#into the spiderverse imagine

[theblackestvalkyrie]

In Defense of You

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x black!wife!Reader {Alternate Universe}

Summary: A little look into the life Miguel commandeered in the alternate universe filled with snippets and moments of love that ultimately lead to disaster......Or the one where Miguel took his alternate's place and gets you and your family killed. [TW/A/S/F]

Warning: Angst, marital smut, character deaths, murder, pregnancy, squirting, anxiety, Spider-Man 2099 lore HEAVILY referenced, reader body descriptions, insinuations of relationship/marital abuse, POV changes, attempted murder, housewife mentality, low-ish self-esteem reader, depictions of violence, slight OOC Miguel because this is before his family died and he closed himself off, SAPPY SOFT MIGUEL, vomit, bilingual family, Spanish language used but I gave up halfway through lmaoo, Spanish speaking black reader, mentions of alternate universe stuff like tv shows, technical marital cheating, no use of y/n, NO BETA WE DIE LIKE MIGUEL’S FAMILY.

A/N: I was inspired by the movie scene in the gif and then I saw this pic on TikTok and thought it paired well. Realistically, I think the timeline/Source/Universe would have noticed if Miguel was there for too long where he doesn’t belong but I wanted this to make you care about the characters and story so lmaooo. This takes place after Miguel and Lyla create a way to travel through universes and BEFORE he recruits the first Spider-Man (Earth – 67) to his cause. I don’t know what Earth this happened on in the movie so I just made it 22 and also made up that counterpart’s job and any and all allegations of marital abuse.

It started with a morbid curiosity. After he had made the discovery of alternate realities and then the way to travel to them it was only natural for Miguel to want to see those other lives. His own life on Earth-928 hadn’t been anything to be proud of. He had every opportunity in his younger years being almost too smart for his own good. He could have done anything, been anything and he ended up at Alchemax. A megacorporation that was every bit the definition of capitalism and big government all at once. They had their fingers in damn near everything you could buy on the free market.

Alchemax was trying to corner the market on superhuman drugs. They had pretended to care about the well-being and safety of everyone by offering a serum to give people powers like the good old days when superheroes weren’t so rare. The overwhelming demand for this serum led to Alchemax skipping right passed any safety measures and straight to live human trials. So much death and chaos followed giving Miguel a crippling addiction to their serum and his genetics mutated beyond repair.

Again, it was only natural for him to seek other lives. To see what could have been. An that’s when he found Earth-22. He meant to be an observer in the beginning he really did. Meant to blend into the background not even an afterthought to anyone who would glance at him. His assistant Lyla (or LYrate Lifeform Approximation) knew not to say anything about how much time he was spending on that Earth-22 and he never volunteered any information about it, opting to keep it as a special place for himself.

Of course, Earth-22 wasn’t all that special except you. Nothing in those alternate universes had captured his attention so fiercely as you did. He hadn’t known you in his reality. If he had maybe he wouldn’t be the broken addicted man he was today.

You were everything he wanted in a life partner and then some. You dealt with a lot while holding down the household and raised your daughter Gabriella with more love and care than Miguel recognized in his own childhood.

You didn’t have many friends and rarely went out except for when it came to taking Gabriella out or running errands. Despite this seemingly monotonous life, you never let it affect you in a negative way and if you did, you never let it show. Miguel didn’t know if it that was admirable or stupid.

While you were seen as a goddess in Miguel’s eyes, his counterpart on the other hand was a disappointment. The Miguel of Earth-22 was everything he was not. Ignorant of the needs of his wife and even more so of their daughter. Instead, he pretended to be a man of integrity. Everything he did seemed to contradict what he said. He said he would take less hours at work yet he was working at Alchemax, another fact that blew Miguel’s mind, and in fact would double down on how much he worked while making excuses to his family.

He said he loved his wife yet he was fucking one of the clinical laboratory scientists that he worked with.

He said he loved his daughter yet he rarely spent any time with her and if asked probably couldn’t even tell you her age.

What a fucking disappointment.

Then it was like the universe answered his prayers. The alternate version of him was killed trying to stop a purse snatcher as cliché as that was. He had lived his whole life as an asshole and tried to redeem all that negative karma with a failed purse snatching attempt. All Miguel could see was your reaction to his doppelganger’s death. How devastated you and your daughter, Gabriella, who was only seven would be. How would you make ends meet? The Earth-22 Miguel was the main breadwinner of the family so how would you fair then? Would little Gabriella even remember her father? There were too many what ifs for Miguel to think clearly. His current life on Earth-928 was over thanks to the need to lay low after the blowout with Alchemax and becoming the new Spider-man, this was the fresh start Miguel needed and he did the only thing he could think of on short notice. He blended in.

You hummed happily under your breath as you soaped up a plate in the sink letting the background noise of Gabriella’s children’s show lull your mind to wander. Any minute now your husband Miguel would be home from work and then you would talk to him about it. Lately you felt like Miguel has been wondering. Not in terms of cheating that you knew of but lately things have been souring between you two. He wouldn’t hold you as closely anymore as he often did. The sex and kisses were pretty much non-existent and would only happen when you initiated it. It was starting to make you feel self-conscious and ugly. You knew your body was just a little bit off from giving birth to Gabriella and after she turned five you decided to get back into shape. This proved to be much more difficult to balance a relationship, household, personal needs AND a rambunctious toddler but you were proud of yourself for making it this far and keeping things together. But the relationship with Miguel was deteriorating lately and you wanted to do something to reconnect with him.

The sound of the front door opening broke you from your thoughts and you hurriedly dried your hands on a dishtowel and made your way to the living room. Gabriella had beaten you to Miguel first and was giggling excitedly already swept up into his large chest.

“Daddy, I missed you!”

Miguel peppered little kissed across her face before hugging her even tighter not saying a word. Eventually Gabriella had enough.

“Daddy, you’re squeezing too hard!” she frowned and kicked her little legs in mock protest although she made no real move to get out of his arms.

“Sorry honey.” Miguel laughed as he let her go and watched her scamper back to her place on the couch and completely enthralled with her show.

You moved from your hiding place in the kitchen archway pulling his attention from Gabriella and onto you. You shivered feeling his eyes pierce right through. It felt like he was looking straight into and through your soul and every hidden dark corner of your being.

“Hi…” Your voice trails off and cracks under the pressure of his gaze. If he noticed it, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he crosses the gap between you and into your personal space.

Miguel cradles your face tenderly breath fawning over your face lightly. His body seemed so much harder and chiseled then you remembered and being so close to Miguel after so long send a sharp tingle to your core. You were suddenly so much more aware of how badly your body had been neglected. Up close he looked so much more different than you remember. Harder, like there was a wall up or some kind of hurt that was still raw and emotional.

“Hi.” His eyes raked over your face as if to commit them to memory.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks suddenly confusing you.

You had never really asked Miguel to ask consent before and he never really asked. Things just kind of happened between you. You never even thought you could deny your husband access to your body.

You bit your lip in thought nodding shyly at his words and he grinned in triumph.

He met your lips kissing you softly as if for the first time making you gasp wantonly into his open mouth. He was making your head spin until Gabriella’s giggle at her show broke you apart. The last time you saw Miguel being this gentle with you was when you first started dating and you would be the biggest liar in the world if you said you didn’t miss the treatment.

Despite this you still wanted to talk to him about your relationship.

“Can we talk after dinner?”

He looked concerned but nodded pressing a lingering kiss to your temple.

All throughout dinner he didn’t want to let go of your hand opting to eat with one hand and only letting go when you absolutely had to eat your food. Miguel was also much more attentive to Gabriella even going so far as to help her cut up her vegetables and listen to the stories about her time spent at the park that morning. He even cracked jokes and asked questions about your day. You were in awe it was like you had married a whole different man. After the meal, Miguel even washed the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen after sending you off to put Gabriella to bed with a tender kiss to both you and your daughters’ temples.

“You’ve had a long day mi amor (my love). I’ve got it from here.”

His actions and words made you feel loved in more than the seven years you’ve been married. You both got ready for bed although he was a lot slower than most nights and you both slipped under the sheets of your shared queen size bed.

“We still need to talk.”

The way Miguel had been acting since he had gotten home had filled you with the confidence to be open and vulnerable with him now. So, you told him. About how you didn’t feel like yourself physically. How the pressures of raising a child while he worked all day, while running the entire household without his help was taking you into the beginning stages of a depression you didn’t think you could get out of. How the sex between you two was non-existent and you felt how much he had loved you today. How it felt like it had been before the babies and the bills and the seemingly endless responsibility of it all was taking over.

Miguel didn’t hesitate to cross the bed and gather you in his arms in a strong hug.

He began apologizing profusely not making and excuses for the past behavior and verbally committing to being a better husband and father. You had no reason not to believe him as this was the first-time bringing these issues to him yet he took it better than you thought.

“I don’t ever want you to feel this way again mi amor(my love). You and Gabriella are the most important things in my life. I wouldn’t be the man I am today without you both. Mi corazón es perfecto porque tú estás dentro de él (My heart is complete because you are in it). I want you to feel as loved as you have made me feel. No puedo vivir sin ti (I cannot live without you). Let me show you how much you mean to me.”

And show you he did. The sex that night was like no other with Miguel being more attentive and loving as ever. You lost count of how many times he made love to you that night and how many times you came.

You tried to keep it down for Gabriella’s sake you really did but the things Miguel was doing with his tongue were making things difficult. Miguel’s lips were wrapped around your clit suckling like a newborn calf while he worked your opening over with three thick fingers.

“Give me another orgasm baby I know you can. Quiero sentirlo (I want to feel it).”

With a quiet sob you came around his fingers shaking and quivering. Quickly, Miguel rose to his knees on the mattress and spread your legs wide bending them at the knees into an M shape before grinding against your slick heat.

“You think you can take some more baby?”

You were already past your limits tonight never having been this sexually worn out in your life but you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else right now but underneath your husband.

“Por favor, sí, lo necesito (Please, yes, I need it)!”

Miguel slipped his cock into you giving you a second to adjust before he started thrusting into you at a steady pace. The curve of his shaft was made for your insides as you molded around him perfectly and his cock head rubbed the spongy mound of your g-spot deliciously.

Immediately you start creaming around him the moans in your voice getting louder and louder not even thinking about the child sleeping down the hall.

But Miguel did and with his hand over your mouth and his face in your neck he sang praises of devotion and love to you while he pulled another blinding orgasm from your body.

He held you down into a mating press and pounded your shaking form into the mattress harder when you began to squirt around him drenching the lower half your bodies and the bed. Miguel kissed the tears streaming down your face as he whispered more words of affirmations rocking into you slowly.

“Eres mi todo (You are my everything”).

Miguel was cheating on you. The Miguel of Earth-22 had been having a whole ass extramarital affair with his co-worker and Miguel had forgotten. He had been so enthralled with you and Gabriella that he had completely forgotten about the mistress problem.

Marisol Medina was a newly hired clinical laboratory scientist working in the same department as Miguel as his subordinate. On Earth-928 Miguel had worked in the genetics department and it seemed Earth-22 was the same. The only difference being that Alchemax wasn’t creating super serums here and his doppelganger had actually been the head of the Genetics Department which in retrospect was an HR nightmare. That meant that Earth-22 Miguel had hired Marisol in the first place. Maybe he hired her in the hopes of taking her on as a mistress? Which made sense because if he was being honest Marisol’s job could have been done by a slightly trained chimpanzee. It made Miguel sick to even think about.

Marisol was everything you weren’t. She at least a foot taller and a few pounds thinner having never had children nor the natural curves you were genetically blessed with. Instead of the natural curls and headwraps he loved on you, Marisol had thick wavy auburn hair running down her back. She couldn’t speak Spanish as well as you could, Miguel would find out later that this was a complete lie in order to get closer to him, and in fact that was apparently how they had connected in the first place. Of course, he had to nip that in the bud quick and started treating her like a co-worker and less like a mistress.

Miguel had waited until he was the last one in the office to approach her. Predictably, Marisol had stayed behind too. He had been successfully ignoring any attempts that didn’t have to do with work and ignored her phone calls outside of work even going so far as to block the number.

She had approached him with tears in her eyes and Miguel cringed internally at the cruel nature of it all.

“What’s going on Miguel? First you ignore me at work and now you won’t pick up my calls? What did I do wrong?!”

Miguel sighed, “I love my wife, Marisol. Whatever thing we had is over. I’m sorry we had anything in the first place.”

Marisol covered her mouth in a barely contained sob as he continued. Might as well rip the rest of the Band-Aid off.

“You can still keep your job if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m not that much of an asshole. From now on I’m your boss not your boyfriend. It’s over.”

He left but not before catching the blank look on Marisol’s face through the tears. If Miguel had been a more observant man, he would have seen the hatred and revenge brewing behind her eyes.

With Marisol taken care of, Miguel toyed with the idea but ultimately gave up the idea of even being Spider-Man in this universe. Not only did he have a crippling addiction to Rapture, thanks to a blackmail attempt by the Alchemax of his original universe, but would it take too much time away from his new family. This was the break he needed. Away from the chaos of being Spider-Man and back to where he belonged. With Gabriella and you. And why shouldn’t he treat you both as if this was his reward for every fucked up twisted thing that had happened to him? You both deserved happiness and so did Miguel.

Still, he had to take those fucking Rapture injections. Getting time away to dip into the stash he had stolen were getting low. Not critically but enough for Miguel to go back to his original Earth and bring back more. Developing more was out of the question. Alchemax had mad it nearly impossible for it to be recreated outside their labs. Even if he wanted to, he would need to have equipment in the home. With you being a stay-at-home mom, there was no way you would ignore a gigantic laboratory setup in the house.

With added trips to Eath-928 for Rapture and Miguel assimilating to his doppelganger’s life, your little family slowly fell into a comfortable routine.

One year had passed and your family was flourishing. Gabriella was now eight and showing an interest in soccer. Miguel was still showing you the love and appreciation you had asked for and this made the relationship flourish. You finally felt like the energy was being reciprocated and you couldn’t be happier. On top of all of this you found out you were pregnant.

Miguel had actually cried when he found out which threw you because he hadn’t done the same when you were pregnant with Gabriella. You just chalked it up to the heart-to-heart conversation you had last year and didn’t think too hard on it.

Family trips had become more recent as of late and this just added to the happy feeling all around. Today was a trip to the beach, something that was seriously needed in the summer months.

“Em, hurry up we’re gonna be late!”

Gabriella’s soccer ball came flying down the stairs the same time as she did and you would have laughed if the ball hadn’t flown over your head and grazed the mirror hanging in the foyer.

“What did I say about balls in the house!?” You scolded her smoothing the curls of her head as she passed to grab her ball.

“Not to do it in the house. But I want to bounce it on my head like the real players!”

She demonstrated this by attempting to balance the ball on her head but you quickly grab it and replace it with a kiss instead.

“If you practice soccer, you won’t be able to go to the beach today. You don’t even have your sandals on!”

This seemed to snapped her out of her soccer haze and she squealed in excitement as she ran to put on her shoes.

As if on cue Miguel pulled into the driveway and bared through the front door with several shopping bags full of snacks and sunscreen. His face lit up at you and he dropped his bags and gathered you in his arms kissing any exposed skin.

“Hi baby.” He dropped you and kissed you hungrily then dropped to his knees and kissed your swollen stomach addressing the unborn child in your womb.

“Hi baby.”

You laughed as the baby pressed against your abdomen to nudge their fathers’ lips and Miguel grinned. At seven months you thought you were huge but Miguel wouldn’t hear it and often kissed your stomach like he did now.

“Did you see that honey? He knows me for sure.”

A boy. You and Miguel had been ecstatic when you had heard and even Gabriella had been excited to have a brother when you both sat down and told her then news.

The beach proved to be an excellent idea. The day was filled with snacks and fun but both you and Gabriella had been tired by the end of it. This left Miguel to pack up the supplies you brought in while you took the trash to the nearby can on the sidewalk.

“Cute family.” You jumped in surprise to find a woman in large sunglasses and a floppy beach hat obscuring her face.

“Oh, thank you!” You grinned watching Miguel help Gabriella stomp on her sandcastle when he was supposed to be packing up the toys and towels.

“How old is she?”

“She’s eight now.” You couldn’t help but gush.

“I have a nephew around her age. Maybe they go to school together?”

Before you could spill anymore of your private life you could hear Miguel shouting for you.

“I better get going Miss?”

“My name is Catherine.” She smiled shaking your hand.

“I’ll see you around Catherine.” You smiled back and waddled back to your family.

“Who was that?” Miguel frowned wrapping a protective arm around your shoulder.

“Just someone who thinks our family is cute.” You tease pinching his side.

Miguel laughs and scoops Gabriella onto his shoulders making her squeal and ignoring the way the vanilla ice cream in her hand dripped down the cone and onto his shirt.

“Well of course they do! Just look at this little sand goblin!” He tickles his daughter’s calves and she laughs and squeals. They make a beautiful picture together and it makes you want to snap a picture so you pull your cellphone out of your bag in the sand and snapped a few before recording a short video as well.

“This is definitely cute.” You laugh at the mess of ice cream on his shirt growing.

“Cariño (honey), help me!” Miguel waves to you in mock terror as Gabriella smashes her ice cream into the side of his face laughing the entire time. As you stopped the video and cleaned Miguel up you couldn’t help but notice a sinister feeling creeping up your spine.

 Running into Catherine was becoming such a regular occurrence at this point that you two just started planning things to do together instead. It was nice to have a friend again. An actual girlfriend to confide in the things you couldn’t with Gabriella or Miguel.

This day you and Catherine had planned a much-needed manicure and pedicure day and had ordered from your favorite burger spot. You had been craving it all day and you both had arrived back at Catherine’s house to eat on her patio before moving inside to enjoy the cool air conditioning.

You sighed reclining back in your chair and kicking up your feet enjoying the breeze from the A.C. Miguel had been worried as of late with your perinatal period being considered a moderate risk pregnancy. You had been determined to have a good and relaxing time despite this and Miguel had reluctantly agreed to let you go out.

“I fucked your husband.”

You froze. Your sense of peace absolutely shattered by the whiplash of your friend’s statement.

“I’m sorry?”

“I said I fucked your husband.”

Catherine’s face was strangely blank and emotionless. This was a hard contrast from the smiling funny person she was just minutes ago.

If she was joking or not you genuinely couldn’t tell. You set your drink down and clutched your stomach nervously.

“What the fuck are you taking about? If this is a joke Catherine it’s not very funny.”

“My name’s not Catherine you stupid bitch. It’s Marisol. I’m so sick of pretending to be your friend. Having to hear all about your pathetic little problems and your little brats every fucking day has been driving me crazy.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. This couldn’t be the same woman you had become friends with over the past few months but here she was now out of her seat and towering over you with a disgusted look on her face.

“Miguel’s a liar you know. You can’t trust him. He told me he loved me. That he would leave you and that brat. But he goes and knocks you up.”

Her fist comes swinging in a heavy right hook to the side of your face and you’re on the floor before you can react to the jarring information of your husband’s infidelity. The world spun on its axis and you landed hard on the ground as Catherine now Marisol began kicking the side of your head and back with her boot. Your instincts kick in and you curled up in a ball protecting your stomach from the violent assault. You could feel the anger in each one of her punches and kicks, the pain of it all making you physically vomit on the floor and her boots.

Marisol screamed in disgust and grips a handful of your braids before pushing your face back into the vomit and rubbing you in it like a dog being punished for pissing in the house.

“You nasty fucking bitch! Look what you did to my shoes!”

She drops your limp form into the mess on the floor and spits on you.

“That’s supposed to be my baby you cunt.”

Marisol stepped over you kicking you in the side this time and walked into the kitchen rambling to herself. You knew then that she was going to kill you and your baby. You had to get away. With all of the strength you had left, you crawled to your phone which was now on the floor along with the rest of the contents of your purse.

Just as you touched the phone, you were yanked backwards hard by your legs. A knife in Marisol’s hand flashed menacingly, the jagged tip slicing your arm as you fought back.

“Stay still you fucking bitch. I want my baby.”

Pain bloomed in white searing heat and you saw spots behind your eyelids. You screamed bloody murder in an attempt to get anyone to hear you as the knife began to slice into your side.

Miguel was worried. You had promised him that you were going to call him when you got to your friend’s house. Normally Miguel wouldn’t be so possessive but with the delicate nature of your pregnancy you’re lucky Miguel let you go out at all. Yet you hadn’t called.

Miguel peaked in on Gabriella taking a nap in her room before closing the door and summoning Lyla on his interdimensional watch. Immediately Lyla’s small holographic figure appeared.

“Nice digs Miguel! You’ve made quite a life for yourself here although the style is a little dated.” she judged as her figure flew around the room to various objects obviously excited to be in the space Miguel hadn’t previously allowed her.

“Where is the little rugrat? I’m dying to meet her! She can just call me Auntie Lyla!”

“Cut the shit. I need you to track a phone for me.”

Lyla frowned and studied his face.

“You going back to being Spider-man? The hero we all know and love?”

“Maybe…...She hadn’t checked in.” he answered cryptically ignoring the hopeful tone of her voice typing his missing wife’s number into the watch. Almost immediately on the map popped up a tiny glowing dot where you supposedly were.

“See she’s safe and sound at 426 Herald Way owned by a Marisol Medina.”

Miguel froze, bile rising in his throat. His Spidey senses had been tingling since before you hadn’t checked in but Miguel didn’t want to be controlling like the previous Miguel had been.

“Lyla, I need you to watch Gabriella for me.” He pulled the suit on and flew through the door without a second thought

“Hey I don’t babysit for free!” She shouted after his retreating form.

When you woke up the first thing you thought of was your son. Your movements cause sharp pains to blossom across your body making you cry out in pain. A pair of hands came to cradled you gently. It was Miguel. You could see Gabriella curled up on the hospital couch asleep clutching a stuffed animal snuggled into her blanket asleep which soothed some of the panic but your main concern was your unborn child.

“Baby, can you hear me?”

Immediately you began to cry and Miguel shushed you moving to sit on the bed. Everything that had happened came rushing back to you. You couldn’t calm down seeing your slightly deflated abdomen.

“My baby Miguel. I need my baby.”

He couldn’t survive at almost eight months, could he? All the knowledge from your previous pregnancy with Gabriella and the baby prep books that you had diligently looked over and memorized were nowhere to be found. Instead, your mind spiraled into panic and negativity.

“He’s fine baby he’s in the NICU. I just saw him a few minutes ago he was sleeping. Please lay back for me.”

He gently guided you back down as you continued to cry silently this time.

“Miguel did you cheat on me?” you cried.

His face dropped and for the first time in a year, the illusion of your happy marriage shattered. All this time had Miguel been trying to make up for whatever guilty conscience he had when he had come home that day a suddenly changed man?

Was this pregnancy just meant to distract you from the strange things that Miguel had been doing like leaving at random times?

He thought you didn’t know but you did. That weird watch he never took off even in the shower. The way you would catch him looking at you or Gabriella sometimes. He would get a faraway look in his eyes like he couldn’t believe you were real and in front of him. You had thought that it was love but now you didn’t know who he was anymore.

“Baby I can explain.”

“Save it. I don’t know who you are right now Miguel. I thought I could trust you but that almost cost me and my child’s life. I let this woman into my life. I told her private things about me. I feel violated Miguel. I don’t know if I will ever feel safe again.”

For the first time in your life, you saw Miguel truly cry. You put up walls around your heart so that you could focus on the logic of the situation instead of getting sucked into his tears.

Miguel could sense this and gripped your hands in his.

“I don’t want you to hate me.”

“Just tell me what’s going on!”

So, he told you. About where he’s really from. About the first time he saw you and what really happened to your Miguel. The cheating, the lies, the secrets. It was all revealed. This explained why Miguel had suddenly switched from absent husband and dad to ‘Father-of-the-Year’ in the span of a few hours. Why he went from demanding they all speak Spanish in the home to speaking mostly English and why he never seemed to know where anything was in the house for a few months. He even told you how he dealt with Marisol….

Miguel could smell your blood a block away as he swung through the buildings to Marisol’s home a little outside the city. Crashing through the patio sliding doors, glass flying everywhere, he was met with a scene that confirmed his worst fears.

You were on your back the room covered in your blood. He couldn’t see the shallow rise and fall of your chest but he thought you were dead. Marisol loomed over you still slicing and trying to follow the steps she researched a few weeks ago on how to perform the procedure but she stopped when Miguel barreled in like a bull in a china shop. Fangs out and Rapture coursing through his veins.

“Miguel, you came back!”

Red. All he could see was red and he let his rage take over. Before Marisol could come towards him, he tackled her, hands wrapped around her throat in a death grip.

“Miguel w-wait! I lo-ve yo..ou” She gasped and choked, kicking and scratching at every part of him she could get her hands on.

He didn’t feel it.

All he could think about was the loss of half his family. Their baby boy hadn’t even taken his first breath yet. Hadn’t even been given a fair shot at life. You were dead. How would he tell Gabbie what happened? How would she cope?

It made his blood boil. So, he kept squeezing her neck.

He squeezed even as she started crying and the blood vessels in her eyes started to burst from the pressure.

He squeezed even as she began to piss and shit herself as her tongue and lips swelled.

He squeezed until her head shot across the room and she stopped struggling.

He couldn’t feel anything.

These revelations left you shocked with so many more questions. It made your head spin.

Miguel could see how overwhelming this was for you and sat in silence to give you time to process this. The doctor came in cutting the heavy tension and giving you a rundown of your injuries and permission to visit the NICU when you felt better.

Baby O’Hara, as he was still named, was now ten days old. You had already missed so much when you had been in surgery and then a little recovery time to get the strength to see him. On your first visit you requested to go alone. Everyone had spent one-on-one time with him but you and it added to the feeling of missing out. On your second visit, Gabriella, and much to your slight annoyance Miguel, accompanied you to see the new family member to welcome him together.

Despite his small age, Baby O’Hara had a full head of hair perfectly smoothed and you briefly wondered if he would get your curl pattern as he grew bigger. His size made the wires and tubes seem so much bigger than they were. Despite this, he seemed as strong as ever his little legs kicking with curiosity.

You smile through your tears as you run a hand across the silk stands of his head, down his little chest.

As if he knew you were there, Baby O’Hare grabbed your thumb with surprising strength.

“Would you like to hold him?”

You jump in surprise but nodded eagerly as the nurse, who had been watching the event unfold, comes to the side of your wheelchair and gently folds the front of your hospital gown to expose enough of your chest for the baby but enough to remain modest.

She opens the incubator and expertly places him across your chest for skin-to-skin contact. You can feel your hearts beating together and you cradle him gently to you as Miguel and Gabriella crowd around you.

“He’s so tiny.” Gabriella stares in wonder.

You look at her for a minute just taking in both of your children, making it a point to ignore Miguel’s presence. Your daughter had been through a lot these past few weeks. Miguel hadn’t told her the whole story so all she knew was that she had almost lost both her mother and new brother. It had made her more clingy than normal which you didn’t mind since you could use some close family time.

“Do you want to name him?”

Her face immediately lights up at the idea as she excitedly looks back and forth between you and Miguel.

“Can I really?”

“Absolutely, my love. Anything you want.”

You couldn’t help but to role your eyes at his words. Of course, Miguel would agree with you right now. After everything that happened, he was lucky he was even breathing the same air as you right now.

Gabriella bites her lip for a few minutes taking in her baby brother now fast asleep.

“I pick Benji.”

You can feel Miguel’s confusion but you hold back a laugh already knowing where she was going.

“Why Benji?” Miguel wondered

“If I ever get a dog, I would name them Benji.”

“I love it!” You laughed.

Baby O’Hare was officially named.

It had only been 6 months since everything happened. Couples therapy was going slowly. You were still hesitant to trust Miguel and it was starting to bleed into other aspects of your life. Like trusting him alone to watch the children. Logically you knew this Miguel was different from the one you married but he still could have told you about the mistress Marisol yet he hadn’t.

Miguel knew you didn’t trust him yet he never did anything to trigger you or rush you too forgive him. If anything, he was being more than understanding and you couldn’t tell if it pissed you off or made you fall more in love with him.

Benji, more practically named Benjamín, was doing well as a preemie according to his doctor and so was Gabbie you couldn’t be happier.

Of course, the happiness couldn’t last.

The rumbling started around noon. Benji had just gone down for his nap and Gabriella was home from school for summer break so she was playing in the living room. Your apartment building shook with such fierceness the pan that you had set on the stove to start lunch was thrown to the ground.

Panicked you rushed to grab Gabriella on your way to Benji’s nursery. As if on cue the infant started his high pitch crying obviously mad about the disrupted nap.

You grabbed him as carefully as you could as you all ran underneath the dining table for safety. Earthquakes in Nueva York were nonexistent so you could only imagine what could be happening.

The shaking and rumbling stopped but you didn’t dare get up yet for fear of aftershocks.

“Y/N?!”

It was Miguel decked out in his full Spiderman attire. He had shown you once when you asked but this was different. His face was panicked and he was breathing hard.

“Miguel!” You called to him as he climbed through the living room window and straight to your little family.

“Are you alright?!”

He frantically checked you all over for any sort of wounds before hauling you up careful of the baby still in your arms. He grabbed the baby sling off the couch nearby and helped you and Benji into it. Gabriella was clinging to your leg silent tears running down her face.

“We need to go.”

His eyes were darting everywhere and he looked nervous…. guilty even.

“Miguel what’s going on.”

He sighed in defeat. He swore to never again lie to you.

“It’s my fault. The quakes…everything.”

The ambient noise of Nueva York had changed from the usual city atmosphere to screams of terror and flashing light.

“The universe is collapsing. I didn’t even know this was a possibility. It has to be me…. what I did…”

Terror seized you as Miguel lead you all out on to the fire escape through the open window he entered through. He wrapped your arms around his neck and helped Gabriella onto his back.

“Hold on we’re getting out of here.”

 Swinging across the city you quickly realized what the screaming was for. People, cars, well everything was disappearing at an alarming rate. Miguel was swinging his ass off through the city but you knew that while he had the stamina, he couldn’t out run whatever it was forever.

“Miguel, you need to put us down!” You yelled over the wind.

He shook his head frantically.

“I can’t. Need to keep you safe.”

Up ahead the world was starting to disappear as well sandwiching you on all sides. Miguel could tell it was over. The weight of you all was wearing him down and the glitching was coming faster now. Even if he could get you away from the glitching you all couldn’t leave. Not without a watch to stabilize your energetic frequency to another universe like his did and he would need three.

Miguel stopped on what was left of the street as the people around you were in chaos letting you all stand on your own.

“Y/N I love you I’m sorry.”

He hugged you close sandwiching the children between you as you all sank to your knees in defeat.

You cradled his face in your hands sobbing as he took you all in. The way Gabriella looked like a perfect mix of you both. The tiny cute little features Benji was growing into like the little curl pattern he was starting to develop and you. The one who had drawn him to stay there in the first place. It was love at first sight when he first saw you that day as you ran errands and Miguel couldn’t fathom a day without you. Without all of you.

You kissed slow and needy knowing it would be the last time. You knew you wouldn’t get to tell him everything you wanted to say. How you did forgive him you were just being stubborn. There was only time for one last goodbye.

“Miguel I lo-”

The world turned white and his family was gone.

Miguel was alone again.

[comiicii]

Hummingbird II

Backdrop: You and Miles have been best friends since you were babies. Doesn't mean that the friendship never faced hardships. Pairing: e!1610 Miles Morales x fem!spider!reader Warnings: none, probably some grammar errors and my attempt at fluff with the characters. y'know before the inevitable has to happen A's notes: apologies for this not coming out sooner. also, i don't think i clarified in the first chapter that reader is also hispanic. i'll be sprinkling in some spanish words moving forward. if you'd like to be tagged, do let me know in the comments. Translations: a comer = time to eat | amiga = friend (feminine) | mi vida = my life, darling, dear etc. | lo adoro = i adore/love it Word count: 2.5k PREVIOUS | NEXT

After that, you brought up the subject every now and then. You had spotted on his notebook once a quick doodle of you swinging around. It was from a clip he’d seen on the news and thought it was cool. When Araña was brought up, Miles never had anything but good things to say. Always commenting on how cool she looked on a video he’d seen of her stopping robbers or the one time he heard her speak Spanish to an older woman as she was helping cross the street. His words were indirectly helping you to keep going.

You tried harder to salvage the friendship you had with him as you came up on two years of fighting alongside Peter. You had more study sessions together (which you were still sometimes late to) and you did your best to keep him involved in your life.

The study sessions that the two of you had were also becoming more frequent as you were gearing up for entry exams for Brooklyn Visions Academy. If you did well on the exam, you would be entered into a lottery that could land you the opportunity to attend the school. You were naturally academically gifted - didn’t mean you never studied, though. You knew that this could be great for your future. You wanted to make a difference in the world and while Brooklyn Middle had great programs, BVA would be a step in the right direction to get you where you wanted to be for college. Two students would be selected from the lottery after the school year ended.

You and Miles alternated study session locations; the last one being at his place before the entry exam. Mrs. Morales adored having you in her home. She was worried when you didn’t stop by as much; going as far as to ask your father about your well-being (he claimed you were going through puberty and all that ‘teenage angst’). Mr. Morales breathed a sigh of relief when he noticed you and Miles were studying together again; he always thought of you as a good influence on his son. You complimented him in areas where he wasn’t the best and knew him a lot better than they would these days.

The two of you had been studying for the last few hours and you had informed your family that you would be eating dinner at Miles’. Peter also knew that this was an important time for you and let you have the night to study, rest and enjoy your time with Miles.

“I think I’m going to pass out if I have to look at another page of equations.” you groaned on his bed, falling back onto the pillows. Miles could only laugh on the floor, agreeing with your statement completely.

“¡A comer!” Mrs. Morales yelled from the kitchen. You silently thanked the heavens for her impeccable timing.

As you two set the table, the TV flashed to a picture of Spider-Man and ‘Spider-Girl’, reporting on an update of the Green Goblin you two had thwarted the previous night. You didn’t pay much attention to it once you heard them refer to you as Spider-Girl. Oh, how you dreaded them calling you that.

“It’s terrible that he’s gotten a young girl believing that she can just swing in and not take responsibility for her actions!” Mr. Morales hollered at the screen as he helped bring the food to the table.

Miles rolled his eyes at his father, never really agreeing with his dad’s opinions on the superhero. He mumbled under his breath about how he didn’t understand. You quietly chuckled at his statement. He was a cop after all. What you and Peter were doing was helping but technically illegal.

The conversation was quickly squashed before it even started by Rio when she looked at Jeff with a look. She didn’t want to hear any talk about work or superheroes at the table. Dinner was spent eating and catching up with the family that hadn’t consistently seen you in a while. Rio had expressed that you could talk to her if you were going through something, appreciating how much she cared about you like you were her daughter. She always looked out for you. Jeff had asked the two of you about studying for the entry exams. You had shown more enthusiasm for the opportunity to study at BVA more so than Miles. Before the two of them could get into it, you mentioned how much you appreciated Miles helping you study. You knew how hard his father could be, despite meaning well. You always tried to make Miles look good in front of his parents to spare him. Miles bumped his knee with yours under the table as a ‘thank you’. It seemed like the two of you were getting back into the swing of things like before. That night, you ended up sleeping over for the first time in a little over a year. It warmed your heart knowing that your friendship with Miles was settling back to the way it was.

When you were chosen in the lottery with Miles to go to BVA, you couldn’t be happier. You felt as if it was a sign that life wasn’t going be terrible. It signaled to you that you could handle your school and spider-life. Or so you believed.

After you turned 14, you had begun pestering Peter to start trusting you to tag along with him to fight more of the big bad guys he was always on the news about fighting. He didn’t want you messing with the ‘big leagues’ yet as he was worried about your safety. 14 still meant you were a kid, after all. Even if you were 21, Peter would’ve still been hesitant. Last thing he needed was to further traumatize you or possibly get you killed. It wasn’t until you bothered him beyond belief and pinky swore that you’d get out if it got too dangerous. It meant that you’d leave Peter to fight for himself if it got to be too risky to keep you safe. You and Peter both had families that cared about you but his family wasn’t in the dark about the crime-fighting. He’d rather risk himself than have to explain to your family why he couldn’t keep you safe.

Meanwhile, Miles didn’t enjoy being at BVA. He quite loathed it. While he had you there with him, your schedules weren’t the same; three classes in total you had together. The school load was also stressful and it felt as though he didn’t belong. Didn’t mean that you weren’t stressed either. You were practically drowning in your own thoughts of your future on top of the work load from school and your spider duties. You were barely getting any sleep and had debated on letting a few classes suffer for the sake of lessening the stress of your life. You just seemed to have a better way of hiding your stress than Miles - something he commented on when he realized that you were just as stressed but didn’t show it. Thankfully the two of you had lunch together to connect and stress together. It hurt to see that your best friend didn’t see himself fitting into the school. You always told him to give the school a shot because maybe, just maybe, he may like it. He often wished to be back at Brooklyn Middle. He described the school as ‘elitist’ and that neither him or you belonged because it was always going to be you two against the world.

It was a saying the two of you bonded over - especially since it was the name of one of your favorite songs. You had originally voiced the phrase when you were both 10. Already feeling the weight of the world on your shoulders. Miles knew that your home life wasn’t always peaceful and that you took on more than you should’ve, emotionally speaking, for a 10-year-old. Miles always did his best to let you know that he was there for you. Whenever your family stressed you out, you would find yourself on the roof of his building, staring at the sunset, waiting for the sky to turn navy. You two had managed to keep a giant sleeping bag stashed there to lay on and go under when the nights turned cold. It was your own private hiding spot from the world. On particularly stressful days, one or both of you would bring food to eat your feelings.

“Hey Miles,” you turned your head to look at the boy who had just listened to you ramble about what was going on in your headspace for the last 30 minutes.

“Yeah, Y/N?” he kept looking up at the sky.

“Are you scared of the future? What may happen to us?”

“Yes and no,” he chuckled, finally turning to look at you, a small smile creeping in.

“Why’s that?”

“‘Cause, you and I are bound to change and yeah, I’m scared that you won’t want to hang around me at some point buuut,”

“But?”

“I’m also sure that you and I will always be in each other’s lives - can’t get rid of me that easily, Y/N.” he reached over to tickle your side, earning you a laugh as music softly played along with the natural sounds of Brooklyn. Your favorite, 2pac’s ‘Me Against The World’ started playing in the air.

“It’ll be us against the world”

“Always, amiga”

You smiled across the table at the memory. You knew that he could succeed in BVA. He didn’t get lucky, both of you deserved to be here. You didn’t want him to quit when there was a possibility for him to do great things and prove himself to all the other snobs that he was just as smart, if not, smarter than all of them.

“C’mon Miles, you’ve barely given it two weeks,” you started as you played with the food in front of you.

“Now you’re starting to sound like my dad,” he groaned. The comparison stung a bit but you kept your face neutral.

“Y’know you deserve to be here just as much as these other richy-rich kids” you started, not wanting your frustrations to shine through.

“Y/N, if I flunk a couple more tests, they’re sure to kick me out and back to Brooklyn Middle,” he was growing frustrated at not being understood, “all our friends are there.”

“Your friends are there, Miles. Not mine…not anymore.” you were now getting a jump start on an assignment, trying to distract yourself from the loss of a few friends because of your crime fighting. It was a painful reminder of how quickly people were willing to let you go.

“Y/N, I don’t know why you want to stay here so ba-“

“Because I care about my future Miles,” now you were yelling, “you’re not the only one who has had to sacrifice so much to get here!” a few sets of eyes were staring at you and Miles. Not wanting to make more of a scene, you grabbed your belongings and walked out on your best friend who sat there hurt and embarrassed for the second time since arriving at the school (the first being when his dad dropped him off at the beginning of the week).

You didn’t speak to Miles for the remainder of the day. You didn’t mean to yell but you knew what you needed was to patrol with Peter to get away from your schoolwork and all your other stress. It was good that you lucked out and didn’t get a roommate. Well, you did for two days and then she was gone - you don’t know if she couldn’t handle the pressure or something else had happened.

“Tough day at school today?” Peter started from your dorm window.

“Don’t wanna talk about it, Pete.” you grumbled as you pulled your mask on.

He didn’t bring it up for the rest of the night.

The following day, you had run late to your first class and tried multitasking during classes. By the time lunch rolled around, you and Miles still sat together, just didn’t say a word. He was listening to music as he ate while you worked and ate. You know Peter would’ve laughed if he saw the two of you. You were both mad at each other but you were still sitting together eating lunch. It was a testament to your friendship. The two of you could argue and yell at each other but like you both had said various times, you couldn’t get rid of the other easily. It would take a lot to leave each other. You knew in your heart of hearts that you could never leave Miles, no matter what he did. You loved the boy so much and considered him a lifeline. If you cut that, you don’t think you’d survive the world. Miles felt about the same. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see that the two of you would be in each other’s lives forever; even through the ups and downs of life.

You had your final class of the day with Miles. It was an English Literature class and you had been assigned a personal assignment that your teacher decided was a good way to get to know the students. You were allowed to work alongside a partner for the remainder of class to brainstorm and start the assignment. Quietly, you and Miles made your way to each other, sitting in the back corner of the room on the floor. Miles had taken out his sketchbook to start brainstorming some ideas for how he could title his paper. You had forgotten your sketchbook in your locker. Regardless, you weren’t as skilled as Miles when it came to art. You mainly did little doodles in the margins of your notebooks. Which is why Miles referred to your sketchbook as a ‘doodle book’.

“I’m sorry for losing my cool with you, Miles” You bumped your shoulder with his as you aimlessly doodled on your notepad.

“Don’t worry about it, mi vida.” he was already writing something out on a page that had a few drawings. One that particularly stood out was a side profile of Araña. “I know how hard you worked to be here and I’m more than happy to have you here with me.” he smiled as he continued sketching.

“What’re you going to title your essay?” you rested your head on his shoulder, a natural position the two of you were often seen in.

“I’m not sure yet but I thought of one for yours,” he mindlessly spoke, his attention on getting the design just right for you, “if you like it, of course.”

Your eyes started focusing on the word he had spelled out, the lettering he kept simple, almost delicate.

“Hummingbird?” you eyed him, brows furrowed.

“Yeah…I read somewhere that they bring good luck if you’re visited by one,” he stated as he continued detailing around the lettering, “I think it suits you.” he sheepishly smiled.

You couldn’t help but smile and placed a quick peck on his cheek, “I don’t like it, Miles.” you state with a smile on your lips as you bring your focus back to your notepad.

“Lo adoro”

[cupcakeinat0r]

You've always known just how big Miguel is. No, not in that way; just big in general. There are short people, average people, tall people, and then there’s Miguel. Big and heavy. He’s reluctant when you ask him to be your “weighted blanket” because he always feels like he might seriously hurt you. Nonetheless, you always tell him how much you love the feeling. You love everything about his size and all the benefits it comes with. You wouldn’t change Miguel in the slightest. No way. . . But there’s this one thing.

 It’ll be super late into the night, and let’s say it’s Winter to make things worse. 

Well, you thought you started the night wrapped and bundled up in y’all’s down-feathered comforter, whipped out from the closet for frigid nights like these. You even wore your thermal pajamas, that’s how cold it was, so you definitely know you fell asleep extra cozy and toasty for the night. To go even further, Miguel always wraps an arm around you before drifting off, pulling the distinct aroma of your clothes and skin closer to his face. . . So why do you still feel cold? 

You remain asleep until your skin can no longer bear the invasive crisp of the air. Dejected, your eyes open, your gaze leading from the wall down to the bed around you.

You twist your head to see behind you, your eyes following along the bed until you find the culprit.

So that’s why I’m cold. Sucker took all of the blanket to his side. 

Your expression is a mix of reproach and borderline laughter. You hold it in so as to not wake him, of course. You did have to admit, despite it costing your comfort and warmth, the sight next to you was just too darn cute. You almost wanna take a picture of the precious crime scene. 

You reckon that, deep in his sleep, Miguel had turned over, and in doing so, brought all of the blanket with him. With tired eyes, you turn your whole body now to face him, his back facing you. You lay there, looking on with a soft smile. Your eyes scan all the shapes and edges; how the mountain of his figure rises and falls. You hold in a chuckle whenever he snores significantly louder. 

When you’ve had enough, you turn back around, and as quietly as possible, you get up to grab another blanket. The other move would’ve been to pull back your portion of the blanket, but there was the risk of waking him, so you settled for grabbing another one.

You come back, snuggled in your assigned spot on the mattress and allow sleep to take you for the second time that night. 

It’s not long before you feel shuffling in the bed. Your eyes crack open when you feel a different, more familiar warmth. You see that the throw blanket you grabbed from one of the lounge chairs is no longer on you, but on the floor. Instead, on your body is all of the comforter that had been stolen from you, in addition to the arm that initially took it. 

“Mmsorry, beba,” with eyes still closed, he mumbles through his half-awake state, ”I’ll buy us a bigger blanket”. 

Your lips curl in your slumber, the feeling of Miguel’s body cocooning yours conquering any blanket or comforter in the world.

<3

[wyvernest]

mating szn

PART 2‼️ (part 1)

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!gf!reader

warnings: horny miguel, smut, fluff, dryhumping, unprotected p-i-v, breeding kink, scent marking, primal play, rutting miguel, possessiveness, reader is ovulating, descriptions of oral sex (f!receiving), rough sex

summary: miguel comes home feeling extremely needy

Stumbling and yelping in sync with his heavy footsteps catching up fast, you reach the first floor.

Before you get to offer yourself a fraction of a second to decide your next move, the hallway carpet curls up under your feet, slipping behind as your arms instinctively shoot forward for you to catch yourself.

Bringing one knee to your chest, you're prepared to launch yourself forward like an olympic runner. 

Too bad.

Miguel's broad hands grip your waist from behind, once again sending jolts of adrenaline throughout your entire system.

You scream in delight through playful giggles, calling out his name breathlessly and maliciously arching into his hold. 

You're getting wetter by the second seeing just how horny he is.

He pushes you down, forcing you on both knees. The deep pants from the chase quickly turn into something else as you feel his weight on your back, feel him get on one knee behind you. 

His grip on your waist tightens. He brings his crotch up to your ass, grinding his erection up and down your clothed slit.

His hips roll slowly, rubbing the thick shaft of his hard-on lazily and mindlessly, the motions shallow and enticing.

"Ah, come on, baby", He leans forward, nuzzling his face into your soft hair, basking in the slightly-sweet, flowery scent of your shampoo. With a messy kiss to your neck, he speaks, raspy with need,

"Can't help it." More wet, sloppy kisses to your neck, more thrusts of his rock hard cock against your drenched folds through the thin material of your panties and his boxers. "I need, I need - ugh" the words fail to form as his hot breath hits the back of your neck, followed by more kisses and bites.

He brings a hand to the meat of your right thigh, grabbing harshly. He then lets it slip up over the mound of your pussy, cupping you and pushing two fingers over your folds, still stopped by your panties. You shiver at the feeling of his huge, warm palm touching your core so pervertedly, so desperately. 

He can feel the wet patch on the cotton fabric, proof of reciprocated desire.

His senses once again catch the unmistakable, ever so dearly intoxicating aroma of you, so ready for him. His eyes roll back with a silent inhale, his bare chest rising and falling on your back. 

He wants nothing more than to bury his face between your plush thighs and lap at your essence, pussy-drunk and keen on overstimulating you; licking and sucking at your clit, circling around your damp folds with his tongue until you're pushing him away, begging for a break, swollen and exhausted.

He can almost imagine you, tangling your fingers in his hair, pushing and pulling, either smothering him into your velvety cunt, needy and on the edge, or trying to escape his grip. He'd only hold you down, burly arms curling around your legs, just so he could make you come again, to feel you pulsate, feel your juices coat his mouth.

But with the way his cock twitches, begging for friction and stimulation, he can't think straight. 

He feels an overwhelming urge to shove himself inside you and fill you with his cum, to see his cock rearranging your guts through your belly, to empty his balls in your womb and watch his seed dribble out of you, and push it back in with his still hard cock, hold it there so that it takes.

His warm, eager hands travel down to your panties, and in their loose hold as he attempts to drag them down your thighs, you once again snake away, giggling with a sardonic grin that doesn't do well in covering up the desire evident on your features.

"¡Mierda!" He grunts, and you enter the bedroom, reaching the balcony door and turning around. You catch the sight of Miguel clawing at the door frame to take the turn and come in faster. 

Before you can react and take your eyes off the enormous bulge in his shorts, the defined shape of his dick protruding erotically against the material, he pounces, caging you against the wall, distancing your legs far apart with one knee.

His palms slip to your sides, not missing the savory opportunity to settle on the sides of your tits. He fondles their softness with the heels of his hands, pushing them together, pressing his whole body into yours.

You let out a barely audible moan as he corners you, almost squeezing you between his muscular frame and the wall behind you, and he almost loses all that's left of his sanity.

He kisses your temple, full of yearning. Although, he's instantly reminded that his scent has worn off of your feverish skin.  

"Por favor,-" a deep groan vibrates in his chest against you, making you quiver.

"He estado cachondo todo el día," (I've been horny all day). He holds you tight against him, your tender breasts pressed flush against his pecs.

"No podía pensar en nada más que en ti" (I couldn't think of anything but you.) 

You finally give in and offer a smidge of relief, sliding your hand down to grab his clothed hard cock. The second he feels you palm him tentatively, he reflexively starts rubbing himself on your hand like an animal in heat, groaning ruggedly.

"That's it." He rasps, fed up, and it's almost a threat.

He slowly walks over to the bed with you secure in his arms, but when his knees hit the frame, he doesn't drop you like he normally would. No. He's not giving you another chance to flee. A part of him loves the cat-and-mouse game he knows you enjoy so much, but the other part can already feel his fat, full balls turning blue.

Placing you down, hands still gripping your waist viciously, he gets on the bed, the mattress sinking down under his weight.

You feel your clit throb as he traps you with his thighs, taking your shirt off. His touch leaves goosebumps over your silky skin.

Under your hazy gaze fixed on his movements, he hovers above you, skipping the usual looks of adoration. Not that the sentiments were gone by any means, but he was far too needy to wait any longer.

The kiss he suffocates you with is fiery, full of all the pent up tension he had to endure.

As his mouth moves against yours eagerly and messily, you notice how it lacks his characteristic expert, methodical approach.

His lips were just as soft as ever, but devoured your every moan and breath with a fervor unfamiliar. His tongue slips past the liplock, dominating you in no time, and right when you start to adjust to the new strategy, catching up with his movements, he parts from you, breaking the kiss and sucking your soul out of you with it.

He continues his attack down your throat, biting and licking hurriedly, marking you as his. 

Groaning freely, he reaches your breasts, taking them in his mouth, one after the other. His hands squeeze, roam and play with them, making you bite down on your lower lip and whine beneath him.

He suckles on the perked nipples, releasing them to catch his breath with another gravel moan. When he's done, your chest is coated in his spit; fresh, hickies already blooming over your tender tits.

The weight of his cock settles on your thigh, pressed snugly and oozing precum through a dark spot on his boxers. 

Your own hands attach to his silky dark hair, caressing and brushing wild strands away from his forehead, clinging and pulling occasionally when he latches onto your breasts again after taking a few deep breaths.

Sliding lower, impatiently licking and biting over the line of your stomach, he finally gets to your panties. 

He kisses the soft lips of your pussy through the fabric, the scent of your arousal driving him mad. He groans again, words slurred through the desperate, obscene licks, "Eres.." He extends his tongue, lapping up at the dampness, "..tan bonita." (You're so pretty)

Your heels are digging into his shoulder blades as you squirm and moan under his sultry touch. Through half lidded eyes, you see him bare his pearl white fangs, as if prepared to sink them into your sensitive skin.

You gasp, a little above a moan.

"Miguel! Don't - ah" You whimper as he grits his teeth around the elastic of your panties, tearing them in two with the help of one hand.

He grabs your thighs, kneeling between your legs.

Shoving his hand in his shorts, he takes his dick out, its mushroom head glistening mauve. He begins to stroke it more violently than you thought he would've taken pleasure in.

Mouth agape, pupils blown wide, he looks downright primal. Solely focused on claiming you, on stuffing you full of his potent seed, of draining his fat balls in your warm cunt until you're begging him to stop through ablaze overstimulation.

Cock in hand, incontestably massive encompassed by his proportionally large fingers, he slaps the hard, angered, heavy shaft on your tender folds, groaning at the wet sound of flesh against flesh. He rubs it over your lips, drenching it in your juices.

You notice his thighs flex, already insanely sensitive. When he eases the head in, he moans, rough and low in his throat, brows creased in pained pleasure. You whimper his name, legs quivering faintly on each side of his waist.

Using his weight to press your body down into the mattress, forcing you onto him, he slides his arms underneath your knees, throwing them over his shoulders and bending you in half.

A shiver bursts through you at the sensation. You clench around him, forcing a strangled groan out of his throat.

He braces himself down on his forearms, face nestled in the crook of your neck. Pushing in, the bulbous tip of his cock kisses your cervix as he bottoms out and gets straight to a tireless pace, not giving you the ritualistic second to adjust. 

The bed creaks and squeaks with the way he's throwing himself into your cunt, pounding you into the soft cushions relentlessly. 

His hips gyrate roughly against yours, his tense abdomen waving into you, dipping his meaty cock in your juices with an obscene, wet squelching, finishing each delicious swing with a quicker entry, more forceful and animalistic. His pubes brush harshly against your engorged, swollen clit, sending jolts of electricity through your core.

Skipping the tension, the build-up of speed, he drives straight to the euphoric rhythm of a release chase. His balls slap onto your ass, his pelvic bone nearly delivering bruising slams against your own.

“Ugh, oh Miguel-,” you gasp for more air, struggling to form a coherent sentence through delirium, your breaths and moans rhythmically timed by his rough thrusts. 

You curl your arms around his neck, nails digging into his back and shoulders. He looks down at you, watching your breasts bounce in his face, and starts rutting harder into you, every ridge and vein of his fat cock brushing against your sensitive spots perfectly.

Each time you call for him, it's a melody, a rapturous chant that has him on his knees, his mind in cobwebs, his heart aching; and for the time being, his cock throbbing as well.

"I'm - ah! Cumming!Ugh, M- Mig- uel- !" You moan sharply, your orgasm rapidly threatening to burst like fireworks.

He frowns, panting, shallow breaths hot over your face. You convulse under his massive body, arching your back, squeezing your tits flush against his feverish skin. 

He feels your pussy flutter around his cock, milking him and sucking him in. He groans loudly in your ear, pace faltering ever so slightly. The headboard of the bed keeps slamming against the room wall, spurring your orgasm on with the reminder of the force of the man above you.

With one final thrust, his whole body tenses. He pushes forward, burying his cock in your soft, warm cunt, dumping his load in much slower and shallow rolls of his hips. You feel his dick pulsate inside you with each new spurt of cum, the remnants of your own climax making you clench around him reflexively.

He stills, relief washing over him. Meeting your gaze, he watches how you come back to your senses, the blinding lust replaced by love and admiration.

He grabs your waist and pulls you down with him, laying you on his chest, his softening cock still inside you.

You close your eyes, head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

Dinner long forgotten.

divider by @cafekitsune

a/n: did my best here. the tags deadass took longer than the writing

TAGS

@thel0velykey190 @allysunny @weirdothatwritess @animechick93 @6thhokageswife @spookydragonsong @aisyakirmann @playmatenextdoor @skulfan1 @sat10 @2joos2cry @2099hitmylineyline @aiyaaayei @holographicang3l @heartfairy @cyberbugg @freehentai @acrazybiotch374 @theywhowriteandknowthings @shinyberry69 @pluviophilis @barely-thriving23 @realalpacorn @thekidscallmebosss @hrlzy @m4dyy @cringeycookies @tendoswifi @greatheartattacks @reborn-rekall @darksidescorner @yehet-moi-ohorat @poeticmoonspirit @kth137

[i-ate-the-rats]

hehehehe oh shit indefinite sad dark shadow (⊙ˍ⊙).

[sweetimpurity]

LOSING MY FUCKING MIND OH LORD THE BACK THE STRETCHMARKS THE HAIR

[shortnspidey]

SLIM PICKINS

Peter Parker X female!reader || WC: 5.7K

SUMMARY: Safe to say your love life was nonexistent. You’d tried everything, swiping through dating apps like it was your part-time job, smiling at strangers on the subway, even letting friends set you up with guys. Still, nothing. Just awkward dates, ghosted messages, and a lingering sense that love might just be a myth. But maybe, just maybe, the problem wasn’t you. Turns out, slim pickins didn’t apply when the best option was right under your nose.

WARNINGS: Established friendship, friends to lovers, idiots in love, angst, fluff, cursing, self-deprecating thoughts, set after the events of Spiderman: Homecoming, Me Before You reference, steamy kiss but no smut!

A/N: About time I wrote something about the man that this blog is named after! Figured I’d combine both with this story, based on the song below! I related a little too much to this, cause let's be so real the dating world is the worst right now! 😭 Hope y’all enjoy!! Divider by @sister-lucifer <3

➩ main masterlist

➩ peter parker masterlist

For you, Valentine’s Day had to be the worst day out of the entire year. Everywhere you turned, couples were practically glued together, gripping hands like the world would end if they let go, feeding each other overpriced chocolates in the park, giggling over heart-shaped lattes like it was the most original thing ever. The city seemed to ooze affection: pink lights in every café window, pop-up flower stands on every corner.

So you did what you did every year, opted out.

No red, no pink, no cheap paper hearts. Just your regular hoodie, headphones in, head down, ready to get through the day like it was any other Friday. That was the plan for tonight too: takeout, a rom-com you’d pretend not to cry over, and your faithful pint of Cherry Garcia ice cream. That was the plan. And you were sticking with it, no matter what. The slam of the lockers nearby snapped you out of your daydream.

You blinked, realizing you’d been standing there too long, caught in your own mental version of a black-and-white breakup montage. You turned toward the sound, already half-expecting to see more heart-shaped nonsense or a couple caught mid-makeout, but it was just your best friend, Peter Parker. He was stuffing books into his backpack like he was late for something, hair a little mussed, sleeves rolled sloppily to his elbows.

He looked like he hadn’t slept much, which, with Peter, wasn’t exactly breaking news, especially not lately, ever since he scored the Stark Internship. You’d noticed the late nights, the new bruises he never explained, the way he sometimes winced when he thought no one was looking. But there was something different about him today. A kind of restless energy buzzing just beneath the surface, like he was waiting for something, or holding something in.

Before you could get too caught up in decoding him, a familiar voice broke through your thoughts. “Sup, loser.” You turned just in time to catch MJ smirking at you, her hands tucked deep into the pockets of her oversized army jacket. Her hair was pulled back in a haphazard bun, earbuds draped carelessly around her neck like a lazy accessory. You couldn’t help the way your mouth twitched into a smile.

MJ had a way of grounding you, dragging you back to earth in the best and most sarcastic ways. You closed your locker with a metallic clunk and slung your backpack over your shoulder, matching her stride as the two of you headed toward the cafeteria. “Any pink-plans later?” MJ snickered, bumping her elbow into yours with just enough force to make you stumble a step. “You know I hate Valentine’s Day as much as you do, Michelle.” You groaned, theatrically.

“Just checking. Can’t have you catching feelings and making me participate in some disgusting heart-themed Pinterest night.” She narrowed her eyes, mock-serious. “Because I will burn it all down.” You held your hands up in mock-surrender. “I believe you,” You laughed, tugging the sleeve of your hoodie over your knuckles. “It’s the worst holiday. Manufactured affection, forced gift-giving, fake declarations of love… hard pass.”

“See, this is why we get along,” MJ smiled hooking her arm around yours. “We’re both deeply cynical with emotionally unavailable tendencies. Can’t forget out motto, expect disappointment and we’ll never be disappointed.” You shrugged. “Actually, I prefer to call it realistic,” You replied, shooting her a grin. “And emotionally self-aware.” MJ raised a brow, amused. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that.”

You pushed open the doors to the cafeteria, immediately greeted by the smell of questionable pizza and the sight of pink streamers crisscrossed along the ceiling like some kind of Valentine's-themed crime scene. Someone was handing out candygrams near the front doors, each one tied with a glittery ribbon and a little plastic rose. You felt your stomach twist at the mere thought.

You noticed Peter had already found a seat by the windows, half-heartedly poking at something on his tray. He looked up just then, as if he felt you looking. His eyes caught yours, wide, doe brown, and tired. But there was something in them. A flicker. You weren’t sure what it meant. MJ followed your gaze, then glanced sideways at you, suspicious. “Please don’t tell me you’re catching feelings for Parker, of all people.”

You scoffed, a little too fast. “What? No. Don’t be ridiculous.” She didn’t look convinced. In fact, she narrowed her eyes in that signature MJ way, like she was two seconds from dissecting your soul under a microscope. At this point, you were pretty sure she could read your mind. The smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth was dangerously knowing. “You’ve got that look.” She stated matter-of-factly.

You folded your arms across your chest, the universal defense mechanism of a person absolutely guilty of something. “What look?” You challenged, raising a brow with as much faux confidence as you could muster. “The maybe-my-best-friend’s-cute look.” She deadpanned, her eyes flicking toward Peter again like she was collecting evidence. “I don’t have a look.” You insisted, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “You do. In fact, it’s happening right now.”

You flushed instantly, heat instantly rising to your cheeks. Your eyes darted away, landing on the nearby vending machine with sudden, exaggerated interest. But MJ wasn’t letting you off the hook so easily. Before you could protest further, she looped her arm through yours and practically dragged you toward the lunch table where Ned and Peter were already seated.

Their conversation, coming to a suspiciously abrupt halt the moment you and MJ got within earshot. Peter’s eyes flicked up to meet yours. He straightened a little in his seat, pushing his tray forward like he’d just been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Ned looked equally guilty, but less subtle about it. “Y/N! MJ!” Ned called out with a wide grin, waving you both over as if you hadn’t been on a direct path to the table already. You didn’t question it.

You slid into your usual spot across from Peter, MJ settling beside you with her book already reopened like she had better things to do than acknowledge everyone at the table. “Any plans tonight?” Ned asked casually, his tone too light to be anything but bait. “I’ve got a date with Ben and Jerry,” You smirked as you unzipped your bag. “And my bed.” Peter let out a laugh, which seemed to have caught him off guard, because he immediately coughed to cover it up.

Ned, fully aware of your annual anti-Valentine’s crusade, turned to MJ next. “What about you? Anything?” MJ didn’t even glance up from her book. “Why would I want to celebrate a holiday that promotes codependency and glorifies capitalist manipulation through artificial affection and overpriced florals?” You snorted, choking on the sip of water you’d just taken.

Ned nodded solemnly, clearly used to this answer by now, and launched into an explanation of the new Star Wars LEGO set he’d started building, a massive replica of the Millennium Falcon that, according to him, required “Jedi-level precision.”You half-listened, eyes occasionally drifting to Peter, who had been oddly quiet ever since you sat down. You shouldn’t have been surprised, because that’s when MJ struck.

“What about you, Parker?” She drawled, finally looking up, her tone all faux innocence. “Any Valentine’s Day plans we should know about?” You looked over at him just in time to see the tips of his ears turn pink, spreading color across his cheeks. Peter didn’t look up, just stabbed at the contents of his tray like they were suddenly a tactical threat. “Stark internship,” He muttered, shrugging. “Same as usual.”

You tilted your head, studying him a little more closely. That restless energy from earlier hadn’t gone away. If anything, it had doubled. His foot was bouncing under the table. His fingers were tapping an uneven rhythm on the plastic edge of his tray. Something was definitely off. MJ gave you a barely-there glance from behind her book. Just a flick of her eyes. But the message was loud and clear nonetheless.

He’s hiding something.

You engaged in idle conversation with Ned, letting him drag you into a very passionate rant about why Rogue One was the pinnacle of Star Wars cinema. You nodded along, offering a few “totally”s and “yeah, that makes sense”s, but your mind kept drifting. Not because Ned was boring, far from it, but because Peter had gone almost completely silent which was completely unlike him.

Normally he’d be adding sarcastic comments, laughing at Ned’s over-the-top dramatics, maybe even jumping in with a nerdy side tangent of his own. But now? You were lucky to get a grunt, or a tight-lipped smile. One-word contributions. Maybe two, if you were lucky. You wanted to ask what was going on with him, but the shrill screech of the final bell cut through the room. Backpacks zipped. Chairs scraped. People moved like a tide.

You waved goodbye to MJ and Ned, slinging your bag over your shoulder and weaving into the current of students heading to your last class of the day. That’s when you heard it, soft, just behind your shoulder. “Hey.” You turned to find Peter keeping pace beside you, his stride just a little too quick, like he’d hurried to catch up. His hair was ruffled from where he must’ve run a hand through it, and he was fiddling with the strap of his bag, knuckles flexing, fingers twitching.

You’d known him long enough to recognize the signs: Peter Parker was nervous. “What’s up, Pete?” You asked, eyebrows rising slightly, your tone casual even though your heartbeat was beating hard against your chest. He glanced around, eyes flicking to the packed hallway, then back to you. He opened his mouth, closed it, then forced the words out before he could second-guess himself. “D-Do you want to, maybe, go out with me tonight?”

You stopped walking. Hard. If Peter hadn’t gently guided you out of the flow of foot traffic, you might’ve been flattened by the stampede of couples hand-in-hand and girls with teddy bears bigger than their torsos. The contact, his hand on your forearm, steady and warm, sent a current of heat straight through your veins. You blinked at him. “What?” He looked like he might combust on the spot, rubbing the back of his neck, his smile twitchy and nervous.

“I mean, like… you and me. Dinner. Tonight. I thought maybe we could, you know, go out.” Your stomach twisted, not in dread, but in that dizzy, disorienting way when the world shifts without warning. “Did MJ or Ned put you up to this?” You asked, the question out before you could filter it. Your walls were going up fast, automatic. Peter’s face fell for a split second, but he shook his head quickly. “What? No—no, this was my idea. I wanted to do this. I’ve actually been… thinking about it for a while now.”

You studied him, trying to find the punchline, but apparently there wasn’t one. Just Peter, standing there with his wide, hopeful brown doe eyes, flushed ears, and slightly crooked smile that always showed up when he was trying not to panic. He placed both hands gently on your shoulders, grounding you with a reassuring squeeze. “Only if you want to,” He whispered softly. “It’s okay if not. I just… I thought maybe…”

You looked at him, really looked at him and all those pros and cons you’d silently compiled over the last few seconds since he had popped the question suddenly lit up like neon signs in your mind. Pros: he knew you better than anyone. He made you laugh when you didn’t want to. He always saved you a seat, even when he said he wasn’t going to. He looked at you like you were… something more.

Cons? Honestly? You couldn’t think of a single one. Your lips tugged into a small smile, mind already made up, like it was the easiest decision you ever had to make. “It’s a date, Parker.” You watched as his entire face lit up, the tension in his shoulders vanishing like fog in sunlight. “Really?” You nodded once, biting back a grin of your own. And before you could blink, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your cheek.

Soft. Quick. Chaste, but it lingered. Just long enough to make your breath catch in your throat. “I’ll pick you up at five!” He called out, grinning ear to ear, already backing into the crowd. You stood frozen for a moment, students weaving around you, your cheek tingling from where his lips had been pressed. A date. On Valentine’s Day. With your best friend. Who you definitely, totally, absolutely did not have a crush on. Right?

It’s safe to say your closet was a war zone within minutes. Clothes clung to hangers like they were taunting you, while others were flung across your bed, draped over the back of your chair, or pooling on the floor like casualties of indecision. Denim, florals, sweaters, skirts, none of it looked right. Your makeup, usually tucked neatly away in drawers, was now strewn haphazardly across your vanity.

Lipsticks without caps, eyeshadow palettes cracked open, brushes rolling toward the edge like they were trying to make a run for it. You stared at the mess, chest rising and falling a little quicker than normal, fingers twitching uselessly at your sides. This wasn’t supposed to be this hard. It was just Peter. And yet, nothing you owned seemed to fit whatever it was that this night had become.

Anything you imagined yourself wearing was either too formal, too stiff, too casual, too “I tried way too hard,” or worse, “I didn’t try at all.” You held up a red sweater, squinted, then tossed it aside moving onto the next potential piece. You groaned, flopping back on your bed and burying your face in a pile of unfolded laundry. “This is so stupid." You muttered to yourself. But it wasn’t, because despite your best attempts at denial, your heart had been in overdrive ever since that kiss on the cheek.

Your fingers had brushed the spot absentmindedly at least a dozen times since. Now, every time you looked at the clock, a ripple of panic surged through you. You sat up, blowing hair out of your face, and tried again. Eventually, you landed on something simple but flattering, a soft-knit top in your favorite color and a pair of jeans that hugged your curves just right. You didn’t look like you were headed to a gala, but you also didn’t look like someone who was about to binge another rom-com in sweats.

Makeup came next, light, effortless, like you woke up like this even though you'd definitely sweated through at least one hundred outfit meltdowns already. A little mascara and eyeliner, your go-to gloss, and just the tiniest dab of blush to make you look alive. When you finally looked in the mirror, you paused. It was still you. But it was the version of you who, for once, didn’t dread Valentine’s Day.

The you who maybe, just maybe, was looking forward to this.

You were done getting ready by 4:00. Too early, probably. But you couldn’t help it. You re-sprayed a little perfume behind your ears. Lip gloss reapplied twice. By 4:30, you were already perched on the edge of your bed, checking your phone even though there were no new notifications. None at all. You told yourself he’d show up early, maybe even knock on the door at 4:45 just to be polite.

You checked the mirror one more time, tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, and tried to act normal. Totally not spiraling. Then it was 5:00. Okay, technically not late. Not everyone was obsessed with punctuality. Maybe he got caught on the subway. Or traffic. Or… whatever Peter usually got caught in. So you cut him some slack. At 5:15, you refreshed your messages for the third time, just in case your phone was glitching.

You checked your ringer, turned it off airplane mode, then turned it back on airplane mode, because that’s what desperate people did when they didn’t want to believe no one was texting them. 5:30. The silence started to feel heavier, the kind of silence that didn’t feel empty, just abandoned. The kind that pressed on your chest, slow and suffocating. 5:45. You peeled off your jacket and let it slump onto your desk chair.

You kept the rest of your outfit on, though. Some stubborn part of you still hoped for the sound of footsteps up the stairs. For a sheepish knock and a “sorry, I got caught up.” 6:00. Your legs had started to go numb from sitting so still. Your phone sat face-up on your bed, taunting you. The city outside your window buzzed with life, laughter echoing from the sidewalks, couples walking hand-in-hand on their way to overpriced dinners.

The world was moving, and you were frozen in place, still waiting on someone who clearly wasn’t coming. By 7:00, your heart sank low into your chest, too exhausted to hold itself up anymore. You let out a breath that felt like it’d been stuck in your ribs for an hour. Your eyes stung, but you blinked fast, forcing the tears back with everything you had. You didn’t want to cry over this, not tonight. Not over him. Still, your throat felt tight as you stood up, walking slowly toward your door.

You reached for the purse you’d hung by the hook hours ago, so sure you’d be needing it, only this time, you quietly placed it back in your closet. Your boots echoed against the floor as you kicked them off one by one. You didn’t bother turning the lights on. You shut off your phone instead, one last look at the blank screen before pressing the button and letting it all fade to black. You peeled off the outfit you’d picked with such careful hope.

The top you thought he might compliment. The jeans you felt just confident enough in. You wiped off your makeup, the mascara smudged slightly beneath your eyes from tears you swore you weren’t going to cry. But you did. You climbed into bed in a hoodie and sweatpants, bundled beneath a blanket like it could protect you from the hurt clawing through your chest. It wasn’t just that he didn’t show. It was Peter who didn’t show. Peter, who knew how hard dating had always been for you.

Who knew how much rejection chipped away at you more than you let on. Who was supposed to be the one person you could trust not to leave you hanging like this. You'd put yourself out there. For him. And he had forgot. Your tears were quiet but steady, slipping down your cheeks and soaking into your pillow. It wasn’t loud sobbing, no, it was that low, ache-deep kind of heartbreak. The kind that made your chest feel hollow and your throat burn and your brain whisper I should’ve known better.

After a few minutes of wallowing in self-pity, you swiped at your cheeks roughly with your sleeve and let out a bitter laugh. “Nope,” You muttered to no one. “Not crying over this. Not again.” You grabbed your laptop from your nightstand and queued up Me Before You. If you were going to cry tonight, it would be over Will Traynor, over Lou in those ridiculous bumblebee tights and her heartbreak in Paris.

That kind of pain made sense. Predictable. Scripted. It wasn’t supposed to feel this personal. You clicked play. And that’s when you heard it. A soft sliding sound, followed by the faintest thud of something landing just inside your room. Your heart jolted. The window. Your breath hitched in your throat as you slowly turned your head, blanket still pulled up to your chin. And there he was, Spider-Man. Climbing through your window like this was just a casual Friday occurrence.

Red-and-blue suit gleaming in the low light, a plastic bag dangling from one gloved hand. “Spider-Man?” You whispered, half a gasp. Half a question. Your voice cracked under the weight of surprise and disbelief. The white eyes on his mask snapped wide, comically so, like a cartoon. His whole body stiffened like he hadn’t expected you to be there, even though this was your room. “What the hell are you doing in my—”

You stopped.

His shoulders. His posture. The awkward, familiar way he froze like he’d just been caught sneaking in after curfew. Your breath caught. No, it couldn’t be. Something inside you shifted, recognition blooming like something you weren’t supposed to feel. He didn’t answer at first. Just stood there like a kid caught red-handed, one arm still holding the bag, the other halfway raised like he might wave.

You blinked, your stomach churning with something hot and bitter. “Peter Benjamin Parker,” You hissed, voice shaking as you sat up straighter in your bed, blanket clutched like a shield around you. “If that’s you behind that mask, so help me, God—” Silence. Then, his voice, muffled and hesitant, cracked through the air like a confession. “…Y/N, please, I can explain.”

You stared, eyes wide as he tugged the mask back and off his head with one hand still raised, almost like he thought you might throw something. You didn’t. You couldn’t. Not when you were suddenly staring at the boy you’d grown up with, the boy you trusted more than anyone else, standing in front of you in spandex and dried blood. God, you wished you had been wrong.

For a second, just one, your fury wavered. His face was bruised, his lip cracked open and caked with dried blood. His eyes, still soft and impossibly brown, carried this exhausted, haunted look that hadn’t been there a few months ago. Not really. You always assumed he was just overextending himself with school. Or the internship. But now it all made sense. The chronic exhaustion. The sudden strength. The sudden ghosting.

The constant injuries that came with vague excuses. How he’d somehow grown five feet taller overnight. It all just clicked. And yet, it didn’t stop hurting. You tucked your knees to your chest, arms wrapped tight around them, blanket slipping from your shoulders as you fought to keep your voice steady. “Y/N, please,” Peter coaxed softly, stepping forward. “I know it’s a lot to process—” You let out a scoff before you could stop it. “Understatement of the year.” You muttered, not meeting his eyes.

“I swear I was on time. I had everything planned. I even had Mr. Stark get us a reservation at that little Italian place you kept walking by after school, the one with the outdoor string lights and those little lemon desserts you said you wanted to try.” Your chest tightened. “I was on my way,” He rushed on, voice cracking with guilt. “And then this guy, some psycho in this rhino get-up, literally plows through Midtown. Police were nowhere close, and people were getting hurt, and I couldn’t just ignore it.”

He ran a gloved hand down his face, clearly exhausted, clearly frustrated with everything, including himself. “I’m not trying to make excuses,” He added quickly. “I hate that you thought I forgot. I hate that I made you feel like you weren’t a priority tonight. I’m so sorry. You don’t know how sorry I am.” You stayed quiet. Not because you didn’t have anything to say, but because you had too much to say.

You were hurt. Humiliated. Angry. And worst of all, underneath all of it, you understood. That’s what stung the most. You finally looked up at him, face unreadable, voice flat. “It’s fine, Peter.” That made him flinch more than if you’d screamed at him. “It’s not like you owed me anything, anyway.” You gave him a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. His lips parted like he was going to say something, but no words came.

You stood from the bed slowly, brushing past him toward your dresser. “You should go,” You murmured, not looking back. “You probably have another crisis to swing off to, right?” Peter shook his head so fast. “Y/N—” But you weren’t listening. The ache in your chest was suffocating, louder than his voice. Your own thoughts were clawing at you, stupid, stupid, how could you have thought this would be different—

Then, twip, a sudden tension yanked at your hip, and the world tilted. You stumbled, instinctively reaching out, and slammed straight into a broad, solid chest. One you knew by feel alone. Your hands found purchase on the firm muscle of his biceps, fingers digging in harder than you meant to. “Peter, what—?” You started, breath catching, eyes wide. But he didn’t let you finish. “It’s not okay,” He declared firmly, hands gently steadying you by the waist.

His voice was lower now, almost trembling. “It’s not okay because I meant what I said earlier.” You froze under his touch, blinking up at him, still trying to play catch-up as your heart sprinted. “I’ve been working up the courage to ask you out for months,” He swallowed thickly. “I planned everything, the dinner, the reservation, the speech, even the damn gift.” His voice cracked a little at the end. “I had this whole moment in my head. I was going to tell you how I feel tonight. I was going to tell you everything.”

He took a breath and stepped back just enough to gesture to himself, to the red and blue suit clinging to him like second skin. “This. All of it. I was going to explain. Because I didn’t want to lie to you anymore.” Your eyes darted between his face and his suit, your throat suddenly dry, your fingers still curled against the sleeves at his arms like your body didn’t want to let go, even if your mind hadn’t quite caught up.

“Y/N…” He whispered, eyes locked on yours, like he was searching for something in them, hope, maybe, or forgiveness. “You’re my best friend, but…” That pause. That heartbeat of silence. That sentence that shattered you before he could even finish it. “I don’t want to be just your friend anymore.” Your breath stuttered in your chest. And then— “Y/N, I love you.” He didn’t flinch. Didn’t second-guess. “I’ve always loved you.”

The confession was raw. It wasn’t poetic or perfect, it was real. Said with the intensity of someone who had run through hell all night and still showed up because you were the only thing that mattered. Your lips parted. But no sound came out. All the hurt, the disappointment, the unanswered texts, the hours spent alone tonight, none of it erased what he did, or how you felt.

Yet standing there in front of him, seeing the bruises he wore like a badge for a world that didn’t even know his name, and hearing those words… It made the pieces shift. Not fall back into place, but shift, like maybe they could. He took a cautious step forward, his hands rising again to hold you, not demanding, just asking. “I’m sorry I hurt you,” He repeated again, voice so soft it barely reached over the beat of your pulse. “But I swear, I meant every word. I love you.”

You didn’t answer.

Then, slowly, tentatively, your fingers slid from his arms to his chest, right over his racing heart. “Say it again,” You whispered. Peter blinked, surprised. “Please,” You all but begged, eyes stinging. And so he leaned in, forehead brushing yours, breath fanning against your lips like a promise: “I love you.” Your breath hitched at the words. Three of them. So simple, I love you, yet they cracked something wide open from inside you.

You stared at him, your heart hammering like it might tear itself out of your chest. His hands were still at your waist, thumbs stroking gently, grounding you. And then you surged forward. There was no hesitation, no overthinking, just raw emotion igniting like a match finally struck. Your lips met his in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was desperate, hungry. All the pent-up frustration, the hurt, the longing, the unspoken tension between you exploding into that one moment.

Your hands flew up to tangle in his curls as his mouth moved against yours like he’d been waiting for this, aching for this. Peter groaned softly, the sound muffled as your bodies pressed together, flush with heat. His arms wrapped fully around your waist, holding you to him like you might vanish. You felt the hard muscle beneath the suit, the way his chest heaved as your kiss deepened, mouths moving in perfect sync like you’d been made for each other.

You gasped softly as he walked you backward until your knees hit the edge of the bed, forcing you to lay down as he followed hovering above you, mouth never leaving yours, cradling your face in both hands now like you were something precious. Something fragile he’d nearly lost. The kiss softened then, still heated but slower, like he wanted to memorize the shape of your lips with his own.

Your fingers brushed over the bare skin of his jaw, and you shivered from the electricity dancing along your spine. When you finally pulled apart, barely an inch of space between you, your noses brushed, breaths uneven and mingling in the small distance. Peter’s eyes searched yours, glassy and warm and a little wild. “I’ve wanted to do that since freshman year.” He whispered, lips brushing yours as he spoke.

You smiled, thumb tracing the corner of his mouth. “Guess we’re both just as clueless.” He leaned in again, slower this time, like a promise: I’m not going anywhere. And this time, when his lips found yours, it wasn’t rushed. It was everything. Everything you’d waited for. Everything he’d been holding back. It was the kind of kiss that pulled the breath straight from your lungs and made the rest of the world dissolve.

His fingers brushed your jaw with delicate reverence, but the way his mouth moved against yours was anything but tentative. When you parted your lips slightly, whether in a gasp or invitation, you weren’t sure, he didn’t hesitate. His tongue slipped past your lips, tentative at first, like he was asking permission even as your fingers tightened in his curls. The kiss deepened again instantly, a slow heat building in your chest as your tongues met, exploring, tasting, hungry for more.

You let out a soft, involuntary noise against him, half gasp, half moan. You felt him react immediately, one hand sliding from your waist to your lower back, drawing you in closer until your bodies were pressed together from chest to knee. You could feel the tension in him, the restraint, even as he kissed you like he’d been starving and you were the only thing that could satisfy him. His tongue moved with yours, teasing and coaxing, a little clumsy but oh so Peter, earnest, sweet, passionate.

The kiss was messy, hot, addicting. Your fingers tugged gently at the ends of his hair as his mouth slanted over yours again and again, like he couldn’t get enough. And maybe neither could you. After what felt like hours, breathless, lips tingling and kiss-bitten, you finally parted, foreheads pressed together as you both tried to catch your breath. Your fingers were still curled into the fabric of his suit, heart thundering against his chest.

"Kinda leaving me hanging here." Peter huffed, his voice rough with affection as he reached up to brush a stray lock of hair from your flushed face, his knuckles grazing your cheek in a touch so gentle it made your heart stutter. You raised a brow, eyes flicking to the plastic bag now lying abandoned on the edge of your bed. “Is there ice cream in that bag?” Peter blinked like he’d just remembered it existed. “It’s probably melting as we speak.” You grinned, and he smiled back, soft and shy, like he couldn’t believe this was real.

“I love you too, Parker,” You whispered, the words landing between you like a spark catching dry tinder. His whole expression changed, like something sacred had just been handed to him. He leaned down again, lips parted, clearly intent on sealing the moment with another kiss. Only you pressed a finger to his mouth, stopping him with a teasing smirk. “But you’re definitely not off the hook.” His brows lifted in amused surprise.

“I demand a re-do. No interruptions this time. And a lot of Cherry Garcia ice cream to make up for tonight.” Peter laughed, the sound boyish and breathless. “You’ve got yourself a deal, pretty girl.” His voice dropped just slightly, low and fond, as he leaned in close again. “As long as you’ll also do me the honor of being my girlfriend.” You tilted your head, pretending to consider it, even as your lips twitched. “What does that entail?” You asked, faux curiosity laced in your tone.

The smirk that stretched across Peter’s face was positively wicked. His nose brushed against yours as he whispered. “Whatever you want it to.” That was it. You surged up and met his mouth with your own, kissing him again almost as if sealing the deal. His hands cupped your jaw, tilting your head as your mouths moved together with a new urgency, less frantic than before, but somehow deeper. More intimate.

Like now, with everything out in the open, there was nothing left to hold back. His tongue found yours again, slow and sure, as you pulled him closer, your fingers accidentally pressing against the spider emblem on his chest. You gasped when the suit loosened around his torso, revealing the defined lines of his chest and abs. The surprise only held you for a second before you pulled him in again, fingertips skimming eagerly across his skin. The bag with the ice cream lay long forgotten, but you didn’t care. You had something better.

You had him.

And maybe, just maybe, Valentine’s Day wouldn’t be so bad after this.

In fact, it might just become your favorite day of the year.

Thanks for reading! likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated! Feeling generous? Leave a tip!

[fairlyang]

thinking about breeding and mig being such a tease

cw: unprotected sex, choking, breeding, teasing, freaky frogs

his hands were gripping your hips, thrusting faster than before, not only getting more impatient but closer to the edge.

he had been waiting too fucking long and he couldn’t wait for another second.

he started thrusting harder into you, his hands now outstretched on the bed by your sides while he lowered his body down. you could feel his breath by your ear as well as him twitching inside you.

you turn your head to look behind you and seeing him, face flushed and pieces of his hair flying with his every movement, "don't you dare cum inside me-“

he only scoffs and a smirk appears on his face, "you sure you don't want me to?"

he stopped, a chuckle leaving his lips as he watched you pout. he was as deep as he could go but he wasn’t moving so you rolled your hips into his, needing that pleasure.

fortunately for you, he wasn’t an evil man, just a dirty one so he went back to his last pace.

you moan and lay your head on your pillow, feeling his hands lightly touch your sides. this time he wasn’t stopping and let the sweet (dirty) nothings come out.

“you really sure?”

“you love when I breed you.”

“usually such a dirty girl.. you’d be begging for it..”

You whimpered into your pillow, feeling yourself clench against him while he pounded into you like there was no tomorrow. you looked behind you again, looking into his eyes and trying your hardest to sound truthful, "y-yeah I don't want you to- d-don't do it-“

"then how come your pussy is gripping me like you do want me to?" he teased, making you whimper yet again.

"shut up." you cried out, your eyes rolling back as he laughed, “that’s what I thought.”

“now tell me the truth baby, what do you want?” He hums and you fight back an eye roll.

you wanted to be stubborn. you wanted to fight it but in reality you knew that you both needed it. and have been craving it even more than usual.

it was like a game, or more like a ritual.

and you’d always play along.

“I hate you.” you mutter making him grin, “oh I’m sure you do.”

“tell me, you want me to fill you up again? need every drop inside you?” he coos and goes faster.

“n-no-“ you mumble, ignoring his words as best you could.

“you’re so annoying.” you complain, making him moan, “don’t say things like that baby, you’ll make me come faster.”

that got you.

your walls squeezed him like a vice and a beautiful mix of a moan and cry slipped out of your lips. he groaned and kept his pace the exact same — knowing exactly what you needed.

he lowered his body down, one hand on your left breast, lightly squeezing and the right going to your throat. with his hand now in its rightful place around your throat, he was able to lean his head against yours, kissing your cheek and whispering, “tell me how bad you need it baby.”

another whimper left your mouth and you looked at him with those cute fucked out eyes — your stare alone nearly enough to drive him over the edge, “please- please give it to me. f-fuck I need it so bad.”

“there you go baby, good fucking girl.” he murmurs and you felt yourself getting closer.

he loosened his hand on your throat a bit so you could say whatever you wanted to without fail. with every flying second his orgasm was just building up and he needed that release.

“fucking shit- baby please, please, please come inside me- please!” you plead making him groan.

hearing your sweet pleads and seeing your reactions drove him insane and far more feral than you imagined. the hand on your throat went back to gently squeezing and your eyes began to flutter, “taking it so good baby.”

you whined and nodding, not able to think or say anything. too out of it already.

after taking notice of this, miguel let out his final groans and he spilled his load inside you. his moans and thrusts didn’t stop so you were able to come around him and feel him pump you full. your hands went to his arm, squeezing as he let it go and pressed his lips to yours.

he kissed you softly, not wanting to give you something so overbearing after your orgasm. you were both out of breath so it was really just cute pecks while you both calmed down together.

he slowly slipped himself out of you and rolled over, laying down next to you. he opened up his arms and you moved up to lay on top of him.

he wrapped his arms around you, giving your head kisses, and running a hand up and down your back. you felt your heartbeat was now normal so you just made yourself comfortable and completely ignoring the mess that was spilling out of you.

this was the usual routine.

pretend you don’t like the breeding just to make each other cum harder. the teasing was always a plus and he’d always make sure you got what you wanted.

[dollzstrology]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ SECOND CHANCE

Synopsis — After losing Gabriella, starting a family of your own was no longer the topic of discussion. You never wanted to push the issue since Miguel is still grieving but when you find out you’re pregnant, you’re scared that he doesn’t want to be a father again.

Music Advisory — Miguel O’Hara x fem!preg!reader // fluff, angst & hurt/comfort, spider-woman!reader, mention of grieving + child loss, established relationship [married couple], mom!reader & dad!miguel, pregnancy [first trimester], pregnancy symptom [passing out], emotional [crying, anxiety, fear, etc.], use of Spanish [google translations included]

Duration — 2.6k words

Words from Artist — This story has been in the making for a long time (literally almost two years😭) so I’m really glad I was able to finish it and share it with you guys because I really love the plot and I love pairing Miguel with prego!reader. As always feel free to comment and reblog, I enjoy reading y’all reactions and would love to hear your thoughts <3

Current Platforms — Main M.list・Atsv Taglist・Navigation

As you look at your reflection in the mirror, stripped down to only your undergarments with your spider suit in hand to get ready for your newly assigned mission, your eyes are settled on your stomach, imagining the life that's currently growing inside your womb.

You’re currently in the first trimester of the pregnancy and it’s only been a couple months since you found out the news. You’re excited about the pregnancy, it makes your heart warm when you think about bringing a little spider baby into the world.

The only thing you’re worried about with the pregnancy is revealing the information to your husband.

It's been almost a year since Gabriella’s universe was destroyed and Miguel was still feeling all the raw emotions of grief. Some nights you would find him in his office watching old videos with a smile across his lips, reliving the joyous moments of him and his daughter spending time together, and others times you would be comforting him while he cried in your arms, wondering why God had to take away his precious morrita [little girl].

You understand that grief is a process and you’re willing to stand by your husband and help him through it, whenever he needs to talk or just needs you to be with him in his pain, you're there, being whatever he needs in that moment.

You and Miguel used to talk about officially a starting family, he’s the adoptive father of his variants child and he loves her to pieces but both of you wanted to create a new life, you wanted a child that had a mixture of the two of you so you’ve been trying for a baby but after Gabriella’s universe collapsed having children were no longer a topic of discussion. You didn’t want to push him into talking about it until he was ready but now that you have a baby growing in your belly it’s time to talk about it and you’re nervous.

What if Gabriella’s death scarred him so much that he doesn’t want other children? What if he doesn’t want to rebuild the life he lost? The thought of him not being happy about you being pregnant creates a lump in your throat and causes your heart to fall into the pit of your stomach. You’ve been wanting to disclose your pregnancy to him but you’re scared, scared of what his reaction would be, and scared he would regret the idea of having a baby so you decide to wait until you feel the time is right.

With everything going on in the Spider Society like multiverses collapsing and anomalies needing to be stopped, Miguel is working more than normal which has caused him to feel stressed and you don’t want to pile on his load so you’ve decided to wait until things die down.

As you begin to slip into your spider suit you realize how tight the material is, how it’s clinging to your stomach and showing the tiny baby bump you have. It’s thankfully not noticeable to the naked eye so once you're fully clothed you remind yourself to have Lyla take your measurements so you can have your suit updated.

You take a deep breath before placing your mask over your head, mentally preparing yourself for what’s going to happen once you use your Multiverse Watch and walk into the red and orange portal that’ll lead you to the dangers you have to fight. Once you whisper a small prayer of protection, you press a few buttons on your watch before hearing the whooshing sound of a multiverse portal opening and you step inside, allowing the invisible currents to take you to your assigned destination.

—

After hours of running through the city, swinging from buildings, saving civilians that are in the line of fire, and fighting alongside your teammates to capture the targeted anomaly, you’re more than exhausted. Lately it’s been more physically tiresome to do your duties as Spider-Woman since your body is continuously adjusting to growing a child.

While you’re walking away from the team of spider-people, trying to get some air and give yourself a chance to recuperate, you feel a presence come up behind you. “Those were some badass moves out there, y/n.” Hobie compliments your impeccable fighting skills while placing his hands on your shoulders and giving them a light squeeze before coming by your side.

“Thanks, Hobie. I was hoping someone would notice the new swinging trick I’ve been working on.” You give him a gentle nudge, a little way to show your appreciation of his comment yet throw in a little playfulness. While you and Hobie continue sharing some friendly banter you feel yourself becoming lightheaded, walking is now difficult and your vision is gradually growing blurry.

You could feel your palms becoming clammy while a fire starts rushing through your body, causing your skin to start burning up. The strength you once had in your legs are weakening, so much that you have to grab onto Hobie to keep yourself from falling over and crashing into the ground. When the Brit man feels your hands clinging to his leather sleeves he quickly turns his head and looks at you with concern, wondering what’s going on with you. “y/n, you alright love?”

“Mmm I don’t feel so great…” Your speech is slow and your voice turns from its normal range to almost faint the more you try to form words into sentences. Your body feels like someone just got finished shaking you around, your stomach is churning and causing you to feel nauseous while the sounds of ringing are flooding your ear canals.

From your lack of energy and feelings of confusion you can't really comprehend what’s going on with your body but the one thing that’s able to pass through the fogginess of your mind is your baby. “Hobie, y-you gotta go get help. Something could be wrong with—” Before you could express your concern about your unborn child your vision turns spotty and soon enough goes pitch black.

Your body goes limp and thankfully Hobie has excellent reflexes because he immediately catches you. “y/n? C’mon, wake up!” He slowly crouches down onto the ground and cradles your head as he lightly starts to tap your face, trying to bring you out of your state of syncope.

He keeps making attempts to awaken you but his efforts are unsuccessful, while he keeps trying he calls for your husband who’s talking to his co-leader and holographic assistant. “Boss man, you need to get over here, something’s wrong with your missus!”

When the leader of the Spider-Society hears the slight shakiness in Hobie’s voice he knew that something serious was going on. Miguel turns around and from a distance he can see your body being held by his subordinate, looking as if there isn’t an ounce of oxygen flowing through your lungs.

Miguel could feel his world slowing down around him, his heart was pounding and his blood was running cold at the sight of you. His first instinct is to run, to try and fix whatever is going on so he makes his way to you, scooping you out of Hobie’s arm and placing you in his arms and trying his own methods to bring you back consciousness.

“Mi vida, [my life]” his words comes out shaky, softly gliding his hands across your face before he starts to shake you, trying to make you wake up. “I need you to wake up. You have to wake up for me.” The more he tries to wake you up the more disappointed he becomes by not seeing your eyes flutter open or feeling your stiff body move in his arms.

Miguel feels like he’s in a state of deja vu, holding you like this reminds him of when Gabriella faded away in his arms. He doesn’t understand what cruel thing he did to the world to cause his daughter’s death and now he doesn’t understand what sick game the universe is playing to make him have to witness you passed out in some random universe. His expressions aren’t showing the true fear he feels spiraling inside but if you look deep into his red orbs you could see it clear as day. “What happened to her?”

“We were just talkin’ and then she leaned against me, tellin’ me that she didn’t feel good.”

Miguel knows that standing here asking you to wake up won't fix anything, it’s clear you need medical attention so he tells Lyla to open a portal that leads the medical center within the Spider Society so he can take you there and have you checked out.

The portal opens with a whoosh, and Miguel steps through in long, hurried strides, cradling your limp body close to his chest. His jaw is clenched tight, and his usually confident and calm demeanor is replaced with a frantic edge. His mind is racing with worse-case scenarios, wondering what attack your body could be facing for you to pass out all of a sudden.

The medics in the sterile, brightly lit room quickly took notice of Miguel rushing inside the medical center with you in his arms and concern and worry etched into his features. The team on staff swiftly started jumping into action and assessing the situation. “What happened?” one of them ask, gesturing for Miguel to place you on the nearest examination table.

“She collapsed during a mission.” Miguel explains, his voice low and filled with tension. “She said she wasn’t feeling well before she passed out.” He places you down as gently as possible, his hand lingering on yours because he doesn't want to let you go, afraid that if he does you’ll disintegrate into thin air right in front of him. Everyone in the Spider Society knows that Miguel doesn’t play when it comes down to his wife so when his bright-red eyes stare at the medics in a way that says: ‘You better fix this’, the team immediately went to work.

The medics begin their assessments, and Miguel hovers nearby but still giving them enough room to work, his arms crossed tightly as he watches every move they made, making sure they are doing everything they can to help you. In this moment he feels helpless, a feeling he deeply despises especially when it comes to anything that has to do with you. Lyla appears beside him, her holographic form flickering around his head as she gives him brief updates on your condition as details are being collected.

“She’s stable for now, but it looks like she fainted from low blood sugar and exhaustion. Pretty common for someone in her condition.” Lyla explains, her tone unusually soft and clear, free from her usual teasing or smart remarks.

Miguel’s brow furrows, wondering what ‘condition’ you could possibly have that could cause all of those things to happen. “What do you mean ‘in her condition’?”

“You’ll find out soon enough, big guy.” She winks before she vanishes into thin air, leaving Miguel feeling more worried and agitated than before.

“Boss, she’s waking up.”

Hearing that Miguel is by your side in an instant, feeling his anxiety slowly fade away now that you’re well. Your eyelids flutter open, and the first thing you see is Miguel’s face hovering over yours, his features etched with worry. His hand is already wrapped around yours, squeezing it tightly. “Mi vida,” he breathes, his voice cracking slightly as a sense of relief fills his heart. “You’re awake.”

“Miguel…” you murmur, your voice faint as you try to assess the world around you.

“Shh, don’t push yourself.” he says, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles before lifting you hand to his lips and placing a soft kiss against your skin. “You scared me, I’m so glad you’re okay.”

You give a weak smile, but it quickly falters as you remember what happened and feel the weight of the secret you’ve been keeping to yourself. You don’t need to hear the medics reasoning to why you passed out because you already have a feeling it has something to do with your pregnancy.

While looking at your husband, tears start to well in your eyes, and Miguel notices immediately, his thumb gliding against your skin as the tears slowly fall. “Hey, hey. What’s wrong? Are you in pain? Do you need me to get the doctor?”

“No, I’m okay.” you whisper, shaking your head as the tears continue to spill over. “I need to tell you something. I’ve been meaning to, but I didn’t know how.”

Miguel’s heart skips a beat, he hates seeing you cry and wants to do anything he can to soothe whatever it is you are feeling. The tone in your voice does worry him a little, but he doesn’t let it show, he just wants to know what’s going on so he can best help you. “Tell me. Whatever it is, just tell me.”

You took a shaky breath, your hand trembling in his, praying that he doesn’t take the news badly because that would break you. “Miguel… I’m pregnant.”

The words hang in the air for a moment, and Miguel’s crimson eyes widen in shock at the news, not expecting you to say those words. His grip on your hand slightly loosens as he processes the idea of you carrying his child, making you worry about what could be going through his mind.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” you continue, your voice breaking as fresh tears streamed down your face. “I swear I wasn’t trying to keep it from you. I just… I didn’t know how you’d react. After Gabriella… I was so scared you wouldn’t want this,” you say, gesturing to your belly. “that it would be too much for you.”

Miguel’s chest tightens at the sight of your tears, and he immediately cups your face in his hands, his thumbs softly wiping them away. “Stop, there’s no need for an apology.” he says, his voice slightly beginning to tremble but still using the softest and sweetest tone.

“I thought maybe you’d be angry, or that it would hurt you to think about starting over.” you confess, your voice barely above a whisper.

Miguel shook his head, his forehead resting against yours as he closed his eyes, his own tears threatening to fall. “How could I ever be angry? You’re giving me something I thought I’d lost forever, a chance to be a father again. Now, I can build a family with the love of my life, raise another beautiful child in this world.”

His words broke something inside you, and you let out a soft sob, leaning into his touch even more. Miguel holds you close as if he never plans on letting you go, his arms wrapping around you tightly like a shield of protection.

“I know I’ve been distant.” he admits. “And I know I’ve been stuck in the past, but this… this is a gift. No matter how I feel about losing Gabbi, I want this. I want this family.”

You pull back slightly to look into his eyes, your heart swelling at the love and determination you saw into his glaring red orbs, the ones you so easily feel in love with. “You mean it?”

“With every bone in my body.” Miguel says firmly, wanting you to know he sincerely means every word. “I will protect you and our baby with my life. Nothing will happen to either of you, not while I’m still breathing.”

You nod, a small smile breaking through your tears as Miguel presses his lips to yours in a gentle but passionate kiss. When he pulls back, his hand rests on your stomach, his thumb brushing over the fabric of your suit where your tiny bump is hidden, wanting to feel his child forming in your womb while his mind begins to fill with images of what the future holds for you and him.

For the first time in weeks, you feel like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders and that you can finally breathe again. Knowing that Miguel is accepting and happy about your growing family eases the anxiety that’s been brewing inside since you found out you were pregnant. Now that you have Miguel’s support and know that he will be by your side through this whole journey makes you even more excited for welcoming baby O’Hara into the world.

Fanbase — @migueloharasoulmate @d0ubl-tr0ubl3 @tater-tot0423 @theitgurl2 @miguelsesposa @iwanttogohomeandtakeanap @maxlynn17 @kxllanxtdoor @ban-al3x @beargracecanbeanyone @miguellover6969 @3zae-zae3 @mellagzz @h3art-l3ss-blog1 @taylormarieee @popeheywardssecretgf @onlyloaksgf @solanawrld @baizzhu @savagemickey03 @soilmayo @lilmiss-stussy @pixiesrealm @lun3arbr33z3 @Sukunash0e @yukichan67

[emistations]

IMAGINE....

[obxsprincess]

miguel who loves his shy girlfriend so fucking much. your so sweet. so tentative

miguel whos never been a pda kinda guy. ever. until your pretty self. now he finds himself embarrassing you over and over again while his hand slid down your thigh — resting merely. planting a wet kiss down the column of your throat when you sat with his colleagues. spoiling you with endless sweet nothings all you could do was mewl “migs!”

miguel who loves seeing you flustered… that is until you cover your mouth while he’s pounding into you, hiding your moans and words with the fear ‘someone will hear’ while his fat tip bulges against your cervix… and then it drives him insane.

miguel who eats you out while you squirm on top of his massive, wooden desk. the rough texture gone in your mind because his face is stuffed in your cunt. he laps at your drooling folds like a mad-man. suckling your swollen clit into his mouth, flicking the puffy bud in ways that had you whimpering. but you were still holding back your fucking sounds — so he did what any man munch would do, he edged your leaking pussy

miguel who tells you you aren’t getting your sweet release until you finally let go. promising you it would be a blessing to those motherfuckers to hear even a single moan of yours. but his words were so muffled, his tongue swirling around your dripping hole — dipping in and eliciting your immediate gasp. how’d he go so deep?!

miguel who has to hold you down as your eyes flutter closed, the slurping, wet sounds of your essence almost escaping the walls. you were close. the needy laced wire in your stomach tightening… “m’ah m-miguel mm fuck!”

miguel who suddenly pulls away despite his need to taste you even more — his mouth covered in your juices. “use your words,”…

miguel who denies you orgasm after orgasm until your a whining mess — in that moment, your shyness was gone, along with your sanity and anything pure about you as he finally flipped you over. guiding himself along, against, into your soaking entrance “migs! w-what if they hear!?”…

miguel who finally gets a taste of your screams while your silken walls squeezed the fucking life out of him… and he cummed just at the angelic sound

miguel who’s fat cock bottoms out inside of your tight little hole — painting your walls in his thick ropes. who still can’t believe your walls milk every last drop so perfectly

miguel who walks out of his office, hand in yours, with the biggest, shit eating smirk on his face. and you try to hide the giddy grin on yours

miguel who gets you an oversized t shirt so he can fuck you in it that says ‘my lady in the streets, but she a freak in the bed’ fuck, he’s never seen you so bashful. and his cock hardens at the cute sight

[n3v1]

Calling Miguel “daddy” on purpose to see his reaction.

You get ready for bed as Miguel already gets under the covers, facing you, but your back is turned to him so he couldn’t see your pretty face.

You quickly hide your phone that’s recording behind the thick lamp. Then, you get under the covers with Miguel, your back still facing him.

“Goodnight, daddy.” You say, closing your eyes.

Miguel’s eyes quickly opened. Did she really just say that? He thought in his mind. He sat up and stared at the fake-sleeping y/n.

“What did you just say?” He said.

“I said goodnight.” You replied, sitting up slowly, acting so innocently.

“Don’t play with me. Did you just call me daddy?” He asked, raising a brow.

“….” You ignored him and went back to fake sleeping.

————

“Tell me, do you think daddy should let you cum?” He said, changing the vibrator setting to max.

“Yes! Y-yes please, daddy! I’ll be a good girl!!” You said, tears falling down your cheeks as the vibrations send a wave to your spine.

“Wrong answer.” He then rapidly pounded you until it was morning again.

————

By the morning you looked at your camera roll and found the video… wonder why you have no more storage..

[wyvernest]

mating szn

part 1 (part2)

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!gf!reader

warnings: smut, fluff, scent marking, primal play, rutting miguel, possessiveness, reader is ovulating

summary: miguel comes home feeling extremely needy

You're preparing dinner when you hear the opaque glass doors of your shared mansion open for your lover to come in. It's almost midnight, and it doesn't take you longer than a few seconds to realize how tired he has to be.

Miguel walks into the open kitchen, frowning. 

"Baby! I missed you!" You jolt to him, pans clattering dangerously as you throw them aside, careful enough not to ruin your work but swiftly enough to get to him as fast as possible.

You curl your arms around his neck, standing on your tiptoes, pressing your chest flush against his hard pecs. His hands grab at your hips, absentmindedly and by habit.

"What's wrong?". You place a gentle, loving hand on his cheek, trying to meet his gaze. But he's not looking at you. His eyes are darting all over your face and body, brows still creased. 

He could feel it, your scent. A collection of the whole day, everything you've done. The food, the places you've been. He feels like it's been so long since this morning, when he woke up beside you, kissing along your neck. 

He feels a surge of blood rush from his heart and through his lucidity, a shot of adrenaline inexplicably taking over him.

You don't smell of him anymore. Anger bubbles in his chest as he thinks of all the people you must've talked to around HQ, who didn't smell his strong musk on you, who had no idea you belonged to him.

He's never felt like this before. He brushes the unfamiliar feeling aside for a moment, grounded by the silent plea in your eyes.

"I'm good. Just a bit tired." He brushes wild strands of baby hairs out of your face, finally matching the loving look you've greeted him with from the start.

He leaves you to finish the meal and steps into the shower, hoping that an ice cold stream would cool him down. Only it doesn't do anything but worsen the situation.

The second he feels the water spray hit his body, he flinches, unlike the usual relief he gets. His skin is abnormally feverish, the ghost of your body in his arms taunting him further into madness. He soon finds himself desperate to get out, to be reunited with you and the warmth only you could ever provide for him.

Images of your supple body breaking in his embrace flood his already lust crazed mind against his better judgment, and he feels his cock fatten slightly at the memory.

When he takes it in his hand, he nearly starts bucking his hips into his hold, sensitive and insanely needy. He imagines you in the bathtub with him, arching your back over the edge, spreading your legs for him to pound his cock into you under the hot stream, your moans echoing and ringing into the stone tiles.

He can't take it anymore. His body aches for your touch and attention.

Exiting the shower, he pulls a pair of loose boxers up his thighs, the only thing he can tolerate with the fever that has taken hold of him so suddenly.

And then, he focuses on the image of you, standing where he left you, gently stirring in a bowl. You're wearing one of his t-shirts, draped down to the middle of your thighs and over your elbows, an oversized dress. 

He approaches you, wrapping his arms around your front and waist, dropping a fraction of his weight on your back just to keep you from moving or fighting against it. You throw your head back, closing your eyes.

His head drops to your neck, kissing here and there, exhales smoldering hot on your throat, stopping momentarily to deeply inhale your scent. Among all others, there is a distinctive smell of you, of your arousal and need for him that drives him mad.

"Wait- Miguel, let me finish this-" You protest, your creamy tone betraying your true intentions. 

He groans, kissing your naked shoulder, his hands squeezing your form in front of him. 

All tasks are ultimately abandoned as he pushes you against the counter, his defined abs hitting your back, the marble surface cold against your thighs. He presses his fat, hard cock up against your plush ass, his hands fondling your breasts through his shirt, groaning low and quiet in your ear. 

With his biceps curled and constricted around your navel, your body goes limp in his hold, trembling ever so slightly as his warm, broad palms squeeze the soft flesh of your tits. He pushes them together, massaging gently, almost experimentally. He flattens them with the heels of his palms softly, only to them constrict his fingers around them so perfectly, fondling and groping away.

"Mm- Miguel, oh-" You breathe out, finding balance on your hands, arching your back into him. You feel your core pulsate with need, swelling up under his movements. You're almost completely wrapped up in his massive body, with nowhere to go. 

And just then, you accidentally knock a knife off the counter, startled when it hits the marble floor with a loud clank. He jumps, backing up from your body. Your face is flushed, eyes half lidded, breath heavy, nipples perked under the thin cotton. Landing back to your senses, you move to bend down and pick it up.

His eyes automatically snap to your round ass and the dark wet spot on your panties that invites him so blatantly to shove his cock in between your pussy lips. 

He can't help it. He can't control himself anymore.

Balance leaves your position as you feel his rough, eager hands grip your hips, harshly pulling you back into him. The plumpness of your ass hits the girthy shaft of his cock, but before you can look for the lost balance with your hands in front of you, he thrusts his erection up against your clothed cunt, making you whine in need.

"Ay, mi amor-" His voice is rugged and satisfied, laced with a deep groan. A broad palm hits the side of your behind, making the tender flesh ripple against his hard-on. "Te necesito muchísimo ahora." (I need you so badly right now.)

You yelp, perplexed, instinctively grabbing his wrists for balance. He pulls you up with your back against his chest, splaying a cursory hand across your abdomen, sending shivers thundering down your spine and butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

"Miguel!" You playfully fight against his possessive hold, "Is this your way of helping me prepare dinner?!" You free yourself, giggling and letting a wide smile take over your features. Stepping back and extending your arms in front of you in an attempt to shield yourself from him, you chuckle wholeheartedly.

Seeing you resist, he lets out a defeated exhale.

"Fine. I'll be good, lo prometo." (I promise). He motions for you to come closer and trust that he'll behave. Letting your guard down, you approach the counter, eyes fixated on his playfully.

He feels your body heat nearing him, so comfortable and tempting. The smell of you, and everything that drives him crazy about your presence alone. His breaths deepen and quicken abruptly, his cock straining in his boxers, twitching freely against the material, begging to be enveloped in your wet warmth.

He looks down at you like a panther about to pounce, waiting for the perfect moment to do so. Your smile curls wider, eyes shining with lust and a teasing playfulness. His body dwarfs yours, his shadow alone making you feel puny. His shoulders are tense, the same way they are when he's on top of you, riding you into next Tuesday.

He shifts to place a clawed hand on the counter, the sharp edged digits tapping against the surface catching your attention momentarily in the corner of your eye. He exploits the split second it takes you to look down to his arm, snapping and squatting to grab your thighs, throwing you over his shoulder.

"NO! You promised! Miguel! The food!" You try to reason, throwing any and each accusation you can think of, knowing that you definitely don't want him to drop it and leave you alone, truly. And he knows it. 

And that's when he feels it. With your ass on his bulky shoulder, he can smell it. Your arousal, dripping hot. His fat cock finally hardens completely, its monstrously girthy shaft poking through the shorts. 

You're ovulating.

Groaning ruggedly, he delivers a rough spank to your plump ass before pushing two fingers over the wet mound of your clothed pussy, running them over your slit, teasingly, collecting more of your scent.

He swears the only thing stopping him from fucking you raw right on the kitchen floor is your comfort.

"Okay! You win! Put me down, I'll let you fuck me."

Without a second thought, he places you back on the floor, hands on your hips, talons grazing your tender skin deliciously.

His eyes have reddened, pupils blown wide, exhales hot and labored. You don't want anything more than to wrap your arms around his neck, to press yourself into him, to feel his hard abdomen on your stomach, his pecs on your soft tits, his mouth on your neck.

But you want to see more of how needy he is.

You jolt to the stairs with no warning, climbing the winding wooden steps like a cat. You hear him behind you, his weight put onto each movement as he chases close behind, the staircase creaking under him.

Looking behind before reaching the hallway of the first floor of your mansion, you feel your panties dampen at the sight of the man and the sheer size of him, massive shoulders slightly hunched forward in focus and adrenaline, his height successfully making you stagger on your way to the bedroom.

divider by @cafekitsune

HOPE YALL LIKE IT IMMA CONTINUE ‼️‼️

a/n: primal play is thoroughly discussed beforehand. insisting that your partner has sex with you even after resistance without having discussed the aforementioned resistance is abusive.

[obsesssedblerd]

“Megumi!” You call your son in the living room, who’s sitting next to his father, Toji, on the couch watching the news. “Could you go grab your sister and tell her to put her studying on hold? Dinner’s almost done.” 

“Yeah, no problem,” Megumi says as he rises to his feet, putting his headphones around his neck and pulling his phone out of his hoodie pocket. “Oh, uh, Mom?” 

“Hm?” 

“Can Itadori spend the night after dinner?” He then looks over at Toji with a small scowl. “After Dad hides all of his assassin stuff?” 

“Hey, watch it,” Toji says.

You nod with a light smile. You loved having Yuuji Itadori over. He was a bright kid, and besides, he made Megumi relaxed and happy. “Of course. Go prepare the guest bed, yeah?” 

Megumi departs with a nod, then heads upstairs. From the living room, you hear Toji whistle. “Wow. Baby, looks like Spider-Man stopped that bank robbery.”

You look up from the dishes in the kitchen, then hum in delight when you catch what’s on the screen. It looked like small clips from the internet as the reporter gave details. The masked hero, wearing blue and red, swings, fights, and rescues hostages swiftly. “Incredible,” you say, then walk over to hand your husband a list of groceries. “Could you head to the store and grab these? I want to make sure that we have enough food for breakfast in the morning now that Yuuji will be staying the night.” 

Toji looks around to make sure that Megumi and Tsumiki aren’t present, then lowers his voice to a whisper. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about Yuuji.” 

“Megumi has feelings for him. Yeah, I know.” 

“No- Not that. Amazing for them, and I think they’re adorable together, but,” Toji points over at the TV. “I think he’s Spider-Man.”

You blink, then burst into laughter as you head back into the kitchen. “Toji, what? Don’t be ridiculous. He’s only fifteen and very busy. You know how often he studies with Megumi.” 

“I’m serious,” he says as he follows you. “Think about it. Do you know how often Yuuji shows up with bruises or scratches?” 

You begin arranging plates on the dining room table. “Just like our son, the kid’s a fighter. I mean, his uncle Sukuna was a huge fighter before he passed away. Plus, he spends a lot of time with Satoru Gojo, and we know how he is. Also, doesn’t he have an older brother? Brothers fight.” 

“True, but just walk with me for a second.” You sigh and look up to see Toji waving his hands animatedly as he explained. “Do you remember when we all went to the parade on New Years together, and that giant robot appeared?” 

“Yes, it was all everyone could talk about for days.” 

“Uh-huh.” He then points at you. “Do you also remember how Yuuji was gone when Spider-Man appeared at the scene?” 

You stare at him blankly. “...Toji, he went to the bathroom before everything happened,” you remind him. “I’m certain that he got lost in the crowd when everyone started running.”

Toji groans. “You don’t believe me. Baby, I’m telling you—He’s Spider-Man. I can’t prove it now, but I will eventually.” 

You sigh again and cross your arms. “Okay, so, let’s say he was. What would you do?” 

“Well, I mean…” Toji mutters, then sheepishly rubs the back of his head as he quietly chuckles. “I dunno, give him a high-five? Worry about Megumi?” 

“Trust me, Toji. The only people with secret identities here are you and I.” You reach over and grab a stack of napkins. “By the way, Megumi had a point earlier. Be more careful about where you’re leaving weapons. One of Tsumiki’s friends nearly saw one not too long ago.” 

He winces. “Sorry.” 

“You’re fine.” You push to your tip toes and gently kiss him. “No job tonight, right? I know I don’t have one.” 

“Nope. Once I get those groceries, I’m all free.” He grabs the list from you, then reaches towards you to lovingly push a loose strand of hair away from your face. “I’ll be back soon.” When he leaves through the back door, the front doorbell rings. 

You hear Megumi rush down the stairs. “I got it,” he tells you as he passes you. When the door opens, Yuuji Itadori waves at you with his usual grin. “Hi, Mrs. Fushiguro!”

“Hi, Yuuji. What happened to your face?” You ask. His lip is slightly busted, and there’s a bruise beginning to form on his jaw. Yuuji laughs sheepishly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his yellow hoodie. “Oh, uh, me and Okkotsu fought again. Gojo-sensei had to pull us apart.” 

Megumi rolls his eyes. “I swear, you’re always fighting.”

“Aw, come on, Megumi,” Yuuji teases with a smirk as he crosses his arms. “You’re just as bad. I heard about what happened a few days ago.”

Your son’s cheeks dust with pink, and he clears his throat. “Yeah, whatever. You need to get cleaned up before dinner. Come on, there’s a first-aid kit in the bathroom.” 

Megumi goes upstairs, and Yuuji follows close behind him. You’re about to tell Yuuji that the flap of his backpack is slightly unzipped, but the words get stuck in your throat when you catch the tiniest hint of the red and blue suit. You only see it for a split-second before Yuuji swings his backpack around, excitedly telling Megumi about a new action figure he wants to get for his birthday.

Your eyes widen. Holy shit. 

-----

a/n: lol i can't believe I wrote this. spidey yuuji au, you'll always be loved by me <3

[sweetimpurity]

a/n: dis is dirty (◠﹏◠✿) also new header! and theme! I’ll see if I hate it or not but let me know what you think!

cw: yandere toxic controlling, breathplay afab!reader

Thinking about Miguel, your husband who’s also a mob boss. He’s rough and demanding and at the beginning of your marriage it scared you. Made you hate him most of the time. But now it’s… different. Now you sort of crave it.

He doesn’t like for you to leave the estate very often, and not without one of his men by your side. But his offices are across the city. When you whine softly about not getting out very often, wanting to go out into the city, he drills it into your head that the outside world is dangerous and the only safe place is in the house where no one can get in and you can’t get out.

He tells you this as he’s pounding you into the sofa, your head hanging off the armrest, moaning his name like a song and your legs sprawled out so wide it’s almost painful. “You can’t leave because I need you here bunny… hah… can’t let you go can’t- can’t- oh fuck-“ He hitches, his face dipping into your hair, thumb rubbing circles in your pulse point, fingers wrapping around your throat and applying just the slightest of delicious pressure pushing you over the edge. Perfectly polished fingernails digging down his triceps, a gush of your essence down his cock and a gasping cry when you climax for the 4th time. And he comes with a low growl, his angular nose nudging into your cheek and squeezing your jugular as he buries inside; making sure to stick his load deep in you and trying to make you forget ever bringing it up in the first place.

And it’s like an addiction. Some nights you’re just giddy, watching the window for him to get home. Your clit ticklish thinking about him. Maybe your mind’s in the blender but who cares…

His car pulls up and he comes out. A scowl on his face and brow furrowed, walking by the security at the door and into the house. Ignoring the staff that welcomes him home and going straight to the bedroom. A rare sight, a smile coming to his lips when he sees you already there. Sitting on the bed like the good girl you are.

“Hey bunnygirl…” A wolfish grin accompanies his deep rough voice. Watching you with greedy eyes as he slowly removes his suit jacked, unbuttoning his shirt.

“Hi…” You hum, butterflies fluttering when he looks at you like that. Like he just wants to snap you in half, fuck you like a slut and pump you full of his cum.

“You look so pretty in that…” He says. Pulling his shirt off, his bare torso and chest on display. Scars and tattoos spanning across his deep skin, his chest, up and over his shoulders, down his arms. His dark eyes flick down over the light pink lingerie you’re wearing. A set he bought you. He buys you a lot of lingerie. More than anything else. He prefers you to wear that around the house. And the staff keeps their eyes to the floor.

He prowls over to you, to the edge of the bed and nudges your legs to open. Standing between them. His hands slipping into his pants pockets. Bending down to be at eye level, his gaze piercing and terrifying. A stare that could kill, and hands that have killed many times before.

Without a word, his nose brushes against yours, encouraging you to tilt your head for him. Your lashes flutter, eyes closing. This is what you’ve been waiting for all day isn’t it? His eyes stay open, smiling devilishly when he sees that expression. “Open your mouth, bunny…”

His voice is a deep rumble. Your lips hesitantly parting for him, debating opening your eyes but before you can he’s licking a stripe up your open lips. Coming in for the kill after a moment, after the rush sends full course.

Capturing your lips with his and pushing you down on the blankets. You don’t get a wink of sleep that night.

“Ohh bunny… baby!” He groans, a fistful of your hair and his hips slapping into your ass. Prone bone with your face in the pillows. His throbbing tip abusing your drooling heat with every push into your honey velvet.

It takes everything in you not to scream, gasping against the pillowcase and gripping on for dear life. “Ah… ngh! M-“ His pace is relentless. Pounding and pounding, the headboard knocking against the wall. Probably making a dent.

———

One day he calls you into his office. An especially stressful day and everyone is just pissing him the fuck off. He needs you. He can’t wait until later and he can’t go home now. There’s too much shit he has to deal with. His dark eyes are trained on the pictures of you on his desk as he waits for his driver to retrieve you.

And when you’re finally here, game over. He’s up and out from his desk, enveloping you in his arms as he kicks the door shut hard. “There’s my girl…” He whispers.

“Did you go shopping like I said?” He asks, turning you around and walking you back towards the desk, kissing your cheeks and unable to keep his hands off you. He’s already hard, been waiting for you all this time. “Mhm I got some new shoes… and-“ he silences you with a kiss. His tongue dipping into your mouth, swirling with yours and tasting you.

“Mm new shoes that’s good bunny…” he hums after pecking your lips a few times. Trying so hard to act like he cares but he’s already undressing you in his mind. “I hope you spent more than a thousand dollars this time…” he says. Now that he actually cares about. He tenderly pushes some whisps behind your ear. You nod softly, innocently.

“How much?” He grins.

“… I spent… ten thousand dollars…”

“In three hours?” He smiles, laughter threatening to bubble up in his chest. “Good girl…”

His words melt your mind in the exact way he intends them to. His desk a mess of work and your slick dripping down the expensive wood. But he wouldn’t have it any other way. Knocking into your sweet pussy and getting his relief. Lacing his fingers with yours and pulling them to his chest, his strokes are rough and unforgiving.

“Come for me baby… give it to me ohhh I wanna feel it…” he groans, leaning over you kissing up your chest, the valley between your breasts. Just feeding your ravenous cunt his inches, rolling his hips into you, watching your face contort.

brrrrrrrr brrrrrr

The phone rings on his desk. Tearing his eyes away from his favorite sight and pounding his fingers against the buttons to make it stop. But it rings against just after. Is it his fucking assistant trying to reach him? Can’t everyone tell he’s busy?

“Everybody fuck off!!” He shouts towards his office door, ripping the phone cord out of the wall, whipping it in the same direction. Smashing it to pieces, making you flinch, making you clench and squeeze around his thick dick inside you.

“Miguel!” You gasp, reaching for him, his chest, trying to reach your end, needing him, his attention. “I know I know-” he coos, reaching a hand to your face and gripping your jaw gently, teasing a finger along your lips and dipping it in. Letting you suck on his fingertips. “There you go… that’s a good girl…”

“You’re my girl, yeah? Yeah baby?”

“Mmm…”

“I know you need me… I know this pussy needs me huh bunny?” His fingers slip out of your mouth, grasping around your throat gently. For such a strong and violent man, he’s very aware of how much pressure is too much. “Need it so bad…”

“Come on…” he whispers. Lifting you into his arms, across the office and against the wall by the door. Pressing your back against it and pinning your hands over your head. His cock reaching even deeper like this. Alllll the way in.

“Ah-ngh! Mig!” You gasp, your squeaky voice exactly what he wants to hear. The sound of it surely penetrating these walls.

Sheathing inside you and the sound of him prodding through your slick sounds through the room. A satisfied grin on his face, watching the exact moment the band snaps and you rise into climax.

“Oh Miguel! Ah! Hahnghh!” You just burst, head throwing back and crying out for him. Your voice hoarse on screams. And he’s sure everyone on this floor will finally get the message. He’s busy fucking his wife.

[luvrxbunny]

so much

pairing: bf!Miguel O’Hara  x f!reader

summary: You give Miguel a handjob for the first time.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, handjob, lots of cum (lmk if i forgot anything)

wc: 2.1k

a/n: i blacked out again. 

Miguel stopped kissing you maybe fifteen minutes ago. He said he was getting too worked up and that you guys should stop, of course, you respected his wishes. You’re both now sitting in bed, he’s reading and you’re supposed to be doing some extra research but all you can focus on is the bulge in his pants. 

This happens a lot, you guys get heated and Miguel stops everything. It’s been six months and you’ve never seen him cum. You’ve told him you love him, he’s made you cum with his fingers and his mouth but you’ve never seen him cum. It doesn’t bother you too much, you just assumed he wasn’t a very sexual person, although you are and you love pleasuring your partner, you love him more. So you decided you could deal with it, but then you noticed that he would get hard, quite hard, and just not let you help him. You’ve offered many times and he always protests, saying “It’s fine, it’ll just go away.” 

Once he even went into your bathroom for it. He chose to get himself off instead of just letting you do it. You tried to ask Jess about it but she says that Miguel doesn't talk about that stuff, all she knows is that he’s definitely not a virgin. So your last option to understand is to just ask him. So you do. 

“Miggy?” His head comes up from his book to look over at you, peeking over his glasses like a librarian, making you chuckle. “Um… You- You’re—” You start the sentence but soon realize how awkward this conversation could be. You try and figure out ways to piece it together as Miguel sits up straight, closes his book, and takes his glasses off, giving you his full attention. Now that he’s straightened himself out he’s looming over you a bit, making you even more nervous. 

“You’re still… hard..?” It comes out as a question more than a statement and mumbles more than words but he understands you. He clears his throat awkwardly as you slowly close your laptop and cast it aside. “Y-yes, I am.” He’s looking around the room now, his eyes avoiding yours. 

“Okay. So do you not like handjobs or something? I just- I know that you’ve gotten something before I just don’t- I don’t know why you won’t let me.” You’re looking at him as you speak, he’s looking at the duvet, and from the corner of your eye, you swear you see his dick jump in his pants. 

“Cariño… I-” He takes a deep, slightly frustrated breath and looks up at the ceiling, trying to figure out how to explain himself. “I want to… Tan jodidamente mala but… you’re different.”

(“... So fucking bad but…”)

Insecurity spreads through your body at his words. Your mind is already racing, trying to decipher what he could mean.   

What the fuck? How am I different? Oh god, is he not even attracted to me sexually? Maybe I’m not his type. Is there something I’m missing? Maybe it’s something that he’s into, maybe I just need to get into whatever that is? Unless it really is just me that’s the problem…

“I love you so much…” The words instantly relax you. You believe him when he says it, but his tone implies that it’s a bad thing. “I’ve never felt the way I feel about you for anyone else. So-” He sighs again and runs his fingers through his hair. “So I’m- I’m more sensitive… when- when it comes to you.”

Arousal pools at the bottom of your stomach as you process his words. ‘More sensitive’

The thought that he hasn’t wanted you to touch him because it would feel too good has you leaking between your legs. 

He’s silent as you process, he’s waiting for you to laugh. But when he looks over at you you’re looking up at him with those eyes. The ones that always have him hardening in his pants before you have to say anything. The ones that he pictures on late nights when he can’t sleep. The ones that burn into his eyelids as your name falls from his lips and he cums all over his sheets… Those eyes. 

He huffs out a breath and shakes his head, denying you before you can even propose your suggestions. “No, cariño. I- It’s embarrassing.” He protests but his voice is getting breathy, arousal leaking its way in as he watches you seat yourself by his knees, facing him. Your hand is placed on his upper thigh which has begun to twitch under your touch. “We can’t, I can’t. Habría mucho también.”

“Mucho?” You question, only understanding some of what he said. “A lot, what?” You’re focused on his face, watching it contort as he whines at the Spanish that rolls off your tongue. Your hand has begun to massage his thigh, you can feel the fabric pull tighter with every pulse of his cock. Your hand slides up, closing in on where he wants you the most. His head falls back against the headrest as pleasure shoots through him. 

You can tell he’s being honest with his reasoning as you watch him. He’s letting out tiny moans, little whines like you’ve been teasing him all day but you’re just massaging his thigh. You keep it up, just groping his twitching leg as he tries to hold his moans in so he can answer you. “C-cum, habría tanto semen.” His hips start thrusting off the bed, barely noticeable.

(“C-cum. there would be so much cum.”)

“Yeah? You’d cum so much for me, Miggy?” You move from your spot, throwing your leg over him, straddling his thighs as you begin to palm his dick. His eyes roll back into his head as moans rip from his throat. He quickly grabs your wrist, roughly, stopping all your movements. His head raises to look at you. 

“I’m- I’m a bit… nervous, cariño. It would be a lot for me. I- No one has ever seen me like that. I’m only like this for you, I- can’t help it." His eyebrows furrow, and he huffs at a breath, like he's angry at himself. "I don’t want you to think it’s… extraño, anormal, or that I’m- I don’t know.” You can see the genuine concern on his face, and the fear in his voice as he anxiously rambles. 

("... strange, abnormal,")

“Miguel…” He whines at how you say his name, you smile brightly and fondly at the sound. “I love you. In a way I didn’t even know was possible. I’m never going to think you’re-  like, weird or something. At least not in a bad way. I-” You sigh gently and look into his eyes, you wrench your hand out of his grip and place it on his face, pulling him in for a soft kiss that he whimpers into. You pull away and give him the most serious look you can manage. “We don’t have to if you’re too nervous but if you’re worried about what I’ll think? Please don’t.”

He holds your gaze, considering your words for a moment. “But there’s mucho, cariño. No importa lo que yo haga. When- whenever I think of you, there’s… so much.” He tries to express his concern but you really don’t understand.

("No matter what I do.")

“Miguel.. That just- That just turns me on even more I- I don’t see why that’s a bad thing.” You speak honestly, watching his face shift into a mix of pleasure and confusion as his head falls back again. His hips press into the air, his legs spread, opening himself up for you as a pathetic “Por favor” falls from his lips. 

You spring into action immediately. You pull his pants low enough for his cock to fly out, instantly standing straight, hitting and staining his shirt. A hiss falls from his lips as you wrap your hand around him, and his head comes up to watch you. His eyes are watery as they stare at your little hand around his huge cock. You’re watching him, you don’t move yet, you can see him taking in every detail, committing the scene to memory before meeting your eyes. 

“Ready?” You ask him with a devious smile on your face. He nods vigorously, “Sí, estoy... estoy tan lista, cariño. Por favor.”

(“Yes, I'm... I'm so ready, honey. Please.”)

You run your hand up his cock, swirling around the head before meeting the base again. His reaction is instant and extreme. His hands leave your hips for the bed as his claws rip into the sheet. His body is already shaking as tense, short, and quick moans fall from his lips. All his muscles are pulled tight as you slowly run your hand over him. His eyes are wide, staring at your hands as they pleasure him. 

You’re mesmerized by his cock, red, hot, and pulsing in your hand as you stroke him. Pre-cum is spilling from his slit at a consistent pace, making him all wet and sloppy. You hear his head hit the headboard again as his moans grow more unrestrained, shouting out into the open air. “I- I-’m not- Can’t” He lets out a frustrated whine that morphs into a genuine moan before he tries to speak again. “No voy a durar. Joder, tus manos son el paraíso, cariño. No voy a durar mucho, no puedo-”

(“I’m not gonna last. Fuck, your hands are heaven, honey. I won't last long, I can't-”)

You can’t understand the words but based on how frantically he says them, the way his hips have started thrusting up into your hand gently and the way his legs are spreading themselves wider underneath you are good clues. “You’re gonna cum, Miggy?” You finally look away from his saturated cock to observe him. His face is flushed, as he nods at you desperately. He tries to moan your name at you but he can’t form the syllables. You love it. Seeing him like this, wet and aching for you. This is definitely going to become a daily thing. 

“Yeah? You promised me a lot, hermoso. I want it all. Give it to me, baby.” He fully shouts your name at the Spanish pet name. He grunts pathetically as he lifts his hand from the bed, willing his claws to retract so he can touch you. His hand squeezes your hip desperately, shaking as his moans quickly rise in pitch and volume. Your eyes are focused back on his erratically twitching cock, you don’t see his head lift to look at you.

He’s cumming the moment he can see your face. 

You stroke him as fast as you can, listening to his breathy sob as his cock shoots out heavy ropes of cum. He’s watching your face, trying to gauge your reaction through his cloudy eyes. You’re watching his cock in awe, his cum runs over your hand, coating your fist as you jerk him through it. He’s nothing but a bundle of gasps, moans, and sobs as his cock spurts out a whole new load. He watches your face as it morphs from disbelief to burning arousal, your breathing speeds up the longer he cums. He can hear whines start to slip out of you as his hips jerk into your hand. You tear your eyes away from the cum pooling around and coating his cock just in time to see his eyes shift from you to the back of his head. He lets out one last drawn-out wail before his hips rest back on the bed. His cock begins to soften, spurting out tiny ropes as you stroke him softly, helping him down. You try to get the raging fire in your stomach and the flood between your legs under control before getting up for a towel. He was right. There was so much.

You wipe him down as he whines and mumbles deliriously until you hear a little sob and he reaches out for you. You throw the towel to a corner of the room as he pulls you into his chest. He whispers what sounds like thanks and praise into your hair as you kiss his chest. 

“Gracias, cariño. Eso- eso se sintió tan bien, te sentiste tan bien. Te amo.” You giggle at him gently. “You’re welcome and I love you too, baby. You know I can’t understand most of what you said, right?” You feel his chest rumble with a chuckle before he speaks again. “I- I know, it's just… El inglés se me hace difícil. Yo olvido. I- I’m” He laughs at himself. “You get my head all mixed up, cariño.” 

(“Thank you love. That- that felt so good, you felt so good. I love you.”)

(“English is difficult for me. I forget”)

He presses a kiss to your forehead. “Oh really?” You say in a playful tone as he chuckles at you. You turn and pull him in, his lips just inches from yours. “Me encanta eso.” You had to pull all your Spanish I classes together to figure that sentence out but the reward is worth it. Miguel’s eyes widen and he gasps before smashing his face into yours, you can feel his wide smile against your lips as he kisses you and you’ve never felt happier. 

(‘I love that.”)

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