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hotchfiles · 3 months

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ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ❝ [GLASS TIES] ❞

request by lovely anon who loves isaac and pain. pairing: isaac lahey x reader. summary: isaac and you share the perfect summer fling. those ties don't last when summer ends. content warnings: mentions of sex and death. there's like a huge teen wolf spoiler but i mean the show is over for years now. word count: 1,4k+

working during summer wasn't your ideal way to enjoy the warm days and freedom from school work, unfortunately the city library needed help and you needed all the extra crap possible to make your resume look nice, full and interesting for colleges, so you'd spend three afternoons a week helping nerdy teens and old ladies find the books they wanted, register it as they borrowed it and more recently, read to a group of children once a week.

it wasn't the worst job, it could be quite fun... but it was mostly just silence, quietness and a bit of boredom, you enjoyed having access to that many books, but even you got tired of reading after a while, so when the most beautiful guy you've ever seen waited for you to notice him, you were busy laughing at your phone like an idiot.

and he could've faked a cough or anything of the sort to call you out, but instead he decided to simply lean down and insert his head in between your face and your phone, looking directly at you as he did so and making you screech from the scare. "oh my god, what're you doing?"

"getting your lazy ass back to work, apparently." he's nonchalant, his smirk makes him annoyingly handsome, and you'd remember those eyes and those curls anywhere.

isaac lahey, a year older than you, blue eyes, golden curly locks, greek god possibly. you blinked quickly and shook your head, so nervous you couldn't even think of a comeback to his sneaky comment. "so-sorry, do you need help?"

"need a book."

"good, we have some of those here, yes." you found your breach to tease him and you took it without even thinking, trying not to panic as the words left your mouth. isaac enjoyed it though, laughing and nodding along.

"sure, yeah, sorry. werewolves, uh, the less... fictional the better." you're about the laugh it off, yeah right. but he was completely serious, if only a bit concerned about having to ask for those.

you nodded and thought for a minute, putting up key words on the system to see if you could find anything. "we have some really old ones in our more special section, but they can't leave the building. also i wouldn't call them non fictional... i mean, werewolves right?" you shrug, chuckling lightly and he's oh, extremely amused, genuine laughing and you're not sure why. "but uh... they're quite old and kinda damaged, so we don't really know what the purpose of it was."

you take him to the back of the library and shows him the two books you mentioned, they are big, old and dusty and isaac has the time of his laughing laughing at how much you were sneezing back there. "glad you're having fun, but lower your voice, funny boy." you whisper shaking your head disapprovingly, but your smile was too difficult to hide.

you go back to the reception after telling him the library rules again, thinking that would probably be it; but it wasn't.

he took the books to where you were working, taking the closest table to you. he would spend minutes on end just reading, looking beautifully focused, but then he would glance at you and catch you staring at him, isaac would then smile, tell you to go back to work as you told him to keep his voice down.

it was the most fun you had since the summer started.

isaac went back to the library every day after that, shamelessly leaving if you weren't working until he memorized the days you would be there. he truly wasn't much of a library guy, but he enjoyed spending time with you there. it was quiet, much quieter than his mind and his life, but still, it wasn't boring, at least not for him.

after the first week the books didn't matter, not giving him much more information for what he was going through, making you blush though, that mattered a lot and he noticed he was quite good at it.

he was getting used to having girls looking at him more, but something in you stood out. he figured out soon it was simply the fact you've been secretly glancing at him even before he changed. turned.

you would make comments as he walked you home after your shift ended, and he knew you didn't even notice how endearing it was or how much of a tell it was, so not a bike guy anymore? or you gained some weight, right? like, not in a bad way, not that gaining weight is bad, you're just... stronger now.

isaac felt connected to you somehow because of that, you had no idea of what he was, or how bad his life was before, but still, you liked him even then, even when he was broken and you didn't even know him. knowing someone paid some attention to him back then gives him conflicted feelings, but most of them are good. warm. tender.

you make him feel soft. and normal. and wanted. and he knows he could've made his move on you much sooner, but oh, he enjoyed the pining, the blushing, the way you bit your lower lip and tucked your hair behind your ear whenever he complimented you. he enjoyed the teasing too much.

after he kissed your lips for the first time though, he figured out what he enjoyed more than the teasing.

you.

being a werewolf in a freak city meant he didn't always have the amount of time he wished he had to spend with you. but that summer, all the time he had at his dispose was spent with you. calling you, texting you, working with you.

he would take you to late night movies, bowling and ice cream, so terribly charming even when he awkwardly ended up meeting your mom after sneaking in and cuddling with you all night, she adored him. gave him a pass to sleep over as long as he didn't sneak in and the door to your room was always open.

you both followed the rules strictly, but your mom wasn't a light sleeper, so what started with you guiding his hand down your pants ended up with him taking your virginity. slowly, quietly, tenderly. he locked eyes with you and didn't glance away for one second that night. told you words that were probably too soon to be said.

the three words left your lips like a secret, matching his.

things changed when summer ended, school coming at you in full speed.

and maybe it was your fault, with all ap classes, extracurricular, volunteer works you put yourself through, or maybe it was the naivety of not asking what you two were, of not labeling what you both shared before the outside world came into play.

or maybe it was isaac's fault, and the way his outspoken personality sometimes served as a shield to his secretive actions. whatever it really was, you would barely see each other at school, each with your own little friend group, different classes, you were lucky to catch him in the hallways, where he would smile at you and touch your hand lightly as if you two were a secret.

were you? not exactly, but isaac wanted to keep you away from the mess, away from the killing, the blood, the fear. he didn't want to taint what you both had, so the more you didn't have time, the more he got away from you, slipped from your fingers.

and before you could even fight it, try anything to keep him, there was allison.

laughing with him, touching his arms, knowing things about him you would never dream about, you could see it, even from afar, the eyes of two people who connected.

confidants.

it broke you. but you couldn't do anything about it, you felt like it was your fault, as if your oh so busy academic life pushed him away. you let him go, no more texts, no more looking for a glance and a soft touch pass the hallways.

for weeks it was almost like it never happened, like your life was ever the same, like it didn't change past summer. of course you would go through the texts you shared from time to time, shed a few tears and pretend to get over it. and it worked.

until he was at your door sobbing. bloody. completely lost.

allison was dead. and nothing would ever be the same again.

#isaac lahey imagines #isaac lahey scenario #isaac lahey x reader #isaac lahey x you #isaac lahey x y/n #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf scenario #isaac x reader #isaac x you #isaac x y/n #reqs!#i kinda hate it but #IT IS WHAT IT IS

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averysmolbear · 10 months

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Just a Little Spark

CW: Nothing, really. There's so mutual pining vaguely happening. Reader is a witch, if that matters. It's mostly vaguely fluffy. It's also self ship coded as hell. It kind of flows as a part of a series of little one shots that tie together. Reader and Isaac are presumably in their early twenties in this. Oh! And it's a female reader, although I don't think there's much mentioned that would make it blatantly a female reader.

Word count: ~2.1k

Pairing: F!reader x Isaac Lahey

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Just a little note that this would take place (at least in my mind) some time after Isaac obviously left but before the (atrocious) Teen Wolf movie (where they still don't even bother to mention Isaac at all and I'm still salty about it) but since we don't know what ever happened to Isaac, I ran with the idea of him coming back to Beacon Hills for something and him meeting up with the reader who is on the road for her own reasons and there are more little parts to this whole thing that make it a friends to lovers kind of situation.

You rolled your eyes and let out a sigh as you felt Isaac Lahey hovering over your shoulder, your attention being drawn away from the book you were skimming through because of his near constant need for attention. This was becoming a regular occurrence and while you were used to it, it didn’t mean that it made it any less of an annoyance. It was hard to get much done with Isaac hanging around so close that you could almost feel his warm breath on your skin.

You could tell without looking that he was leaning closer and soon he would be close enough to rest his head on your shoulder. You knew how much he hated the research part of things so him getting this close was Isaac’s way of trying to get your attention. As you slowly turned your head to look at him, the young man backed away, a sheepish look on his face when you both locked eyes.

“Sorry. I’m sorry.” Isaac raised his hands in apology and flashed a charming smile your way, knowing that it would be a good way to get out of trouble. His smile seemed to always get him out of trouble with you and he wasn’t above using that to his advantage. “Don’t yell. Please?”

You sighed louder this time, shaking your head as you rolled your eyes. You rarely yelled at him and Isaac knew it. You turned back to the book you had been thumbing through, looking for information that would help you both out of the mess you currently found yourselves in. In reality, the two of you had been entangled in mess after mess from the moment you met. Isaac had found his way to Seattle after leaving Paris, not sure he was ready to go back to Beacon Hills. He had pissed off the wrong wolf pack in the area not long after arriving in Seattle. You, a young witch, had taken it upon yourself to take Isaac in to keep him safe.

That hadn’t gone as well as you would have liked but now Isaac had someone watching his back, which was something he had needed. You both made it away from the pack Isaac had upset, although that wasn’t the end of your troubles. He was going to continue to need someone to watch his back because while he said he had a pack, they were in Beacon Hills and he wasn’t. Most packs who saw Isaac would assume he was an omega and they never lasted long on their own. With the two of you traveling together, neither of you had to worry about being on your own.

You needed Isaac as much as he needed you. You wouldn’t tell him, because you knew he would get cocky, but you felt safer with him around. It wasn’t as if you couldn’t protect yourself but there were still parts of your magic that you didn’t have control over, as well as things you weren't aware that you was capable of. There were times when you didn’t mean to expend large amounts of your energy but if you got scared or angry, you did it without thinking. When it was all said and done, you were usually alone and vulnerable. You needed Isaac there to make sure that nothing bad happened to you too.

You had left your coven, the only family you had ever known, when it was clear that some of the members of the group wanted to use you for their own means as you came into your own power. You refused to be someone else’s pawn but the decision to leave hadn’t been an easy one for you. You had to slip out in the wee hours of the morning, taking only as much as you knew she could carry. Luckily for you, you had an RV that you had been living out of since you turned 18 and while a lot of your books and other various tools of your craft were inside of it, there were things you had to leave behind. More than that, there were people that mattered to you that you had been forced to leave behind and that had been the hardest part.

But now you had Isaac and Isaac had you. Neither of you had to be alone anymore. You were a coven of two, a pack of two — as much as either of you could claim that. It wasn’t much but it was better than both of you fumbling about alone in the world.

“Are you going to seriously leave me hanging here?”

You looked over your shoulder at him again, your eyes narrowing and your full lips pursed. You didn’t want to be angry with him but he had a way of pushing your buttons at the worst times. If you hadn’t been trying so hard to concentrate, you wouldn’t have minded but Isaac needed attention at the exact moment that you needed to focus. You weren't sure you could split focus in a way that would satisfy him and allow you to do the research that you needed to work on.

“What do you want me to do, Isaac? Do you need me to entertain you? I’m sorry if this isn’t your idea of a good time,” you angrily said with a shake of your head, raising your voice more than you had intended. “Go for a walk if it bothers you that much.”

Isaac rolled his eyes this time, huffing as he flopped down onto the couch that sat behind the table where you was seated. His forearm was draped across his eyes as he laid there, acting like he was ignoring you. You hesitated but when Isaac remained quiet for longer than a couple of minutes, you let your attention drift back to the book you had been reading. You looked back once to see what he was up to when Isaac hadn’t bothered you again.

When you saw he was still laying there, you turned your full attention back to the book. If Isaac had fallen asleep, you didn’t want to wake him. More than that you appreciated the moment of silence. You tried to use it to your advantage, reading while you had a moment of stillness and calm.

It wasn’t long before you felt your concentration slip away. Maybe it was because you were worried that Isaac thought you were angry or maybe it was because you weren't learning anything that might help but you started to feel fidgety. It seemed that the book could wait since you were now having difficulty making sense of the words on the pages. The quiet was almost too much for you to bear. However, you didn’t hear Isaac as he rose and resumed hovering around behind you.

“Isaac?”

He had gotten up while you had been focused on your reading, silently pacing behind you as he hoped you wouldn’t notice him. It seemed as though sitting still wasn’t in the cards for him today either. When you called his name, Isaac perked up almost immediately, turning his head toward you. He had almost broken out in a grin but he suppressed the smile as best as he could, not wanting to upset you again. “Yeah?”

“Come here.”

There was something about the tone of your voice that Isaac wasn’t sure he should trust, especially after you had gotten snappy with him earlier. His eyebrows furrowed as he watched you, not sure what you wanted. “Why?”

You closed your eyes for a moment and sighed, hearing the skepticism in his voice. This time you waved him over as you spoke. “Just come here.”

“No, you’re going to hit me.”

You turned around to face Isaac, frowning as you realized that he still thought you were upset. “Look, you’re annoying me but I’m not going to hit you. Okay?”

His shoulders were slumped as he inched closer to you, closing the distance between you. He saw that the book you had been looking through was closed, noting that there was a slip of paper stuck in it to mark the page. His brows furrowed again as he stood over you. He towered over you even when you were standing but right now Isaac was like a giant standing over you and he could feel it. His back hunched as if he were trying to make himself smaller.

“What is it?” he asked, still a bit uncertain.

You reached for Isaac’s hand, your fingers gently stroking the back of his hand before you laced her fingers with his. An electric buzz raced through your body, starting at the point of contact between the two of you. It was an odd phenomenon that had begun happening recently whenever one of you touched the other. You saw that Isaac felt it too, seeing his breath catch, but neither of you mentioned it, as usual. For now it was just a thing that happened that neither of you could or wanted to explain and for now, you were happy to leave it that way.

You used your free hand to push back from the table, still holding his hand. Isaac looked down at your hands with a lopsided smile though. Sometimes you both wondered where this mutually beneficial arrangement was leading but most of the time you both let things happen. It didn’t stop Isaac from grinning like an idiot whenever you showed some semblance of wanting him around for any reason that wasn’t your protection or his safety and this was definitely one of those times. Maybe you both weren’t ready to talk about what was going on but you both certainly felt it.

His smile was infectious and soon you were smiling too, your thumb brushing the back of his hand. You weren't stupid; you knew the two of you were blurring the lines between this being something for your mutual protection and this being something more than a friendship. It was something you were going to have to confront eventually but today didn’t seem like it was the right time. Not when all you wanted was to keep Isaac from getting too fidgety, not when you knew you could use a break.

“How about we go into town and get something to eat? I think it should be safe.”

Isaac leaned forward and tugged on the curtain that covered one of the windows. It wasn’t far past noon and so far nothing had come for you both in the middle of the day. Even he had to admit that it should be safe. He nodded as he let the curtain fall from his fingertips, his eyes settling on you again. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze before nearly dragging you toward the seats up in the front of the RV.

You laughed softly as you followed him. You realized in that moment you were both too far past this being a friendship but you didn’t feel brave enough to bring it up. You thought Isaac felt it too but instead of bringing it up, you let him lead you forward, sitting in the passenger’s seat without an argument. Whatever you felt for each other was going to continue to be an unspoken thing for a while longer.

Isaac’s face broke out in a wide grin as he let go of your hand so he could start up the RV. You were renting a space at an RV park outside of a moderately sized town. If you were going to get something to eat, you would have to drive into town and Isaac was always so happy whenever you let him drive. You were so protective of the RV since it was the only home the two of you had at the moment. Giving up control of it to let Isaac drive seemed like you were trusting him with something even more important than your means of travel and the roof over your heads.

He turned on the radio, glancing over when he heard you humming along with the music. He almost reached out to brush some of your hair from your eyes but he stopped himself. Both of you hesitated when it came to gestures of affection, no matter how small they were. Soon Isaac was humming along with the music as it played as well. At least for a little while you both would get to be normal and that was so much more than he thought he could ask for. It was more than he thought he deserved but for the moment he was happy and he was going to live in this moment for as long as he could manage.

#tessie writes #teen wolf x reader #isaac lahey x reader #isaac x reader #teen wolf x y/n #isaac lahey x y/n #isaac x y/n

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liliacamethyst · 10 months

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Web of Shadow and Light (Part III)

Sequel to Webs of Fate

Miguel O'Hara x SpiderSun Reader

words: 5.2 K

warnings: secret pregnancy trope, swearing, angst, heartbreak, grumpy/sunshine

Part I Part II Part III

The Spider-HQ echo with an unsettling symphony - a child's piercing cries and the hushed whispers of concern from some of the multiverse's bravest Spider heroes. They stand clustered around the smallest yet most powerful disturbance they've ever encountered - a baby boy. His wails have been echoing through the HQ since Miguel left the room, leaving the baby and dozens of Spider-man behind. Each cry is a call for help that pulls at their hearts, demanding attention, challenging their patience.

After much deliberation and coaxing from the rest, Miguel gave his team an ultimatum - they have until dawn to find an alternative solution, before Gabriel has to be eliminated, before the universe collapses on itself. His voice was a cold whisper when he spoke, "Figure out another way by tomorrow morning, or..." Nobody dares to complete the sentence, not even Miguel, the unsaid words hanging heavily in the air. And with that Miguel was gone, and the baby immediately started wailing and hasn’t stopped since.

Now Gwen, with her brows knitted in worry, rocks the baby with desperate gentleness. Her blue eyes are bright with unshed tears, a look of sheer helplessness painting her usually confident face. Beside her Peter B. is attempting to cheer Gabriel up but his efforts as pointless as they are endearing. The usually funny and charming Peter B seems to be losing a battle of wits with a one-year-old. It would've been humorous, had the situation been any different.

The sight of the little baby boy weeping his heart out, oblivious to the chaos his presence is causing tugs at their hearts, binding them in a collective resolution - they must protect this child. The shadows and the light, entwined in this web they’ve all been thrown into. And the clock is ticking.

Hobie scoops up the little boy, cradling him close in an attempt to soothe his relentless tears. "See, the cow says muhhhhh," he coos. His tiny cries falter, curiosity momentarily replacing distress. He gazes at Hobie with wide eyes, intrigued by the cool looking man. "And the butterfly," Hobie pauses dramatically, "well, the butterfly don’t say nothin’." He continues his little game, while rocking the baby gently in his arms. "And the pig says-"

Miles chimes in with an eager grin, "Oink, Oink."

"Nah, bruv," Hobie laughs. “The pig says, ‘You have the right to remain silent!’”

Gabriel’s face scrunches up, and the waterworks start again. Hobie chuckles, "Fair enough, little fella. Cops make me wanna cry too."

Meanwhile Jessica Drew, clad in her black and white Spider-Woman outfit, her dark locks cascading around her shoulders, is leaning against the doorframe, half entering the room, her eyebrows raised. "Well? I assume he didn’t stop crying?“

Beside her Peter B. with his shaggy brown hair and five o’ clock beard just shakes his head.

“This is nuts. Nothing, and I mean NOTHING is working.“ Gwen states.

In the background, the cries of baby Gabriel cotinue, little fists flailing as he continued his tantrum. Jessica, arching an eyebrow, comments, “He’s still going at it?”

Hobie Brown, just gives her a quick nod. “Oh yeah, the kid has got a set of lungs.”

Suddenly, Pavitr Prabhakar, yelps as a makeshift toy, made out of wood and spiderwebs, hit him square in the forehead. "Ow! And one hell of arm throw."

Methodically, Jessica starts running through a mental checklist. “Diaper?”

Peter B. Parker nods. “Clean.”

“Food?” Jessica glances at Miles who holds a baby food jar and a bent spoon.

Miles, in his black and red suit, shrugs. “Kept smacking the spoon out my hand.”

“Nap?” Jessica's questions further.

The entire room answer in unison, clearly frustrated “Literally the first thing we tried.”

Pavitr smirkes at them. “Jinx.” But his joke is short-lived as Gabriels screams become even louder.

Gwen, then takes charge, “Ok, we have to do something,” her eyes flicking around the room with determination. She points to Jess, “You have to talk to Miguel. You’ve been around him the longest, maybe you can get through to him.”

Jess looks hesitant but nods.

“And Peter,” Gwen turns to Peter B who’s still juggling items in his hands, to entertain the baby and stop his crying. “Get Mayday’s toys. Maybe the baby’s just bored.”

Peter gives a thumbs up. “You got it, boss.”

“And Pav, Hobie,” Gwen instructs, her voice steady. “You need to rally the other Spider-people. We need everyone on board to protect this little guy.”

“Margo, you’re with me, girl. We are paying our old friend Lyla a little surprise visit. Something’s a little fishy with her.” Margo nods eagerly.

As everyone scatters into action, Miles stands there, looking slightly lost and raising his hands. "Hey, guys, you forgot about me! What am I supposed to do? How can I help?" he calls out to the rapidly moving group.

Pav whirls around and points at Miles, "You, take care of the little guy, newbie," he says, as Hobie thrusts the still crying baby into Miles' arms.

"Great," Miles grumbles, balancing Gabriel on his hip and looking down at the squirming bundle of tears.

He starts to bounce up and down gently, trying to imitate what he's seen in movies. The baby continues to cry, unfazed by Miles' efforts.

“Alright buddy, let’s figure this out together. I can swing through New York, so how hard can babysitting be?” Miles whispers to the baby.

Hours drag on and Gabriel's relentless cries continue to echo through the HQ. Despite his earnest attempts, Miles, armed with only his spider powers and limited babysitting experience, is unsuccessful in calming the baby. He’s tried everything he can think of – makinf funny faces, telling funny stories in a soothing tone, gently swinging him back and forth with his web-slinging skills, and even humming a little tune (it was Humble by Kendrick Lamar, but the thought counts, right?). At one point, he even tried to entertain the baby by creating animals out of webbing, but that didn’t work either. The baby is relentless, and his cries only seem to get louder.

In the meantime in Miguel’s office, the echoing cries penetrate through the walls. Migel is sitting behind his desk looking at some documents, while Jess stands in front of him.

“Please, Miguel, it’s a baby boy. How did you imagine doing this, huh?” Jess exclaims, her voice rising. “Did you plan to build some sort of machine to just vaporize him? Or did you think of strangling him with your own bare hands? I know you’re not a monster.” But Miguel's face remains stoic, his eyes never leaving the papers on his desk.

“And look,” Jess continues, pointing vaguely in the direction of where the baby’s cries are coming from, “this baby is already older, and nothing has collapsed yet. The universe is still here.”

“I can’t risk any more lives, Jess,”Miguel responds coldly, finally looking up at her.

“But what if there is another way? We haven’t even tried everything. We have brilliant minds here. Let’s...let’s figure something out that doesn’t involve.. that,” Jess pleads, her voice softening.

Miguel looks at her for a long moment but his expression remains unreadable. The cries of the baby continue to fill the air.

Jess then turns her gaze towards Lyla, , who is stationed nearby, her holographic interface flickering with data. “Lyla, what are the kid’s powers? Run a genetics test, a DNA test. We need something to work with.”

Lyla’s synthetic voice answers in an eerily calm tone, "I have already processed the genetic information, Jessica. Thanks very much, genius. As per my findings, the child’s power attributes remain undefined. In regards to the DNA test..."

Lyla hesitates just a fraction of a second, but enough for Miguel to notice. It's an unexpected response from an AI that's programmed to be efficient and direct. A strange tingle rises within him but he pushes it aside, refocusing on the matter at hand.

“is inconclusive.” Jess squints at Lyla. “Inconclusive? What do you mean? Is he an anomaly or not?”

“He’s an anomaly, certainly. However, the DNA analysis is...complicated,” Lyla maintains her composed tone. “Complicated how?” Jess presses on. “Just...unfamiliar and intermingled genetic markers,” Lyla responds vaguely. “The child is an enigma.”

"Miguel, please" she continues, turning back to Miguel, clearly frustrated with Lyla's vague responses that are not helping her case. Her tone is still serious, "this isn't some variation of a monster, this is a baby."

For a moment, Miguel’s gaze flickers, his usual icy aura briefly wavering. "It doesn't matter," he finally grunts, closing his eyes as if to physically shut out the argument. Jessica's voice turns unexpectedly brittle. "I didn't join the Society to kill innocent kids."

Miguel clenches his jaw hard. "We do what we have to do for the greater good. No exceptions." Jessica takes a deep breath, her next words coming out almost in a whisper. "What if there was my Gerald or a version of your-" she begins, but is quickly cut off.

"DON’T. Don't even go there, Jessica" Miguel growls, his hand forming into a tight fist. "And why the hell is it still crying?"

Jessica's gaze softens slightly. "That child, that little boy, probably misses his parents. Parents who are going through hell right now, searching for their baby." Miguel's fist tightens further, a spark of something, maybe regret, guilt, flashing in his eyes. Jessica presses on trying one last time to convince him. "He was found in 586, right? Maybe we can reconnect with Su-"

"No," Miguel interrupts sharply, his voice a final command. “Until tomorrow morning, Jess,” he finally says in a low voice, putting an end to Jess’ outburst. “That’s all. You can leave now.”

There’s a heavy silence, where the only sound is Gabriel’s distant crying.

Jessica looks at Miguel, her gaze piercing. "Think about what you’re doing, Miguel," she whispers and leaves the room, closing the door softly behind her.

In the heart of the HQ, Margo sifts through the labyrinth of Lyla's concealed data. She uncovers a file that captures her attention – the baby's DNA results. "There you are," she mutters to herself, an air of triumph in her voice. As she opens the file, her eyes widen in disbelief, "Oh no…“

"What is it, Margo?" Gwen asks making her way over to Margo.

Margo's voice trembles slightly. "So, while looking through the hidden data, I found the baby's... there was a parental match."

Gwen's heart skips a beat. “I knew something was was off with Lyla. Of course she knows more. Well, who are the little guy's parents?"

Margo hesitates, then blurts out, "Miguel and Sunny."

Gwen stops dead in her tracks, her mind reeling. "I'm sorry, can you repeat that?"

"The baby's mother is Sunny, and the father is Miguel," Margo reiterates, her voice steady.

Gwen eyes widen. "But... are you sure? I know Sunny's baby. I was there when baby Gabriel was born!“

"Yes, I'm sure. There were two parental matches for the baby in the spider DNA logs:Sun Spider and Spider-Man 2099. When was the last time you saw the baby, Gwen? Babies change quickly at that age." Margo confirms.

"Miguel and Sunny? That's not possible... how have we never noticed that there's something going on between those two?" Gwen's mind whirls with confusion.

"Oh, I noticed," Margo's voice holds a hint of smugness, "The way he was sneaking into her room at night? And the way he looked at her every time she set foot in a room, like a lovesick puppy. It was adorable. Wait, nobody else noticed?"

Gwen splutters, taken aback, "What? No, I... well, he's all 'we need to sacrifice ourselves to protect the multiverse. No more traveling for fun'" she imitates Miguel's voice with a teasing lilt, then she adds, "And Sunnys is literally the personification of a warm embrace."

Gwen's mind whirls but she continues, “ Woah, okay lets focus on the important part. I mean, I knew something was wrong with Lyla, but why... why would she do that?"

"There's more, Gwen," Margo says, her voice shaking slightly. "I found another thing in her data. It's... it's about how she's processing information."

Gwen frowns, "What do you mean?"

Margo takes a deep breath before explaining, "In simple terms, Lyla's been teaching herself new things. She's changing, growing beyond her original programming. Her code is self-evolving."

"And the data about the baby?" Gwen asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

Margo sighs, "She's been... twisting it, making the baby seem more dangerous than it actually is."

Gwen's mind reels with this new information, the world around her seeming to tilt. "But why?" she finally manages to ask. "Why would Lyla do this?"

"I don't know, Gwen," Margo admits. "But we need to find out and warn Miguel. And soon."

Meanwhile in Miguels office, the wailing becomes louder, almost as if piercing through the walls, trying to reach something, or someone. Miguel's face betrays his discomfort, as if the cries are tugging at his walls around his heart. There's a weight on his chest, something unidentifiable that makes it hard to breathe.

Suddenly Lyla’s holographic interface hums. She begins to show the outline various strategies for eliminating the child. Her voice, analtytic but almost cheerful, fills the room. “So, we could create a temporal displacement field, effectively erasing the child from existence. Or perhaps expose him to a slow-acting molecular destabilizer..."

"Based on the trial," she continues unfazed by Miguel’s lack of response. "the device should work as intended, wiping out any of its DNA and trace. Be like the anomaly never existed." There's a hint of satisfaction in her words.

Miguel, until now staring blankly at the wall, finally turns towards Lyla, his complexion pale and his eyes wide.

His insides twist painfully, the mere idea of bringing harm to this innocent child becoming now unbearable.

“Stop,” Miguel chokes out.

“Apologies, Miguel. We must consider all options for preserving the multiverse. You out of all people should know that,”Lyla retorts.

But something within Miguel snaps. His ice-cold distant facade crumbles. Rising abruptly, his chair clatters loudly onto the floor.

Without saying another word, he strides out of his office. “Miguel? Are you listening? Where are you going?” Lyla calls after him, but her words are unanswered in the empty room.

Walking down the hallway, Miguel slows down as he passes the room where the infant's cries come from. He pauses when he hears Miles' pleas inside.

“Little dude, if you stop crying promise I’ll get you some cool kicks. Maybe some baby Jordans? Please, please just stop crying,” Miles pleads, his voice sounding desperate and utterly exhausted.

After a moment hesitation, Miguel pushes open the door and steps into the room. His gaze, sterner than ever, as he takes in the scene: Miles looking near defeat, his energy spent trying to soothe the wailing child, his spider suit rumpled and hair disheveled.

"Enough," Miguel comms sharply.

Miles looks up from where he's been pacing with the baby, his eyes wide like he's just been caught stealing cookies from a jar. “You,” Miguel points at Miles, who is holding the still-crying baby. His voice booms with authority. “Put him down”

Miles, slightly dumbfounded, obeys and carefully lays the child down on his makeshift bed. “I need you to return to Earth 586. Get some of his belongings - toys, blankets, anything you can find," he orders, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"But Miguel--" Miles startsbut gets cut off immediately.

"Now," he says, his red eyes flashing dangerously. Miles opens the portal hastily and disspears to your universe.

The crying has subsided to whimpers, and Miguel finds himself kneeling next to the little one, who reaches out for him. As if on autopilot, Miguel’s hands scoop him up abruptly from the bed.

"Quiet, niño. "Miguel growls at him with a low and threatening tone. "I could just... do it right now." His irritation gets the better of him, and he bares his fangs at the little one. This sight shocks Gabriel into silence for a moment, his big, teary eyes widening at the sight.

But then, to Miguel's surprise, the baby breaks into a fit of giggles, the sound infectious and joyous.

Gabriel suddenly mimics Miguel, baring his own little teeth – two tiny milk teeth and the beginnings of baby fangs peeking from his gums, causing Miguel to stiffen in shock.

Caught off guard Miguel's hold slips and Gabriel lands back on the web-shaped bed with a bounce. The baby's laughter ends abruptly and is replaced once more with tears and cries.

Still in shock, Miguel stumbles back a step, but Gabriel's cries soon pull him back into the present. With a sigh, he picks up the little boy yet again andGabriel immediately snuggles into the crook of Miguel’s neck, his tiny arms winding tightly around his throat. Miguel swallows hard, unsure of what to do next.

Then, almost instinctively, he starts to hum a tune he thought he'd long forgotten. "Tú eres mi sol de la mañana, el sol que brilla..." His voice is barely audible, the words shaky. Gabriel's little body relaxes against him, a content sigh escaping his lips followed by a quiet yawn. He nuzzles closer to Miguel, his tiny breaths falling into sync with the rhythm of the song. "...alegra todo, mi corazón," Miguel coninues softly, his mind flooding with memories. He sees a bright, lively girl with the same curious eyes as the boy in his arms.

"Daddy," Gabriella asks, her large eyes bright with curiosity as she looks up at him, "why do you call me your morning sun? I'm not yellow."

Miguel chuckles at her innocence, his fingers gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. He cradles her against his chest, looking into those eyes so full of wonder. "No, mija" he replies, his voice soft with affection "you're not yellow but you are my sunshine."

"But why?" She wrinkles her little nose, her childish curiosity making Miguel's heart fill up with love.

"Because, mijita," he begins, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple, "just like the sun, you light up my world. You chase away the darkness with your laughter and your love. You are warmth, you are joy, and just like the morning sun, you are a new beginning, a promise of a brighter day."

Gabriella blinks up at him, her lips curving into a small, and she hides her smile in the crook of his neck. "I like that, Papi," she whispers, "Sing the song again, please?"

“brilla, conmigo, brilla que brilla, alegrandome esta cancion. Tu eres mi sol de la manana…“

Eyes closed, Miguel draws Gabriel unconsciously closer, his heart full, and for the first time he’s feeling a sense of contentment he hasn't experienced in years.

The moment is shattered by the sound of a throat being cleared, pulling him abruptly out of his peaceful trance.

Peter B is standing in the doorway, arms loaded with various dolls. "Wow, he's finally asleep," he remarks, looking between Miguel and the now sleeping Gabriel with a relieved smile. "I was starting to think that was impossible."

Without responding, or even sparing a glance in Peter's direction, Miguel turns away from the door and heads to the bed. He gently places the sleeping toddler down, pulling a small blanket over him. Once he's confident that Gabriel is settled, Miguel quietly leaves the room, his demeanor as frosty and aloof as ever, making no acknowledgment of Peter's presence.

Peter B is quick on his feet, rushing after Miguel. "I brought him toys from Mayday," he blurts out. "She won't miss them. She's not too good at sharing, but I guess she won’t mind in this case."

Miguel continues his stride, not giving Peter so much as a backward glance. "Que maravilla," he mutters under his breath, his tone dripping with sarcasm. Ignoring the dismissal, Peter B. reaches out and places a hand on Miguel's arm, stopping him in his tracks. Miguel raises an eyebrow and glances back at him half-heartedly, clearly not interested in a conversation.

Peter takes a moment, his gaze intensifying. "Hey, boss," he begins, his voice shaky yet determined. "We can't let anything happen to this boy, right?"

At Peter's words, Miguel closes his eyes and takes a deep, steadying breath.

Back on Earth 586, you're in the throes of a meltdown. Your little boy, Gabriel, is nowhere to be found. You've scoured the whole city of Nea Yorkey, every nook and cranny you can think of, but there's no trace of him anywhere. Desperation gnaws at your insides, and fury bubbles up, hot and fierce. Your mind is in turmoil, swirling with anger and fear, clouding your ability to think straight. One thing is crystal clear though: whoever dared to touch your child will pay dearly for their actions.

You're frantically trying to find a way to contact anyone from the Spider Society, while simultaneously considering every possible avenue to traverse the multiverse yourself. Alchemax - the multinational conglomerate known for its cutting-edge research and technological advancements - seems to be your only hope. As you're about to make your way there, a sound from Gabriel's room stops you in your tracks.

Your Spider senses, already on high alert due to the unexpected circumstances, seem to kick into overdrive. Every instinct within you screams that something is about to happen. Your heart pounds in your chest like a wild drum as you slowly approach the room.

Meanwhile, in Gabriel's room, Miles is having his own share of troubles. In his haste, he stumbles over a toy car that starts making an assortment of noises and brightly lit animations. "Ah, this stupid toy!" he curses under his breath.

A thought suddenly crosses his mind and he wonders aloud, "Wait, does he need a blanket?" Just as he's about to reach for a small bunny stuffed animal that lay discarded on the floor, an intense blast of sonic energy sweeps across the room.

Caught by surprise, Miles finds himself flung across the room, his back hitting the wall with a thud. Before he can even let out a gasp, a spider web shoots out, pinning him securely against the wall. There he hangs, suspended, his eyes wide with shock and confusion. His breath comes in shallow gasps as he attempts to comprehend what just happened. Well its safe to say he didn’t saw that coming.

Miles, still stuck against the wall, manages to blurt out, "Who are you?"

"Who am I?" you echo, incredulity lacing your tone. "You break into my son's room and ask me whoI am?"

Your mind races as Miles stammers, "Wait, your son's room? Wait, are you...are you a Spider-person aswell?"

Ignoring his question, you stride towards him, an aura of threat radiating off you. "Stop talking!" you command, "I ask the questions!" In your hand, a ball of solar energy forms, crackling with power and casting a glow across the room.

"Why are you here? Where is my son?" The words are more of a growl than a question, the motherly instincts in you sending waves of danger rippling across the room. "Your son is okay, please don't hurt me!" Miles pleads with a shaky fear laced voice.

Squirmy and visibly frightened, Miles stammers out his confession, "We-we took him...it was our mission... He's an anomaly...we needed to get him out of this universe, send him to his own, so it wouldn’t collapse and interfere with the multiverse...but he doesn't have one, and I'm so sorry..."

His voice dwindles to a murmur, words tumbling over one another in his haste. Amidst his ramblings, your icy inquiry slices through like a blade, "Who instructed you?"

A sharp wince contorts his face, betraying his fear. "Our boss..." he starts, his voice barely above a whisper, "Miguel... Miguel O'Hara."

The energy in your hand dissipates, leaving only shock in its place. It's almost too much to take in - the idea that Miguel, your Miguel, could have done something like this. "He's okay, we... we didn't know he was the son of a Spider-woman. I'm Miles Morales, by the way." he introduces himself, attempting to inject some normalcy into the situation.

"I'm Spider-Sun," you respond automatically, your voice sounding distant to your own ears.

"Wait … you?" Miles' eyes widen in recognition. "You're Sunny?" When you give a numb nod in response, he continues, "You look more like 'Stormy' if you ask me." Your gaze snaps to Miles, the intensity of your death glare immediately silencing his attempt at humour. "Sorry, sorry," he stammers, raising his hands in surrender. "I just...I've heard Gwen and Peter talk about you."

"They never stop talking about you," Miles continues, trying to regain his composure. "They always say you have such a radiant personality and how much they miss you. They take care of your son, don’t worry. Hes safe for now.”

"What do you mean he's safe 'for now'?" you cut him off abruptly, your voice cold and hard. Miles gulps nervously before responding.

"Eh...we have until morning to find a solution for this...anomaly," he stammers. You interrupt him, seething with a fury that makes him cringe. "My son's name is Gabriel. He is not an 'anomaly'," you spit out the words like they are poison, hating the way they make your sweet little boy sound like some kind of mistake.

"Eh, yes, for Gabriel," Miles corrects hastily, "because, eh... if we don't find an alternative, they need to, eh...eliminate..." He trails off, speaking so quickly and softly that you almost don't catch his last word.

"ELIMINATE?????" You scream and for a split second, Miles is sure he sees your eyes blaze with a terrifying, luminating light.

"We can stop them. We can talk to them and say it's your son," Miles says quickly, desperately hoping to calm you.

"I don't talk. Bring me to my son," you demand. Without wasting another moment, you order him to open the portal. "Y-yes, right away, Sunn... eh, Mrs. Sun, eh... Ma'am," he stammers, visibly trembling under your steely gaze.

It takes him two shaky attempts before he manages to successfully open the portal, his hands still unsteady from the encounter.

Back at the headquarters, Peter chases after Miguel into his office. "Boss, all I'm saying is, what if Lyla is wrong?"

Miguel is pinching the bridge of his nose, a deep sigh escaping his lips. The weight of the situation is quickly becoming too overwhelming and he feels himself teetering dangerously close to his breaking point.

Just at that moment, Gwen, Pav, Margo and Hobie burst into the office, their faces set withdetermination. "Miguel, there’s something you need to know. Please hear us out. Margo and I, we found something.Lyla is - ," Gwen starts but Miguel is quick to silence her with a raised hand.

Just as Miguel is about to speak, the lights flicker, casting an ominous glow throughout the room. Hobie looks around nervously. "Is that eh...normal?"

Peter quirks an eyebrow. "Did you forget to pay the electricity bill?"

The lights flicker even more violently, plunging the room into a dance of shadow and light.

With a violent burst, the door is flung open, and a brilliant surge of light blinds everyone. You stand in the doorway, an ethereal aura glowing around you.

"O'Hara!" Your voice thunders through the room, heavy with wrath and revenge. As Miguel turns around to face the source of the sound, a massive, lightning-tinged sonar blast slams directly into his chest. He's pushed backward, knocked off balance before he can brace himself for the attack. He tries to recoverr, to shift into defense mode but he doesn't get the chance. You're relentless, a solar goddess in human form, hurtling blast after blast at him. Miguel has no time to regain his stance, each attack landing with more force than the last.

Gwen makes to step forward, her instincts screaming at her to intervene, but Peter grabs her arm, pulling her back. "That's Sunny," he says, his voice a mixture of awe and concern. Hobie's eyes widen comically. He cocks his head, a smirk playing on his lips. "Our Sunny, eh? Blimey, I never knew she had it in her. That rebellious firecracker," he mutters, a distinct note of admiration creeping into his typically laid-back British drawl.

Miles bursts into the room, breathless and disheveled. He stumbles towards Gwen, his voice hurried and concerned, "I tried to stop her, but she was...she was furious. Woahhh, I've never seen Miguel get beaten like this before."

And he wasn't exaggerating. Miguel was fighting back, his fangs bared, his claws out and ready but he was no match for your rage-fueled attacks. You were right up in his face, delivering punch after punch at a brutal pace

"Where's my son, O’Hara? What have you done to him?" you demand, your voice cutting through the chaos like a blade.

At your words, Miguel's movements falter. His defense wavers, and he barely manages to gasp out, "Your son?" He doesn't dodge your next blow, doesn't attempt to shield himself or strike back. Instead, he allows you to continue.

Miguel is shocked. His reflexes kick in as he sees the next punch coming and he grabs your wrist, halting your next powerful punch aimed for his face. He locks eyes with you, his gaze holding an emotion you've never seen in him before. Is it fear? No, it's much deeper, more profound.

As he stares at you, your luminescent eyes gradually lose their fiery intensity, shifting back to their human form.

"I... I didn't know," Miguel stammers, his voice a trembling whisper. "Lo – lo siento. I – I didn’t know.”

His breaths are ragged, and you can see a war waging inside him.

"But...how?How didn’t I know?" His voice is choked, your wrist still securely in his grip. “Your son?” Miguel continues,his voice is barely above a whisper. His eyes search yours and all he sees is raw, untamed anger with an aching pain that pierces his soul.

“Yes, MY son!” your voice echoes through the room like a whip. “Did you think that you could just take him from me? That I wouldn't come for him?”

Miguel’s grip on your wrist loosens as he stumbles back. His heart feels like it’s about to explode as realization dawns on him. The dark curls, the small fangs the baby had bared at him –pieces of a puzzle start falling into place. His own blood runs cold.

“Where is he, Miguel? Where’s myGabriel?” your voice breaks as you say the name, and it feels like another punch to Miguel's gut.

“Gabr...” Miguel chokes. “No... no...”

His voice is barely audible, the air knocked out of him by the significance of the name. His knees buckle, and he falls on the floor. "NO."

“You, who I thought would protect any child, wanted to eliminate my – our – flesh and blood!” Tears, full of anger and hurt, stream down your face, but your voice doesn't waver one bit.

Miguel, still on the floor, looks up at you with tear-streaked cheeks. “I didn’t know. I swear on my life, on Gabriella’s memory. I-I wanted to do the right thing. I- I never, -Lo siento.”

There’s a moment of tense silence as you look down at the shattered man before you,the love of your life, the father of your child, who almost made the most horrifying, unforgivable mistake.

Just then, from another room, the faint sound of a baby's cries pierce through the heavy atmosphere. You abruptly yank your wrist out of his grasp and towards the door to leave.

Your heart clenches as you break into a run, following the pitiful cries. You don’t look back.

Miguel remains on his knees. He doenst follow you, he doesn’t dare to move, anchored by the crushing weight of what he's done, as the sounds of Gabriel's cries fade into the background.

"Gabriel," he whispers, the name escaping his lips like a vow. A promise of redemption. And with that single word, Miguel knows he'll move heaven and earth to protect his child.

Part 4 "Webs of Redemption"

Hello, you wonderful souls! I want to say a big thank you for your patience and kind words about this series. I really appreciate each of your sweet comments and messages – they mean so much to me. Thank you all for the insightful ideas and suggestions you contributed for part 3. I've incorporated as many of your concepts as I could because they're simply brilliant. I'm eager to hear more of your thoughts, criticisms, and proposals for part 4. I also want to give a special thanks to Jess, @wolfjessedragon . Her inspiration and amazing ideas were the driving force behind Part 3, and I couldn't have written it without her! love you guys, keep being awesome!

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lockleysfav · 9 months

Text

My Little Flower

Miguel O’Hara x AFAB virgin!Reader

summary: You had just met the spider society and Miguel a few days ago, You and Miguel had been quite chatty with eachother for a while before be was called out to a mission. A few hours later when you’re asleep in the lab, a high Miguel stumbles in.

warnings: NSFW, sex pollen, drugged Miguel, loss of virginity, rough sex, non con, somnophilia, creampie, reader soon loves it.

A/N: From the last post, the poll, i will be doing the top 3 voted smut ideas. If you want to be in a taglist just comment on this post ❤️. Enjoy!!

To say you were tired was an understatement, you had been working on your new costume a few minutes after Miguel was called out to a mission. It was lonely sometimes without him despite the hundreds of spider people around. You knew that you and Miguel were a little closer than others, and his company had always lightened your mood.

You begged him to let you come with him on this mission but he immediately shut you down, rushing off after telling you it’s too dangerous, plus, your suit isnt finished. It was whatever, you scoffed and sat back down to carry on with the designs. “Asshole” you muttered to yourself, mimicking his facial expressions only to make yourself laugh but once you calmed down and looked to the clock and saw it was 10:34pm, you decided to work a little on your laptop in miguels chair (he had the comfiest chair of course).

The door and slammed wide open and yet you didnt flinch for a second, Miguel stumbled in onto his knees, panting and clawing at his neck “fuck what is this” he heaved as he continued to squirm. His fangs had retracted and he felt his body growing warmer and warmer at a certain smell, he didnt realise that smell was you until he forced himself up onto his feet and saw you asleep in his chair, your body hunched over on the desk with your laptop still open, the white light lighting up your face. Miguel almost purred at the sight of you drooling on his desk.

“te necesito” he muttered breathlessly before scrunching up his face in frustration. He couldnt do that to you? right? You were new, still young. You’d hate him but god he couldnt stop his legs from moving towards you. He growled and so desperately tried to hold himself back, his cock straining against his suit.

You were whining ever so slightly in your sleep, Miguel wasnt aware if you were having a nightmare but its what he assumed and it only drove him even crazier “poor bebita” he whispered as he ran his long fingers through your hair before letting the bottom half of his suit fade away, his cock resting against your cheek. His tip was almost gushing with precum, he gripped the back of your hair and growled before pushing the tip into your drooling mouth “oh fuck, thats it good girl” he whimpered as his body grew hotter, his hips suddenly bucking harder into your mouth. Your head twitched and pulled back a little but Miguel gripped your hair tighter holding you in place “im sorry bebita im so sorr- f-fuck” his dick hit the back of your throat and he doubled over emptying his cum on your tongue.

He pulled out panting, he stared down at you expecting you to jolt awake but you were still fast asleep. You were more of a deep sleeper than he thought. Initially he thought he was okay, but the sight of his warm cum dribbling out of your mouth only hardened his cock again. He didnt waste another second, he lifted you up from the desk, the cum from his mouth smearing onto his shoulder causing him to groan. He carried you to his bed and layed you on your stomach, your feet dangling off the edge of the bed. He pulled down your leggings along with your socks and shirt, you stirred for a moment and Miguel stopped, looking at your face until it relaxed again “so good for me, you love it dont you? you want me just as much as i want you” his eyes had turned a deep red, he felt feral.

He straddled your thighs and ran his fingers down your spine before gripping your ass cheeks tight, putting his weight down and spreading you wide open, your puffy pussy exposed to him. He heaved again, saliva spitting from his mouth before spitting directly onto your pussy. This time, you jolted.

“M-Miguel?” you lifted your head realising it was planted down on soft sheets. You feel a pair of large hands on your ass and you quickly realised the situation, the head of his cock pressed against your hole and you immediately thrashed against him to get away “no no! stay!” Miguel had tears in his eyes he was so desperate. He grabbed your arms and pinned them behind your back. “Miguel stop! Im a virgin please please dont do this” you were almost sobbing and Miguel let go of your hands.

“Virgin?” he asked as he looked down again, spreading your pussy lips before looking at the back of your head. “I wont…i wont hurt you okay? please bebita” he leaned down, his body weight completely pinning you down as he kissed behind your ear. “need you so bad, just don’t fight it and it wont hurt i promise” you were panting and whining, you were so scared but also full of adrenaline. You were crushing on Miguel the minute you laid eyes on him. But you were just scared.

Miguel nipped your earlobe making you yelp, he growled and sat back up on his knees, he let you have control over your arms as he started rubbing his thick tip along your slit. He used his thighs to pin your legs together, making sure you wouldnt be able to squirm so much. He pushed in a little and sighed in relief at your loud whining “it hurts! miguel w-wait” but he didnt, he forced himself deeper and deeper, he knew it wouldve been easier for you if his dick was any smaller. He felt guilty in his gut as he continued and struggled to force his cock all the way inside you “shh relax, take me all in baby come on” he pulled back before pushing in again and this time your pussy opened up for him, letting him slide right in making you cry out loudly “miguel!” you were frantic, trying to get away from the pain but Miguel only held you in place, hushing you and kissing your shoulder as he refused to stop his movements.

“Shh it’s alright, dont be scared it’s over j…just stay still and oh- everything will be fine!” he stuttered as sweat dripped from his face. His gut was burning with desire and he couldnt stop, he so desperately wanted to pull out and hold you, tell you hes sorry but he couldn’t.

Miguel had shown a little mercy by flipping you onto your back and spreading your legs before slipping his hands behind your knees and pinning your legs to your chest, folding you together. He saw the fear in your face when you looked down at the size of him “no dont look mi amor, look at me thats it…you’re okay this is gonna feel so good trust me” you shook your head but he only nodded his before sliding his dick back into your pussy. You gasped and pressed your palm’s against his chest a poor attempt to keep him from going any further, he moaned and only slid deeper, hitting your cervix. “too deep” you told him shakily and he ignored you, lifting your legs higher onto his shoulders and pounding into you “fuck you’re so tight, leaking everywhere you little slut you love it, stop being so fucking dramatic and take it” the moment he said this, he slammed against your g-spot and your eyes rolled back “o-oh my god” you bucked your hips up and he smiled against your neck “good girl there we go…” he pulled away to look at you, taking in your beautiful features while pounding you.

You were moaning at each thrust, it was music to Miguels ears and as soon as you started panicking, unknown to what was coming he almost exploded. “mmm fuck dont fight it, let it happen bebita come on let it all out” his encouragement had you crying, your pussy squeezing his cock as you came, making it difficult for him to keep thrusting but it didnt matter, he grabbed your throat tightly and kissed you, pushing his tongue deep in your mouth as he rammed his warm sticky cum into your womb.

Miguel laid his head on your chest, he felt a weight lift off him and he came back to his senses when he heard you crying. He immediately shot up and looked down at you with a frown “oh no…oh im so sorry i..i didnt..i dont know what to say” he cupped your cheeks desperate to hear you say something.

You shook your head in his hands “please dont leave” Miguel was stunned for a moment at your plea, your body was shaking and his heart broke “hey..hey look at me im not going anywhere” he looked into your reddening eyes “im not going anywhere…im so sorry this wasnt how i wanted this to go” he sighed and laid his head back onto your chest “i was hit with some powder i dont know what came over me when i saw you, please babygirl believe me when i say i didnt wanna hurt you i-i never want to hurt you” you were looking up at him, smiling weakly “it’s okay Miguel..i understand” you nuzzle into him and he clung to you tightly “i wont let anyone hurt you..you’re mine” he was gentle with words, it almost felt normal.

You really had no idea what you were getting yourself into.

A/N: Thank you for reading! 💕

likes and reposts are so appreciated <3

#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara smut #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderverse #miguel x you #miguel x y/n #miguel smut #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant #smut #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley smut #fluff #oscar isaac x reader #oscar isaac smut #spider 2099 x reader

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whaddayadothatfor · 11 months

Text

Ctenizidae

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

Summary: You’re an anomaly from another universe. You’re not dangerous though, so Miguel’s made the executive decision to keep you around until more dangerous criminals are caught and sent home first. Unless that’s not the only reason he’s decided to keep you around…

Content warnings: dub-con, voyeurism, masturbation, obsessive!Miguel

WC: ~1k

AN: Y’all this is so unedited but I wanted to write smut for this man so I did! If y’all like it I can post a second, smuttier part.

MDNI

“Here.” You drop a small plastic bin of chocolate chip cookies in front of Miguel. As a peace offering. No, really.

Miguel raises his right eyebrow in question. He doesn’t even answer you anymore. The other Spider-people go about their day in the cafeteria, having seen this scene time and time again.

Every day for the past two weeks since you were suddenly teleported to Nueva York and promptly labeled an anomaly, you’ve been practically begging Miguel to send you home. He’s declined every time.

This is pretty much how the conversation goes each time:

“Miguel, I think I should—“

“No. We have to send the most dangerous anomalies back to their universe first—“

“I’m dangerous! I’m plenty dangerous.”

“The only thing you’ve maimed, tortured, and killed in the past month is a flippin’ houseplant. You’re staying.”

You see how frustrating this man is?

So you’ve decided that maybe bribery— sorry, a peace offering— will work better. Hence, the cookies.

“Maybe if you eat something sweet you’ll stop being so bitter and stubborn all the time,” you smile tightly. “Then you’ll find it in your heart— the one that shrunk three sizes— to let me go home.”

“I appreciate the offering— though you could use some more creativity in your approach— but just know that these won’t get you home.” He pries open the container and lifts one to his mouth before moaning in delight. “These are delicious. Thank you,” he said, sucking the melted chocolate off of his thumb. His overly enthusiastic groans were clearly a tactic to piss you off, and it worked.

You simmer in anger as he smirks while chewing his cookie. You try to snatch the bin back, but he moves it out of your way.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he says, pushing up from the small table he was sitting at and leaning down to whisper near your ear. “No take-backsies.”

He flustered you, and he knew it. He laughed as he walked away. You stuttered a retort in embarrassment, but he didn’t even have the decency to turn around.

“Ugh, I hate that guy,” you stomped in anger. You muttered several curses before you turned around to leave, only to see several wide-eyed Spideys staring at you in concern. This is why you wait until after you’re alone to throw a tantrum— it scares the locals. Whoops. “Uhh, carry on. My bad. Enjoy your lunch!”

You quickly walk away, feeling defeated. But it doesn’t matter, you’ve got nothing but time. You’ll catch him when he’s sleeping. He’s gotta be more amenable then.

Later

“You know, just for the record, I think you going to his room this late at night is a terrible idea,” Lyla warned as she flitted between standing and reclining with her arms crossed behind her neck.

“Well I think him keeping me here is a terrible idea. I guess we’re all full of them.”

“Seriously—“

“Lyla I don’t care! I’ve got a family to get back to. Friends, a life. I don’t care how fine that man is, I’m going back home. Tonight, preferably.”

“Whatever, it’s your funeral.” She acquiesced before disappearing into the ether, just as you arrived at his door.

“Wait, Lyla! Open the door.” Without a response, the door opened. “Thanks, Lyla.”

You walked in to the large room to see Miguel sitting up in a chair near the center of the room.

“Miguel, you need to listen to me—“

The sight that met you was so shocking you had to take it in one part at a time.

First, You see Miguel’s side profile as he faces the wall to the left of you. He’s breathing heavy, chest heaving as his hand vigorously moves up and down his— oh. Maybe you came at the wrong time.

With the sudden awkwardness that’s overtaken you, you look somewhere else, anywhere else, only to find the source of what he’s staring at— a video, no, porn. The second piece of the puzzle, you take in the video’s content. First, you just see flashes of skin and hear soft grunts and moans emanating from the screen. But then you realize, the voices sound familiar, really familiar. Then it hits you.

It is you.

And him. The both of you together. And that realization connects all the pieces of the puzzle together. He’s keeping you here, on purpose.

Your eyes dart back to Miguel, who has now abandoned his video in favor of the live view he has right in front of him. He’s shirtless but he still has some grey sweats on, pushed down just enough that he can jerk off. His hands move desperately over his cock, aborted grunts and breathy moans coming out sporadically.

He turned his head to the side, his cheeks flushed and his eyes narrowed with desire. You were frozen, stuck in time. Miguel kept stroking his cock while staring into your eyes. He did this right up until his orgasm overtook him, throwing his head back and jerking his hips upward as he called out your name.

His cum spurted out in waves, once, twice, three times. It was thick and opaque and made a mess all over his lower stomach. He sighed and sank back into his chair.

“Did you enjoy the show?” His voice is low and heady as he calls out to you. It takes you a moment to respond, because admittedly you’re still staring at his— well, his everything, dick included. Still It was a very, very nice, thick, veiny d—“Am I interrupting?”

His teasing knocks you out of your reverie.

“I-I should go.” You said. You’re starting to realize that Lyla might have been right. Maybe you should’ve waited until the morning. You start backing up to leave but Miguel shakes his head and the door shuts behind him.

“No, no, no. See, that’s your problem. You’re always trying to leave,” he chastises.

He stalks towards you, like you’re prey. You move backwards until your back hits the door. He reaches over you, placing an arm over your head and his index finger under your chin, lifting it upwards. He bends down, close enough that you can see even minute details of his face.

He narrows his eyes as he bares his fangs.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

#marvel x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #marvel smut #across the spiderverse #spider man 2099 #spider man smut #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters #oscar isaac smut #y/n

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moondirti · 8 months

Text

DOUBLE RAPTURE

MIGUEL O'HARA x F!READER x ALT! MIGUEL

「 Toasted, every atom in you blistering hot, knocking into each other repeatedly. It’s the buzz at the end of a cigar, embers burning, flickering down to concrete in coughs of ash. You’re both the fire and its aftermath, moaning breathlessly for all that you’re supposed to be in charge.

And tonight – stuck between two men who don’t look, but are, each other – nothing can tamp your flame. 」

summary: after apprehending an anomaly who turns out to be an alternate version of your husband, you indulge in your filthiest fantasy.

explicit (18+) | 6.3k words | part two warnings: pure smut, pwp, THREESOME, cunnilingus, squirting, throat-fucking, blowjobs, unprotected p-in-v, anal, double penetration, tummy/throat bulge, younger miguel is submissive, spitting, cum swallowing, hair pulling, mild degradation, possessiveness, tooth-rotting fluff, every kink under the moon tbh

In truth, it comes naturally.

Your Miguel – older, blunt around once serrated edges, wisps of grey streaking dark tresses – sits to the side. He fosters a tumbler in one grip, half-full with amber liquid. Scotch whiskey, neat; you’d poured the drink to give yourself something to do while waiting. It’ll help, you insisted. An outlet to sip on, or a loud-enough warning when set on the adjacent tea table.

Now, you see that it was more for your sake than his.

He’s entirely collected for someone watching another man’s hands run along his wife’s body. They pushed your shirt off a while ago, hurried to behold your covered form. You’re laying in your bra, breasts heaving while kisses trail down your stomach, nipping the sensitive skin there – and still, all you can focus on is him. Your Miguel, scrutinising the rush the man is in with disapproval glimmering on carmine eyes. If this whole thing hadn’t been his suggestion, you would’ve sworn the look was meant to kill.

Because he likes to take his time with you. It hasn’t always been that way. Ages ago, following your premiere date, you fucked for the first time in a motel he rented, both your apartments’ farther than he would’ve liked to drive. But, again, he’s older now. Seasoned. There’s a heavy ring decorating your finger that winks reassuringly at him, three carats for the three year anniversary he proposed on. It amplifies the truth each hour you wear it – he is yours, you are his, and you’ve all the time in the world to do with each other as you please.

Your third for the night is unfamiliar with the dynamic.

(Though of course, it makes sense for him to be.)

You have to remind yourself of the fluid lines that mark each component of this little fantasy. They waver and wobble, bleeding into one another sometimes like wet ink on parchment. It’s hard to decipher the words they spell out when trapped in thick, indulgent lust – your legs spread to allow the man room as he moves down your body. But it’s even harder to ignore the way your skin burns with the intensity of your husband’s careful contemplation. It singes, redefining those exact perimeters for you:

One, and the most important given your suggestion, is that this will never leave your room. It’s not distrust that keeps it rigid – rather, a shared concern for the integrity of the multiverse. Your Miguel is all too aware of the dire consequences it could face should the rule be broken. You are too. It only narrows down to the partner occupying your bed and his naivete to it all.

Two; to use the safewords established beforehand. You’re infamous for losing yourself to pleasure, the habit bordering on a dangerous degree. It’s why Miguel is watching, to ensure things start correctly. He’s piqued and ready to stop it should the man not understand your limits.

(However unlikely. Currently, you’re the one establishing them.)

The third – the one you have a particularly complicated time grasping – is that ‘the man’ in question is no stranger at all. In fact, it’s instinct to touch him in the same way you’re used to, your mind adequately fooled everytime you look at him. A full head of brown hair – albeit, cropped shorter than your voyeur’s, a fade in at his ears. Young skin, which you strain to notice is devoid of the crows’ feet you adore. Yes, he’s smoother, like time had taken sandpaper to your model and buffed out all his worn edges, but he’s still…

Miguel.

(Though he urged you to call him Mig, entirely oblivious to the subtle cringe that’d crossed your husbands expression. That nickname is one you hardly resort to. He’s revealed a hatred for it.

Another cue, then, that they are not one in the same).

So, it comes naturally because you’ve spent so long in this exact space. Dusk flooding your home in plum hues, the colour of a berry ripe with rot. Overhead lights off, golden lamps projecting sensual shadows on white sheets. Your face warm with alcohol and your panties pushed to the side by a hero named O’Hara, whose palms are large and dry but a burning furnace on gooseflesh.

The younger one, Mig, is not yet a hardened vigilante. He’s new to the game – DNA spliced with spider essence only seven months ago. In that time, he worked out his own method of inter-dimensional travel, tortured genius that he is. Hopped between worlds until, eventually, he blipped on your radar. You’d been sent to process the anomaly whose personhood you were unaware of, only to come face to face with a twenty-something version of your beloved.

There’s no room for bias in the delicate scale of the universe. He’d found himself locked with other transgressors of his pedigree. Miguel – yours – was vehemently opposed to the notion of him joining spider society, uncomfortably affluent in his past recklessness. He knows, better than everyone else; it’s a security risk, letting in a spider-man so inexperienced.

You think that it’s projection. That, and a recognition of the way his mirror couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off you.

(A flattering notion for all you refused to believe it. You’re about ten years his senior – surely, he’d have better prospects on his Earth. But you asked, perhaps to hearten any overprotectiveness that could manifest itself as risk.

Something wrong, Mig?

He only looked at you behind the red laser field entrapping him, a small smile on his face. No. Nothing. You’re just different back home.)

That was before. Before he embodied the exact enthusiasm Miguel had been afraid of, spearing your cunt with his tongue, his scalp no doubt aching under your relentless hold. He hums his encouragement despite it, begging you to direct him the way you please. At least he acknowledges his cluelessness – you can almost hear from the other side of the bedroom, acumen pulsing amidst heady air. Most men wouldn’t, their egos great fragile beasts. To have gotten around before might embellish their history with competent, but no one’s ever truly an expert on someone new.

Mig doesn’t pretend otherwise. He’s keen to learn.

That is the difference that encouraged this whole tryst.

“Unfurl your tongue, Mig. You’re focusing too much on– Oh.” Your hips buck, shoving closer to the mouth that does just as you say. He laps your heated core with spittle-drenched dexterity, combing between puffy lips. “That’s it. F-fuck… Just. Just don’t stop.”

The praise does well for him. He looks up at you, reverent – pupils not red, but black with the shadows his long lashes cast. You brush back locks that fall upon his forehead, affording him a better view of the effects he’s wrought. A thin layer of sweat clings to your flesh, gleaming with the fading sun outside. In your peripheral – framed gorgeously by the wall-wide window – it dips below the horizon, nebulous. Blurry on orange clouds.

Pinned under observation and a feverish assault, you feel much the same. Toasted, every atom in you blistering hot, knocking into each other with novel speed. It’s the buzz at the end of a cigar, embers burning, flickering down to concrete in coughs of ash. You’re both the fire and its aftermath, moaning breathlessly for all that you’re supposed to be in charge.

And tonight – bouncing between two men who don’t look like, but are, each other – the feeding of the flame goes untamed.

You find that’s the cause for it. There’s nothing to cling onto for purchase, the one anchor in this equation seated on his leather armchair, ankle on knee, content in watching you soar to uncharted skies on the chin of another. Your head flops uselessly to the side, scanning him once more.

There’s a tricky look to him, suspended on two lines of equal measure. You can tell he wants to join, to take control of the exploit and direct it how he sees fit. Perhaps it’s regret. Yet the pronounced mass in his trousers speaks to the contrary. Miguel palms it, testing his endurance by keeping his touch above cloth, rounding back once his heel presses its end. The sight catalyses your delirium; the knowledge that he, your dedicated husband, is tender with rushed blood and idle about it. Waiting for an opportune moment.

When you reach out an arm in his direction, you hope he takes it as one. Mig sucks your weeping cunt in a symphony of lewd noises, as though he’s trying to push the grace he’s been granting. Slurp. Tracing the perimeter of your slit, revelling in the way it clicks at his ministrations. Squelch. Nose driving into your clit, so hard you suspect he’s trying to bury himself there.

It only calls to your lips, how dry they feel. You’re parched of the one thing he chose to forgo, marking it as off-limits based on some arbitrary ideal. You don’t assume you understand it, instead wiggling your fingers – come here – at your husband. He skips over the grabby hands, devouring your bitten pout and droopy lashes, weighing them in his head.

“Mi vida.” You plea, voice pitched high and winded. The glass’s bottom glints with the last swill of his drink. He knocks it back before rising – sweeping towards you, tantalisingly slow.

Mig shoves your knees higher, practically folding you in half. Your hamstrings stretch with the motions, sending molten spasms to your core – that which he continues to eat out. He’s now doubtlessly coated with your juices, but he doesn’t relent, tracing messy patterns on the sweet spot he managed to pinpoint without your help. You’re reduced to a sore bruise, egged on with every poke and prod. Pleasure swells with blood, clogging burst capillaries. Delicate. Inflamed; deliciously so. You give him a validating pat on the head while a free hand wraps around your Miguel, ironing his waist as he ducks down to your lips.

All three of you are on the bed now. You can’t begin to process the depravity of it all, the way things suddenly become hot and bursting and real. No – you’re much too enthralled by the rough kiss you’re pulled into. It’s dominating and tastes like smoked oak. Honey and faint vanilla where his tongue traces your fauces. The flavours batters you into something vapid, stupid, until the older man has to cup the back of your neck to keep you from sinking.

Intoxicated – you thought you’d be familiar with it by now, how wholly he consumes you, but there’s a power imbued in his approach that has you struggling to keep up. It’s all you can do to keep moving your mouth against his, gathering the material of his shirt to pinion yourself.

He’s got a stubble that colours his jaw in grey, the stalks of it grazing your nose and flaying you raw. It leaves you feeling sunburnt, dazed yet still pushing forward, like the balm for relief can be found at the back of his throat. That’s something else, you note, flicking your observation over to the face between your thighs. Mig keeps himself clean shaven, a youthful shine to his complexion, no peppered hair to obstruct it. Without it, you can clearly see the way his high cheekbones curve inward, hollowing out as they lead down to a pronounced chin. Charming, especially as it shoves between the globes of your ass to make room for his continued efforts.

You’re close, so close. A dam about to burst with centuries worth of water and–

“Need help, corazón?” Miguel whispers, nudging your nose so you can look back at him. Your response comes in the form of a stuffy whimper, nodding minutely. What exactly he means by help, you’re not sure, but his double seems to understand, breaking the smallest bit away to whine a protest.

“That’s offens–”

“Get back to licking her cunt before I change my mind about you being here.” Your husband orders, glowering when the reprimand seems to create the opposite of its intended effect. Mig grins wickedly, a cocky aura about him as he obeys. Just as he’s about to make contact again, his gaze catches yours. The subsequent wink he gives is a warning – loud and bleary and smug – preparing you for when he dives back in with a vengeance, plunging into your hole with that cursed muscle that runs like velvet.

The air pinches from your lungs, squealing on its way out. Your toes curl and your muscles tense and then Miguel directs your face back down with thick fingers, steering you by your cheeks. Your lips pucker, mouth unhinging at the silent command the action echoes. Tongue flattening, you prepare yourself for the little dance you’ve trekked a hundred times before – thankful, in some part, that he’s doing it to ground you.

When he spits – hawking, a dense glob concentrated with scotch – onto an expectant palette, you suppress the devilish narrowing of your eyes. It’s almost habit to reflect his countenance, looking down with fondness and pride at the control you exhibit. Because you don’t swallow, not immediately. You wait for him to kiss you again, to gather the slaver and push it behind your molars with reinforced passion. And he does. Of course he does – that and so much more as he places claim to the hole that is solely his for tonight. You hardly notice when his clutch leaves you, skimming down to unclasp your bra.

Not when your breasts jerk free, nipples pocking at the shift in temperature.

Not as he squeezes each, tugging at their peaks until they’re fully erect.

Or even while he tickles the line of your abdomen, following the same path his counterpart did, smoothing over aggressive bite marks.

It’s only when you break away for great, gluttonous breaths of air – your vision blurring with hypoxia – and Miguel reaches two digits to your fattened clit, do you finally run up to speed. It’s a little too late, though, because he presses down and escalates your delight to unprecedented heights. Enough to see stars – enough to scream the loudest you have in a long while, so that all your appeals are fully unintelligible but available for the world to hear.

“FUCK! Oh my– Fuck, s-shit, shit…” You cry, tears finally breaking the tension at your waterline and running in an unending sequence. “B-both of y-yo– Ah! So good. I’m–”

Mig moans, sending vibrations right to the tightening ball of pressure in your gut. He’s snowballed his efforts, drinking you in with a sincerity. Specifically targeted is the spongy wall of tissue on the upside of your mound, suffering his battery and singing for it. String-plucked and pedal-pressed symphonies, composing a viscosity within you that sloshes behind your orgasm. Yes, he adds to it, but the fingertips rubbing you with bullish ferocity are going to break what’s holding it all back. You feel– know it.

Using your hair to hold your head in place, Miguel utters a string of debauched nothings onto your lower lip, face pressed close to yours. They’re quiet enough that even you have trouble catching them, your ears ringing with rising alarm. But you sense the way his breath blows, what shapes it creates, how it twines – and that fills in every gap for you. The intimacy manages to speak to the truth, despite all the degrading dirty talk.

“You like that, you filthy fucking thing?” Groaning, your husband increases his speed, goading you faster. There are crushing hands on your hips, and another wound into your scalp, pulling it taut. “So insatiable that you need two men to help make you cum, huh? Do you think you can?”

“Yes, yes, yes please. Please,” The very implication that he might stop before you do inspires unruly desperation. Your hips, arms, head – they all thrash in unison. “I wanna– I want to cum, Miguel, for the love of everything! Please!”

He slaps your clit in warning. The blow sends you reeling into a hush, so much so that you stop moving immediately, secretly wishing he’d do it again. To divert your energy, you stare right into his pupils, which shine with burgeoning playfulness. “You will, dirty girl. You’ll wish you didn’t though.”

“W–”

“Oye, wide eyes.” He turns to Mig, who's been curiously watching the display, jaw still moving against you. He unhooks under the attention, blinking rapidly. “Mouth wide open. You’ll want to catch every drop.”

He returns to strokes you in circles – furious, fervent. It’s a screw to the cork, twisting forcefully to combat the tension it’s working to release. You squeal, screech, do just about anything except contract your body like you’re compelled to do. You leave yourself loose, watching as Mig registers what’s about to happen, following orders and transforming into a receptacle for it. His fangs peak from behind swollen lips.

All you’re able to think about, plastered to this pane of double rapture, is how they don’t seem to retract. Permanent, unlike your Miguel – a fixture in his gums.

And then the dam shatters. Implodes, actually – collapsing into itself until it’s a small particle floating out with the deluge. You can hear it, the rush of fluid squirting from you. Consistently, pouring into the puddle the younger man happily gathers. He beams with satisfaction and looks so much like your husband, who does the same, brushing tears off your wrecked face.

With a core still convulsing, caught in the reverberant throes of pleasure, you’re mentally spent. Drained for every dime you’re worth and still wholly aware of the promise he made, flipping it over in your head. Again, and again, until it loses impact and dissolves from the impending future. For all you try, though, he holds power over you – even in memory.

You’ll wish you didn’t.

Mig sits up, crouched on his haunches. Chest bare of everything – including the curls that span your husbands’ – and in just his boxers, you can’t help but focus on either one of two things. His maw, pulled in a downward smile and soaked with clear slick, a concoction of saliva and your fluid dripping from where his canines poke out. But you find that it fills you with unwieldy humiliation to behold, so you fall onto the next.

Which just so happens to be his erection, trapped and throbbing from behind navy cotton confines. The head of it peaks above his waistband, purple and dribbling with pre-spend. It’s created a wet spot that grows larger by the second, and your humility is replaced by guilt for the poor thing.

Miguel, cooing in faux sympathy, swoops to caress the shell of your ear with his sinful proposal.

“What do you say, cariño? Want us to fuck you silly?”

Your hole squeezes around nothing, empty, speaking with a will of its own. He hears it, because of course he does – he’s in tune with everything about you – and manoeuvres you onto your stomach. By mere muscle memory alone, you get on wobbly knees, presenting your rear to the ecstatic man behind you.

And, your husband… Well–

He squeezes between your face and the headboard, tree-trunk thighs stretching out on either side of you. There’s a huge wedge in his pants, not at full size yet but stiff regardless, suffocated by time and space. Your mouth waters, appetite returning far too rapidly for how distant it seemed mere seconds ago.

“Beautiful, hermosa.” Mig groans, spreading your ass to get a proper view of the way your pussy drips for him. A quick glance back provides you with a lovely picture. Him, positively captivated with your holes – both of them, it appears, based on the way his thumb grazes over your tighter clench. “Can’t wait to feel you on me.”

His cock is out, too, briefs shoved under the sack at the end of his length. You take it all in like it’s the first time – despite the many traits he shares with Miguel. Fat, darker than the rest of him that gleams bronze even at night. Though rooted on a crop of tangled hair, whereas his alternate self prefers it trimmed short. When he strokes himself, anticipative, you note the mushroomed head. Circumcised.

An impish idea suddenly crosses your mind. Succumbing to it, you arch your back, knocking your behind on him. The action traps the appendage between you and his pelvis, and to add insult to injury, you wiggle around until it slots between your cheeks. Mig’s face screws up, close-knit, his hands scrambling for purchase on your rolling hips.

Something slaps your cheek. Grinning, you turn back to Miguel, his dick now extricated from its prison. The heft of it sways, tapping your nose and fluttering eyelids, so damn heavy that you cringe when it approaches. Two veins pop up from the smooth skin stretched along him, branching down to his frenulum, the spot you choose to start.

Your tongue runs along it, lathering the plump seams on your journey to the top. His nerve endings are mainly reduced to his head – unlike Mig, who’s still moaning as you grind across his length – so you stay there, particularly concentrated on the edge and the valley it creates. Your temples warm with the gentle cradle of two large hands, piloting you on your trip around his cock.

He smells like home – an ambrosial mix of leather and sweat, the backseat of his car where he fucked you on valentines. It’d been raining, windows made misty by passing fog, city colours painted on the grey wash. You’d teased him all day with a lack of panties and suffered for it, practically choked on pleasure, nothing on but a new pendant necklace.

Right now, you’re stuck in a parallel state. You can’t breath under the leaden attention of both him and his mirror, doing your best to keep sucking and grinding regardless of your dwindling strength. It’s difficult, difficult to divide yourself and satisfy them both, but fuck do you want to. More than anything, you’d kill to see them come undone in your holes – simultaneously, in some unlikely reverie. Pumped full of cum and praise by double the man you love most. Your tummy lurches with nauseous desire, teeth separating as you take Miguel into your mouth.

Peering up at him, if only to experience the way he loses control. But creases fold between his brow, reading your expression just as well. Without rush or need for brawn, he pulls the responsibility from under you, assigning it to himself by propelling into your trap, all in one go. He grates along the texture of your palette, cleaving your tonsils, and finally settling deep in your throat, triggering a series of ugly gags. To quiet down, you grip your thumb in a fist, focusing not on your lack of air but on contracting your throat around his tip.

“Are you going to fuck her or continue to rut like a dog in heat?” Your husband bites at Mig, ever self-critical. The latter man sucks in a challenging huff, patting your waist as he withdraws to centre his cock between your folds. He wags it until it catches on the divet of your cunt, hot and surging with natural slick.

Then, just when you think you can’t bear it any longer, he pushes in.

“Ghmmngf!” You cry, forced forward onto Miguel’s breadth, coughing out the saliva and pre-spend that threaten to smother you. Nose smooshing to his groyne as the other bottoms out, sheathed fully within you. You swear you can feel him in your guts, silently praising whatever taught him how to make most of your narrow space.

Like they’ve practised telepathy their whole life, both men dip to feel themselves through your body. Mig presses a sturdy hand to your stomach, positioned right at your mound where he protrudes outwards, admiring the visible bulge he creates in you. Similarly, his older counterpart cradles your neck, pinching the sides that expand and retract with the pistoning of his hips. He fucks your gullet slow, fast, and back to slow again – amused with the pace he can discern in more ways than one.

If your eyes hadn’t been rolled to the back of your head, you’d be blinded instead by a pool of blissful tears. They bubble up uncontrollably, wetting the cheeks already glazed with almost every other bodily fluid. You’re ravished, cock dumb times two. Your cunt is stretched to its limits, sucking your paramour in with vacuum-like violence, the gravity of it equatable to the sun.

Or, no–

Not the sun.

Something a hundred times larger, nearing the end of its life. With every rock of your body, it runs out of hydrogen, draining the last dregs of fuel before eventually caving in on itself, transforming into an infinitely dense mass. It happens in your core, Mig’s bruising pace only exacerbating the strain, contracting smaller and smaller. Boundlessly so, enough to brush off as you snake a hand down to your clit, tapping the sensitive bud, testing its reactivity.

When you flick it, though, you’re drawn back into the dip of spacetime. It’s inescapable, the one fixed point in all this mess, imminent for all your ragdoll self tries to delay it. The room pounds with sex, the scent of it accompanying every particle, reducing air to balmy filth that acts as a catalyst in your undoing.

Impossible. You know it’s impossible to acquaint yourself with the sensation of being filled on both ends. Despite it, you try. You claw onto what little authority you have, pushing past your clit to graze your nails on a pair of swinging balls. They’re full and drooping, slapping your thighs as their owner humps your cunt.

“Keep doing that. Fuck, fuc– mierda, feels so good. Yersotight. Soft. Soft and… ah, small.” Mig babbles, bowing over your form to kiss the dip between your shoulder blades. Your teeth graze the cock ramming your craw, an unconscious tick that has your husband tugging your hair in admonishment. “Hermosa– s’okay if I? Gonna… gonna cum.”

“Mmnmgh–”

“Not so fast.” Miguel says, tugging you off him at once. It causes the both of you teetering over the edge, to groan, something overtaking all executive functions and compelling you to listen. The lull finds Mig slipping out, unable to hold himself back should he spend another moment filling your pussy.

You’re carried upward, manhandled off elbows and knees, to straddle your husband’s lap, facing a wide chest with pecs as comforting as pillows. When did he take off his shirt? Your vision swims, crossing, oscillating with the unexpected motion – until, well, it doesn’t, stopping as your forehead finds solace on the dip beneath Miguel’s clavicle. It’s a reassuring change, your brain rewiring into safety mode given the fact that, when you cum again – however overstimulating – you’ll be within the arms that have always expertly navigated it before.

And he’s warm, an ever-raging bonfire that licks your breasts and pebbled nipples, heat penetrating your bones to seep into your heart. Your marrow follows soon after, melting into a potion of desire and relief, especially when his far more familiar cock replaces the void left by Mig.

“Wide eyes.” The older one calls.

“Did–” Said man stutters, shuffling closer. “Hope I didn’t hurt you, pretty.”

“Hngh… ‘Course n-not, Miggy. We’ve safeee– words, rmmbr?” You grunt, reaching a hand behind you to hold onto his bigger one, squeezing it for added reassurance. “My ass, tho-eahh. Please.”

“You’re– You’re being for real. Seriously?” He asks, rising hope evident in his tone. “Have you ever done it before?”

“Of course she has.” Miguel interrupts, rolling his hips instead of bouncing your tired body on him. “First drawer on your right.”

You laugh when the mattress wobbles, sheets tangling beneath his hurried scramble. The bottle of lube is almost empty, bought spontaneously during your honeymoon to Cabo. Your then newly-wed wanted to indulge your fantasy of anal on the beach, tucked away on a private cove he’d found just for the occasion. It’s been a vice ever since, just like all things with him. You’re addicted to the man, flat-out, scratching to get your fix whenever possible. However possible.

And, of course – due to a devastating soft spot that makes it hard for him to begrudge you anything – you now have two.

Mig spurts a substantial amount onto his hand, rubbing it on his dick and the ring of muscle it faces. Two digits thrust into you, exploring your elasticity, scissoring to make room for a much larger insertion. The man seated balls deep in your cunt kneads your flesh; obsessed with the chub around your waist, thighs, your cheeks especially, pulling them apart to make this whole ordeal easier.

Not that you necessarily need it, being used to it by now – though you preen under the attentiveness regardless. Your ego is a drowsy cat, tucked under a patch of sunlight, purring as its heavily pet all over. Muscles lax, borderline liquid as you moan with the training your rear clench receives. More lube is added when the previous pour dries up, shoved into the spasming sphincter, accompanying every lewd ministration used to loosen it.

You gasp, loosening and wet. When fingers exchange for a dick that’s packed, solid as steel, Miguel captures you into another teeming kiss. It’s to occupy you through the temporary pain, you know, suckling your tongue into his mouth with a gentleness unbecoming of your current lechery. The pressure soon subsides, ebbing and waning to an easier to manage fullness.

Fuck. You’re plugged on both ends, twin lengths driving into you, stroking each other through the thin wall separating your rectum from your vagina. Initially, they keep the same pace, working in tandem to strike and pull out at similar times – but the task is demanding. It prevents them from fully forfeiting to euphoria. Their nature soon takes over, a novel motley of priorities wrenching you apart.

Miguel goes unrushed, sybaritic, fucking you in waves of doughy passion. He knocks against your g-spot, groaning at the way you flounder. The system unspools a little emotional well, tugging heartstrings until you bite his collar to quell your wails. He’s dedicated, a professional in the trade of you; his cielita – the term of endearment mumbled on your temple, lips pressed there in a perpetual kiss.

And Mig–

Bless him.

He’s unhinged, ravished by the feeling of your gummy walls flexing around him. Consistently refreshing the lube that makes it possible, petrified at the notion that this could perhaps stop, doing all he can to counter it. His method is rough, fast, pelvis smacking your plush behind – of which Miguel has long since let go of. There’s emotion in the way he behaves too; a wild, unspoken, behemoth thing, like he’s been waiting his whole life for this. Not the anal, but you, specifically, panting in his embrace.

(‘You’re just different back home.’)

Your husband might’ve been too quick to judge. If what you suspect is true – which it likely is, an assumption based on an inextricable fondness you’d felt when you first saw the younger man, like you were made to love every version him, in every timeline – then his haste is not innocent clumsiness, but a more dangerous prospect. Desperation. Crestfallen, degenerate desperation. He hadn't the chance to feel any of you before tonight, for one melancholic reason or another.

“M’not… w-won’t last long, beautiful.” He whispers between pecks, peppering them across your nape.

“N-No, me neither.” Whimpering, you twist to scrutinise his tousled appearance. “Want you to cum in me. Fill me so I sp-spend days scooping you out. D-Don’t wanna fo… Need to remember this.”

“Fuck… you can’t talk like that and– and expect me not to embarrass m-myself.”

“Isn’t she something,” Miguel joins, smoothing the stray baby hairs away from your sticky forehead, callused fingers grazing deliciously across sweaty skin. It’s now that you choose to regard their voices, the subtle variations between the two. One deeper than the other – smoked with a prominent accent that jumps at the end of every syllable. “Filthy, dirty little girl. We could stay like this ‘till tomorrow and she’d have no problem. Would bounce on our cocks until she milks us dry.”

“Y’probably need it to keep you in shape– Hmnff!” Is how Mig strangles, cut off as you convulse around his thrusting length. The mass returns, settled in your cunt – a star verging on supernovae level catastrophe, about to implode while they participate in a literal dick measuring contest.

“Watch it, wide eyes.”

“Shuuu… shutup, shtp!” You keen, falling back on the chest of your paramour while Miguel fondles – slaps – your tits, mesmerised by the way they jiggle, your entire body jostled as their fat cocks jam you full.

“Is my girl going to cum?” One says. You can’t tell which, eyes squeezed shut, though you don’t think Mig would dare use that pronoun. My. Not in good conscience, not when he didn’t kiss you for fear that it’d be crossing a boundary.

“I swear I’ll burst if you squirt again.”

“Don’t expect too much from her in this state.” The trigger to it all, that aching bundle of nerves mashed against your husband’s pubes, starts buzzing with electric urgency. You brace yourself for the lightning, the shock. “Silly thing, can’t begin to form words let alone ideas. Look at me, corazón. What do we say?”

You don’t know. You can’t care. No flying fucks exist outside the devastating wreck that’s about to transform you, squalling loud and shrill from every organ that still retains its function. Heart fluttering like a baby bird’s wings. Lungs depressing into shrivelled cavities. Soreness gnaws on your cervix, abused by successive thrusts. Your bones feel like mush, macerated under mortar and pestle and dissolved in blood.

It’s coming, that celestial calamity.

Mig agrees, gasping. “I’m gonna–”

“Oye. What do we say?” Miguel exhorts, catching your glassy-eyed stare with his.

The former man barks your name, completely winded. Your asshole jerks on his cock, which twitches inside of you, ready to blow. Sopping with lube and pre-spend, spit and your own slick, you can’t control the syphoning noises your holes make, blubbering on the cocks that split you apart.

It’s then the words finally find you – manners that your husband insists on.

“Pleeaase.” You cry.

“Fuck!”

Thick spurts of fluid coat your insides, wrung from the man behind you. His cum is blistering, burning the thin layer between him and Miguel – who surprisingly, given the control he’s exhibited thus far, follows suit, pumping you full of his seed. Your womb and rectum, the puffy folds and rim that try to keep it all in – are all frosted with pearlescent spend. Heady and dripping, staining a depraved mess on every crevice between your legs. Gross globs of it caking you, your skin barely visible anymore.

The thought alone – of two men’s essence, beckoned and bled out by you, mixing something disgusting on your most intimate parts – is enough to kick you off the edge. Flailing off that cliff, plummeting into an outburst that lets nothing escape. Not smell, or taste, or light – spinning a black hole of groundbreaking proportions.

You orgasm, again and again – or maybe the whole thing is all just one prolonged, feral, exhausting endeavour. Cumming until your muscles physically give out, going paraplegic with the strain of constant contractions. You crumple, sandwiched between two sturdy chests, stuffed with cotton and sex and pure endorphins, flying with no sign of ever coming down.

A siren's song – sleep, calling to you from the depths of consciousness – almost pulls you under. That is, until your husband manoeuvres you onto your back again, spreading your legs in a near split to expose your sloppy holes to your paramour. His expression is doused with reverence. Supple, soft, the tiniest bit guilty at the sight of you, desecrated by their combined efforts.

“Well?” Miguel prods, fanning your leaking cunt and asshole out wider. “Are you waiting for her to absorb it all? Clean it up.”

And – for the last time that night – Mig does as he’s told, ducking to gather every last bit of proof with his tongue.

Much later, you watch him pull his shirt over his head, snuggled close to your husband. The sky has deepened to its darkest form – midnight, a gibbous moon cushioned amidst glimmering stars.

“Well, it’s been fun.” The man sighs, brushing imaginary lint off his abdomen. He winks at you before turning to leave, testing his luck now that it can’t backfire on him. “If you ever want to trade him in for a newer model, you know where to find me.”

Miguel just grumbles beneath you, displeasure rumbling the hollows of his hairy sternum. You, on the other hand, smile gently, giving the parting gift of your humour.

Only for something better to occur to you. When his grasp closes around your bedroom door knob, you call out – voice a faint, hoarse thing.

“Mig.” You say.

“Yeah?” He replies, blinking back at you.

“I think you should go for it.”

And all your mild musings are confirmed when he nods, sheepish, like a child caught with a fist in the cookie jar. It’s okay – you mouth, because you know. Whoever you are on his Earth, with whatever cosmic odds stacked against you, you’ll fall. If only because it’s Miguel. Mig. Your O’Hara – such truth woven into the fabric of every conceivable reality.

Your husband catches on quickly, patting your sleepy head. It’s the first time he talks to himself with a tone that isn’t condescending, laying a sentiment you recognise as meaning more to his younger counterpart than anything you could say. Perhaps because it’s kind, a bit of proper advice made mushy by an echoed devotion to you. Or, perhaps because he’s witnessed the evidence to it consistently, all night long. Wide eyes.

“It’ll be the best thing you’ll ever do for yourself.”

part two

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cyberstrm · 11 months

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spiderpeople + how affectionate they are

cws: none!

spider punk is allegedly 17ish so i included him,, age him up if you need to !! didn't include miles, gwen and pavitr because 15/16 is too young for my comfort

HOBIE is privately super affectionate. likes to leave you lil post-it note notes and doodles. sends sappy texts. makes you playlists and writes songs about you. writes your name on his guitar and probably somewhere on his suit. keeps everything you give him. not a huge pda guy because he's too busy being punk, but a huge softy and cuddler when you're alone. more of an actions>words guy. probable height different makes kisses so much more fun.

MIGUEL is bad at being affectionate and getting attached at first. he learns quickly that it's something you need, and gets better at it. very gentle with you, doesn't want to hurt you. loves to pin you against a wall and kiss you. uses his size to his advantage; loves to carry you. loves to hold you, to protect you, to make you feel safe. whispers soft nothings to you to make you feel as loved as you truly are.

PETER B is the most affectionate man ever. sends sappy good morning texts. brings you breakfast in bed. takes care of you. big into PDA, hand holding, kissing, all of that. buys you flowers. plays with your hair. lets you decide what to watch on tv. biggest big spoon. house husband who helps out with the chores. big into forehead kisses and a hand at your lower back. takes you out to dinner. never forgets a special occasion.

#spiderman into the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x y/n #x reader #x you #hobie brown #hobie brown x y/n #peter b parker x you #miguel o'hara x reader #peter b parker x reader #hobie brown x reader #imagine #drabble #oscar isaac

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wyvernest · 10 months

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midnight cravings

pairing - miguel o'hara x f!reader

warnings - smut, established relationship, unprotected piv, creampie, missionary

summary - miguel comes home late at night, needing a lot more than just sleep

a/n - i did some research on spanish pillow talk, lmk if anything is off/wrong

You're half asleep.

The room is dark and quiet. Only the cars on the boulevard can be heard in a faint echo as they slow down to turn corners at the nearby intersection, their headlights casting a fleeting flash on the bedroom ceiling.

You tilt your head on your pillow to check the time.

23:57

It's not exactly unusual that Miguel doesn't get home before midnight. His job requires a certain amount of effort, a certain amount of skill, and an equally generous amount of time.

But tonight the bed is colder. Tonight, the bedsheets and pillows fail to offer the warmth only he can provide. You drift off into a pained slumber, hugging his pillow to your chest.

And it feels like it's been seconds, only a blink in the undisturbed ambiance of the night, before your ears pick up a strangely familiar sound.

The window opens, followed by a gentle creak. The first time it happened, you had jumped out of bed in any defence you could've possibly offered yourself, heart racing and hands shaking. But after countless nights, after so many times when your boyfriend entered your apartment the way only he could do it, you've grown accustomed to it. Now, the sound brought a sweet shiver up your spine, a sense of safety and relief.

You only wish you could open your eyes, but before you thought to rise from your position on the bed, you felt the mattress sink under considerable weight. Miguel crawls close to you, settling himself behind you.

His body moulds perfectly against yours, his bare chest pressed up against your back. He moves his hand to brush a few unruly strands of hair out of your face, his fingertips grazing the side of your neck, lingering on the soft skin more than necessary. He presses himself closer and closer into you, and you relish in the feeling of his body heat invading every patch of your skin that comes in contact with him. You hum softly, a sign for him that you're aware he's there, only through the haze of heavy sleep.

His cursory hand starts caressing and touching, running over the line of your waist, swiftly sneaking underneath your shirt and finding your skin. You sigh into the pillow, his ministrations making it hard for you to resume your slumber. He drags his warm and heavy palm over the dip of your middle, reaching the side of your breast. It then retreats lower, back down to your hip, squeezing the flesh of your ass ever so slightly.

He shuffles, bringing his crotch up to the backs of your thighs, and you feel the unmistakable shape of his hard cock, grinding up against you with slow and languid rolls of his hips, as if he’s trying not to stir you from your drowsiness. You feel a familiar pressure grow and bloom between your legs, deciding that sleep is no longer an option for the time being.

Turning your head over your shoulder, you’re met with the face of a man so desperate and needy, you almost have to hold back a moan of both surprise and pride at having him head over heels for you. Your hand snakes around the back of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss so full of want and desire that you both gasp for air in between minutes before diving right back in for more.

With his weight supported on one elbow, his free hand keeps mapping your body with such speed and undeniable craving that you push your thighs together instinctively, aiming to chase a part of the pleasure dripping and pooling into your panties. His arm wraps around your front, holding you in place, as his lips break from the kiss and travel from your flushed cheek, to your jaw, landing on your pulse point. You tilt your head to the side to grant him access to you, as he nibbles over the nape of your neck. He alters between soft, gentle pecks and bold yet careful bites, while his thigh parts yours from behind, pressing hard into your core.

Through crescending moans and mewls, you start rubbing yourself onto his muscular thigh, feeling his hot breath puffing over the sensitive skin of your neck and shoulder. The sharpness of his fangs grazing your pulse alerts you as you begin tugging at his hair with no avail.

He twists you around so that he’s on top of you fully, his mouth travelling down to your shoulder and clavicle. He’s placed himself between your quivering legs, making his intentions known by humping you slowly and steadily, at a pace that allows him to continue his assault upon your chest. His lips find your breasts as he licks and kisses the tender flesh.

Suddenly, he stops, not removing his face from your chest. He pants softly, meeting your half-lidded eyes. He inhales abruptly, and you see his pupils dilate ever so slightly.

“You’re already wet, mi amor.” You feel your face heat up at the remark. “Always so good and ready for me.” He tightens his grip, crushing you into his embrace as his body encompasses yours completely. You feel his cock twitch through the thin fabric of your panties, growing impatient.

“Only for you.” You’re interrupted by a groan as he revels in your confession and promised devotion. “Only you can make me feel this way.”

“Me estás volviendo loco.” (You’re driving me crazy)

In a quick motion, he grips your panties and rips them, the sound sending a rush of adrenaline through your veins. You feel the fat tip of his dick, glistening with precum, teasingly pressing against your aching cunt. He readies himself, bracing his weight on his forearms that now frame your face. His head drops into the crook of your neck, breathing laboured, raising goosebumps all over your skin.

“Let me pound this pussy before I go to sleep.”, his voice is low and rugged with lust, breath hot and deep.

You let out a moan in response, taken aback. You wiggle your hips playfully, feeling the head of his fat dick graze your wet folds. He groans lowly, biting at your neck before soothing the mark with several kisses.

“Por favor, mi vida”, and you nearly come on the spot, the plea ringing in your ears. You’re almost convinced he may have injected you with something. You’re not thinking straight. He could ask anything of you right now and you wouldn’t have the slightest bit of power to say no.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day. Couldn’t get you out of my head.” He insists, as if any more convincing is necessary. It isn’t. He just loves to rile you up, to see you as desperate for him as he is for you before he takes you.

“All I could think of was finally getting home to you. Seeing your pretty face, tasting your lips.” He keeps whispering, pressing hot, open mouth kisses up and down your neck, one of his hands groping your breast.

“Burying myself in you, feeling you clench around me.” More kisses, his cock is aligned with you, rubbing between your folds and twitching every so often.

“Miguel.”

He raises his face to lock eyes with you.

“Fuck me raw.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He enters you, inch by agonising inch, and as he bottoms out you release a breath you didn’t realise you were holding. Your arms curl around his shoulders, feeling the rigid muscles of his back as they shift when he starts rolling his hips. You’re completely engulfed in his shadow, and all you can see is him.

Stretched to the limit, you throw your head back into the softness of the pillows as he picks up his pace, jackhammering his cock into the damp warmth of your cunt. His talons dig into the cushion as his face contorts into pure, unfiltered pleasure. You look down to catch the way his abdomen flexes with every thrust he delivers, the way the length of his dick disappears inside you with a wet squelch each time.

He falters for a fraction of a second, eyes rolling back before he changes the angle of his thrusts, finding your sweet spot. You feel your high starting to build up as he maintains his rhythm, grabbing onto his biceps as he drills his heavy cock into you, chasing his climax. You moan out his name, constricting around him, and he groans shamelessly, dropping his face back into the crook of your neck, panting.

“Ay, mierda” he rasps into the shell of your ear, and you bring one hand into his silky, dark hair, pushing him closer into your embrace.

“Está apretadito” (it’s tight), he nearly whimpers at the way you clench around his cock, his lips latching onto your pulse point once again, in an attempt to stifle his moans.

Your whole body quivers at the sound of his groans and muffled curses, as you finally feel yourself on the edge of ecstasy. You close your legs around his waist, wanting to feel him whole.

His pace stutters at the action.

“Inside, ah-, I want you– inside, shit”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, he drives himself into you, hard and fast. Your orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave, prolonged by his continuous thrusts. All your senses zoom in on him, the smell of him, the sight of his broad frame towering over you as he fucks you, the sound of his breathing and the praises he whispers into your neck.

The bed shakes and creaks under his weight as he comes, filling you with his release. You pulse around him, forcing a strangled moan out of his throat before he collapses on top of you.

You’re floating, even with his whole body dormant upon yours. With a hand, you mindlessly massage his scalp while he returns to his senses. His arms seek to find your waist, effectively wrapping around you in a nearly suffocating hold. But you don’t mind.

“We should get cleaned up.”, he mumbles lowly, muffled by the pillows and your neck altogether. However, you feel his body relax completely, an incontestable sign that he’s already too far gone to get up anymore. You’re well aware of how tired he can be at times and how his love for you had been the only thing providing energy for the past minutes, because otherwise, he would have been out cold by now.

So you hold him, as he holds you, drifting off into well earned, blissful rest.

#miguel o'hara x reader one shot #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara x reader #spider man 2099 #miguel o'hara #miguel o hara #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel spiderman #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara x you #miguel ohara x y/n #spiderman 2099 #spider man: across the spider verse #oscar isaac #oscar issac characters

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m00nsbaby · 9 months

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AITA for texting my fiancé that "this isn't working"?

Steven Grant x reader.

Tags & warnings. None. Yes, this literally is just a silly little thing that I read on reddit and I thought it was so funny lol. Reader is gender neutral!

Word count. 823.

Moving in with Steven was one of the best decisions you could make in your life, right after saying 'yes' when he proposed.

The only inconvenience came at a precise time between morning and afternoon, sometimes even at night, all depending on the mood of his boss. Waiting for Steven to return from work was such a headache, boring hours and dead time as you tried to find your own job.

The upside was that you now had complete freedom to organize his apartment to your liking, and if anything needed a complete makeover, it was Steven Grant's dark and disorganized home.

You had just made a completely necessary expense, a gigantic mirror that was clearly bigger than your capabilities. Worse yet, considering that if there was something you despised with all your heart, it was the mere idea of reading an instruction manual.

When the mirror arrived, the Amazon delivery guy mocked you to your face for your difficulty in handling the box and getting it into the house.

You: Baby, the new mirror just came in!

You hit send after the message.

You: I’m going to try to put it together but I may need your help later.

And just as you said, you got to work with the phone by your side, waiting for a response from Steven.

You assumed Donna was in a terrible mood because at least two hours went by without a reply, although you were really too busy to worry about that.

For a moment, you insisted on the idea of finishing assembling the darn mirror before Steven arrived home, but that clearly didn't happen because for the two and a half hours of effort you put in, you didn't feel like you were really getting anywhere.

Plus, you had extra screws that shouldn't have been left over.

You: This isn’t working and at this point, I think I need to just give up.

You put the phone aside and lazily lay down on the carpet. Why was assembling furniture so hard? Although not as difficult as having to accept that you couldn't finish it on your own.

You stayed there not knowing how long, but you estimated it was a few hours because you heard the front door indicating that Steven was home. The smile lasted only a short while because as you straightened up to greet him, he walked past you without even looking at you, heading straight to the bedroom.

"Steven?" you questioned, slightly furrowing your brow. You stood up slowly, giving him time to exit the room.

When you finally confronted him, your heart almost jumped out of your chest. His eyes were red, completely filled with tears.

"What happened, baby?"

"Why?" he asked, his voice breaking. It shattered your heart into pieces.

"Why what, Steven?" He sniffled, and you searched his gaze when he started avoiding you.

"Why are you giving up on me?"

You nearly killed him right then and there.

"What are you talking about?"

He didn't take long to pull his phone out of his pocket and shake it a bit in front of your face; he was on the verge of sobbing.

"Y-Your messages, you were breaking up with me."

The moment Steven mentioned your text messages, you had to press your lips together to keep from laughing in his face.

Your expression almost made him cry harder. Were you making fun of him?

"Steven." Your voice came out in a playful tone as you almost burst into laughter. "I was talking about the mirror."

"Huh? What mirror?"

"The new mirror, it arrived." Your eyes were almost watering from holding back laughter. "I'm guessing that the previous messages didn't send; I was talking about not being able to assemble it on my own."

You stepped aside to let him see the mess you had made on the floor, with the mirror halfway assembled.

Steven exchanged glances between the things and you.

He looked at the things.

He looked at you.

He looked at the things.

He looked at you.

Realization hit in seconds, and you couldn't say anything more when you felt Steven's arms squeezing you against his chest. You couldn't stop laughing even though your laughter sounded odd, muffled by the fabric of his shirt.

"Bloody fucking hell, love!" Steven cursing was definitely a special event. It only made you laugh harder. "You almost gave me a heart attack!"

He lifted you off the ground, and tears were already streaming down your face. It took much longer than expected to calm down from the laughter.

Still breathless, you let him kiss your face, as well as embrace you with his strong arms that refused to let you go.

"Still, I need you to check the mirror." You took a deep breath, your cheeks already reddened, one of your hands held onto him, and the other wiped the corners of your eyes. "I think I damaged it."

#moon knight #moon knight x y/n #moon knight x you #moon knight x reader #steven grant #steven grant x you #steven grant x reader #steven grant x y/n #oscar isaac #oscar isaac x you #oscar isaac x reader

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virtualvault · 2 months

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The Royal Treatment

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x f!reader

Summary: Reluctant to join the festivities at May’s birthday party, things start looking up for Miguel when he’s able to get the Princess Peter hired alone in the bathroom.

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+ ONLY, teasing, begging, oral (f receiving),fingering, unprotected p in v, pet names ( princess, your highness), fingering, praise, dirty talk, choking, handjob, cum swallowing. Reader is referred to as small/ short in comparison to Miguel and he’s able to pick reader up, but in my head everyone is small in comparison to him so it isn’t necessarily a defining characteristic of reader.

W/C: 3.7k

A/N: First Miguel fic yayy. This has been in my drafts for forever and I finally got the motivation to flesh it out. I had a lot of fun with it. Enjoy :)

Miguel was being his normal grumpy self, standing in the corner of the party while everyone socializes loudly around him. He quickly relocates to the backyard where he can at least get some fresh air and a little space. But all too soon everyone is making their way to the yard as well for the upcoming attraction that, unbeknownst to Miguel, would quickly pull him out of his funk.

It’s May's birthday and while Miguel adores her, the snotty kids and loud parents crowding around him make him wish he was anywhere else. Despite his natural instincts to flee, he decides to stay. He’d really love to see the look on May’s face when she opens his gift.

While he's silently cursing the obnoxious children running past, you float into the backyard, and he’s glad he held out. And you truly did float. The shiny tiara and beautiful gown almost made him believe you were actual royalty. He's so entranced he doesn't even notice the screeching children as they flock around you, oohing and aahing at your costume. May is the first to reach you and you curtsey to her, making her giggle.

The first time you speak, his breath catches in his throat. Your voice has this beautiful sing-songy tone. It's enchanting, capturing the attention of not only the kids but the adults as well. Your gentle manner and honeyed tone hypnotize Miguel and he can’t look away. You’re clearly dedicated to your craft, carrying yourself with a level of grace befitting a real princess. The kids love it, but Miguel is the most enthralled; his eyes never leave you. If you weren’t so preoccupied with the other guests, you surely would notice him staring you down.

He roams the perimeter of the group for the duration of your 'act', planning to just admire you from afar. But when his eyes finally meet yours when you head inside with Peter to grab a well-earned drink and your check, he hastily follows. He doesn’t really have a plan he just know he needs to at least speak with you.

You’re standing in the kitchen sipping your water as Peter is telling you how satisfied he is with your service. He says he needs to get back to his daughter and Miguel conveniently swoops in and offers to show you out. Peter thanks him and retreats back to the yard.

“That’s a beautiful costume” Miguel comments, hungrily eyeing your body under the guise of simply admiring your attire. You reply with a quick, 'thank you' and he expected you to drop the princess act but your voice still holds that dulcet tone that has his pants tightening. It’s not as exaggerated, seeing as you’re not trying to fool any children, but just as tantalizing.

Unbeknownst to Miguel, you had felt his eyes on you earlier but did everything you could to keep your focus on the other guests. You take your job very seriously, but his intense gaze made it difficult. So, when you were escorted inside you had to gulp down your water and try to regain your bearings.

When you first spotted him, his tall imposing frame had you a bit intimidated, yet had your mind reeling with thoughts of what he could do to you. He can make anyone feel small and you are no exception. Your mind quickly conjured up the thought of him having you caged in against your bed, pressing you firmly to the mattress as he thrusts deep inside you. You had to shake yourself out of the fantasy quickly to turn your focus back to the crowd.

When he steps into the kitchen, you're on edge again, trying to push away the intrusive thoughts. You try your best not to just stand there, mouth agape and drooling at him, making it obvious you want him to defile you. You don't know what's gotten into you. It’s not that you never get these kinds of thoughts, but this level of intensity and depravity feels new.

He’s very intriguing, but you can’t find the courage to look him in the eyes. While he's scanning your frame, you take a deep breath and try to steady the quiver in your voice. “Um, I need to change. I've got kind of a far drive. Can you show me where the bathroom is?” you ask, impressed you formed a coherent sentence, even going so far as to finally meet his gaze.

“Oh, yeah. Right this way.” he guides you up the stairs to the guest bathroom at the end of the hall.

“I'll just wait out here. This house is a maze, I doubt you’d be able to find your way out.” he offers, hoping to spend just a little more time with you. It may be a little inappropriate but he might just ask for your number. You nod and slip into the bathroom.

As you go to pull your clothes out of your bag, you’re hit with a sudden realization that has you stopping in your tracks. You had your roommate help you zip up your dress. How are you supposed to get out of it on your own? You frantically reach behind you to try to get a grasp on the zipper. You don't even get close. Left with only one option, you shuffle to the door, and are welcomed with a slightly confused look from the man in front of you. You clearly hadn’t changed yet and he looks at you, brow raised.

“Um…can you…uh… undress me?” you sputter, realizing how that sounded, and frantically try to correct yourself.

“I mean unzip! I…I can’t reach the zipper, can you help? Please?” a small smile appears on his face at your flustered state.

“Of course, your highness.” He playfully bows to you, making you giggle. Still standing in the doorway, you turn around and he reaches for the zipper. He unzips it slowly and can’t help but drag the back of his finger along your skin on the way down. You let out a small gasp as you feel a tingle spread across your skin. He finishes, but doesn’t step back.

“It’s a shame, you really do look pretty in this dress. I’m sure you look even better with it off, but the whole princess thing really suits you.” he says lowly, and you feel his breath fan against your neck.

"Do you have anyone taking care of you like one?” his question flusters you so you simply shake your head.

“No? Tsk, Tsk, Tsk. Why don’t you let me show you how a princess deserves to be treated. Hm?” the rasp in his voice has your thighs clenching together and without even thinking you squeak out, “Yes, please.”

You mentally scold yourself for giving in to a complete stranger so quickly, but no part of you wants to turn down the offer. He's obviously delighted and you feel him smile against your skin as he places his lips on your shoulder. He surprises you when he zips your dress back up, seeing as you’re ready for him to tear it off you.

He guides you back into the bathroom and shuts the door, making sure to lock it. Then, he pushes you gently against the counter, having you face the mirror, and proceeds to pull the sleeves down over your shoulders, planting kisses from one side to the other.

"Aren’t you going to take it off?" you ask sounding slightly confused and then clamp your mouth shut, not wanting to sound impatient.

Miguel chuckles softly, enjoying your eagerness. "Next time." he replies. "You just look so delicious in this pretty little dress of yours."

He sucks in a deep breath as he peers at your body in the mirror, taking in your silk clad form. Then he flicks his gaze to your parted lips. You're watching him with baited breath, anxiously waiting for his hands to finally start roaming your body. They currently sit firmly planted on your waist and he can tell you're wanting more. He can’t help but toy with you, though. There’s part of him that’s desperate to give you what he knows you want but there’s another part of him that wants to hear you ask or, preferably, beg for it. The latter part wins and his hand moves to grab the length of your dress, rubbing the fabric in between his fingers. You immediately miss the warmth of his hands, something you could feel even through the fabric of the dress.

“The whole time you were putting on your little show all I could think about was lifting up the back of this gown and getting a taste of what’s underneath.” he remarks. You noticeably shiver at the feeling of his lips moving against your ear as he speaks with a low, gravelly voice. Every time he talks you can feel the rumble in his chest, which is pressed firmly against your back. You can also feel his impressive length against your backside that has been rock hard the moment he pressed it against you. All of these things in combination with one another are overwhelming your senses and anticipation pulses through you. You need him. Now.

With desperation clear in your voice, you blurt out, “Please, touch me.”

He gazes at you with a dark look in his eyes and an amused expression on his face.

“I need more.” you add. Your eyes leave his in the mirror to turn over your shoulder and look at him directly. Instead of pressing his lips to yours like he’s so tempted to do, he lets you continue.

“You said you wanted a taste, didn’t you?” you tug on his wrist, urging him to move it lower. He decides he’s teased you long enough. He presses you harder into the counter before moving away and throwing up your dress, handing the fabric to you.

“Hold this for me, princess.” you grab at the fabric although your reaction was a little delayed as the pet name has pleasure shooting straight to your core.

He caresses softly up and down your thighs, and starts kneading your cheeks. The gentleness lasts only a few seconds and you let out a gasp as he rips your pantyhose. As he kneels behind you, he lets out an audible groan. You assume it’s because he spotted the wet patch on your underwear. It must be pretty prominent considering you’ve been dripping wet the moment you saw him. Before you know it, he rips those as well.

With your arousal now fully exposed you can feel his breath wafting over your wet sex, and you shiver at the sensation. He starts teasingly sucking at your folds one at a time, placing one soft kiss to your clit before dipping his tongue into your entrance. He eats you out like he's starving and your legs shake as his tongue dances against your walls.

After exploring your heat thoroughly, he runs his tongue from your entrance to your clit, back and forth, sucking on it gently each time he reaches it. As the rhythm gets faster and faster, so does your breathing. Your teeth clamp down on your bottom lip to try to stifle your moans, not wanting anyone to overhear. What would the parents say if the party princess was upstairs getting eaten out in a frenzy by a man she just met. You push those worries aside as the pleasure builds. You bring the fabric in your left hand and join it with the right, then reach back and grab onto his hair and start gently pushing his face further into you, urging him on.

He easily brings you to the edge with his movements but before you can reach your release, he pulls his face from you. You whine, but the disappointment quickly fades as your excitement over the prospect of him being inside of you grows. Once he's upright, you attempt to face him, wanting to go down on him too. He senses your intentions but holds you in place against the counter.

“I’m meant to kneel to the princess, not the other way around.” he playfully whispers in your ear. He appreciates your enthusiasm but he's fine saving that for another time. He's desperate to be inside you.

He bends you over and you place your hands against the counter to steady yourself. He pushes your knees apart and wedges himself between your thighs, pulling your hips back to meet his bulge and can’t help but rub himself against you. The fabric adds a wonderful friction and you mewl in response.

Reluctantly, he pulls away, then proceeds to run his fingers through your folds before dipping them into your entrance. You're soaking wet but he takes a few seconds to work you open. He knows how big he is and wants to make sure you're ready to take every inch of him. When he knows you're ready, he pulls his fingers away and releases his aching erection from his pants. He immediately begins stroking up and don’t his shaft, coating himself in your arousal.

Blinded by your desperation for him, you hadn’t really thought about his size being a problem, until you feel him run his length through your folds. You can feel just how big he is and you take a deep breath to calm your nerves. He presses into you slowly, and the head of his dick already feels impossibly huge. But as he slides in, you stretch and melt around him. He lets out a throaty moan at the way your walls grip him.

You hiss at the intrusion, but the slight burn fades quickly as his shallow thrusts push deeper and deeper. As he gains more momentum, he's pushing your stomach against the counter and you feel yourself being pushed up onto your tippy toes. He notices and takes one of your legs and sets your knee up onto the counter and the other is left dangling as he supports your upper body. His strength to support all of you is impressive, but not surprising.

He sets one arm against your waist and tries grabbing at your chest with the other, but can’t get a good grip through your dress. So, he opts for your throat instead. His grip is loose, just to help stabilize you, but you hum in approval and you lean against him. You lift your head up to look at him through the mirror.

"Harder." you plead and grab his wrist, prompting him to tighten his grip. He growls at the pleading look in your eyes and desperate tone in your voice and squeezes firmly, adding a delicious pressure to the sides of your throat. You hear his deep breaths and grunts in your ear as he quickens his pace and the sounds stoke the warmth in your belly.

This new angle has him brushing up against that tender spot inside of you and you know if he keeps going like this you’re going to cum. He knows this too. He can tell just by the look on your face and feels you clench even harder around him when he brings his hand down to your slippery, throbbing nub and begins working it.

Your mouth falls open into a silent scream at the added stimulation and Miguel glances back up to take in the magnificent view in front of him. Your tiara is askew, slipping slightly off your head, and your lips are bitten from how you've been holding them between your teeth, trying to keep quiet.

“Look at you.” He says breathily, leaning down to kiss up the side of your neck.

“So pretty. Who’s my pretty princess?” he asks, his dark eyes meeting yours. You let out a pathetic whine and turn your head away. His words send a shiver up your spine, but are unable to hold his gaze, suddenly feeling bashful at the praise. He notices, but continues.

“Hm? Who’s my pretty princess?” his hand leaves your throat to grip your jaw, forcing you to look at him in the mirror. He slows his thrusts now to a maddeningly slow pace, awaiting your answer.

“I am.” you say, voice barely above a whisper. He caresses your jaw with his thumb, but continues looking at you expectantly. It takes you a second to figure out what he wants, but eventually the realization hits you. You take a deep breath, trying to steady your voice.

Now matching the intensity of his gaze, you reply “I'm your pretty princess.” His eyes flutter closed at your response. His hips stutter, then stop completely and he breaths in deeply, obviously trying to regain some composure.

Your lips curl up into a small smile at his reaction. His words have been flustering you since the moment he spoke. They've had you falling apart on his dick as he whispers filth into your ear while he takes you from behind. But now you get to see your words have the same effect on him, and a wave of confidence surges through you.

When he finally opens his eyes, he has this look in his eyes, like he wants to devour you, and it spurs you on. You begin grinding yourself down onto him, fucking yourself back and forth on his dick as he stands behind you and he sees there's a playful smirk plastered on your face. A growl rumbles form his chest and he returns his hand to your throat.

Momentarily overcome with the way your hips meet his and the drag of your wet, warm heat, his eyes fall closed again. He's tempted to let you continue, but the desire to see you cum, feel your walls spasm around him, has eyes snapping open. Without warning, he starts fucking you at the unrelenting pace he set earlier.

He knocks the smirk right off your face and you cry out as he pounds into you, his hand returning to your clit. Before you know it, you feel that familiar pressure building in your core, your breaths come in jagged gasps now, and he knows you're close.

“I wanna feel it. Come on, give it to me.” he demands. He swipes faster at your clit you let out a squeak before you’re tumbling over the edge. Your body goes rigid against him as the waves of pleasure crash through you. You try to cover your mouth in an attempt to dampen the embarrassingly loud moans he’s pulling from you, but he pushes your hand away, wanting to hear every sound that falls from your lips.

As the aftershocks rip through you, his fingers leave your clit to grip the counter. He feels you pulsating and squeezing around him and it’s drawing him closer to his own release. His brows furrow and he's panting in your ear. You're a bit dazed from your climax, but you see the look on his face and the boldness from earlier takes over.

Before you can stop yourself, you pull his face to yours and tease, “Is princess gonna make you come?”

The noise that pulls from him is one that Miguel's never heard himself make, a mixture between a whine and a groan. His hips stutter and you hear him babble, “pretty pretty pretty” as he kisses the side of your face, down your neck.

A few moments later he’s pulling out and preparing to cum over your ass; before he can you're spinning around and falling to your knees. You don't know what's gotten into you, but you’ll attribute your brazenness to the praise he was just singing to you in combination with your post orgasm haze. You're looking up at him through your lashes and you grab him at the base, giving his dick quick, wet strokes.

You look up at him and his eyes are on you, enjoying the view from above. His lips part and he sucks in shallow breaths at the way you're cradling his balls while your arousal allows your hand to glide up and down his shaft with ease.

You smile up at him and purr, “Make me prettier.” You lean your head back, closing your eyes and sticking out your tongue, ready to feel his warmth spread across your skin.

"Oh fuck." he moans, feeling his balls tighten in response.

His body tenses, blood pumping hot, and with a deep groan erupting from his chest, he spurts his seed over you. You hum as you swallow and the tangy taste goes down surprisingly smooth. He looks down at you, admiring the way your tongue swipes the corners of your mouth, not letting one drop go to waste.

When he recovers, he wets the hand towel and cleans off the rest from your face. His movements are gentle, contrasting his previous actions, and he smiles sweetly down at you.

"All clean, your highness." he says softly. He sticks out his hand and helps you to your feet.

“I guess I better actually help you out of this, now.” he chuckles and unzips the dress, resisting the urge to pull it off you and drag you to one of the bedrooms for round two. But he needs to get back to the party before someone comes looking.

"Thank you.” you say over your shoulder and subconsciously lean into him. He kisses you quickly, yet deeply, before excusing himself to the hall to let you get dressed.

As he walks you out, you exchange numbers. When you finally reach the door, he finds himself struggling to pull his hand from the small of your back, not wanting to see you go.

“Thanks for all your help.” you say with a wink. You stand up on your toes and pull down to you for one last kiss. Before you pull away, he feels you slip something into his pocket. As you make your way back to your car, he slips his hand into his pocket, chuckling and shaking his head as his fingers feel the familiar lace material of your underwear that he ripped off you earlier. As he thumbs the fabric, he's already thinking about getting to pull them off you again.

#miguel spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara x y/n #across the spiderverse #oscar isaac #oscar isaac fandom

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hotchfiles · 3 months

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★━━━━━━━━ ❝ [ISAAC LAHEY] ❞

✧. ┊ ⁭ ❝ [FANFICTION / ONE SHOT] ❞

☾• glass ties.

isaac x reader. isaac and you share the perfect summer fling. those ties don't last when summer ends. mentions of sex and death. there's like a huge teen wolf spoiler but i mean the show is over for years now. 1,4k+ words.

✧. ┊ ⁭ ❝ [DRABBLE / BLURB] ❞

❝ finding comfort in their scent. ❞

❝ finding someone flirting with your crush, but all they have is eyes for you, and on you + almost kissing. but somebody walks in. "HOLY FUCK, ABOUT TIME THIS HAPPENS! I'M SO SORRY, PLEASE CONTINUE—" ❞

#master isaac #isaac lahey imagines #isaac lahey scenario #isaac lahey x reader #isaac lahey x you #isaac lahey x y/n #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf scenario #isaac x reader #isaac x you #isaac x y/n

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mandowifey · 10 months

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Ritual

Miguel O'hara x Reader

Warnings: NSFW, (My)Dark!Miguel, Reader is captive, stockholm syndrome, dubcon, p in v sex, cockwarming, creampie, gentle sex, emotionally needy Miguel, touch starved boy, mention of injury, reader is going through it emotionally, domestic fluff, general softness towards the end. Reader not specified by details or name.

This is part of a nonlinear storyline.

Synopses: Something breaks.

° ° °

There was a natural rhythm you fell into with Miguel.

Home alone, you enjoyed television and movies until the evening. Miguel did not have a normal schedule to adhere to, which meant you did not get the luxury of anticipating his return home. Generally, he was gone from sunrise to sunset. To busy yourself, you offered to make dinner, not because you loved him but the greasy burgers and empanadas from the food court never settled with your stomach.

You would start your preparations around 4:45, then take your time until the inevitable sound of locks disengaging caught your ear. He would walk in and dim the lights - a habit you had assumed was because he was saving on electric, but learned it was actually that his eyes were sensitive to it. That was how you learned about him. Brief, flippant comments here and there that formed a collage of Miguel O'hara; Nueva York's Spiderman.

Sometimes, you daydreamed about being found. Other times, you worried a hole in your lip, considering the realities of running away. Miguel was an apex predator and, most assuredly, would find and punish you for leaving. Certain days when you had too much space in your head, you fantasized about your old life. A job, an apartment, friends, all things you took for granted. The worst days were when you thought about him. Not in fear, but need. The days when you missed him and yearned to be touched. You were only human, it was only natural to crave companionship, even if it was from your captor.

Pain throbs in your palm, and you shout, dropping the pan of mashed potatoes on the counter. You turn to the sink, clutching your wrist and wincing. After running the burn under lukewarm water, you sigh and walk into the bathroom. You apply some ointment from a medkit and gingerly wrap your hand with bandages. Weaving the tan material through your fingers and over your knuckles, you silently scold yourself for such a stupid mistake.

By the time you walk out of the bathroom, the front door is opening. You scramble, carefully opening the oven to take out the roast you made and setting it down on the stove top. "S-sorry, I'm almost done." You grunt, trying to grab plates and wincing from the sting in your palm. The front door closes, and you feel Miguel's looming presence closing in on you. Something grabs your arm and turns you, a large hand closed around your wrist.

"What happened?"

His voice was quiet but tense. The mask crawled down his neck, exposing his pointed expression and vexed brows. "Did you hurt yourself?" There is an emotion in his voice that confuses you. The hand around you loosens as he draws you closer, rich brown eyes scanning your bandage work.

"Just an accidental burn. Wasn't paying attention, is all." Your cheeks burn, feeling like a helpless toddler.

Miguel scoffs, then softens. "You should be more careful." He draws your hand closer and leans in, pressing a kiss to the center of your palm. "Don't need you burnt anywhere else." His lips tug into a grin, and he releases you. Your body was hot all over, and your stomach twisted into knots. This was in response to a man who had done nothing but use you and trap you in his home to play house. You knew it was sick to feel anything other than resentment towards him, but the tenderness in which he looks at you has your heart confused.

"Yeah, of course."

Your arm tingles as he turns away and looks at the scattered pieces of dinner. "You go ahead and sit down. I'll plate everything." Miguel hums as he grabs out silverware and cups. You were compelled to argue, but your mind was still soggy from the kiss. Instead, you wordlessly sit at the little round dinner table, and wait.

The two of you eat in your regular fashion. Light small talk and mostly letting Miguel vent about his day. Today, it was the stress of two anomalies in one universe. You politely nod and give him empathy when the moment calls for it, but your mind is miles away. Miguel compliments your cooking, as was usual, and sends you to bed so he can clean. Knowing what followed, you go to the bedroom and undress before climbing under the blankets. Your mind back to that moment, recalling the way those lovely brown eyes softened before he kissed your hand.

When he returns to you, his suit vanishes as he walks into the shower. He was quick, only gone for moments before returning to you with bis hair slicked back, smelling of familiar body wash and shampoo. You move the blankets for him, and he climbs in beside you.

"You alright?"

There must have been a far away look on your face. You blink and refocus, looking up as he slowly climbs on top of you. Your legs part, and he slots between them where you feel the drag of his half hard cock. "Yeah, just spacey today, I guess." Miguel watches your face, reading you for deception. He closes the distance and kisses you deeply, like he had many times before. His lips part your own before his tongue eagerly slips in. The man groans, rocking his hips to fuck himself against your folds.

A part of you hates how normal this feels. That your life had become something of a ritual. You hated him for what he'd reduced you to; a pathetic shadow of yourself, wet and mewling for him like an obedient whore. This was never what you wanted, yet there you lay with your captor prodding at your cunt.

Brushing your clit with his tip, you jolt. Miguel notices and does it again, smearing dewy precum along you. "Like that?" He rumbles from above. There is a softness to him that brings heat to simmer in your stomach. "Mhm." Your eyes are scanning the blankets, looking anywhere but at him. A tingle in your wounded palm reminds you of the moment in the kitchen. You think about the way his lips pressed the bandages and the sincerity in his dark eyes.

You felt a nagging desire to reach out to him, and you did. Miguel had been ready to spear into you when both your little hands cup his cheeks. His eyes widen, and his movements halt. Tracing your thumbs along the swell of his cheeks, you bring your eyes to look up at him, catching the man off guard. You think he may be angry until he leans into your palms. Those dark eyes of his slowly soften as he melts against you. The change is startling. You'd never seen him so subdued.

Miguel closes his eyes and lets you hold his head up. He mutters something you can't understand, and you feel warmth spread across your limbs. You didn't want to fight it today. You wanted to succumb to him and feel in control, just for a moment. "Miguel," you say his name, softer than you ever had. Brown eyes flutter open and hone predatorially to yours, waiting. "I need you." You couldn't be sure what facet of yourself asked, but you didn't care. Right then, you wanted him, and you would have him.

He is certain he is going to break. Your voice, your hands, the desire in your words. Miguel never thought he'd hear you ask for it, but there you were, and you did. The man never realized how touch starved he was until he found himself drooping against you, eyes heavy and heart throbbing. You could see the pieces of himself crumbling away, those reinforced walls of stone and brick that guarded him, becoming nothing but rubble between you. Something tugs in your chest, and you pull him down to kiss him gently.

"Come here," you whisper, and he obliges. Miguel lays on his forearms over you, his broad chest and narrow hips pinning you to the mattress. You can not help but feel like a stone cast out in the ocean, unable to save yourself as you sink further into the dark. "I've got you." You mumble, petting your fingers through his wild flare of brown locks. Something prods, and you part. Miguel nudges his hips forward and dips the length of his cock inside your warmth, drawing a gasp from you.

When he bottoms out, you push your forehead to his and whimper. Miguel isn't fucking you as he usually does, this time it is slow, methodical, loving. "O-oh, l-like that!" You gasp suddenly, arching your back. The thick tip of his head bruises your gspot on its journey to your cervix. Usually he is brutal, knowing you fought too hard to ever cum. This steady, gentle rocking has you spiraling. Heat builds in your core so fast your head spins. Miguel is watching your face, eyes trained on your soft lips and the way they part when you sigh in pleasure. He lowers his mouth to catch yours, swallowing your intoxicatingly soft cries.

Each press of his hips to yours sends sparks through your abdomen, his stomach pressing your swollen clit as he nudges to his hilt. "M-miguel, Miguel - f-fuck-!" You were building, and send your free hand to grasp at his back. His muscles flex under your palm, and his mouth nips at your ear. "Cum for me," He purrs in a voice like distant thunder. "Cum." Miguel cinches his jaw and bucks unevenly as fire spreads inside you. The both of you choke and groan. He rattles against you and desperately rabbits inside your cunt as he nears his end. You couldn't take it, between his demand and the slow climb of your orgasm, you crumble with him.

Shrieking, you clench down around his cock as he hits against your cervix, milking his length for all he's worth. Your legs tremble, and you find yourself clinging to his neck, puling softly as you rode out your orgasm. Miguel had lost it too, your noises and getting to watch you cum setting him into his own heat. You hear him strain in your ear, his cock throbbing as he spews molten cum inside of you. The heat spreads, and Miguel grinds his pelvis to yours, stimulating your already sensitive clit.

"Hh-ah, p-please." You paw at his hair, near tears from the intensity of the moment. Miguel kisses you again, bumping his nose against your own as he settles to a stop. The two of you are looking at each other now, damp with sweat from lovemaking. You bring your hand to his cheek, then touch along the broad expanse of his jaw, causing him to lean into your palm again.

After a few moments, he settles to lay his head on your shoulder, not bothering to pull out. You wrap his neck with your arms and stare up at the ceiling, listening as he falls asleep.

You think about that sinking stone,

And wonder if you'll ever see the surface again.

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wriitingwoes79 · 11 months

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Careful, He Bites

Miguel O’Hara x Hispanic!Reader

Summary: You’re FWB with the ever-elusive vigilante Spider-Man (2099) who unfortunately, for you, is not too fond of being ghosted.

Content Warnings: dom!Miguel, sub!reader, face sitting, biting, overstimulation, webfluid!bondage, dirty talk (and in español también !!🤭)

WC: 645 (ik ik it’s short my bad lol)

AN: heavily unedited and my Spanish is rusty (gotta love being a no sabo puerto rican ) so I apologize for that!! part 2 maybe? who knows lol

MDNI!!!

Your phone buzzed on the bedside table, your roommate’s photo and caller ID popping up. In your current state, you would just have to let the call go to voicemail—it’s not like you would be able to answer now or any time soon, anyways.

Especially since your thighs were bound by thick muscular arms (and ropes of webfluid) while Miguel’s tongue and lips flicked and sucked over your clit hungrily. The obscenely wet sounds emanating from your thighs held much more sway than the buzzing phone to your right.

Wave after wave of pleasure lapped over you as Miguel forced orgasm after orgasm from you. Your thighs shook around his head, and you squirmed as you felt the familiar rise of arousal leading towards another release.

“Ah!” You cried as you felt Miguel’s teeth lightly rake over your clit, quivering from the sensation. It was a warning from him: take it.

Sit there and take it.

Dios mío, you absolutely couldn’t take another orgasm—your clit was beyond sensitive, overly aware of every rough flick and wet swirl of his tongue as he licked up everything that dripped from between your thighs. His soft groans didn’t help the situation either, soft vibrations from his lips and throat running along your now-aching pussy.

Miguel’s hand tightened on your thighs, hard enough that you were sure the marks would be there by the time you made it back to your apartment.

This had to be a punishment, you thought. How orgasms could even be considered a punishment you didn’t know but you knew the roughness, the little care for how much you ached (despite the overflow of pleasure) had to be some sort of retaliation.

Sure, you hadn’t talked to Miguel in over a week, and sure, you had a blind date with a coworker of your roommate’s but that was nothing! Miguel was just a nice little friends with benefits.

Well…a vigilante friend with benefits.

A vigilante who swung you into his apartment, tearing your panties off with his fanged teeth and trapped you over his face without even taking his suit off—he’d merely lifted the mask up to free his lips and tongue for your torment. You hated how much it turned you on to see his lips and the tip of his nose peeking out from the blue and red suit material.

The orgasm rising in you once more was enough cause for you to squirm more, trying to ease off the side of his face. Miguel’s grip tightened and his lips left from your clit to trace your inner thigh. In seconds, his teeth—his fangs specifically, gripped the soft fleshy part of your inner thighs and pain sparked there. He bit, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to keep you as still as you could manage.

Hard enough to leave marks for you to find later.

“No te muevas,” he growled against you, his lips finding your clit once more, “you can take it, amor.” You whined at the sensation, his lips and gruff voice against your sensitive pussy, the way the ‘r’ in “amor” rolled so delicately off his tongue and onto your clit.

“Puedes hacer uno más,” he said and continued to devour you as if it were the only sustenance he needed to survive. Within seconds, the orgasm came bursting from you, your thighs dripping desire and release which Miguel lapped up with ease. Your entire body shook from the effort and you slumped over, legs tangled on Miguel’s shoulders from the ties still taut and biting into your skin.

Your phone buzzed again and Miguel eased himself you, pulling you free from the webfluid ties without a second thought. He picked up your phone, answering it and held it to your ear,

“Tell her you won’t be coming home just yet, cosita linda. I’m not finished with you.”

#marvel x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara #marvel smut #across the spiderverse #spider man smut #spider man 2099 #oscar isaac #oscar isaac smut #oscar isaac characters #plus sized y/n #y/n #hispanic!reader #hispanic!y/n #dom!miguel o’hara #sub!reader #marvel

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angelickks · 10 months

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Miguel Headcanons: Mrs. O'Hara

1k+ - husband! miguel o'hara x spider-woman wife! reader

summary: miguel o'hara and his wife, but make it headcanons! warnings: some swearing. descriptions of two injuries but nothing graphic! that lovey dovey shit. overall fluff. not proofread terrible. lmk if i missed some! notes: this is slight au, meaning i chose peace but i don't think y'all will entirely mind. i am in no way fluent in spanish, as i only know very few words and phrases so i figure i throw that out there. i think i covered all my bases so enjoy, muah!

pt 2!

To any newcomers, learning that Miguel O’Hara had a wife was a concept many couldn’t wrap their heads around…

Could you blame them?

He meant business, he was cutthroat with the way he ran things and no one was safe from his wrath

Well….unless you were his wife

“MIGUEL!” Jess chuckled at the rare use of your husband’s name on your tongue. “Shut it!” He practically hissed at her, she sent him an unimpressed look but that quickly changed when you came into view. She sent you a teasing smile followed by a “Hey mama.” You gave a quick peck to her cheek before your eyes landed on your husband. He cleared his throat and swallowed at the annoyed look painted across his wife's face. “Mi vida,” he simpered but was quickly shut down, “Cut the shit.” He knew the exact reason for this sudden intrusion, you caught wind of what happened between Miles and Miguel earlier that afternoon. Unbeknownst to Miguel, Peter B. may have ratted to the infamous Mrs. O’Hara that her husband might’ve tried to throw a table at Miles, again. Why? Well, Miles had tried to get into Miguel’s good graces the way he knew best, food of course. That brings the couple to right now, you giving your husband a look that meant hell while he stood there looking like a kid caught red-handed by his mother. You wasted no time, “Throwing tables at kids Miguel? Miles of all people?” Jess let out a boisterous laugh as she exited Miguel’s office, Miguel shot her another snarl when she turned back to make a face at him. “Don’t get mad at her! We discussed this: just because you’ve got a temper doesn’t mean you start with KIDS!” Now you were pacing back and forth rambling, frustration oozing off your figure. He sighed in defeat and touched your waist gently, halting your pacing. You narrowed your eyes at your husband, quickly glancing at the hand on your waist. “I’m sorry mi vida, you’re right. I take full responsibility for my actions but-” You shot a icy glare at him, effectively shutting down whatever he was gonna say to even try and justify it. He dropped his head but was pleasantly surprised by the soft kiss on his forehead. You wrapped your arms around his waist and planted another kiss on the wide expanse of your husband's chest. “Yeah…shut up,” He huffed out a chuckle at your comment and caressed the back of your neck, claws lightly scratching you. You gave him a sweet smile before shooting a web at the neck of his suit and gave him a particularly hard tug so he was eye level with you, “Pull that shit again and you can spend a couple of nights in this “office”, mi amor.” You pecked the corner of his mouth before releasing his suit and untangling yourself from his arms. “It’s lunchtime, I brought food. Come.” He grunted as you made your way over to his slightly dented table placed in the corner of his workspace with a bag he hadn't noticed until now. He saw a flash of your webs attached to his chest before he was pulled to the spot next to you.

You were easily a favorite at HQ

You were unabashedly sweet, easy to talk to, and overall had a great energy

Not to mention, you were amazing on the field

Personality wise you were the COMPLETE opposite of your counterpart

And that's why it was so hard to believe why you of all people were with a man like your husband

That’s how you earned the nickname, so lovingly given to you by none other than Hobie, boss-lady. Something he didn’t say lightly, as he never referred to Miguel as “boss” despite him being the one that ran the place

This peeved Miguel, not because he didn’t agree with you being “boss-lady” but simply because it was Hobie

As for Gwen, Miles, and Pav…..you were their work-mom

You seemed to always be saving their asses from your husband's temper, for which they were very grateful

While at work he was well…Miguel

Brooding, perpetually stressed, a void of emotion rlly

But with you, it was the complete opposite

Anyone in a hundred-mile radius could see that Miguel O’Hara was putty in the hands of his wife

Hobie, Gwen, Miles, and Pav had just gotten back from what they deemed a successful mission, but to Miguel successful was the last word he’d use to even describe it. So here they were in his office being reprimanded, again.

“All four of you went against almost every single protocol in the damn book, protocols set in place to prevent your mistakes! Once again, disobeying strict orders to follow them!”

The sight found below Miguel’s platform was not a new one, not even close. Nor was it new when you just so happened to swing in at the right moment.

“Amor! You forgot the bag I packed for you this morning” Your sweet smile lightened up the dark room. The group watched as their boss become the walking definition of heart eyes. “Oh I’m sorry, am I interrupting?” Feigning confusion while subtly shooting the four a knowing look. “You? Never love. Come, let me see you” Your husband beckoned, holding out a hand for you. Your webs glowed as they pulled you up the platform, you swiftly reached for his hand and pulled him into you. You made quick work of maneuvering his back toward the group. They watched as you placed a kiss on his collarbone lovingly, quickly sticking your head over your husband’s bulky shoulder and mouthing the words, “Out, now!” Disguising it as another hug.

They wasted no time doing just that, earning you hushed sighs of relief and a small salute.

Some perks came with working with your significant other

Seeing and being with each other often

Constantly checking up on each other, fair share of making sure the other is eating and getting an ample amount of sleep

Looking out for each other in the field blah blah blah

You always looked out for Miguel, but you knew he could handle his own.

Miguel on the other hand? Easily the multiverse's biggest worry wart

The poor man has lost so much that he cannot bare the thought of losing his driving force.

This meaning every scratch or bruise, he’s waiting on you hand and foot

You came back from a seemingly easy mission with Noir. It wasn’t something you two couldn’t handle, it was simple. Catch the anomaly and report back to HQ. It was just this time, you returned with a gash in your thigh and a shitty bruise on your cheekbone. It was lightwork in your eyes, the perks of the job.

Yeah, not for your husband.

The minute you walked into HQ, you were met with the sight of your brooding partner donning his signature snarl. Not pointed at you but at your partner. You rolled your eyes at his antics making quick work to defend Noir from your husband’s fury. “How about you go get this thing situated Noir?" Motioning to the irate anomaly in tow, "Gotta deal with the big guy.” He nodded quickly before walking off, avoiding Miguel’s hard glare.

“Don’t get mad at him, it’s not his fault. Blame the ugly thing we just captured.” Attempting to soothe your beast of a husband, quickly picking up on his clenched fists. He swiftly reaches for your jaw, holding it gently to scan for any further injuries. You reach for his clenched fist and massaged his palm to release the tension there. In a flash, he places a kiss on your forehead and you quickly pick up on his ragged and uneven breathing, frowning as you recognize the tell-tale sign of his anxiety. He softly releases your jaw from his grip and rests the same hand on your lower back, practically dragging you to the med bay nearby. He got there hastily, keeping it together to stay mindful of the gash on your thigh.

It was hard to hand you off to the doctors, who stitched and cleaned you up in time. But not fast enough for Miguel, simultaneously vexed and impatient, who insisted (basically threatened, but ok) that he stay in the corner closest to you. As per usual, you took it like a champ, unlike your very frigid husband menacingly staring down at the unfazed doctor. They gave you some final instructions on how to keep the wound sanitary and to stay off the field for a week or two while insisting you stay a night in the med bay (this is upon Miguel's request threat so he could have supplies readily available if anything were to happen) After the doctor left your side, Miguel was right there softly caressing your unbruised cheek, causing you to melt into his touch. “Love, you realize that the doctor is just doing their job and you can’t just stitch me up yourself right? No matter how talented you think you are,” You said, sleepily teasing Miguel. He shot you a very unenthusiastic look, rubbing his thumb over your eyelid gently to coax you to close your eyes. “Shut up, go to sleep muñeca” He placed another kiss on your forehead, making his way to your cheeks while being sure to avoid the bruised one before making it to your lips. "Rude ass" you murmured, he lightly poked your nose with the pad of his thumb. "I love you endlessly, mi vida" he whispered you opened your eyes one last time and gave him a knowing smirk, "I love you, I'm sorry for worrying you amor. It's going to be okay."

He spent that whole night at your side, woke you up once to get you to change into more comfortable clothes, and put you right back to sleep. He had spent a few hours rubbing your feet and softly singing to you in Spanish in the dimly lit room. He didn’t sleep as great as you wanted him to, in fact, woke up with an annoying ache in his back from the shitty chair he slept in.

Safe to say you spent about two weeks in the "office", helping with paperwork. All while trying to convince your unrelenting husband to let you massage the new annoying knot in his back. which he let you help with after a few empty threats and a lot of kisses.

BONUS:

A few days after the group’s mission, the last thing they expected to see was their boss in the cafeteria unfortunately unaccompanied by you, walking towards them.

“Next time you guys decide to break protocol, don’t expect my wife to save you.” He grunted, his fangs flashing slightly. They watched worriedly as he sauntered over to where you sat five tables over.

Now it was your turn to look like a kid caught red-handed.

xtras! i had sm fun writing this its 12am and i have work tmr but oh well. possible pt. 2?

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