#spider-man x fem!reader

[helloheyhihowdyheya]

Rose Thorn Blues | pt. 4

Gif originally by @pierreparker (now it seems to be attributed to @king-keery)

Peter Parker x fem!reader

Part One Part Two Part Three Masterlist

Summary: You were certain you could work with Parker on this Beaumont case, but you were wrong in the worst ways OR the three times you visited Parker's apartment.

Word count: ~6.8k

Warnings: Enemies to lovers!! Awkwardness, swearing, tension. Mild depictions of stalking and violence. Some arguments. Repressed feelings. (and a sleepover :)

A/n: I'm sorry it's been 3 months since the last chapter — I started a new job and got sick like 3 times, but it's here!! Thank you all for your patience and love for this story. I really hope you enjoy it, love ya <3

The first time you visited Parker’s apartment was a few days after the fundraiser. If anyone had asked you whether you were avoiding him, you would have outright denied it. Not checking your texts in case it was him or spending that Monday work day shadowing Alice instead of sitting across from him meant nothing. Obviously.

Arriving home after the fundraiser had been mostly awkward goodbyes and restless sleep. You hadn’t ever meant for it to go this far, to be standing in the home of your rival intern/work partner/fake husband, and you were fine with never talking about what happened.

And it was all just a precaution really. Distraction kept you from getting too far into thoughts or memories that you wouldn’t — couldn’t — think about. Not if you ever wanted to face him again.

Despite your attempts to definitely not avoid him, you stood in the entryway of Parker’s apartment the next day after work. The Beaumont story ate away at you, and the two of you needed to make more progress on it. And his place, conveniently, was pretty close to the Daily Bugle building. So despite your best efforts, you walked side by side from work.

And when he unlocked the door for you both, your eyes looked past him and into the space. You were faced with the bare walls and messiness of his home. Old laundry covered his couch and papers lay strewn about any flat surface, but what hit you first was that there were very few decorations. Nothing sitting on the shelves. No family photos.

As you stepped into it, into the naked silence of the place, your eyes wandered with nothing to say. Briefly, the thought of whether he got lonely living here struck you so sharply that you bit back a gasp, suppressing a jolt running through your chest. It nearly ached as you pushed it away.

“Wow… this is, uh, nice,” you said through a weak smile, your gaze roving all around the apartment. 

Blinking at Parker, you watched him cross his arms in front of his chest. His body rested back against a small dining table, an unimpressed look on his face. “You’re being mean, sunshine,” he said.

You breathed out an airy laugh, falling back into what was easiest with him. “Ah, sorry for thinking you might at least clean up your dirty laundry before company comes over. My bad for assuming the bare minimum of you, Parker.” 

At least the bickering between you two hadn’t changed.

You walked farther into his apartment and set your backpack down. Parker stood fully and went to his small kitchenette, saying, “One, that’s my clean laundry. I’ve been a bit busy lately helping a coworker commit crimes. Two, I’ll clean up when I have company worth cleaning up for. And third, would you like anything to drink?”

He reached up into a cupboard to grab a glass, waiting for a response. At that moment, your eyes suddenly had a million more interesting places to look than the exposed skin of his back as his shirt rode up. You thought about anything but the memories of his warmth beneath your fingers.

“I’ve got tap water or a 2-liter Dr. Pepper that I drank straight from.”

Your lips pressed tight. “I’ll just have water, thanks.” 

He set the cup down on the table in front of you before grabbing out his laptop. You watched a small drop of water roll down the side of the glass until it landed on the tabletop. 

For a passing beat, or stretching minutes, you weren’t sure, you let your vision go unfocused, idly grabbing your own laptop out. You also pulled out the blueprints, the weight of them heavy since you stole them. Mentally, you flipped through everything you’d seen, and that worrying pit returned to your stomach. 

You hadn’t taken a sip of the water before finally breaking the silence.

“So what’d you learn from the back room you went into?”

Twirling a pen between his fingers, Parker rocked his chair on its back legs. “It was just a VIP section. Rich people talking about rich people things — and none of it explicitly illegal.” His eyes glanced at you for a second. “What’d you learn?”

You sighed, settling further in your seat. You’d been mostly avoiding thinking about it. “Not much from Will. Just his part in the non-profit, which doesn’t seem to be all that much. And that he seems different from his father, which may be an advantage after we report Ellis’s crimes.”

You watched an innocent look fall over Parker’s face as he nodded. Squinting your eyes at him, you asked, “What?”

“Nothing.”

Before you could interrogate more, he reached a hand out and grabbed the blueprints from you and traced a finger over the images. Letting out a quiet “Okay…” as you returned to your notes, you said, “You’re minoring in engineering, right? Does any of that make sense to you?” You gestured vaguely at the paper.

“It’s biochem,” he grumbled, not lifting his gaze. 

“Okay, whatever. Does it help us here?”

He let out a small gasp, making your head snap up. “Oh my god, yeah. My biochem final was on assembling a super suit to destroy the city. Can’t believe I ever thought it wouldn’t come in handy.”

You glared at him, your lips pursed, until he looked up at you with that stupid grin of his. You asked, “Are you done?”

Parker only shrugged, returning to his computer with the ghost of a smile on his face. You gave him time to study the blueprints as you let the case take over your mind once again, using it as a familiar buffer between you two.

Looking into the city hall’s archives, you wrote down names of any other people that may have had ties to Beaumont. You recognized a few from other pieces you’ve written — too many of them being stories on Spider-Man.

But by the time the sun began to hit the city’s skyline, your research hit dead ends. And Parker hadn’t given you any updates that told you he’d made breakthroughs on the blueprints. 

The ends of your thoughts felt frayed and fried, and it didn’t help that Parker now began interrupting the silence more and more often. 

“I’m just saying, center pieces of brownies are superior,” he said on his latest interruption.

Nodding with a tight smile, you checked the time. “You’ve been ‘just saying’ that for the past ten minutes. And I still disagree despite your best persuasive efforts.”

“You don’t want a warm, gooey piece that melts in your mouth?” He let out a hungry groan, presumably imagining it.

Leaning in slightly, you looked at him and said, “Parker, if I could make only crispy edge pieces, I would do it in a second.”

His mouth dropped, his voice becoming a whisper. “You’re a psychopath…”

With a soft laugh, you mindlessly switched from tab to tab, almost just waiting for Parker’s next interruption. He often brought up anything and everything that came to his mind — something you were slowly getting used to with him. 

And with fingers hovering above the keyboard, that thought stopped your movements.

You dragged your eyes up to see if he was looking at you. He wasn’t. Whether it was that realization of getting to know him or the genuine laughter he pulled from you every couple of minutes, you didn’t know. But it suddenly felt like too much. 

Several emotions hit you all at once as you sat there — some of them of relief and appreciation for a break from this case, and others sat cold and confusing in your chest. They clouded your mind even as you tried to sort through the names you’d found. Your leg subtly bounced up and down repeatedly. 

Slowly, without thinking, you began to pack up your things, moving your body instead of your mind. The only way you could react.

“I should get back. I’ll, uh, work on the story more tomorrow. With a fresh mind,” you muttered, throwing a tight smile his way. From the corner of your vision, you saw him nodding and saying a weak goodbye. But you hardly looked at him or the way his face fell as you left.

--

You’d ended up at Parker’s apartment for a second time four days later. The time in between the first and second visit was spent making little progress on the story, those days full of pointless interviews and wild goose chases — including walking back in the late-night air from talking with yet another dead-end lead. 

The bright moon peeking from behind clouds rose in the sky alongside your growing frustration — at Beaumont, at the city for its apathy, at yourself. The only thing to top it off was the feeling of plopping raindrops hitting your skin. Within a few seconds, the sky opened up, releasing a flood all at once to wash your hopes for this case down the drain.

The journey home felt heavy, each movement slow with your backpack and bag from your grocery stop held against your chest. You tried to ignore the rain’s staccato pattern humming a message to abandon this story. 

But that message grew louder when a slow creeping feeling snuck up on you. Maybe it was the sound of rain pounding against buildings or it was your heart beating in your ears, but a strong pulse went through your body with each step. A chill began to crawl up your arms, all the way to the base of your skull.

You looked behind you.

In the cloudy air, you saw no one. But you couldn’t shake a feeling twisting in your gut — one that told you someone was watching you.

Your pace quickened. With sharp, clenched inhales, your fingers gripped against the cloth of the bag like lines slicing through crumbling sand. 

Goosebumps rose along your skin under the cold summer night air. You brushed raindrops from your face, blinking your eyes a few times. When footsteps sounded not too far from you, your head whipped around.

No one. 

And when an unrecognizable voice cut through the fog — somewhere too far to see but too close for comfort — fear began to crawl up your throat, pricking at the corners of your eyes. You didn’t know whether the deep voice’s words were directed at you, but you understood the angry tone beneath them.

Your mind, running through a million panic-laced thoughts, kept returning to the fundraiser. You two must have not been careful enough. Maybe it was Ellis himself to talk. Or one of his men to make sure you didn’t talk. 

You didn’t want to find out which it was.

The noises surrounding you dulled beneath your pulse thundering against your ribs. You tried staying near street lamps and other people walking, but the trip back took longer than normal with the pouring rain.

The sharp blade of the situation threatened you, grabbing you in an icy grip as your body ran into someone. Time froze with your blank mind. Gasping, stumbling backward, you instinctually raised your hands. Your fingers gripped impossibly tight onto your bags.

Brief seconds stretched into what felt like neverending moments as you stood there. You could only risk a hesitant glance when the person spoke.

“Sunshine?”

Shakily, you lowered your bags an inch at a time. Your sleeve tried brushing the rain from your face, your watery gaze raising to the man.

Never before had you been so thankful to see Parker, even as he stood in front of you with most of his body and face covered by a dark raincoat.

He asked what you were doing here, but your mind found it difficult to focus on his words. You barely picked up the unusual raggedness to his voice beneath the heavy storm.

You intended to say something sensical, maybe even sarcastic, but no words came out of your opened mouth — just a hiccuping inhale that strained your throat. A crack of thunder boomed overhead, and your body jumped with the sound. 

You couldn’t help looking behind you again, watching for any dangerous person between the raindrops. But it was only people trying to escape the rain.

Vaguely, you registered the dull ache on the inside of your cheek, your teeth gnawing on it nervously. Looking at Parker again, you noticed the neon red sign beside you two. At the street corner, the cherry light cast shadows across his face. You watched his eyes glance around, gaze scanning and calculating. You stopped breathing when they landed back on you.

Again, you tried answering him as he asked whether you were okay, but you mostly felt the warmth of him as he stepped closer. Reading his lips, you made out the questions, “Who is it? What do you need?”

As another boom of thunder sliced through the sky, you shook your head. Tried to make sense of whether someone was following you and how Parker was standing before you now. You looked at the crease between his eyebrows growing deeper with every passing second.

But when his arms wrapped around you, the presence of him engulfing your senses, a deep inhale settled into your lungs. The breath blew against his coat like a dam breaking.

Finally, you heard his words clearly. “My place isn’t far from here, okay?” he said. “Is that alright?”

You exhaled a “Yes,” and he began to guide you both down the sidewalk in an instant. He tried his best to shield you with his raincoat, but your body felt that familiar weight of Parker more than the raindrops.

He kept you talking, engaged in the conversation to keep you from slipping away inside your mind. You answered his question robotically, unthinking. But a strange silence eventually washed over your bodies. It sat in your chest until you coughed up something to say.

“What were you doing out here?” you asked. It took a waning effort to keep your voice steady. 

A too-long beat passed before he spoke. “Taking a walk.”

You would’ve told him bullshit if you had fight left in you, but not now. Maybe later.

And you never would have thought you’d be so thankful for Parker’s apartment either as you two entered the building and crossed the empty lobby. Your soaked shoes left wet footprints and squeaky steps on the tiled floor.

In the creeping moments of waiting for the elevator to come down, your eyes drifted to the building’s front door, watching for any movement that might pass. 

“It’s safe here,” Parker said from beside you. You nodded, but your eyes wouldn’t tear from the windows until the elevator doors shut behind you. Still, your mind repeated his words, the mantra echoing with each level the elevator rose past. 

You hadn’t realized just how cold you’d become until Parker’s hands wrapped around your arms. He rubbed up and down along your skin to build some warmth against your apparent shivering. You sent a begrudging nod as thanks.

“Just trying to stave off the frostbite,” he muttered, more to the air than you in particular.

You let out a sharp breath. “This means nothing,” you whispered half-heartedly — as some attempt at normalcy.

“Of course not.”

As the elevator doors opened, his grasp slipped from your body. Maybe you were too close as you followed behind him, but you couldn’t find yourself caring all that much. Not as you watched to make sure he locked the door after you both.

At his outstretched hand, you hesitantly traded him your bags for an old bath towel. You followed his offer to leave your damp shoes by the door, drops of water falling from you. They formed a spotted image around where you stood. You dried the best you could to avoid flooding his apartment, which looked slightly different than last time.

And before you could think better, you asked, “Did you clean?”

“Hmm?” he called from the next room, presumably his bedroom. As he came back to you, eyebrows raised high and innocent, he said, “Uh, maybe?” 

You nodded, pursing your lips as you considered his answer. Between his fingers, Parker held out a stack of folded clothes.

“Do you need a change of clothes?”

He stood in front of you, expectantly. “My last roommate left them. I think they’d fit you.” But as you paused your drying, your gaze fixed firmly on the soft-looking sweatpants and shirt, he said, “They’re clean, I promise.”

You took in the neutral expression on his face, the unusual straight line of his mouth. You gave a quiet thanks and followed the line of his finger pointing to the bathroom. 

The door didn’t quite fit, so you wrestled it closed and locked it. You relished in the warmth of the dry clothes over your slightly damp body, and you focused on that rather than the intimate feeling of undressing and redressing in Parker’s apartment.

Every few moments while changing, you took in your reflection in his smudged mirror. Mental and emotional exhaustion etched itself into the crevices of your body. It weighed down your hands as you hung your wet clothes over the shower railing, and it sat uncomfortably in your stomach as you left the bathroom.

Under soft lights, Parker stood before the stove in comfortable clothing, the shirt hugging his frame a warm dark blue. He moved with quiet steps around the kitchen, so at home here in a way you hadn’t seen before. Beside him, the ingredients from your grocery bag sat out on the corner, a pot of water heating up on the back burner.

Before you even made a sound, he turned around to face you. “You hungry? ‘m making us dinner.”

You stared at him, absently picking at your nails. “Uh, sure.”

You weren’t certain how else to answer, especially as he’d already begun cooking. The two of you had eaten dinner together before, but that was takeout while working on the case. This was… decidedly different.

Between cutting vegetables and putting pasta into the boiling water, Parker grabbed a granola bar from the new box you’d just bought. The first hint of a smile that night appeared on your face as he offered one to you too.

You both snacked as he began cooking the vegetables, and the silence didn’t feel so aching this time — not beneath the sounds of Parker’s kitchen. But a few times, he opened his mouth or looked as if he were to ask you something and would decide against it within a moment.

Eventually, you let out a long sigh and said, “Thanks, for uh letting me come back here.” You paused, your gaze staring off into nothing. “I was just a bit freaked out.”

He let your obvious understatement go and just nodded. “Yeah. Of course. Do you… know who it was?” His eyes glanced from the food cooking to you.

You shook your head. That might’ve been the worst part. “Couldn’t see anyone. Don’t even know if someone was following me.”

“Do you think it had to do with the fundraiser?”

You brought up a hand to run down your face, the weight of it unable to ground you. “Could be. I thought we were careful. Well, careful enough to not draw suspicion…” 

You trailed off, refusing to look at Parker. You tried refusing to think about that night, that maybe you’d done all that for nothing and still got caught, but it was no use. The thought churned over and over in your head, looking at it this way and that, until it became mush and a dull headache began to form behind your eyes.

Instead, as Parker finished cooking the vegetables, you thought about the end of the internship. When you’d be able to go back to classes and a normal life — with a promise of a job at the Daily Bugle that didn’t require you to pick up coffee for your boss or write about Spider-Man every other day.

As Parker strained the pasta, steam from it curled through the air, wrapping around the ends of his hair and warming the small kitchen. You watched him combine the pasta with the vegetables, plating the food for you both. And you found yourself sitting at a small table in Peter Parker’s apartment, having a meal cooked by him.

Between the hot food and safety of his apartment, the harrowing events of that night felt farther away — at least for now. Instead, the time was filled with talking about things that didn’t matter, just anything to keep your mind distracted. And by the time you helped him clean up dinner, you were plenty preoccupied by his offer to stay over rather than walk home in the dark storm. 

Besides your quiet “yes” as an answer, few words were passed alongside the dirty dishes. The silence continued as he grabbed a pillow and sheets for you, setting up the couch as a makeshift bed. “Here you go. Complimentary with each stay at La Casa de Parker.”

You shook your head at him. “Is the half-drank Pepsi an extra charge then?”

He flattened his mouth, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. “Afraid so. Can’t get service like that just anywhere.” He neared, merely shrugging his shoulders.

You let out a quiet laugh before noticing a dark spot along his cheekbone. “Oh, I think you somehow got sauce on your cheek,” you said. You began to reach a finger up to his face before pausing, your hand floating between you two. “Um…”

But his eyes stayed on yours, his head nodding for you to continue. Your thumb nearly shook when he grinned — a softer, nearly happier, smile than his usual one. Ignoring its intensity proved difficult with each gentle swipe of your thumb against his skin.

As your hand fell back to its usual place by your side, an electric buzz coursed through the air. Your quickening pulse went up through your body, sparking every nerve it surged past. Parker’s gaze dropped to your mouth, and you couldn’t help doing the same — maybe out of instinct or maybe to escape those pleading doe eyes.

Under the hyper awareness of Parker inching ever closer, you thought your heart couldn’t race any faster until a crack of thunder exploded overhead. A short gasp stuck in your throat, your body nearly jumping a foot in the air. 

Parker’s soft laughter interrupted your attempts to return your breathing back to normal, making you let out a breathy laugh too. But you took a few steps backward, palm flat against your chest, and pretended not to notice his hand ready to pull you back in.

“Christ…” you muttered, your muscles twisted so tight you thought you might burst. A weight dropped into your stomach, your feet moving toward the couch as you said, “That, uh, might be as much excitement I can handle for tonight.” 

He just watched you, his mouth slowly forming a closed smile. “Yeah, we should probably get some sleep before the next round of thunder makes you pee your pants,” Parker said, backing toward his bedroom with a tight laugh. Achingly slow it seemed, you watched his shadowy form disappear into his room, leaving you standing in the living room and picking at the hem of a stranger’s shirt on your body.

His light peeked from under the door, and when you eventually lay down, you traced the shapes from it resting on the ceiling. Your eyes moved over them again and again, timing it with the rise and fall of your chest and the beating of the things you refused to think about. You weren’t sure how long it’d been by the time you fell asleep under the weight of his blankets on top of your body and the smell of Parker’s apartment.

And when you woke the next morning, after a night of tossing and turning, the sun had begun to rise. It cast the world in a blue haze that quickly broke to a bright sky. It was still early, but the memories of last night and where you were now kept you from staying there another minute. 

As quietly as possible, you changed back into your own clothes, eyes glancing to his shut door every couple of seconds, before grabbing your bags. You set the worn clothes next to the folded sheets you left on the couch. 

That and a scribbled out “Thank you” on a scrap piece of paper were the only evidence that you were there. That you had somehow fit into his life at all, like a needed fresh breeze of air passing through. But it made you hold your breath until his apartment door shut behind you.

--

You went to Parker’s apartment a third time a week later. You vowed to never return again after that.

The time between those two visits was filled by earnest attempts at keeping things normal between you two at work — despite the silences that now felt awkward and energy focused on not thinking about everything — but it seemed normal wasn’t a word in the vocabulary of this relationship. Friendship?

The moment you made the promise to yourself to never return was at his dining table, laptops and piles of notes sitting between you both. After weeks of little progress, you looked back over the blueprints and let the thoughts you’d been avoiding float to the surface.

With a sigh, you said, “These parts for the blueprints had to be the ones in that warehouse I went to. I think we might have to go back there — check it out and see if maybe they’re still there.”

The idea had been in the back of your mind for days, but after the incident of someone possibly following you, you’d tried looking for any other alternative. The lack of useful interviews and new information pushed you back to that option again and again. You’d already done it once, though, and you would do it once more for the story.

And these thoughts drifted through your consciousness as you read over your notebook for the hundredth time. They were interrupted when Parker responded, but his words only registered seconds later.

“What?” you asked, lifting your head to look at him — certain you hadn’t heard him right.

“I already did.”

A stillness dropped over the both of you, your breathing slowing. Confusion hit you first, the feeling wrinkling in your chest. Disbelief hung from your lips as you stared at his face still looking at his laptop. Although his words sounded absolute, leaving no room for misinterpretation, you asked, “You went to the warehouse?”

He just nodded as his teeth dug into the edge of his lip, his eyes moving across his screen. “Uh, yeah. Like last week.”

He explained it as if that was enough. But no answer came, nothing worked its way past your clenched teeth. Past the sudden intensity coursing through you — feeling almost like pain and something heavy you couldn’t pick out.

When it was clear that his explanation wasn’t enough, he continued. “Didn’t want you going back and snooping again,” he shrugged, and that set your nerves alight — as if he were shrugging at a hornet’s nest he just swung at. “It looked like those boxes had been moved to another location.”

Beneath the table, your other hand slowly clenched until your nails bit into your palm. You shut your eyes just for a second, forcing yourself to breathe. It barely helped when you spoke, your voice coming out strained.

“Parker?”

He finally looked at you, eyebrows raised.

“I…” you began, shaking your head in a confused disbelief. “This is my story, remember? You follow my lead. What are you doing going to the warehouse without telling me?” You tried to keep your voice calm, but a tightness rising up your throat threatened to choke you. 

“I knew you’d want to go back — a very unsafe decision if you ask me. So I went instead.”

“But I didn’t ask you. That’s the– how was it safe for you to go by yourself?” you asked, your eyebrows coming together in a deep line.

Parker shook his head, his mouth set in a straight line. “I mean, would you have even been okay to go? After last week… and everything that’s happened?”

That made you pause, your breathing stopping for a moment. The fragile air hanging between you and him seemed to crack under pressure. “Everything?”

He began to say something before pausing, unused words on the edge of his lips. “Yeah. Like the fundraiser. Like flirting with William Beaumont, you know?”

“I… that’s just part of the job. I mean, it seems like you need to talk through some stuff.” When he gave you an unamused, almost disbelieving, look, you shot back, “I’m fine, Parker.”

His expression didn’t flinch, just the muscles of his jaw tightening. “Okay,” he said, raising his hands up in surrender. “Jus’ trying to get you to open up.”

“Why?”

The question left your mouth before you could really consider it. It felt sharp cutting through the air. But that didn’t mean you weren’t thinking it. His questioning was passing over some invisible line — you weren’t sure what it separated or where it stood, but it felt dangerous. The more you let his words dissolve in front of you, the more your face twisted into an unfortunately familiar hardness.

Parker pulled back a little, his eyes flaring open as he seemed to stare through you. “Because it’s been a lot. And I don’t know, maybe because we snooped through a criminal’s mansion and made out in a closet?” he said, a bite to his voice.

When you didn’t answer — couldn’t get an answer out — an exasperated sigh left his mouth as he threw his hands up. “You’re not exactly proven in the field, so I thought I’d check in. Try to help out with the warehouse.”

You couldn’t stop the weight forming in your chest or the angry glare your eyes narrowed into. “Okay, well thanks for your ‘help’ or concern or whatever, but you’re not exactly the person I’m going to open up to. Not with… everything,” you repeated, shaking your head. “And all this is for the Beaumont story. For the internship, so we can just forget about it once we’re done.”

His scoff had your nails digging farther into your palm. He crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair. “Is everything just a competition to you?”

“Is it not for you?”

You quirked your head, raising your eyebrows while awaiting his answer. Jumbled thoughts rolled through your mind, some calling you a liar and others itching to speak their mind against him.

His normally bright eyes looked nearly black. Cold. His mouth opened and closed, as if he couldn’t decide on what to say to you. He landed on, “I… can you just trust me on this warehouse thing?”

Trust. The question he’d asked before he kissed you — whether you trusted him. Maybe you had at that time, in his embrace and your heart in your throat, but in this moment? The aching, sinking feeling in your stomach told you something different.

You could only ignore his question, too pulled apart to really think about it. Your frantic instinct had you dodging, trying to find some way to move forward. In a quiet voice, you asked, “What’s next then? Talk to Will?”

“No,” he snorted, “Definitely not.”

And whether any part of him had grown less irritating in these past weeks no longer mattered as you stared at him. His unending smugness, the unwarranted superiority he carried with him, even his stupid hair that he never bothered to brush — it all wound tight around you until it begged to snap.

Your jaw began to ache from how long you’d been clenching it. “What do you suggest we do then, Parker?” The words came out sharp and rhetorical, ready to attack.

Setting down the blueprint, Parker leaned forward with his elbows on the table. “I think we need more information and more research. We can focus on that before making any quick decisions.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh. “Are you serious? We finally made some progress at the fundraiser, and now you want to wait? Beaumont’s plans could already be happening.”

“Which is dangerous. How are you going to go up against him? Especially with this suit he’s made?” he asked.

“It’s our job to uncover the truth. You knew this from the beginning.”

His face set into a hard stare, his gaze unyielding. Had you been any less furious, you might have averted your own gaze. But you just sat there as he said, “Well, things have changed.”

Yes, they certainly had.

Those dark eyes that no longer felt familiar dropped to the table, his chest rising and falling sharply.

A cold dread filled your body. You hated this whole conversation and whatever it meant. To either of you.

“Are we good here?” You began packing up your things without an answer, ready to leave his apartment and forget about “everything” to do with him.

His head shot back up, but he quickly forced himself into looking relaxed. “Sure. Whatever.” His hand came up to roughly scratch through his hair. “Just don’t get yourself killed.”

Pushing back your chair with a screech that cut through the silence, you muttered, “Like you care.” You shoved your things into your backpack, fighting against the strange wave of strong emotion boiling in your chest. You shouldered the backpack without a word.

“Sunshine...”

God, you hated that nickname. How it sounded coming from his mouth.

You just gave a bitter laugh and fought through your anger while walking out of his apartment. With each step carrying you farther away, you were sure you had the answer to the question you had that first visit. This place certainly felt lonely, even when you were there.

--

It only took two days for you to return to the warehouse, cast in the shadows of the night. Any small voice in the back of your mind telling you to trust Parker and stay away from that place fell into silence — deafened by the very convincing thought of “Fuck Parker” that played on repeat.

Maybe he was being honest about the suit parts, but you both knew he wasn’t telling you everything. And if he wasn’t going to give you the truth, you’d have to go find it yourself. Past the bright billboards and busy bars, you followed the steady beat of your heart back to the warehouse.

In Uptown, the path gave way to more warehouses and fewer street lamps until you were back to where the story began. As you crept down the alley, you once again saw no one around, a fact that worried you more than you liked to admit. But you pushed forward, ensuring your footsteps fell silent against the cracked concrete. Your ears strained to catch any noises outside the warehouse. You heard nothing but a breeze brushing along your skin… until you climbed the fire escape again.

Growing closer to those fluorescent-bright windows, you could barely hear muffled voices. It sounded kind of like bickering, but it was hard to make out. Swallowing back your persistent fear, you dared a glance down into the building.

A shaky gasp fought its way out of your mouth as you saw the once countless rows of neatly shelved boxes strewn across the warehouse, most of them shattered and broken into splinters. Your eyes traced briefly over the ruined scraps of wood until they fell on something metal poking out from beneath the wreckage.

As you crept down the line of windows, the different angle showed the object’s sharp edges and green glow. A bitter sinking weight hit inside your chest as you recognized Green Goblin’s glider.

So Parker had lied to you. No, he’d gone behind your back and lied to you.

The realization made you breathless, your lungs suddenly aching for more air. You tried shaking it from your head, to forget about it until you were home, but the hurt stung worse than you’d expected. Had you been wrong to ask for him to join this story? Was his help worth all this?

Voices from inside the warehouse growing louder cut through your confused thoughts. The sound drifted from above, through the skylight Spider-Man had come through last time. A man yelled at someone, his words spewing anger alongside crashing — almost as if he was breaking more boxes as he spoke. The voice became clearer bit by bit, and you were able to catch a sentence here and there.

With fingers gripping the edges of the window until they hurt, you crouched in silent stillness. The screaming man came into view, his white-hot emotions intense enough to make you shiver against their cruelty. He walked while berating some worker until his face grew red. A face you’d become familiar with.

William Beaumont, the man you’d danced with, now stalked along the aisles in an almost animal-like way. The mouth that whispered along the shell of your ear and promised real change now spit hatred like he couldn’t contain all of it inside him. The hands that had smoothed along your dress were clenched into fists, punching against the metal bars of the shelves — and bending them like it was nothing. A suffocating wave of nausea passed through your body.

Your unsure hands grabbed your phone from your pocket, your mind running on autopilot as you took photo after photo of him. Many of them were likely blurry, but at least one had to turn out. It had to. 

Before you could take more, your phone began vibrating as Parker’s contact name appeared on the screen. Behind the initial shock of fear that someone could hear you was the seething anger that hit. But beyond that was your finger immediately hitting the answer button. You had to tell him.

But the words died on your lips when a sharp coughing fit hit your ears, followed by a pained groan that froze you in your spot. The whole world seemed to come to a gnawing stop for a moment.

As quietly as you could, you said, “Parker?”

You refused to take your eyes off the men in the warehouse, watching for any sign that they heard you.

“Sunshine…” Parker’s distressed voice muttered out, then a too-long pause. “I need…”

A horrible buzzing overwhelmed your senses, a deep frown pulling at your face. “Parker, are you okay?” With only an answer of static silence, you pleaded, “Peter?”

You heard his strained, almost fading breathing. “Can you, um, come to my apartment? Please?”

You weren’t sure whether a yes or no came to your mind first, just that they both sat there waiting for you to choose. But through your frantic worry, you caught Will’s next shouted words and hung onto them like your life depended on it.

“Fucking find him! He’s a goddamn swinging man in red, and you shot him! How hard could he be to find?” he yelled to the other man, throwing a half-shattered box at the wall. The explosion of wood rained down on them, creating a background to their confessed crimes.

The worker finally spoke up, clearing his throat through the destruction. His gruff voice explained, “We lost him near Midtown. My people are searching there now, and we’ll find him.”

“You fucking better, for your sake.”

While you weren’t surprised that Spider-Man was involved in this, you couldn’t believe he was being hunted — and shot. 

But it was Parker’s coughing fit that brought you back, pulling at some deep part of you that needed to know what was hurting him. Instead, it sparked memories, breadcrumbs, of these past months. Of Parker always being one step ahead of you. Of just how close he always seemed to be to Spider-Man, as he seemed to be now.

Parker’s apartment, which you visited three times and three times only, which sat on a threshold between achingly foreign and frustratingly gentle, which was too far from your outstretched hands right now, was in Midtown.

Your heartbeat seemed to dim until you could no longer feel it. Your eyes began to sting, unshed tears crawling up your body. All your thoughts left until two remained at the center of your mind. Peter was Spider-Man. And Peter was hurt.

“Sunshine…”

The nickname came not from your phone but from behind you — spoken by a voice that shouldn’t be calling you that name.

Your phone dropped from your hand, clattering against the metal fire escape with a bang. Peter’s voice barely came through the speaker, but you could catch the urgency in his tone — all as you turned to scramble away. Still, you caught a glimpse of the man behind you.

You recognized the dark features and dead look in the eyes of Ellis Beaumont before something hard came down on your head. In an instant, tears spilled across your cheeks, the world darkening into shadowy nothingness.

@dil3mma @hollandweather @reidslovely @a-lumos-in-the-nox @keepingitlokiii @thedevax @sincericida @agent-tempest @olivezgalore @qwintlimon7 @eddieslooneymoonie @aheadfullofsteverogers @bitchy-bi-trash

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x fem!reader #andrew garfield #the amazing spider man #spider-man x reader #spider-man x fem!reader #tasm!peter #tasm andrew garfield #tasm peter parker #tasm spiderman

[m4tthewmurd0ck]

Congratulations on 200! For your ‘200 Followers Celebrarion’ can I request 3 from the MCU list for Tom Holland’s Peter Parker?

thank you so much! ahh that was my favorite prompt from the mcu list hahaha i’m so happy it’s the first request! love my babies kate and yelena! also i did a little more than the prompt, had to include the scene because it’s one of my favorites. click *HERE* to check out my writing celebration and send in a request!

𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄�� 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐘 ~ (𝚃𝚘𝚖 𝙷𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚍) 𝙿𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚎𝚛 𝚡 (𝙵𝚎𝚖) 𝙰𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛! 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

word count: 5.8k

a/n: DON’T LOOK AT THE TAGS, CONTAINS SPOILERS hehe. this takes place after nwh. obviously an au, so any differences you note from the films and disney+ shows are on purpose just for the sake of easier writing for this story :) just to name a few: tony is alive, steve didn’t go back to be with peggy but he did step down and give the shield to sam, who accepted it + no john walker storyline, i also couldn’t kill my baby nat, and yelena is in the picture too. there are a few other differences which will be obvious once you read but i won’t give too much away. enjoy!

Your task was simple. Find out who Spider-Man is, so that you can bring him to the compound. There were understandably a lot of questions. The biggest one being how can someone fight alongside the Avengers, be part of the Avengers, and then turn around and do… all of this? You were just as shocked as anyone, considering that Spider-Man had been your partner on missions ever since he joined the team.

But now that you thought about it, it was a little odd. How had you worked alongside whoever was under that suit for so long and you’d never seen their face? Of course, you didn’t remember any of it. Not only did you at one point know the boy under the mask, but for the past year up until Strange made everyone forget, you and Peter had been more than just friends / partners.

Now, all you remembered was your time working with Spider-Man. And all you ever heard about him now was that he was the reason that Mysterio was dead, and that not only was he not a hero, but he should be considered an enemy. It seemed a little dramatic, but given that you were a former Black Widow, you figured you didn’t have much room to talk.

There were guesses going around within the team about who Spider-Man might actually be. Little did you all know, that you were all way off.

Bucky had guessed that he was a former assassin like the 2 of you. And while you both had gotten a second chance, maybe he didn’t have anyone to show him that he didn’t have to resort to his old ways, so he went back to what he knew. You were then quick to point out that it would then mean that you all failed him, because it wasn’t that long ago that Spider-Man was part of the team.

Thor briefly considered that it might be Loki behind it all. After all, as he loved to remind everyone, he once transformed himself into a snake and when Thor picked the snake up, Loki transformed back into himself and stabbed his brother. But that seemed to be a big stretch. Ever since you had known the trickster, he’d never done anything as big as this. Thor then countered, saying that Spider-Man and Loki had never been in the same room at the same time. But you reminded Thor how far his brother had come. And you spoke to Loki, who was not-so-secretly terrified that everyone would think it was him. He gave you his word that it wasn’t, and you believed him. Especially after hearing him say how he would’ve chosen a much better name and suit.

Other guesses ranged from Yelena thinking he was just a wannabe Avenger who didn’t plan ahead and ended up killing someone he didn’t mean to, Sam thought maybe he was on the FBI’s Most Wanted list and this disguise was a way for him to get away with more crimes, and you’d all just missed the signs, and Tony was mostly with Yelena, saying maybe he was just a super fan who took things too far trying to prove himself. You and the others preferred not to guess. There didn’t seem to be a point.

Then one day, Sam pulled you aside and asked if you’d be up for a solo mission. You were the youngest one on the team, and at first questioned if he was talking to the right Avenger. But, he was the captain, and you’d always had faith that he knew what he was doing, so you said yes. And then he told you exactly what the mission was.

“But why me? How am I supposed to find this person when we don’t even know where he lives anymore?”

“If he ends up being some young kid, we’ll all go to jail if Bucky is the one who’s basically stalking him. Nat already said don’t send her because she’d have some things to say to whoever that is, and by things to say I assume she means she’d kick his ass, so that leaves you and Yelena as the best choices. My little assassin spies!” He ruffled your hair, knowing how much you hated that. “Really though, before I even considered who / how to go about this, she approached me and asked that it not be her because she isn’t ready for solo stuff yet. You’re the best option anyway, you know how to move quietly, and your powers would be the most useful in this situation.”

(((because i’m unoriginal as fuck when it comes to thinking of powers, let’s just say you’re basically a younger wanda + the energy glows whatever color you want it to lol)))

“Okay,” you sighed, finally caving in. “But where do I even start?”

“Well he’s obviously not working with us anymore so that’s out, and he doesn’t patrol like he used to, but there have been sightings of him around at night in Queen’s so maybe start there. We can put you up in a temporary safe house, it’s actually a unit in an apartment building. Maybe do your sleuthing stuff, follow him if you can, and see if he’ll voluntarily come in and talk to us?”

It was just 24 hours later that Happy dropped you off in front of your new temporary home. You didn’t want to draw too much attention to yourself, so you convinced Sam to let you just go in alone from the beginning. It wouldn’t do any good if Captain America was seen escorting you to your new apartment. All you had was a large suitcase and a box. They were filled with clothes, plus ‘any spy shit you might need’ as Sam had put it. It wasn’t much, but you had done that on purpose. Either you’d work out who Spider-Man was within a few days, or you’d return to the compound and figure out a backup plan.

After spending half an hour unpacking the few decor items you brought, you weren’t sure what to do. Spider-Man only ever went out at night, and it was now 4pm so you still had hours to go until the sun went down.

Time went by agonizingly slow. You flicked through every single channel on TV, and couldn’t find any interesting shows or films to watch. Then, just to pass more time, you forced yourself to take a nap. That ends up being interrupted when Bucky calls you half an hour after you fall asleep, to settle an argument about who you’d save first if the compound was on fire, him or Sam.

“…in this scenario why can’t you both get yourselves out?”

“Because… just answer the question! If the building was on fire and you only had time to knock on one of our doors and help one of us escape, it would be me, right? The former Winter Soldier who helped you through a tough time when you first joined the team because I could relate to you more than anyone else? Me, your old pal Bucky, right?”

You could hear Sam in the background “shared trauma is NOT allowed in this discussion!”

“The hell it isn’t! Your suit can also make you fly! I can’t. Doll, seriously, you’d save me right?”

“I— how did this even come up? You know what, you two just use your best guess who I would save. I have to go find Spider-Man now goodbye!” You laughed as you hung up, hearing them both shout at each other that they know you’d pick them.

Eventually, the sun sets and you change into the suit that Tony had made for you just for this. Your normal one was white, and he made you a different one, similar to what you wore to train, that was black since you’d be going out at night.

(((suit by earthsangxl on pinterest)))

Once you slipped out of your window and were up on the roof, you realized that you really had no idea where to begin. Sure, there were Spider-Man sightings at night, but were they every night? And the land that was considered Queen’s was technically over 100 miles, so you also had no idea if you were even in the right area.

For the first half an hour, you stood on the roof and looked around, tried to listen for… you had no idea what. Then you decided that standing around was only going to get you so far, so you began to make your way across the rooftops, pausing every couple of minutes to look down at the people below.

That first night was a complete fail. Not only did you not find Spider-Man, but you hadn’t even caught a glimpse of him. You did manage, however, to stop 2 attempted robberies. And you could already read the headlines about how the Avengers were now sending out their younger members to take care of smaller crimes.

You immediately considered calling Sam and telling him you needed a better way to do this, maybe you could come back and just hack into the street cameras and see if you’d spot him that way. But you knew that he chose you for a reason, so you decided to tough it out. 3 nights, that was how long you gave yourself. Night 1 was a fail, but you’d do this 2 more times and if at the end of night 3 you still hadn’t made any progress, you’d call and ask the team for help.

Night 2 was interesting, but ultimately also failed. You ventured a lot further this time, and ended up in Hell’s Kitchen since it wasn’t that far from Queen’s. You saw Daredevil on the roof of a building across the street from where you were, and whispered-yelled “hey Matt!” knowing damn well he could hear you. He froze, then chuckled before giving you a little wave. You figured out his secret a long time ago, and he often confided in you if he needed someone to listen.

Just 20 minutes later, you found yourself lounging around on Matt’s couch, while he made you both coffee using some new fancy machine that Foggy had gifted him for his birthday. “Why are you all the way in Hell’s Kitchen, this late at night?”

You were an only child, and while the Avengers were definitely your family now, it still made you happy when Matt went into protective big-brother mode.

“I wasn’t fighting off any bad guys, I promise. Well not that many anyway. Though if I happen to come across more— I’m getting off topic, I’m looking for someone. You’ll probably lie even if you do know who he is but do you know Spider-Man?”

He shook his head, “no. And doesn’t he usually stick to Queens?”

“Yeah but I’ve been looking for him for hours and I got bored, you can only jump or swing across so many rooftops before you feel like you’re going crazy. I don’t know how I’m supposed to find this guy. He obviously doesn’t want to be found, which makes it that much harder.”

“But why are you by yourself?”

“Because I think a few alarms might go off in peoples heads if they noticed all of the Avengers trying to sneak around at night. Besides, I can defend myself.”

Matt sighed, knowing you were right, but that didn’t stop him from worrying. “At least let me know next time you’ll be out by yourself, alright?”

“Well I’ll be out every night until I find this guy.”

“What’s the Avenger’s big interest with him again?”

“He used to be one of us,” you sighed, “and I worked closely with him for years. If I do find him, I’m not saying I’ll let the others know right away. I just… I want to know why. I have these memories, but they don’t make sense.”

An hour later, you were back at your apartment. Matt had insisted on going with you to make sure you got home safe, and you agreed because you knew even if you said you’d be fine, he’d do that creepy thing where he followed from a somewhat decent distance and then he’d just lurk in the shadows anyway.

Day 3, AKA your final day before you called Sam and asked for help, you were bored out of your mind. You did whatever you could to occupy yourself all day, but that only got you so far. You even went out in normal clothes and a baseball cap and just walked around aimlessly. But you weren’t even sure what you expected to find. It’s not like you’d look up and see Spider-Man waving his arms, telling you to come talk to him.

At 2pm, you realized that you had yet to eat lunch, so you wandered in search of somewhere to get food.

Delmar’s, you tilted your head as you stood across the street. Why was that so familiar to you? You tried to think, and then remembered that you’d gone a couple of times, not long after you started being partnered with Spider-Man. Could this place be a clue?

A little bell above the door announced your arrival, and a few seconds later you were greeted by a kind man. “There she is! I was wondering when you’d come back.”

A little fragment of an old memory came back to you. You did know this man. Mr. Delmar, he owned the place and just the 2nd time you went, he had already remembered your order. But who were you here with? You didn’t know anyone in Queen’s.

“Sorry it’s been so long, I haven’t had much time to myself.”

“You want the usual?”

You nodded, ashamed to admit that you didn’t remember what your usual actually was. “That’d be great, thanks.”

Mr. Delmar refused your money, but you snuck $20 into the tip jar when he wasn’t looking. He insisted that it was on the house, he loved the Avengers and it was an honor that you were eating his sandwiches.

“Ah there he is! My other regular!”

You turned around and saw a brown hair brown eyed boy who looked to be about your age. When he saw you, he froze for a couple of seconds. Then he quickly recovered and stepped up to the counter to order. You didn’t think anything of it. Some people tended to freak out whenever they were around you or anyone else on the team.

“Number five with pickles, smashed down real flat?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Weird, it didn’t seem to be a common thing to order your sandwiches that way, so what are the odds this stranger had the exact same order as you? The menu was pretty limited at Delmar’s though, so you once again brushed it off.

“Peter, meet my other best customer. She hasn’t come around in a while, but now she might give you a run for your money!”

You and Mr. Delmar were completely unaware of the fact that Peter already knew you, and that he was the one that introduced you to this place. It killed him to have to smile and nod and act like he was meeting you for the first time.

“I-it’s nice to meet you. I’m Peter,” he stuck his hand out, cringing at how awkward you must think he is. But you smiled and shook his hand, and he hated the fact that your touch still felt so familiar to him, while he was nobody to you.

You introduced yourself again, then felt your phone buzzing in your back pocket. “Well I should get going. It was nice meeting you Peter, and bye Mr. Delmar. I promise I’ll come back tomorrow.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that!”

You couldn’t shake the weird feeling you got all the way back to your apartment. Why the hell was Peter so familiar to you?

That feeling hadn’t gone away by the time it was dark out, but you forced all thoughts of him out of your mind as you suited up and made your way to the roof again. You looked down at the other buildings and people just going about their lives, and just hoped that tonight worked. You’d find Spider-Man, and you’d be able to talk to him.

No. Fucking. Way.

Your eyes widened as you glanced down and saw… Spider-Man? Climb out of one of the windows below you. He lived in your apartment?! You immediately ducked, not wanting to risk being seen. Now that you knew where he lived, perhaps it was better to wait until he came back from patrolling or whatever he did. You saw what unit it was, now maybe you could just go knock on his door and then you’d right away know the man behind the mask.

After a minute, you slowly looked over the edge again, and saw Spider-Man already a few buildings away. Luckily he was heading in the opposite direction, so he didn’t see you. Once he was out of sight, you made your way back to your apartment. What the hell were you supposed to do now? You had no idea how long he patrolled for. Would he be back in an hour? 2? Would he be out until the sun came up? You supposed there was only one way to guarantee that you’d know exactly when he came home, without risking him leaving again before you had the chance to knock.

Using the lock picking skills that Nat taught you (and that Yelena helped you perfect), you soon found yourself inside Spider-Man’s apartment.

Whoever he was, you already felt bad for him. The apartment was so… bare. While you didn’t go poking around in drawers or cabinets, you looked at whatever was already out, and that wasn’t much. No photographs, no art on the walls, no furniture other than a small table in the kitchen / dining room, and was a studio apartment so if you looked just last the kitchen, you could see his ‘bedroom’ too. But even that held no clues to his identity.

As much as you wanted to look around for other clues, you forced yourself to sit on the only chair at the table. But after only a few minutes, you got up and paced back and forth.

What would you say when Spider-Man climbed back through the window? What if he just freaked out and called 9-1-1? How would you even explain how you found him without sounding like a stalker? Although, I did break into his apartment, you think to yourself. The time for feeling worried about breaking any laws has long passed.

After another 10 minutes of wandering around the tiny apartment, you began to feel hungry.

Shit. You’d forgotten to eat in your excitement to get over here. You could run back to your apartment and quickly have something, but then you risk him coming back and possibly leaving before you return.

You turn your head a little to the left, and your eyes light up when you see a familiar blue and yellow box sticking out of one of the cabinets.

Hmm, haven’t had Kraft Macaroni & Cheese since I was a kid.

As you scooped some of the macaroni into a bowl once you’d finished, it occurred to you that this was a little rude. But you were hungry and determined to talk to Spider-Man tonight, so those thoughts left your mind fairly quickly.

Just as you’d taken your second bite, you heard the window slide up. You instantly stood up and placed your mask back on. Bucky had insisted that you take it and wear it. You pointed out that you never fought with one and the whole world knew what you looked like, but he insisted anyway.

Spider-Man jumped through his window, then turned around to slide it closed. How the hell has he not seen you yet?? You decide you should make your presence known before he finally realizes there’s someone else in the room.

“Hi, I know you don’t know me but I just want to—”

“Ah!” Without thinking, Peter grabbed the closest object within reach and threw it at you. Luckily, it was just a small lamp. Unfortunately, it was a lot heavier than it looked.

When it hit you on the forehead, you fell. Enhanced healing caused you to just jump back up, not worried because you knew whatever injury you sustained would be completely gone by morning.

“Okay… ouch.”

Peter turned on the lights and once again froze, recognizing you instantly. “OH MY GOD I AM SO SORRY!” He took a few steps towards you, but stopped when he noticed you taking just as many steps back.

“Are you always this apologetic when people break into your apartment?”

Oh, right. He had to pretend he didn’t know you. But the Avengers were pretty famous, so at least he could pretend to know of you. “N-no. No. I just… ohmygodyourheadisbleeding—”

“I’m fine,” you reassured him, using the back of your hand to wipe away some of the blood. “I’ll heal fast, trust me. Now can we talk? I’m guessing by your reaction that you know who I am?”

He nodded, mumbling your superhero name.

“Well, you must be hungry from… being Spider-Man, right? Mac and cheese?” You motioned to the stove, where Peter only just noticed the pot on top.

“I— you made food in my kitchen??”

“Well I was starving and I had no idea how long you were going to be, you took forever! So I just made myself some food. I promise I’ll come back and bring you a box to replace the one I used. Are you honestly telling me you’re not hungry right now? It’s really tasty.” You walked over to the drawers in the kitchen and began to open and shut them, looking for the cutlery drawer.

“Yeah I know what boxed mac and cheese tastes like, y— my old girlfriend used to make it for us all the time okay I know… I know it’s delicious.”

“Forks, forks…” You paused, having finally found the drawer. You picked up the one object in your hand and turned around, “no… you have ONE fork?!”

Peter scoffed, crossing his arms. He was really having to put on a show that he didn’t know who you were. Truth is, he knew this was exactly how you’d react even if you did remember him and this was just your first time at his new apartment. “I— I’m one person.”

“That’s so weird. What’s your name?”

“What?”

You slid the mask off of your face. “Come on. I know where you live. You know who I am, I think you can trust me with your name.”

“I… Peter… Parker,” he sighed, knowing you were right. As he removed his mask, he knew that even if he didn’t tell you, you’d be able to figure it out since you were able to find out where he lived. You didn’t even seem phased that the name he just uttered and the person behind the mask was the same one from Delmar’s not too long ago.

“Peter, this is not cutlery. This is not cutlery.” Now you felt even more bad for the guy. If he only owns a single fork, he must not have people over.

Okay, think, Peter thought to himself. He had to act like he thought you were just a crazy Avenger who broke into his house because you somehow figured out he was Spider-Man. “I am not just gonna sit and have dinner with you after you tried to kill me and then just broke into my house.”

Now it was your turn to scoff. “I did not try to kill you! A, I’m an Avenger and that probably wouldn’t look good on my resume if I killed our friendly although not-so-friendly according to the news Spider-Man. B, I didn’t break anything to get into your apartment so did I really break in? Your lock is very easy to pick, you’re lucky I’m the first one that tried. And C… you’re literally Spider-Man so maybe stop being so defensive, please? I really am just here to talk.”

I didn’t think it was possible for my heart to literally shatter into pieces, but yup, it’s happening, Peter thought. When he first joined the team, being that you were the same age, Tony sent you to talk to him. And when he opened the door to May’s apartment and saw you standing there, he must’ve been thinking the worst because you hadn’t ever seen him so terrified. “I really am just here to talk,” you’d reassured him then. How different those same words sounded now.

“O—okay.”

You went to the kitchen sink and washed your bowl and fork. You decided to take matters into your own hands, where the food was involved, so you scooped the remainder of the mac and cheese into another bowl and got a fork. On a whim, you then opened Peter’s fridge and bent down, an ‘aha!’ let out as you found a bottle of sriracha. You squirted some of the red sauce into the bowl, then handed it over to Peter.

He was a little in shock. You remembered that he like sriracha with his mac and cheese. How was this possible? He decided not to question you, instead mumbling a soft “thank you”.

“What happened? With Mysterio?”

“Haven’t you watched the news?” Even as he spoke, when Peter looked at you, he was amazed that despite the fact that he was still essentially a stranger to you, he could tell you genuinely cared and wanted to hear his side of the story. “I just mean… people seem to already know what happened.”

“I want to hear it from you. And I know you don’t know me, well like personally outside of the fact that I’m an Avenger and we used to work together on missions, and this is the first time I’ve seen your face, but you can trust me. I’ve done my fair share of bad things too.”

This caught his attention. You very rarely (and completely understandably) talked about your time as a Black Widow. In fact, he knew that Bucky and Nat were the only ones that you were comfortable enough to really confide in. You’d confessed one night that you didn’t want to talk about it with him too much because you were worried it would scare him away.

Seeing the way he looked at you as you spoke, you told him more. Not all the details, but the basics of how you came to be enrolled in the Black Widow program, how you were freed by Nat and Yelena, and how you still partially blamed yourself for the things that you were forced to do. “I know— Bucky says it’s not my fault, it’s not any of our fault, but I still can’t help but think it is, you know? And I just want to do good now, I want to help people. So when I saw you on the news, I thought there had to be more to the story. I may not know you, Peter, but I know Spider-Man. He was only ever good the entire time I knew him. So if you want to tell me what happened, I’ll listen.”

“How did you know I liked sriracha on my mac and cheese?”

You were silent, not expecting him to ask that of all questions. “I… huh?”

“After you put it in the bowl. You put some sriracha before giving it to me. Why?” He was trying to gauge just how much you remembered. You seemed to have some memories, just unaware that they were with him.

“I— I don’t know. I just did it. Sorry,” you leaned against the counter, now puzzled about why you did that too.

“If I tell you everything, you’ll think I’m crazy.”

You laughed, trying to make him feel more comfortable, “Peter I share a floor on the Avengers compound with a former Winter Soldier who’s over one hundred years old. And I can do this,” you raised your left hand, causing the energy to glow around it and Peter’s bowl to lift just a few inches off of the table. Once the bowl was set back down, you shrugged. “Nothing seems crazy to me anymore.”

He closed his eyes, wondering what he should do. But then he looked back at you, and you were looking at him the same way you always did, before you forgot who he was. With the same sense of kindness, and care, and he knew that he could trust you.

So… he told you everything. You both moved to the couch to be a little more comfortable, and Peter spent the next hour telling you every single thing, giving you the long-story-short version of events from the moment he was bit by the spider, to right now sitting here with you. You sat back, not doubting him for a second. It all sounded so crazy that it had to be true. He didn’t want to scare you off with how much he knew, but he told you little facts and stories that there’s no way he could’ve known unless you’d told him. And you wouldn’t have told him unless you knew him.

“And we… we were together?” You looked at him, and noticed him quickly wiping away a few tears.

“Yeah, we were.”

You scooted closer, suddenly feeling like you needed to be near him. When you gently put a hand on his face, he leans in to your touch, sighing as he closes his eyes. He missed you more than anything in the world. “I wish I could remember all of it. I’m sorry I don’t.”

“No, it’s my fault. I— I was the one who asked Dr. Strange to make everyone forget. And I thought yeah it might take awhile, but I’d come find you and make everything alright again. But life got complicated and I thought after all of this stuff with Mysterio, you wouldn’t want to know me anymore.”

“But I do know you Peter,” you smiled, reaching up to run your hands through his hair. “My mind may not remember you as a person, but I have these memories and I don’t think I could explain it other than the fact that my heart somehow remembers, as cheesy as that sounds. Like you said, little things like remembering your hot sauce on your mac and cheese, and even at Delmar’s I couldn’t put my finger on it but you felt so familiar. I swore I knew you even though to me I hadn’t seen you before.”

You were both silent for a moment. When you slowly removed your hand, Peter took it in his, now desperately craving your touch after having felt it again. “I just, I didn’t know what to do. And I still don’t. The world won’t believe me as quick as you did sweetheart.”

“Stephen.”

“Huh?”

“We need to talk to Stephen. He helped make everyone forget, and I’m not saying he should help make everyone remember after you told me what happened, but he’ll know what to do. And even if he doesn’t believe you at first, I’ll be right there. There has to be something we can do, the whole world can’t just keep on hating you for something that you didn’t even do.”

For the first time since losing May and everyone forgetting who he was, Peter was filled with hope. You may not remember him 100%, but you were now on his side and you believed everything he told you. Maybe things really could be fixed, at least on some level.

You both sat and talked for a little while longer, mostly you asking Peter questions about your relationship, and occasionally him asking you about how you’ve been doing since forgetting him. Then you came up with a rough plan, that wasn’t really a plan. You’d go to visit Stephen, and Peter would go to but he’d wait outside while you talked and explained as best you could. Although you didn’t work closely together, Stephen knew what you could do and he trusted you enough that you hoped he’d believe you.

“Maybe we should wait until it’s not, you know, pitch black outside,” you walked over to the window and glanced up at the moon. In both of your excitement at now having a plan, you were ready to rush out of the door right then and there. “I can come back first thing in the morning and then we can—”

“Will you stay, please?” Peter was terrified that if you left and went to bed, you’d somehow forget who he was by the time morning came around.

You nodded, standing up and finally stretching your arms. “I’m just gonna go take a shower and change, I’ll come back as soon as I’m done okay?” You put a hand over Peter’s reassuringly, and were a little surprised when he pulled you in for a hug, squeezing you tight. But after being in his arms for only a second, you wrapped your arms around him too. And this was another moment your body confirmed he was telling the truth. He felt like home.

“I’m gonna shower and change too, get out of this suit. I’ll leave my door unlocked incase you’re done before I am. You can just come in.”

After you went your separate ways, you took the fastest shower possible and changed into sweatpants and a plain shirt. When you made your way back to Peter’s apartment, you knocked before opening the door. You heard the shower still going from the bathroom, so you wandered around the apartment again, this time feeling a lot more comfortable.

On the other side of the couch, was a box that you hadn’t noticed before. It just one of those small brown boxes that had all 4 sides folded to keep it shut. Unable to contain your curiosity, you opened the box. And nothing in the world could’ve prepared you for the photograph you were looking at.

You didn’t know but it was taken the day Stephen made everyone forget. And it wasn’t you, or Peter, or MJ, or Ned, or anyone that took the photo. It was Karen, a photo taken by Peter’s suit, so it was from his point of view. When Peter was looking through all that Karen had captured on his old laptop one night, he stumbled upon the photo. And he knew it was stupid, but he printed a copy, wanting to remember them even if they’d forget him too.

Your hands shook just a little as you brought the photo closer to your face, wondering how all of this was connected.

“Hey I heard you come in, sorry I took so long—” Peter froze when he saw what photo you were holding. “Oh, t-that’s just—”

You cut him off, and just as nothing could’ve prepared you for the photo, nothing could’ve prepared Peter for what you said next.

“The one on the right, I know him.”

(((you’re referring to Andrew’s Peter)))

a;sdlkfjasg;hv.a,fights;gjsdf this was so fun to write!

#peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #no way home #no way home au #peter parker au #spider man au #spider man x you #spider man x reader #spider-man au #spider-man x reader #spider-man x you #tom holland #avengers #marvel #avengers au #marvel au #mcu #peter parker x fem!reader #spider man x fem!reader #spider-man x fem!reader #andrew garfield #matt murdock #daredevil #charlie cox #bucky barnes #yelena belova #sam wilson #tony stark #loki #thor

[cheralith]

to a heart's content — 「 single father!miguel o'hara x reader 」

content warnings ; fem!reader, use of she/her pronouns, "mother"/"daughter"/"wife" used, parental death, mentions of child abandonment, not too much mention of him being spider-man

contains ; single father!miguel o'hara, boss!miguel o'hara, assistant!reader, hints of pining, just some good ol' fluff for everyone's current favorite dilf, angst w/ comfort, heavy need of editing prob, not beta read

notes ; purely self-indulgent to fuel my love of found family trope apologies

parts: one two three four (tba)

Single Father!Miguel O'Hara whose life revolves essentially around one person—his daughter—but to be one of the heads of America’s largest corporation and bearing the responsibility of keeping Nueva York safe and sound whilst simultaneously being a single father was not exactly something that Miguel O’Hara could juggle so easily. Hell, he’s even surprised that he’s made it so far without losing his absolute sanity considering he couldn’t even recall the last time he was able to rest properly without his attention being wavered to something or someone else.

Single Father!Miguel whose hands always filled to the brim with tasks and obligations. Miguel wished he was able to clone himself twice in order to have three Miguel O’Haras attending to each of his duties soundly, but alas, Alchemax and the matter of his mind can only do so much.

Single Father!Miguel whose ever so lucky to have you as his assistant to at least help with two out of three of them. You entered the picture around three years ago, when he had caught the eye of his superiors and had used his intelligence to their own advantage, disguising it as a promotion of sorts. You were given as some sort of gift to them as a way to help ease his workload and he truly couldn’t be more thankful for your existence—if he doesn’t necessarily show it most of the time from his stoic countenance he masks on 24/7. While not exactly a carbon copy of him, you, by far, come rather close, and Miguel will take whatever comes to him in this day and age.

Single Father!Miguel who notices that you're obedient and demure, though rather soft spoken and a little too apprehensive for his liking at times (he had noticed, before you became his assistant, that your coworkers would shovel their workload onto you and you’d accept with little complaint but evident hesitation; he wonders if it was the given similarities between you and him that made him choose you as his assistant). You dressed well, hung onto every word he said, and spoke out when properly needed. You were a good aid to have around—great, even.

Single Father!Miguel who trusts you as both his assistant and a human being enough to leave his precious daughter in your care knowing full well she would be in good hands. Sometimes Alchemax would work him overtime, sometimes his duties as Spider-Man would interfere. No matter what it was, it delayed him from seeing and attending to his daughter’s needs, and thus, he had asked you once in a while to pick up and babysit his daughter after your usual 9-5.

Single Father!Miguel who, at the beginning, once in a while asked you to pick his daughter up from school. Once in a while turned into occasionally. Occasionally turned into sometimes. Sometimes turned into constantly, and next thing Miguel knew, you were the one that his daughter and teachers would look out for during school pick up time. He didn’t expect that you would become his assistant even outside of work, but you did, and Miguel can’t exactly turn back time now. He’s labeled you as his child’s unofficial secondary caretaker—you’re even listed as an emergency contact.

Single Father!Miguel who thinks you’re too polite for your own good. Miguel had asked you once if this was a burden, being his assistant both in and out of Alchemax, and if it became too much that you were more than free to quit at any sudden time without consequence. You had merely replied that you understood the struggles of being a single parent and that he shouldn’t be ashamed of asking for help when it was needed. 

Single Father!Miguel who notices that Gabriella views you more than just her occasional babysitter. When he'd come home late at night, he was usually greeted by you two doing something together, whether it be doing math homework together, baking cookies, you reading aloud to her, or just simply talking, he'd always catch you and her almost... bonding.

Single Father!Miguel who often dwells on the memory of young Gabriella asking innocently why she doesn't have two parents like the rest of her classmates, why she only had one parent compared to everyone else after witnessing she was the odd one out during Family Day. Miguel didn't, and still doesn't, have the courage to tell her that her real mother had abandoned her to him, leaving Miguel in the dust. Miguel used her naivety to his advantage. He disguised it as her being unique compared to others, that some moms just came later in life; she just happened to be a late bloomer.

Single Father!Miguel who always thanks you for staying late tucking Gabriella into bed when he couldn't. You constantly tell him that it's truly no problem, but he insists on thanking you every time and ever so subtly increasing your paycheck. How could he not? Especially considering the fact you always, always whip him up extra dinner that was tucked away for him to eat during the late hours of night.

Single Father!Miguel who feels uneasy as he opens up a fridge to find the said pasta left by you one night in a glass tupperware container, staring at how neatly it’s been plated despite its standard container. He juts it into the microwave as he attempts to ignore how quiet and desolate the kitchen and the apartment is, how the humming of the microwave and the humdrum of the ceiling fan are the only noise that floats through. And when he quietly eats the pasta serving meant for one, he can’t help but gaze longingly at the empty seat across the dining table, where someone else should be seated with him sharing the same meal.

Single Father!Miguel who finally has the time to pick up his daughter after school for once in the school year, but forgot to tell you that you were able to take the rest of the day off. So you, him, Gabriella, and essentially everyone are surprised when both you and Miguel show up to pick Gabriella up after school. One of the teachers goes to gush about how she's excited to meet Gabriella's dad and what a beautiful family you all are, to which you and Miguel, evidently flustered, explain loosely your relationship to each other and how it's merely professional (to one curly-headed third grader, though, it's not—but she'd never tell you and her father that. At least not now.).

Single Father!Miguel who tags along to Gabriella's after school soccer practice for once and despite your protests about you not wanting to interfere "family time", Miguel and his daughter convince you to come watch her like you usually did on Wednesdays. He says he doesn't mind at all and if anything, could use your presence there to ease his nerves since he'd be a newcomer to the soccer parent group.

Single Father!Miguel who watches attentively to how you support Gabriella on the field from the sidelines. He wonders tenaciously if you've fallen into routine of this—from helping her get ready into her uniform to offering small suggestions that help her on the soccer field. He doesn't miss the way her eyes go towards you whenever she did something right and he especially catches onto the fact that she would gush in pure happiness from your approval when you would throw a thumbs up or a delighted nod.

Single Father!Miguel who merely blinks at the compliments given by the two friendly soccer mom next to him.

"Gabi does certainly look a lot like you, but she still has (Y/N)'s beauty and kindness, doesn't she?"

"Oh yes, I agree. Your wife is nothing less of lovely, you know, you're a very lucky man, Mr. O'Hara!"

He's so caught up in trying to process both their words and Gabriella's action on the field, that it doesn't register to him until a few moments later. Miguel attempts to butt in, saying that you're just his subordinate, but when a loud cheer from the other team erupts through, his words fail him.

Single Father!Miguel whose mind is still so stuck on what the soccer moms had said about you that he didn't even realize Gabriella had made the winning goal for today's practice match. Lying through his teeth when asked about if he saw it from her, he realizes that perhaps he should start viewing you in a different light rather than just his daughter's babysitter because the way that Gabriella looks at you with such elation when you congratulate her on her win pulls at his heartstrings ever so slightly.

Single Father!Miguel who contemplates over and over again if he should be doing this—inviting you to Gabriella's first game of the season—the two purchased tickets he held in his fist. You've entered his home a dozen of times, but this would be the first time in three years that he was outside of your own residence. He thinks he's too dressed up for the occasion, cladded in a white button up and black dress pants. A voice asks him if he's his daughter's boyfriend, and Miguel whips around to face an elderly man with a questioned look on his face.

Single Father!Miguel who realizes that it's your father standing in front of him, spare key in hand. He's quick to say no (to your father's disappointment), and introduces himself as your superior. Your father invites Miguel inside your apartment, telling him that you were out fetching groceries and jokingly mentions he uses this opportunity to sneakily fill your cabinets and fridge of food. Your father complains you're too independent for your own good, but he can't exactly blame you—you grew up that way.

Single Father!Miguel who learns that once in your life you were just like his daughter and that in one point in your father's life, he was just like Miguel. All details shared from him, he learns that your mother passed away early in your life due to cancer and ultimately left you and your father to fend for yourselves. Your father tells Miguel that you often had helped out even when you didn't need to—and it doesn't take long for Miguel to piece the pieces together. Why you barely complain about the extra workload, why your father said you're too autonomous, and why all those years ago you not only sympathized with Miguel, but understood his situation as you came from the same exact upbringing.

Single Father!Miguel who listens intently when your father quietly tells him that all he wants for you is to find a good man that would be able to take care of you properly because he believes he wasn't able to. Miguel is quick to reassure him, however, that he did a fantastic job raising a selfless, humble woman that grew to be compassionate and considerate of others' needs, that you were the hardest worker he had ever seen and that he shouldn't discredit himself. Your father goes to examine Miguel for a moment before letting out a loud, haughty laugh in your apartment and jokingly (not really) tells Miguel he hopes that you'll marry him one day, or at least someone like him.

Single Father!Miguel whose resolve dissipates when you walk into your apartment to find your boss and your father talking amongst each other. He sits silently and awkwardly as you complain to your father about dropping by without any warning before you ask him what was he doing here in the first place. Your father takes his leave, winking at Miguel with a glint in his eye, leaving you two in your apartment alone.

Single Father!Miguel who finally gathers up the courage to ask you if you'd like to attend Gabriella's soccer game with him. You interject with visible hesitation, telling him that it was implied that it was a family-only event and you'd hate to intrude onto something so intimate, but he's quick to reassure you that his daughter would love to have you there considering all the help you had given her during her practices—if anything, she would need you there for your support.

Single Father!Miguel who tells you that Gabriella had shown visible distress last night when Miguel told her that you might not be able to come due to your non-familial relationship with them. He almost begged you to come with them, as Gabriella had even threatened to quit soccer altogether if you weren't there to witness her first game. When you give in after moments of contemplation, Miguel truly couldn't believe his luck.

Single Father!Miguel who roots alongside you for Gabriella and her team, watching oh so closely just in case someone from the other team did a dirty trick on his precious daughter. He'd sometimes occasionally glance at you, only to see you completely zoned in and focused on Gabriella's playing like the rest of the parents, offering your support through compliments and encouragements that his daughter always caught and would visibly improve from. When she finally scores the winning goal per usual, she's quick to ignore the cheers coming from her teammates and parents to run off the field and not look for Miguel first, but for you.

"Did you see me?!" Gabriella exclaims excitedly as she flings her arms around your waist. "Did you see what I did?!"

"I did, yes," you laugh, attempting not to stumble over from the impact with visible glee and crouch down to her height. Pride written all over your face, you grin. "And I'm so incredibly proud of you."

"It's 'cause I did what you taught me," she declares. "I pointed first and then I shooted!" She uses hand gestures to reanimate her play on the field.

"Shot, Gabi," you correctly gently, your fingers going to automatically comb out the tangles out of her hair like you usually did after practices. "It does come handy, doesn't it?"

"Yeah!" Her eyes go to see Miguel, who doesn't stalk too far behind with open arms and the same proud look painted on his face. "Dad! Didja see me?! Didja see that I scored?!"

Miguel lets out a once-in-a-blue-moon chuckle and lifts his daughter into his arms, her arms wrapping around his neck in an affirming hug. "I saw very clearly, mi cariño, and I can't wait to brag about how my daughter scored the winning shot for her team," he compliments warmly.

Gabriella goes to point gleefully in your direction. "It was all because of Miss. (Y/N)," she declares, not knowing that her statement would make a rush of heat bloom onto your face.

"O-oh no... I only... w-well," you stammer out meekly, trying to find the right words. "I'm actually not too knowledgeable on soccer... I only repeated what I found online and—"

"Thank you," Miguel starts off fondly. "(Y/N), truly. Thank you."

You stare at him. "Mr. O'Hara..."

He sets Gabriella down for her to join her rejoicing teammate and pats the small of your back with a grateful look plastered on his face. You were so used to seeing the rather stoic and often tired side of Miguel O'Hara that you forgot he, too, was capable of smiling at times, so when you spotted the small of a grin on his lips that was for you specifically, you felt something in your chest jerk a little bit.

"If it weren't for you being here," he starts off quietly so only you can hear. "Gabi wouldn't have participated at all. She wanted you to come so she'd have enough courage to play because she was so used to you supporting her," Miguel glances at his daughter giggling about on the field. "So it was understandable that if her biggest supporter wasn't here to cheer her on, she wouldn't exactly do her best."

You blink slowly at him, digesting his words in order to truly savor them for all that they were. "I was just—"

"—doing your job?" Miguel finishes for you. He shakes his head. "Last time I remember, 'attending your boss's daughter's soccer games' wasn't on your job description," he says, earning a soft chuckle out of you despite his rather flat tone.

"I suppose so," you murmur with an evident warmth in your eyes, one that Miguel is sure Gabriella has seen numerous times and will continue to welcome as long as you're around.

So when after a dinner celebration at her favorite restaurant, after the star player is tucked into bed after a long day's work, Miguel takes it upon himself to do the what he thought was the impossible for him but possible for Gabriella.

"Stay safe out there," Miguel directs quietly as he helps you put on your coat again. "And again, thank you for today."

"It was my pleasure, Mr. O'Hara," you reply, "And I actually had fun today, so I can thank you for that."

He escorts you down the apartment complex to the lobby and begins to watch you leave, the words on his tongue tipping ever so slowly before they spill the moment you're about to exit through the doors.

"(Y/N)."

At the sound of your voice, you turn to him with a questioning look on your face. "... yes?"

Miguel opens and closes his mouth like a fish for a couple of seconds before blurting out, "Are you free tomorrow evening?"

He scans your face for a reaction before surprise paints itself on your moonlit features. "I-I suppose I am," you nod slowly. "May I ask why?"

"Gabi is having a sleepover at one of her teammate's house," Miguel coughs out and shoves his hands into his pockets to hide their fidgeting.

"Do you need me to drop her off...?" you ask, clearly puzzled.

"No, um," he clears his throat again. "I was... I was actually wondering if you'd... if you'd like to check out that new restaurant that opened up on Clark..."

Regret pools in his mouth the second it falls from his lips and he begins to internally conjure some sort of half-assed lie, perhaps saying something along the lines of the company wanted him to review it for a potential cater in the future or that a friend of his worked there, but when he sights your eyes softening with the same warmth from earlier, he lets you take the reigns on fate.

"I'd quite like that," you murmur, a modest smile on your lips.

a/n ; i told you i was going to give into temptation. wrote this on a plane with no wifi on the way here (thank god for offline editing!)

anyways, i'm trying to squeeze this bit out before my plane ride tmrw since i've been travelling for the past week and a half! i'll be returning home soon where i can finally write to my heart's content, phew! i just reallyyyyy wanted to write something for miguel adjdjfkfalwf but fear not! we shall be back to our regularly scheduled program soon!

as always, thank you for reading and likes+comments+reblogs are always appreciated and never unnoticed（╹◡╹）♡!

#spider-man: across the spider verse #across the spider verse #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel o'hara smut #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara imagine #atsv miguel #across the spider verse x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #fem!reader

[hrhmimieucliffe]

#across the spiderverse #atsv #atsv miguel #spiderman atsv #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderverse #spider man: across the spider verse #miguel o’hara #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel ohara fanart #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel o’hara fanfiction #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x you #miguel x black reader #miguel x black reader smut #miguel x you #miguel spiderman #spiderman #spiderman 2099 x reader #spider man atsv #spiderman2099

[coryosbaby]

Who Has a Face Like Smarty Does?

—“Why don’t you just listen?”

Fandom: “Spider-Man: Across the Spiderverse”

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem! Spider! Reader

Summary: You don’t know when to follow orders.

Cw: dubcon/cnc, nsfw . spanking, daddy kink, age gap, spitting, size kink, biting, marking

🩷🤍

“You’re such a fucking brat.” Miguel pounds into you at a restless pace, fangs bared sharp and scraping against your jugular. “Why don’t you just listen? Huh? Are you that fucking stupid?”

Your eyes roll back as his incredibly thick length bruises your walls. You know you’ve been bad; going directly against his orders to help Miles is probably the worst thing you could do. And getting sassy about— having an attitude— definitely didn’t help. So when he threw you into his office and ripped the crotch of your latex suit, exposed your puffy cunt to the room, and bent you over his desk, you knew you were in deep trouble.

It hurts, the way he’s fucking you. But you know he doesn’t want you to feel pleasure. You know he wants to break you. Blood coats your tits in thick red stains, bite marks running along your neck and jaw from where he sunk his fangs into you. Aphrodisiacs, they are; and when they sink into you all you can think of his thick, hard cock, bulging muscles and handsome face. You’re like a bitch in heat.

“‘M sorry, daddy!” You cry out. It’s too much, but you know he won’t stop.

“Oh, you’re going to be sorry, little girl.” He growls. “Daddy’s gonna fill this fucking cunt up. That’ll teach you to mind your manners, won’t it?”

“Yes daddy- fill me up! Please fill my pussy up, need it s’ bad..”

It’s all you can say. His hands curl up into the position they make when he’s about to shoot the webs from his wrists; the sound of the sticky substance landing on your shoulders makes your mouth gape as he uses his own webs to lift your body firmly off the wooden desk. Your nipples barely graze it as he speeds his pace up. A damn near impossible speed for a normal man, but Miguel O’Hara is not normal.

He moans when he looks down and sees your creamy spend leaking down his cock and balls. His thick thighs are hitting your ass as he ruts into you. “mi amor, estás chorreando…” translation: My love, you’re dripping.

Other harsh disgusting words spew from his lips. Your gaping snatch is closed tightly around him as he sinks his fangs into you again.

Your eyes roll back, a pained but also pleasured cry leaving your soft lips, legs shaking and cunt drenching him. His claws dig into your sides and then he reels back and slaps your ass. You gasp, and begin fucking back onto him when he does it again.

“Oh, look at you,” Miguel teases. “You want more of my slaps, little one? Do you want to be punished?”

You nod, and his hands come down onto you again.

“Miggy..”

“I want you to cum, mi amor.” He states breathlessly. “Rub your clit and wet my fuckin’ dick.”

You don’t understand why he’s letting it happen so soon. Wasn’t this supposed to be a punishment? But you listen to him anyway, and begin to rub the swollen nub with harsh strokes. Your orgasm has you practically screaming— and afterwards, Miguel doesn’t let up. He abuses your womb over and over until you can’t even breathe. It’s borderline painful, and your body feels completely spent and used.

By your tenth or eleventh orgasm, he’s got you pinned to the wall by his webs with his arms holding your neck in a chokehold. He eats your cunt out with his bloody mouth, and your eyes are rolling back, little nghhhs sighing out of you as he slurps your sopping wet hole. Your vision is going fuzzy, but you don’t care.

“Are you learning your lesson, mami?” He groans, as he pulls away from your cunt and rubs harshly on your clit with his thumb. You sob, nodding, drool leaking out of the corners of your plush mouth.

“‘S.. ‘s too much, miggy. Please, I can’t take it anymore..” you whine, but his fingers harshly slap your pussy and you jolt with a cry.

“You take what I give you.” He says, and then he’s ripping the webs from your body and letting you slide down the wall onto the floor with the help of his strong hands. You cry, legs trying to run away from him; you know you want it, but your body is drained.

Miguel growls, his claws grabbing you in a loose grip and dragging you back to his cock.

“Don’t run away from me, little bitch. You need to be fucking disciplined! This cunt is going to cum again whether you like it or not.”

You pant against his crotch as he shoves your face into his pubic hair. The smell of his pheromones makes your eyes roll back.

Your cunt pulses again.

—fuck, you’re in trouble.

© 2023 bratty-lxndry444 🤏🏻 all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, modify, repost, or claim as yours !!!

#Miguel O’Hara #Miguel O’Hara x reader #Miguel O’Hara x fem! reader #Miguel O’Hara smut #Spider-Man #Spider-Man: into the spiderverse #Miguel O’Hara fanfic

[scoobysnakz]

miguel who fucks you soft. sloppy kisses against your lips as he pumps into you, soft clicking sounds filling the bedroom. he loves taking his time with you, watching you writhe against the sheets and moan in ecstasy with the pleasure only he can give you.

he loves sucking your swollen nipples softly, tongue circling around the hardened nub as his free hand reaches up to gently flick the other. he always makes sure you’re doing okay, cant have his cariño covered in bruises and hickeys, now, can he?

the sticky white ring that forms on the base of his cock drives him insane, but he refuses to go too hard, scared if hurting his precious girl and that you won’t like it.

he props your body up with a pillow under your head, tilting it upwards so he can look you in the eyes as he spews random praise, barley stringing together coherent sentences.

this has to feel good for you, your climax always comes first no matter what.

spider-man who ravishes you. he’ll drag his talons along your plush skin, not caring that it will leave a mark for all to see, he wants people to know your his. he leaves a trail if heated, desperate kisses down your neck before nipping at your erect nipples, only growing harder at the shocked whines that escape you.

his hips snap fiercely against your ass, his balls slapping harshly onto your already reddened skin. he delivers brutal slaps to your ass, loving the way it stays red, knowing it will stay that way for ages.

its all about getting his cock as deep inside you as possible, filling you up with his cum so you can have his little arañas, so you can give him a family.

he wants to see you thrashing around, hips twitching upwards for more when he pulls out, edging you because he knows you’ll accept it.

by the time he’s finished with you, you’re covered in hickeys and buries, red marks all over your body from where his fangs have caught while he was hungrily sucking on every inch of you, scratches from when your cunt milked him too well and his talons sprung out.

#miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #spider man 2099 #spiderman 2099 #miguel x reader #miguel x you #miguel x fem!reader #miguel x y/n #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x y/n #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel smut #miguel ohara smut #miguel o'hara smut #smut

[luveline]

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐲 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨'𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

miguel assumes you're mad when you stop initiating kisses and tries to get back on your good side —featuring grumpy but lovelorn miguel and his head-in-the-clouds spider-girl. requested here. fem!reader, 3k.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

"Gàn de piàoliang!" cheers the puppy at the bottom of your screen. Well done.

You smile at him and slide your finger across a lilac candy to make another three-match. 

The music playing from your phone quietens as a text lines the top of the screen. You click it as soon as you recognise the contact picture beside it, your handsome Miguel with a filter over his face that paints rosy pink hearts over his high cheeks. 

Finished. his text says. 

Miguel is a man of little words. Over the phone he talks even less, easier to draw blood from stone than harness a conversation with him that isn't in person. His text demarcates the wall of messages you sent him earlier, not wanting for a reply but bursting to tell him things as they happened. 

You put your phone down carefully. It's one of your most treasured possessions, shimmering and high tech, you can fold it down the middle to fit in your little spider suit pockets, though the amount of charms and beads hanging from it now impedes that particular functionality.

Miguel gave it to you as a gift without any fanfare around the time you started staying in his apartment in the society, and while your bunking with him was supposed to be temporary, the phone is for keeps. You've decorated it accordingly.

The best charm is a beaded translucent jellyfish, and not solely because it's beautiful: Miguel has a matching one that he showcases shamelessly. 

You rush into his neat bathroom and lean heavily on the counter, propping your hand on the faucet to hold your weight as you assess your reflection in the mirror. When you turn your face, your nose shines in the light. 

You decide it's best to wash up. Miguel will be back soon enough. 

You get distracted by skincare, toner pads resting on your cheeks when you hear the door opening. A waste to take them off prematurely, you pat them flat to your skin and meet Miguel in his bedroom half ready. 

"I can see why you didn't text me back," he says, giving you a quick glance from the corner of his eye as he walks past the bed and your waiting phone. He beelines for the kitchenette and disappears around the corner. "What do they do, the squares?" 

"They're calming, I think," you say, following his path from the bathroom to the small kitchen. 

His apartment is big but not huge. The main room is his bedroom, with enough space for a couch and a TV he never uses that comes out of the wall. To the right is a utility closet for storage and a walk-in wardrobe, and to the left lies the kitchen and the bathroom. It takes you all of ten seconds to be by his side. 

Bottles rattle as Miguel opens the fridge. He grabs sparkling water for himself and a fruit tea concoction for you. You hadn't followed him for that, but you accept it anyway. 

He looks tired. Tilting his head back to drink, you eye the stiff set to his shoulders and the way he rolls his arm out, orchestrating an offer for a massage in your head. 

Miguel squints at you. "What?" 

"What?" you ask back. 

He doesn't explain. He screws the lid back on to his water and closes the fridge. 

With his empty hand, Miguel reaches for your face. You stay very still in anticipation of his touch, imagining how he might take your cheek in his hand and pull you close, or perhaps curl thick, long fingers behind your neck and guide your chin up. He can be rough in odd ways, as though he's unaware of his strength. 

"It's slimy," he says in disgust, pulling a toner pad from your left cheek. 

"It's going to make my skin clearer." 

"There's nothing wrong with your skin." True or not, you know it's Miguel's way of being sweet. He takes the second toner pad too, tossing them in the trash with a huff. "That's better. You look normal. Or, as normal as possible." 

"Jerk!" you say through a smile, thinking now's the moment. 

But Miguel hasn't peeled away your skincare to kiss you. He pats a spot of dampness on your cheek away with the back of his hand and turns on his heel, gunning for a change of clothes and a shower, if you know him. "Drink your tea. Did you eat? Me preocupo por ti." 

You sigh and trail after him. "I was waiting for you to come back. It's Vietnamese week in the cafeteria, they're making cá kho tộ. Do you like that? It's sweeter than hake." 

"It's fish?" 

"Catfish. Caramelised catfish." You sit down on the bed, flipping your phone open to play your game while he decides. 

That, and to ignore the inkling of doubt blossoming like mould under heat in your chest. An achy sort of worry… 

Does Miguel not want to kiss you? 

"What's the other option? I don't like sweet foods." 

You knew that already. "You could make pasta?" you suggest. 

"You'd love that." 

"Are you teasing me?" 

Miguel pokes his head out of the wardrobe, and with it comes his naked chest. His muscles are insane, lean tanned stretches of cord pulled taut as he grabs a shirt. "I'm making an observation. You like carbs." 

"Everyone likes carbs, Miguel, especially Spiders." 

"I know, but I don't make anyone else dinner." He's definitely flirting now, his voice playful and soft. "I'll make you pasta if you want." 

Why hasn't he kissed you? Offering to make you dinner, smiling at you just as soon as his face has been pulled through his t-shirt. He's acting as affectionate as a man who'd like to kiss you without pulling through. 

Well, maybe you kiss him too much. Come to think of it, you initiate the vast, vast majority of kisses, and you must kiss him twice a day at least. Miguel clearly favours you, but it's possible he isn't interested in as much physicality as you and hasn't had the heart to say. He likes watching vintage movies at night and half the time you're not interested in those. You haven't said a word about it because things between you are new and you like his being happy watching the things he enjoys. Miguel could be doing the same, allowing hugs and kisses he doesn't necessarily want in order to avoid hurting your feelings. 

A favourite phrase of his cuts through your thinking, "¿Alguien en casa?" Anyone home?

"Oh, sorry, were you not getting enough attention?" you ask him, pretending to be more nonchalant than you are as you open the match game on your phone. 

The puppy barks hello. 

"Ah, you're a cómico now." Miguel sits on the bed beside you in sweatpants, reaching across the sheets to give your arm a shake. "I said, I'll make you pasta if you want pasta." 

"I want what you want," you say honestly. 

He stares at you. You're not sure what he's confused about. "Alright. Did you want it now?" he asks. 

"Yes, serf," you say, laughing when he knocks your phone out of your hand and stands in a dramatised annoyance. 

You play a couple levels of your game to give him space. He's quiet as he washes his hands and gets out the cookware, but he appears curious in the door, rag between his hands. "You're not gonna come and sit with me? I really am your maid." 

Eager for an invitation, you join him in the kitchen. You brace yourself behind you to hop onto the counter and find his hands on your hips, helping you up. 

Miguel meets your eyes as he does, not close but enough to beckon down for a kiss. You think about doing it. He might let you, his straight lashes pointed with his gaze, his eyes a heavy weight where they trace your features unhurried. 

"How come you didn't text me back earlier?" he asks. 

"Oh, I didn't know you were expecting me to. I'm sorry, handsome, I was kind of grody–"

"Grody? I doubt that–" 

"–I figured I'd wash up before you got back." 

"So you were busy?" he asks, returning to the chopping board at the left of the stove. He picks up a glinting-sharp knife. "Not something else?" 

"No, why? Was I supposed to do something today?" 

Miguel begins slicing into a tomato, red skin splitting to reveal greener insides. "No. No, just wondering." 

You lean back against the wall, crossing a leg over your thigh. He's being kind of off. Your first impulse is to try and kiss it better but that directly fights your new theory. Being nice physically is far from your only weapon. 

"Did you have a good day?" you ask, and here's where you'd pull him close or sidle up behind him and twist his hair around your finger. "I was thinking about you a lot. Did the strike mission go okay?" 

"Fine. You didn't come see me, but it was fine." 

You eye him from the corner of your vision. He's still cutting up tomatoes, a pan of olive oil and minced garlic simmering between you. 

"I sent you all those photos," you say. 

One of the Peter's you hang around with got his arm stuck in a window after he said, "Is that a bad idea, do you think? I really wanna try," and Hobie said, "They can't stop you." 

The 'they' being unknown, Hobie was right. No one could stop Peter once he started climbing, but the window could certainly stop him from getting down. You'd sent Miguel pictures of his dangling body up in the atrium like a dark splodge, as well as a blurry photo of your face when you'd accidentally turned the camera. He responded to that one with a heart but the rest he didn't touch. 

"They got him down eventually," you continue, "but I had to stay for moral support! And to feed him popcorn so he didn't starve. Was it peaceful without me?"

"You know I like when you visit me, right?" he asks carefully. 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah?" he mimics, waving his hand at you. "Can't deal with you. Get the cream from the fridge." 

You eat dinner as you and Miguel tend to do —you talk your way through it happily, smiling and joking, and he puts extra helpings on your plate when you aren't looking. 

The alien quality of what you're doing rears its head briefly. He's trying to stop the quasi apocalypse. You're willing to help, though you'd been more interested in Miguel and getting to know his enigma than your responsibilities. Weird how love makes you want to be better. 

"What was your course like?" Miguel asks, when the dishes have been set aside for washing and you've showered for the night. 

He's talkative tonight. 

"They taught us how to wield a baton," you say, climbing into his bed with a tired sigh. "One girl was crazy about it. She kind of looked like me…" You yawn, looking for his waist as he settles in the sheets and pillows next to you. "You're lucky I got my claws into you when I did. At least I'm not murderous. Much." 

Miguel covers your hand on his ribs. He squeezes your fingers together gently like he's collecting them under his palm for borrowing. 

"You didn't get your claws in me. I'm not easily led." 

"Course not," you snort. You actually agree with him, but he said it too seriously for bedtime. 

Miguel abandons your hand to pull you in, encouraging your head and upper chest onto his, hand coasting up and down the length of your arm lovingly. Firmly, like a massage, but adoring nonetheless. You languish in his touches and rub your lips, still tingling from spearmint, against the collar of his shirt gently. As indirect a kiss as you can manage, practically sick with longing after a day unkissed. 

"Are you mad at me?" he asks into the quiet.

You pause, fingers with a mind of their own as you take a long strand of hair that curls under his ear between them, combing it flat. "Why, have you done something?" you ask, hiding your confusion with a delighted lilt. 

"I've been trying to work that out." Frustration seeps into his voice, roughened syllables drawn tight, "But you're evasive." 

"I'm evasive," you say softly, tilting your head back to meet his eye. "Miguel, why do you think I'm mad at you? I'm not mad." 

Miguel glares at you. Brows furrowed, an especially formidable downturn to an otherwise pretty mouth, he looks as though he wants to start a fight with you, and as though he doesn't believe it. 

"I'm not mad," you insist, sitting up a little. 

"Then…" 

You scrunch your brows at him. "You've been thinking I was mad at you all day? Why didn't you say something, handsome?" 

He might roll his eyes at your pet name if he weren't knee deep in relief. You didn't know being mad at him was something he'd be sad with, and yet there he is lying beneath you, blowing a big enough exhale to ruffle the hair from his forehead. 

Miguel takes your face into one hand. Your eyelashes flutter against his palm like a shuddering butterfly wing as you lean into his touch, more than happy to offer him whatever relief it is he needs while enjoying in the feeling of being close to him. 

"You haven't kissed me all day," he says quietly. "I thought I must've pissed you off, 'cos you're more piranha than girl sometimes, but you weren't acting any weirder than usual beyond that." 

You roll your eyes and hide your face in his hand. He's kidding around, and his thumb rubs over your skin tenderly to prove it. 

"You're not mad?" he asks again. 

You kiss his palm. You kiss his wrist, happy when he knows the moves like a well practised dance, his fingers sliding behind your ear to steady you as you dip down for a kiss. 

It's a good kiss. Warm mouths vying for one another but trying not to seem desperate, Miguel's hand behind your ear growing harsher as you pull a breath against his lips. You press your hand into his pec too hard. 

"Sorry," you murmur, stealing another fast kiss and pulling away. 

You barely feel how uncomfortably you're skewed, you're that happy. 

"Is there a reason you wouldn't kiss me?" he asks. 

"I'm, like, always the first one to initiate and I kinda got it in my head maybe you didn't want me kissing you that much…" You grin at him. "The whole time you're playing twenty questions with me wishing I'd lay one on you. You know you have a voice for more than yelling at people, right?" 

Miguel gets this look in his eyes then, rolling his jaw a touch at the supposed audacity of what you've said. The tip of his tongue works at his canine tooth, his eyebrows rising as he asks, "Oh, is that how you're talking to me tonight?" 

"How else should I talk to you, Miguel?" 

He doesn't bother with swiftness nor a show of strength as he rolls you onto your back. He settles above you with measured movements, a pleased smirk playing on his lips now. His eyes are dark, pupils wide as dimes.

"With compassion, mi cielo," he says.

"Have some sympathy for me," you implore him, wrapping your arms around his waist. It diffuses the tension, though neither party minds, evidenced by Miguel's easy relaxation and your ecstatic mood. Happiness bubbles up like carbonated bubbles, your chest awake with a fizzing excitement. "You really thought I was mad 'cos I wasn't kissing you?" 

He avoids the question. "You think you're the only one who initiates?" he asks genuinely. 

"Why didn't you kiss me, then? When you came home?" 

"Your face was wet." 

"And after when we were eating dinner?" 

Miguel smiles at you. No sarcasm, no stress. He leans down to kiss you chastely, pulling away to say, "I thought you were definitely mad at that point." 

"A kiss would've made me feel better." 

You realise how quiet your bubble of the world really is for that handful of seconds, Miguel holding himself above you, your hands loose behind the broad stretch of his back. 

"You know you can just ask me, yeah? You don't have to worry and wonder how I'm feeling. I'll tell you how I'm feeling if you want to know." 

"Cariño, I always want to know," he says. 

You breathe out slowly. Miguel takes your face into his hand for another kiss, or so you think —he pinches your cheek. 

"And I always want to kiss you," he says quickly, climbing off of you. 

"Where are you going?" 

"I need a drink." 

A break from sincerity. You don't mind that he needs to walk it off as long as he comes back. You stretch out on your back and cover your face with your hands. 

"People think I'm the weird one," you say into them.

A hand clamps around your ankle and tugs you down. You shriek with startled laughter and climb away from him as he lands on top of you, a cold water bottle held to your bare neck. 

"No!" you laugh. 

Miguel laughs in tandem and presses it further down. 

"I really am going to be mad at you if you don't quit!" You yelp as condensation wets your collar. "Miguel!"

"You're a wimp," he says with a bright smile. 

You push him with some enhanced super strength and manage to get the water bottle off of your neck, but Miguel makes up for any differences in strength with enthusiasm and muscle alike, shoving you down. 

You're laughing and pleading at the same time, "Please, Miguel, stop, it's sooooo cold." 

Miguel laughs, dropping the bottle somewhere above your head, covering the cooled stripe of your skin with his big hand. The sound is warming enough, but you let him sweat for a second, content to be doted on. 

He gives you a once over. "I'll kiss you first more," he promises. 

"Starting now, please, handsome. Mi cielo." 

Miguel groans and digs his arms under your back. You don't fight it as he drags you back to the top of the bed. In fact, you quite enjoy it. You lay back to receive his sorry pecks and his all encompassing hug, forgetting what you'd been worried about one damp crescent moon of a kiss at a time.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading!

#miguel and spidergirl reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara fanfiction #miguel o’hara fanfic #miguel o’hara fic #miguel o’hara drabble #miguel o’hara scenario #miguel o’hara blurb #miguel o’hara oneshot #spider-man: across the spider-verse #spider-man: across the spider-verse spoilers #spider-man: across the spider-verse fanfiction #across the spider-verse spoilers #across the spider verse spoilers #across the spiderverse spoilers #spiderman across the spider-verse spoilers #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x y/n #miguel ohara x fem!reader #miguel ohara #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel ohara fanfic #miguel ohara fic #miguel ohara drabble #miguel ohara scenario

[diejager]

a Miguel x f!reader "who did this to you?" Angst fic?

Bittersweet Devotion

Pairing : Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Cw: angst, neglect, canon death, dead wife, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 3.5k

Miguel’s been distant these days, the world around him coming to a stop. His temper shortened and his patience dropped lower than it was before, but his attentiveness to his work sharpened. He divulged more of his time to the cause, to defend the multiverse from every anomaly that kept popping up in wildly different universes, at the cost of his personal life. Ever since the *Miles issue* had been dealt with (Spots was stopped from ending Captain Morales’ life prematurely, the canon was kept safe and intact, but his parents knew of his identity and his duty to New York and the multiverse.), Miguel shut himself inside the main office, closed off from the wandering Spider-people he brought over to help him protect their livelihood. 

Atop his platform, he worked tirelessly, swiping screen to screen in search of any escaping anomalies. He depended on Lyla to help him search and the rest of the community to capture and contain these anomalies before they could be sent back to their appropriate universe, closing the rifts they used to escape. The brooding Spider-Man locked himself in, imposing shoulder peering from the edge of his high-floating platform while he stayed there most nights; days even, he hadn’t returned to your shared apartment in the building. He ate when you, Jess or Peter B. brought food to him, he drank and cleaned only when you urged him to do so. 

Staying in his den meant that he rarely slept, the dark bags under his beautiful eyes growing as the days passed. Anomalies appeared left and right, Spiders were dispersed to catch them, sometimes in solo missions, and other times in teams if Miguel deemed it necessary for the anomaly (Green Goblins, Vultures and Sandman were some that were harder to deal with for their volatile attacks.). If you weren’t sent away on a retrieval mission, you’d be working around his office, keeping it clean and usable while he moved around, growling and throwing things as he went.

That’s where things became complicated, Miguel hated meddling and you were often in his space. While he was soft and caring in your shared room (the one he hadn’t been in for weeks now), he was domineering and imposing around the others. His shorter temper meant he often hissed and growled at you, brown eyes glimmering red as he sneered your way. You hadn’t made much of it, contributing his issues to the stress and anxiety he felt while shouldering all this madness. His glares and growls meant little, he was under pressure, but his words, his rants in your face hurt.

His words burned you to your core, the degrading things he screamed at you when you did something that might’ve ticked him off or the insults he’d throw your way when you did something he deemed unsatisfactory. They stung, but you ignored the pain that tore into your heart, the tears that threatened to fall and the anger you felt at his shrugs. You simply missed him. 

Didn’t you deserve some affection? To feel the tender caresses of Miguel’s hands on your skin, the loving promises of his dreams and wishes, and the adoring stares he sent your way. Were you selfish for wanting that? For wanting to have your lover back in your arms. Or were you feeling neglected from the time you spent alone in your bed, the faded scent of his musk, the coldness of your apartment and the uneaten and forgotten plates on the dining table? Were you at fault for feeling forgotten? To sacrifice one for the good of thousands. To sacrifice your love for the safety of all universes. Did one outweigh the other?

“Hijo de puta! Why can’t you do anything right?!” He’d scowl at you, talons digging into the metal of his desk. The ear-splitting sound echoed as he dragged his talons to the edge of the table, red eyes brimming with wrath. He seemed on a warpath, ripping into anything he could get his talons in and throwing the things he could lift off the platform. (Motherfucker-)

You skipped around the objects he threw in his fit, ducking under a chair he gripped and swung randomly, over the desk he kicked, and around the cabinet, he swiped at. Every object he used to vent his emotions were light, in comparison to your given strength. He’d complain afterwards about his things being broken and needing fixing, something you helped him with unless they were too technologically advanced for your time. You webbed all the things you could, aiming your wrist and quickly sticking your end to the floating platform when it stuck to the victims of Miguel’s power. 

You danced around him, catching everything without getting too close to Miguel. He acted without thinking at times in these fury-filled moments, eyes tinging red and reverting to his more animalistic side. He’d warned you before about staying clear of him, to wait until he calmed himself down and realized the devastation of his office. Then he’d apologize and kiss you in hopes you’d forgive him (you always did, you knew his biology made him different - more violent - than you and the Spiders.). You’d fix the platform up, remake the broken parts or simply forget about it, like the many cabinets he ended up buying instead of patching them up.

Now especially, his tantrums began more often and lasted longer, a common occurrence when it was rare months ago. You couldn’t fault him, you didn’t want to, even if your heart throbbed painfully at his words, shoulders curving under the immensity of his tone and actions. You loved him, so you’d bare him in his best as in his worst.

“Detente- Simplemente detente!” In his fits of rage, Miguel reverted to his vulgarity, spitting Spanish words at anyone he faced. His voice was low and gravely, body convulsing as he swung at the fizzling, orange screens, dissipating under his aggressive gesture. (Stop- Just stop!)

When his fuse popped, he’d throw words left and right in Spanish, the enchanting slur of his Mexican accent turning hellish, slamming loudly like the Hephaestus’ hammer. Along his hit came the blow, the effects following them. Whether they were positive or negative, he pushed on, frenziedly hammering the weight of his words into whoever was the nearest to him. Which, coincidentally, happened to be you at the moment when you climbed onto his platform to relay the summarised report of last week’s missions from every Spider.

You let him ramble in silence, watching him twist on the spot and walk circles before his desk, turning and gesturing arbitrarily at something that wasn’t there. He’s expressive with his love, his spite, his care, his needs and his fury. He’d make big motions with his hands, voice dipping low and sometimes rising high with the pitch of his impatience. He growls when he’s displeased. He roars when he’s furious. He spits when he’s agitated. He smirks when he’s pleased. If not his voice or his lips, his eyes shine with emotion, showing those who knew how to read him how he felt.

That’s why you ignored the sharp nabs at your person, the low jabs at your work and how you dealt with the other Spiders as his right hand, or at your simple performance of his care. He didn’t want your care when he was busy, he didn’t want your soft and soothing words when he was tracking down another anomaly with vehement hate, and he didn’t want your meddling when he was focused on important matters of the multiverse. 

He was stressed, and pressure mounted over self-expectations made him lose himself. Down went his tolerance for failure and mistakes. Down went his awareness of his needs. Down went his patience with people and Lyla. Every man and woman would buck under intense pressure, some would break and stop working, and others would submit to the fate of their failures, but Miguel persevered, he pushed and pushed, pulling at the strings he could grasp, even the shortest ones. 

“Can you just- Coño- can you just shut up for a second?!” Miguel bucked, slamming his fist into the desk. It’d probably leave a dent for you or him to fix, a hole in the shape of his fist. 

You rushed to him, hand wrapping around his upper arm, supporting his hunched body as you webbed a chair closer to him, pulling on the synthetic fibre until it was behind Miguel. You whispered encouraging words into his ear, easing him into sitting on the rolling furniture. His legs shook, falling limp when he finally sat down, back slumped over and head low. You ran your fingers through his hairline, pulling up his wild mane. His eyes were closed, bags the deepest you’d seen, and his cheeks were sunken, near sickly. 

A chill wracked your body at his deteriorating appearance, his exhaustion had finally caught onto him. You wanted to fuss over him, to berate him for letting it get this far, but his exhausted figure made you frown and rethink your words. You couldn’t let this go on, you’d have to sit him down and talk to him after you took care of him. You lowered the platform, watching Miguel from the corner of your eye until you reached the lowest it could go. 

“Miguel,” you hushed, pressing your lips to his cheek, soft and gentle for his fatigue. “We need to get you to our room, you can’t work anymore.”

He grumbled, feet weakly moving to ease the weight on your shoulders, you wanted to remind him that you were strong and that you could easily carry him back if you wanted, but he liked to keep his pride as the strongest, the boss that people could depend on. You nodded at those who gave you worried glances, shaking their helping hands for carrying him (you knew Miguel wouldn’t have liked others to touch him so casually.) and asked some to run errands for you while you two were busy. Lyla would take over for now, until you took care of Miguel.

“Let me help you, Miggy. Let me take care of you.”

He slept better than night, the best sleep he’d gotten in weeks - months - and was grounded to a week of rest and recuperation. You helped him shower, washing his back and hair. You cooked his favourite dishes, following the Mexican cooking books you had laying around. You gave him daily massages for the aches over his shoulders and back, massing the tenseness off his arms and legs. At night, you’d force him to bed, blocking his access to his office and kissing him goodnight. The sun rose with you, you rode Hélio’s chariot, turning his nights into mornings as you pulled Selena’s moon into the sky.

While he rested, you worked tirelessly to fill in Miguel’s seat, scouring the multiverse for anomalies and sending Spiders to deal with them. You had Lyla run diagnostics and simulations about the chance for future appearances, playing the game of prediction and bettering the percentage after each successful prediction. Peter B. and Jess could help you around the clock, they shared the job you had as Miguel’s right-hand and worked fantastically together when put in charge of it. They were still sent on missions if you and Lyla determined it was too difficult to face alone, they were skilled and had experience, and they would mentor those who needed help. If the case came forward, you would step away from the office and jump through the multiverse, aiding your fellow Spiders to capture anomalies while Lyla took care of the office. 

Miguel came back healthier, stronger and more energetic. He thanked you in the forms of kisses and hugs, gratified words and gestures that made your heart warm, flutter like wings. It nearly made you forget all the heartache he burdened you with within the past months. Nearly. 

Something had ticked Miguel off, his ragged breath simmering in the air, a steady stream of fury. It burned like the lowest pits of hell, ruled by the cold tone of its god, seated at the top-most throne of the Underworld. Powerful and iron-handed, Hades led with strong principles and meticulous habits, much like Miguel did. His fury and anger were dealt by Cerberus, the three-headed dog of hell, as ferocious and dangerous as Miguel’s agitated state was. 

His shoulders shook, waves of unadulterated rage filtered off his back, rippling his sculpted back as metal creaked under his hands. His talons sunk into the metal, drawing lines in his anger-filled moment. He spun to face you with a roar, arms flailing until he faced you. He heaved heavily, shoulders and chest moving as his blood rushed with emotions, eyes dilated and turned deep red. He stalked towards you in all his mad glory, like the form of the Cyclops casting its dooming shadow on Odysseus’ men. Except, unlike his men, who were eaten in a blink, embraced by death in such a violent but swift way, you’d be ripped apart by it, pieces of your being torn apart for a slow and painful descent.   

He moved in big, lumbering steps, looming over you, shoulders broad and demanding. He sneered at you, in ways that would kill others but wound you deeply, to tear your heart out and throw it away like old, wilted flowers. The air seemed stuffy, hot and confining, his breath even hotter, burning you when he stopped inches from you. You gaped at him, eyes wide and fingers trembling, something crossed your mind, a flash of emotion that you never thought possible to connect to Miguel: fear. 

“Why can’t you be like-!” He started, mind dead set on breaking you down to your smallest, his force slamming into your softer one. Then he stopped, body seizing as if he was shot, but his round eyes told you he almost let himself slip, to let the name slip from his tongue in a haze. You knew who he was talking about, the memories that he related to her, that he was simply mad, but it didn’t ease the pain that ripped through your heart.

“Like who, Miguel!?” You cried back, hands clenching and rigid on your side. Your body trembling with disgust, shock and heartbreak. You couldn’t believe he would bring her up, to compare you to her and voice it out. It hurt; it drove the nail deeper into your coffin, adding another thing over the mountain of doubt and pain.

He just stared, he couldn’t finish his sentence, a starch contrast to his attitude seconds ago. It pained you that he couldn’t even say the words, to apologize to you about what he said. He knew how to run, how to ignore, and how to push things back. He did that well, and now he couldn’t face what he said to you was pathetic. 

“Like who, huh?! Like her!? Like Dana?!” Your vision blurred, and your breath hitched as your body crashed down with agony, sadness and betrayal. You shook this time while he looked on with desperation, body unable to make a sound or motion. 

“I- no- mi cielo, no- I didn’t mean to, I swear, ” he reached out, hand (his talons had received back into his pads) extending to touch you, to hold you in an apologetic embrace, but you stepped back, unable to contain your sobs. “Mi vida, please. Perdón, no fue mi intención.” (I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.)

You backed away from him, his warmth, his adoration, his love. His apology sounded guilty, dripping with regret and sorrow. He winced, watching you step away from him, regret gripping his heart as he moved to follow you. Every step you took backward, he took one forward, copying you, trying to approach you as if you were a wounded and unpredictable animal, to appease and soothe you. 

You shook your head, tearing your eyes away from his teary ones. You fiddled with your watch, opening a portal to your world and shook off your watch. You jumped back before he could catch you, hand extended to you in a desperate attempt to stop you. He wanted to bring you back into his arms, to kiss the tears away and beg for forgiveness until you let him back in, but to leave him, to throw away the watch that connected you to him. It broke him. 

He wouldn’t be able to see you unless you wanted to be seen, the tracker in your watch left blinking before his feet, discarded as you had with him; after he pushed you away, tore you down with his words spurred by the moment’s rush of negativity and pressure. It wasn’t an excuse, he knew that, but it didn’t ease. He sank to the floor, raking it with his talons as he cried out, a pained sob breaking out of his chest as he cradled his head, cursing himself for not being careful, for not heeding your winces and frowns, and not taking your heart into consideration. 

You fell when you landed in your universe, knocking a few boxes as you crashed onto your side. Your body jerked, cold droplets pouring down on your broken figure as you sat back up on the pavement. You hissed, the downcast atmosphere making your body heave a heartbroken sob, clutching your chest - where your heart would’ve been if Miguel hadn’t shattered it - and falling into yourself. You made yourself smaller, hiding your tear-stained face between your knees as you let the rain shower over you, soaking you down to your socks. 

A relationship built on pain, need and desperation was bound to fall. The carelessness of his ways cracked the edge of your relationship, slowly breaking it down into a shell of what it was. You bled for his cause as you bled for your loss. Like Apollo - a caregiver, a watcher of the fates of the people he oversaw, all the good and evil he could do just by saying the word - Miguel loved and felt, he gave and took, but lost it all in the end. His heart was broken and his soul lost over and over, the people he loved and cared for lost to time and fate. Like the Greek god, he loved what he could not have, loved what he could not hold, loved what he could not keep. 

As would Daphne’s story, she loved as much as you did, she cared as much as you did, and she hated as much as you did. In love was the god, as Miguel was with you, heart-stopping in every aspect. He stood like a god over them all, tall, broad and caring. But like any Greek love story, yours was as tragic, the hymn of your love left to fester with hate and anger, with regret and untold pain. Run, you did as Daphne had, crossing where you hoped he couldn’t reach you; where you’d be left hidden from the heartbreaking sorrow.

You didn’t know how long you sat in the rain, perhaps seconds, perhaps minutes, perhaps hours, but every moment blurred into one. The once vibrant colours of New York dulled to a boring monochrome, the world was swallowed in tones of black and white. Your limbs felt numb, you could hardly feel the cold, only the drops of rain and the heaviness of your heart in your chest. You could sit here a while longer, to drown in the sensation of the world falling around you-

Then it stopped raining. That wasn’t right, you could see the water crashing onto the ground by your feet, inches from you. Your side felt warm, a calm, soothing warmth that made your body quake from the cool air. You looked to the side and saw feet, big ones. You followed their body, tracing the lines of their soaking pants, to a warm jacket, broad shoulders and to a familiar face. 

“Oye, who did this to you?” His voice dripped with worry, a calmness that contradicted his frowning eyes. It was a familiar voice. It was a familiar face. It was Miguel’s face. Your lips quivered, staring at the face of your lover - ex-lover now that you thought about it - with newly shed tears. His eyes widened, even more worried than before as he crouched down to your height, hand running down your back soothingly. “Hey, hey, calm down. It’s all right.”

You wished you could believe his words, believe the softness in his tone and the beat of your torturous heart that missed the Miguel you knew. This one - your universe’s Miguel O’Hara (you didn’t even know you had one in your New York, it felt surreal to your depressed mind.) - was a stranger wearing the face of the person you loved. His face was a carbon copy of your Miguel’s, but softer on the edges, calmer and more… human than Spider-man 2099. His voice was gentler, caring more warmth for a stranger in need than yours has, like a whisper from an angel lulling you into a peaceful rest. 

“Vamos, let’s get you out of the rain first.”

Next

#x reader #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara angst #miguel x reader #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #spider man 2099 #spider man: across the spider verse #across the spiderverse #atsv miguel #atsv #female!reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 x you #atsv x reader #spiderverse spoilers #spiderman atsv #astv

[fangswbenefits]

A Series of Firsts

𓂅 𓄹 Summary: You and Miguel are ready to become parents and you must now go through a series of firsts together.

𓂅 𓄹 Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x spider-woman!reader

No warnings. Just pure fluff. Mentions of pregnancy. Dad girl Miguel. Protective dad Miguel.

First Kick

“What colour should we have on the walls?” Miguel asked one day.

“Beige?”

“Boring.”

“Red?”

“Too much.”

“Red and blue?”

“That’s too… spidey.”

You giggled at his remark. “We’ll just pick a neutral one and let her decide as she grows up.”

“That’s settled, then,” he murmured, resting the side of his head on your baby bump as both of you lay comfortably on the bed.

“Fingers crossed for a zebra pattern in purple and green,” you teased.

“She can have whatever she wants,” he said simply and you knew he meant it.

Warmth spread in your heart, realising Miguel would give her anything she’d ask for. Even the moon.

As you rolled a single strand of his hair around your finger, you gasped abruptly and halted.

Miguel shot up straight in full alert mode. “What is it? Are you okay?”

You nodded, running both hands along your belly, waiting to feel it once more.

He immediately picked up on the meaning of your sudden silence and placed a splattered hand next to yours.

It didn’t take long for a second kick to be felt and you watched his face awe. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” you whispered adoringly at his concern.

He paused briefly. “That was a strong kick.”

You placed your hand atop his. “She’ll take after you, then.”

First Time Meeting

Jessica placed the little bundle of joy into his arms as soon as the spider-nurses were done checking the vitals and dressing her.

“What is this?” Miguel asked with a light scowl, shifting to have the sleeping baby face you.

Even through your post-labour exhaustion you managed to giggle.

She was dressed in a red and blue suit-like onesie that had Peter’s face printed onto the fabric as rainbow coloured words read ‘my 1st spider suit’.

“Remind again me why we let him choose.”

“You know how Peter is,” you said softly. “It’s a very cute gift.”

“Right.”

Miguel didn’t seem all that convinced, but brought her back against his chest protectively.

You watched as Miguel’s hardened face immediately softened in adoration and, for a couple of minutes, he just stood there, rocking her lightly in his arms.

“She’s… tiny,” he concluded, fingers probing around her hand. “She’s perfect.”

He raised her slowly up to his face and he planted a soft kiss to her forehead, earning a sudden yawn.

“Welcome home,” he whispered to her, completely transfixed. “I’ll always protect you.”

Something inside you stirred. This big grumpy man with volatile moods had just been disarmed by a tiny baby.

That was definitely a sight to behold.

First Sleepless Night

“We’re not having another baby.”

“Agreed.”

“Ever.”

Miguel let out a measured sigh in agreement. “Ever.”

The two of you lay sprawled across the large bed, facing the ceiling as the first rays of sunshine began to lit up the room.

Your daughter had finally fallen asleep after hours of fighting against it, nearly driving both of you crazy in the process.

As you readied yourself to slide off the mattress, you felt Miguel’s hold on your wrist stilling you.

“Don’t move,” he whispered. “Please.”

You groaned inwardly. “I need to go pee, Miguel.”

Sleepy and bloodshot eyes met yours. “It took us hours to drain her energy… hold it in for a while,” now that was a desperate tone if you’d ever heard one from him.

You heaved a long and heavy sigh, feeling his thumb gently rubbing at your pulse point in sheer gratitude.

“Yup. No more babies, O’Hara.”

“Maybe one more?”

You shot him a death glare and he swallowed hard.

“… or not.”

First Scare

You paced around the apartment, having already lost count of the amount of baby monitors that Miguel had spread all over the place.

“This is a bit too much, no?”

Miguel was checking on the sleeping baby through the orange-tinted screen of his dimensional travel watch when he turned to glare at you like you had just said the most abominable thing ever.

“You can never be too careful,” he said in disbelief.

It was to be expected, really. Miguel was always obsessed with security no matter the context, so you couldn’t really say this surprised you.

“Even the watch?” you asked in awe.

“Of course. It’s a looped system that transmits directly to both our watches,” he said with a nod. “Any alteration in her bedroom trigers an alarm.”

Ever the scientist.

His eyes dropped to the hologram on his wrist and he let out a gasp.

“What?”

“She’s gone!”

Your heart nearly collapsed as a feral Miguel immediately set himself on all fours towards her bedroom, clawing at floor.

“Miguel!” you called after him in a hurry.

Once you reached the open door, you were presented with Peter holding your daughter as Mayday chuckled happily, seated on his shoulder.

“Peter!” Miguel growled, yanking your daughter from his hold and bringing her close to his chest defensively.

“Miguel! We were just paying a visit,” he chuckled. “Cute baby, by the way,” he turned to you with a smile and a flick of his fingers.

But Miguel was having none of that. “Out!”

Mayday stuck out her tongue at him right away, a habit she had yet to let gonof whenever Miguel was around.

“Lyla, why wasn’t the alarm triggered?”

The AI appeared by his shoulder at once, filing her nails. “You forgot to activate the security system, boss.”

First Word

“Pa~pá! Say it. Paaa~pá!”

“Cheater!” you exploded as you entered the kitchen in large steps.

Miguel turned to face you as your daughter giggled.

“We promised to let it be something spontaneous,” you lifted an accusing finger at him. “Cheater!”

He lifted both hands defensively. “I’m just giving her some help.”

In truth, you weren’t upset with him in the slightest. He had been such a constanr presence in his daughter’s life even through an exhausting amount of work around Nueva York.

You feigned indignation crossing your arms across your chest.

Miguel picked her out of the baby chair and walked towards you with a tentative smile.

“I’m sorry.”

Your front broke right away as he leaned to nudge his forehead against yours. “You’re still a cheater,” you accused, not able prevent your lips from curling into a smirk.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

Your daughter started clapping enthusiastically. “Petaah~” and then burst into laughter.

Miguel looked down at her in shock. “What?”

It was almost comedic irony that the first word your daughter said was Peter, which had Miguel sulk for a couple of days.

First Steps

You missed kissing Miguel with no interruptions. Having some alone time in between taking care of your daughter was not easy to come by.

So whenever there was an opening, you’d both make it count.

He had your back pressed against the cold surface of the bedroom wall in no time, framing your face with both hands to deepen the searing kiss.

You melted into his touch right away, yearning for more.

Miguel broke the kiss momentarily to check his watch, panting lightly. “She’s still in the living room.”

You sighed in relief as he took your lips in his once more, hungrier this time. Both of your hands were resting on his firm chest, enjoying the way his muscles rippled under your touch.

Miguel hummed into you, swallowing your gasps and moans.

Your eyes were about to flutter shut when you detected movement out of the corner of your eye.

Panic took over and you immediately pushed Miguel away with a yelp.

Standing by the door was your daughter, gripping the frame with tiny hands, barely able to keep her balance.

Miguel offered her a kind smile. “Hey, you… come here.”

Your heart was hammering hard in your chest as you struggled to even your breathing.

She broke into an amused chuckle, wobbling in Miguel’s direction as he dropped to one knee. “Come here,” he encouraged.

But she would only take a couple of steps before her legs gave out under her to have her sit on the floor.

This was evidently very amusing as she kept trying to mimic her first attempt in between laughter

Miguel exchanged a proud smile with you and, for the first time in a long, you didn’t mind being interrupted.

Masterlist

#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara fluff #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara x you #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel ohara imagine #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel x reader #miguel o’hara oneshot #spider man 2099 x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse #atsv miguel

[saturncodedstarlette]

Miguel, snarls : You don’t deserve them.

Hobie, holding the confused Y/N tightly in his arms : Go take a bath. You reek of jealousy, mate.

🎞Visual🎞

#Spiderverse #atsv incorrect quotes #Atsv #spiderverse incorrect quotes #Spiderverse x reader #spider man: across the spider verse #Hobie Brown #Miguel O’hara #Hobie Brown x reader #Hobie brown x male reader #Hobie brown x fem reader #Hobie brown x gn reader #Hobie brown x you #Miguel O’hara x reader #Miguel O’hara x male reader #Miguel O’hara x fem reader #Miguel O’hara x gn reader #Miguel O’hara x you #Original : promptdumpster #Original : Tumblr #Miguel O’hara x reader x Hobie Brown #1k notes #2k notes #3k notes

[whaddayadothatfor]

Eucteniza relata

Summary: After catching Miguel in the act, you realize you’re trapped in his web. Miguel, tired of your smart mouth and disobedience, has a bone to pick with you.

Content warnings: dub-con humiliation, spanking, dom/sub dynamics, faux!vampire!Miguel because I’m obsessed

AN: This man is an asshole, y’all. Yummy. This is also so so nasty. Did anyone watch The Invitation?? Remember the scene with the door? Those that get it, get it. Anyways, I hope y’all like it! Oops and before I forget, there will be a third and final part. See ya!

Taglist: @quaintii @sunflowercandie @villainarc-2 @battinsonwhore05 @friendly-reject @baker-and-fangirl @cynicallyaestetic @alnmpt

MDNI

This is the second part to Ctenizidae! Check it out here if you haven’t read it yet: Part 1

“You’re not going anywhere.”

Miguel lifts you up, holding your hips in his hands. He trails his fangs from the base of your neck to that sensitive spot right beneath your ear lobe.

He bites down gently, just enough to draw both blood and a whimper out of you. He tugs your hair back so he can do want he wants without interference, kissing and sucking and biting as he pleases, paying no mind to your choked-back moans.

When he’s had enough, he moves to whisper in your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

“You know, I’ve had just about enough of that mouth of yours—“

“My m-mouth has done nothing to you.” Miguel grabs your cheeks and smooshes them together, making all your words slur together.

“See, that’s what I’m talking about,” he groans, his head tilting upwards in exasperation. “You never know when to shut up, you always have something to say.”

You glare at him. You want to say something, but then you’d prove his point. He continues, sparing no attention to your restraint. Rude. Well then, if he’s just going to ignore you anyways, why bother?

“Y’know I have a reputation to uphold—“

“That sounds like a personal problem.” He glares at you, and you remember the position he has you in. Caged in between him and the wall, stuck between a rock and a hard place.

“It’s about to be your problem.” He lifts you easily over his shoulder and carries you across the room, dumping you unceremoniously onto the bed. “I think you need to be taught a lesson.”

As he sits down, you scramble over to the head of the bed, but Miguel grabs your ankle and yanks you back.

“Oh no, you don’t get to run. C’mere.” He manhandles you over his lap. You struggle against him, but it only works against you, like a spider’s prey working itself deeper into the web. Miguel is relentless and patient. He holds you down with one hand, waiting until you tire yourself out.

“Are you ready now?” At your silence, he continues. “Here’s what you’re gonna do: you’re going to take this spanking, like a good girl. And afterwards, you’re gonna say thank you.”

“This is ridiculous—“ You hissed after Miguel slapped your thighs, one after another in quick succession.

“I wasn’t finished. Be quiet.” He rubs the warmed skin gently before continuing. “You really have a problem with talking back. I think being on your knees will fix that. But first—“

He peels off your jeans but leaves your underwear, just enough that you ass was fully exposed. You feel like a schoolgirl getting paddled in the principal’s office. It is humiliating.

He groans, deep and guttural as he gropes your ass. “Dios mío, este culo.”

“Wait, hold on—“ He doesn’t. He strikes your right cheek, then your left. He does it over and over, in the same spot. He doesn’t stop, not when you arch your back, nor when you’re flailing your legs or even when your soft cries turn into low moans. “I can’t, Miguel. Please.”

He pauses. “Don’t pretend you’re not enjoying yourself, princesa.” He squeezes in-between your thighs and drags his two middle fingers across your slit. “Not when the evidence is dripping from your thighs.”

He shows you just how you enjoyed his attention by shoving his fingers into your mouth.

“Suck.” He fucks your throat with his long, thick fingers, making you gag and drool around them. “Good girl. Now I’m going to give you something bigger to choke on. Get on your knees.”

“No, Miguel. If you think I’m going to suck your dick like this, you’re insane.” You refuse adamantly.

“You just love to argue, huh baby?” Miguel just shakes his head. “Or maybe you just like being forced to do what you’re told. Either way, it doesn’t matter.”

He manhandles you once more, rearranging you until just your head hangs off of the bed. “I know just what you need.”

#marvel x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #fem!reader #smut #fanfic #fan fiction #spider man x reader #y/n #oscar isaac #oscar issac smut #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 smut #oscar issac characters

[m4tthewmurd0ck]

I NEED TO K KW ABOUT “SOMETHING WORTH FIGHTING FOR”!!!!

𝙶𝚠𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚎𝚝 𝙿𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚛, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚖. 𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎. 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚍𝚊𝚢.

𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛, 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍. 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚝 𝚜𝚝��𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚍. 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚊 𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚠𝚊𝚢, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚏𝚝𝚕𝚢. 𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚢, 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝙶𝚠𝚎𝚗 𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚡𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐.

𝙾𝚗𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙿𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚝, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚙𝚘𝚗 𝚊 𝚋𝚘𝚡. 𝙸𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚢, 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚏𝚎𝚠 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚝𝚘𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝙶𝚠𝚎𝚗, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚖 𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚎𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜, 𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚎’𝚍 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝙿𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚛.

𝙰𝚝 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚝. 𝙾𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚑𝚎’𝚍 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜, 𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚍, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝙿𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚖𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏.

𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔𝚜 𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛, 𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚋 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚝. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚡 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗, 𝚜𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚒𝚝.

𝚂𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚕𝚢, 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚊 𝚜𝚊𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚣𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗. 𝚈𝚘𝚞’𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚛.

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝙿𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚛, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚊 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚍 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚞𝚙 𝚝𝚘.

if you’d like to be tagged when this is posted, send me a message / ask (mention the title, or simply a character name if you’d like to be tagged in everything written for them).

#andrew garfield #emma stone #gwen stacy #peter parker #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker x fem!reader #spider man x you #spider man x reader #spider man x fem!reader #spider-man x reader #spider-man x you #spider-man x fem!reader #peter parker au #spider man au #spider-man au #tasm #tasm fanfiction #peter parker fluff #peter parker angst

[angel-eyes05]

to leave the warmest bed i've ever known

pairing: spiderwoman!reader x miguel o’hara 

summary: after miguel’s fight with miles, you confront him in his office

warnings: this whole thing is basically one big argument there’s SO much angst, implied suicide attempt, HUGE ATSV SPOILERS DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THIS MOVIE, im projecting a little in some parts of this ngl (i cried writing a certain section of this, you'll know it when you read it lmao), mentions and descriptions of blood, gore, and death

word count:  4.1k

notes: i watched the movie yesterday…and miguel is on my mind. but i remember reading this namor x reader fanfic after i watched wakanda forever of a similar idea to this and i loved it so this is HEAVILY inspired by that fic, but just make it miguel. i would link it but ngl that was so long ago and i dont remember the author. if i end up finding it again ill put it here. also, just pretend miguel has been doing this whole spider society thing for a couple of years at least, it just needs to work like that for this ik its probably not canon but just roll with it lmao. and yes the title is a taylor swift lyric im so glad you noticed (im so sorry she's in my brain rn with the eras tour)

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The anger boiled up inside your chest as you stormed your way across the lobby. Hundreds of different Spider-Man variants were scattered across the area, some more injured than the others. It sickened you sometimes. How he had so many people under his grasp and just decided to throw some of them at the walls sometimes, not caring how hard they hit the floor because they were all just ammo to him. How despite his denials of it, that’s probably what your role was to him as well. Nothing more than a bullet in his massive machine gun.

You normally tried not to think about it, how his determination towards his goal sometimes meant lack of care for others. But this time he had just gone too far. You always had a soft spot for Miles, watching closely on him whenever Miguel would let you go though scanners of all the different variants. You admired his struggle, but eventual success to taking up the previous Peter’s mantle, and always hated how Miguel talked about him. You knew there was no way Miles could’ve asked for any of this. For the pressures and struggles of being a Spider-Man, for everything causing such a strained relationship with his parents, for the death of his uncle, and for what will be the eventual death of his father. You definitely didn’t.

Ok lets do this one last time. Eh, whatever, there’s probably gonna be 50 other introductions after this one so it doesn’t really matter.

Being Earth-837’s Spider-Man has never been easy. Especially since you were bit when you were only 13 (another reason you sympathized with Miles and Gwen). Your life had followed the order of canon events to a perfect T, your older brother killed in a fight with a robber only two months after you were bit. You tried to overcome the burden of your powers by trying to live as normal of a teenage life as possible, but it was mostly in vain, having to give up multiple friendships and relationships in fear of those you love getting hurt. This was only elevated when your boyfriend Peter was murdered in the crossfire of an encounter with Doc Ock. You didn’t understand. You couldn’t. What you had done to deserve all of this. All you did was just be in the wrong place at the wrong time. You wonder sometimes what would happen if someone was in the same place you were when you got bit. If someone else went to the closed down area of that museum and ran into that spider. That stupid spider that ruined your life. Those thoughts slowly started to disappear for a bit. For a few years things were easy. Things seemed like they were finally going in your favor.

You were 25 when it happened. The last canon event. Ever since you were a little girl you hated your mother’s job. Losing nights of sleep over if she would come home or not. She always did though. She was good at her job. Too good though. Good enough to get promoted to police captain, which for who you were, was basically sealing her fate. She saved so many people that day. You were too busy fighting Venom to notice how much collateral damage you were causing in the process. Your mother’s job was to evacuate all the citizens away from the fight. She died shielding a child from incoming debris. A noble way to go. But god was it gruesome. You found her after the fight was over, two metal poles impaling her. One through her stomach and one straight through her face, pools of blood growing bigger below her as she was left there, all the paramedics busy trying to save the heavily injured. You froze when you finally recognized her, unable to at first due to how mutilated her face was from the pole. Suddenly, you were transported back to being a six year old, falling asleep outside the door to your mother’s bedroom so you would know exactly when she would come home. Purposefully falling asleep in her arms so that she couldn’t go anywhere.

When you used the key she had given you to get into her apartment that night, and you slept in her room, desperate to intake anything left of her before she was fully gone. You doused yourself in her perfume so it still felt like she was standing right behind you. You had always loved her smell. The smell of vanilla, curl product, and fancy perfume. They were attached to memories you had of her. Trying on her heels when you were a kid to try and be fancy like her. Smelling her hair in the morning before school to comfort you before she left for work. Despite all of this bringing you comfort, all it really did was cause further denial in your heart. That one day you were gonna hear the keys clacking in the keyhole to your apartment one more time. That’s all you really wanted. You would give everything up in a heartbeat just to hear her police scanner go off one last time. But it wasn’t going to. And it was your fault. Deep down you knew it was. You should’ve done a better job controlling the debris. You had always been a messy fighter, but you didn’t know it was going to mean anything until it was too late. 

How you got up to the top of that building is still a blur to you to this day. But next thing you know, you were looking at the New York City skyline from the very top of the Empire State Building. And at the very edge too. You heard some sounds behind you, but you just decided it was the wind howling from how high up you were. You were just so tired. Everything and everyone you loved was cursed all because of you. And with your mother as the most recent victim, you decided you finally had enough. You took a deep breath, eyes overflowed with water, as you set your foot forward.

Your plummet was interrupted by a sudden contact you felt to your forearm. Shock filled your body as you turned around to look at what had stopped your attempt. The blue hand was massive, nearly wrapping back around onto itself as it held onto you for dear life. You finally looked up at face that the hand belonged to. The mask that covered the massive figure was a strange one. Blue with strange red silhouettes for the eyes. It kind of reminded you of…your own costume? That couldn’t be though there was no way. This must be the afterlife or something. You already jumped and that's why you didn’t remember your way up to the top. This was some kind of creature trying to stop you from jumping down to hell below. His breaths were heavy and loud, almost like he was desperate to stop you. This convinced you that this was real, which caused you to try to escape from his grip. He was stronger than you, and was putting up a huge fight. You were slick though. Once you were out of his hand, you closed your eyes and quickly made your jump. Everything flashed before your eyes. Your brother, Peter, your mom. You were hoping to see them soon. This was very quickly interrupted again when you suddenly stopped falling. Something had attached itself to your stomach. You opened your eyes. A web? This web was much different than yours though. It was glowing a bright, neon orange.

The man was holding onto the end of it tightly with both hands. His mask then disappeared to show his face. His was long, matching how big the rest of his body was, defined cheek bones sticking out. Brown wavy hair slicked back with a few loose strands flying out in the wind. The look of desperation on his face stook out most of all. Why did he care so much? He didn’t know you, and you definitely didn’t know him. “Let me pull you up. Please,” he said to you between shaky pants. You stared at him for a bit before nodding. He slowly pulled you up with the string of his web, each move more careful than the last. As soon as your feet were planted safely back on the roof of the building, he wrapped you up in his massive arms. You appreciated the gesture, but you didn’t return it, still very confused about why he was so concerned. He was so big around your body though, you couldn’t help but feel a little comforted, feeling his still shaky breaths against the hairs of your neck. Soon after, he clicked on some buttons on his neon orange watch and led you into a portal.

The rest is history. You’re grateful he found you that day. It allowed you to meet so many people, Peter B., Jess, Gwen, Hobie, Ben, Pavitr, Margo. They all related to you and you felt like you could share things with them that you couldn’t do with anyone else. You had grown especially close to Peter and Jess, both of them having been in the game for a long time, just like you. They both knew how you felt, having lost so much and growing so tired after so many years. Peter even named you as Mayday’s godmother when she was born, a gesture that caused you to nearly kill him with your hug. Miguel though was different. He wasn’t nearly as social as the rest of your friends, but you found yourself having much more intimate moments with him (in more ways then one). You eventually found out why Miguel was so concerned for you the day you met. He had taken interest in your abilities early into looking for variants for his little “project”, but refrained from roping you into something so dangerous while you were still in your teens.

Once you were old enough though, he started paying more and more attention, hoping to catch you in a fight and recruit you then. But he was always pulled away with more important duties to attend to. That was until he witnessed your canon event. He had seen it happen so many times before through his scanners. It was going to happen. It had to in order for your universe to not collapse in on itself. But for some reason, yours hurt more than the rest to him. Especially how you coped with it. Seeing you wrap yourself up in her blankets and clothes broke his heart. He knew where this would lead to. That’s why he was there that day. To save you. He had to, or he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. You got your own watch immediately, along with your own room in the Spider Society headquarters. He stayed close with you for the first month of you being a member of the team. When he wasn’t out on missions, he was with you. You didn’t really know what to label you two as, but whatever was going on, you liked it. And he did too.

That is until Miles came into the picture. Once Miles was bit, all hell broke loose for Miguel. He was always in some alternate dimension catching some Spider-Man villain who got out and rangled them back over here, falling back over to you more beat up and bruised than the last time. You couldn’t imagine how much stress he was under, the fate of the entire multiverse up to him. You had some ways of helping him relieve his stress, but you wish you could convince him that he wasn’t alone in this. But nothing ever got through to him. He had become distant, aloof even. You tried bringing it up to Jess every so often, but she would just brush it off.

“That’s how he’s always been.” Not to you he hasn’t. This week has been hell though. With Spot making it over to Miles, Miguel had been going into rages all week. You had put up with it for now, but that was all about to stop. Watching how harsh he was being on Miles, throwing so many Spider-Men at an innocent boy, risking all of their lives in the process. Disregarding everything Gwen and Peter were feeling and then throwing Gwen back into her broken world with nothing. He had gone too far. No one else was going to stand up to him about it, so you knew it had to be you. Maybe he would listen, maybe he wouldn’t. It didn’t really matter. He just needed to hear it.

“It’s not worth it you know.” The voice snapped you out of your thoughts, stopping you in your tracks. “You know how stubborn he gets over these things,” said Jess, trying to convince you to save your breath. “I don’t care. I have to at least try,” you responded, monotonically. “I just don’t understand how you can follow him so blindly and not see what he’s doing is wrong.” “Because he isn’t wrong. I don’t know about you, but I’m not just gonna stand by and let some kid’s stupid decisions destroy another Earth,” Jess argued. “He’s just trying to save his dad, I can’t understand how that makes him such a bad person,” you said, finally turning around to face her, shocked when she was closer to you than expected.

“You know exactly why. Don’t be so naive, y/n,” she shot back. “You can’t stop me,” you said staring straight into her. She shrugged. “Then I can’t help you.” She began to walk away. You did to, until you heard her say. “You don’t know how much he cares for you.” You turned around to face her again, but her back was still to you, her head tilted ever so slightly to look at you. “If you really do care for the kid, watch what you say to Miguel right now. Cause you might just give him the final push he needs to do what needs to be done.” You didn’t give her a response, and just simply kept walking. You felt Jess’ eyes on your back as you entered the elevator to get up to Miguel’s office.

The elevator ride up felt longer than it should’ve, as you tried to gather all of your thoughts and emotions together so even if he didn’t listen, your words would still stick with him in some way. You didn’t necessarily want to hurt him (though your fists were telling you otherwise), but you did want him to be aware of what he’s done. Once the doors finally opened, all of that work flew out the window as rage took over your body again, seeing Miguel up there looking at the scanners. The fact that he looked just as normal as he always does made you furious. It’s like nothing happened.

“You know, I could hear you coming in from the lobby,” he said, almost stopping you in your tracks. You hated when he did that. Claiming that he knew what your every move was going to be. Like you were under his control or something. “Yeah, well then you must’ve heard me talking to Jess, which means you know exactly what this is about,” you shot back, stopping to where you could see him perched up there. “Why don’t you just save me the conversation about morality and just come up here and kick my ass already. It’ll save both of us time,” he said, not even taking his eyes off the scanners to look down at you. This only added to your fury. “That’s not what I’m here for Miguel, so don’t you dare try to twist my words here. What you did to that kid was fucked up and you know it.” “Oh yeah, then why didn’t you try to do anything to stop me?” he questioned.

“Because I’m not stupid Miguel. I’m not gonna try to take down hundreds of Spider-Men at once.” “Oh, cause you’re so much better than that?” This wasn’t like him at all. That gentle, kind, and caring Miguel you once knew was gone, taken over by some sort of personal vendetta he had against Miles. “Listen, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but this all needs to stop before it gets taken too far. You’re getting into a fight you can’t win. That kid’s strong and so are his allies. And if you go any further into this, I won’t be here to help you.” He stayed still and only turned his head to look at you. “And what makes you think that you’re so important to my plan that it’ll fall apart if you leave? Have you really become that pretentious?”

Your body froze. Have I really? No no no, that’s exactly what he wants. If you begin to doubt yourself now, you’ll stay and nothing will change. You knew you were right. He was trying to crumble you down, but you wouldn’t let that happen. “And you really think that one kid is going to ruin something that you’ve been working for for years? How insecure you’ve become.” “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, turning back away from you. You did the same, wiping off your face in anger. “I hate it when you do tha-,” you said as you turned back around, but were cut off to find Miguel standing there right in front of you. He was close. Too close to your liking, although in any other circumstance you would’ve found this attractive.

He tilted his head up, but his eyes were down staring daggers into yours. You hated how much he tried to make himself seem more superior to you. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he repeated, this time slower as if you were a child. “He’s just a kid Miguel,” you said in a low, quiet voice. “An anomaly. And a dangerous one at that.” “God Miguel, all he wants to do is protect his dad, do you know how insane you sound right now?” you said letting out a slight laugh when you finished. You backed away from him a little. “He doesn’t know how much damage he’ll do with this. Saving his father will only prolong the inevitable. His world will be gone within hours if he does this. All I’m trying to do is make him understand,” he tried to explain. “By trying to kill him.” “You always have to exaggerate the situation,” he said palming his face. “But that’s essentially what you’re trying to do isn’t it? Why not snuff out the problem entirely by taking him out!”

He signed and began to walk away while you were talking, bringing up your anger even more. “Yeah, use all the power you’ve accumulated over the years and just take out the small problem! Except this isn’t just a fly on the wall Miguel. This is a child! An innocent boy who didn’t ask for any of this to happen to him, just like how we didn’t. I get it, I’m sorry that this job is stressful, I really am. But that gives you zero right to act the way you are!” You were screaming at him at this point. You didn’t want to. You didn’t want your emotions to get the best of you. But he was being too stubborn. This was the only way you thought you could get to him. You might not have wanted to, but you needed to hurt him now. It was the only way.

“You can’t be so power blind that you refused to accept the fact that there could be a way around Captain Davis’ death. You said we saved Earth’s before, I’m sure we could do it again.” Your anger only kept rising when he kept walking away and didn’t respond. “This is a personal thing isn’t it?” you asked calmly. You knew it was working now when he stopped walking. “Yeah, it it. You won’t let Miles get his happy ending. Because why should he be pardoned of his burden while the rest of us have suffered so much. While you’ve suffered so much.” The answer to your question was confirmed when Miguel stayed silent. “Just because you didn’t get the life you wanted Miguel, doesn’t mean you have the right to stop other people from getting theirs.”

You knew you overstepped the line when Miguel turned around and started walking towards you, fury burning in his crimson eyes. “Yeah, so what! What if that is what this is all about! You should know better than anyone how much this job takes away from you!” he screamed at you, backing you up into a wall. “Why should he get to be let off so easily, while people like you and me have to suffer so much? Don’t try to turn me into the villain here when I know you’re thinking the exact same thing, y/n.” He wasn’t entirely wrong. You had wondered it at some points. “I won’t let you turn this onto me Miguel, this is about you,” you fired back. “Oh no, you’re not getting off that easily. I know you’re thinking it. And you’re right. Why should Miles get let off so easily when you’ve lost so much.” He held your hands in his, trying to connect to you. “And you have mi vida. You’ve had so much taken from you and it’s unfair. Why should he only have lost one person when you’ve had three taken from you. Your brother, Peter, your moth-.”

He was cut off by your hand striking against his face in a harsh blow. “If you’re smart, and I know you are, you’ll keep those three out of them. I won’t let you drag their names through the dirt for something as stupid as this.” You both stood there for a while, both of your eyes looking towards the ground, hoping it would open up to swallow you both as an escape from this god awful conversation. You never wanted it to come to this. In all honesty, you cared for Miguel. You might’ve even loved him, if you were even capable of doing such a thing. You hoped he felt the same way about you, but in a job like this, he always had at least one wall up around you. It just wasn’t worth it anymore. You were too tired to keep trying for something that was most likely going to fall apart in the end. 

“You’re still going after him aren’t you?” you asked, finally breaking the silence. Miguel looked back up at you. “You can’t ask me not to. You know better than anyone why this is so important to me.” He moved his hand up to cup your cheek and kissed your forehead gently. You let it sit there for a minute out of habit before pushing it off your face. “And you must know why I can’t stay anymore then.” His shoulders dropped. “Whatever this thing between us is. It’s over. I can’t stay beside someone who can’t see what he’s doing is wrong.” Miguel’s dropped hand turned into a fist of anger. “Fine,” he spat in your face. “I don’t need someone like you in my way. You’re just a liability to this anyways.” He began to walk away from you back to his scanners. “Just don’t come crying back over to me when your little plan doesn’t work out, cause I won’t help you.” He used his webs to pull himself back up to the platform to keep looking for Miles. You stood there for a second, gathering yourself.

Five years. Out the door just like that. It bewildered you how easily a bond like you two had could be broken all because of one teenager. You began to make your way for the door before you said. “When this is all over…don’t try to find me.” He didn’t respond. Once the elevator doors opened, you rushed inside, desperate to get away from him. So many thoughts rushed through your head as the doors closed and you sunk down back to the lobby to leave. You didn’t have much of a plan. This could end up being a horrible idea. Your gut told you it was the right thing to do though. And that was enough for you. You walked out of the headquarters lobby with a new heart and a new mind, ready to take action for your new plan.

First though, you had to find Gwen.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

a/n: god that took longer than it should've. dw dw i'll do a part 2 if enough people ask for one. im not 100% sure how im gonna do a part 2 cause yk....idk how beyond the spiderverse is gonna go so tbh, we're just gonna make it go the way i want lmao. thanks for reading, ik this was kind of a long one lmao

NEXT CHAPTER

#miguel o’hara #miguel o'hara x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #into the spider verse #spider-woman reader #across the spiderverse #fem!reader #fanfic #fanfiction #spiderman #spider man #spider man: across the spider verse #spiderverse

[murdrdocs]

yknow what…….. you should elaborate more on after shows w/ rockstar bf hobie……

mhm ik what ur asking for ... and i will deliver fem!reader

he always comes off the stage drenched in sweat. a bright look in his eyes, prominent cheekbones glowing with happiness instead of just sweat. he chats to a few people on the way down, dapping them up as he goes, and you stand just a little bit away, rocking back and forth on your feet, playing with the rings hobie's gotten you, gnawing on your lip as he gets closer, and closer, and closer.

until sweat-slickened hands are pulling you into him by the waist, your hands finding the cotton of his muscle tee. he asks you the same question that he always does ("what'd you think?"), and you give the same answer as always ("was amazing") and then he kisses you, just like he always does.

there's some more time where he's dragged into different places, his hand in yours as you walk behind him, then his hands on your hips as he walks you in front of him. he talks to his mates, fingers tapping along the denim of your skirt, angular jaw resting on your shoulder and you can practically feel the anticipation buzzing from his body.

you finally end up outside, under a streetlight with your backs against the wall of the pub. hobie smokes a cig while he listens to you tell him about what the show looked like from your end, something he makes you do as he values your opinion (though he says it like it doesn't matter but his attentive eyes say otherwise).

the last drag is taken, you've finished your spiel, hobie stomps the butt out into the asphalt with his boots, and then his hands are pulling you into him, slender fingers hooking into your belt loops to encourage the movement.

your hands collide with his chest, he stares down at you, dark eyes flicking from your eyes to your lips, and then his lips are on yours.

it's usually like this, intensely making out just steps away from where he'd performed, a few feet away from where he'd laid almost all of his heart and soul out, always leaving just enough left to give to you.

your back ends up against the wall and hobie crowds your space. he tastes like cigarettes, and a little like beer, with a tinge of the gum you'd given him when he'd asked for it a few minutes ago. he smells like you, and like him, a mixture that works more than it should.

his hands are warm and rough when they meet your thighs, thumbs on the innermost parts of your skin. they dig into the flesh in a silent command to spread your legs more, one you easily obey. it gives access for hobie's deft fingers to push your panties aside.

he takes a step closer, his head dips down, he pecks your cheek. "d'you want me to stop?" it's always the same question, formatted slightly different each time.

and each time, you shake your head.

there are some nights where you just talk, his arm slung around your waist, your head rested somewhere on his chest or shoulders, a cigarette either between his lips or fingers as he tells you stories that he somehow hasn't told you before. those nights end with you back at either of your places, in a position similar to this one.

but there are other nights, most nights if you're honest, where hobie looked so good on stage from your perspective, and he had adrenaline pumping through his veins that couldn't be quelled with spiderman duties, and neither of you could wait to get home so the side of a pub was the next best place.

his fingers work you in ways that only he can do, and as you start to unravel from his ministrations, you don't have any worries about being seen because you know that in the off chance that would happen, hobie would handle it. he always does.

#hobie brown x fem!reader #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown smut #hobie brown x you #hobie brown #celeste writes mcu #spider man: across the spider verse #hobiesworld!

[bluesidez]

The Love Lab presents:

Wash Day 🫧🚿

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x AFAB!Reader

summary: Miguel offers to wash your hair because wash days can be a lot, mischief ensues.

content warning: 18+ MDNI, lots of fluff and banter, talks of marriage/proposal, lovey dovey!miguel, head scratching + massaging, p in v sex (wrap it up 🫵🏾, healthcare is expensive and so are babies), just the tip at one point, cussing, subby + service-like miguel (he does start to enter a daze that is similar to a sub drop, but it's not really that and the reader checks up on him immediately), needy!miguel, creative use of miguel's talons, kissing, hickys, a little hair pulling, manhandling, cunnilingus, fellatio, squirting, slight edging, praise kink, breeding kink towards the end, mentions of cum, overstimulation, a little aftercare, reader is a bit of a tease, miguel is a bit of a brat, more references to cats than I thought, no use of y/n

credit for the art/dividers: Me! (+ illustrator and canva)

a/n: This is my first fic that I am posting on here! 🤠 This one has been in the works for a while, but I am happy with the result. This story is written with a black reader in mind, but it's very inclusive minus the hair situation, so anyone can enjoy the story. There is one unrealistic part that NONE of my natural brethren would ever allow, I beg you to just go with it. 😭 I also used a little Spanish in here, to my Spanish-speakers, if anything is wrong, just let me know and I 'll change it right away!

I also imagined the shower to be one of those fancy walk-ins like this or this but big enough for two, because in my mind, Miguel is stacked in the money department as well.

word count: 6.9k (I got carried away)

To all my sub Mig lovers and fiends! Love ya! 🩵🪮

It was finally time for the day you’ve been putting off for about a week now, the taxing Wash Day.

Normally, you would drag this day out because you knew that once you started, you had to keep going until your hair was done and either ready for the bonnet or the hood dryer. Although today, you were lucky because you had a braid appointment the following morning, so that meant just a simple wash and a blow-dry. You were even luckier because your boyfriend, Miguel, was more than happy to wash your hair for you.

“I know how tired you get afterwards and I just want to help make the process easier,” is what you remember him telling you last night in your sleepy, whiny state.

Now, here you are the next day watching his eyebrows furrow in confusion, lips pouted in a crooked M as you guide him to the old faithful: the kitchen sink.

“Why are you giving me that face? You said you were gonna help,” you chuckle at his expression, watching as his eyes turn to your hair supplies littered across the counter.

“No, no! I still want to help. It’s just that,” he picks up your wide-tooth comb, running his fingers over the teeth, “I thought we were going to be in the shower.”

You look at him, a little dumbfounded at the statement. You didn’t mind washing your hair in the shower, you did it all the time, but what was the point of getting you both wet?

“I just thought it would be easier for you this way,” you reply, pulling the faucet from the sink and waving it around in an attempt to hype up the situation. “I’ll bend my head in the sink, and you’ll wash it that way. Or! You can hike me up on the counter and I can lay down with my head over the sink. That one’s a little less comfortable for me, but it gives you more than enough room to maneuver.”

“Hm,” he grunts, eyes going from you to the counter, then right back to you. “That’s fine and all, but what if my back starts to hurt from bending for too long.”

You just stare at him, unamused. If anyone would be in pain, it would be you.

“In the shower, we can stand together and I can see exactly what’s going on. Plus, you can wash my hair too,” he continues, pulling you flush against his chest, comb forgotten. He starts to rub your hips in a slow motion. “Let’s make it a date.”

“Ok, first of all, you’re not that old to where your back can just give out like that,” you quip, leaning back from his embrace to look him in the eyes. “Secondly, you expect me to believe that the Spiderman is unable to wash someone’s hair in this sink.”

“At 6’9? Absolutely.”

“Touché.”

Truthfully, Miguel was a bit turned on after spending the last 20 minutes watching you completely melt under his hands from scratching your scalp.

It was such a simple task but all of your sighs and whispers of “right there” and “harder” had him internally groaning.

When it was finished, you were up off the floor easily and blissfully unaware, while he was left with a few of your shedded curls covering his clothes and pre-cum threatening to seep into his underwear.

So yes, while technically the shower was the best option for him, he really wanted to ignite that same reaction from you again. It was addicting.

You reach up on your tippy toes and squish his face to give a quick peck to his lips. “Fine, fine! Quit your puppy dog eyes, we can go to the shower. Just let me pee first.”

Step 1 of Miguel’s master plan was already successfully underway.

He started to pick up your supplies, reading the ingredients out of curiosity. Today you were trying a new line of products that was making huge waves online. He remembers seeing how excited you were when the package came in. You had barrelled into the bedroom in a squealing frenzy, and had it not been for his spider senses listening out for you, he would have jumped from the way you threw the door open.

Even though it was another line of products that would fill up the bathroom cabinets, your giddiness rubbed off on him, so he was ready to see results.

“Baby, come on! I’m ready!”

Miguel quickly huddled up everything from the counter and made his way to the bathroom.

He walked in to see you standing next to the sink, birthday suit on and your hands reaching up to push your hair from your forehead.

Heaven-sent were the first words that came to mind. Here you were, standing in the steam of the bathroom just for his eyes. He couldn’t help but linger in the doorway, heart skipping a beat at the sight of you.

You turned to look back at him, mirth in your eyes, “Mig, come on, the water’s running.”

He didn’t even comprehend the sound of the water hitting the tiles, he was so zoned in on you.

“I’m coming, I was just…admiring you,” he replies, moving to prepare for the shower.

“There’s no way you’re eyeing me up right now. I look a little crazy,” you say, turning back towards the mirror.

“Querida, you could be rocking a spiked mohawk right now, and I would still have the same reaction. You’re beautiful no matter how your hair looks.”

You bit your lip, heart fluttering at his words. If you didn’t have to get ready for your hair appointment tomorrow, you’d stop everything then and there to love on your boyfriend.

For now, you settled on helping him out of his clothes, a smile growing on your face. You pulled his shirt up as far as you could reach, then let your hands roam over his chest, watching the goosebumps that followed behind. You kept your fingers walking down to the waistband of his pants, lightly scratching at his happy trail.

His stomach twitched in response to your touch, hands itching to pull you closer.

You placed your hands at his sides, gripping the waistband of his sweatpants and underwear, slowly tugging at the bands. You stepped forward to get a better leverage, breasts pressing against his torso.

His breaths were coming out in short beats, not wanting to disrupt the spell that you put him under. He looked down at the closing space between you all’s bodies because if he looked up at your eyes, he’d stop everything and take you right there against the counter.

But the shower. He was supposed to make it to the shower. Which was in an area by itself. In the next room. With your hands roaming everywhere, he wasn’t even sure if he could even make it past the toilet.

His eyes fluttered closed as you slid your hands back up his thighs, a deep breath building in his lungs. Like this, he was really able to tune in on both the heat of your body against his and the lingering touch of your hands. Hyper-focused on you and you alone.

Then he heard a loud slap.

His eyes bucked back open, body rigid as the sting came back in waves on the side of his ass.

“Come on, we’ve got heads to scrub!” you said, voice as clear as ever.

He watched you twirl towards the shower, his mind muddled from your switch to playfulness. Had he read that all wrong?

He looked down and sighed at the sight of his dick, half-hard at what could have been.

All he could do was stagger out of the clothes that pooled at his ankles, grab the hair products, and waddle to the shower.

You were already halfway under the spray of the shower head, head leaning back, waiting for the water to completely soak through the layers of your hair.

Miguel came up next to you and detached the shower head, bringing it closer to your scalp, careful not to get water in your ears.

“So first, we have to use the scalp scrub shampoo,” you say, grabbing one of the taller bottles and unscrewing it. “Just take this in your hands first, lather it, and work it into my scalp.”

You pull his left hand forward and squeeze some of the liquid in his palm.

“Is this enough?” he asked, noticing the little amount you put in his hand.

“Yep! A little can go a long way, baby,” you say, turning around to him, trying to determine how you would reach the top of his head.

Oh, how Miguel was so well acquainted with that phrase. Especially after this cat-and-mouse game you’ve been playing with him all day.

You faced him as he placed his fingers on your scalp, beginning to move in circles, spreading the shampoo in several sections.

“You can add a little pressure. I can take it,” you mumble out, almost low enough for Miguel to miss it.

So he does. He starts to scratch at your scalp, remembering that this is an important step. For your hair of course, not his plan.

“Ugh, that feels so nice,” you sigh, trying not to sway under him. “I should have had you do this sooner.”

Miguel thought so too. Here you are, head leaned back, eyes closed, and completely oblivious to his inner turmoil. He kept scratching at your scalp, your head nodding along with the motions.

“Can you scratch over here, please?” you ask, pointing at the right side of your head, eyes squeezed tight to not let any soap fall in them. Even after all of your teasing, you were still so cute in this moment. When Miguel complied, you showed your gratitude by groaning out a quick thank you. With a long sigh, you placed your hands in front of his chest, fingers balled up in loose fists.

“Does it feel good?” Miguel knew the answer, but he had to play along. “You want me to move anywhere else?”

“Yeah, could you just-” you leaned your head over, mindlessly guiding Miguel’s hands. “Right there, baby.”

You brought your hands up to grip at his wrists, needing something to hold onto. Miguel felt insane.

To curb the feeling, he quickly leaned down and kissed your forehead. His head was overloaded with the sound of your voice and he had to keep himself composed.

You looked up at him, eyes big and wide at his affection. He kept making you feel warm doing such mundane things. You purse your lips, silently begging for more.

Miguel brought his soapy hands to the water to quickly rinse them off, then placed them on your cheeks and leaned down again to kiss your lips.

One. Two. Three pecks and you were giggling.

Four. Five. Six pecks and you were on your tiptoes, arms crossed behind his neck.

Seven. Eight. Nine pecks and you were turning your head, opening your mouth for more.

Ten. Eleven. Twelve kisses and you were in his arms, feet off the ground, biting at his bottom lip.

By the thirteenth kiss, you were pulling your head back, staring into his eyes, grabbing at his nape.

“We still have to wash the shampoo out,” you say, watching as his eyes linger on your lips.

“We can do that,” he mumbles, still holding you close.

“Are you gonna put me down?” you ask, tone a little cheeky.

He snaps his eyes up at yours, eyebrow raised. “Are you gonna finish what you started?” He started to move one of his palms down your back, taking a thigh to pull around his waist, and placing his mouth on your jaw.

“Nuh uh, O’Hara,” you chide, pushing against his chest and wiggling to get him to remove his embrace. The water smacks against the tiles as you jump down, one calf still in Miguel’s hand.

“O’Hara?” Miguel scoffed, playfully pulling at you again and tickling your side. “I’m not sure who that is, but maybe you forgot how to say baby, mi vida.”

You laughed at him, finally calling out his bluff, “No, because my baby said he would help me wash my hair, and right now he’s being bad and trying to distract me. So, until you finish, it’s O’Hara.” You folded your arms and tilted your head to the side, daring Miguel to counter your words.

He dropped your leg and muttered out a gruff “fine” with his lips downturned. Two could play at this game and if he wanted to distract you, he just had to turn up the heat.

He grabbed for the shower head and started to rinse the thick shampoo from your hair, carefully weaving through the locks.

“When do we detangle it?”

You started to smile again, happy at his verb usage. He really does listen to you when you talk about your hair.

“When we put on the conditioner, but you can start a little now while the water’s running on it. Need the brush?”

“No, I’ll just use my fingers for a little bit.”

You turned your face back to him, shocked that he remembered another technique.

“You’re gonna finger detangle, ba- I mean, O’Hara?”

“Yes I am, corazón. Why are you looking at me like that? I’m a great boyfriend that knows what his girl needs.”

You squint your eyes, wary at his words. “Uh huh, I bet you do. If you know so much, what’s next?”

“We shampoo again. Rinse. Then it’s conditioner and detangling, just like you said.”

You hummed, internally ecstatic that he actually did know the answer. “Another point for you,” you say, turning back around as Miguel places the shower head back on the hook.

Miguel smirked. He listened to you, he really did, but he also made sure to watch over 20 videos about washing coily hair while you were sleeping. You didn’t have to know that though.

His high was short-lived when you bent over to grab the next shampoo. He grabbed at your hips, watching as the swell of your ass aligned against his front. He pushed his head back and breathed in deep. How unfair.

You leaned back up slowly, turning the bottle around trying to fish for any specific directions.

“This one is a hydrating shampoo. It says you can just put it on my hair and just work it through.”

Miguel repeated the same shampooing process, although this time with less scalp scratching and more scalp massaging. You were once again in bliss at his ministrations, like a cat who couldn’t stop purring.

“O’Hara, you really have a way with your hands. Super relaxing,” you say with snickers underlining your voice.

Miguel just reached for the shower head, ready to rinse for the second time. “This guy sounds like a real catch. Too bad he isn’t here.”

You just laugh at how sulky he sounded, ready to grab the conditioner.

“Well, is there a Mr. O’Hara here? I kind of need him for this last step.”

Miguel stopped in his tracks.

You really didn’t understand how much he wanted to make you his wife. In fact, he started planning the proposal to a T after a year of you all being together. He started to dream about a future with you after the first couple of dates, despite how often he had to tell himself to slow down. It was terrifying yet thrilling how much you left an impression on his life.

Mr. and Mrs. O’Hara.

Mr. O’Hara.

Mrs. O’Hara.

Miguel bent his head in your neck and wrapped his arms around your waist, face burning from his running thoughts.

“Y-you can’t use that against me. You know how I get,” he said petulantly, voice softened in the juncture of your neck, drowned out by the pouring water.

“And how do you get, baby?” you ask, reaching over to run your fingers through his damp hair. You tugged lightly at the root causing Miguel to hug you tighter and groan against your neck.

As hot as the water was, the heat of your body against his left him burning. The angle was weird so he couldn’t exactly rub up against you, but he could kiss along the surface of your shoulders.

He started to slowly press kisses down your neck, moaning as you tilted your head to give him more space. He stopped to linger at the top of your shoulder, taking in a small amount of skin. After he was happy at the mark he left, he opened his mouth a little wider, canines grazing against your skin.

You reach to pull his head back up, resting his jaw on your shoulder.

“Focus, Mr. O’Hara, it’s only one more step.” You say these words lowly right next to his ear, pressing your lips on his tragus then pushing his head up to kiss against his jaw.

When Miguel stood up fully, you could see the dazed look in his eyes. Staring closer, you noticed they were a little dewey.

You had to bring him back down to Earth. You couldn’t have him lost in this steam.

“Hey, baby look at me,” you even your tone and angle his face towards yours. “Are you alright? Do we need to sit down?”

You wait for his eyes to find yours, searching for discomfort.

“No, I'm fine. I’m ok, sorry,” he says, leaning into one of your hands, wrapping his hand around it for extra support.

“Positive? I know the water is really hot so if you need to step out and cool down, then that’s fine. I’ll help you settle down then come back and finish up by myself,” you say, adamant in your words.

“No! No, no. I’m really ok. I’m so cool and calm right now that it’s crazy,” he replies, frantic at the thought of leaving you in the shower. “Hand me the conditioner.”

You look at him again, tickled at the change in condition. All you could do was sigh, twist the cap off of the conditioner, and pull the inner lid off.

He dabbed two fingers on top of the cream, scooping a small amount off of the top. “A little goes a long way, right?”

“A little does go a long way.”

“Can you turn around, please?”

You comply, placing the conditioner in a corner.

“If you need it to lather a bit more, just add a little water,” you remind him.

He began to work the conditioner through, going from the root to the ends. The results were quick and he could see your curls begin to sprout. He started to thoroughly pull his fingers through, working out any leftover tangles. He got to a bigger knot and held the section of hair in one hand, and carefully combed through the knot with the other.

You were feeling peaceful until it dawned on you: you never gave him a comb or a brush to work with.

“Hold on, baby what are you using to take the knots out with? Do you have a comb?”

Miguel placed one of his hands in your face and pushed his talons out, like a cat showing its claws off when you press the center of its paw.

You panic, remembering that they can tear through people and metal, “Um. I don’t think using these bad boys on my hair is the right way to go.”

“Tranquila, mi amor, I got it. I’m using the dull side, see?”

He put a tuft of hair in front of your eyes and showed the process of him detangling while talon-less, then working out the final tough knot with the side of the talon, turning his hand sideways to avoid cutting your curls.

As a result, the section was completely detangled, allowing him to run his fingers straight through the thick strands, and the curls springing back up once he was finished. Plus, from what you could tell, there was no breakage.

Color you impressed because Miguel was pulling out all of the stops today.

“Alright, just. Be careful.”

“Always.”

“If you jack up my hair, Lyla will have to place Jess in charge permanently.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You stand, arms placed under your chest, waiting for Miguel to finish. Subconsciously listening to the pattern of his breaths and the sound of his talon going through your hair.

“Ok, that’s it. Do you want to wash my hair while this sits?”

Such a smart boyfriend.

“Yeah just let me go ahead and finish this shower while you get your hair wet.”

Miguel stepped back to get under the overhead shower head, letting the water fall on him like rain, watching you as you began to lather body wash on your net sponge.

You were scrubbing away at your skin getting into every crevice, peach fragrance filling the air.

He wanted to reach out and touch you, but look where that’s gotten him so far. Almost kicked out of the bathroom.

You were just as stubborn as he was, no, resolute.

He admired it, especially when you gracefully brought him down from clouds that were his own fantasies.

Focusing back on you, he stared openly as you folded your body in half to reach your ankles causing everything to be on display.

A normal person would put their foot on the ledge to reach below. You were definitely fucking with him.

He watched as you pulled the net sponge across your body, leaning up as the languid movements of your hands pulled the net side to side.

He was glad that the water drowned out his harsh breathing.

You finished off your shower, working the detached shower head over the soap, clearing up your skin.

You brought the shower head lower, making sure that there was no bubble left behind.

When you held your ass to help the water pass all the way down the back of your body, Miguel jumped to hold the base of his cock, softly groaning at the picture you were painting.

He lifted his face up and pushed his hair back, in hopes that the stream could help him clear his mind. But, the water was hot, all it did was make him lightheaded at the thought of you.

“Miguel? Come over here so I can wash you too.”

Miguel tottered over, looking down at your body, shining after all your thorough work. You were placing soap on a pair of exfoliating gloves you had bought for him, lathering them together once you were satisfied with the amount of soap.

You got to work on his body, starting at the shoulders and moving in circular motions.

Miguel stared in silence, hoping you would put an end to this charade. But you continue to be meticulous, covering every inch of his upper body. Lifting his arms when you wanted to. Moving him around when you wanted to.

In this moment, he felt like a ragdoll, letting you do whatever you pleased.

You squatted down to do his lower body, eyes laser focused, not missing a spot.

All Miguel could focus on was your face so close to his dick that was twitching in anticipation. You just ignored it and continued to rub the rest of him down. Miguel wanted to cry.

You were touching everywhere, slowing down on his inner thighs and ass causing his knees to shake.

You held him steady by gripping the back of his thighs and finally looked up at him, acknowledging his presence.

Your eyes traced him all the way down to the gift that was in front of you. You parted your lips and let your tongue brush against the tip, watching as spurts of pre-cum escaped. You couldn’t have that. You leaned forward a little more, taking the head in completely, and allowed yourself a few more licks and a suck before you let go with a pop, watching the thin trail of spit grow as you leaned back.

Miguel whined in frustration, a cloud of desire fading so quickly.

“Amor, why did you-”

You quickly jumped up and rested against him, arms wrapped around his waist and hands lightly groping his butt.

“I didn’t even wash your hair yet, silly,” you quip, chin nuzzling against his sternum. “Now, go rinse off and sit on the bench so I can reach your hair.”

Forget wanting to cry, Miguel might actually do it.

He was so, so hard.

After the soap was gone he trudged to the bench, glancing over at you washing the conditioner out of your hair.

“I could have washed it out for you,” he protests, half bothered by his situation and half annoyed that he let it blindside him from the main point of this shower.

“It’s ok, baby. You really helped me out a lot today and I’m thankful. I’m also making sure you don’t drop to the floor right now, so hold on for me,” you reply earnestly, chuckling at the look of frustration slapped across Miguel’s face.

You bring over the hydrating scrub, some conditioner, and the shower head, and stand in between his legs, ready to start.

Miguel looked up at you like you hung the stars in the sky, undeniably in love and unbelievably aroused.

You started to unscrew the scrub, making sure to part his hair down the middle.

“You’re using your products on me?” he asked, confused at your actions.

“Just the shampoo. I don’t think this conditioner will do you any good, but for the most part, the line is pretty inclusive. Ain’t that neat?”

“Mm-hm,” he responded, cheeks squished against your chest, arms wrapped around your thighs.

“Look forward, for me, baby,” you say, starting to spread the shampoo on his scalp.

He just hummed and groaned in the safety of your torso, while you scratched at his scalp and pulled the shampoo to his ends. He started to kiss and nibble at any skin he could get his mouth on. His grip was getting tighter and he felt a stutter in your breaths.

“Lean back so I can rinse this out.”

He placed his chin on your stomach again, eyes full of hearts.

“I’m almost finished, I just need to put your conditioner on.”

Miguel hummed once more as you placed the conditioner at his ends first, then scrunched his hair up, careful not to mess with his scalp. Mindful of his wavy, curly hair texture like he was for yours.

His wine eyes kept staring at you, as if you were the 8th wonder of the world. You felt heat in your face, an accumulation of the almost boiling water and Miguel’s full attention.

He was simply grinning, face wet and tinted from the water.

“You’re so cute,” you say, rinsing out the last of the product.

“Only with you,” he replies, still trying to make you look into his eyes. “Can you come closer?”

You set the shower head down and run your hands through his strands, “I feel like I’m already as close as it gets.”

“Not really,” he said, swiftly sitting you on his lap like you weighed nothing. “You could always be closer to me, cariño. I can think of many ways to make that happen.”

You finally allow yourself to indulge in his shenanigans. Leaning your forehead on his, you open your mouth to say, “Is that why you were so adamant about getting in the shower? To get as close to me as possible?”

He looked from your eyes to your mouth, “No?”

You bring your hands from his hair to his neck, “You know you can’t lie. In fact, you’re like, really bad at it.”

“Fine. It was partially because of that. How did you know?”

“Like I said, you can’t lie and neither can your face. You’ve been pouting ever since I let you scratch my head and especially when I wanted to wash my hair in the sink.”

“Am I that easy to read?”

“Kind of,” you say, a laugh twinkling off your lips. “I can always tell when you want me.”

“Yeah? And what am I telling you right now?” He starts to move your hips, placing his erection right under you, grinding your lips against him.

You close your eyes, a flame beginning to blossom within you, “I guess that you need, fuck, you need me.” Your clit was throbbing against his length as he dragged your body back and forth.

“I do, bebé, I do,” Miguel was moaning loudly, melting at the feeling of your pussy finally warming him up. He moved his lips to yours, desperately trying to have more of you, gripping your hips even harder.

“Baby, s-slow down,” you say in the midst of his kisses, trying to put your feet on the bench next to him to gain some sort of stability. You knew he was pent up, but he was moving so frantically, you were scared he might slip off.

“Te necesito. Please, just-” Miguel cut himself off with a groan in your neck, grinding your slit along himself faster. He started to kiss down your chest, finally getting to your breasts, and gliding his tongue along the wet skin. He took a nipple into his mouth, allowing himself to suck.

The flame from before was starting to grow, “Miggy if you keep going, I’m gonna cum.” He was just starting and you already felt everything coming to an end.

How were you so close, yet he was the one who was riled up?

“Miguel, I’m-” you hold on harder to his neck, eyebrows furrowed.

“Uh huh. C’mon, give it to me,” he encouraged, staring at you, eyes cloudy.

You break above him, a scream crawling from your throat, hips stuttering in his hold, and liquid leaking onto the floor.

“Oh my god,” your mind was hazy, reveling from how quick you came, but mostly at how needy Miguel looked.

“Was it good?” he asked, hugging your body as he switched angles, dragging his body closer to the edge of the bench, letting your feet fall to the floor. His voice was whiny, desperate, wanton. “Was I good for you? Did you feel good?”

You brought your mouth to his temple, movements shaky and heart still thumping, “You were so good for me, baby. So good.”

He sighed, breath leaving his lungs as if what you told him was a matter of life and death.

“Then use me,” he leaned back, hands pressed against the seat. “Use me, however you please.”

You stared at him, a little stunned but fully immersed. When you brought your hand to his chest, you could feel how fast his heart was moving. You brought your mouth to his once more, a thumb on his chin pushing so that lips could part. You kissed him deep, making sure to direct his focus there while you placed your knees on the bench.

Sitting just above him, you guided your sex to his, allowing his tip to barely kiss you. You wanted him, yearned for him inside of you, but not yet.

You slid his tip past your slit, only edging it in partially, then rubbed your pussy up and down the head, allowing yourself to open up.

Miguel moaned into your mouth, hands curling into fists as he felt your walls close around the top of him. He started to move in tiny thrusts matching your rhythm.

“Nuh uh, baby, it’s just me right now, remember?” You break your kiss to reprimand him, bringing your hand from his chin to his stomach, and stopping all movement.

Miguel could only cry out and nod, upset at the loss of your body devouring his own, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, keep going. I’ll be still, cariño, please.”

“Good. There he is, my sweet baby,” you say, voice a prime example at how much Miguel begging for you was affecting you.

You start back, ass moving with a bit more force. You lean to press a long kiss against his neck, losing yourself in the sound of him barely inside of you, his groans a lovely melody filling up the room.

“You feel amazing, Miguel. So big, and you’re only giving me so little,” you pant in his ear, knees starting to hurt from how hard the tiles were.

“It’s all for you. Just for you,” he gasped, twitching when the sounds of your juices got even louder at your constant movement. “Mi amor, please, can I hold you?”

“Always, baby.”

Internally you chuckled, you never told him he couldn’t touch you, you just followed his plea to use him like a toy. He was so pussy drunk, he forgot the parameters he set for himself.

He wrapped his biceps around you, your arms folding behind your back in the process, but that didn’t stop you from riding out the high that was another orgasm.

“That’s right, keep going. Úsame, take what you need,” he requested. He was itching to dive deeper into you, not wanting your pleasure to end.

You threw your head back and whined high with Miguel’s name on your tongue, gushing out your release for a second time.

“Fuck.” Miguel was still holding onto you, legs taut in their position. He swerved your pussy across his length, listening at how wet you were.

You laid your head on the tile above Miguel, relieved with its slight coolness and trying to slow down your rapid heartbeat. Your hips kept bucking as an aftereffect.

You didn’t get that much of a cool down before Miguel was at it again, finally sliding his dick in until he bottomed out.

The two of you let out long moans in unison, a harmony that wasn’t unfamiliar to your apartment.

In this position, your face was back in front if Miguel’s, eyes watery from the sensation of him filling you up.

“You’re perfect, you feel perfect,” Miguel cradled you, trying to get as comfortable as he could, despite the impossible position he put himself in.

Lifting his hips off of the bench, he held himself up by his back pressed against the tiles.

Before you could even ask him if you all should move to the floor, he knocked the wind out of you, holding you up as he slammed into you.

“Miguel!” you shout, clamoring for anything to grab onto after the impact had you knocking forward.

“I got you, I promise. Won’t let you fall,” he heaved out, words spilling out as fast as his hips were snapping.

All you could do was mutter out words incoherently, the sound of his hips slapping against your ass reverberating off of the walls. Your eyes finally let go of the tears they were holding, overwhelmed by your state of being.

“What’s that, mi amor?” Miguel cooed at you, licking off one of your tears and kissing your cheek. “Can you feel me? Is it too much?”

“I, ngh, I,” you could barely get your words out, your brain turning into mush after each thrust. Miguel kept going, humming as he spread kisses around your face.

“You gotta answer me, baby. I need to know,” he whispered.

“I’m trying,” you respond, voice cracking from overuse. You were still peeved at his composure. “I thought you said, oh my god, you said you didn’t want to hurt your back.”

Miguel just pursed his lips, eyes clearing up for just a second, “I didn’t. And I’m not going to, super-healing, remember?”

“That’s-” your sentence was cut off by Miguel hiking you up and smacking you back down in time with one of his thrusts.

“Shit! Do that again,” you sob, thoughts coming to a stop.

“Yeah?” Miguel tried his best to keep his eyes on you, but you were squeezing so tight around him that his eyes kept rolling.

“Yes, Miggy. Right there, that spot. It’s so,” you were drooling at this point. “It’s so much.”

Miguel kept it up, glad to be hearing those words, proud of himself for igniting you.

You held your head down, body wound tight, “I think I’m gonna cum. I’m close.”

“Again?” Miguel asked, heart fluttering at you falling apart on his dick.

“Yes, baby. Don’t stop,” you say, voice wavering.

Right as you felt your body beginning to let go, Miguel halted and sat back on the bench.

“No, no, no. Why did you-” You were cut off by Miguel grabbing you and placing you on your shoulders, pussy in his face.

He opened his mouth and pushed his tongue in where his cock once was swirling in and out, sucking at your folds. He starts to hum as if you've fed him his last meal, causing your orgasm to come in waves.

“Oh!” you shout, thighs quivering around his head, one hand gathering a fist of hair and the other pawing at the wall. Miguel was lapping everything up, holding you so that you couldn’t even think of falling.

“Ok, ok,” you say, mewling as he kept you in place while your hips shook. “S’too much.” He finally let’s go, placing you back in his lap.

“Did I do good?” he asks, chest rising and falling rapidly now that he catered to you. His face was a mess, evidence of you all down his neck.

You kissed his nose, giggling at his need for praise, “Yes, baby. You did amazing. Fantastic. Perfecto.”

He was practically vibrating with joy, kneading at your thighs.

“But Miggy, there’s still a problem,” you say, holding his face with both hands. “You still didn’t cum yet.”

You watched his face flit through several phases: ecstatic, worried, then hungry.

“Can I keep going?” he asks, hands starting to roam again.

You simply nod and try to prepare yourself for him moving you around again.

He sinks back in slowly, careful of your sensitive body. You try your best to move, hips working in circles, hands holding onto his thighs. You couldn't help but to squeeze onto him, despite how tired you were.

“You look so pretty,” Miguel mumbled.

“Bet I would look prettier if you finished. Inside.”

That fired him up even more. He started to help you to bounce up and down his length, teeth gritted. You held your head back, eyes scrunched at the feeling of him inside again.

Then he started to whimper, a telltale sign that he was close.

“Can you say it again, please?” he said, moving to stand with you in his arms.

“Say what?” you ask, exhausted yet in awe that he still had so much energy. “That I want you to cum inside? Fill me up?”

You could feel him twitch inside of you, mind hazy at the thought.

“Shockingly, no. My name. Porfa, mi vida. I need to hear it.” He was still holding you as he pounded away, eyes never leaving yours.

You’ve been saying his name the whole time, so surely that can’t be it. Then, it dawned on you.

“Let go, Mr. O’Hara,” you say, mouth right next to his.

And so he did. He bent over, hands gripping your sides as he snapped his hips frantically, groaning into your mouth as he kissed you hard. You could feel him seeping inside you, hot liquid filling you up.

You clutch at his shoulders, feeling your hold slipping from how wet his skin was from the shower and the heat. You cry out again, body sore from all of fun and sensitive from overstimulation.

Miguel finally let up for what felt like hours, standing up straight and pulling you off his dick. He hissed at the feeling, angling your body parallel to his so that everything could fall to the shower floor.

You lay your head on his shoulder tiredly, grateful that he was still carrying you.

“That’s going to mess up the drain. You should have just let it stay in me until it took,” you mumble into his shoulder, hearing his breath hitch at your words. “Or until I got to the toilet or something.”

He brought you both back to the bench, “You're on the pill so stop teasing me about that.”

“But that doesn’t mean that you can’t live out your breed-”

“Yeah, yeah. I got it, mi amor,” he says, pecking your lips to stop you from continuing. “Now let's clean you up. Again.”

He reaches for the shower head and checks the temperature. Humming, he aims the spray at your lower area.

You jump and yelp, “That’s so fucking cold!”

“Bébe, it’s literally warm. I just checked!”

No wonder he was about to die in the steam, “You know how hot I like my showers, and that’s ice cold right now.”

“Well I’m sorry it’s not burning, but we have to clean you up,” he said, trying to console you. “I’ll warm you up later.”

You look at him and there’s this playful look on his face. “No,” you say, just the thought of doing this again making you sleepy.

You eye his body up and down. “Maybe later.”

He just chuckled and finished up.

An hour later, the two of you are dry, blow dried, and comfortably laid out across the couch with baking competition shows queued up on the TV.

You look up at Miguel from your position on his chest, cheesing from ear to ear.

He feels you staring at him and looks down, eyes warm. “What?” he asks, watching your face light up.

“Nothing. I just love you,” you say, unable to look away.

He kisses you, heart keeping a steady beat, “I love you too.”

I hope you enjoyed reading! 🩵🩵

Any likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated and welcomed.

(And did anyone catch my Beyoncé Cécred refs?? I have no idea how brand names work with fics so I just stuck to nameless descriptions😭)

- Lauro 🧼

#love lab fics 🧫 #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel x reader #spider man 2099 #miguel ohara #miguel 2099 #miguel o'hara x black reader #miguel x black reader #sub miguel o'hara #sub miguel #x black reader #x black!reader #afab reader #x black fem reader #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #seriously though can I say brand names in fics? #i love miguel so much i could do a backflip #my friends are only mildly concered

[scoobysnakz]

loser!miguel who immediately regrets offering to walk you to the subway because you, being you, insist on holding hands all the way and letting your head rest on his shoulder each time you have to wait at a crossing.

you’re so oblivious to the tent in his pants, so blissfully unaware at the strangled groan that rumbles through his chest each time you give his hand a squeeze, that he’s starting to think you’re winding him up on purpose.

loser!miguel who nearly dies when you give him a hug, before hopping on the train, and you let out a small complaint about his keys digging into your thighs.

loser!miguel who desperately wants to get on the train with you, follow you home and memorise your address. maybe he can run into you one morning, offer you a lift to work which ends up with his cock buried deep inside your leaky cunt.

loser!miguel who has to watch the train whizz past with a frown tugging at the corners of his full lips and an ache in both his chest and thighs.

loser!miguel who has endure ruthless teasing from LYLA, who refuses to let him coming home with a boner and smelling of your sweet perfume go unnoticed.

she brings up how many times his heart rate spiked through out the day, how often his blood pressure raised and offers to book a doctors appointment, because “this isn’t normal, getting random peaks in your pulse at your age!”

loser!miguel who has to shut off LYLA because he needs some time to himself without an irritating AI nattering in his ear about his body’s health.

and finally, for the first time all day, miguel can sit in complete silence. for a moment, he’s worried that being left alone with his thoughts will only result in another couple of hours with your instagram on his phone and one hand shoved down his pants, but it’s not.

he thinks pleasant, normal, harmless things. like how kind you are to him, how gorgeous you would look in a wedding dress, what your kids would look like, how cheery your laugh is.

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#miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #spider man 2099 #spiderman 2099 #miguel x reader #miguel x you #miguel 2099 #miguel x fem!reader #miguel x y/n #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x y/n #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara smut #loser miguel