing in the kitchen eating straight out of a box of cereal, still in his suit. It was the middle of the afternoon, both of his parents working. He had his headphones on and didn't notice the front door open, and suddenly his father was standing right in front of him, mouth agape as he stared him up and down. It took a long lecture and lots of explaining and apologies on Miles's part, but they understood why he was doing this, and more importantly, why he kept it a secret. His dad even revoked his grounding after he heard the truth!

To top it all off, he was getting called on for missions more frequently, and he found himself spending more time at HQ. He felt needed and accepted among the other spiders, which is more than he could've hoped for. Honestly, Miles doesn't think he's ever been happier. Things were going great for him.

So why the hell was he being so petty to Miguel? Everything worked out fine in the end, yet it still seemed the teen harbored a strong grudge towards him.

Peter B. Parker liked to think of himself as an excellent observer. He also liked to think that he knew the kid pretty well. It seemed like every time Miguel so much as entered the room, his expression went south. He'd go quiet, shrinking in on himself, shooting glares at the man. If the man addressed him, his responses were short and full of sass, if he didn't outright ignore him.

Peter knew where the kid was coming from. Hell, Miguel's scared the crap out of him more than a few times, and the things he said to Miles was out of line. But he apologized for that! It should be water under the bridge, or so Peter thought. It hurt him because he knew Miguel was a good guy, you just had to get to know him. And it seemed that was the last thing Miles wanted to do.

Pavitr, Miles, Gwen and Hobie were sitting around a table playing go fish when Peter and Miguel walked in. Pavitr had pulled out his phone and leaned over to show Miles a video of some guy trying boba for the first time and choking. Right at the funniest part, he glanced up and caught sight of Miguel, the laugh trailing off and smile falling flat. Pavitr was too busy laughing to notice, but stopped when he realized Miles wasn't laughing along.

"Well I thought it was funny," he said quietly, tucking his phone away. Miles snapped out of it and was quick to assure him, "No, it was really funny! Show me again when we're not playing the game."

Miguel snorted as he poured himself some coffee.

Miles furrowed his brows, "What?"

"Oh nothing. Nothing at all," he said as he walked past. Miles rolled his eyes.

"Whatever."

"Can you two at least try to get along?" Peter groaned. Miles shrugged.

"Cool with me. Truce?" Miles held out his hand for him to shake. Miguel stared at him skeptically before walking back over him. His form loomed over Miles where he sat at the table and reached for his extended hand.

At the last second, Miles pulled back, running his hand through his hair. "Sike."

Miguel took a deep breath, visibly holding himself back from lunging at the kid while the others at the table snickered to themselves, Hobie looking the most amused. He turned on his heels, muttering angrily under his breath.

"Work with me here," Peter said exasperatedly, to which Miles gave a smug, satisfied grin. Peter rolled his eyes, following after Miguel.

"Gwen, got any two's?"

"Go fish." She bit her bottom lip as Miles drew a card from the deck, and spoke up. "You know, he's really not a bad guy. Wouldn't kill you to be a little nicer."

"Yeah, well maybe you should tell him that," he sassed.

"She's right y'know," Hobie said. "No one loves stickin' it to the man more than yours truly, but even I know when to give it a rest." He laid down his cards, leveling his gaze at Miles. "He's a prick, but he's damn good. Who knows, you might have more in common than you think," he teased, playfully smacking Miles in the arm before pulling him in a headlock, messing up his hair.

"Alright alright, I get it," he said, shoving him away with a shy smile.

"So you'll be nicer to him?" Gwen asked hopefully.

"I guess, sure."

Turns out, it was a half assed effort. He really did try to be nicer when he was around, but it was obvious he was still afraid of the man, clamming up as soon as he laid eyes on him. And he just happened to be busy every time he was called to go on a mission with him. He was on a mission with Peter when they had to call in backup, and he nearly ran into a billboard when he saw who came to their aid.

Miguel wasn't stupid- he knew the kid didn't like him. But hey, he didn't care about him all that much either. But it made him feel shitty, serving as a grim reminder of what he'd done to him. Peter lessened the tension between them, but Miguel could still sense the lingering fear that enveloped Miles every time he was in his presence, could hear the rapid thumping of his heart any time he drew near. And the way he watched his every move: as if he'd snap at a moment's notice, was more than annoying to say the least.

Miguel had called upon Peter for his input and Miles naturally tagged along. He wasn't exactly subtle with the way he looked him up and down as he spoke, watching with a judging eye. Peter kept cracking jokes to try to lessen the tension, frowning when neither one had so much as chuckled by the fifth attempt. He looked up from the screen and gently smacked Miles in the side.

"What's the matter kid? Don't tell me you're too cool to laugh at my dad jokes."

"Nah, it's just 'cause I'm here. I apparently sap out all his joy when I enter the room," Miguel snapped, not afraid to call it how he saw it.

"W-what? That's not true!" Miles insisted, completely shocked by the abrupt nature of his statement. Peter locked up, unsure of how this would play out.

"Yeah, then what is it? You hate me that much or somethin'?"

Miles thought about his answer before he spoke. A rare occasion, I know. "No, I just... think you're meaner than you have to be... sometimes..." he trailed off, getting quieter as he spoke. He refused to meet his gaze and subconsciously scooted closer to Peter, who watched the exchange and sighed.

"Kid, he's not mean, you're just falling for his schtick."

"Hey!" Miguel interjected but Peter shushed him.

"Miguel's got pretty thick skin, you just gotta get used to him. Once you do, you'll realize he's just a big ol' softie. Like me!"

"I am nothing like you," he deadpanned.

"That's one thing we agree on," Miles scoffed, crossing his arms.

"Are you always such a smart ass?" Miguel asked, hands on his hips.

"Easy, he's just a kid!" Peter said, turning around in the computer chair.

"No, he's a cocky high schooler. You're what, a freshman?"

"Just finished sophomore year actually," Miles corrected.

"Probably took pre-cal," Miguel scoffed.

"Nah, I took that last year," he bragged, a cocky smirk on his face, though his eyes held a look of fear that he couldn't shake. There was a tense moment of silence as they stared at one another.

Miles caught a glimpse of Pavitr walk by the doorway and instantly saw his way out of the situation.

"Pav, hey wait up!" he called and ran out of the room to catch up.

"Miles! How's it goin' dude?" Pavitr's voice rang out and their distant conversation echoed down the hall.

Peter groaned as he stood up and stretched. "Why'd you have to go and start shit?" he asked with a tired look.

"I didn't start it!"

"No, you literally started it!"

Miguel sighed. "You heard him, he thinks I'm mean."

"Then show him you're not," Peter insisted, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. Miguel shrugged him off.

"I don't know if he'd let me at this point," Miguel quipped, leaning against the desk.

Peter looked like he wanted to say something, but stopped himself short. Miguel furrowed his brows and straightened his posture. "What?"

"Nothing, I just had a stupid idea. You'd probably hate it, forget I said anything," Peter said, setting the bait.

Miguel let out another sigh. "What is it?"

Peter hesitated, a sly smirk tugging at his lips. He hoped Miles would forgive him...

"The kid's crazy ticklish, that's all I'm gonna say," he said, holding his hands up in the air.

"What? What's that got to do with anything?"

"Just show him you know how to cut loose. Let him see you without that stick up your ass," Peter snickered. Miguel shot him an unamused look, reaching out to squeeze his hip in retaliation.

Peter yelped and jumped away, wearing a large grin. He threw an arm around his shoulders and gave him a shake. "That's the spirit! Now go show the kid how fun tickle monster O'Hara can be!" he cheered in encouragement, drawing out

a scoff of disgust from the other man.

"Don't call me that," he demanded, earning a chuckle. He glanced at Peter from the corner of his eye and broke into a smirk. "You're real weird, you know that Parker?"

"Yeah yeah, I get that a lot. But trust me, it'll work," he reassured. Miguel was hesitant.

"How do you know?"

"Just trust me."

Miguel waited until he saw an opportunity, and it didn't take long before one presented itself. Miles was sitting in a beanbag in the corner of an otherwise empty rec room when he waltzed in. "Miles, just the spider I wanted to see," he greeted, sitting on the beanbag next to him. Miles stared at him like he had grown a second head.

"Uh, hi. Wha- what did you wanna talk about?" he stuttered, struggling to sit up straight in the beanbag.

"Peter thinks it'd be a good idea if you got to know me. And I have to agree, so I thought we could play twenty questions. Go ahead, ask anything you want." Miles pondered for a moment before thinking of a question.

"So your fangs... could you like, milk the venom like they do with snakes?" he asked, curiosity and excitement in his tone. Needless to say, the question caught the older man off guard.

"What? No! You can't even milk snakes!"

"Can too! I saw a video where they got venom from a rattlesnake like that! You put gauze or cheese cloth or something over a cup and make them bite it, and they shoot out all this venom," he explained. Miguel considered this for a moment.

"Hm, interesting. I didn't know that." He shifted in the soft chair, getting more comfortable. "I guess it's a possibility. Alright, my turn. What's your favorite food?"

They went back and forth asking questions, and Miguel noticed the way Miles relaxed as the conversation wandered.

"Did you get to do a senior prank when you were in high school?" Miles asked, leaning a bit closer in anticipation for his answer. A mischievous gleam sparkled in Miguel's eyes as a long forgotten memory resurfaced.

"Yeah actually. Oho man, it was a great one. A few of us covered the entire floor in shaving cream. I'm talking classrooms, halls, the cafeteria, bathrooms, even the gym. We broke in during the night so we'd have enough time to do the whole school." He shook his head and chuckled. "Everyone was slipping and sliding all over the place. It took us hours to clean up afterwards, but it was worth it." He couldn't deny the swell of pride he felt when he heard Miles let out a quick huff of laughter.

"That sounds like a good one! I wish I could do something like that."

"Why can't you? Just gotta wait two more years, plenty of time to come up with a good prank."

"No, it's not that. My new school doesn't allow senior pranks and stuff like that," he explained, disappointment etched on his features. "It's... pretty pretentious."

"Hm, that's a real bummer. Maybe you'll have to fix that," Miguel suggested with a playful punch to his shoulder.

"Maybe," he agreed, ideas already bouncing around his head. "Your turn."

"Man, 20 questions is a lot more than I thought," Miguel feigned cluelessness and innocence, as if he didn't have this question lined up from the start. "I got one. Are you ticklish?" he asked casually. It was comical the way Miles snapped his head up to look at him with wide eyes.

"What? No," he said quickly, defensively. He was about to ask the next question to change the subject but was cut off.

"See, now that's funny. That's not what Peter said," he drawled, flashing a smug grin. Miles felt a chill run down his spine. He knew this was fishy from the start, but had ignored his gut feeling. A rookie mistake.

"Heh, good thing you're too mature for that sort of thing, right?" he asked nervously, watching him like a hawk.

"Y'know, I'm not so sure. What do you think?" Miguel asked, a dangerously playful edge to his voice. Miles gulped.

"Was this whole thing just a set up?" he asked, his entire body tense. He was ready to bolt at a moment's notice.

Miguel shrugged. "If that's what you wanna call it, sure."

It only took a second before Miles shot up to make a break for it. Strong arms immediately wrapped around his waist and brought him back down, right into Miguel's lap. He was thrashing and already giggling, yet still managed to grab ahold of Miguel's wrists to keep him at bay.

"Must be pretty ticklish if you're already laughing," he teased, twisting his hands free. He grabbed both of Miles's wrists and raised them over his head.

"Ihihi'm not! Let mehe gohoho!" Miles protested, trying to roll onto the floor.

"Nah. Gotta say, you've made me real curious now. Well, guess I better not keep you waiting!" He wasted no more time and latched onto his side, squeezing and kneading softly. Miles was already lost to a bout of bubbly giggles as he curled in on himself.

"Why ahahare you dohohoing this toho meee?" he squealed, legs scrambling for purchase and finding none.

"To show you I can be fun," he said, as if that should be obvious. "And you really don't know me if you think I'd let this information go to waste."

"Thihihis is fuhuhun?" he asked, sounding incredulous even through his laughter. Miguel couldn't help but smirk.

"See? Glad you agree," he said smugly. Miles let out an annoyed, giggly groan.

"Not whahat Ihihi meant!"

"Really? You gotta choose your words more carefully. Someone could take your words outta context and do this," he emphasized his point by squeezing his hips, causing Miles to jolt in his lap as if he had been electrocuted. "Y'know, since you said you were having fun an' all."

Miles was sure he was going to die. Whether it would be from the tickling or embarrassment, he wasn't sure, but he was going to die.

"Ohoho my gohohod, shut up ahahasshole!"

Miguel froze, hands poised at his sides and ready to strike. "What did you just call me?" Miles breathed in a few gulps of air while he still had the chance. He shook his head, eyes wide with a mix of panic and excitement.

"Nonono I didn't mean that, it just slipped out!" he insisted, but Miguel wasn't having it.

"What did I just say about choosing your words wisely?" he asked. Miles attempted another escape instead of answering, and was caught just as easily as before. "Well if you can call me names, clearly I'm not working hard enough."

He dove for his belly, pulling back at the last second, but Miles still screamed anyways. He felt a warm flush rise to his cheeks, glaring at the man as he laughed. He glared at him and shoved his chest.

"You are being an asshole!" he whined, grabbing his wrists and pushing with all his might to keep them away from his belly.

"And you're really asking for it," Miguel deadpanned, slipping out of his grasp with ease. And just because he felt like messing with the kid a little more, he did another fake out, earning another shriek of anticipation, followed by an embarrassed pout as Miguel let out a hearty chuckle.

"What the hell man? Just get it over with if you're gonna do it!"

"A little eager, eh amigo?" he asked, drumming his fingers against his sides. Bubbly giggles filled the air as Miles folded in on himself like a lawn chair, shaking his head frantically.

"N-no!" Miles denied, twisting from side to side and trying to work his way out of Miguel's strong grasp. He kneaded his sides, immediately thwarting the halfhearted escape. A stream of loud squeals and cackles escaped Miles as he squirmed around like a worm on a hook before curling into a ball in his lap.

He snorted when Miguel reached down to squeeze his knee, kicking his legs out. This granted him free access to his belly, which he took full advantage of. He formed a claw with his hand and dug into the soft pudge around his midsection and giggly shrieks filled the air.

"Wow, you're ticklish just about everywhere," he mused, smirking when Miles whined through his laughter.

"Ihihi ahaham not!" he cried out, legs kicking against the floor. Miguel arched a brow, clearly amused at the reply.

"No? Try proving me wrong then," he teased, pinching up his ribs. Miles arched his back, boyish giggles pouring past his lips.

"Screhehehew you!" he cried through his hysterics.

"Well that's not very nice. And here I thought we were finally bonding," Miguel said in a deadpanned tone, though the sly smirk gave him away.

Without anywhere to turn, Miles yelled out for help. "PEHEHETEHEHER! HELP MEHEHE! I-I'M BEING TORTURED!" he cried out dramatically. Miguel shook his head, an evil chuckle slipping past his lips.

"You know he's not gonna help you, right? I mean, this was all his idea. Practically made me do this," he taunted.

Well that was news to Miles.

"HE WHAT?" he shrieked before falling back into a wild fit of laughter.

"Yup. He sold you out faster than you could say tickle tickle tickle!" he teased, digging his claws into his ribs and shaking them against his ribcage. Miles doubled over with a screech, laughing as he kicked his legs in the air. He reached up to hide behind his hands so he wouldn't have to look at Miguel's stupid, smug face.

Miguel shook his head and grabbed his wrists, pulling them away from his face. "Oh no, no puedes esconderte de mí," Miguel teased. Miles thrashed, growing even more flustered by the playful taunt.

"Oh cohome ohohon!" Miles whined, tugging on his arms.

"Everyone keeps talking about these "bleeding armpits" of yours. Let's see what that's all about, huh?"

"No!" he screamed out, but it was too late because Miguel was already tickling under his arms. Miles slammed his arms down to his sides, trapping his tickling hands in place. He was cackling hysterically, blushing when a few snorts managed to slip out.

"Gehehet out of thehehere!" he pleaded, nose scrunched and mouth open in a wide grin. Miguel hummed in thought, drilling his thumbs in the center of his hollows.

"Mmmm no, I don't think I will," he teased smugly. He was about to comment on how the suit markings are practically a bullseye for what seemed to be his worst spot when a sharp elbow cracked him in the face.

He reeled back, hand clutching his now sore, and apparently bleeding, mouth. Miles rolled off his lap and sprawled on the floor, panting for breath before he noticed Miguel's busted lip.

"O-oh my gosh, did I do that? I'm so sorry, I didn't mean-" Miles rambled out an apology, cutting off when Miguel held up a hand to silence him.

"It's fine, it was an accident. Besides, this is nothing," he said smirking and gestured to his bloodied bottom lip. "Honestly it surprised me more than anything," he reassured, not wanting Miles to feel guilty over something so small.

"Still, I didn't mean to hit you in the face," he apologized, paused for a second and seemingly grew a bout of confidence, puffing out his chest. "B-but you were asking for it! Seriously, that's what you get for tickling Spider-Man!"

The retort made Miguel bark out a laugh, ruffling the kid's hair playfully. Miles rolled his eyes and shoved him away, but the smile never left his lips.

"Yeah yeah, it's all my fault. Now run along, go tell your friends how you managed to survive tickle monster O'Hara," he teased. Miles cringed at the nickname and let out a long, suffering groan.

"Don't call yourself that," he said, equal parts whiny and sassy. It only took a stern look from Miguel to have Miles running out of the room. Miguel chuckled to himself, pulling out his phone to take a selfie of his busted lip.

Peter had just sat down in the cafeteria about to chow down on a slice of pizza when he felt his phone buzz. He looked at the screen, noticing a new text from Miguel.

He opened the message, huffing out a laugh when he saw the picture of Miguel's busted lip with the caption, Mission Accomplished.

He tucked his phone back in his pocket, taking a large bite. He wasn't even done chewing when he heard fast paced footsteps skid to a halt behind him.

"You sold me out! What the hell man?"

Yeah... Mission accomplished.

#miles morales #miguel o'hara #peter b parker #gwen stacy #pavitr prabhakar #hobie brown #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman atsv #across the spiderverse #spiderman atsv fic #across the spiderverse fic #spiderman atsv tickle fic #across the spiderverse tickle fic #ticklish!miles #spiderverse tickle

[honestsycrets]

playing house | single parent au: mechanic!miguel x teacher!reader

❛ pairing | mechanic!miguel x teacher!reader; single parents au

❛ type | oneshot, explicit

❛ summary | gabi's on a hunt to get a mami. miguel doesn't really need help with it. or, Miguel trades mechanic work for love.

❛ tags | explicit, mechanic!miguel, first grade teacher!reader, some mention of hurt, heavy themes of voyeurism (both ways), single parents, unhygienic sxconditions, Spanish not translated, very domestic fic, f!reader, protective miguel, very light mutual jealousy.

❛ request fulfilled | Miguel is a single dad, Reader is his daughter's kindergarten teacher, and he is both very obviously crushing on her and very reluctant to say it. Fortunately, his daughter isn't! "Did you know my papi likes you?" Cue flustered Miguel. + BROOOO mechanic!miguel is hot please tell

❛ sy's notes | flashback to that one time a car fell on my tio. 😅

The job was a simple part replacement. A fizzled-out chunk of metal that would cost any single mother more in labor and puff costs at any mechanic shop. But not with Miguel, who was known around the barrio for his begrudging care. He’d do any job Lyla brought to him for any madre around who needed him.

He wrung his hands out on his stained top and lifted his head out of the hood of an old but faithful car. After a click and a lock, he turned his eyes toward the dusty cover. Syncopated beats trill from a radio ring background static that he’s long since zoned out to focus on his work. He wiped his forehead and looked at the trampled grass underneath a cheap plastic pool.

“Gabriella, bring me the manguera,” he called out to his little girl, who looked at the hose in her little pool bobbing with poppy bright toys. The older she got, the worse her loneliness became. Not due to any ill-doing of Miguel who always tried his best to be present. For some reason, Miguel couldn’t bring himself to date in anything but short bursts.

“Papi, look across the street. New neighbors!” Gabriella cooed delightfully. She splashed out of the pool with the long emerald green hose in hand, bobbing over on her long skinny legs. “It’s a girl. A pretty girl! And she’s looking right at you!”

Like that was a new occurrence. Miguel turned his hand over his sun-bright daughter’s short, sodden braids that whipped just over her shoulder. She stood in place, bouncing delightfully over newcomers. There were many viejitos in the cul-de-sac, but not enough kids.

“¿Y qué, mi vida?” he asked her. His hand shipped free from her hair. “She’s probably taking in the barrio.”

“I think she is! You!”

He threw a glance over his shoulder only to find your prying eyes eating him up from across the street. You speak to a pair of movers-- but your eyes slipped away from theirs, where he stood with his little girl. The hose dumped water onto the street. Water that he’d usually be extra concerned about wasting. Today, he was more interested in a game.

His dirty white t-shirt is matted to his back, soaked in the sweat of the day. He gripped the bottom of his t-shirt on either side and tugged it over his head. It pulls on his well-corded arms, protesting its release from his body. Miguel slipped it over his shoulder and proceeded to release bits of sweat from his thick hair. An adorable gasp fell free from your lips, replaced by your hand over your lush lips, snapping back to attention.

“You’re right, Gabi.”

He took the sputtering hose from her and cracked a begrudging smile. Gabriella waved eagerly-- and to his surprise, you waved back. If it wasn’t the hot sun beating down your face, it was the embarrassment on your face. You settled the sunglasses on the cute crook of your nose. With that, Gabriella helps him wash the car until her most hated part, drying it with old towels and bits of Miguel’s ripped old shirts.

“Hola!”

“Coño,” Miguel cursed in surprise, turning around to face you. In your hand was a clear plastic bag stuffed full of the filled corn husks, warmth steamed its sides. Miguel glanced down at the bag in your comparatively soft hands, drawing his sweaty shirt over his cut muscles to wipe away the sweat that slicked his dusky skin.

“I brought you and your lindita tamales.”

“Tamales!” Gabriella cooed, her hands cradling a limonada. They made it together, like clockwork every Sunday. “I love tamales!”

“Don’t old neighbors bring new one’s food?” Miguel bit out, a bit annoyed. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate food, it would save him countless bright-ass early meals dragging himself out of bed to make Gabriella something with school right around the corner. He’s annoyed at that star-bright smile you have whipped across your face. It stirred excitement he thought he killed a long time ago. “Or are you just a show-off?”

“I teach first grade at the school across the street,” you ignored his snark and looked none the more bothered by it. There’s some magic in a woman that didn’t feed into his shit. You provided Miguel with a name that felt familiar to all the orientation packets he received just this week. “Ya tú sabes, umm, at Carillo’s.”

Of course.

“That’s where I go!” Gabriella beams. “I’m Gabriella O’Hara and I’m going to be in first grade, right papi? This is my papi. His name is Miguel.”

Damn it all. Miguel slaps his sweaty shirt on the top of the car. You kneel down, offering her up the tamales instead of Miguel. He blinks through his sudden irritation, realizing that he’s fucked now. Gabriella grabs the plastic bag, giggling delightfully over them.

“Then maybe you’ll be in my class, Miss O’Hara.”

When he checks her orientation paperwork-- there it is. He suddenly felt the pressure of the ordeal, of the pretty next-door neighbor who wore flowy dresses and apparently, loved muscles. His eye darted out to the window, the movers zipping off in a whir of color, leaving you just there, spinning around in the driveway of your new home, nearly too sun-bright.

Maybe it’s tied to being a father, but Miguel notices little things you do. Some are ineffectual. Others are dangerous. You leave your bedroom window wide open as you change. Miguel sat outside on Gabriella’s swing on his second cup of coffee for the day when he noticed it for the first time.

You come in from your shower and scurry about your room nearly naked. Then, cupping your breasts between your hands, you whirled around for a set of underwear. From this far, he can’t quite make out the color. It might be red. Not a poppy red, but a deep, soothing red he recognizes from his dead wife’s wardrobe.

He wasn’t sure why you wouldn’t just change in the bathroom, but in any case, it was… dangerous. Any freak walking by could see you changing. Mimi’s room had very well-used blinds and yours did not. He turns his attention back to the newspaper on his lap. Nueva York stalker confesses to stabbing murder in five-year-old cold case. He scrunched his nose at the news and drank a coffee that had long since gone cold.

Sometime later, your front door swung open. Mimi busted through, a little girl with long black twists and black eyes that held a similar excitement for the weekend. It was her papi time. Gabriella doesn’t have that luxury, two homes full of warmth. Just one, with a papi who loved her more than life itself. Miguel hopes it’s enough. He left his newspaper on the bench as you settled her in the car, making his jog across the street.

“You should buy blinds,” Miguel said the second you shut the door. You jumped, your hand on the locket on your chest.

“Ay dios, it’s just you. You shouldn’t walk up on a woman like that, Miguel,” you laughed. “Especially not a single mother.”

“You’re painfully oblivious. Buy some blinds for your room. It isn’t safe.”

Dry as his tone was, it was laced with concern. If there was no one in your life to tell you what he thought was obvious, he would. “You saw me? How much did you... see?”

He responds with a dull stare, his gaze falling to the red strap of your bra that set slightly off-kilter along your slight shoulders. You sucked in a breath to calm yourself, your heart beating at a rapid pace behind your modest shirt. You reached up to hide the strap. A frown marred his contrite features.

“You look beautiful in red,” he found himself muttering, pushing off of the back of the car without another word. He beat himself up for that-- stupid, stupid response. Because of course you know you look gorgeous. He didn’t need to say it out loud.

“Gracias, papi,” you called after him.

He hoped he was not flung into the creep category after that winning display.

You bought blinds for your window and a swing for Mimi’s new, sturdy tree. Its long arms offer some reprieve from the heat, casting a shadow on the small house. It wasn't long before you spent days on heaps of homework from the kids and a glitter-bright pen to grade spelling tests.

It's nice to have a little bit of company as he works on cars and yard work, even if you watch him like a voyeur, blushing if he notices, gasping if he plays into this new little game. At some point, he voided his shirts altogether. It’s not long before Gabriella has a game of her own to play.

“Psst, Lyla. Vente, Lyla.”

Gabriella sits boredly in the shop after school. Sometimes in his office, other times in the shop during breaks. One of his technicians, Lyla, sat on an upside-down bucket by Miguel’s side as he worked on a car. This time, it was a stupid simple fix. The idiot ripped off their bumper parking too far on a curb. Lyla sat in gold coveralls, undoubtedly grinning behind that black mask slapped across her face. He didn’t need to look away from the clips he was applying to know they were both up to shit.

“Yeah?”

“Papi has a crush on my teacher. I think she could be my new mami. If--”

“Miguel has a crush?” His other tech, Peter chirped up with a hunk of sandwich in his fingertips. How was he always slacking off and eating? Miguel didn't know, but he was. “I can't believe it. He hasn’t had a crush since Tem--”

“I don’t have a crush,” Miguel responded. “Less scheming, more homework, kid. She told me you’re behind on schoolwork.”

She does so well on spelling tests, Miguel, you told him at parent-teacher conferences. But she never turns in homework.

Gabriella was not behind because she was stupid. She was behind because she was a stubborn little child who, Miguel knew, was trying to set him up. Lyla abandoned the bucket to walk over near Gabriella’s unicorn table, pulling out a microsized table and looking down at the stupid simple homework. Single-digit numbers were a painful waste of time to a kid who loved math.

“She’s single?”

“Yup,” Gabi chirped, scratching away at her coloring page with a fat purple crayon. “Mimi told me.”

“No boyfriend?”

“No boyfriend. I double-checked. And get this, she said she would come help me with homework.”

“Lyla.” Miguel shoved the opposite end of the bumper in place, securing it carefully. Lyla was bent down by Gabriella. So Papi has more time to see her! Gabriella whispered. He may not know what you’re saying, but he knows it’s bad by the way she looks at him. As though she were a cat might with a glass it was about to shatter on the floor. “You can go home now.”

His daughter doesn’t need any more of her devilish attributes.

“You fucked it alright, mujer. What did you hit?”

Miguel twisted a bit of the sidewall between his fingers to gauge the depth of the hole. Never mind that the back passenger wheel whistled away until it ran flat. It wasn’t the first time someone brought him a car that was fucked. It was the first time you had.

You never asked him for anything, not at the price of your pride. You simply… made it work. Just like Miguel made childcare work by leaving his shop to pick Gabriella up and leaving her bored as fuck every weekday until he could close up shop.

Today, Mimi and Gabriella were inside, playing with dolls after a warm dinner of arroz blanco and fatty pork chops. He wasn’t much a fan of your sickly sweet platano, but he tried it tonight after Gabriella hounded him. Don’t be rude, papi! He’s gotten used to coming home on Wednesday to dinner. It’s something that he realizes he’s missed: having someone to come home to.

“A pothole,” you murmured shyly. His forehead rippled into wrinkles, holding the chunk of broken-off rubber between his fingertips. He rubbed the exhaustion out of his dark eyes, minding the nervous twiddling of your fingers.

“A pothole,” he repeated after you. No matter how many times he considered it, it did not fit. His body was ripe with aggravated energy. He’s too tired for this. The shit he’d seen in his shop and you expected him to believe that you hit-- a pothole? “Qué mierda.”

Miguel set his hands on his hip, rolled on his heel, and stepped back to inspect his future work. His body thrummed, a tightness pulling with the sight of your shy smile. The truth tittered on your luscious little lips.

“I may or may not have hit those rocks by Doña Díaz’s casita.” One look around the street revealed the chunky, pointy rocks you referenced. Miguel flicked the bit of rubber onto the top of the car and looked at you. You were guilty as the day was long. “They weren’t that far off the curb before! I know that it’s bad. Do you think you could-- fix it?”

“You’re going to have to replace those two,” Miguel gestured. “What, did you not see the massive rocks on the side of the road? What were you doing? Eres una mama, you have to pay attention, por dios. You could have been hurt.”

Your eyes darted to the wheels. The nervousness was strong, nearly all-consuming, bidding you to shut up. Though it was a good question, the shame that flecked your eyes was enough to cause Miguel to move on. He knew you were likely inattentive, your mind hovering somewhere else than the quiet cul-de-sac.

“I… had a bad date, Miguel. I was upset and dizzy and… Don’t tell anyone, please.”

The pain of being a woman. His eyes soften as he reaches out, his large hand warm on your slight shoulder. A pulse of warmth rushed through his hand as you leaned in, your cheek plastered to his stained top. He smelled of oil and sweat, but somehow, you find it comforting. Your hands come over his back, tugging on the dark coveralls.

“It’s alright,” Miguel sighed. He'd tell you not to pick shit men-- but sometimes, as he knew, that didn't matter at all. “I’ll have it fixed.”

“I don’t have that much money, Miguel,” you began. “I have to take care of the kids, my house, Mimi. I…”

“No te preocupes. You can do something else for me.”

You drew in a small, choked breath. The type that settled in your chest and did not leave. Not until Miguel’s arms wound over your waist to soothe you through the pain and pressed a kiss that lasted entirely too long to the top of your head. It’s the first time he wants another.

“She is dating,” Peter said. “You know what that means? It means you’re on a time crunch. She could always meet the one!”

"I'm not concerned about it."

The one, Miguel shook his head as he paced past the car he was propping up. He never heard anything more ludicrous. There was no such thing as the one. There was only a range of possibilities to pick from. At any point, life can happen. Then your one is gone-- and you’re left with only the memories and a body to bury. Still, as he clambered underneath the car, he found that he quite didn’t like the thought of you out with anyone else... especially not men who may or may not spike your drink.

“You should ask her to a date. Like, more than playing house with sticky kids and lasagna.”

“She’s never made me lasagna.”

Peter sloppily suckled on his fingers, the juice running down his thin wrists. “Then what was lunch?”

“Pastelón,” he answers bitterly. “It’s… plantain lasagna.”

“Okay, I thought you didn’t like--”

“I don't-- I eat it because she spends time on it.”

Peter sucked in a breath, eyes wide. He’s about to say something terribly unuseful, something like how Miguel has it bad. Miguel knows he does, half-formed images of what a family could be every day he went to pick Gabriella up, homework done, and happily fed. A feat in itself.

In place of that, though, were the car’s melded, mechanical squeals. He has but a moment and a half-formed plan that goes up in smoke the next second that it falls on his arm. He hears Peter’s half-formed, panicked shout to Lyla and recalls the flurry of steps and medical attention sometime later.

Admittedly, he did tell you to be careful.

When he wakes up, so does everyone else. Lyla chastizes him with her hands balled up on her hips, Peter sobs almost twice as much as Gabriella does until the two are dead asleep against his bed. Miguel’s eyes have rolled way too far.

“Is he finally asleep?” you peep into his heavy hospital door with a ginger knock of your knuckles. Miguel throws a look at Peter’s squishy face, half slumped over.

“Hermosa, I thought he’d never stop,” he grumbled.

“You scared him.”

Tch. Miguel watched you pick up Gabriella, settling her on the stiff pull-out bed. He foggily asked you what time it was, close to the end of visiting hours. He’d need to arrange something for Gabi with Lyla taking care of the shop. It itched at his throat.

“Gabi too. Should I…”

“Take her home for me,” he grumbled. “I’ll be back tomorrow. It’s just a broken arm.”

“You coughed up blood, Miggy. You could have died if Peter wasn’t there.”

Miggy. You finally used the nickname somewhere between Wednesday dinner dates and a car slumping on him. Miguel throws a growl to the side, using his non-fucked hand to pet the top of Peter’s head. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew you were right.

“What happens if… something happens to you?”

“With Gabi?” he asks.

"Sí. With everything."

You nod, looking idly at his little daughter, still in her school clothes. You brought her as soon as school was over, soothed the panic in her voice, the thought of becoming an orphan just because the car had cracked his arm. She wouldn’t have remembered her mother’s death, it was far too long ago now.

“Lyla. Why the face? If you’re jealous, know that was the agreement with my wife before she was murdered.”

You hadn’t known you were making a face, but you were to the trained eye. Some small pout of your lip, tears welling at the corner of your eyes. Miguel shoves himself up on the bed, straining sore muscles. It was going to be a long night. A longer month or two until he was up and running again.

“I’m not making a face. It's just... You were reckless when you're usually so careful. I'm wondering why. I'm sorry.”

"It's fine," Miguel urged you to come closer. "Come here."

You slid into his chair, tentatively sneaking your hand on top of his. Miguel wanted to tell you more. There was not another friend nearly so close, one that would take care of everything and anything he needed. He's suddenly aware of his situation. It would be difficult to make a woman secure that he'd not tied down yet. You clearly care-- based on the insecurity in your eyes.

You’re on a time crunch. She could always meet the one.

He doesn't want to miss his shot. He brought your hand to his lips, straining with a pained little grunt. You stood up to help him, allowing his lips to flutter over the back of your hand in a small kiss at his urging.

“Trust me. She’s not a threat,” he said. “You’ll take Gabi with you?”

“Of course, Miggy. Anything you need.”

Securing a relationship would just have to wait.

The first day back, Miguel sent Gabriella off with Lyla. Mimi is off with her papa, leaving you with nothing but time. He finally saw his projects through without Peter loitering over his shoulder, revitalizing cars with bad radiators and fizzled-out air compressors. As if Peter was the boss and he were the employee. The grease under his fingers feels more like Miguel than any squeaky clean shower you’ve helped him take. Yes, you’ve helped him take. He could have asked Lyla or Peter, but why over-extend their lives when you lived in his home for the past month to take care of Gabriella anyway?

He wonders what you thought, stripping him down to nothing, seeing his naked thighs, watching him clean sensitive bits that, as you lied, you were not looking at. He finds it cute, the way you tried to look away, but of course-- you always snuck a look. You’re nosy by nature. He’s never been ashamed of his body, though. For all the work you did, he thinks you deserve a look.

“Miggy,” you slipped through the side door, your heels clicking over a greased-up floor. He hopes you don’t fall, arms deep in the hood of a shiny dark blue convertible. It’s nearly perfect. “I got your message. You said we need to talk?”

“Don’t slip.”

Miguel whirled a wrench into its place, slammed the hood shut, and rubbed the grease on his hands together. Like it will come off his callouses. Miguel meets you half way, offering you his greased up hand. You look down at his hand, then up to Miguel again. He half thinks you won’t take it, but you do, allowing him to whirl you in a spin before lifting you on top od the hood of the car.

“Ay Miggy--” you cursed, looking down at the car. It shone bright, its smooth metal cold under your bare thighs. He pins you in place as you attempt to wiggle off, nearly jiggling your way onto his lap. “The owner will be mad--”

“It’s mine and I’m not.” He explains. “I know what I want.”

“You want…?”

“For the work on your car.” It’s cute how clueless you act, holding your breath as his fingers course past your bare thighs. You barely manage to choke the words out, your hands inching on his. He replaces himself between your thighs. You both know that you more than made up for the few hundred dollars in repairs with the work you’d done for him in a month. Holding your breath, you nod.

“Tell me.”

“I want a night with you.”

You didn’t know what to say, leaning your trembling fingers up to the bits of dark brown hair that accentuated the wrinkles on the corner of his eyes. You met his eyes, trained on your own, challenging you to respond. Words formed in a mishmash of nonsense on your tongue. You take the chance to press your lips on his, your hand suddenly cradling the side of his face for some stability. You were hardly comfortable on his car, but Miguel didn’t seem to care, biding your lower lip to open and let him in. You relinquish, savoring the distant taste of roasted coffee on his tongue, his fingers teasing along your thighs.

“That’s not an answer,” Miguel pulled back from your lips for an instant. He graces your neck with soft kisses, leaving the occasional bite and tug just in case-- he doesn’t need another man thinking he has so much as a chance. Your big man pins you down onto the car like you were weightless, any willingness to inch away tempered by his mass.

“Depends,” you answered. “I want this to be an every night kind of thing.”

“Consider it a trade.” He chuckled against your neck, the heat from his lips traveled across the valley of your breasts. You complied with his desire and let him slip your breasts free from your romper. His mouth closed his mouth over your nipple. His greasy hands melded your breasts between his desperate hands, tongue prodding your nipple fat. Your legs met his hungry performance by pulling him forward, his scratchy belt against your clothed cunt.

“Careful,” he teased. His hand fell to his bulge, unbuttoning his stained pants. You watched him pull himself free, pulling panties and romper alike to the side of your lips. Your lips parted, much like that very first day you met him, sundered by the sight of his cock. This time, fully hard. He doesn’t enter your cunt-- no, he’s patient, slotting himself between your folds for a teasing grind. His dick twitched in response, eager to finally fuck you. “You’ll fall off.”

“It’s your fault. You could have asked over dinner.” He greets your complaint with a nod, flicking your other breast. He envelops the other nipple between his mouth, his teeth grazing along the sensitive skin. You take a long breath, hips leaning up against his firm length.

“Like that would be anything new. We always have dinner,” Miguel murmured in protest. “A far better use of our time is soaking your pretty cunt with my cum on this car before dinner.”

He felt your cunt clench at nothing. His hips, thrusting against your mound, nudged over your wet little folds, knocked against your greedy clit. Before you could respond, Miguel popped off your nipple again, “You like that thought? Going to dinner leaking?”

“Miggy, por dios,” you complained. “Stop dry humping and give it to me.”

He huffed darkly, snatching one of your thighs and leaning back. He spreads your lips, inspecting his work. You were wet, but not just wet, soaking his car. Miguel brought his other palm to wipe your wetness away, jerking himself with the fluid. He tests your reaction by nudging the head of his cock against your unprepared hole.

“Miguel,” you bit out, this time a warning.

“Ya te oigo,” Miguel loomed over you, pinning your shoulder back to his glistening car. You don’t debate him on that, allowing him to say whatever he wants if it would just get him inside. Miguel relinquishes control, pushing inside of your tightness. He bit back a groan, pushing past your body’s resistance, throbbing against your core. Your hands fisted his dirty shirt, cunt split wide on his cock, and glad for it.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his hands securing themselves on your hips. He gives you a moment to catch your breath before he pulls nearly free, slamming forth just a moment later. Breath punched out of your throat, his cock rocking your cunt nice and full. You loved this-- looking beautiful and full just for him. He knew it too, “Hermosa.”

Miguel held his arm tight around your thigh, holding you flush against his rutting hips. His balls slapped your ass, pulling tight. You were distantly aware of his thumb at your clit, leaning your hips into his thrusts the best you could. You could only squirm to keep yourself upright on his car despite feeling your body sliding into his. His thumb worked in insistent, tight circles, forcing the pleasure to burrow in your low belly, tightening over him. It’s no marker of your performance, you think, hoping he’d give you another chance to be anything but a toy on his cock.

“No, no puedo--” you whined, your hands dipping under his shirt to scratch at his finely cut muscles, knowing you were about to gush.

“Do it,” Miguel grunts in response, his thumb more insistent. You’re not entirely proud of the way you came, creaming his cock desperately. He held strong, smothering his own groans if only for the pleasure of hearing your passionate cries. You come to moments after, Miguel’s thrusts now intent on his own pleasure.

“Come on, papi,” you worshipped. “Cum in me.”

“Fuck,” Miguel complied, his dirty nails causing sharp indentions on your thigh and hip. His sticky cum fills you in a few deep thrusts, each more forceful than the last, and he’s spent. If he was dirty before, he was filthy now. Miguel catches your lips in a lingering kiss, going soft in your body. He knew the second he pulled out your cum was soaking his now-dented car.

His eyes peeled open to find your gaze on him, tracing fresh superficial scratches on his belly. Of course, you are-- you’re a hungry addict. Miguel pulled himself free and looked for a cloth that wasn’t grease soaked to clean your cunt with. You piece yourself together and slide off his car.

“Let’s go.”

“¿Qué?” he zips himself back into his pants.

“You promised me dinner.”

He sighs-- just as long as it wasn’t lasagna.

There’s something attractive about your love of children.

He thinks it’s likely because he’s never had that himself. His mother was a beast of a woman. Never affectionate. At least, not with him. After his wife’s subsequent death, life proceeded in a vacuum. The years passed: first one. Then six. Then he was here, holding a bundle of jewel-bright roses against an uncharacteristically clean button-up, walking down the dull blue carpet of the beige hallway to the pod that usually held the kids. For all the days you tolerated him smeared and slathered, you deserved a good display.

They were usually alight with noise, rambling on about their latest toy or prattling on about a mommy that Gabriella just did not have. The more she grew, the more important it became to have that for her-- maybe it was more for himself. Today, that hall was dead of life.

“Gabi, I hear your papi,” you called from somewhere inside. He hears her subsequent pitter-patter of feet across the carpet, popping out with Mimi from the door before he can open it. Miguel cocked his head, a sigh working on his lips. They whirled the door shut. Gabi bolted to your would-be desk and slapped her tanned palms on the tabletop.

“Maestra, maestra!”

Ah, damn it all. Miguel’s hand hovers around the knob, chewing on the next thought. He couldn’t really blame the kid for what she was about to say, because he knew exactly what she was about to do.

“¿Mande?”

“I have something to tell you, it’s really important. Papi likes you, did you know my papi really, really likes you?”

There’s a pause. Then a slight, amused giggle from Mimi. It’s short-lived as he pulls open the door, loathing this dumb thing called Teacher’s Week that leaves him with a bundle of flowers and instant regret.

“Sí, Gabriella. I know he does. I like him too. He’s so cute.”

If he weren’t so dark, he’d worry about the flush in his face with the embarrassment of being outed by his little girl. He stares at your hands on Gabriella’s, then at the small sea of desks and colorful name tags to break some of the tension, hardening his face to shield it from the embarrassment. Was he really so obvious?

“Hola Miggy.”

You scoot out of your chair.

“Hola,” he sighs, remembering he was holding flowers. He slides them into your hands, hooking his hands on his slender hips. “This is… Gabi wanted to give you flowers.”

“I never said that,” she chirped, bouncing his way. “You said--”

“Gabriella.” Miguel hisses, his tone sharp at her interjection. She goes dead silent by Mimi's side, staring up at him with watery eyes. He jerks his head in the direction of the quartet of desks she sits at. “Go get your things.”

“I think Papi is embarrassed,” you whisper, crouching down to rub her little back, soothing down her milky white top. “I’ll talk to him and make it better, okay? Go with Mimi.”

“Okay.”

Mimi bounded off behind Gabi, stuffing her bag with her colorful work and chunky crayons. Miguel exhaled air, staring at her powdery blue backpack for something other than the complete and utter embarrassment that yet someone else had called him out. If it wasn't Peter, it was his daughter.

Had he been this obvious the whole time?

“Don’t be too hard on her tonight,” He peered down at you, small in the grand scheme of his height and musculature. You pecked a small kiss on his lips, stroking his week-old stubble, just enough to cool Miguel’s teetering nerves. “It’ll be better when she finds out.”

#miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara/reader #atsv imagine #atsv imagines #miguel o'hara smut #atsv fic #atsv fanfiction #miguel/reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel fic #atsv x reader #across the spiderverse imagine #across the spiderverse fic #spider 2099 x reader

[fettuccin-e]

So Good

Kinktober Day 17: Praise Kink

Tags: Miguel O'Hara x Reader, afab!fem!reader, unprotected piv, fingering (r!recieving), praise kink of course, Miguel has a filthy fucking mouth, shy!reader, miguel going feral because of course he does (w/c: 1.2K)

A/N: Back on my Miguel bullshit for my Kinktober catch-up of course. I cannot help it when he is so big and broad and sexy okay??? Anyway enjoy him goin' feral for his girl for 1k words hehehe (For the month, I have been following this list from flightlessangelwings!)

He first noticed it after a mission, and cursed himself for never seeing it before. 

It had been innocent, tugging you close to his side as you both walked through the portal back to HQ, whispering a “you did good out there,” into your ear. Innocent enough.

But you had practically squeaked, your eyes looking anywhere but him, nearly pulling out of his grasp. Miguel saw how your thighs clenched together at the compliment, and it takes everything in him not to take you in the hallway right then, bury his face between them.

He doesn’t. He opts for filing it away in his mind, saving the information for later, somehow knowing that it would be important.

You both hadn’t been together for very long then, still in the trial stage of this new beautiful thing between you both. He was still hesitant to kiss you then, you had still been hesitating to go to his apartment with him.

But Miguel watches, waits, and of course, gathers more information. Starts complimenting you more on missions, in the office. Tells you what good work you’ve done, how you look so pretty in the new dress he bought you. It makes you fluster nearly immediately, your gaze pinned to the floor as you smile shyly, and fuck, those gorgeous, gorgeous thighs clench together every time. Taunting him.

Finally, after months of watching, waiting, he gives in.

He’s got you spread out beneath him, practically sobbing as he fucks you deep on his thick fingers. You loosen up so easily for him, desperate for it, your slick fucking dripping around his hand. Finally, after so long waiting to tell you exactly what goes on in his mind when he has you like this,  he lets himself speak aloud.

“So good, hermosa, taking me so well,” he murmurs, and watches as your eyes fly open, a strangled moan flying from your lips. He can’t help the smile that plays at his lips. “You like that baby? Like hearing how good you are, how perfect you sound when I’m playing with this gorgeous pussy?” He can fucking feel the way your cunt clenches around his fingers with his words.

“Fuck, oh my God, Miguel-” you gasp, but you can’t seem to help yourself as you grind your hips towards Miguel’s hand. He adds another finger, stretching you wide to take his cock. “You- you can’t just-”

Miguel growls, leaning forward to nip at your jaw with fanged teeth. “Oh baby, of course I can. I can tell you how fucking good this pussy feels around my fingers, how it’s going to feel even better around my cock. This little cunt gets so wet for me, doesn’t she?” You whine wordlessly, and Miguel grinds the calloused pads of his fingers into that sweet spot that makes you fucking scream for him. “Answer me,” he snarls.

“Yes! Yes, ‘m so fucking wet, need you to fuck me so bad, Miguel,” you cry, humping your hips desperately into his hand, chasing your orgasm. 

“Come on, sweetheart, soak my fucking hand,” he says, deep and dark, his eyes trained on the way your entrance leaks around his fingers. He reaches a thumb up to rub hard circles into your clit, and chuckles darkly when you let out a shaky moan with your orgasm, clenching around his thick fingers and somehow getting even wetter.

“So fucking pretty when you cum for me,” he mumbles, and your eyelids flutter shut, trying to breathe through the aftershocks.

Miguel pulls his hand out of your gaping entrance, bringing his hand to his mouth and sucking your slick off his fingers. “Tastes so good, baby,” he murmurs, and you whine softly under your breath, completely at a loss for words.

Leaning down, he licks into your mouth, giving you a taste of yourself as he notches the thick, leaking head of his cock to your entrance, pushing in, in, in.

Like every time you take him, it’s so much, and you gasp into his mouth as his cock reaches so deep inside, spreading you wide enough that you fear you’ll break.

“I know, amorcita, I know, it’s so much, isn’t it?” he whispers against your lips as he pushes in to the hilt. "You’re taking it so well for me though, baby, so fucking good for me.” 

He can’t help the groan that wrenches its way out of his throat when you clench around him like a vice, moaning high in the back of your throat. His hips move of their own accord, pulling slowly out of you before he shoves himself back in, and it feels like he reaches even deeper.

“God, Miguel-” you moan, “it feels so good, you feel so big.” And Miguel’s vision blurs at the edges, his eyes tingeing red at your words.

He loses himself to it, the way your cunt squeezes him every time he pushes inside, hot and tight and fucking maddening. You claw at his shoulders every time he presses deep, grinding the tip of his cock into your cunt while overwhelming pleasure sparks up your spine.

He wraps his strong arms around the small of your back, tugging you up into a nearly impossible arch as he fucks into you like a goddamn animal, your head pressed back into the pillows. “So fucking perfect,” he snarls, and God, he’s not even talking to you anymore. His eyes are unfocused, wild, unable to focus on your face or the sight of your swollen pussy as you take him over and over and over. But he doesn’t stop talking. 

“Fucking perfect, beautiful girl, taking my cock so goddamn well. My fucking girl, so good to me with her perfect pussy, feels so good, Dios, necesito este cuerpo constantemente, mi nena, mierda-”

Your head swims, blood pounding in your ears as he takes and takes and takes. You feel tears fall down your cheeks, choked moans forcing their way from your lungs.

Your orgasm rips through you without warning, without buildup, your body just locking up and electrified like a livewire as you soak his cock, his thighs. 

“Good girl,” he rasps. “That’s my good fucking girl.”

“Shit- Miguel-” you keen, but he only shushes you, nearly hissing through his fangs, as he pushes as deep as he can into your body, pumping you full as his cock pulses inside of you. It’s fucking everything, pure bliss, and you both tremble through it together. He lowers your hips slowly back down to the bed, keeping himself buried deep inside while you quake through the aftershocks.

Time passes, but you can’t tell how fast it does. Only that you try to match your breathing together, Miguel wiping the tears off your cheeks. “Fucking perfect,” he whispers, but you’re too fucked out to respond.

He pulls out slowly, rolling you to your side, and plastering himself to your back. You can hear the way he breathes you in, and you settle into his warm body.

“Got a thing for compliments, baby?” he murmurs into your hair.

“You ass, I was trying to be subtle about that,” you admonish, but you can’t help the way you smile.

“Can’t hide anything from me, sweetheart,” he chuckles, his chest rumbling against your back. You tilt your head to the side, and Miguel leans to meet you in a kiss.

“I’ve still got my secrets, O’Hara,” you mutter against his lips, and Miguel grins.

“If you say so, baby.”

#oh miguel with your tortured soul and big dick #let me fix you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara smut #miguel ohara x reader #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 x you #spiderman 2099 smut #across the spiderverse fic #across the spiderverse smut

[frost-queen]

It goes down to the last second (Reader x Miguel O'Hara)

Requested by: Anon; Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco@subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine, @panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury,  @imagines-by-her,  @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn

Summary: Miguel and Reader are dating, yet when he fails to keep your father (a cop) save, he is being made clear to stay away from you. At first Miguel tries to do so, but fails when his love for you is too grand. One unfortunate moment will decide if Miguel can save everyone?

Sirens were going off loud. Red and blue flashes dancing like a party against the surrounding buildings. A truck stuck in the air with spiderweb. Underneath it a cop sitting down. His hand touching his shoulder with a pained expression. Up in the air near the truck he hung on a web. Hand still out stretched as the shock underneath his mask was wide. A second he was too late. A second and he could’ve grabbed him. Now he was on the ground, groaning in pain.

Out of all the people he should’ve saved it was him. The cop. Your dad. A few other cops ran towards him, trying to help him up. Your dad slapped their hands away, shouting at them. He got up on his own strength, still holding his shoulder. His sunglasses had fallen to the ground. His hand went up to him. – “O’Hara!” – he called out as Miguel’s hand dropped lifeless down.

“I already told you the city doesn’t need you! Again you have proven it!” – your dad made clear. Miguel dropped down, cracking the street underneath his heavy drop. He slowly rose, enlarging the effect he had over people. Some cops ducked down, rather wanting to hide.

Your dad stood his ground when Miguel approached him. All ego and attitude in his stride. Miguel laughed loud. – “Look around! If it wasn’t for me you’d be dead.” – he replied in a hard tone. Your dad clenched his jaw. – “You are the very reason freaks like you roam the city!” – your dad insulted making Miguel clench his hand into a fist. – “You wouldn’t survive a day without me!” – he answered loudly. – “You are the problem O’Hara.” – your dad wasn’t afraid to poke Miguel in the chest. Miguel laughed again.

“Take a look around!” – your dad spoke finding that Miguel’s ego was getting to big. – “This is on you!” – Miguel was still chuckling, as he looked around. Slowly it started to sink in with him. Seeing the damage around town. Cops helping each other up. Frightened civilians looking at the damage. The truck caught in between buildings. A water hose spraying water up like a fountain as the firefighters were trying to shut it off. Here and there rubble from the fight. – “And in the end…” – your dad sighed out. – “You didn’t even catch them…” – he finished sounding disappointed.

Miguel swallowed deep at the catastrophe he had caused. It was true. In the end he hadn’t caught him. He was still roaming the city. Waiting to strike more fear wherever he went. – “People keep getting hurt around you O’Hara!” – your dad made clear making Miguel turn his head back to him. Miguel could sense it like a tingle. He knew what your father was going to say before he had even spoke it. It simultaneously made him clench his hand into a fist. Gaze lowered to the ground, awaiting the words. – “You stay away from my daughter!” – your dad made clear.

The look in his eyes deadly serious. Despite already anticipating the words, it still grabbed him by surprise. Miguel shot his head up. – “You can’t!” – Miguel answered in protest. – “If you come near her. I’ll shoot you!” – your dad threatened giving Miguel way out. Miguel’s fist trembled with rage wanting to punch something so bad. He held himself in not wanting to make things worse. So he turned around, walking off. On his way off he punched against a garbage container as it glided over the street, smacking into a wall.

Your dad shook his head, finally succumbing to the heavy pain in his shoulder. Two cops neared him, helping him stay on his feet. You shot up hearing the door finally open. – “Dad!” – you called out having waited for him up till 2 am. He slightly groaned dropping his bag on the ground. When you went to the door and saw his arm in a strap, you gasped loud. – “What happened!” – you asked as he went to sit down in his sofa with a deep sigh. You came sitting in the sofa beside him, leg pulled up with you. He took a deep breath, placing his good hand on your knee.

“Go to bed Y/n. You’ve got work tomorrow.” – he nudged you off not leaving much room for you to protest. Obeying you got up. Giving him a goodbye kiss and leaving for your room. After you had closed the door behind you, you went towards your window. Opening it to look outside. The cold breeze catching your hair. Sticking you head out, you looked curiously around. – “Miguel?” – you said softly. It remained silent. – “Miguel.” – you tried again, this time a bit louder. It was unusual for him not to show himself to you.

He would always come when you call for him. – “Miguel?” – you tried a third time already not expecting a response. Sighing loud you grabbed for your phone. You dialled his number, waiting for a response. Miguel who stuck to a building with his hand, looked down at his phone buzzing. Your name appearing on his screen. Lowering his gaze, he clicked his phone off. The screen turning black. His eyes went up, watching you from afar.

He had a good view of your room from up here. He watched as you put your phone down, staring at the screen before tugging it away. The window shut again and a few moments later the lights went out. Miguel took a deep breath. It took a lot of effort of him to tear himself away from you. His heart paining with what he was putting himself through. Tearing himself away from you. If only he had saved your dad, he wouldn’t be in this situation. He would still be able to love you the way he wanted.

You had been working for almost half a day as you decided to get a break. Get some fresh air. You were about ten steps out of the building as you heard some commotion. Some people running straight ahead, passing you by. – “Get back inside!” – one of them shouted waving their hand wildly at you. Some people around you started to bump against you, wanting to rush inside. Others just ran into the building where you worked hoping to find some shelter there.

You were unclear to what was happening. Then you heard loud laughter as a villain was flying through the streets on his hoverboard. It made you gasp loud as he dropped objects to the ground. The moment it hit the ground a smoke sizzled out of it. It made you cough loud, covering up your mouth with your arm. Not a moment later swung O’Hara in view. Miguel sensed you around, dropping to the ground.

“O’Hara.” – you said as he came in your direction. You expected a soft approach, but got greeted instead with a brusque one. Miguel knocked you out of the way with a rather harsh push. You nearly got smacked against the building you worked at. – “Are you stupid? Inside!” – he ordered brutally.

It caught you off guard at how rude he was. Miguel shot some webs at the villain up in the air. – “Don’t make me come and save you!” – he said over his shoulder. Although you couldn’t see his expression through the mask, the intentions were clear. He was angry. Feeling hurt, you ran inside trying not to cry about it. Miguel tore his head away not wanting to stand too still with his own feelings. It would only cloud his judgement now. He shot out a web, going after the villain.

By the toilets, you couldn’t hold it anymore, crying quietly. A co-worker came up to you, comforting you, telling you it was nothing to be scared off. How ignorant she was. You weren’t crying for the threat. Rather crying because the one you loved was treating you coldly. Having no idea what made him act this ruthless towards you all of the sudden.

When you were cried out, you returned to your desk. Simply continuing your work while everyone was busy gossiping about the latest attack. They were chattering about all the evil they had done and how O’Hara still hadn’t caught him. You had no ears for it, being the only to work further. Needing to set your mind off his rudeness.

Miguel sighed loud standing in front of your work building. Ever since yesterday, he had hated himself for being so rude and cold towards you. It wasn’t in his nature to be this cruel towards you. Your dad’s warning having overtaken him. He couldn’t remain this cruel to you. It would eat him alive. His love for you was just too much. This was the reason he found himself at your work place as himself. Miguel.

No suit or mask to hide himself behind. His true self where you could easily read his expressions. He made his way into the building, taking the elevator up to your floor. He received a few stares as he wasn’t easily to be overlooked. His presence always noticeable. He smiled sheepishly at some of your co-workers. How humble he stood. Fingers entangled as he looked around for you. There he saw you. Sitting behind your desk clustered with a few other desks on the office island.

Someone nudged you when Miguel came walking over. It made you look up, eyes widening at his presence. Before he could reach you, you got up. Talking a walk around the desk island. – “Y/n?” – Miguel spoke with furrowed brows. He went around the desk island going after you. You darted between other desks wanting to stay a good few feet away from him. – “Y/n!” – Miguel called out noticing you were increasing the distance between the two of you.

 “Y/n! stand still!” – he made clear trying not to yell at your office. The two of you were already the main attraction at the office, no need to add some extra drama. – “Y/n!” – he shout-whispered speeding up his pace. You yelped zigzagging around the office to say away from him. Miguel went another way trying to out-smart you. Looking over your shoulder, you couldn’t see him at first. Continuing to head on, you bumped against someone who immediately moved an arm around you. It was Miguel as it made you gasp soft.

He slightly pushed you out of sight around the corner to where the toilets would be. Away from prying eyes. You got cornered against the wall. – “What do you want?” – you shout-whispered to not cause a scene at work. – “Why were you avoiding me?” – he asked in a hushed tone. – “Oh I don’t know spiderboy take a guess.” – you answered keeping your voice low, arms crossed. Miguel moved his arm up against the wall over your head. – “So you are mad.” – he said leaning down. That intriguing stare of you making your knew weak.

It made you scoff at how unaware he was sounding. Miguel took a deep breath. – “Look about yesterday I was an ass.” – he said. – “You think?” – you answered with sarcasm. Miguel took you by the chin, wanting you to look at him. – “I am sorry.” – he breathed out. – “I…I…it was a mistake to act this cold to you. I wanted to distance myself from you, but I can’t.” – he confessed.

“Why would you distance yourself from me?” – you asked him. Miguel shook his head lightly. – “Just know I can’t do it. I love you Y/n and no one can take me away from you.” – he replied taking you by your arms. – “I can’t give us up. I love you too much for that. Please Y/n know I never intended to deliberately push you away.“ – he went on, his expression begging for forgiveness. You took a soft breath. – “I love you too Miguel. More than anything.” – you told him, moving your arms around his neck. Miguel leaned down kissing your lips tenderly.

*

Evil laughter filled the air. Screams followed as the villain zoomed past on his hoverboard. He dropped bombs down as they exploded on the streets. Causing chaos and panic. A bomb came close as it shook the ground. You screamed loud as the building you were on seemed to shift. A new set of bombs were released as it made the side of the building gave in. It started to shake and tremble, slowly shifting a bit forwards as it made everyone inside lose their balance.

You lost your balance and fell, rolling down to the balcony with a few others. The balcony cracked as it hung lower then it used to be. A man rolled hard against the railing hitting his chest. The stone cracked as it gave way behind him. The man’s dying scream being the last you heard of him. You rolled against the railing, grabbing a hold of one of the thick stone pillars.

The balcony shifted again, descending a few shocks closer to the ground it hovered upon. Another lady screamed loud as the villain came flying above her head. You held onto the pillar waiting for Miguel to step in. It wouldn’t take him long. You gasped loud when a piece of the balcony cracked and crumbled to the ground.

The girl who was with you on the balcony screamed her lungs out. She tried to get up, wanting to run inside the building again thinking it was saver there. Her balance was shaky and unsteady as she tried to hurry inside. The ground underneath her feet shook, sending her diving to her stomach with a loud scream. Not a moment later shot a web out to her. She got lifted up in the air, caught by Miguel moments later. With his arm around her, he swung around guiding her down safely to the ground. Meanwhile the balcony kept shaking and shifting as it wasn’t going to hold for much longer.

Hearing a web shot, it made you turn your head. Miguel landing onto the balcony. – “What are you doing here!” – he shouted upon seeing you. – “You aren’t supposed to be here!” – he was angry at you. You couldn’t answer, frozen with fear that the slightest action would make the balcony crumble to the ground with you on it. You were very up high. At least ten stories high. – “I…” – Miguel started being cut off by the villain giving him a kick. Miguel got pushed away, smacking against the building next to it. The villain turned his metallic mask to you. 

An eternal smirk plastered on it. It’s eyes dark and alluring. It laughed behind it’s mask to you. Miguel clenched his jaw, pushing himself off against the building. He flung himself at the villain, wrapping his arms around him. The villain’s hoverboard started to spin around. Miguel and the villain spinning around mindlessly. You called it out feeling the balcony shift. Lowering more till it would reach it’s breaking point. Miguel widened his eyes giving the villain a kick. He dropped onto the balcony wanting to approach you but felt the stone crack underneath his weight. – “Just… just stay there Y/n.” – he said with calm gestures. You nodded as if you had anywhere else you could go to.

The villain attacked Miguel again, wrestling with him on the balcony. The stone pillars behind you began to give in as you felt it. A sudden loss of vast structure made you fall backwards. Miguel gasped loud, shooting a web at you. It stuck to your chest, keeping you in place with a firm tug. Hanging over the railing by just his web. You held onto the web for security. Hearing the sirens and the commotion underneath you. You shouldn’t look, but still you looked. How small the people looked from up here. It made you shut your eyes closed. – “Miguel!” – you cried out as the breeze made your body swing gently.

Up on the balcony was Miguel grunting. Fighting off the villain with one hand as his other was stretched out, holding on to you. Giving out punches with one hand wasn’t nearly as effective as he wanted. The villain kept bugging him. Miguel fell forwards as you gasped loud, feeling yourself drop a few inches. – “Miguel!” – you called out again in a panic. The villain heard you call out his name, turning his head to where he saw the web go over the railing.

Knowing down below you were hanging onto it. The villain chuckled as he kicked Miguel. Miguel fell to the ground again trying his best to keep a hold of you. The villain kept taunting him as Miguel punched and kicked him off. The villain’s hoverboard was to no attention to him as it suddenly flew across on his command. Cutting the web as it was in a straight line. The web snapped as your breath caught in your throat.

“Nooooo!” – Miguel shouted running up to the edge and jumping off. You were falling. Gravity taking you down as you could do nothing. Not a scream leaving your lungs. Miguel stuck his hand out, shooting a web your way. The web made it’s way down trying to reach you as you kept falling. Eyes vastly upon him. In your eyes the sign of tears. Feeling the wind shift underneath you, you slowly closed your eyes. Miguel’s web sticking to your chest as he tried to pull it up.

The impact made your body bounce off the floor as your head had hit it hard. Miguel’s eyes widened when he saw you lay down on the ground. He dropped down beside you. – “Y/n?” – he said getting on his knees. There was no reaction. – “Y/n!” – he cried out putting his hand underneath your head. He pulled away feeling the wetness on his suit. Blood. Miguel let his head fall back, screaming out a cry of agony and pain.

The people around him whispering and pointing as the police tried to keep them at a distance. Miguel lowered his head, letting it rest against yours. – “I’m sorry…” – he said as his voice cracked. – “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.” – the tears rolled down his cheek underneath his mask. If only he had reacted a few seconds sooner. He might have saved you. If only…

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

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!  

#imagine #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse fic #atsv #atsv miguel #spiderman #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderverse #miguel x you #miguel x reader #miguel o hara #miguel x y/n #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #spiderverse #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel o'hara imagine #imagine miguel o'hara #oscar isaac #oscar issac characters #atsv imagines #atsv fanfic

[livelaughloveloak]

𓂅 WISHUROSES ⊰ 🎡

𖦹 pairing : earth1610!miles morales x reader

𖦹 summary : random scenarios and headcanons of miles as your boyfriend

𖦹 author's note : y'all I'm literally running out of ideas so I would appreciate it if you guys sent me some requests 😭 btw this isn't proofread

you and him definitely have a snapstreak but it was on accident. he randomly snapped you and you'd snap him back on a daily so now you two are just stuck with a 200+ snapstreak.

he bought you a Polaroid camera for your birthday and you ended up using up most of the film on him.

you have the pictures up on the board hanging up in your room

HE'S A COMPLETE SWEET HEARTTTT through actions or through text he'll show his love for you either way.

you pulled back from the tight hug miles pulled you into and looked up at his face. "miles you have that smug look on your face again." you poked his cheek and laughed. miles gasped and was quick to defend himself although he was in fact smiling like an idiot. "I do not!!"

if he's not busy with spiderman business, school, family problems, or hanging out with you then he's busy texting you instead.

he might go to an advanced private school but he refuses to write sentences properly.

you'd receive messages from him like these

inaminit

whaddup

nuhuh

luv u

wya?

he'll abuse the living hell out of emojis when texting you

"yup 😎😎😎😎😎😎💪💪💪"

"wdym no ☹️☹️😒😒🤨🤨🤨"

omw Mami 😋😋😋🤟🏿🤟🏿🤟🏿🤟🏿🤟🏿🤟🏿

he'll ask you for help when it's washday for his hair. his scalp is sensitive so you make sure to be extra careful

he has your contact saved as mi alma. one time his mom saw the contact name pop up on his phone and questioned him about it. he freaked out and started blabbering nonsense

he tells you stories about his adventures when his uncle aaron was still alive.

he has a picture of you as his wallpaper and a pic of you guys together as his lockscreen

he draws you two matching pfps

will definitely give you a new drawing everytime he can

was sweating bullets when he finally revealed to you that he was spiderman.

the pressure was quickly lifted off of his shoulders once you said that you accepted him and understood.

he's still scared that you'd be his canon event and swears he'll never let you die

"even if I have to destroy this universe as long as you're alive I'll be alright." you pinched his cheek and smiled. "don't be silly miles" a groan escaped his mouth as you giggled. "mami stopppp I'm being serious right now."

he let's you win in games just to see you happy but if it's basketball he's not gonna hold back 😭🙏

has his face buried in your neck while sleeping. he says it's because "I'm cold and you just happen to be warm" but yet again it's the middle of summer.

will be jumping up and down our of joy when you bought him new Jordans for his birthday

he has a bracelet with your name engraved into it and he wears it proudly

his phone album is filled with pictures of you. you and him fight eachother whenever you catch him trying to take a candid 0.5 picture of you

he 100% calls you "my heart"

says the most old man type of comebacks when playfully arguing with you

"yeah well you can go kick rocks!!"

"boohoo buckaroo"

"too bad so sad"

"nuh uh" or in other times "yuh huh"

"whatever pal"

"listen here buddy"

you two wear matching pajamas when you have sleepovers

don't get me started on this man and saying the "rizz" jokes...

"rizzanator is what I am"

"let's have a rizz off"

"call me the rizzmaster"

he'll airdrop you the most random memes and burst out laughing when seeing your reaction

he gifted you a promise ring with both of your initials engraved into it as an anniversary gift

miles won you a teddy bear in a fair and now you both call it your "child"

don't expect to get a warning because miles will randomly FaceTime you out of nowhere.

he'd give you a spiderman suit so you could match with him

when you first met his mom she liked you without hesitation and asked to take a picture with you. she made miles take the picture 😭

overall a sweet guy and will give you the princess treatment you deserve!!

﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉

July 4, 2023 | All rights reserved to @livelaughloveloak • Do not repost, reupload, translate, modify, or claim any of my work as your own. ✮

art in the polaroids are made by purpletunabread on twitter and koscribbls on instagram

#miles morales imagine #miles morales x you #miles morales x y/n #miles morales x reader #atsv imagines #atsv #atsv miles #earth 1610 #across the spiderverse fic #across the spiderverse #miles morales

[simpcityy]

I’m Not Her (Father Miguel O’Hara x Teen! Daughter Reader)

Summary: Miguel O’Hara is your biological father but it’s not great being his daughter when he’s hooked in the past still.

Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel or any of its characters. This is very short as well! Just a little prompt I thought also, I know the song is about a girl who loves a boy etc., but I thought of it more as father and daughter way. *Ahem* Him thinking of Gabi rather than the present daughter he has…I’m sorry if I confused you.

Word Count: 500

Warnings: Use of female pronouns, Use of (Y/N), angst, Father Miguel, overall, it’s just sad. Uhhh I think that is all for now.

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6

Being the biological daughter of Miguel O’Hara has its ups and downs but mostly downs according to you. Walking through the Spider Society, you held some reports from Jess, she was on her way to hand them over to your father but seeing the kind person you are, you decided to do it for her so she can rest. You're amazed how a woman so pregnant can still fight. Walking down the halls, you were alone with your thoughts. The time he left to be a father to another girl..a girl named Gabriella…were you not enough for him? What did Gabi have that you didn’t? So many thoughts running through your head only to be snapped from hearing Mayday giggling in the room. Taking a deep breath, you pushed in ready for the chaos. “Hey! (Y/N)!” Peter smiles holding an energetic child. “Hey” You responded before looking over at Miguel who was looking at the videos that hurt you the most. Videos of him and Gabriella. You only frown a bit before masking it. “I'll just drop this off” You dropped the files onto a flat surface before walking to the door. “Hey Boo! You going to ask him?” Lyla appears in front of you smiling. You look at her and back to Miguel before shaking your head. “No…he has better things to do” You whisper walking through her, leaving. Lyla watches you staying quiet before next to Miguel. “Files were dropped.” She brought him back to reality. “Hmm? Who?” He mutters looking at the AI. He goes down his platform and picks up the files you left. “(Y/N) did, she was here not long ago” Lyla looks at her phone scrolling through it. Miguel looks at the door where you left not long ago.

Sitting out on the roof of your dimension, your thoughts only seem to be filling you up with anger. Why did he leave you to be a father for another kid…yeah, she lost her father but so did you…he left you to be with her. You groan out in frustration before looking at the time. “There is not enough time left” You mutter before getting up and going back to the house. A home where you stopped waiting for him to come home. Upon reaching your room, you changed into your pjs before walking over to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, you pulled out a cake you ordered yourself from your favorite shop. Placing it on the table, you put the candles on and sat down in front of it. “Happy Birthday to me…happy birthday to me…” You began to sing before letting out a sob. Your candles were put out from your tears. Another year alone and many more to go.

“If I could be her…but I’m not her and she’s not me.”

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

Authors note: This was just little one-shot. An idea that always comes to mind whenever I listen to that amazing song! I am working on part 3 of the Biomedical Engineer x Miguel. Hopefully this weekend it comes out along with the last part of my first father figure Miguel x reader. Please check those out if you haven’t. I’m stuck if I should make this into a full series as well, but I don’t know if people would interest in it. Anyways, as always sorry for any grammar errors. Thank you all for the support! Remember to stay hydrated and to keep on simping! (Simp City Population: 62!) Thank you so much for the follows and please you are welcome to reblog my works for others to be aware of this new Miguel O’Hara simp writer!

#miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara fic #across the spiderverse fic #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel ohara x fem!reader #miguel ohara x platonic reader #Miguel O’Hara x daughter reader #father figure miguel ohara

[petertingle-yipyip]

WISH YOU WERE SOBER - MIGUEL O’HARA

Pairing: Platonic Miguel x Young Reader (father/daughter dynamic)

Word Count: 2,651

Summary: (Request) hi!! i have a platonic req for miguel x chaotic teen reader who has a bad relationship with her dad, just a man who lost his daughter and a girl who never had a proper father.. what could go wrong..(im a slut for found family)

Getting bit by a spider is less than ideal to begin with. But when you were bitten by a highly experimental spider that came from the labs your dad worked at, it was arguably worse. And then, when said spider bite results in you sticking to walls and being able to shoot webs from your wrists, it all becomes terrifying.

——————————

“Dad… Something’s not right.” You try to tell him while your notebook is stuck to your open hand. You shake it, only to hear the crumple and flap of papers hitting together. “Please.”

“Mhmm, mhmm.” He nods with his back to you, refusing to turn in his desk chair. “Yes, go ahead, kiddo.”

“Dad?”

“It’s fine, Y/N. Go wherever.”

“I’m not… I’m scared! Please!”

“Enough.” He says firmly, a hand hits the desk and you hear the slosh of liquid in a glass bottle. “Go.”

“You’re drinking?” 

“It’s not your business. Go.”

——————————

A few years later and nothing changed. He hadn’t even noticed that you were never home at night. Your bruises and bloody lips never got acknowledged. Winces and groans as you walked around were unheard. He had constantly drank himself into stupors, rivaling the depth of a coma at one point.

Your heart constantly ached for the relationship you two had when you were younger, before your mother left. Her treatment stopped helping and she died in the hospital, a place you and your father could never go back to. After that, he told you he’d rather drive to Jersey for a hospital than ever walk back into Metro General.

As your relationship crumbled, so did your faith in people. If your father, the man who you owed half your genetics to and the man who raised you, couldn’t put his own child’s needs ahead of his own despair, how could anyone truly love one unconditionally?

“Hey!” A familiar voice called behind you as you were sitting on your rooftop. “It’s my favorite spider kid!”

It was your father’s birthday and - of course, he was passed out in a puddle of whiskey in the kitchen. You had turned him on his side and propped him against the cabinet to ensure he didn’t choke on his own vomit before you suited up and just… sat. Chin resting on knees pulled up to your chest, arms wrapped around and fingers locked together. Mask pushed up to your hairline as the cold night breeze blew through. You were too absorbed in your thoughts to realize your spider sense had been going off.

“Peter B.” You smiled quickly as you turned and saw the bright orange of the portal. “Shit. Did I miss an assignment?” You turned your wrist and saw nothing on your watch screen.

“No… Just knew what day it was.”

“Oh..”

“C’mon. Let’s get out of here.”

You hummed slightly and let him pull you to your feet. Mayday offered you a grabby hand gesture that made you smile and she took that as approval so she shot a web to your chest and pulled herself into your arms. You laughed as you followed Peter, his daughter in your arms and babbling nonsense.

You two walked into the familiar HQ building, greeting various spider people on the way before Hobie and Pav replaced him. You huffed a sigh when you realized that it wasn’t just a coincidence that the entirety of your gang was taking turns walking with you.

They were keeping an eye on you.

You slipped away during Pav’s dramatic retelling of his latest date with Gayatri. He was gesturing wildly with his arms when you sidestepped and dropped down a few levels, catching yourself on the ledge and pulling yourself to sit underneath. After a few moments of sitting alone, you headed to the training center.

It didn’t take long for Hobie to find you there.

“I don’t need a babysitter.” You snapped.

“Right..” He nodded carefully, moving behind the heavy bag you were lightly punching. He held it in place and leaned around it to offer you a questioning expression. “That’s why you bailed on Pav, eh? Y’know he was crushed.”

“I’ll apologize later. Just leave it alone, Hob.”

“Squashed.” He shrugged and leaned away. He gave the bag a small shake and tapped it, telling you to keep hitting it. “But I gotta say, Y/N/N, it’s not hard to see you’re angry.”

“Oh I wonder why.” You said sarcastically as your fists began to make contact again.”

“If it’s about your pops, maybe you should-“

“I should what? Talk to him? You can’t talk to a man two thirds in on a bottle of whiskey. Help him? Like he helped me when my mom died, right? Because that’s what we do, right?”

Every sentence led to your fists hitting harder and harder, more direct contact that stung the skin.

“He doesn’t care about me. He abandoned me when I needed him… He’s probably a canon event for me anyway so the sooner he’s gone the better.”

“You don’t wanna be alone, Y/N.” Hobie offered gently.

Though the gentle tone only scraped your nerves and your fist went through the leather of the punching bag with enough force to push Hobie back.

“Says a lot about the person I’m becoming.” You shrugged and pulled your hand out.

The sand inside began spilling out and you sighed when the faint glow of the familiar AI appeared in front of you.

“Hello, Lyla.” You grumbled and kicked at the growing sand pile.

“Heart rate elevated. Adrenaline and cortisol are spiking and you busted a punching bag… I’m getting Miguel.” She said simply.

“Don’t get Miguel.” You groaned.

“I’m getting Miguel.”

“Lyla!”

“He’s expecting you.”

“Why would you-“

“Because you need to-“

“Why is everyone telling me what I need?” You shouted, throwing an arm to the side which swatted through the projection. 

She appeared again at your shoulder with glasses disheveled.

“Case and point.” She nodded. “Go and talk to him. Now.”

“I hate it here sometimes.” You muttered and dropped to the floor, back to the door while you drew with a finger in the still growing sand pile.

As annoying as it could be at HQ, anything was better than home.

You were in the process of drawing your spider logo when you saw his looming shadow. You ignored him up until he sat next to you and you pulled your knees to your chest.

“She’s gonna come back.” Peter said gently and you felt Mayday’s hand patting your arm to a beat only she understood. “C’mon, kid. Say something.”

“Nothing to say.” You grumbled and shot webs at the ceiling so you could get away from the conversation attempt.

You slowly made your way to Miguel’s workspace. Your watch beeped as you went, probably messages from Lyla telling you to move your ass or one of your friends trying to check on you. You ignored the sounds and kept walking along the ceiling, hardly registering the directional change when you started walking on his wall.

“Siéntete.” He said simply as he pointed to the chair beside him without facing you.

“How’d you know it was me?” You asked simply.

“I’ve been tracking your watch. Sit.”

“I’m fine here, thanks.”

“I wasn’t asking, Y/N.”

“I don’t want to-“

Your complaint was cut short by the bright red webbing that looped around your torso. You cursed quietly as he yanked you to the platform and pushed you into the seat.

“Wasn’t so hard.” He smirked before he crossed his arms and leaned against the table behind him. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing.” You huffed.

“You put a hole in the heaviest bag today and you swatted through Lyla.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Mhmm, right.” He nodded absently before sliding a video clip to present between you two. “So what’s this?”

…so the sooner he’s gone, the better.

“I’m just angry.” You shrugged. “What does it matter?”

“Hmm. And this?” He slid a secondary video underneath.

It was you, rolling your dad over and placing two bottles of water by his head. You picked up the tipped cup and cleaned up the spilled liquor. You tucked a small folded note under the bottles, stating a quick and simple happy birthday with a quick heart.

“You’ve been watching me?”

“Someone was worried about you. I had a quick survey done of you in your universe.”

“Who was worried? Peter B? Is that why he showed up for me earlier?”

“Pavitr.” He corrected. “And you walked away from his date night story.”

“I didn’t-“ You groaned and threw your head back. “It had nothing to do with him!”

“It felt very personal to him.”

“Look, whatever kind of intervention this is, I don’t need it or want it. Forgive me for having my mother’s kind heart.”

“Okay.”

The webbing around your torso disappeared and he cleared the video clips away. You frowned slightly when he gestured for you to go.

“That’s it?” Your brows furrowed and you kept the disappointment out of your voice.

“That’s it.” He shrugged. “You won’t listen to anyone trying to help and I can see exactly what’s going on and what you need. But what do I know, hmm?”

“Right… I’m just gonna..” You stood slowly and moved to the edge of the platform, freezing at his next sentence.

“When I was with Gabriella…” He said softly, so kindly you almost didn’t hear it.

But the mention of her name froze you in your tracks. He hardly ever talked about his daughter. Why would he tell you anything about such a sensitive subject? You figured you should listen.

“I made sure to know everything I could about her.. That’s what dads do, right? I knew what she liked and what she didn’t. I learned her friends’ names and faces. I even learned how to make these silly little paper origami animals…”

“Why are you telling me this?” You asked weakly. You almost felt awkward hearing such a sweet sentiment coming from your usually angry boss.

“Because it’s part of what you’re missing..”

That sentence made you turn to face him.

“You want a male authority figure that can tell you he knows that you like cheerios for breakfast, but if you don’t have any, you’ll toast half a bagel and put peanut butter.. Sometimes you’ll get a green apple with it.. You want to hear someone acknowledge that you get caffeine headaches but can’t drink more than a Cola in a day. The one time you tried an energy drink, your senses kicked up to a forty and you could hear colors for four hours.

“You used to play sports before you got bit but after, the contact from the ball irritated your skin so bad you had to quit. You told your team that you had developed a health condition and overworking your kidneys could kill you.

“The logo of your suit is the vague shape of the spider that bit you, which was a common California house spider. Usually they’re not a problem but thanks to Oscorp, it was a lot more aggressive than it should’ve been…. You use clips in your hair because a hair tie makes it too tight. And you sharpie’d those words on the inside of your sleeve because you couldn’t stop thinking of them when you made your suit.”

“I don’t like cheerios.” You said quietly.

“I’m sorry.” He rolled his eyes with a small smile. “Honey nut cheerios.”

“And I didn’t just quit because of that..”

“Cause you got a job.” Miguel continued. “Under the table, cash only, for a graveyard shift at an all night diner.”

“Did you know my brother and sister moved out? My younger brother moved in with either his girlfriend or his friends because he couldn’t be around my dad. And my older sister, I don’t even know where she is… They might not even be in New York anymore. But I still make sure they don’t have to get the call to ID my father’s body.”

“But you want him dead to pass your canon?”

“Well yeah, I…” You sighed and threw your hands to the side. “No.. I don’t know. It’s not easy to live in that apartment anymore.”

“I know… But you’re still here. You still have your suit and your abilities and you help people.”

“Couldn’t help my mom.” You shrugged. “Couldn’t help my siblings. Can’t help my dad… What kind of a spider person am I if I can’t even help the people I care about most?”

“Makes you human.”

“Why do you know all that anyway?” You asked instead, allowing his gentle tone soften some of the sharpness in your chest. “What does my story matter in the whole arachno-whatever?”

“Every spider’s story matters here.”

You hummed in acknowledgment and swallowed the taste of disappointment on your tongue.

“Aren’t people like.. predisposed to addiction based on genetics?” You changed the subject.

“Sometimes, why?”

“So I'll end up like him, most likely.”

“Y/N..”

“Can you fix it?”

“What?” His eyes went wide.

“You’re a geneticist, right? You can run my genes and figure out where the problem is. You can fix it.”

“It doesn’t work like that.”

“Or.. him. You can fix my dad!”

“No, I can’t.”

“Why not?” You groaned. 

“Because he’ll be dead by the end of the night!” He snapped and you felt your body run cold while regret crossed his features.

“What?” You spoke, barely above a whisper. “What do you- How- How do you know?”

He sighed to himself and rubbed his temple before he spoke slowly, putting extra caution into his word selection.

“When you told Hobie about it tonight, I had Lyla run the algorithm for your canon… His liver has been on the brink for a couple days and it looks like tonight’s the night it finally gives out.”

“Can I save him?” You asked tightly, eyes locked to the floor as the tears burned behind your eyes. “If I go home now and call the ambulance, can I?”

“You tell me how great the ambulance response in your neighborhood is.” He deadpanned and you sighed heavily, knowing he was right.

“I still wanna go home.”

“You shouldn’t be alone.”

“He shouldn’t die alone.”

“You can’t change it… I’m sorry.”

“Why are you so invested?” You looked up at him with a newfound anger burning behind your eyes, ignoring the tears falling down your cheeks. “What the hell does my life matter to you?”

“Because..” He sighed before he knelt in front of you. “I see so much of Gabriella in you, arañita.. And I can see you’re hurting.”

Your bottom lip quivered and the tears welled in your eyes. You hadn’t even realized that you wanted someone to notice things like your pain. You just wanted someone to pay attention to you and not feel like you were a background character in your own home, to feel like you were alone in the one place you were supposed to be safest.

“I’m just-“ You began, though your voice broke. “I’m so sick and tired of feeling sick and tired.”

“I know, mija.” He nodded. “But remember this.”

He turned your forearm so you’d see the words in your own sloppy, tiny handwriting.

“Keep your head up and don’t lose twice.” He read the words before he put hands on your shoulders. “You’re so strong, Y/N.”

“I’ll end up like him.” You said bitterly but your immediate sniffle iced any venom in your tone. “I’ll end up a pathetic loser that passes out in the kitchen… I’ll abandon the people that need me when they need me the most. I-“

He shook his head and pulled you in for a tight hug, cutting off what would’ve been the most self-degrading sentence you could’ve mustered.

“I won’t let that happen, mija.”

#miguel spiderman #miguel o’hara fic #miguel ohara #across the spiderverse fic #spiderverse #smatsv #miguel ohara x y/n #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x teen!reader #father daughter fic #found family #spiderman fanfic #spiderman 2099 fic #spiderman 2099 #dad!miguel #dad!miguel ohara