#rosie o'hara

[tarjapearce]

Old Friend

Summary: You meet an old friend in your shopping trip with the family.

Nothing but a slice of life, fluff, bit of angst and a jealous Miguel ~

Whenever it was restock day, Costco or Walmart would be the main places to go.

You'd get the list, Miguel would secure Rosie to his chest, as Benjamin would get inside your cart. Gabi would walk alongside you or her beloved Papa, pushing his cart.

Each would take separate ways, you'd get the meats and veggies, as Miguel would get the rest, powder detergent, cleansing products, and snacks.

"Mama, can I have these?" Benjamin swayed his feet pointing at the  colorful packaging of dinosaur shaped nuggets.

"Course you can, mi niño. Which one you want?"

"I tried the red one last time, I'll get the purple"

Benji's boyish voice echoed around you as you stopped on the frozen meals section.

"Alright, purple it is."

You picked the purple package, a triceratops and a T-Rex on the cover. Then, filled the cart with different sort of meats, Miguel's favorite cuts, hams and of course, lots of canned jalapeños. Orange, pineapple, and cranberry juice, a couple of sodas and finally you got to go to the cereal and coffee aisle.

Miguel was running out of coffee in his office, and back at home you only had a couple of packages. It reminded you the time Miguel nearly had an anxiety attack when he found out he had ran out of the black liquid gold, even in his secret stash.

For some reason the brand he always bought was put on the top shelves. With a huff you looked around to see if there was any ladder, but upon finding none, You stepped on the bottom shelf, trying to get the six pack in the edge, but obviously, you couldn't reach it.

Benjamin giggled when you missed, as revenge you smothered his face in kisses, earning you a loud and bubbling squeal.

"Here, let me." A deep voice rumbled behind you. Your eyes widened at the all too familiar face before you. Reaching effortlessly for the coffee packaging.

"Richard" you mumbled while taking the package, to then put it on the cart.

"Hey" His hand waved softly. Clad in a hoodie, bermudas and sneakers. A little gold band hugging his ring finger. Dull, as his overall aura.

Despite the years coming through, he hadn't lost his kind green eyes. Some wrinkles adorned his matured face. Ricky was only two years older than you, and still had some white hairs poking out here and there.

He sported a short and well trimmed beard, hair parted and neatly arranged to a side. His eyes darted to the boy that undoubtedly resembled alot like you, except for his curious big and round red-ish eyes.

"Whose this little champ?" The smile on his face was coy, but genuine.

"It's my boy, Benjamin."

A proud beam stretched on your face as your hand caressed Benjamin's head, some of his curls trapping your fingers.

"Nice to meet you, champ." Ricky stretched his hands towards him and Benjamin shook it, a tad nervous.

"He definitely has your curls."

You smiled, eyes diverting behind him, ready to meet his partner but, there was none, just his half cart full of car appliances, some diary products and snacks.

"My goodness, you have a beard now."

Ricky chuckled and scratched it. He was a handsome man, undoubtedly. Good and well worked physique. Lean muscles, athletic and healthy looking. Green eyes a shade darker than green apples, pretty lips you liked biting and a healthy tan on his skin, despite him being a pale guy. A couple of freckles adorned his nose.

"And you've got a kid now." there was a bit of disbelief in his tone.

"Three actually. Funny how we ended up doing the things we always said we wouldn't do right away."

Richard gave a soft laugh.

"At least we look good. And I'm sure you're a great mom. How long has it been?"

"I don't know, I suck at math. But I do know it's more than ten years." You pushed the cart to get the cereals and naturally he helped you to get them. Eyes looking for Miguel in every chance you had.

"How have you been?" He tensed a bit at the question, not expecting your openness to talking so casually, specially when your finger shone with a golden band. He graduated college and never saw you again, until now. Gentle and caring as always. You hadn't changed, and he was glad.

"As usual. Existing, trying to keep myself afloat after, uh... my divorce." His mouth pressed in a tight line, green eyes looked away for a second, unable to meet your stare. Ashamed.

Your eyes blinked at his reply. Clearly surprised by such thing. Face falling with worry. "I'm sorry to hear that."

Richard shook his head, and gave a nonchalant shrug.

"Things happen. It's one of those situations that get your eyes open for good." Ricky rubbed his neck awkwardly and you offered a little reassure with a hand on his shoulder, patting it softly.

"Hey, you've got this. I know it's been a while, but I'm sure your problem solving skills are still top notch."

Hw chuckled, almost sympathetic at himself, "I don't even know anymore, if I'm honest. But if you say so."

The voices in the aisles kept indistinct, each in their own world, mingling with the upbeat background music.

"Also... I'm sorry." His eyes remained on yours. Something he'd always do when speaking truthfully.

Your brow quirked, "Whatever for?"

Ricky's hands squeezed the insides of his pockets as he spoke.

"For breaking up with you. Specially like that. It was a d-" He caught his tongue before continuing with the french before Benjamin, "It was wrong of me."

You could only stare at him, and he recoiled further in his spot, shoulders hunched, eyes on the floor.

"If something's worth saying, I... divorced cause my mom also ruined it for me."

You frowned, confused and he shook his head.

"So I cut ties, went to therapy and yeah." He reached out for a three pack of granola for himself, and another for you after you pointed at the brand.

"I'm sorry, I'm kind of confused as to why would you think I'd be happy to know something awful happened to you, Richard?"

Richard's brow puckered. You really hadn't changed at all. Even after he dumped you a few days before Christmas eve.

"I... don't know? Thought you'd hold a grudge for what I did."

"A grudge?" You tittered and this threw him off guard, "Not to sound mean or anything, but I didn't even remember what had happened until now. You know I'm forgetful."

You both chuckled as he nodded.

"Yeah, kinda wondered if you'd lose your head too if it wasn't attached to your body."

You gasped while mocking offense, "That was rude."

You grabbed a couple of cereal boxes Benjamin pointed at.

"But true. In all seriousness, I'm glad that at least something great came after me. Is he a good man?, wait..." He shook his head softly, "Stupid question Of course he is, you married him."

You beamed and this made his chest swell in a mix of happiness and pride. You deserved it after all he also put you through.

"You'll find someone, I know so." It always made him wondered why he was stupid like that to allow his mother come in between.

"I'll give myself a couple of years to heal first. Wanna make sure I don't repeat things over."

It was your turn to get that pride sensation in your chest. Knowing he was making a good progress out of his mother's shadow also made you happy. You out of everyone knew how hard it was like.

"Hope they're ready to listen country music nonstop in your car." He rolled his eyes.

"I know you hated the genre, that's why I always played them"

Your lips pursed with faked anger as he tittered, however, Ricky cleared his throat off the laughing upon watching a behemoth of a man, approaching from behind. Red eyes set on him. A shudder crawled on his skin as he gulped. The baby on his chest did little to appease the intimidating aura around him.

"Mama!" Gabi came to you with an excited face as she showed you her new acquisition. A purple and glittery cover for her phone.

"Qué lindo! Do they have it in blue too?" (How cute!)

"Nah, it was the last one, Papa said this would match with my room too."

Said Papa hugged you from behind, and kissed your temple, red eyes never left him. Ricky gave Miguel a polite smile as he backed away a few steps. Miguel's strong features only turned sharper. It would be a lie to say if Ricky wasn't surprised and intimidated.

Surprised cause you hugged Miguel's narrow waist, a pleased and proud purr emanated from his chest. Loud enough for only you to hear it.

The man before him screamed danger a mile ago. But also, explained lots of things. Like Benjamin's eyes.

"Richard, this is my husband. Miguel O'Hara."

Ricky hesitated for a second, but stretched his hands towards him, big tan hands easily enveloped his in a firm shake.

"Nice to meet you." His nervous smile was like fuel to your husband's ego.

Miguel acknowledged him with a brief nod, eyes not tearing away from him. A quiet She's mine in his eyes.

"Richard and I used to go at the same college. Oh! This is my eldest daughter, Gabriella. And my youngest baby, Rosie."

Gabi smiled politely while holding onto Miguel's hips.

"You have a beautiful family." His green eyes stared at an ever curious Rosie that gazed back at him. Miguel's shoulder's tensed when Rosie gave Ricky a smile.

"Thanks, You'll be fine though. Things take time, but, It all comes together somehow. Just be patient. I'm glad you're doing good on your own." Again, you patted his shoulder, he just gave you a small but genuine smile. Miguel's guts churned as his jaw clenched.

Ricky left after saying his goodbyes, not wanting to impose his presence any further.

"Gabibi, mi amor, can you get the food cart to the line, please?"

"Okay. Don't take too long, please?"

Gabriella took the cart as Benjamin showed her his nuggets, leaving you and Miguel with Rosie alone.

"Alright, interrogation can start now." You chuckled and Miguel pulled you by your waist towards him, ebbing you to walk a few steps before giving a firm slap on your rear.

"Miguel!" you hushed, flustered while looking around to see of there were people and he smirked.

"Wanted to do that before that guy, but that wouldn't be too polite of me, wouldn't it?"

You kissed his cheek, but he quickly corrected the place and pecked your lips.

"That's better. Who was he anyway?"

"My ex from college."

He just hummed and it was your turn to return the squeeze, he chuckled, "Relax. He just got divorced and obviously not having a good time."

"Too bad." He shrugged, a bit nonchalant and you deadpanned.

"Don't be mean. You were scaring him on purpose."

"Obvio. Still, forgot to thank him." (Obviously)

You chuckled as you approached to the line, Gabi waved at you both.

"Thank him?"

"Well, he let you go, and I wouldn't have met you in the first place. So thanks to that."

"Well, he's there on the other line, go tell him."

You teased, but to your surprise Miguel stepped away from the beeline and was walking towards Richard.

"W-Wait! Miguel!" You had skip a few steps to catch him and pull him back to spot, he smirked while pulling you tighter towards him.

"Don't tempt me, mi reina."

"God, I swear. You're-"

"Your husband, mi amor." He smirked, satisfied at his own title in your life.

"A jealous one."

He leaned to your ear and whispered, "Espérate que lleguemos a casa. No te la vas a acabar conmigo, mi reina." (Wait till we get home. You'll see what's up.)

Gabriella rolled her eyes at the flirty atmosphere around you and covered Benjamin's eyes.

"You're too young to see that."

#t writes✨ #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #soccer family ⚽🕷️ #atsv miguel #gabi o'hara #miguel o'hara fluff #benjamin o'hara #rosie o'hara

[venator-signum]

love me a man who wakes up and decides to have beef with a 15 year old based on a theory that gets disproven like every tenth spider-person due to multiversal circumstance

#rosi shitposts #marvel #atsv spoilers #atsv #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miles morales #spiderman #atsv miguel #atsv miles #hes so silly #but also 👀

[hereliesbitches--me]

I'm trapped without a car, a long list of drawing obligations, so I apologize for my absence. But know that I'm always available to talk and plot and throw ideas back and forward.

In the meantime, I've been doodling some character interactions and my fav boys. I hope you all have been well

I always miss you

#:art: #:the unbreakable sphinx (rosie valentine): #miguel o'hara #eddie brock #namor #ocs #i love character interaction skits #hmu for character interaction doodles

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Rigor Mortis (part 10)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 9, Part 11

summary: In the morning, Miguel reminisces.

warnings: smut! grinding, humping, alcohol, PIV, switch-y behaviour (what's new), aftercare, mentions of depression. 18+ Minors DNI

a/n: soft melty mig >>>

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 4.5k

Oh! and I finally made the series' playlists (very open to requests) <3

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

between your bodies;

You wake up with a headache and a lump in your throat.

Bleary eyes; and you rub away sleep, rosy and warm around the edges. Everything smells like him, is your very first thought. It's the kind of thing that has you reeling, tossing and turning in unfamiliar sheets before looking up at a mottled ceiling. Light creeps in from curtains cracked open, rays spreading like wildfire on everything it touches. Miguel's bed is by the window, and you can't help but curl up what little light spills in with your hands; palm upwards, slowly balled into fists. It's warm, and your hand feels a little different.

Oh.

Like a bolt of lightning, memories of the night before run up your spine; dancing up and down between the sheets. Miguel's hand in yours, his skin pressed up against you, a room spinning in the kind of way that seems romantic. Seems romantic; you note. It could've been the alcohol, but you had felt something between you two, yesterday. Something… different . Your cheeks grow warm at the thought of last night; drunken revelations and so much light, it burns.

I like the way your eyes scrunch up when you smile. I like the way you look in the morning, squinting at labels and cereal packets. You've got the prettiest lips I've ever seen, Miguel.

You burrow under the covers as you recall it; the memory of Miguel between your thighs, his head in the crook of your shoulder. The way he had half-laughed, heady and heavy and thick with want, low groans pooling by the shell of your ear. You're not too sure if you meant it; really, really meant it; and you're scared of what that means. Casual sex was the agreement, and you didn't think you had the capacity for much else.

Sighing, you stretch your leg out from under the covers, dipping a tentative toe on the rug. Bare, except for a T-shirt whose hem kisses your thighs. Mig's t-shirt, of course, and you tug it down as you slip out of his bed. The aftermath, things tossed off shelves and awards that had clattered to the ground, lies in last night's wake. Guiltily, you root around to pick up his things.

They're more personal than the things around the house. You notice a plaque or two from undergrad, his diploma  - biomechanics and chemical engineering with honours - and even a certificate from a middle school science fair. The image makes you smile: little Mig with braces and a distinct frown, handed a plastic trophy in front of a spotty crowd. 'First Place' it says, and knowing him his entry was less baking soda volcano and more miniature Hadron Collider . If he's anything like he is now; he was probably a mouthy little pain-in-the-ass, too.

You take a watch off of the floor, half hidden under his bed. A knee brushes past a clear box; that jostles and rattles around like nails in a metal can. From vague outlines, you can see a box of junk , in every sense of the word: scrap metal, wires, plastic tubing. A whole scrapyard under his bed, and you reach for it, curious.  Something knicks at your hand in the process. Glass, from a broken pane of a frame slipped under the bed. Softly, you hiss, sucking at the cut that draws blood.

More careful, now, you push the frame towards you, sweeping up the glass as best you can. In the lowlight, you can't make out much. Carefully, you hold it by a corner - an intricate thing, all twisted metal and brushed bronze. From out under the bed, you see it, or rather, him: Miguel, a little younger, surrounded by a couple of unfamiliar faces. A taller man, a much older woman - and they both smile in the way he does, crows feet and with the kind of warmth that reaches their eyes. In his arms (Miguel's, but not your Miguel) is a little girl. She is small; wide-eyed, gap-toothed; looking up at him, as if the camera wasn't there. The adoration in her face makes you smile. His sister, maybe? His brother, Gabi, and his dear mama ? 

Gently, you place it on the side table. You sweep up the glass into your hand, ignoring the sting that spreads to your palms. It's not a deep cut, but you head to the kitchen anyway, in search of warm soapy water and something to mop it up. 

Slipping past the doorway, it is deathly quiet. Morning spills in through a window, illuminating a lone figure - broad shoulders, tan and bare save for pyjama pants, hunched over the dining table. 

Miguel doesn't seem to notice as you get closer, finally able to hear slight noise and chatter from a tinny phone. Cup of coffee in hand, you watch as he scrolls, replaying the same video over and over. From over his shoulder, you can just about make it out: music that had deafened you at the time, loops with a pathetic whine. A video from last night, it seems, and you recognise the icon of Lyla's story. Bright lights, your dress sparkling and a pretty little laugh drowned out by Lyla's - he seems to replay the same couple of seconds over, and over, and–

“Mig?” He jumps, leaping almost 3 feet into the air, it seems. His phone shuts off with a clatter, slammed onto the table. Turning, he seems guilty, before flattening his face into something more socially acceptable.

“H-Hi. Morning.” He clears his throat, giving you an awkward nod.

“Morning,” Softening, you slink down to take a seat. He knows, of course: he knows that you know, that you saw exactly what he's been doing. But you're both going to ignore it, let it settle in the gaps between you - a gap that quickly shrinks, he notes. 

The chair drags across the floor, almost catching at a rug on the wooden slats. When you seat yourself by him; closer, closer, oh-so close; you can't help but brush your legs to his, addicted to the way it makes him shiver. Payback, you think, grabbing at his mug and stealing a sip before he can say anything. For all the times he's fucked with your head.

Miguel knows better than to protest, crossing his arms resolutely. He sighs - not maliciously, but with a tinge of defeat. You're too pretty, and too close for him to think properly; to even muster up the energy to argue. And so he doesn't, opting to chew at the inside of his cheek. 

“ Hey .” You say, hand coming up to cheekbone, stroking at it with your thumb. Miguel tries not to lean into it, to melt into the touch. “ Careful. Where'd you go?”

It makes him laugh, bitterly, ruefully - whatever you want to call it. Where'd you go? And you say it like you've got an inkling of all the shit that goes on in his head. He goes to the same place he always seems to be, these days. Somewhere that reminds him of you , of your nights together, of your nights apart–

“Did you sleep well?” You're asking, and it takes him a second to process it.

“Sure.” Shrugging, he lies, and you pretend to believe him. “Long night, I suppose.”

When he picks that moment to look at you, to bore into your soul, you take your hand away; feeling naked , feeling bare . 

“What about you? Did you sleep well?” 

And you hum, non-committal, in response.

“Can’t remember much.” It’s a bold-faced lie, and he knows it.

He chews at his lips, eyes dragged down to your figure. He’s shameless, lashes fluttering before he sighs - with the kind of tiredness that rattles at his chest - scratching at a 5 o’clock shadow.

He’s pinching at the bridge of his nose like he’s battling a headache - and losing miserably. Miguel; your Miguel, this time; looks so pathetic, with the countenance of a wet mop. It’s not a grimace, nor a frown, like always. It looks like melancholy - thinly veiled, bone-deep - and it makes your heart splinter.

You just… you just want to comfort him. To hold him in your arms and stroke his hair, to press kisses into the crinkles at the side of his mouth, his forehead: to be warm and soft and somewhere safe , for him.

It’s a compulsion you can’t fight, clambering over him to sit on his lap. His gaze flickers, pointedly trying to ignore you, but his hand rests comfortably on plush thigh. It sends a shiver down your spine; how tender his touch is, even when like this. 

“I…” You start, tracing a hand to his scratchy jaw and gently tilting him towards you. “I remember enough.”

 He can’t help it, hand travelling a little further up and eyes flitting to your lips. 

“... Yeah ?” And it comes with an unceremonious squeeze at your ass, wetting his lips with pink tongue.

That gap between you shrinks even more as you press your chest to his, with a hand at his shoulder. God, his skin is hot to the touch; lean muscle that tenses under your palm. He gets closer.

“What are you doing today?” He’s trying so hard, forcing himself to look you in the eye - betrayed only by a pounding heart and a lingering look to your lips. 

Coupled with the way he looks at you; kneading at your thighs, leaning into your gentle palm; it makes your throat close up. 

“...U-Umm, I think–”

“It’s Friday, right?” He hums, head cocked as if deep in thought. “You’ve got… stats and lab prep, today.”

You frown. “Yeah, actually. How did you–”

“You’re always complaining about Fridays.”

“I didn’t yesterday.”

“I’ve barely seen you all week, sweetheart.” 

“ And who’s fault is that? ” Muttering, you roll your eyes, trying not to show him the way it makes you melt.

“I listen.” He says, soft. 

“...sometimes.” You finish, but it’s half-hearted. You know, he knows; he listens . He always has. 

“I think…” You clear your throat. “T-Think m’gonna take the day off. I’m pretty–”

Tired. Exhausted. Ready to kiss your roommate if it meant he would look at you like that for a little longer.

“ – hungover .” He whispers, thumb stroking your hip as you snort; ready to bat him away. 

Wriggling, his grip tightens, slotting you closer as if in a trance. You’re laughing, a sharp retort at the tip of your tongue, but his wry smile seems tinged with something else. It’s a something that makes your heart skip a beat – but it’s his next words that have you reeling.

“I’ve got the day off, too.”

You’re taken aback. “Don’t you…? I-I mean I thought you’re taking extra hours at Alchemax…”

“Nope.” Resolute, he shakes his head. “We’ve got appraisals or something, today. Upper management only. I thought I told you.”

Brows kneaded, you give him a look he’s well accustomed to. And Miguel; because he’s Miguel, of course; counters it almost immediately.

“Don't give me that … You didn’t even know I wore glasses until yesterday.”

“That’s not fair , Mig.”

“You don’t want to spend the day with me? Dios mio, hermosa.”

“Mig–”

Dramatic, he tips his head back, clutching at his chest. “Am I that bad? You can’t spend a couple hours with me–”

“Mig –”

“Just a couple, sweetheart, and then I’m out of your hair, and you can complain about me to–”

“ Mig! ” You exclaim, giggling whilst you nudge his head forward to meet your gaze.

“You called?” He flutters his eyelashes playfully, with a hint of a smile. 

It looks good on him, you think; glad that he feels comfortable enough to finally let go.

There’s a gentle lull and he places hot palms at your thighs to hike you up even closer. You adjust yourself on his lap, watching the way he groans with his head in your hands. It makes you bold: the way he moves to clutch at your hand and dart under the lip of your shirt to press you closer. 

A roll of your hips makes him purr , eyes fluttering as he rocks up in thin pants. Quickly hardening, he’s wearing a dopey smile - one you return as you press your forehead to his. He angles his hips just right, causing little moans to spill out from pretty lips. The hand at his jaw travels to the nape of his neck, tugging in that way you know that he likes. You know him, and that makes your chest warm: the way he purrs and rumbles as you touch him in a way only you can.

Roughly, he swallows, head tilted up to catch at your cheek. 

“Do you remember what you said last night?” It’s whispered into skin, soft and barely-there. “What you asked me to do?”

Kiss me. Why won’t you kiss me?

Like something sharp and intense through your veins, the memory makes you shiver, leaning into Miguel so his clothed cock catches at your clit. Like this , you don’t want to look at him - you can’t. 

Ask me tomorrow.

And so you shake your head, nuzzling into his side with a weak whimper.

There’s a pause so imperceptible you might have imagined it. If Miguel is disappointed - or relieved, or frustrated - you can’t quite tell. Unceremoniously, he latches on, taking large handfuls of your ass and sucking ugly hickies into pretty skin.

“You asked me–” He says it between wet kisses, sloppy and hungry and quickly deepening. “You asked me to fuck you .”

You gulp, hips rolling as you close your eyes. 

“ Just the tip, you said.” He lifts you up slightly, rolling back plaid pants. He nips at your neck, all tongue and teeth and claws. “Do you remember now?”

He’s not even inside, teasing your bare folds with the wide head of his cock. Your head tilts to give him more access to that juncture of your jaw. A dry chuckle leaves your lips at his tone and countenance; asking if you remember as he does his best to make you forget even the simplest of things. And that’s the thing about Miguel O’Hara, saccharine-sweet, gorgeous -in-the-low-light O’Hara: he makes you feel so good, everything else falls away.

“ Fuck.” He heaves. “”J-Just the–”

Impatient, you shift your hips, slipping him inside with one delicious movement. You can taste it: pleasure , white-hot and building up just below your gut. Miguel separates with a wet pop, hands trailing up to rid you of your shirt – his shirt, you realise with a moan. Exposed, he eyes your pretty stomach and then the peak of your breast. He keeps you flush to his hips, right at the sharp cut of his v-line, tufts of hair leading to where you both meet. With the way his eyes flutter, you can tell: he wants to kiss you, slathering up your chest to collarbone, and then from collarbone to jaw. He gets close, pressing shaky kisses to the corner of your lips – threatening to break the promise you made to each other long ago. And God , with the way he pistons up into your cunt, you… you just might let him.

Then his hips shift, pubic bone at your clit in a way that brings pleasure to the burn. You’re stretched out, filled to the brim and then leaning back to press your forearms onto the grain of the dining table. Like this, his hands stay squeezing the flesh at the tops of your thighs; only able to watch as you take over. You use a bit of leverage to tilt your hips this way and that - eyes low, not leaving his.

“Feels good , Mig.” You’re whining, eyes locked onto his because you want to watch him fall apart - to watch as all his troubles melt away. “So good. Uhh –Always does. I remember… shit … remember this. ” 

And you take his hand, wrapping your lips around his index and middle finger - thick and large - with the memories of how they felt inside you only making you wetter. Gushing praise as best you can, you slobber and slather over his fingers, studying every twitch and gorgeous groan that he gives. He pulls his hand away from you; gentle, but cursing nevertheless; alternating from slapping your ass to tugging at the stiff peak of your nipple. It’s your turn to stutter, hips jumping as you cum - an orgasm so hard he bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from spilling into you. There’s blood in his mouth, he notes as he studies the way you look: beautiful, always beautiful; framed in the gentle pink and purple from a rising sun.

Miguel slips out of you, painfully hard. Still heaving from your orgasm, you lean forward to press his cock between your bodies: bare and gorgeously framed in morning sun. Writhing, you kiss his neck, trailing up to the shell of his ear, whispering sweet nothings.

“Want you to cum, Mig.” And you do… oh God , you do. “You close?”

All he does is groan, nodding fervently into the crook of your neck. Diligently, you wrap him up in your arms, crooning and sweet, carefully rocking into him so his cock slides up and down your soft skin. For once, he doesn’t complain, holding you just as tight. 

“M’gonna… o–ohh ffuck …”

“Cum, Mig. For me.”

You’re firm but gentle, pressing your tits up against him and making sure his cock gets that well needed friction. As such, you can feel it almost immediately; hot cum slathered over your tits and body - leaving so much glistening on your skin. 

With a rough gulp, he heaves, eyes screwed tightly shut. You can’t help it, brushing away stray hairs from his face, leaving soft kisses in your wake. And maybe, just maybe, you hear him sob - muffled whimpering and whining with every slight shift of your body against his. And oh . It makes your heart melt when you realise, still carding your fingers through the nape of his neck.

He’s overstimulated. It’s too much.

Limp, he stays wrapped around you for a while, muttering nonsense into your skin.

“ Sorry. ” Shakily, he says – like he even has anything to be sorry about. “M’really— fuck. I just need a moment.”

You hum. It makes your heart heavy that he thinks he needs to be ready now , that he thinks he doesn’t deserve more than a moment to process his pleasure. You want Miguel to feel good, you always have. But with the realisation that you want him to be happy ; to feel safe, to feel loved; well…

…it scares you more than anything.

~~~

Aftercare .

Miguel admits, he’s not too familiar with the term.

It’s not something he’s proud of. With many a one night stand under his belt - even, occasionally seeing a girl more than once - he’s never been too good at it. He’s tried, definitely. Tried so very hard to stick around a little longer, to stay curled up in bed and guide his partner through their comedown. Unfortunately, it doesn’t quite come naturally to him - oft susceptible to a glass of water by the bedside and a gentle nudge to an Uber. That physicality: the cuddling , and kissing, the sappy, wholesome, relationship-adjacent thing? He’s never had that desire after sex, much too stuck in his own head for that.

So why does this feel… so good?

You’re taking care of him. He’s not stupid; knowing that your bedside manner is much better than his. You’re merely doing the right thing and helping him past such an intense orgasm: and that seems to come in the form of his head on your chest, limbs tangled up together on your beat up old couch. This doesn’t count , he’s convinced himself: all those rules and boundaries you’ve both come so close to breaking - a little cuddling doesn't even scratch that surface. And if it feels so good to have your hand playing with his hair, to ground himself with the steady thump-thump of your heart, then who is he to complain?

He’s just a man, he decides. A mere mortal, unable to resist that taste of heaven he’s been given - unable to say no . Absentmindedly, you’re humming some stupid song you’ve had stuck in your head for at least a week, now, eyes trained towards a cheesy soap on the TV. There’s a mug of coffee on the table - it tastes like shit, but Miguel is more than happy to gulp it down if  it makes you feel better - hot and steaming as you tug the blanket so it covers him a little better. 

Unknowingly, you’re lulling him to sleep - the very same sleep he’s been chasing for the past couple of hours. Tossing and turning at night, but barely 10 minutes in your arms and his body only seems to listen to you , for some reason. Traitorous bastard, he thinks, fighting to keep his eyes open. 

You’ve cleaned the both of you up - even though he had insisted otherwise. Let me take care of you , he had slurred, and you just laughed ; that pretty, infuriating laugh, with that pretty, infuriating smile – the very same one he’s wanted to kiss off of you since the beginning. Weakly, he protested, following you into the kitchen only to make a nuisance of himself. 

It’s like you're drunk, Mig.  

In some ways, maybe he is. You had steered him away, and onto couch cushions. Which must have been quite the feat, he notes, able to control all 6”5 of his sleep-deprived, hefty limbs. But he supposes, yet again, his body doesn’t quite listen to him anymore. Only you.

Was it that good? Did I fuck the fine motor skills out of you?

He remembers groaning. He remembers trying not to be drawn in by that lilting giggle, covering his ears with a rough blanket. Most of all, though, he remembers the feeling of your body on his, slipping on top of him to dig him out of that heap.

Miguel? Baby, it’s a joke! I’m kidding, I promise.

He had poked his head out. Baby. He likes that, likes the way his name sounds out of your mouth. It anchors him to this mortal plane like a sharp hook, cutting through the brain fog and burying itself into his chest. You had clasped your hands around his face, steadfast despite his wriggling.

…Oh God, even worse. I think I fucked the common sense out of you instead.

He remembers wanting to kiss you. Your lips curled up into that stupid smile, clearly so pleased at a shitty joke. It makes him warm, thinking about it now. Or maybe, it’s just the blanket you’ve tried to suffocate him in. 

“When did you sleep?” You ask, and he has to blink up at you to collect his thoughts.

“Late.” He says it simply. 

That answer doesn’t satisfy you, and you’re poking and prodding at his face, gently pulling at slowly deepening eyebags.

“ No fucking wonder .” You mutter. “You’re turning into me. No more late nights, Mig.”

When he frowns, you stick your tongue out, gleefully watching as his grimace deepens. 

“Or what?” 

“Or we stop having sex.”

That makes him rocket u pwards, indignant. “ You can’t just– ”

“I can do what I want.” Slowly, your face morphs into what must be worry. At least, he thinks it does, not too familiar with someone worrying about him like this. “No more late nights, please”

You say it so softly his heart might break. He clears his throat of its cobwebs.

“That's not really up to me, sweetheart.” Thesis deadlines. Tutoring. Taking on more hours at Alchemax in preparation for a big event. Slowly, his plate mounts, and it takes everything in him to keep going.

“I know,” You settle his head onto your lap, now. Absent-mindedly, you wrap one of his curls around your finger, hand in his hair in a way that feels more intimate than the past hour, days, weeks spent together. “I just wish you'd take care of yourself better.”

It's not said to chastise him, and you don't sound disappointed ; not tinged with the same flavour of guilt that his mama has over the phone, or that Gabi has when he hits him with that deep sigh. It's pure, selfless, plain-and-simple worry. He doesn't deserve it, he thinks.

He looks up at you. Beautifully oblivious, your gaze is still pinned to the TV. It’s domestic, comfortable in the afterglow of sex. That’s what it must be: contentment and bliss settling over him like a warm blanket. The aftermath of being in your arms, of your body on his; purely physical , that follows the kind of euphoria that he imagines can only be found in a needle. Honestly, he’s still expecting a sharp decline, a rough comedown that tastes like regret, or despair, or deep, deep empty. It doesn’t come.

Always the pessimist, but Miguel can’t help it, really; he’s been chasing something just out of reach for too long. 

“You’re gone again.” You say it so quietly he almost misses it. You give him a weary smile, hand clutching at the fabric that pools around him. He watches as you rearrange it by his shoulders, pinching the folds with a kneaded brow. Finally satisfied, you look him in the eye. “Like Ophelia. ”

He doesn’t sigh. He doesn’t scoff, or roll his eyes, or any of the half dozen ways he’s learnt to repress difficult emotions. Slipping under the water - the makeshift waves made of a ratty blanket - passive to his own suffering. You don’t say it, and he hasn’t even told you the half of it; but somehow, you see it . You see him.

He remembers the first time he met you. Thundering and clattering through his space; bulldozing every carefully placed wall he’s spent years putting up. And then he remembers the first time he actually met you; behind the sharp tongue and quick retorts, finding you watery and forlorn on the floor of your shared apartment. Beautiful, of course – always, always beautiful. But that time, the kind of beauty only found in a painting: tragedy captured in oils, careful brushstrokes muddied by time, by loss, by hurt. You’ve been hurting for a while, he thinks, well before any mention of shitty ex-boyfriends and missed lectures.

Miguel recalls late nights spent trying to still his heart, fixated on a sudden, betraying question that rattles around in his head. Are you like him? Do you understand ? Born with something missing, a tick-tick-tick of the count, radioactive and broken and–

Your hand drapes lazily across his chest, tapping and pointing at something on the screen. He hums, non-committal, the words out of your mouth barely registering. It feels familiar. It feels warm. It feels like nights spent on the couch trying not to laugh at your frustratingly witty remarks. He remembers holding his breath when your leg brushed against his; stealing careful glances to his side; trying not to stare at the way the gloom of the TV looks ethereal against you, snug to the slope of your features, cut this way and that.  

But more than anything, he remembers wanting to kiss you. God. Maybe he always has. 

_

_

_

Rigor Mortis Taglist: @bunnyrose01 @lavenderslemonade @tsukkie-daisuke @malxoxo @thekidscallmebosss @vvitcxen @theyoutubedork @doublevirgogirl @jnghs @taleiak @noblesavagex @cumikering @rebeccawinters @evanpetersrightbigtoe @saucypeanuttt @pix-stuff @maliarenee @truthuntolddd @honeycovered-bandaids @aiyaaayei @aeeliy @amplsblog @sikrettt @opuffmango @spear-bitch @maddielikesmoths @lemonpepsi @sweet-strawberryhoney @lacedinweb22 @bubbsby @jing5uan @ellaandorersoct @hibarbiesblog @valentxi @kittym1ka @delulu-dia @melovetitties @yohoe-hoe @acollectionofcells1 @froggi-mushroom @thund3rthighs

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#miguel o'hara x reader #across the spiderverse #rigor mortis 😼 #miguel o'hara #miguel o hara x reader #kat_writes😼 #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara smut #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #angst #mutual pining

[xbellaxcarolinax]

Yayyy, congrats again on 2k!! 🥳🥂

If no one's requested the yet, I'd like to offer the following prompt for a drabble: Miguel O'Hara + “I can’t get enough of you.”

Please and thank you 💖

Good Girl

Professor!Miguel O'Hara x Stripper Student f!reader

Summary: Professor O'Hara visits his favorite student at the strip club.

Word Count: 1.4k+

Warnings: Language, smut, p in v, power imbalance? Student/ teacher relationship kinda. Reader is in college and is an adult.

Whitney! I hope you like this thing I wrote for you! It's totally different from what I'm used to but I really hope you like it <3

MDNI

...

“Back again so soon, Professor O’Hara?” You grinned, pressing your red-tinted lips to his ear. Your heels gave you an extra six inches of height, but you still had to balance on your toes if you wanted him to hear you properly over the blaring music.

“Miguel,” he corrected you with a grunt for the umpteenth time, “it’s been a while.” He towered over you, his lidded eyes regarding every inch of you. 

You had your makeup done all pretty that night, your eyes dusted in bright pink glitter, and your cheekbones colored with a rosy blush. Your outfit didn’t leave much to the imagination, but it made you look ravishing, a complete 180 to the baggy clothes you chose to wear to class most days. 

“It’s only been two days,” you giggled as he pressed your back against the edge of the rowdy bar, caging you in his toned arms. You batted your lashes up at him, admiring the way the club lights engulfed him in hues of purple and magenta, the contours of his handsome face sharp and intimidating in the dim light. 

“Had to see you again,” he muttered as you tugged on his loosened red tie to bring him closer, “you gonna deny me, muñeca?”

“Are you gonna give me an A in physics?” You shot back, tilting your head to take a good look at him, feigning innocence. He rolled his eyes but smirked, brushing a lock of your hair behind your ear.

“If you’re good,” he said, “I’ll see what I can do.” You beamed, pressing your lips to his cheek, leaving behind a red lip stain.

“I’ll be good, I promise,” you bit your lip, letting your pretty eyes do all the work, “won’t be late to class or anything,” Miguel growled, pressing his hips against yours, his growing bulge pushing hard against your thigh in anticipation. 

The weight of him felt good.

The stretch of his cock was even better.

“Hey, buddy!” One of the security guards bulldozed his way through the small crowd of eager men, placing a beefy hand on Miguel’s shoulder, “Get off the girl if you ain’t paying.” 

The security guard was tall but Miguel was taller, the latter turning menacingly to glare at him. The security guard shrunk back for a fraction of a second before standing his ground. “You know this wise guy?”

“Yeah, Joey, it’s okay,” you stepped between the two large men, “he’s a regular.” Joey narrowed his eyes, his bushy mustache shifting with the motion of his lips as he frowned. He sifted through the pages on his clipboard, running a finger down the crinkled page.

“You’re up to dance next.”

“Snowflake can go on for me,” you insisted, offering him your best smile, “Mr. O’Hara wants private time, okay? Go tell the boss.” Joey was fairly new and easily swayed with a nice tone and a pretty smile. For now. He paused, his eyes roaming over your figure before nodding, scribbling over the clipboard. He then stuck out his palm waiting for payment.

Miguel shoved a hand in the pocket of his very tight slacks, fishing out his wallet and slapping a couple of bills in the security guard’s hand. Joey shoved the clipboard under his arm, counting the money with greedy fingers. 

“You’ve got thirty minutes, buddy.”

“An hour, Joey,” you demanded, crossing your arms over your chest, “he gave you enough money for an hour.”

“Fine,” He finally said, glaring once more at Miguel, “an hour.” He repeated before swiftly turning on his heel, presumably heading to the boss’s office. 

You could feel Miguel’s burning rage as you pulled him by the hand toward one of the closet-sized private rooms, pushing him down to sit on the stained couch before whirling around to snap the curtains shut.

“I don’t like that guy.” 

“He’s new, professor.” 

You gasped when you felt Miguel’s thick finger slip into the waistband of your barely-there skirt, tugging you toward him before spinning you around to face him. He looked up at you, his eyes swirling with desire, so unlike the facade he had back at the university: stoic and unapproachable.

But you knew him, the real him—an intimidating physics professor by day, an absolute feral beast by night.

Snowflake was announced on stage before the crowd whooped and a new playlist began to screech through the speakers.

“I told you to call me Miguel in private,” he muttered, his voice almost drowned out by the obnoxious party music in the background.

“Sorry,” you said, eyes fluttering as he ran his heated hands up and down your exposed sides, fingers slipping under your silky floral bralette to press against the hidden skin, “It’s a habit, can’t help it.” 

Miguel hummed, pulling you forward to straddle his lap, your legs stretching over his thick thighs. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in your fruity scent before licking a stripe up toward your jeweled ear. You moaned, tilting your head to allow him more access, grounding your hips expertly over his bulge. 

“Long day?” You sighed, relishing in the feel of his clothed cock bumping against your clit just right. You tugged on his tie again, removing it from over his head and tossing it to the carpeted floor before your hands fiddled with his dress shirt. A few buttons were popped open, exposing the tanned skin of his collarbone. 

“Had to grade quizzes.” He muttered into your skin, his hands now firmly planted on your hips.

“And you just had to come see me, hm, professor?” You teased, pressing your clothed cunt over his bulge a little harder, earning a hiss in your ear that shook you to your core. You whimpered when he pressed back just as hard, your thong now soaked with your juices.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he breathed, weaving his fingers in your hair and gently pulling your head back, “need to feel you.” 

“Yeah? I’ll give you what you want,” you grinned, your eyes heavy with arousal, “just wanna know one thing.”

“What is it?”

“Did I pass the quiz?”

Miguel snorted, “B+” 

“I passed!” You squealed, giggling when he rolled his eyes. “I knew I would!”

“You could do better.” He said, pulling down your bra to reveal your supple breasts. He immediately dived in, mouthing at your nipples, giving each one his undivided attention with gentle nips and sucks.

“I-I studied hard for that quiz, you know.” You threw your head back with a moan, continuing your sensual dance over him.

“Study harder.” He said in between sucks before licking up the crevice of your breasts, leaving a bright red love bite just under your collarbone. You whimpered, his tone filling you with arousal. Your hands flew to his belt, loosening it to get to what you craved the most. Miguel helped, lifting his hips for better access, hissing when you released his cock from his briefs and out of his slacks.  

“Maybe I’ll ask Mitch to tutor me sometime before the next quiz.” Miguel paused, sinking back down against the couch, an unimpressed look darkening his features.

Mitch was a fellow student. He sat next to you in physics and was Professor O’Hara’s best student.

“No,” Miguel answered, fisting his cock, “absolutely not.” 

“Why not,” you whined, rubbing your clothed cunt over his now-exposed dick, “I’m sure he won’t mind.”

“But I do,” Miguel growled, quickly shoving your thong to the side. He patted your ass, a signal for you to lift up your hips, before notching his tip at your entrance, “And you’re mine.”

He gripped your hips and brings you down, forcing you to take every inch of him. You both moaned simultaneously, your wet cunt swallowing him with ease. 

Miguel moves you at his pace, slowly at first, relishing in the sounds your sopping pussy made while taking him in. You were familiar with his body now, used to the stretch of him, the ache in your pussy when he was gone.

“Mm, you’re so big,” You whimpered, bouncing on his cock, “stuff me so good, professor.” Your words made him twitch inside you, his hips shifting up to thrust deep into you. 

“Fuck, so tight,” he groaned, head lolling to the side as his fingers dug into your hips viciously. His eyes were trained on your pussy, watching his dick slide in and out with ease, completely soaked with your juices.

You rode him for a bit, the muscles in your thighs tensing but you weren't planning on giving up, moving over him like your grade depended on it. Maybe it did. You weren't taking any chances.

Your release snuck up on you suddenly, quickly approaching as MIguel's cock hit something so devasting, you thought you'd pass out from the pleasure.

“Oh my god," you sobbed, your manicured nails biting into his shoulders through his shirt, "I’m—I’m gonna—”

“Be a good girl and cum on my cock.” Miguel’s words alone sent you over the edge, and a sob escaped you as you gushed all over him, your aching cunt fluttering over his length. You took a shaky breath, going limp against his chest as he continued to fuck into you.

“You did so good,” he panted in your ear, “did so good for me, hm?” His thrusts were sloppier now, hips jerking as he chased his own high.

“Get on your knees, muñeca,” he moaned, his eyes fluttering, “I'm 'bout to cum. You ready?” You nodded tiredly, quickly shuffling off him. The rough carpet dug into your knees as you opened your mouth, tongue out and ready to taste him. 

Miguel stood on shaky legs, cock in hand as he jerked himself to completion. He tapped his length twice on your tongue before you wrapped your lips around him, lapping at the swollen head. Within seconds he came, painting your throat with his spend.

“Fuck,” he groaned, head tossed back as he shoved his cock further down your throat. You choked a bit, the vibrations of your moans causing him to twitch in the warmth of your mouth. You pulled off him with a pop, licking your lips and peering up at him with wet eyes.  

“Was I a good girl?” You whispered, your eyes large and unblinking. His slacks were soaked with your cum but he ignored it, stuffing his cock away and adjusting his belt.

“Mhm,” he hummed, lifting you up with ease, “such a good girl for me.” You smiled, letting him fix your thong back in place and your breast back into your bra. He bent to retrieve his forgotten tie, but you snatched it from him, balling up the red silky fabric in your hand for safekeeping.

"It's mine now." You demanded, your thumb running over the smooth silk. Miguel chuckled, shaking his head before backing you up against the wall.

“Hour’s up!” Joey called from behind the curtain, giving the entryway a couple of knocks.

“Relax, pendejo,” Miguel yelled back, giving you one final glance, making sure you were presentable, “I’ll see you in class tomorrow, muñeca. Don’t be late.” 

“I won’t.” You promised, your eyes falling closed went he bent over you to peck your mouth. 

He smiled, resting his brow against yours, “Good girl.” 

#caro's 2k #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #atsv #spider man 2099 #whitney ✨

[mini-ism]

⋆ warnings: ADULT CONTENT (MDNI). alcohol use/mention, kissing, grinding, masturbation (male), semi-somnophilia, NO DUBCON/NONCON.

⋆ pairings: miguel o'hara x gn!reader. NOT SAFE FOR MINORS.

⋆ word count: 1.9k

MIGUEL taking good care of you in your drunken stupor, your eyes glassy and thinking hazy from alcohol. you cling to him, resting your head on his chest or hugging his arm closely, perhaps getting too touchy. miguel pretends not to care, acting as if he hates the way you get stuck to him. miguel, who pretends to be impartial to you, smiles slightly whenever he feels you closer, cheeks becoming rosy and hot.

he can't help but break his scowl when you give him so much attention.

by the end of the night it was safe to say you were "black-out drunk." miguel was concerned. everyone was leaving to continue their nightly lives or going home, but he was worried most about you. you still stuck to him, slurring your words, and grinning at him any chance you could get.

if he let you leave, there was a chance you could end up in trouble. he couldn't have that happen to you.

if you were alone, in the night, inebriated and vulnerable, you could have been met with danger. there was not a chance in the slightest miguel would allow that.

he took you home with him.

in the wee hours of the morning, when the sun still hid and the moon was shining, he entrusted himself with the duty of keeping you safe, aiding you until he knew you were okay.

miguel reluctantly abandoned his duties, keeping you on his arm as the walked you to his home. he kept a watchful eye on you, picking you up if you stumbled, letting you lean and perch on his shoulders. you'd look up at him with a twinkle of nightlife in your eyes, instantaneously making his heart stutter.

cautiously, he unlocked the door to his humble apartment. he helped you in, immediately walking you over to his bed. there could be no way he risks you getting injured or breaking something. you smiled widely again, alcohol buzzing in your mind, running through your veins.

"you might as well be comfortable if you stay here," he thought to himself. he rummaged through his barren closet for clothes that would fit you best, finding the right shirt and sweatpants for your giggly, hiccupy self.

gingerly making his way to you, he stood over you, clothes in his clutch.

"miggy?" you slurred over his name in a way that nearly intoxicated him, too.

he never allowed you to call him that, "yes?"

"wha-what're you doin' ?" you giggled at him, he looked somewhat constrained.

the drunken sparkle of vibrant city light returned, shining in your irises as he stared down at you in stagnantly blissful silence. you continued smiling at him as he grew more nervous.

"you'll be alright, okay?" he exhaled.

" 'kay, miggy."

he moved in slowly, checking your receptiveness to his touch. you simply admired him, watching his muscles flex as he modestly, but carefully, undressed you. miguel barely had a grip on himself, his face strained as he controlled himself from kissing you.

you sat gently, nearly bare as he removed what he would consider "uncomfortable" to himself. you were in only your underwear, gazing up at him, still grinning largely.

"is... something wrong?" miguel whispered, meeting your eyes again.

"no," you replied, your voice enraptured him. "nothin' 's wrong, miguel."

for a few more moments, he lingered above you, staring in one-sided awkward silence, his brows furrowed and he looked ashamedly to the side. his lips looked so pouty. an exciting tension grew in you as you watched him, his thoughts conflicting in his mind. the scent of heavy alcohol hung in the air, guiding him towards impulse.

miguel bent to you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. you were warm to his touch, slightly leaning into his palm. he gazed at you, his stare misty and his brain foggy. he softly met your lips, slowly moving his hand from your shoulder to cup your cheek. his lips were inviting, and your breath was hot as you kissed him.

he pulled away quickly, silence thickening the air. the tension suffocated you and him both.

you stared at the plump of his lips, enamored by the moment you both shared as he slid his shirt over your body.

he wanted more than to kiss you once.

miguel swallowed a shallow lump of anxiety down his throat. he couldn't risk this. you were most vulnerable like this. you were helpless with the way you giggled or stared, and how you held onto him, or the way you slurred your words to the point where they got miguel high.

he helped you ease on his spare sweatpants silently, tightness brewing in his chest as his entire body grew hot and clammy.

"can you... do that again?" you asked as he turned away. he felt his face flush at your request.

he met your words with familiar silence.

miguel's damp hands met his clothing as he slipped into the shadows of his bathroom to put them on. he attempted to ignore you, ignore his kiss, ignore his feelings.

truthfully, he had felt that way for a while now, and in the moment that had felt like the perfect time to kiss you-- but what if it simply wasn't?

he crawled into his bed with you, you had already tucked yourself into his comforter, his bed surprisingly warm for someone who seemed so cold and distant.

"i never expected your bed to be so...," you kneaded the thick blanket with your hands, "cozy."

"really?" he had turned to face you.

"yeah. i mean, you're just a really cold guy t'me, i guess." the drinks from earlier had started to wear off a bit.

"are you stereotyping me?" he had joked, "are you saying i can't have a comfortable bed because i'm mean sometimes?"

"well, you always came off as the type to be like, 'oh well, i said something weird today, now i have to sleep on the floor!' or like, 'my cold hard mattress!' as a punishment. some masochistic kinda stuff." you remarked.

"wow, okay." he chuckled. the moonlight from his window beamed on his face, giving you the faintest, buzziest view of his softened face. he tucked his other arm underneath the pillow to support his head. you stared at the locks of thick brown hair in his face, brushing them to the side as silence slinked its way back between you two.

his other hand went to cup your cheek again, drawing you in for the other kiss you had asked for.

you stirred closer to him, moving your arms to wrap around his neck and shoulders, meeting his warm lips with passion and heat, partially from your semi-drunken state.

of course, there was mutual feelings neither of you had decided to acknowledge until tonight, where you rested in his arms as he kissed you deeply, his tongue eventually meeting yours, lips melting together in a concoction of desire, alcohol, and irrational decisions.

he softly moaned as his hand crept up to the back of your head, moving you in closer as his hips had started to move against yours. you drew in a breath of air with a gentle gasp, copying his rhythm with your hips.

"is that a good enough kiss for you?" miguel pulled away gently, his hand resting on your cheek as you both laid on your side, facing eachother.

"no," you giggled, "i want more."

"well, what i think is good enough for you is some sleep," he shot back at you. "you're delirious."

"what about you?" you asked, pouting.

"you can hold onto me, if you'd like." he shifted to lay on his back.

as you moved along with him to lay on his chest, he stared at your sleeping figure. you instantaneously passed out on him. he watched for for a couple moments, the heat and passion of the kiss refusing to leave his mind and body alone.

he made sure you were asleep before he went through with himself. you sure as hell wouldn't know what he did in the morning.

miguel's hand lazily made its way down to the seam of his pants as he lay, he was damn near swimming in his anxiety yet afloat in ecstasy. he couldn't peel his gaze away from you as he shakily breathed, he knew it was wrong.

he palmed himself gently for a couple of minutes, the fat of his lip wet with saliva, occasionally being drawn back by his inhumanly sharp teeth. something about this entire situation made him want to get off. he knew he couldn't take you, at least right now. you looked so gentle, so peaceful, so cute dozing off on his big broad chest.

miguel took himself in his hand, stroking slowly to avoid waking you. every so often his breath hitched as he watched you, you'd wriggle around, pulling his hand away from the heat between his legs. he finally gave into what he wanted, just a little bit. it felt so much better with you.

he ran his thumb on the slit, fingers wrapped tightly around himself. miguel's body tingled with desire, his eyes focused so insistently on you, he reveled in the feeling of your hand on his chest, the persistent burning feeling of your sweet lips on his, he could still hear your soft whispers and your boisterous, tipsy laughter ringing in his ears.

miguel's hand picked up the pace as he slipped the waistband of his pants down to his upper thighs. he threw his head back onto his pillow, ashamedly watching you adjust again. he only took one glance at you in your underwear, yet the image couldn't leave his mind. you stayed there, burned into his memory, your bare body a mantra to him.

you nuzzled deeper into his chest, sighing softly. he instinctively wrapped put his other arm around you, bringing you closer to the warmth of his body. "you're good, baby." he half-moaned, half-cooed. he pressed a kiss to your forehead as he started jerking faster, his breathing growing less steady and more ragged.

he felt you sigh on his neck, the contented noise you made sent him right over the edge. miguel silently held you as close as possible without crushing you. even if you were awake, you wouldn't know what's happening. you'd be too drunk to tell he was cumming in his hand just thinking about how you look and how you feel. he let out a hearty groan, mumbling curses under his breath as he looked over at you-- still peaceful and quiet.

the wave of pleasure ebbed through as more guilt washed over him. yet, you looked so good like this. soundly asleep, every bit of stress washed away. you were safe here.

he smiled, lazily wiping his hand on a spare tissue he had close by.

you really were clueless, you wouldn't suspect a thing by the morning.

--you proved him right.

"shit, miguel, what the hell happened?" you croaked vulgarly.

he gazed at you and gave you a rare smirk, he was thoroughly amused as you sat on his couch, awaiting breakfast for the both of you. "not too much, although i believed you weren't too sober to take yourself home. don't let this happen again."

he chuckled to himself, remembering your glassy, drunken gaze. he adored the way you looked at him, he didn't want you to let your guard down only when you were drunk.

he wanted you like this sober.

#fics #atsv fics #atsv x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #atsv miguel #spiderman 2099 #spiderverse #spider man 2099 #across the spiderverse #spiderman #miguel o'hara #atsv #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara fanfiction #spiderman 2099 spiderverse #spider-man 2099 #spiderman x reader #spider verse #smut

[lanasblood]

TEMPTATIONS | miguel o’hara x reader

summary: in the midst of a vibrant nightclub, you found yourself consumed by a heady mix of desire and anticipation as you encountered miguel o'hara for the very first time, and oh, what an encounter that was.

word count: 3.6k

warnings: nsfw 18+ (minors do not interact), head empty just smut, alcohol, fingering, mention of penetration (p in v), voyeuristic and exhibitionistic behavior, kissing and touching, power play, just two horny strangers basically, 

note: my first and probably last attempt at smut (if one of my mooties sees this, ignore me, I’m testing something) 

* gif’s not mine

"Oh, I didn't order this..." A dreamy sigh escaped you as you gestured toward the glass and lifted your gaze, looking up at the waiter, who had gracefully approached you like a gazelle, carrying a round tray in his right hand. You had ordered yourself a light, spritzy cocktail because your world was already wrapped in cotton, and a strong tequila like the one right in front of you would likely exceed the perfect level of intoxication. You didn't feel sick, but thick veils of mist flickered before your eyes, and your teeth gradually felt suspiciously numb. It was the perfect time to dial it down a notch and fully savor the lighthearted moment for you enjoyed being pleasantly tipsy, without the discomfort of getting too drunk.

"The gentleman over there sends his regards and asked me to deliver this message," the waiter said with a smile, "The drink is on him."

For a moment, it felt like his words were sluggishly making their way into your hazy mind, but you snapped out of your daze and took the perfectly folded note from him. Your eyes followed his hand gesture and landed on an incredibly attractive man seated a little further away from the dancefloor, in the dim light of the club, also indulging in his exquisite drink. He had casually undone the top three buttons of his pearl-white button-down shirt, probably due to the stifling heat, and rolled up his sleeves, offering you a tantalizing glimpse of his defined chest muscles.

He flashed a stunning smile, though there was a touch of arrogance, something edgy, in it. You couldn't quite pinpoint it, but there was an intriguing allure to his expression.

This seems much more your style.

In neat handwriting, this short and concise sentence was written on the paper. You stared pensively at the glass of tequila on your table. Was it not appropriate for you to be drinking cocktails?

You offered a hesitant smile, as you delicately held and lifted the glass. A rosy hue tinted your cheeks, a blush that couldn't solely be attributed to the alcohol. His intense gaze fixed upon you, leaving a strangely electrifying sensation on your feverish skin.

"Thanks," you silently formed with your lips, getting lost in his unfathomable eyes for a moment. You couldn't quite determine the exact color of his eyes, as the darkness around him revealed little, but there was something fiery in his gaze. His slightly longer dark hair was tousled in a chaotic yet undeniably sexy way, as if he had just moments ago buried a woman beneath him in a frenzy of passion, causing his hair to become disheveled.

The thought was undeniably erotic.

Without thinking, you took a big sip of the tequila, and in that same moment, a sensation of both heat and cold sent a shiver down your spine, causing an involuntary shudder. The alcohol was relentless, mercilessly scorching your throat, and your stomach clenched uncomfortably.

You should have taken a small sip, but in your boldness, you had wanted to prove to him that you could handle the high-proof tequila, that it was your style.

As the loud thumping from the speakers reverberated in you, practically vibrating in your chest, the bright beams of light flickered at a smooth pace over the dancing crowd, gently caressing their grotesque silhouettes, briefly illuminating the flushed and sweaty faces of the people, hinting at their burning desire and fervent bodies yearning for the touch of unfamiliar hands.

"God," you murmured, choked, and closed your eyes for a moment. The glass shimmered on the table, and you pressed your thumb gently against your lower lip, trying to alleviate the persistent burning sensation.

"You were supposed to enjoy it and not see it as a challenge..."

Your body involuntarily tensed as you heard a foreign voice so close to your ear, feeling the tingling breath warm on your skin. You opened your eyes and looked up, feeling bewildered. It was him. His smile was audacious, arrogant, and strangely enticing in its own way, a promise.

You found yourself momentarily paralyzed, locked in a gaze with him, before regaining your composure and mustering a response. "I do enjoy a good challenge," you replied, your words laced with a subtle undertone that veered towards the provocative allure. You couldn't help but get lost in the depths of his eyes, feeling as if you were drowning in their almost reddish-looking intensity.

"I can see that," he responded with a charming smile, his tone dripping with amusement. It had the power to make your knees turn to jelly. Thankfully, you were seated, saving you from any potential embarrassment of stumbling over your own feet. But it wasn't just the alcohol that had your senses tingling; there was an undeniable magnetism in the air.

"It’s brave of you to come here alone," his grin sent shivers down your spine. "May I?" He nodded towards the empty seat next to you — there were plenty of free seats at your table, yet he chose to intrude upon your comfort zone and occupy the chair right beside you. Nevertheless, you granted him permission; perhaps it was his intoxicating scent that clouded your judgment and compelled you to make that decision.

"I’ve been here for a long time. And mostly alone," you let him know, observing every taut muscle as he took a seat beside you. There was something formidable about him; an immense presence. The intense longing to surrender to him clung relentlessly to you, and you found it difficult to resist the urge to actually give in. It was an experience unlike anything you had ever encountered.

He ran his right hand through his tousled dark hair, as if he had done it a thousand times before — which he probably had — and smiled at you. You found yourself lost in his enigmatic eyes for a moment. "You are drawn to danger," he stated, his voice void of any question.

"Are you not?" you asked him, crossing your legs, causing the short, strapless black dress to ride up slightly, still covering the essential areas. You could feel his gaze lingering on your bare thighs, causing his muscles to tense involuntarily.

"Mhm," with a graceful motion, he ran his hand along his jawline and briefly closed his eyes, "I guess, in a twisted way, I am." Bringing the glass of tequila to his lips, he paused for a moment, as if savoring the smoky aroma that wafted from it, before taking a leisurely sip.

“So, danger brings you here tonight?”

Your eyes instinctively traced over his muscular upper arms, the tensed muscles and the delicate hairs that adorned them, clearly visible beneath his rolled-up sleeves. As he gently placed the glass on the table, his full lower lip glistened, a subtle smile forming at the corners of his mouth. Rather than giving a conventional response, he simply looked at you, captivating you with his gaze. In that moment, his piercing eyes seemed to light up, a hint of something wild and untamed flickering across his features. His eyes were red.

You gasped for air... a shiver relentlessly cascaded down your spine, giving way to a blazing inferno that almost consumed your body. The pulsating sensation in your veins drove you to the brink of madness, while a familiar ache in your core elicited a soft sigh. This man was the epitome of masculinity... you had never experienced anything like it before.

"Do you see the woman over there?" You were still feeling stirred up, but you followed his gaze and spotted a young, quite attractive blonde woman sitting at one of the tables, no more than ten meters away, with a stunning man by her side, dark hair, sparkling eyes, and his upper arms were completely tattooed, visible through his muscle shirt.

"Yes," you whispered breathlessly.

"She resembles you in many ways." You furrowed your brow once again, puzzled by his comment. It couldn't possibly be about your appearance, as you looked nothing alike. Your gaze shifted questioningly to the unfamiliar, handsome man beside you, admiring his striking profile and the scruff of his five o'clock shadow.

He turned his gaze away from the two strangers and locked eyes with you. 

"She also loves challenges, and the danger." For a brief moment, his eyes lingered on your lips, and you couldn't help but bite down on them, causing his muscles to tense again. This time it wasn't intentional; you weren't trying to seduce him. "Watch how he’ll devour her like a vampire."

Unable to tear your eyes away, you couldn't help but give your full attention to the spectacle unfolding before you. The man leaned in towards the young woman with a seductive smile, gently brushing her hair away in a fluid motion, revealing her exposed neck, and with a stroke of his tongue across her bare skin, he left behind a moist trail.

"How did you know that?" You whispered so softly that normal people would have had great difficulty understanding you, but the man next to you had no trouble at all.

"I have my ways. Sarcasm, a healthy dose of cynicism, and the occasional tequila," he took another sip of his drink and ran his fingers through his hair, "They keep me going."

"Keep you going and make you have everything and everyone under control?" you wanted to know, a teasing undertone in your voice.

"At least, the illusion of control, yes." It wasn't his intention, but it felt as though the desire you had initially felt towards him had only grown stronger.

Shaking your head, you struggled to regain a clear mindset amidst the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body, "Illusion or not, you seem to handle it with style."

"Style, huh?" he chuckled to himself, thinking back to his note for you, a deep rumble in his chest, "I'll take that as a compliment. Besides, in combination with a good poker face, it can get you pretty far in this crazy universe."

You shifted your gaze, the woman appeared somewhat pale, while the man whispered something in her ear again —something you would have loved to hear. She shuddered, repeatedly, and her gaze gradually became glassy. Her lips parted slightly as she pressed herself against him, yearning to touch him, and perhaps even more, running her hands over her breasts and her entire body, tilting her head, biting her lower lip.

And then it dawned on you. You knew exactly what tattoo-guy had in mind. "Is he going to—" you gasped breathlessly, looking at the man beside you. "Here in the club where everyone can watch?"

He appeared completely calm and composed, not half as outraged by the spectacle before you as you were. He took another sip of tequila, letting it slide down his throat, and looked into your eyes alternately. "She wants it. There is no reason to intervene."

You wanted to protest loudly and tell him that the woman currently had no control over who or what she wanted, considering she was under the influence. But his hand on your thigh silenced you in an instant. The rushing thoughts faded into the background, suddenly seeming much less significant.

His warm hand ventured higher, erasing all the questions in your mind in a single stroke. A shiver ran through your heated body, and you couldn't help but bite down on your lower lip and close your eyes. His warm breath on your neck made you tense up. 

"What are you doing...?" Almost involuntarily, you lowered your right leg that had been crossed over, as if to grant him greater access and space.

You opened your eyes and gazed at him with anticipation, your vision hazy, your body yearning for his touch. Your hand moved across your own body as if guided by an invisible force, brushing aside the long strands of your soft hair. He wanted to seduce you, much like the man with that woman, but you were determined not to make it easy for him. The intensity of his effect on you was thrilling, almost painfully so. It was exactly what you had been seeking for in recent years – something that would consume you rather than just arouse you.

His eyes followed your hand as you raised the glass of tequila and then returned it to the table.  You had a different plan in mind — you dipped two fingers into the amber liquid, offering him a seductive smile, never once taking your eyes off him. Slowly, you brought your tequila-dripping fingers to your luscious lips, moistening them in a deliberate, tantalizing motion.

Every fiber of his being tensed up, as if it took an enormous effort for him to refrain from plunging his tongue into your lips, to savor the lingering taste of tequila and the sweetness of your skin. But with remarkable self-control, he resisted the overwhelming urge. You realized he saw through your audacious challenge, and in that moment, you knew he would give you exactly what you desired.

His hand disappeared under your dress, and you stifled a moan as he pressed two fingers against your center, through your underwear. You hadn't expected this move at all. Your body was engulfed in flames, craving his touch. But your attention remained captivated by the beautiful woman and the man that was savoring her. He had buried his head in her supple neck, kissing and sucking on her skin, leaving behind a trail of love bites. It was only now that you seemed to notice the numerous pairs of eyes around you... all of them fixated on this couple.

"Isn't it highly exciting?" he whispered in your ear, having followed your gaze. The woman moaned, seemingly enjoying the kisses in an indescribable way, sending another shiver down your spine and a pleasurable ache spreading in your lower abdomen.

"Yes," you said huskily. This man had an unimaginable amount of power over you, while you seemed to have none over him. After all, the tequila situation hadn't fazed him. "But it takes more than that to catch my attention." 

"Oh really?" he raised an eyebrow, teasingly. "And what exactly does it take to catch your attention?" You gasped as the pressure on your core increased; he was caressing you over your panties now.

"Someone who can keep up with m-me," you breathed, "Looks alone won't do the trick."

"Is that so?" Your eyes followed every motion as his tongue licked over his lower lip, almost in slow motion, the witty smile never leaving his lips. "Well, I have to say, I'm not easily impressed either. It takes more than a pretty face to pique my interest." Upon hearing that you slightly furrowed your eyebrows,"Perhaps we should put our theories to the test?"

His words, surprising and enticing at once, echoed in an incessant loop in your foggy mind. You glanced at the couple once again, feeling the crackling tension that was almost electrifying, and you would have never expected that the role of a voyeur — even if it was just observing kisses — would arouse you so much.

"Perhaps." You wanted to feel so much more from this man than just his hand and hungry glances. And perhaps you were indeed foolish to believe that you could easily wrap a man, especially this one, around your little finger, but you at least wanted to try, "Be warned, I'm not one to back down from a challenge." You pushed your hips forward, slid a little closer on the padded chair, and sank into it. Your hand wandered onto his thigh, your long nails digging into it tightly.

"Neither am I," a low growl in your ear made you shiver again, "I guess we'll see who can keep up with whom." The pressure on your core eased just for a moment before he slipped his fingers into your panties. You moaned loudly, shamelessly, as his fingers found their way between your slick folds, wet and throbbing, and his free hand closed around your jaw. He almost forced you to look into his hungry eyes, which had never looked more dangerous than in that moment. 

"So much courage should be rewarded," his warm breath met your lips as he pushed two fingers inside you. On impulse, you tensed all your muscles, and a loud, prolonged moan threatened to draw attention from all the guests. However, you bit down on your quivering lower lip with all your strength, suppressing it as much as you could.

For a moment, you forgot about his mocking gaze and completely surrendered yourself to the comforting images that flashed vividly in your mind's eye, one after another. You could clearly feel his fingers inside you, his thumb circling and massaging your most sensitive spot so charmingly,  like the most precious pearl, but in your mind, you were in a completely different place, and you knew that you owed it to him and his intoxicating demeanor. His muscular body hovering over you, rumpled bedsheets, loud moans, your long fingernails on his broad shoulders — how he kept thrusting into you, filling you up completely, and the wonderfully demonic eyes that glowed so brightly above you.

The various sensations nearly drove you insane, and you let out a loud moan as the images gradually blurred into a massive splash of colors, and you found yourself back in the club. The waves of the impending orgasm towered over you relentlessly, like a giant house of cards, and you felt that you would be buried under it any moment. And as you looked at him, you realized that one thing in your erotic short film — in which you had simply cast him as the main character — was real. The desire in his burning eyes. He stared at you like a hungry predator, and it dawned on you that it was just because of what he was doing to you — right in the middle of the club.

"If only you knew," his fingers moved faster inside you, his thumb massaging your clit incessantly, you almost lost your mind, "how much I’d like to fuck you right here on this table."

And that was it. His words were the trigger, the fateful gust of wind that brought the house of cards crashing down. Your orgasm overwhelmed you with the intensity of a comet, only to have you find yourself moments later in a consuming sea of flames. You completely lost touch with the sense of space and time, gripping his thigh with all your strength, as your muscles tightened around his fingers; as long as your orgasm lasted until it gradually subsided, and you managed to regain control over the incessant trembling.

Your gaze blurred, your breath in gasps, sweat ran down your neck and lingered somewhere between your breasts. You had absolutely no clue what had just happened and whether anyone had noticed, but to be honest, you didn't really care. You looked at this incarnate devil, who had just given you an incredible orgasm with just his fingers. He smiled a heavenly devilish smile, revealing a row of perfectly white teeth with unusually sharp cuspids. Fangs. It almost looked like he had fangs, you realized, as his red lips burned upon yours, but you hadn't tasted them yet, and without batting an eye or giving him any chance to stop you, you pressed your lips against his.

His body no longer had the strength to push you back. He tasted your lips, savored your sweet scent, and buried his hand in your long hair. As you let out a soft moan into his mouth, he wrapped his arm around your waist and with a fluid motion, positioned you straddling his lap. Once again, you gasped as his warm tongue invaded your mouth, hungry for more. He completely threw you off balance, and your organized thoughts fluttered chaotically, intertwining into an uncontrollable mess, leaving you fearing you would never be able to sort them out again.

You had once again gambled too high. You had absolutely no chance against him.

You could feel his smile against your lips, before he reluctantly let go, the connection between your wet lips remained unbroken until the very last second, as if they were glued together. 

"Miguel," his eyes gleamed; the chaos of hair practically begged for you to grab onto it with your fingers. "Miguel O'Hara," he introduced himself, his deep, passionate voice vibrating almost in your chest.

You didn’t realize how you told him your name as his hands slipped under your dress, clutching your round butt, squeezing slightly, which you acknowledged with a low moan. It took seconds; within seconds you were aroused again, in a cruel way, not least because his hard cock pressed through his pants against your throbbing pussy.

"It’s a pleasure, y/n" There was something indescribable burning in his eyes, something dangerous. He enjoyed playing just as much as you did; after all, you had often been the one to almost cruelly tease men and then leave them high and dry, halfway through, just to prove something to yourself.

And in that moment, in this strange moment, in which you sat there so horny, with wild, tousled mane and in that skin-tight dress, on the lap of one of the most attractive and simultaneously most dangerous men you had ever seen in your life, you didn't know whether his tempting suggestions, like a deep fantasy, now planted in your mind, would be followed by actions, or if your karma would thwart your plans and leave you here all alone, in this incredibly aroused state...

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara headcanons #spiderman smut #spiderman across the spiderverse #marvel fic #spiderman across the spiderverse smut #spiderman across the spiderverse x reader #marvel imagine #marvel smut

[lacedinweb22]

Vampire Next Door ♱✮♱ Miguel O'Hara x reader Miguel's POV Chapter 3: and I remember her... ˚○◦˚.

ch. 1 ch. 2

Your neighbor is strange, to say the least. Miguel O’Hara: Alchemax’s newest scientist, genius, most sought-after bachelor … and according to your wildest suspicions … a vampire?

── ⋆⋅⟡⋅⋆ ──

She looks just like I remember her. 

Plump rosy lips, that same flush of color in her cheeks, soft hair that falls perfectly into place, and a beautiful, contagious smile, one I’d let myself be infected by, that is, if I wasn’t thinking of the one million things I had to do, the people I had to protect, and that piece of shit tied up in my bathroom.

When she talks, when I stare hard enough, I can find little changes in her: the way she carries herself, the way she looks up at me, the slight change in the colors she wears, but still, even through that, I see her, and I remember her… and the thoughts from then rush back.

But I’ve changed … a lot in the past two years. A lot. So I wasn’t too surprised when she didn't remember me. There were three hundred people in that hall, and I was just one of many TAs. I do remember making eye contact with her more than I could count. I thought she’d notice, thought maybe she’d feel it,

but guess she didn’t.

Anyways, can’t be too involved with new girl. I acknowledged the odds that she round up across the hall from me, but also acknowledged the risks. I can only keep work so far away from home. Shit follows me. 

She let me walk through her apartment. It’s empty, but just from the one box I carried, I can tell she’s going to make it her own. 

Boots. She had her own style then and she has her own style now, and I know her place will reflect that when she’s done with it. I wonder if she’ll invite me over at some point, when she’s done decorating and settling in. 

Now, I stand in her empty bathroom, watching her unpack. Today’s my off day, so I figure I’ll bother her a bit, jog her memory. 

The walls are thin, I know that now. 

The fucker thumps against my wall, forcing my visit at her place to be cut short. I rush to my front door, he whines through the red webs I shut him up with. I flash her a smile, “Ha yeah, gotta help the little guy, I’ll- uh I’ll catch you later,” I say, blocking her from seeing the inside of my apartment. 

I know I seem like an asshole, and the shitty side of me, the Spider-Man side of me, wants her to perceive me that way. I can’t afford to get close to anyone again. Not after what happened.

I slam the door shut. 

I storm over to the bathroom. The anomaly I’ve caught, who I still need answers from, sits tied up in the bathtub. He glitches in the red stringy mess he’s tied up in.

I would have brought him to HQ, but Jess would want to help, probably scold me, and I had to deal with this one on my own. 

“Maldito idiota, I told you, I’m not letting you go, and I’m not letting you die until you tell me who fucking sent your ass! How did you find me in this universe?!” I kick him as he lays sideways on the tile floor.

He rolls his eyes.

“Coño, I didn’t want to have to drag you across my freshly mopped floor, but you’re disturbing the neighbors.”

Dragging him to the kitchen, I question him a bit more, rip off the webs on his mouth, and when he smart-talks, I shut him back up and relent. 

Letting out a self-pitying groan, I tap my watch. The portal opens and I drag him back to HQ. 

My suit activates upon arrival. Jess looks me up and down from the platform.

“I hope I’m wrong about where you just came from, Miguel,” she mutters, looking down at her watch.

“Shut up, leave me alone … Peter Parkedcar, anomaly control. Pick-up in my office, please,” I speak into my watch.

I leave the anomaly glitching on the floor, and shoot web to pull myself up to the platform. 

“What did I tell you about bringing work home, Miguel?”

I storm by her, ignoring her scolding, heading straight to the hologram screens. 

“Yo sé, yo sé,” I mutter, swiping across the screen.

“Hmm, your hair looks nice. It’s … different.”

“Different?” 

“You don’t usually have your hair that way, is what I’m saying. What’s the occasion?” 

How can she tell? 

“Are you seeing someone?” she asks, standing behind me, reaching her hand beside me to help organize my tabs.

“No, why would I– no,”

“Miguel … I’ll get it out of you eventually, so might as well tell me now before you start letting it affect your work, act weird, and end up making a mess of yourself … a mess that I’ll have to clean up … not that I’m complaining I just–”

“There’s a new girl, someone I knew back at NYU … and now she lives across the hall from me. I don’t want her to get in the way.” 

“Get in the way of what? Stop bringing work home and she won’t be in ‘the way.’ Easy,” she shrugs. 

I exhale. It was … recent. Time won’t fly. The pain in my chest deepens, I remember it all for a second. I feel her eyes looking up at me. She knows. 

I look down at the hand she’s now rested on my forearm. She looks up at me, brows knit together, her worry visible even through her goggles.

“You can let it go, Miguel. You can have a life outside of … this.”

“This is my life. This is my responsibility.” 

“No. There are hundreds of us, Miguel. It’s all of ours. You know … if I could find love, create life, and still be here kicking ass and being a good friend to you, then so can you. You can live again,”

I sigh, head hung low. It takes a lot to admit to myself, how exhausted I am … from everything. I haven’t breathed in months.

“Let yourself live again.”

I breathe back the tears welling up. 

“Yo sé,” I manage to mutter.

“Invite her out, Miguel, put yourself out there,” she encourages, patting my back then jumping off the platform.

“How’s … Baby doing?” I ask, turning around to watch her leave.

“Baby’s healthy and happy,” she calls out, rubbing her belly.

“Gracias a Dios.”

“Miguel, do yourself a favor… be more like Baby,” she mutters walking out.

I let myself chuckle then look back at the screen. 

My fingers subconsciously open that file. I feel myself smile, watching my past self be happy, full of life.

Let yourself live again.

Maybe I’ll try.

○◦˚.˚◦○˚

ch.4 here >:D

my lovely taglist: @wingedturtledream @skaochii @bat-yo-us @lostpirate79 @renn-pumkin-head @princessa-micomicona @waiif-uwu @punpuun @thbidkbutok @acehyacinth @thetoetickler @kaqua @i-live-in-a-fantasy-daydream @inafantasyworld10 @d1lf-loverrr @altheadq @thesilenthill @trash-king18 @imnotyourbcbe @tiffanypooh @ihateuguys @littlemissilovecoconuts @royal-jester @that-one-weeb-buts-its-the-main @tbh2idk @gilliantate23 @envyjmoney @qiaipia @ur-fav-ginger @lacook246 @eddiestitmiguelsbigdick @blair6th @missing2socks @thel0velykey190 @ladymoztaza @ta3bae @dhollandhs @qiaipia @deputy-videogamer @kinkybandages @murnsondock @obi-mom-kenobi @rjasmin2021 @syarblu @smokers-sweetheart @cheezit-luv3rr @tayleighuh @sukioyakio @maripositanoctruna @coffeeislifeyes @lilmissyrainbowstar 

#miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara headcanons #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel atsv #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel ohara x y/n #atsv miguel #miguel ohara #miguel x reader #miguel ohara x you #spiderman2099 #atsv x reader #spiderman x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #vampire next door

[lazyjellyfish300]

DD part 6

Fem reader x Miguel O'Hara

Synopsis- fem reader drinks too much and the bartender calls a random Uber for her which happens to be Miguel O'Hara himself. Her friends suck and ditch her. There's a lot of tension on the ride home... plot inspired by the original comic.

Commissioned art by ejpuki on Instagram

Part 1 (contains link to all prior chapters)

Word count: 2k

@mysteris-things @averagefloydlover @roserfz27

@latenightcravingz

TW: MINORS DNI, BLOOD, LITTLE ANGST, SUGGESTIVE CONTENT, NO MAJOR SMUT YET, JUST SEXUAL TENSION AND MAKING OUT, age gap(reader is 26, Miguel is 34)

A/N: Sorry y'all, I need to drag this out just a tiny bit so I can make this series at least 10 parts, otherwise I feel like I didn't meet my mission of making a full length series fanfic. I also tried a little harder with the Spanish. (Being a woc but being monolingual is so fkn embarrassing LMAO 😭) If I messed up, Spanish Speakers please call me out. 🙏🏽

Hope you enjoy! 🖤 Thank you for all the support, means so much.

-------

The snow starts to dust your shoulders as you and Miguel just stay on top of the J condominium building in Brooklyn, kissing.

You've been at it for a few minutes now, the kisses growing deeper and more hungry. The frosty bite of the December air seemingly kept at bay outside of the steamy bubble you two were creating. You both have now transitioned so he's sitting on the ground and you're in his lap with your legs crossed around his lean waist.

He's running his hands all over your back until they come to rest on your ass, squeezing and massaging the flesh through your leggings which makes you gasp into his mouth. You can feel him smile in response as he continues to move against you, slipping his tongue over your lips and back into your mouth. You jerk suddenly when you feel the tiniest prick on your lip, realizing he nipped you with one of his new fangs.

His eyes widen in alarm. "¡Lo siento!...¿estás bien?" (I'm sorry! Are you okay?)

You nod, a little bit shocked as you bring a hand to your lip, a small dot of blood caught on the plump part of your bottom lip.

"I got a little carried away." Miguel admits bashfully, running the tip of his knuckle gently across your chin, giving your booty a love squeeze with his free hand.

You give him a little smile and tickle the nape of his neck with your fingertips. "It's okay, I kind of liked it," you assure him.

He smiles at you and notices you've begun to shiver. "Let's go home?"

A warm feeling washes over you when he refers to your apartment as home, as though it's his too. "That sounds great. This cold is something else."

"Yeah, I can tell it's starting to get to you." Miguel answers, scooping you up, noting how adorable you look, shivering in his bulky arms. "It's probably going to be a cold ride home. Just hang in there and I'll get us back as fast as I can." Miguel reaches around and pulls your hood over your head, tucking in your hair and sealing it with a kiss on your forehead. "Hold on tight," he reminds you again with a whisper.

Your breath hitches in your throat once more as the quiet outlines of buildings zoom past your vision, the frigid air harsh and relentless as it brutalizes your face. The only things you can focus on is your death grip around Miguel's torso, and the bitter cold. The sky is completely dark now, save it for the persistent city lights below. You turn your head a little, daring to look in front at what Miguel's focusing on.

buzz thwap, release, buzz, thwap, release.

The rhythmic motions of the way he's casting and swinging from the red webs is mesmerizing, other worldly. You can't help but marvel at his power.

His eyes are full of concentration, aiming expertly. Incredibly skillful already at his powers he acquired just less than 24 hours ago. You turn your face back into its resting spot in the crook of his neck and squeeze your thighs a little tighter around him for safety, to which he grins fondly.

Finally, you two reach your apartment. He lands gently on your small balcony and you let go of him, landing back on solid ground with a small thud. You smile at him. "Thanks, babe. That was absolutely incredible."

"No, thank you for letting me take you into my new world for a bit. It's good practice for me to get a hang of things. But I'm glad you enjoyed yourself." He squeezes your hand as he opens the sliding door into your apartment, letting you go inside first.

You sigh as the warm air of your apartment welcomes you. A cozy feeling rises in your belly when you realize you and Miguel have all night together. But, you panic slightly as you realize that you hadn't exactly prepared yourself for any spicy time, as you were not expecting him to come knocking at your door after ghosting you on your second date, covered in blood with new fangs, talons, and eye color to match.

"¿Te sientes cansado, cariño?" He asks warmly, pulling you closer to him. (You feeling tired, dear?)

You look sheepishly up at him. "Not really...but I could use a little time to freshen up, if that's okay with you?"

Miguel runs his hands along your belly, causing you to squirm a little. "Of course that's okay, take your time."

You stand on your tiptoes and give him a small peck. "Make yourself comfy. You can find a movie for us to watch in the meantime."

Miguel smiles. "Yes ma'am." He takes his shoes off and walks over to your couch, splaying himself out and stretching with a small grunt, the bottom of his hoodie receding up over his toned stomach ever so slightly.

You feel butterflies as you admire how handsome he looks relaxed in your space like that. Then you snap out of it and bolt for your shower. As you let the warm water run down your back you feel tingles of excitement and arousal, imagining him in there with you.

When you've washed your entire body, you get out, the air in your bathroom chilly on your wet skin. You dry off and waddle into your bedroom, frantically searching for a matching pair of bra and panties but you find none and curse when you realize you forgot to do the laundry. You sigh and settle on a pair of plain black panties and no bra, figuring there's a possibility they might come off anyway.

You brush your teeth and throw on a crew neck sweatshirt, some booty shorts, and some fuzzy socks, messing with your hair in the mirror one more time as you make your grand entrance into your living room carrying a blanket.

Miguel sits up a little as you walk in, his eyes taking in the thickness in your legs, your ass, hips. The way your hair and bare face cast a simple glow around you. You look absolutely divine in your element. The faint smell of your soap emits a sweet flavor off your skin.

He scoots over and drapes an arm around you and scoops your legs into his lap, stroking the skin around your knees absentmindedly as your movie begins. Hunger Games starts, and every now and then Miguel asks a clarifying question which you answer patiently, admiring that he's getting immersed in the plot.

"Making a bunch of kids fight to the death for entertainment? Heh...that's uh. That's kinda fucked up."

You give a little snort. "That's just the tip of the iceberg, babe."

As the romantic tension between Peeta and Katniss builds, it does between you two as well. Your eyes start to droop quite a bit. It's well past midnight at this point, approaching 1 am? You're not sure. But you are feeling more daring as you feel the desire start to overwhelm you.

Your fingers move to his ear, lightly tracing the outer part, and then moving down to carefully massage his lobe. His eyes close at the sensation, warmth starting to pool in his body at your touch. You feel your heart speed up a little, you're starting to steer this night to where you want it to go. He turns his head to you, a sneaky smile starting to spread across his pretty face.

"¿Qué haces?" (What are you doing) He says in his rich voice, the silky drip of seduction lining his question ever so subtly.

You give him an innocent closed lip smile. "Just looking at you..." Your finger moves to trace his neck, your knuckle curling around the collar of his hoodie, tugging it down to get better access. Miguel inhales slowly, trapped in the spell you didn't know you were casting.

"Allow me to let you get a closer look..." he breathes softly.

His eyes stay locked on you and before you know it, those alluring full lips of his are pressing against yours again. You let out a soft moan in surrender as you feel him getting up, overpowering you as he lays you backwards on the couch and allows his hands to slip under the back of your sweatshirt.

Your back arches on instinct which drives him crazy. He kisses you harder, slipping his tongue into your mouth, groaning into you, aching for this to be the night that you two christen your love with a heated first fuck.

A sharp sting jolts into your ribs, leaving your eyes watering in pain as you gasp. Miguel stops abruptly and looks down at you with worry, and then realizes his passion has caused his talons to spring outward and into both sides of your torso, just midway around your ribs. He pulls his hands back from you in horror.

"Shit, shit shit.....I'm so fucking sorry...are you okay baby? Shit... Hold on!"

He sprints to your bathroom and gets the first aid kit you used on him earlier. You try to shake off the pain that's still ringing on both sides of your ribs with a wave of your hand, but the salty tears gathering behind your eyes starts to run down your cheeks as you suck in air between your teeth.

Miguel comes back, gently applying a gauze pad to the two tiny puncture marks on both sides to stop the bleeding. He blinks furiously, breathing heavily as he mutters quiet reassurances and apologies to you.

Once you're putting some bandaids on the cuts at your urging, he runs a hand through his hair, blowing out air from his cheeks as he looks off, the Adam's apple in his neck bobbing with a lump in his throat. He tenses his jaw and closes his eyes, tears threatening to spill.

Now, he can't even express his love to you without fear of hurting you. Tyler and Aaron. Sons of bitches. Not only robbing him of his brown eyes that connected him to his family, but now his ability to love you too. A starved man forced to sit at a table and gaze at a feast he could not devour. Your body a delicate vase in his hands he threatened to shatter. A tiny shudder of a flame he ignited with a match, only for the dark, contemptible winds of the night to blow it all away. The emptiness of the shadows consuming his soul, extinguishing all light within it and driving a stake through his heart once more.

He balled his hands into fists and leaned into you, this giant of a man becoming small in your arms. "I'm so sorry baby...estoy un monstruo." his voice cracked with grief. (I'm a monster)

"Don't say that." You say sternly. "They did this to you. It's not your fault. I don't care what you look like. I don't even care if you'd hurt me..."

He brings his face slowly up to yours, and your heart breaks at the small tears that trickled down his cheeks. You lean in, cleaning them away with gentle kisses, dragging your lips down the side of his thick neck.

A low rumble appears in his throat and he closes his eyes and sighs, his heart coming back to life slowly, swelling with love for you and brings a hand to the back of your neck.

"Baby..." he groans, slowly unraveling underneath the trail of your lips.

"Hmmm?" you respond innocently, still focused on kissing every square inch of skin around his neck.

"We don't have to do this..." his voice shudders. The way you're kissing his neck is bringing him closer to just dragging you to your bedroom down the hall.

"Please...I want to...." you moan into his skin.

His voice shudders again, he grits his teeth as he feels himself rising in his pants, pleasure smoldering throughout his body. "I might hurt you again..."

"You won't," you whisper earnestly. "You won't hurt me," you repeat firmly. You turn to the first aid kit and get out a couple bandaids and wrap them around the tops of his fingers, retracting and pushing the talons down a bit, cushioning the sharp edges from the outside as a protective sheath.

Miguel raises his brows then smiles at your ingenious. "Que inteligente tú eres," he compliments you softly. (How smart you are)

You smile, lean in and plant a tender kiss on his lips as a thank you. He groans and runs both of his hands through your hair, picking you up, eager to return the favor to you in the form of taking his time on you for the rest of the night.

You wrap your legs around him instinctively and he continues to kiss you passionately as he carefully carries you down the hall into your bedroom, a whispery moan escaping his lips.

🖤

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Part 7

#Spotify #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel atsv #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara smut #atsv miguel #fanfic #across the spiderverse

[thefangirlfever]

DBF! Miguel O'hara x reader (part 6)

Tags: F/M, age gap (reader is 28 and Miguel is 48), taboo relationship, mention of medication, depression and racial prejudice, reader is a woman of color, angst, mention of death and grief, slow burn

Disclaimer: English is not my first language.

See the end for notes.

Words count: 6503

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Miguel and you had come to an agreement. You were in charge of the dinner from Monday to Thursday and he took care of it the rest of the week. But even like that, he couldn’t help but intervene into your cooking; no matter how many times you’ve told him to “trust the process”.

“But how can you be sure that it’s gonna taste good if you don’t even follow the recipe?”

You rolled your eyes, amused by his comment while adding a last spoon of spice to the boiling soup on the stove.

“Who needs the recipe when you got vibes and confidence?”

He was now the one rolling his eyes. He hated to admit it but your recipes always managed to taste edible, good even, despite your inability to follow a recupe. You should have already been responsible of a food intoxication but you didn’t. Cooking by your side was always an experience, truly. But it also managed to help him relax after a long day at work. You even looked more relaxed while doing so.

You turned toward him, holding a spoon of soup and asked him to try the soup with a small grin. Miguel could only oblige when you looked at him this way and so he leaned forward to sip a bit of the soup. And just like he had guessed it, it was delicious. He may not be the most objective taster out there but it was still good. The creamy and rich texture made him think that you must have some hidden talent because he has seen you cooking without a recipe and there was no other logical explanation for it to taste that way.

“So? Not that bad, huh?"

It was nice to see you were feeling better now. After only a few days of his attention, you were already back on your feet. His gaze traveled down your figure, noticing your now rosy cheeks and the way you looked generally better. Maybe the countryside had a better effect on you than what you could have expected? But he couldn’t ignore the tired lines on your face, meaning that you were still sleeping poorly.

“Miguel…” Your soft, questioning voice took him out of his thoughts and he blinked twice, collecting his thoughts.

“Yeah, sorry. I was just thinking…”

“About what?”

“Do you...still have trouble sleeping?” The sudden change in the conversation surprised you but you didn’t immediately deflate the conversation or tried to run away, which was a progress in Miguel’s eyes.

“Yes, I do.”

“Have you considered taking something to help you fall asleep?” Miguel wasn’t surprised when you shook your head no. He still asked: “Not even melatonin?”

“I used to take some when I was in high school but...it wasn’t strong enough.”

His eyes opened wider and he stuttered: “In high school?”

“I was an anxious kid.”, you simply replied. He didn’t have any trouble believing that.

“I could get you something more efficient if you want…” You turned off the stove and shook your head.

“I...I don’t have a good history with strong medications.”, you simply replie. Most doctors you’ve met so far were quite insistent, always trying to convince you to take those type of things. But speaking from your personal experience, you didn’t like how they made you feel. And in general you’d rather avoid any type of medication.

Miguel didn’t insist, thankfully, and he simply nodded.

“Well...if you need anything, you can always ask me.”

“I think I’ll stick with herbal tea for now but thanks.”, you replied while smiling. And he gave you back your soft smile. You seemed in a great mood and he thought it was not the right time to ask anything about your history with medication. Plus, he was not on duty anymore. He could simply enjoy this moment with you, without thinking about anything related to his job.

The two of you were setting up the table and he had to remind himself to leave a good distance between you. Nevertheless he still looked at you from the corner of his eyes, watching every movement you made, from the very tip of your fingers to the way you balanced your weight on your feet. It’s been a month since your arrival and Miguel has felt something changing inside him ever since. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it but he has been waiting with so much enthusiasm for every chance to see you. Every moment you shared had become the highlights of his week. And you were more present in his thoughts than he wants to admit it. Your father had told him how much of a nice girl you were; saying things about how the two of you would get along so well. But Miguel had this feeling that your father may have underestimated just how good the two of you got along… Because he had the feeling that was he was feeling when you were together had nothing to do with friendship or what he was supposed to feel.

You have also noticed how closer the two of you seemed to be. It’s not a bad feeling but you would have never guessed the two of you would feel this comfortable in the presence of each other. Maybe Sarah was right. There was nothing wrong in asking for help… And Miguel has been a great help so far on so many levels. He didn’t just help with the house; you have the feeling that he helped you personally.

You’re taken out of your thoughts when you hear Miguel saying: “That color looks good on you.”

You looked down to where his eyes were. He was looking right at your sweater, an old one that you have found this morning in the back of your closet. You couldn’t remember exactly when was the last time you wore it or even when you bought it, probably during one of your phases in high school. It was bit loose on your shoulders and it hung loosely over your clavicles but the soft fabric felt like a blanket and the color really appealed to you when dressing up this morning. It was a soft lilac, almost the same shade as an aster.

“Oh thanks. It’s just an old thing, I guess…”

Miguel’s eyes have been nothing but locked on the way the fabric exposed your clavicles or the slope of your neck; especially with your hair tied up tonight. That color reminded him of a flower but he was not sure which one exactly. You reminded him of some flower. As embarrassing and corny as it may sound. He thought he was way past this at his age but it seemed like he was wrong. The mohair wool had caught his eyes ever since he came in the kitchen and he couldn’t stop wondering just how soft it acutally felt, how easily his fingers would slide through it…

He promised himself he would not look at you like that. He can’t do this. You trust him. Your father trusts him. He knew better than this and he didn't want to be that type of man who pried on younger, inexperienced and fragile women. He swallowed back the rest of his compliment, which turned into a lump in his throat and he looked away; just when your father called for you.

The three of you were sitting around the diner table, chatting lightly, joking from time to time. It’s been quite a long time since you shared a real meal with anyone. Since you began living alone, you were usually relying on take-outs and would eat in your bed in front of a show, enjoying the calm of your apartment after a long day at work. Your apartment… You had left a double of the keys to Sarah like most people would do so their plants would be watered and all these kinds of things. But there were no plants to water at your place, no animal to take care of… Sometimes this place didn’t feel like yours. But you had to move quickly after and that was the fest thing you had found. It was not objectively bad but...it was not your home.

The conversation had slowly shifted toward the topic of your school years when Miguel told your father about the restoration work that would begin soon. You still remembered vividly the walls of red bricks with the wine climbing on them, the windows decorated with the drawings of the students, the ugly yellows wallpaper… Maybe it was not a bad thing that this place was going to be renovated. It will be safer at least.

“It will be for the best.”, your father declared before taking a sip of his coffee. “Those buildings were already there when I was a student after all.”

“So they must be really old.”, Miguel joked and your father laughed heartily.

“Are you implying that I’m some type of dinosaurs or something?”, he asked with a grin and you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling too. It was nice to see him laughing around. Miguel’s presence only did good things to him.

“I would never.” You looked at Miguel’s expression and he had the exact same grin on his face. But when he was the one smiling, your eyes would linger a bit longer on his face, on the curve of his smile… He caught you looking at him and you were suddenly very invested in the appearance of your cup of tea. Your father didn’t notice anything and kept joking:

“Well, you’re not getting younger either, my friend.” He added with a knowing smile in your direction. “Poor Y/N, you’re stuck here with those two old men…”

“You’re not that old.” You protested weakly and you were not sure who you were trying to convince of that and if you were only speaking about your father. Your father sighed and his smile looked a bit more contrite.

“Well, I’m not getting younger for sure…” He looked at the cast on his leg with a look you've been catching more frequently on his face recently. He was in pain. Not physical pain. But he had to come in terms with his mortality, with the fact that he was growing older...exactly the same way than when your mother died. “I just think you would maybe enjoy more the company of people of your age.”

You were not sure of where this is coming, so you slowly took a sip from your cup, waiting for him to finish talking. Miguel was also waiting.

“Why wouldn’t you try to link up with some of your old friends? You know, most of them didn’t move away.”

Miguel suddenly looked more intrigued and interested by the conversation. It was true that so far, you haven’t mentioned any of your past acquaintances. You couldn’t be this antisocial truly. With a shrug of your shoulders, you replied as casually as you could:

“Well, they must all be busy.”

“I’m sure they would be glad to see you too.” His soft tone didn’t fool you. You know how stubborn he could be when he had an idea in mind. So you asked: “What did you do?” His satisfied smile proved you that your assumptions were right.

“I called one of your best friends and asked her to come visit over. And she gladly accepted.”

“Who did you call?” Miguel watched your exchange like one would watch a tennis game, his head swinging from left to right.

“Actually I called a few people.” Your father said with a bright smile and that was when it hits you. He genuinely thought he did something good. As much as you appreciated his effort, you couldn’t help but groan, slightly annoyed. What were you supposed to say to your old friends? Would you even be able to talk with them or link up the way you used to? Would they even recognize you?

***

The next day the living room was filled with laughter and the faint sound of chit-chat. Sitting on the edge of the couch, you quietly observed your friends from high school. The atmosphere in the room reminded you of the time you would all have slumber parties in high school. Except that it was only 4 in the afternoon and that you had traded your snacks and corny movies for homemade cookies and old album photos.

The three women facing you looked nothing like the pictures you were watching and at the same time they couldn’t be more themselves than they were now. On your right Jane was no longer wearing the thick glasses she used to have when she was younger, having them replaced by lenses but the movements of her fingers reminded you of how she would always adjust the frame of her spectacles back then. She had already apologized three times for being late but who would blame a business woman like her to have more important meeting in her day? Assya’s cooking skills were still unmatched and you thanked the Lord for her cookies, delicately wrapped into a pink paper. Her calloused hands from all her work were still looking rough but your eyes could’t miss the wedding band on her finger. A bright diamond on top of a silver ring. And there was Margareth, Mag as she’d rather have you calling her, whose athletic silhouette was now draped under a delicate green tailor suit. Even under the large jacket, she couldn’t hide the impressive bump of her stomach.

And there was you who was giving “I peaked in high school” energy compared to them. But none of them seemed to address this or even wanted to make you feel uncomfortable. They seemed to respect your silence and they ware graceful enough to not comment on your tired face or rub too hard their happiness on the said tired face. None of them mentioned your mother as they keep flipping the pages of the album. Assya even slided a new box of cookies toward you when you were finished with the first one. So...it was a bit better than what you were expected.

Jane pointed at one of the pictures and started telling a story about this day. Her memory was quite impressive to you. You barely remembered that day. The four of you were looking at the camera with a bright smile. You were all sitting in your bedroom, during one of these infamous slumber parties. The more you looked at the picture, the more you realized that your friends were not the one who changed. You did.

The four of you were still down the memory train when the front door opened. It can’t be your father. As soon as your friends came in, he disappeared into the patio, saying that he wanted to give you as much space as possible. It could only be Miguel. It was a nice surprise for him to be here this early. There was something comforting into knowing that he’ll be back after almost every day...

You turned toward the door, a bit too enthusiastically, and watched him making his way toward the living room. He was the one in charge of the dinner tonight and he was carrying a crate full of fresh vegetables. His forearms flexed slightly when he lifted the box and for some reason, you couldn’t take your eyes away from this sight.

“Doctor O’hara, I wasn’t expecting to see you there. Is this where you’ve been hiding all these weeks?” Assya asked with an amused smile while crossing her arms over her chest. She had told you she’s been working as a nurse at the clinic but it was only now that you realized what it meant. She knew Miguel. For some reason the small grin she gave him annoed you, wedding ring or not.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you there either. Do you guy know each other?” Miguel asked with a polite smile and all the women nodded in unison. His eyes stopped on the silhouette of Mag and he asked in a caring voice:

“How are you feeling today?”

She slowly patted her stomach and replied: “He’s been really quiet today. No nausea whatsoever.”

“Good. If you need anything, my office is always open.”

It was your first time seeing him interacting with his patients and colleagues, and again, you could’t believe that people like him actually existed. People who were so selfless, people who cared and who could genuinely talk to other beings. And for a second, you could picture him at the clinic, working, giving orders, taking care of his patients… Just how many parts of his life did you actually ignore?

Miguel was slightly amused by the sight of all four of you reuniting in the living room. Once again, it seemed that you have underestimated yourself and your social skills. Everything seemed fine. His eyes trailed over you, taking in your polished appearance. You tried to make yourself look a bit better for today and he actually realized that it was the first time he saw you wearing some make-up. It was just a bit of blush and lipstick but his eyes are drawn to the shape of your lips tinted in a deep carmine. The same color rushed to his cheeks and he looked away before saying in a firm voice:

“I’ll let you to your memories now, ladies.”

You watched him going to the kitchen, a bit disappointed. You were not sure of what just happened because it lasted only a millisecond but if you had listened to your body, you would have followed him into the next room. Instead you just sat there, quietly, while your friends started giggling. Assya was the first one to break the silence:

“I know I’m married but…”

“Please, don’t finish this sentence. I already know what you’re going to say.”, replied Jane with a growing smirk.

“Come on, you can’t blame me. He is fine.”

The two of them whispered in order to not be heard from him and you felt like you were back to your high school years when you would all tease each other about your crush. So, it looked like you haven’t been the only one noticing that he was attractive…

Mag gave you a knowing look from the other side of the couch and your eyes were drawn to the shape of her stomach. While Jane and Assya kept bickering around, you decided to shift the conversation away:

“So...when is it due?”

She must have sensed your uneasiness because she chuckled softly. You have always been awkward around children and maternity, so it was not a surprise. Again, her hand gently patted her stomach.

“In two months I think.”

“It’s a boy?”

She quietly nodded and as soon as this conversation begins, you found yourself unable to ask anymore questions. It’s not that you didn’t care but the topic of motherhood made you feel uncomfortable, even more so these last years… Hopefully she changed the conversation when sensing your discomfort.

“So...it seems that he comes here often?”

“Who?”

“Doctor O’hara.”

“Ah...yes, Miguel...well, he is here to help my father. They’re good friends and I think it’s good that they are hanging together.” It felt like you were trying to justify yourself or something. You cleared your throat and grabbed your coffee while Mag kept looking at you with a knowing smile.

“He is nice, isn’t he?”, she asked after a few seconds and you simply nodded slowly.

The rest of the afternoon went by pretty fast as the four of you got lost again in your memories. Assya was the first to leave because she had to pick up her kids at daycare and Jane and Mag followed quickly. Once they were gone, you let the silence of the house wrap around your and youfinally rested your face against the wooden panel of the door for a few seconds with your eyes closed. As much as it was nice seeing them again, you feltl drained of all your energy and you would probably need a few days to recharge your social battery.

The sounds of footsteps made you turn around and there was Miguel, looking at you from the end of the hallway, a soft smile on his lips.

“Are you alright?”

You leaned your back against the door for a few seconds as a migraine started hitting your head. He could sense that something was off and that you needed to rest despite your attempt at reassuring him. He slowly moved closer to you and only stopped when he was a few feet away. He didn’t exactly know what made him act this way but there was again this lingering need to take care of you in ways that would make him feel ashamed if he could admit it.

“I can leave you alone if you want…”

“No it’s okay.”

Your eyes trailed up and down his figure in the dim light of the corridor and your eyes locked on the apron he is wearing. The white fabric had turned yellow at some point and the blue flowers on it looked withered. On one of the pockets there was a small heart. You had embroidered yourself when you were younger, as a gift to your mother.

Miguel seemed to realize his mistake and he started to untie the apron. He didn’t mean to offense you by taking this memory of your mother out of the cabinets. He just took the first thing he had found to cover himself. He was about to apologize when your hands stopped his movements, holding his wrists firmly.

“Don’t take it off.”

Your voice was only a murmur but he clearly heard you. With a soft sigh, he intertwined his fingers with yours while your two bodies got a bit closer. The mere light from the window of the door looked like a halo around your hair and he has to catch his breath. The room suddenly fels like it had been completely deprived of air while he got lost in your eyes. What if he got closer? What if he held you in his arms, only for a few seconds? What if…

The questions rushed in his mind, pressing him to decide what to do. But he had the feeling that none of this is what you need at the moment, nor what he should do. The grip of his fingers on yours finally loosened and he stepped back.

“I’ll be in the living room if you need anything.” You watched him slowly walk away before leaning back against the door. Your body slowly slid down the panel and you end up sitting down the floor, a mix of boiling, raw emotions that you couldn't identify lingering inside your chest.

When you were finally back inside the living room, you noticed that Miguel had left a glass of water and some aspirin for you. You smiled at the sweet attention and immediately swallowed one pill. He also had cleaned up a bit the room and yet, all the album photos were still out. Your father was sitting down the couch, absorbed in the old pictures, so much that he hadn’t notice your presence at first. You didn’t need to look over his shoulders to know what, or rather who he was looking at. In fact you’d rather disappear from the room rather than bring the attention to this topic but he caught the sound of your footsteps as soon as you started moving

“Hey…” he gently called you out. When he turned around, you caught a glimpse of the picture he was looking and you were unfortunately right. It was a picture of you and your mom. It had been taken the first year you all went camping in family. “How was the afternoon with your friends?”

“Good. Thanks.”

He was smiling in a way that would break even a heart of stone. With a tired sigh, you dragged your body to the side of the couch and sat by his side.

Your mother was holding you in her arms on the picture. You zere both wearing matching green windbreakers, an idea from your father because he was wearing the same one on the other side of the picture. There was something so comforting about staying in her arms like that. She was not a frail woman with he square-shaped shoulders, her burly arms tanned after hours spent in the garden and she was always carrying around her a scent like the one of a fireplace. You were sure that it was how a mother’s hug was supposed to feel for a long time in your life, strong, maybe a bit rough in the beginning like a mama bear holding her cubs. It was the only kind of hugs that could chase away the monsters under your bed or in your heads once you grew up.

Your father’s fingers glided over the page and you felt a bit uncomfortable. You squirmed over your sit, not knowing what to do. Should you offer a few words of comfort? Hug him? It would be quite appropriate but you were not sure your hugs would feel as comforting as hers.

He sensed your discomfort and flips the page. A large smile slowly crept up his face and he started laughing. It was a picture of you at a dance recital, around age 8, dressed as a large daisy. You cringed at the picture. Your chubby cheeks were squished by the fabric of your corolla and you were all red and sweaty, because of course the taffetas of the dress was too hot for the month of May.

“Dad, can we please ignore that?”

“No way, you’re looking adorable. And your mother spent so many time on your costume.”

The sound of your banter had attracted Miguel and he smiled when he seed that you seemed to feel a bit better. When your dad called him in, you felt a cold sweat running down your back.

“Dad, no.”

But the catastrophe happened too fast for you to react. Miguel sat on the other side of the couch and as soon as he looked at the picture, a goofy smile curled up his lips.

“No wonder you enjoy gardening. It’s like your natural habitat after all.”, he teased you gently. Your father laughed loudly at what you would have considered a pretty lame joke if it wasn’t for the adorable smirk that he was wearing. On the next picture, you were dressed as one of the rats for the ballet Nutcracker and you thought that you might actually die of embarrassment right now.

Miguel was having a blast seeing all these pictures that your dad always commented on with a funny story. Not only did he get to see an other side of you but he also caught the blush that crept up your cheeks and that slightly annoyed pout you were doing. Ever since he met you, he had never seen you embarrassed or really flustered. This might be the most emotions you’ve shown in one time and he quickly diverted his attention from the picture to your profile. After seeing the pictures he could clearly see how well of a mix you are between your parents. You got the lanky silhouette from your father, his long and thin face with the sharp eyes and pronounced chin. And from your mother, those curly locks, your nose with the high arch and those cheekbones… The said cheekbones were turning more and more flushed, their shade according well with the one of your tinted lips.

"Stop looking", he taunted himself.

As the pages kept moving and your dad talking, you slowly relaxed and your arm was now resting on top of the head of the couch. Just like Miguel’s. You were still trying to act unbothered the first time his fingers brushed against yours, thinking it might be an accident. But when it happened again, you were not so sure anymore that it was a mistake. Your two hands were resting behind the couch and your fingers were brushing from time to time, especially when Miguel was laughing at one of your dad’s jokes. At some point his forefinger brushed against your wrist, right against the edge of your sleeve.

You quickly pulled your hand back to yourself. Not out of discomfort but because you felt confused. This was not an invitation from your part...but you wouldn’t have minded for this contact to last a bit longer either…

Miguel didnn’t dare thinking that he was disappointed. Touching an inch of your skin even for a few seconds was still worth every hour of hesitation and turmoil that would come after it. How could your skin be so soft? So tempting? All when he had seen of it so far was your hands and a bit of your neck?

Still unaware of what was happening behind his back, literally, your father turned to an other page. It was a picture of you on your last recital. You were around fifteen years old, dressed in a dainty pink tutu, glitters sprinkled all over your hair. You had spent hours cleaning them off with your mother afterwards...

“This was your last recital?”, Miguel asked but it was your father who replied.

“She had to stop after that. You know how it is? High school, college entrance exams…”

Miguel didn’t reply but he did furrow his brows and nodded with a serious look on his face. He would have liked to ask more questions about this part of your life that looked so surreal. How come this little girl with that bright smile and her face covered in glitters turned into the woman you were today? He could’t also help but wonder if you still remembered a few dance moves…

But your father had flipped the pages once again and now there was an other picture of you with a boy around your age. His skin was the same shade as yours and brown curls flowed down to his shoulders. The two of you were standing close to each other, at a respectable distance with a shy look on your face. Miguel knew too well this type of picture and when he looked back at you, he was expecting to see some reaction on your face. Maybe you would be a bit embarrassed, flustered or at least nostalgic? But to his surprise you had a blank expression on your face. He didn’t know if it’s good or not. Before he could ask anything else, your father said in an obnoxious voice:

“You were such a cute couple together, David and you. You remember that day, Y/N?”

“Mhh...not really.” You seemed pretty unaffected by the picture, which was not something that Miguel was expecting from someone who just saw such a memory.

“Oh come on...you really don’t remember? It was for your birthday. You remember that nice necklace he gave you?”

You nodded without saying anything. You knew it was useless to argue with your father over this topic. He had always loved David, almost like a son. The fact that his parents were from the same diaspora as your father only made them get closer and your father had always assumed that you would end up with David. He was a nice guy, sure. But there was a reason why you never kept seeing each other after high school and you remembered it while looking at the picture. There was no chemistry between you, even a blind could see that, whatever your dad liked to think.

Miguel’s eyes were still locked on your profile and the more you were looking at the picture, the more anxious he was getting. Why were still silent? How was he supposed to understand the way you were looking at this picture? Was this good? Bad? Did you miss that David guy? Why was he suddenly just realizing that you must have had former partners? And why did he make him want to take your hand back in his, to pull you closer to him?

Your father didn’t seem to realize that there was a slight tension because he kept digging his own grave:

“It’s been a long time since you saw each other. Did you even call him? You know, I think he would be really happy to talk to you…” and with what was supposed to be a playful nudge, he added: “And I heard that he is single.” Miguel quickly caught the pink hue on your cheeks and it made his stomach twist as if he was sick. Were you embarrassed? Or was there more to this reaction? God, he hadn’t realized until now how hard it was to read you and he wished he could ask you directly. But...he was not entitled to ask that of you. Who was he to think that?

“Dad, I’m not going to call him.”, you replied while organizing the albums on the coffee table. “We had a good time and now it’s over. What happened in the past belonged to the past.”

Miguel almost sighed out of relief but your father was quick to reply: “Maybe you should start thinking about the future...I mean, you’re almost thirty and I haven’t seen you with anyone in a few years now.”

That was a low blow.

Even if it had been said in a rather understanding voice, you couldn’t help but feel your blood boil. This was the last conversation you wanted to have with your father. Miguel felt like his presence was unwanted and he tried to make his way out of the living room as quietly as possible. He would be in the kitchen if you needed help but there was no need for him to make you feel like he was prying on this delicate moment.

***

It was not your first time having this argument with your father. In fact, you remembered the last time it happened. It was a few years ago when you decided to move with your last boyfriend. Most parents would have welcomed such a good news but your father wasn’t too happy about it. First of all, he never really liked this man. History would prove him right, but it was not for the good reasons that he disliked him.

“He is not what I imagined. He is..."

Not like us.

That cryptic sentence took all its sense when you introduced your boyfriend to your father. He didn’t fit in. Your father wanted someone who could speak his language, who could share his memories of the country they left…

“And you’re living with him without even getting married?”

“You know what the people will say!”

“I raised you better than this…”

Hearing him screaming was somehow less hurtful that his resigned voice. He could sound so disappointed sometimes that you almost wondered why you even kept trying.

But at least at the time, you had your mother by your side. She always knew how to calm him down. She was like this bridge between the two of you and somehow she was the only one who would manage to help you find a compromise.

At least when she was alive.

***

You couldn’t run to your mother after an argument anymore and you’d rather stay alone than talk with anyone else. At least, that’s what you used to think. Now that you were back in this house, you might as well go and see her.

The next day, you grabbed your windbreaker and headed out of the house before your father had waken up. You had spent the last evening, alone in your room. It’s been so long since the two of you fought; you had forgotten how bad it could hurt sometimes. The thought that Miguel could have heard your argument made you feel so embarrassed. What was he thinking now?

The air around you was crisp and you could feel the scent of the pines and the muddy ground this early in the morning. It was a perfect day for what you were about to do… The gates of the cemetery had barely opened when you walked inside. It was a few days before Halloween and a few people would come and clean the graves soon, change the flowers… Seeing all the decorated graves made you regret not bringing anything. And given your father’s state, no one probably brought anything to your mother’s grave.

She was right where you remembered her. The plaque with her name stood at the foot of a small hill. A vase with withered flowers, a decoration with a dove...exactly how you remembered it to be. You carefully sat in front of it and watched the black marble. A few remaining raindrops from the night slid down the material, on top of her name engraved on it.

“Beloved mother and wife.”

Finally, some peace and some silence.

You didn’t know how long exactly you stayed there, sometimes contemplating the grey sky, sometimes the delicate intricacy of the letters of her name. Next time you would bring some flowers you promised as much as her than to yourself. At some point while looking at the build-up of stormy clouds in the sky, you noticed a large silhouette, all too familiar, moving down the hill.

What was he doing here?

You tried to get up despite your numb legs and the silhouette seemed to walk faster in your direction, his long coat flowing behind him. It was only when the first raindrops fell down that he managed to join you.

Miguel didn’t even dare asking you anything, if you were feeling alright, who you came to visit… the answer to each question was obvious. Instead, he simply offered you shelter under his umbrella and a tissue for your wet eyes.

“Do you want to stay a bit longer here?”, he finally asked after a few seconds. You shook your head and the two of you made your way out of the graveyard. His arm was holding yours, guiding you gently toward the exit, his sturdy shoulder brushing against yours from time to time.

When you reached his car, Miguel opened the door for you and then sat in front of the stirring wheel. But he didn’t feel like taking you back home now. And neither did you.

The rain was hitting the roof of the car in a loud, discorded melody. You could barely see the world outside through that much rain. A slight fog had covered the windows with the warmth of the heater, and yet your shoulders don’t stop shivering.

Miguel’s comforting hand gently squeezed your shoulder as he tried to make you look this way, a vain attempt to anchor you in the moment.

“Hey…”

He was slowly getting a bit more worried that you’re not responding but he doesn’t dare insisting. His hand stopped at a few inches from your face before he slowly leaned back into his seat. The silence inside the car was only troubled by your heavy breaths as you tried to compose yourself. After a few minutes, he couldn’t hold it anymore and asked: “Do you want to talk about it?”

You were not sure if he was talking about the argument with your father or your visit to the cemetery but you still shook your head. He felt a bit relieved when he heard your voice, even if it was barely a whisper:

“I’m fine, Miguel.”

An other heavy silence filled up the space inside the car and quite surprisingly you were the one breaking it this time, again.

“Why were you here?”

His eyes seemed suddenly very focused on the stirring wheel and he absented-mindly started rubbing his pointer finger with his thumb while looking for his words.

“I needed to visit someone.”

===============================================

Notes: This was a pretty messy chapter, so I want to thank anyone who took the time to read this.

I'm currently working on the seventh chapter and just so you know, I'm very impatient to write it.

Taglist: @safixiovi @laysmt @reverieblondie

My Masterlist!

< part 5 / part 7 >

#miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #atsv #astv miguel #miguel 2099 #fanfic #spiderverse #atsv miguel #miguel x reader #dbf!miguel #miguel angst #daddy issues #older dad bf #this fic has turned into my therapy #i'm sorry

[tarjapearce]

Hello! Can we please have some more baby Rosie and Miguel fluff

Baby Cares with Miguel

Rosie Michelle O'Hara.

His eyes reread over and over the birth certificate. His third child, another sunshine in his life. There were no longer dark days, as they were buried just like his solitude, fifteen years back.

Looking at his daughter invaded him with such a strange yet overwhelming reaction. A piece of him and you, melded together and shaped in the form he was seeing like a total idiot.

A soft smile that widened as his baby yawned, eyes that would turn only soft and loving to you and your children, being the only worthy of his unbridled and unconditional love.

He had to rub his face to try and get the sappiness out, but to his little to no surprise, it didn't work. Rosie had your eyes shape, but his color and lips. She had your skin tone, but had Miguel's bushy eyebrows. Rosie had Miguel's stubbornness, but she had your way of worming out into his heart, just like you had done all those years ago and your pretty smile that always managed to disarm him.

To his eyes, his little flower, his Rosita Fresita, was perfect.

Even if she was looking at him with curious eyes while warm water doused her little head. Rosie was on a bee shaped sink, tepid water soaking her, her tiny hand wrapped around Miguel's wrist as her head snuggled on his wide and gentle hand. Smiling at him every time he spoke to her while he brushed the sudsy substance all over her pretty head full of waves and curls.

Her hair was the only part of her that was still deciding which part of your genes would win.

Her tongue peeked upon water splashing gently on her face to then turn into a little pout.

"What's wrong, cielito lindo? Water is getting cold?"

A coo as he lathered a tissue under her neck.

"Don't worry, mi niña. We're almost done."

His voice was like a lullaby for Rosie. Her eyes drooped lazily. The smile was back on as he hummed a little tune, she loved hearing him. Even before born, her fussing whenever Miguel spoke to her turned a bit more intense. Sometimes she kicked a bit too hard whenever you saw off Miguel to work. A silent yet powerful 'Papa, stay.'

Rosie loved Miguel's chest, It was yours and Gabi's favorite place to sleep. Benjamin always preferred his abdomen or his back as a personal pillow.

His baby was wrapped comfortably in a towel, the ever pondering rusty brown eyes stared at him as if asking him, 'What's next, Papa?'

Miguel propped Rosie in her crib carefully, to then look into her little closet. Drawers full of either pink, red and white clothes. He pulled out a pale pink onesie, with little flowers imprinted around it, her diaper and some sweet scented baby cologne.

Miguel pat dried Rosie, marveled at his own part of the creation, admiring his daughter for the umpteenth time.

"I know, I know I said the other pink, but this one looks better. Trust your Papa."

Another smile, his heart melted. He was lucky today to receive such gift. He poured some lotion and rubbed her arms, legs, tummy and under her neck, leaving a gentle and sweet strawberry fragrance on her.

He then changed her into the onesie and buttoned the little things, even if his fingers took what it felt forever in buttoning one, the results always left him speechless. He finished dressing her up with a lovely rose bandana on her hair.

Then, he proceeded with making her bottle. He pulled out one of the bags, filled with enough breast milk to preheat it to the right temperature to feed her. You were too exhausted to be awake, it's been a couple of days since you returned from the hospital, understandably so, you needed a break.

After all, you had prepared to shut down for a couple of days, letting him to handle it. And so far his job as a father had been wonderful.

Rosie's cheeks trembled as soon as she latched on the bottle. Her hand seemed to have taken a like to his wrist, like if she was anchoring to him. Finally holding on her dear Papa.

Miguel was sitting on the rocking chair, still while Rosie ate. Snuggled in a fraction of his strong and gentle arms, sucking the life out of that bottle that had no match against your warm and homey breast. Her eyes looked up while she ate. Admiring him. Taking in every fraction of his face.

So this is Papa.

Surely she'd say.

He didn't know how, but the non verbal communication always seemed an easy thing for him, and excelled whenever it came to babies.

"I know, you want your mother Mija, but she's exhausted." A little grunt in protest, Miguel laughed softly, "It's only temporary, I swear. Let Mama catch a break, ok?"

Her rising grunts were placated by a kiss on her forehead. Eventually, Rosie fell asleep after Miguel patted her back with such tenderness he'd never (even to this day) felt possible to achieve.

Her little burps sent a proud shimmy in his heart.

And now, he put her back to the crib, draping a blanket over her deep sleeping daughter.

"Que descanses, Rosita." (Rest well, Rosita)

#miguel o'hara #t writes✨ #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #soccer family ⚽🕷️ #rosie o'hara #mama o'hara #miguel o'hara fluff

[oldshowbiz]

Coming Up Rosie (1975-1977) was a children's sitcom on CBC Television featuring Rosemary Radcliffe, John Stocker, Dan Aykroyd, John Candy, Catherine O'Hara, Eugene Levy, and Dave Thomas.

#Rosemary Radcliffe #John Stocker #Dan Aykroyd #John Candy #Catherine O'Hara #Eugene Levy #Dave Thomas #history of canadian comedy #canada #canadian #cbc #rare television

[oharalvr]

˚ ༘ • ·˚ day at the café !

miguel o'hara x shy f reader ,

warnings : thigh riding, slight degrading, pet names ,, baby, princesa, papi, etc , drool .

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

so , how did this all start ?

you, the small shy girl from the outskirts of the city, away from the bustling crowds and chaos. the small shy girl who loved exploring the tourist spots of the city, walking all around the city.

one day, while out on your daily walk around the city, you stumbled upon a small but elegant cafe a few blocks away from the park. the smell of freshly brewed coffee and the lively chatter of customers drifted through the air as you approached the cafe.

your curiosity got the best of you and you decided to step inside. as you made your way to the counter, a huge, handsome man with jet-black hair caught your eye. he was busy chatting with a few customers, and his smile lit up the room... and your face - that was now a rosy red.

intrigued, you finally mustered up the courage to order and talk to the man yourself. the man's name was miguel o'hara, and he was the owner of the cafe... and let's just say, that cafe became a daily stop for you.

you and miguel became close over the next few weeks, talking to each other over a cup of his coffee. he had memorized your order and had always made cute little hearts with the caramel drizzle on top of your coffee. it was a small action, but made you very, very flustered.

miguel was a great listener, and he always made you feel comfortable and at ease... well, when he wasn't making you nervous. you found it easier to open up to him about your feelings over time, talking to him whenever you're sad.

as your friendship grew, you found yourself longing to spend more time with miguel. you found yourself longing to see him staring down at you with that smirk on his face, that intoxicating laugh, and that deep, deep voice.

one day, as you were sitting on a bench surrounded by the park. you finally shy worked up the courage to confess your feelings. with a trembling voice, you told miguel that you had developed feelings for him, hoping he'd feel the same way.

miguel's eyes widened in surprise, but he didn't seem to hesitate to respond. he told you that he had felt the same way, followed by a soft kiss on your little plump lips, pulling away with that smirk. ever since then, you've been inseperable.

a few weeks later, you had lost your job at the sanrio store. your now-boyfriend, miguel had picked up on your sadness, cheering you up by offering you a job at his coffee shop. you immediately took up on his offer. you were excited to get to see miguel even more!...

but... you wanted something else to cheer you up, and you made it obvious to miguel. you pranced around in that short little skirt that drove him crazy, looking up at him with those pretty doe eyes he always complimented. miguel was going crazy, hiding the print of his hard cock with his apron as he watched you serve customers.

he had finally had enough, slipping a hand around your waist once you got behind the counter again, whispering into your ear.

"baby, i'll let you have an early break, yeah?"

he whispers, that sexual tone dripping off every word. you immediately nodded, taking off your apron before walking into the employees lounge, miguel quickly followed.

he grabbed your hand, guiding you into his office, quickly locking the door once both of you were inside. he grabs you by the hips, pushing you against the wall with a kiss that started at your mouth, trailing down to your collarbone as he whispered filth.

"so, so needy, hm? dressing like a slut at work..."

he whispered, his grip on your hips tightening as he lifted you by them, walking over to his chair. he sat down, placing you on top of him. you straddled his lap, trying to squirm against his hard, clothed cock but you were quickly stopped as he held you in place.

"aw, princesa. you're so wet, i can feel you dripping onto my lap."

he coos, rubbing his hands up and down your sides, earing a soft whine from you. you wanted more, you wanted to feel him... and he could tell. he lifted you up gently before placing you onto his thigh. your clothed cunt dripped onto his nice pants as your face turned red from embarrassment.

miguel just chuckled in response before grinding you against his thigh gently, causing you to moan as your clit pressed against his thigh. you quickly covered your mouth in embarrassment, muffling your moans. miguel pulled your hand off of your face before placing your hands onto his chest with a smile.

"nuh uh, i'm gonna listen to your pretty noises, yeah baby?"

you nod in agreement, little whines escaping your mouth as miguel grinded you harder against his thigh, slapping your ass suddenly.

"i asked you a question, princesa."

he says, his voice more stern as you stared up at him in awe, letting him grind you against his thigh as you drooled.

"y-yeah, papi.."

you whine softly, answering his question before he slips a hand under your shirt, the other still supporting your hip as he toys with your nipples, earning small whimpers from you.

"aw, what a good slut."

🕸️ 🕸️ 🕸️

#miguel o'hara #miguel spiderman #miguel x you #miguel smut #dom!miguel o'hara #miguel x y/n #miguel x reader

[eskeptical]

re-ignition

miguel o'hara x reader word count: less than 1k a/n: enjoy this short little intro (of sorts?) to a two or three part little encounters I'm going to write. title will probably change if I come up with something better.

One deduction, based on roughly a year and a half of evidence since your first encounter, was that no single thing concerning Miguel O'hara was ever simple.

Always some complexity buried feet beneath what seemed to be the most trivial matter. Any decision, movement, word, tied to some ulterior motive, whether it be a threat to the spider-verse (which, of course, was also too simple a term for him - who instead opted for arachno-humanoid poly-multiverse) or a contribution to his rigid justice system.

Naturally, your relationship to him was no exception.

Months after meeting, the boundaries of friendship, partnership, or whatever it is that defined your associating with each other were pushed to new limits, further knotting and adding to what was already a hard-to-define label. Little sparring sessions had somehow crept their way into heated encounters that ended up with both of you panting inside cluttered rooms, faces flushed, and him quickly getting up and reactivating his suit to cover up.

You justified it - an equal transaction to relieve the tension and stress that stalked your daily tasks and pressure of being in the Spider-Society. It was especially beneficial for him, you thought. Being leader of it and constantly going out to take care of anomalies personally exhausted Miguel, despite his lack of complaints. His quick frown and rubbing on the bridge of his nose told you everything you needed to know.

But, at some point, the line between need and want whirled into a blurry haze when the time spent together increased. He began to dedicate more time taking care of you, cleaning you up and peppering kisses all over your neck and shoulders, all while mumbling sweet nothings and filthy promises. Mornings waking up alone were followed by notes on the bedside, and then by his bare chest facing you, his lids closed and brows furrowed as he mumbled to stay like this a little longer, as his hand circled around your waist to pull you closer.

And you enjoyed it. Reveled in the intimacy and awaited for your next meeting. Because to some extent, you convinced yourself, that this too had some ulterior motive. That it was more than releasing pent-up tension, more than a weekly encounter.

(One time, he had even mentioned nonchalantly during a mission that the stars shine brightly in his dimension.

This - you still fully believe - he had meant specifically for you to hear - after all, only you had ever shown interest in the celestial bodies from your lack of them in the hazy orange fog that plagued your dimension.)

However, any fluttering in your stomach began to leave something new in its trail as your complex dynamic continued. Shame and disappointment all came to shadow any goosebumps raised by his touch.

They planted their roots when he first pushed you away after an echo was heard in his office. He wasn't rough or rude - yet it still made you feel a certain way when his cold demeanor returned as soon as anyone else was present, especially when he applied it to you as though you were nothing more than another one of the many members strolling around.

It built up slowly, the knot in the back of your throat adding a new string each time you were pushed away or dismissed easily. Until one day, a heated exchange - and not the usual physical kind - of words resulted in your dimensional watch on the floor, and with you nowhere to be seen.

He took two months to reach out, something you attributed to his humongous pride. That arrogant jerk. In fact, he didn't even reach out to you himself, instead sending Ben Reilly, who spent the entire time flexing as he attempted to convince you to come back.

(Still, the part of you that looked through a rosy-colored lens felt a flutter at the idea of him being the one to approve it. After all, every action, every recruit, had been scrupulously meditated and decided upon by him.)

So you came back, and today marked your second week since your return.

However, you meditated whether your decision had been for the best as you stared at the man in front of you, whose cold gaze avoided you entirely as you both sat across each other, keeping as much distance as possible.

Which wasn't much to begin with, two or three feet at best separating you two.

You found yourselves yet again in another cluttered closet. Unlike all other instances, however, this time it wasn't by choice, tragedy befallen by an annoying anomaly who toppled who-knows-what onto the door, blocking the only entrance and exit.

Just great.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara atsv #atsv #across the spiderverse #spiderman atsv #spiderman 2099 #miguel spiderman #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader

[intheorangebedroom]

Hey orange besties 🧡

Here's the one thing none of you asked for but I'm giving you anyway!! Listen, Halloween is my favourite holiday and I'd do just about anything rather than start working on my WIP because it terrifies me.

So here's the most indulgent headcanon EVER, please feel free to scroll past this nonsense of a post, but not before I could wish you all a very spooky Halloween 🧡

Yes, I have no shame.

Explicit HC below the cut 🔞

This Halloween, you've convinced Frankie to host a party at your place. He was really the first surprise, you're not exactly the party type, yet here you are.

You’ve been on Pinterest looking up aesthetics and recipes since August, basically, you've spent an inordinate amount of money on fancy decorations, stocked up enough candy to give all the kids in the tristate area a stomach ache of biblical proportions, and it's finally happening, today is the day, this is your version of the American dream.

But what will you and your friends dress up as???

Rosie

For years, the two of you have had an ongoing argument about what constitutes a proper Halloween costume. To you, it’s either crafty and creative, or spooky if not disgusting. To her�� Let’s say she’s explored all the slutty options out there.

This year, the debate resumes as early as September. Only this time, you outsmart her, challenging her to look sexy despite a plain horror get up.

Never one to retreat, always one to excel, Rosie chooses to dress up as Candyman. With the fur and the hook and the scarf, down to the fake bees painted on the left side of her face. And yes, she still is smouldering hot as all hell.

Will

Will? Dressing up? Fucking hell, why are you doing this to him? He’s a grown ass man. He was a warrior, for fuck’s sake. He’s not gonna go around and spend money on a fucking costume!

But. He’ll be damned if he’s the only one who doesn’t play along. He can probably whip up something with whatever he’s got in his closet, anyway. Like…. Motorcycle gang leader, for example.

(at this point, orange besties, I’m cackling in French).

Yovanna

Yovanna. Understood. The assignment. Obviously because she’s hands up the smartest one of all the TF bunch.

She dresses up as the Corpse Bride. Your jaw drops to the floor when you open the door. She's stealing the show and it is fine. You’ve no idea how she can look this at ease with all that heavy makeup covering her skin, but she looks like she's having a hell of a good time, oh and also SHE'S FUCKING STUNNING.

Pope

Pope could have made an effort and go as Victor, right? He should have. Did he, though? No. No he didn't.

Pope dresses up as Miguel O'Hara from Across The Spider-Verse, so he can slither into this tight af costume and strut his butt like a Spidey slut.

Tom

Kidding. Tom's not invited. But if he were...

Benny

Sweet, sweet Benny, our sunshine boy, our precious blond gem of a baby man…

Benny considered not coming at all. Not that he's not over you yet, come on, let's be serious, it's been over two years. He's totally over you. He’s slept with at least a dozen different women since you broke up and his friendship with Frankie is on the mend, so yeah, over you and beyond, thank you very much. Ok, he'll go, then. Besides... he wants to see you. Just to make sure he’s really over you. What could possibly go wrong?

A horror classic connoisseur, his first idea is to dress up as something overly sublte. Say… Tom Conway in the 1942 Jacques Tourneur’s Cat People, for instance. Only because it would be obscure enough for people to ask him about it, which would give him a good opportunity to show off his impressive... cinematic knowledge. Not at all because you and the director share the same last name. Of course not. And it has nothing to do with the fact that you’d probably be the only one in the room able to identify the costume. Argh fuck, he can’t go as Tom Conway in the 1942 Jacques Tourneur’s Cat People, can he? 

Fine. He’ll play it safe. Mainstream. Mike Meyers. But Mike Meyers with a twist: the kid version. 

What he does not anticipate, is how many times he gets asked if he’s that stupid Pennyclown from It. Doesn’t anyone have any fucking classic culture?? It’s winding him up real bad and he’s starting to think he’ll leave early, until you walk up to him with a shy smile and a tall glass of beer. 

“You make a real good baby Meyers, Benjamin,” you whisper, and it's the first words you've spoken to him all night. Of course you knew, of course you’re the only one who guessed, and he wants to say something smart but he can’t, he’s riveted to the floor, melting under your soft gaze. You lift your arm, as if reaching for him and for a split second, he thinks you’re gonna run your fingers through his hair like you used to, and his heart does this lurching thing, like it simultaneously shrinks and explodes in his chest, and fuck him. He’s not over you yet.

(maybe I’m not over him either 👀)

Meanwhile… Meanwhile, Frankie's watching the whole scene from the kitchen. Ticking jaw, sucking on his teeth, vein popping in his neck. 

But what did Frankie dress up as, you ask. If you're still reading this, that is.

Frankie

Well, Frankie’s not exactly big on Halloween. For one, he grew up in a household full of ghosts. The candy sure was a perk, as a kid, but he’s always enjoyed savoury food more than sweets. Later, Izzy would let him tag along to the parties she went to (not that her mother left her much choice, anyway), and those were fun, admitedly. There was always alcohol, but most importantly, ✨girls✨ Girls who would never fail to find Izzy’s baby brother oh so cute with his soft curls and his golden skin and his lovely dimples and he’d spend the entire evening passing from one set of arms to another set of hands, which suited him juuuuust fine.

However, the man now has an actual body count, so he’s not too keen on the notion of the dead coming back to haunt the living for one night…

But thewhole thing makes you so damn happy. In the end, it doesn’t matter if he has to fend off an entire army of undead.

Unlike Pope, whatever your choice of outfit may be, he’ll get behind you. You wanna be Lydia Deetz? He’ll be your Beetlejuice. He’ll be the Gomez to your Morticia, the John Bartlett to your Patricia Bradley. 

This year, you announce most enthusiastically, you want to be Frankenstein’s Bride. 

Alright, baby!

And let's just say this: he makes it very, very difficult for you to be a good host to your guests. How on god’s wretched earth can he be this incredibly sexy as Frankenstein's creature??

Not only is he good with the kids, patient and gentle and cracking dad jokes with each group of little monsters and Elsas and cowboys eagerly standing on your doorstep, but that jacket… That damn jacket he got himself, three sizes too small, fuck, that poor jacket is working hard ALL NIGHT trying to contain his breadth, the seams just as strained around his shoulders as your poor clenching cu– 

Oh and you’ve no idea where he found that headband with the bolts on each side, but you don’t really care because he’s slicked black his hair and it's curling thick and luscious on his nape and you can’t wait for every one to get the hell out of your place. 

You’re gonna go down on him the minute the last guest leaves your house, take him down your throat and show him just how grateful to him you are for playing along so well. Watch that handsome, pretty, pretty face, that the green makeup and fake scars can't even spoil, go slack when you suck on his balls and swallow his spend. 

And you almost get to do it. If it wasn’t for that tiny little misstep. The sultry teasing words you pour into his neck, halfway through the party. When you tell him that what you truly wanted to dress up as was Margarita at the Midnight Ball. And Francisco’s eyes grow dangerously dark and wide and wild, pupils shot open with lust, because he knows what this means. And what this means is stark naked. 

And sure enough, he has barely closed the door behind the last guest that Frankie turns around and orders you to "Take off those fucking clothes. Now."

His tone brooks exactly zero argument. You comply at the speed of light before he shoves you onto the couch and kneels on the floor between your spread thighs, and it's very obvious, very fast, that you are his Halloween candy.

He keeps your ass balanced on the edge of the sofa and your back pressed into the soft cushions, thick fingers digging into the dips of your hips to hold you still with a welcome, bruising hold. 

His mouth feels like lava, liquid and hot as he licks into you like a starved man, broad sloppy stripes through your dripping folds, tongue dipping to feast on your slick like his sole purpose down there is to drink you dry. 

And when he wants more, because it’s never enough, he fastens his plush lips around your pulsating clit and plays it with the curled up tip of his tongue, two fingers hooked inside your cunt and pulling on that fucking spot with the same deftness with which he used to pull the trigger, and you give him more, give him everything he wants, you leak straight into his mouth, you’ve lost track of time somewhere after your third orgasm. 

There’s green makeup smeared all over your inner thighs, rivulets of black tears streaking your once ghostly pale cheeks. Sweat’s pooling in the small of your back and damp locks of hair are glued to your temples and forehead. 

You're a writhing mess, nearly slipping out of consciousness when he grabs your waist and flips you around, rough and urgent. 

With that easy strength that makes you light-headed, he pulls you downward, kneeling you down between his folded legs, your back flush to his chest, you’re moulded into him, and by the time you register the change in position, he’s already lining himself up. 

It’s no longer than a split second before he all but impales you on his length. It’s too sudden and the stretch downright painful, and you cry a strangled cry of his name but it's soundless, there’s no more air in your lungs, he’s fucked all the oxygen out of there. 

“How are you so fucking tight,” he says, his voice sounds strained, and he starts fucking up into you, absolute, merciless, the pace is punishing and you’ve gone blind with the stretch. 

It’s too fast, too deep, too fucking thick. Your spine goes stiff as a metal rod as you try to get away from it but you can’t, one hand is clutching your throat and his other arm’s banded around your waist. You’re helpless, nails digging into his flesh, crushed against his sweaty torso and he keeps sliding your rigid body down onto his impossibly thick cock at this impossibly fast pace, hips hammering your ass, lewd and loud, slap slap slap. 

And he knows, he feels you trying to recoil. The flat of his tongue licks up the column of your throat and it’s a sharp bite on your earlobe, and a low grunt in your ear, “I'm not gonna last long,” and you relent, you slump down into his hold and let him give you what he needs you to take. 

“Good girl”, he pants, and what do you know? You feel another one coming. 

Oh but this one’s deep and violent, it’s building tense and heavy into your core like a burning fist gripping your insides right behind your navel, and if it wasn’t for his own grunts, you’d hear the pathetic mewl you let out when it explodes in your breasts. 

The frantic clench and clutch of your cunt around his length is more than enough to tip him over. He rams his pulsating cock into you one last time before he starts to grind, so forceful his hipbones are biting into your ass, pushing further inside you to bury his come as far up your body as possible, up to your fucking cervix, sinking his teeth into your shoulder to muffle his rumbling growl. 

When he stills, finally, he doesn’t unwrap his arms. Doesn’t loosen his embrace. Instead, he draws your body with his when he slouches backward, his broad shoulders hitting the coffee table.

Limp, spent, blissfully used, you lay on top of him, his length sheathed inside your warmth, your chest heaving along with his chest. 

“Thank you,” you breathe out. 

He nuzzles the crown of your hair, gentle again. 

“Happy Halloween, baby.”

****

HAPPY HALLOWEEN ORANGE BESTIES!!! HAVE FUN WITH THE DEAD AND STAY SAFE 🎃💀🧡

#the pilot™️ #frankie morales #francisco catfish morales #pleased to meet you #HAPPY HALLOWEEN #pleased to meet you headcanon #yovanna #benny miller #ben miller #will miller #william ironhead miller #santiago pope garcia #frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x ofc #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #pedro pascal #triple frontier fanfiction #adria arjona #rosario dawson #garrett hedlund #charlie hunnam #oscar isaac

[strawb3rrystar]

Star's big book of characters

What characters will Star write for?

Genshin Impact:

Smut:

✰All adult characters - excluding the fatui (not scara) and Nahida

Fluff, Angst, and Yandere:

✰Every character - excluding the fatui (not scara) and Fontaine characters bc I have yet to do the Archon quest

Demon Slayer:

Smut:

✰All adult characters - excluding Hantengu clones and Gyokko

Fluff, Angst, and Yandere:

✰Every character - excluding Hantengu clones and Gyokko

Across the Spider-verse:

Miles Morales (Sfw only)

Gwen Stacy (Sfw only)

Miguel O'Hara (Sfw only)

Hobie Brown (Sfw only)

Pavtir Prabhnakar (Sfw only)

Peter B Parker (Sfw only)

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles:

2012! Turtles (Sfw only)

2012! Karai (Sfw only)

Bayverse! Turtles (Sfw & Nsfw)

Rise! Turtles (Sfw only)

Rise! Future! Turtles (Sfw & Nsfw)

Rise! April (Sfw only)

Rise! Casey (Sfw only)

Rise! Casey Jr (Sfw only)

Mutant Mayhem! Turtles (Sfw only)

Mutant Mayhem! April (Sfw only)

The Hunger Games:

Peeta Mellark (Sfw & Nsfw)

Katniss Everdeen (Sfw & Nsfw)

Finnick Odair (Sfw & Nsfw)

Haymitch Abernathy (Sfw & Nsfw)

Coriolanus Snow (Sfw & Nsfw)

Sejanus Plinth (Sfw & Nsfw)

Lucy Gray Baird (Sfw & Nsfw)

Reaper Ash (Sfw & Nsfw)

Festus Creed (Sfw & Nsfw)

Treech (Sfw & Nsfw)

Tanner (Sfw & Nsfw)

Jessup Diggs (Sfw & Nsfw)

Hazbin Hotel:

Charlie (sfw & nsfw)

Vaggie (sfw & nsfw)

Angel Dust (sfw & nsfw)

Husk (sfw & nsfw)

Sir Pentious (sfw & nsfw)

Alastor (sfw only)

Lucifer (sfw & nsfw)

Adam (sfw & nsfw)

Vox (sfw & nsfw)

Valentino (sfw & nsfw)

Velvette (sfw & nsfw)

Lute (sfw & nsfw)

Cherri Bomb (sfw & nsfw)

Carmilla Carmine (sfw & nsfw)

Rosie (sfw only)