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glader13 · 6 months

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Chasing Memories of You (part 2)

Part 1

He first saw your family and Gwen, pausing some distance away from them. They were sitting in lawn chairs, eating some light snacks and drinking. Your grave was surrounded by vibrant flowers and letters. Miguel watched your loved ones with confusion and slight anger, how are they able to smile as if it’s all right?

Miguel continued to watch, gripping the bouquet as he was unable to move, his throat tightened, he hasn’t visited since your funeral. He blamed his absence on work, on running the Spider-Society, but would visit your grave in his own way. He would put himself through hell each night by watching files of you. Peter and Jess, hell, even Lyla, has told him that visiting here would heal him. But healing means letting you go, and he can never do such a thing. He would rather chase the memories of you, and hold them forever.

“Finally you visit me,” he heard your voice, “Been a long time love.”

Miguel’s throat tightened again as he felt the ghost of your lips, of your hands. He even smelled your perfume in the wind. “Querida,” he whispered, “I miss you so much.” But you didn’t respond, and he felt more broken than ever.

“Hello,” Miguel said, trying his best to smile, “I hope I’m not too late.”

Your mother smiles, jumping up and hugging Miguel. He keeps his hands by his side, his eyes only focusing on your grave, a place that he wouldn’t think to have seen so soon. He imagined your voice again, laughing at how he didn’t want to hug your mother. He slowly hugged her back, her perfume twisting Miguel’s heart. He knew the smell, even the name, instantly. Bringing him back to date nights and close sessions back at HQ, when he drowned in you.

Miguel waved at your Peter and Gwen, who both smiled. Miguel took a seat in the lawn chair next to your mother, in front of him on a small table were snacks and pictures of you. The bouquet felt heavy in his hands, as he wished for a bottle of alcohol, or that he wasted himself last night. Miguel mindlessly listened to Gwen talk about a recent run-in with a villain, but he just stared, his mind traveling to when he lost you. An attack on Nueva York, from multiple villains, took you from him. And that he wasn’t there to help you. If only he had taken care of Green Goblin, if only he had been aware of the area, then you would be here. Everything seemed miles away as he slipped into the waters of his memories, the inky hands pulling him down.

“Miguel!” You stumbled over to him.

He immediately removed his mask, his face tight with worry as he ran to you in the smoky warehouse. You nearly collapsed in his arms, finally closing your eyes briefly. Miguel removed your hand from your side, his heart twisting seeing red coating your hand.

“What happened?” He asked.

“Green Goblin,” you muttered, feeling the front area of your stomach, before checking the wound, at least it wasn’t too deep, “I didn’t know that they’re annoying in any universe.”

Miguel, smiled softly, happy that he got here in time, “Where is he?”

You motioned to a pile of rubble, “Underneath that, and he’s tied up.”

“Alright, go outside with the others, I’ll meet you after I deal with him,” he kissed the top of your head.

“Wait, let me go with you,” you said, “I need to tell you something. The thing from this morning.”

“Amor, can it please wait?” Miguel said as you trailed behind him, “I just want to be fully …”

You stopped walking, feeling your stomach drop. You tuned out Miguel’s voice, only becoming aware of your surroundings. You spun around, not being able to see very well in the hazy air. Your strained vision was telling you nothing was there, but your body was telling you to be prepared. You rushed past him, his voice calling you sounded like you were underwater, distant and muffled.

You saw the rubble was moved, and more frighteningly, your webbing was in pieces. Shit, you thought, as Miguel brought out Lyla to scan the warehouse. Miguel placed you behind him, as he walked through the building, following a marker that Lyla found. He then motioned for you to go to the other side of it, so you’ll be able to corner him.

“Now,” Miguel’s voice was in your ear, but your webs almost hit Miguel as you narrowly escaped his.

“What the hell? You almost hit me,” you said, to which he replied, “You almost hit me”.

You both walked to the source of the beacon, seeing that it was a piece of the Green Goblin’s suit on the floor. That’s when you felt the same dread in your stomach again, looking through the smoke, trying to get a good look at the high ceiling you saw a flash of green. It faded in and out, kind of like a timer.

Timer.

“Miguel, Miguel,” Gwen brought him back to reality, “We were sharing our favorite moments with y/n and we wanted to know if you wanted to share.”

He looked at everyone around him, feeling cut off from oxygen as his chest tightened. He didn’t think about you sober, it hurts too much. He let out a shaky breath, the bouquet stabbing his hand as he squeezed it. Favorite memory of you? It’s impossible to name one, especially when he has a file dedicated to you. The sun felt too hot, as he was put into a box, facing your ghost. “I don’t have a favorite,” he smiles, finding the courage to talk, “Any moment with her is my favorite memory. But it was for Gabi’s recital, I couldn’t make it there to help her get ready, so y/n did. She sent me pictures documenting the process and seeing Gabi’s smile throughout was heaven itself.” At the recital when he saw you, his breath was gone, as he felt something akin to love. Miguel got up, kneeling in front of your grave, resting his head on it, his mind wandering back to when he lost you, locking him in a prison.

You got Miguel out of the way in time, of course you did. Miguel didn’t sense the bomb, he wasn’t even aware of it. The world erupted in a fiery green light and heat. You hit your head first, before feeling a sharp pain in your stomach, causing your heart to stop. No, no no, you thought as you tried to get up, but it only made everything worse. You could barely breathe as you tried to call out to Miguel, his body just feet away from you.

You looked around you and saw that you were in your puddle of blood. Even near your head, was a puddle of it, you finally looked in front of you and saw a piece of metal, it could have been a pipe, jagged and protruding from your abdomen. You tried calling him again, the pain unbearable, mixing with the heat of the fire.

You watched his unconscious body, willing him to get up. But it was hard to stay awake, as you watched him you felt your mind slip away from you to a place where you weren’t Spider-Woman, and Miguel was just him. Gabi would be there, and your little one would be there too. You weakly placed your hand on your stomach, tears falling on your face, you didn’t even get to see them grow. You won’t even get the chance to tell Miguel.

“Miggy,” you whispered, “I’m sorry that I didn’t get to tell you,” each word you spoke was pulling you down, away from this world, you felt your heart failing with each beat, “I … love you.”

You knew that he couldn’t hear you, but at least you said it. You heard Peter B through your watch, but you couldn’t answer everything, everyone was faded. A part of the warehouse came crashing down causing the flames to come closer to you and Miguel. Please get up, you thought. You tried to shoot a web at him, but it landed inches away from him. You tried to call him again, but his name was lost in a cough that burned your throat and caused more blood to trickle out.

So you called his name one last time, which used all the strength that you had left.

He felt the heat first. Then he heard the gnashing of the flames before he heard you. Your panicked, but weakened voice, that was eaten by the fire. He jumped up, calling out for you, if he’s still here that means you are too. Miguel turned on your location, only to realize that you were right behind him, he began to run toward you only to stop. He felt like puking seeing the pipe protrude from your stomach, he fell next to you immediately checking your pulse.

“Not you baby,” he says, checking your neck for a pulse after he felt nothing from your wrists, “Please, I’m here now. Come on, fight baby,” he kept on looking at your face, fighting the same helplessness when Gabi died, “I can’t lose you too.”

His nose became overwhelmed with the sickening metallic smell, it permeated his brain, creating a memory that he knew he’d never be able to forget. Blood, your blood was everywhere. As much as he tried to stop it, it kept flowing. It got on his suit, on his hands. Each passing moment was causing him to become more helpless.

“Lyla!” He called for her, “Lyla!”

“What? I’m here-“ her voice trailed off seeing your body.

“I need you to go to HQ, tell the doctor to get the room ready, Lyla,” Miguel brought her out of her trance, “Go find a doctor at HQ.”

“Her pulse is dangerously low, Miguel,” Lyla said, “Going to HQ-“

“I don’t care how low it is, she has one so that means there’s a chance. I’m sorry baby, but I need to do this,” he kissed your hot skin, before pulling out the pipe. You weakly groaned, your eyes lazily finding Miguel.

He didn’t know whether the stinging of his eyes was caused by the smoke, or the pain etched on your face, in your eyes. Your eyes never left his, begging for him to relieve you of this pain. But, he couldn’t let you go, he won’t let you go. You began to move your lips, but Miguel gently hushed you, telling you to save your strength. He slowly picked you up, his hope draining feeling the back of your head was also coated in blood.

“Don’t worry, it’s going to be okay,” he kissed away your tears, “We’re going to get you healed up.”

Miguel smiled, despite seeing the light slowly ebb from you. His heart grew colder feeling you grow heavier with each moment. The same thing happened with Gabi right before … He held you closer to him, he can’t be alone, you were the last thing protecting him. Protecting him from something inside of him, something that would have devoured him after Gabi died. You were always protecting me, he thought bitterly. He walked past the ambulance and police officers and opened a portal to HQ.

“Miggy,” your voice was barely a whisper, “I need to tell you.”

He ran through the halls of HQ, yelling at other spiders to get out of the way, he almost didn’t hear you, until you weakly touched his face. You couldn’t hold your hand there for long, leaving bloody fingerprints.

“Yes, mi amor,” he looked around, trying to find the damn medical room, “I told you not to talk, you need to save your strength,” where is it?

“I’m not going to make it,” the confession caused more pain in Miguel to swell, causing you to cry, “I’m sorry-“

“Don’t … don’t talk like that,” Miguel began to move again, his eyes blurry, “We’re almost there,” he kissed you with trembling lips, “Then you can tell me as you heal at home.”

“I’m not going home my love,” you leaned closer to him, despite his heart beating erratically, it calmed you, being in his arms calmed you. You didn’t want to be alone.

You looked up, seeing his fragile eyes desperately looking at you as if trying to commit your face to memory. You shakily cleaned his face, your breathing becoming more shallow. You tried to hide your wheezing as you talked, “I’m … I was pregnant. I didn’t know how to tell you, I didn’t want to upset you.”

Even in your final moments, you were still trying to protect him. He kissed your lips, hating how cold they were, “You … you could never do that.”

You smiled, snuggling up to him. Miguel kept on making his way to the medical room, just a few more seconds, you can give him a few more seconds. He didn’t dwell on the pregnancy news, he’ll deal with it after you heal. He’ll help you with your grief of losing your child. He’ll be there like you were there for him.

“I love you, Miguel,” the words stopped his heart, stealing it, “I love you so much,” you said forcing him to look at you, “You … made me feel so lucky, so perfect. You made me being Spider-Woman feel so easy. Miggy, I love you, deeply, detrimentally. It’ll be okay.”

But how? You’re leaving him, going somewhere that he can’t follow. He shuddered, not being able to hold his tears anymore. He kissed your lips, dying at feeling yours turn into the same sweet smile that you had when you first kissed him. Full of promise, but now it felt empty. It won’t be okay, but he’ll pretend that it will be, just for you. He’ll be strong, just for your peace of mind.

“I fucking love you,” he kissed you again, “You’re the best thing that I’ve been blessed with,” another kiss, “Your love is so precious, I would do it all again,” he kissed your lips, failing to notice that you had left him, his words the lullaby to sending you off.

“I’m here,” Miguel placed you on the operating table, “Save her please, she doesn’t have much time.”

The doctor quickly ran a scan, before stopping. He checked your pulse in multiple areas, before doing another scan, this time shaking his head. Miguel watched all of this unfold, the room becoming blurred. He didn’t feel the doctor’s hand on his shoulder, his words of condolences sounded miles away. Gone? He got you here in time, you were breathing in his arms. You can’t be gone.

Miguel stumbled over to you, as if drunk, mumbling querida. Not believing the doctor, he held your wrist checking for a pulse, then he placed his ear on your chest. He could have sworn that your hand would lazily get tangled in his hair, that he would hear your heart fighting. But, instead, all he did was strain his ears, pushing his enhanced hearing to the brink to just hear a single beat.

He fell to the ground, clutching your cold hand. It was a strangled cry, broken. It was foreign to him as if coming out of someone else’s mouth. He sobbed against your hand, struggling to breathe, to fight the hole of darkness that he had thought he defeated. His mind collapsed as he repeated your name, hoping that you would respond to it.

But you didn’t. You never will again.

Miguel stood up, somehow finding the strength too as everything was hurting. His hands hovered over you, as if afraid to touch you. His mind was a desolate place, refusing to accept that you were gone.

Miguel rested his head against the grass, silently crying. He wished to be in the security of your arms, arms that were always open to him, treating him with kindness. He needed your love, it was ineffable, divine. So tender, that no one can copy it, it had only your DNA in it and it undid him, tearing apart his soul in the most pleasurable way. He would do anything to have you back, destroy other universes just to hear you laugh, to breathe.

“I’m sorry, so sorry that I don’t visit you often. But I can’t visit you. I can’t breathe when I’m here, I feel as if I'm being crushed. But I miss you, amor,” he breathes, almost holding his breath for your usual response, “Everything hurts without you, I don’t even feel like me. I need you to rescue me.”

“If I could find you again, I would, so we can do this all over again.”

A/N: Sorry that this was long, but I was inspired to write after watching my friend play the newest Spiderman game. There's still more to come.

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blossomverse · 8 months

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⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚El Chico del Apartamento 512˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

pairing: neighbor!miguel o'hara x fem!reader

word count: 4.9k

summary: you've had a crush on miguel for the longest time. he happens to be your very kind, extremely attractive, next-door neighbor. what happens when you end up bonding over smoothies and a broken elevator?

cw & tw: mostly fluff, mildly suggestive dream, catcalling (by strangers), random man grabs reader's wrist without permission, stuck inside an elevator trope, some cursing, minors dni

a/n: i'm currently undergoing a miguel brainrot, that's how i found myself writing this in the middle of the night. the sentences on bold and italic are supposed to be reader’s inner thoughts. the story is heavily inspired by the song "el chico del apartamento 512" by selena. i srsly recommend listening to it as you read

Every day, coming home from work, same routine. Life in Nueva York was like this. The unwanted stares and comments from strange men were a frequent thing you’ve had to deal with. Your response would always be to ignore, continue walking as fast as you possibly could, and show that you were not afraid, nor bothered.

Today was no different, unfortunately. After a stressful shift at work, you had arrived inside your apartment complex and clicked on the elevator’s summoning button. That old thing would always take forever to arrive when called. As you waited patiently, one of the neighbors that always had some unwelcome attention to give, began approaching to make conversation.

Please, not today. I’m tired of rejecting this dude.

“Oh, how lucky I am! I’ve been waiting to see you again, Y/n.” He stood next to you.

“Mhm, I bet.” You answered, uninterested in whatever he had to say.

“So, I’ve been meaning to ask–“

“No offense, but you should really go shower…” You blurted the words out, cutting him off before he could ask anything.

The man stood speechless for a hot second, unsure on what to say next. You simply stared blankly at the wall, not even sparing him one pitiful glance. He was about to speak again, when a familiar ding was heard. Finally, that prehistoric device had reached the first floor and opened its doors.

A few people made their way out and as you looked up to see the last one leaving, your heartbeat completely accelerated at the sight. There was he: the image of your dreams, the one your heart belonged to. The guy from apartment 512.

“M- Miguel, hi!” You said, a little bit too loud and enthusiastically for your own good.

You’d bask on the embarrassment later when you had reached the comfort of your home. For now, all you cared about was him.

“Y/n, it’s nice to see you.” He walked fast and made his way to open his mailbox.

“It is– it is always nice to see you, too.” You heard your words become nothing but stammers. Something that happened regularly when you would speak to him.

“Home from work already?” He asked while taking out his correspondence and shuffling through it.

“Oh, yeah… finished early. I’m guessing you’ll probably head to work now, I see you’re umm– you’re wearing your gym clothes.” You subtly admired his muscles, which looked enhanced by his tight fitted shirt.

“I’ll stop to get a smoothie from across the street first. They’re really nice and nutritious, you know. Maybe you’d like to check them out sometime.”

With you?

Your heart ran a mile, just thinking about that possibility. But no, his voice was too nonchalant to be asking you out. He was simply recommending the place. Nothing more, right?

“Sure, I’ll go when I have the time.”

There was an awkward silence growing as you looked down at your feet. You didn’t want to make this situation uncomfortable or to keep bothering him. Everyone that was waiting for the elevator along with you had already disappeared, including the annoying neighbor. You had completely disassociated with the fact that you were evidently trying to go home, ignoring everything just to give him your attention.

Would that make me look like a fool in front of him?

“Well, I– I should probably leave now. Guess we’ll talk another time.”

“Have a nice evening, Y/n.” He stuffed everything he had picked up at the mailbox into his duffle bag.

“Yeah, good luck at work.” You offered a tiny smile and pressed the button again, summoning the elevator.

“Thanks.” He chuckled and simply left.

In a few minutes you were stepping inside your apartment. Which just happened to be right next to his. That’s how you had met when you had just moved in. Both of you quickly became acquainted with each other over the months, although it’d be too extreme to call yourselves friends. You were just… neighbors on friendly terms.

“Ugh, I totally made myself look ridiculous again, didn’t I?” You spoke aloud to yourself as you took off your shoes.

This crush was something you had been harboring for quite a few months. At first, you just noticed he was an attractive man. No one could deny that. But as you continued getting to know little bits and pieces of him, and noticed how respectful and kind he was to you, compared to others, your heart couldn’t help but fall for him.

You went inside your room and opened the window. Looking down at the streets, you noticed how he was walking away from the kiosk with his smoothie in hand and couldn’t help but continue admiring him from afar. He took a small sip from it and continued his steps. Your eyes never left him, convinced that he would not notice you staring his way.

Miguel looked up and glanced at the building where you both lived. His eyes immediately noticed the opened window on the 5th floor, with a certain person leaning her elbows on it. He smiled at you and waved. Your cheeks and ears immediately heated up. He had noticed you.

You waved back reluctantly, then slowly stepped away from the window, closing it a few seconds later. As you sat down on your bed, you fanned your face and ears. Things just couldn’t get more humiliating than this.

You decided to take a cold shower, hoping it would relax your mood. Once the cool water hit your skin, you were able to take a deep breath and release all the tension. At some point you’d need to confess your feelings, right? The worst thing that could happen would be getting rejected. Or maybe he’d be nice enough to accept going on a date, just to try things out, and then end up confessing you’re not exactly compatible.

I could just keep this to myself forever, though.

The evening went on as it usually would. Dinner was made while playing that romantic playlist you had created when thinking of him. Then you watched some tv, not paying too much attention to it, as you wrote the —probably— thousandth love letter you had made for him. That was the only way you knew how to pour out your feedings. At least without stuttering like a fool. But you could never give these to him.

Acting like a schoolgirl in love was definitely not the best way to go about this, you knew it. And yet, you couldn’t stop yourself from wasting the ink of your pen on a piece of paper that’d remain stored away, along with others like it. A red sharpie adorned the corners of the letter with pretty hearts. Each one was a symbol of your infatuation.

The sky was dark outside, letting you know it was probably time to go to bed. After all, tomorrow you had to wake up early, just to repeat the same, boring routine. You went to the kitchen to grab some water, like you usually would before sleeping. The faint sound of a blender could be heard through the wall. He was already home.

You smiled, knowing that only a wall separated both of you. A wall that felt infinite. With a final sigh, you heard the blender stop, and made your way to your room. The satin bedsheets welcomed you, bringing comfort after a long day of work. The thought of your earlier interactions with him clouded your mind as you waited for sleep to take over.

The next morning, as you were making your way out of your apartment complex, some random old man you had never seen before began trying to talk to you. There weren’t a lot of people around, unlike most mornings. For a moment, you considered going back inside, but you simply couldn’t afford being late for work. The old man spoke in Spanish so you could just act like you didn’t understand that he was talking to you.

“Chica, ven a verme.” [Girl, come to see me.]

You walked away without breaking pace. The old man kept calling behind you, his voice getting closer, until suddenly, his hand was clutching your wrist to turn you around. Your gasp was audible. No one had gone as far as grabbing you without permission before.

You were ready to defend yourself and slap the man away, when you felt the presence of another person, yanking the stranger away from you. When you turned your head around, you saw Miguel. His tall figure was blocking you from the old man’s view.

“No le caen los viejos rabos verdes.” [She doesn’t like dirty old men.]

“Perdón, no sabía que tenía novio.” [Sorry, didn’t know she had a boyfriend.]

You were breathing heavily, trying to process everything that had just happened. The old man walked away. Miguel didn’t move for a few minutes, staring at him menacingly. Once your knight in shining armor had made sure the coast was clear, he turned to you with a soft expression on his face.

“Are you alright? That fucker didn’t hurt you, did he?” He was concerned and his arms wanted to hug you, but he didn’t want to step outside the line, like that other man had done.

“N-no, no, I’m okay… I think.” Your body was shivering just a bit, partially because of the chilly morning air.

“I’m glad to hear that. If anyone ever bothers you again, tell me.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. Thank you, for helping me… but, how come you’re outside this early?” You were confused. He had told you about how he only worked from afternoon until nighttime at a gym, and barely ever woke up early.

“I was on my way to the airport.”

“Oh– you’re going to travel… well, I wouldn’t want you to lose your flight because of me. Anyways, I have to get to work–“ You began walking away.

“Wait wait, I’ll go with you. And I’m not traveling.” His words made you slow down your steps.

“I don’t want to be a burden…” You said, reluctantly.

“You’re not, I promise. But it’s completely fine if you don’t want me to accompany you, so don’t feel like you have to agree.” He assured you with a warm smile.

“No, I would really like that– I mean… sure, you can.”

He gave you one of the chuckles you loved so much and you resumed your walk to work. He followed after you silently. It was quiet as you both made your way through the streets, save for the sound of some cars and the other people that walked by. It was a comforting silence. It made you feel safe.

Once you had reached your destination, you turned around to thank him again. You both said your goodbyes as you watched him leave. There was barely any time to process anything. Much less as you both walked together. He always made you so nervous.

Work was slow and tiring. Your mind drifted to the thought of Miguel, as it often did. But today, he seemed to be persistent on staying running through your head for longer. It definitely made you get distracted way too many times during working hours.

Finally, after each agonizing second, it was time to clock out for the day. Once you were a block away from home, you remembered to buy groceries. By the time you had finished, the night had covered the sky with its starry mantle.

As you neared the building of your apartment complex, your eyes drifted to the kiosk across the street. There they found Miguel, and a smile crept up on your face. He was speaking with the other customers, a lively conversation likely taking place by the looks of it. His gym clothes were on, meaning he was back from work.

You considered going there with the pretext of trying the smoothies he had recommended, but desisted upon the idea for the moment. First, you needed to get rid of the grocery bags. Perhaps, by the time you had left them at home, he’d still be there chatting and you’d have time to come down and casually join the fun.

If only the elevator was faster, of course. It seemed to move even slower when you needed it to do its job the most. Miguel and the smoothies would have to happen another time. Or not… for you felt a familiar presence entering the building and joining the long wait for the elevator.

“Hey again.” Miguel’s voice rang across the hall.

“Oh– hi, Miguel.” You totally pretended you hadn’t recognized him by the smell of the Axe body spray he’d use after gym.

“Need help with that?” He pointed at the bags.

“It’s no big deal, honestly. But thanks, you’re always a gentleman.” Soon enough, you realized you’d given him a compliment and cringed internally for some reason.

“Heh, glad to know that.” His voice all smug.

The elevator arrived and you both made your way inside. It creaked loudly as it made its way up to the 5th floor. Miguel shook his head and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“Remind me to tell the landlord to get this old thing fixed.”

“It’s no use, anyways. You know he’ll just ignore the request.” You sighed and leaned your back against the elevator wall.

“I should still try, at least before it brea–“ The lightbulbs blinked and the elevator stopped.

The two of you stood in silence for a few seconds, realizing what was happening. You were now stuck inside an elevator, and with the man of your dreams no less. But even the fact of being here with him didn’t stop you from slowly panicking.

“Shit… Miguel, what are we going to do?” You asked, exasperatedly.

“Press the button for emergencies, it should alert the nearest fire department. Just don’t panic.”

“How can I not panic? We could run out of air and die here…” You pressed the emergency button repeatedly and checked your phone to find signal, but to no avail.

“Don’t do that, the button could break. And we’re not gonna run out of air. This has air currents here, I think.” He spoke while typing on his phone.

“You seem oddly relaxed…”

“I’m also worried, but I’m trying to text the group chat of the people I train. One of the dudes is an engineer and there’s also a doctor, so they’ll probably know what to do.”

“Shouldn’t you call 911 or something, instead? I have absolutely no signal–“

“Hold on, I’m getting some answers… Miles said ‘don’t run out of air’…” He squinted his eyes as he began reading the replies.

“Ha, I told you we could run out of air!” You began panicking more now, thinking his doctor friend had answered.

“Hobie said ‘lay flat on the floor if it starts falling’…” Miguel continued reading the texts out loud in a confused tone.

“WHAT? Don’t tell me your engineer friend said that.” You were now seated down on the floor.

“No, he’s a musician. Only the younger people are answering right now, but these sound ridiculous.” He almost laughed as he kept reading. Leave it to the teens to joke about a situation like this one.

You leaned your head back in frustration. Miguel ended up sitting down as well and carried on typing. He looked awfully chill in this situation. Your only hope now was that the fire department had been notified through the emergency button. As time passed, you convinced yourself that if you were going to die, at least it’d be with the man you liked.

“Well… thankfully we’ve got some food and water, in case we have to spend the night here.” You pointed to the grocery bags, which were now also laying on the floor as well.

“And good company.” He smiled without looking up from his phone.

You felt your face heat up again, and your heart jumped up and down. His words always managed to fluster you in the worst moments. Now that you were stuck together for so long, it was becoming harder to hide your crush. You thought that this was probably a signal the universe was sending you, to convince you to finally confess before you died and it was too late.

“Umm, Miguel…”

“Yeah?” He looked up, glancing at you now.

“So there’s this thing I’ve been meaning to say– or ask, I guess.” You breathed in before continuing.

“I hear you.”

It was now or never.

“Okay, so–“

The elevator shook slightly and began moving up again. The lights flickered repeatedly, then the doors opened after it had reached your floor. You were not dying there together, after all.

“Oh, I guess grandpa decided to take a nap in the middle of his shift.” Miguel joked as he stood up.

He reached out his hand and helped you stand up. He then took some of the bags and carried them for you until you’d reached your door.

“I’m so glad it started working again.” You commented as you fumbled with the keys.

“Yeah, but anyways, what was it that you wanted to ask me? You never got to finish your sentence.”

You stood there frozen for a second, trying to come up with something to say. Your life was no longer at risk, so you didn’t feel the need of confessing before death any longer.

“Oh, it was nothing important.” You stalled, still thinking about what to say.

“Are you sure? You can tell me anything.”

“I just– I wanted to know if I could start training at the gym you go to.” You said as you opened the door of your apparent.

“That’s it?” He sounded like he didn’t really believe that’s what you meant to say.

“Yep. I’ve just never been to a place like that in my life so I gotta ask the expert, of course.” You smiled innocently, as if to convince not only him, but yourself, that what you had said was the truth.

“Sure, you’re welcome to do so. It’s not exactly a secret society, so you could have joined any gym without asking me.” He spoke sarcastically but your mind focused too much on the last portion of his sentence.

He probably doesn’t want me to join the same gym as him.

“Right… well, it was a long day and you must be tired. See you around, Miguel.”

You took your bags inside and closed the door quickly, leaving him slightly dumbfounded. Leaning against it after locking, you took a deep breath. Your mind felt like a jigsaw puzzle, and overthinking wasn’t helping at all. A shower was all you needed to get rid of all the stress caused by today’s incidents.

Once you had finished freshening up, you grabbed a quick snack before heading to bed. Rest was due. You didn’t feel like thinking about him and confusing your head even more. Now in the comfort of your bed, you allowed sleep to take over.

Thankfully, there was no need to worry about waking up early the next day. The sweet weekend had arrived, meaning you could rest and stay inside all day. The perfect way to avoid Miguel.

However, your dreams had different plans. As if to spite you, your subconscious mind displayed images of how it would be like if you and Miguel were a couple. The dream began by showing how you knocked on his door and confessed to him, he looked happy as he confessed his feelings as well. Then everything shifted, you were both having dinner at a nearby restaurant and he leaned over to kiss you. One last shift of images happened before you woke up. This time, the images presented you both kissing inside the elevator, slowly taking each other’s clothes off. His mouth had moved to your neck, leaving marks as he made his way down your body. It all felt soft and intense… and so real.

The loud honk of a car resonated through the walls, making your eyes open. The memories of your dream flashing rapidly inside your head, making you cover up your face in shame. But you wouldn’t deny how much you were enjoying it, so you screamed into your pillow in frustration.

“Fucking car had to wake me up exactly when it was getting good!” You whined and threw the pillow.

What if this was another sign?

Sitting up on the bed, you reached out for your phone and called your best friend. Sometimes when a girl doesn’t know what to do, she needs professional assistance from someone who knows her better than she knows herself.

“Oh em gee, look who’s calling!” You heard your friend on the other side of the call.

“Hey, bestie… so, I really need help with something– more like, someone.” You admitted nervously.

“And here I thought you wanted to, you know, say hi to me and know how I’m doing, maybe ask me out for brunch but nooo… I’m kidding, of course. How may I be of service?” She joked, making you laugh.

“Well, it’s about my neighbor.” You whispered the word ‘neighbor’, as if it was possible for Miguel to hear you talk about him through the wall.

“Wait, is this the neighbor you spoke to me about like two months ago?”

“Yeah, it’s about him. I’m in dire need of some advice.” You hated how she knew you so well.

“Girl, seriously… I thought by now you had already fucked him.” Her words made you gasp and burst out laughing.

“You did not just say that.” You continued giggling, unable to control yourself.

“Well, did you do it? Or did he break your heart and you need your best friend to cheer you up?” Maybe she didn’t know you that well.

“No, I just have this huge crush on him–“ You began explaining.

“Still?” Your friend cut you off with her comment.

“Yes, still. And I don’t know, but lately a lot of strange things have been occurring. I keep thinking they’re signs saying that I should tell him how I feel, but he keeps giving me mixed signals sometimes. I never know what’s going on inside his head.”

You continued rambling about everything that had happened in the past two days. Your friend listened carefully, her own mind trying to come up with the best answer to your problem. Surely, you couldn’t continue living life like this. Once you had finished the rant, she stayed silent for a few more seconds before finally speaking.

“In my opinion, you should knock on his damn door and confess. What’s he going to do? Bite you? You’d probably like it, anyways.” At least she spoke the truth.

“You make it sound so easy.” You shook your head and sighed.

“Because it is. You knock on his door, confess, I’m sure he likes you so he’ll say yes, then he’ll invite you in and you can fuck. Simple.” She sounded proud of her answer.

“It’s not certain that he likes me, maybe he’s just really nice.” You protested, still denying that possibility.

“Gosh, just get it over with! If he rejects you, just come over to my house for the weekend and I’ll help you deal with the pain. But now I need you to get your ass up and stop being a coward. Or else, I’ll show myself up when you least expect it to tell him everything.”

“You wouldn’t do that…”

“Try me.” You heard her chuckle.

“Ugh, fine! Fine, I’ll do it myself.” You sighed in defeat.

“Today.” She almost threatened.

“Mhm, today, whatever.” You spoke through gritted teeth.

“I’ll be expecting an update of how it went. But if by midnight I don’t receive anything, I’ll know for sure it wasn’t a rejection. Good luck, love ya!” She blew a kiss through the phone and hung up.

This girl…

You armed yourself with the courage your best friend had provided you with. She was right, you needed to get this over with. The next two hours you spent getting ready, making sure you looked and smelled nice. Even going as far as shaving, because you never know.

Once you thought you’d done enough, you checked yourself in the mirror one last time and inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly. As you made your way out, your heart was racing like never before. With wobbly legs and fiddled thumbs, you found yourself at his door. Another breath was taken before finally knocking on it.

Each second felt endless, even the door seemed to be opening in slow motion. Goosebumps suddenly appeared on your skin as you timidly looked up. But right there, standing in front of you, wasn’t the guy from apartment 512. Instead, a beautiful blonde woman had answered.

You felt your heart chatter. A million things going through your head as you stared at this woman you had never seen before. She looked a bit confused, waiting for you to speak first. At the moment, you simply couldn’t find any words.

Of course, he has a girlfriend. How could I be so stupid?

You were about to turn around and walk away while apologizing for the interruption. She obviously didn’t recognize you, so you’d just pretend you didn’t live next door and act like you were looking for someone else’s apartment. Then you’d pick up the pieces of your heart and spend the weekend with your best friend. As you took your first step back, the blonde spoke up.

“Were you looking for my brother?”

You froze and blinked twice. The breath you didn’t realize you were holding was released. Now you felt even more confused than her.

“Your brother? Miguel never mentioned he had a sister.” You scratched the back of your head.

“Are you the neighbor he was stuck with inside the elevator last night?” Miguel’s sister chuckled.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“My brother went to the kiosk to get us breakfast, even though we should already be having lunch. You can come in and wait for him if you’d like.” She opened the door wider to invite you in.

“Don’t worry, I’ll come by another time.”

“Alright, then I’ll let him know you were looking for him when he comes back.” She gave you a warm smile as she began closing the door.

“Sure, no problem.” You smiled back.

Once the door was finally shut, you remained standing in the hallway. There were now two options: either run back inside the house like a coward, or meet him at the kiosk. You chose the latter.

The elevator was as sluggish as ever, yet this time you didn’t care. You made your way out of the building, feeling like you were in a movie scene as the air hit your face while you walked to the kiosk. You noticed him immediately, leaning against the counter as he waited to receive his order. And in this moment, this was all that mattered. Him, only him.

The guy from apartment 512.

He looked up and your eyes met. There was no turning back now as you approached. He smiled brightly and you returned the smile with a hint of shyness.

“So, you came to try the smoothies I told you about.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“Actually, I came to talk to you about something– and I promise it’s not about the gym.” You heard him chuckle.

“Okay, how about we enjoy some smoothies first and then we talk?” You were about to agree to his suggestions and then you remembered…

“But what about your sister?”

“Oh, don’t worry– wait, how do you know about my sister?” He was confused.

“Umm, I knocked at your door earlier.” You nervously admitted.

“Hmm, I see. As I was saying, don’t worry. She won’t die without her overly complicated, banana, pineapple, kiwi, and almond milk smoothie. Or her empanadas, which I seriously recommend, too.” Miguel rolled his eyes playfully as he listed out all the ingredients from his sister’s smoothie.

“If you say so… then I’ll have an uncomplicated guava smoothie with empanadas.” You spoke cheerfully.

“Good choice.” He stepped slightly closer.

“I think today I’m finally making the correct choices, for once.”

Life in Nueva York was like this, same people, same routine. Skyscrapers reaching for the sky, a bustling city scene. Yellow taxis honking loud, streets alive with motion. From dawn till dusk, a vibrant place, a perpetual emotion.

And now you had someone to share it all with. The smoothies from the kiosk across the street. The ancient elevator that would sometimes fall asleep. The unwanted stares and comments. This life and its precious moments.

❀if you made it this far, thank you for reading~ it's been ages since i wrote anything, so i hope i'm not too rusty. let me know if you'd like a part 2❀

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pillarofsnow · 2 months

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Stories that may or may not ever be written….

Miguel O’Hara x reader edition

(I’ll try to keep these GN as possible, but they might end up being Fem! Reader since that is what I’m used to writing)

Idea #1: The childhood best friend! Reader *Major Angst, mentions of character death (de-pixalizing in this case)*

Summary: You tried to distract yourself with everything you could possibly think of as you impatiently waited for Miguel’s annual visit. It was odd that he hasn’t dropped by in the past few days, but you just chalked it up to him being busy as Spider-Man or something. So when you finally felt the energy shift in the air and an orange portal opening in the bedroom of your apartment, you were ready to greet him with a sarcastic comment as usual. Instead, all words died on your lips as you looked at the man standing in your bedroom. Why did Miguel have a haunted look on his face? And why did he mutter the name Gabriella?

Idea #2: Goodbye’s aren’t easy *Major angst, Character death.*

Summary: Miguel is forced to do something he really doesn’t want to do, but you were so tired of no longer being in control. You were tired of looking at the forest green mask with the yellow glowing eyes that brings terror and chaos wherever it goes. You were beyond saving and you both knew it. So just one last trip down memory lane before you go……please?

Idea #3: A Family of Bats and Spiders (Batman Crossover)

Summary: You somehow had managed to get the best of both worlds by being part of a family of bats, but married and having your own family with a Spider. When a family matter results in you leaving your comfortable life in Nueva York and back to the crime ridden streets of Gotham, you’re forced back into your hero persona. One you gave up for the married and family life.

Idea #4: A little Party Never Killed Nobody (Batman crossover)

Summary: You were forced to attend an anniversary party for some megacorporation on behalf of Wayne Enterprise’s when a 6’9” geneticist caught your attention.

Idea #5: Not as Bad *Major angst*

Summary: You tried to comfort your best friend Miguel during his heartbreak with his on and off again girlfriend, Dana. You have been hopelessly in love with him since high school. You will always want him, but not as bad as he wants her. Maybe in another universe, right?

Idea #6: Imagine falling in love with Miguel O’Hara but…..*Major angst*

Based on some lyrics from Rema (with Selena Gomez), “Calm Down”.

Summary: Miguel has a need to be in control of whatever he gets his hands on. He needs to handle the cards because then he can control the best possible outcome that is for everyone and everything, no matter what the cost is. And then this wild card appears in his hands. It’s you. And you completely change the game for him, except you’re not a card that belongs and can stay in his deck. At some point he has to let you go…..even though he’s willing to bet it all for you to stay.

#miguel o’hara x reader #x reader #reader insert #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara fic #miguel x reader #miguel x y/n #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #atsv miguel o’hara #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel spiderman #Atsv Miguel x you #atsv Miguel x reader #miguel 2099

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killerpancakeburger · 8 months

Text

Bloody nose part 3 // Miguel O' Hara

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Female Reader

Summary: You integrate the Spider Society, not without a couple of twists and turns.

Warnings: Swearing.

Tags: Comedy, action, BAMF! Reader, Reader has super powers, slow burn.

Words: 2570 words.

A/N: Some Hobie in this chapter! Can you blame me, he's so cool and funny. It's completely platonic in regards to the Reader of course.

Part 1. Part 2.

The interdimensional portal in your living-room and yourself are looking at each other defiantly. At least if that thing had eyes you imagine it would do that.

You don’t like portals. Not that you ever used one before, but the little you know from fiction inspires you absolutely zero confidence. Whether they come from magic or technology, crossing through time or space like so feels unnatural and incredibly dangerous. What if you end up in an endless void? What if one half of you get stuck on the other side? What if you end up a thousand feet up in the air and fall ineluctably to your death? Your powers cannot protect you from this.

Your niece isn’t here to reassure or guide you, since today’s a school day. You could have waited after school but the sooner you cut all her ties to the Spider Club, the better in your opinion.

You’re doing this for Naomi, you remind yourself, and, with a deep inspiration, you go through the pulsating hexagon.

The whole trip is a torture. You force yourself to let go, just let the current, or whatever is the mysterious force moving your body, carry you to your destination. I hate this, I hate this, I HATE THIS, you mumble to yourself.

Eventually the red and orange surrounding you turn to blue, then to a blinding white light, and the mysterious force transporting you suddenly cease to exist so you… drop like a stone. And crash miserably on the platform coming to meet you. Thankfully, there’s not a soul around to witness your pathetic entrance. You quickly get up, unharmed, except for your pride.

The elevator you’re in happens to be in glass and your attention is immediately monopolized by the views offered to you. Green stretches and futuristic white buildings spread as far as the eye can see. You’re definitely not in Kansas – ahrem, not in New York anymore. You’re so subjugated, you almost miss the elevator coming to a stop and the door behind you opening.

The room in front of you is sizeable, even if its deep whiteness and neon lights give it an hospital like aspect, and full of Spidermen. Women. Teenagers? They’re all wearing their suits and you suddenly feel, at the same time, like a sore thumb standing out, and like you just arrived to a fucking comic con. You start walking, torn between trying to pass unnoticed, and hurting your neck trying to take it all in. You never imagined this place would be so big and have so many people. You may be forced to take those guys seriously after all. All the Spiders walking on ceiling will certainly take you some time to get used to it.

You’re distracted by a cow-boy spiderman whose horse is apparently ALSO Spiderman – Spiderhorse? – since it can walk on the ceiling and wear a mask too, starting to wonder in what kind of mess full of weirdos you got yourself in, when the inevitable happen: you bump into someone.

“My bad”, you apologize immediately.

“No worries, mate”, replies a voice with a thick British accent.

You look up – because, once again, this is someone who’s towering over you – and take in the teenager facing you with an easy smile. Your gaze lingers on his numerous piercings then take note of the spikes on the shoulders of his leather jacket. There’s a punk spiderman? You think to yourself, before taking the good resolution to stop wondering what kind of spidermen exist – obviously the list never ends.

Thankfully the kid doesn’t seem to take offense to your staring as he addresses you in a joking manner:

“Forgot your suit at home? Happens to the best of us. Or maybe you’re Spider-Hoodie?”

It’s your day off and your tracksuit, sport shoes and zip-up hoodie could never pass for a superhero costume.

“I… I’m a new recruit”, you answer with less confidence that you would have liked. What if they consider you an intruder? Sound the alarm and send a thousand spidermen after you to throw you in an interdimensional jail?

“You don’t sound so sure about that”, he raises an eyebrow, eyeing your watch. “You know what you’re getting into?”

It’s your turn to raise an eyebrow.

“I’ll manage, kiddo, but thanks for the concern.”

He raises his hands in surrender.

“Just checkin’, that’s all. Name’s Hobie Brown, by the way.”

You give your own name in answer, but as you go to shake his hand, you stop dead in your tracks.

“You… change colours? You change colours. That’s a thing. Ok.”

You stupidly stare at him as he goes from the traditional blue and red of spiderman to just red to pink to settle on black and white. He chuckles at your confusion.

“You’ll get used to it. So, you know where you’re going, Newbie?”

“I’m supposed to meet with Miguel, I guess.”

Hobie doesn’t even try to hide the antipathy that name seems to evoke for him.

“The big boss man, ‘course. You in a hurry? Cause if you’re not, we could take the scenic route.”

You can’t stop the smile that spreads your lips.

“You’re always looking to make new recruits desert and stand up the boss?”

“Always. Antagonizing the authorities is one of my favourite hobby.”

You laugh frankly.

“That’s terrific. I think we’re gonna get along great. Scenic route it is!”

Along Hobie, you pass through the Spider Society’s jails, or at least the room where they stock what they call “Anomalies” before sending them to their original dimension. You have a look at their “Strength and Conditioning Centre”, which is really just a fancy and stupidly complicated way to say “gym”, but you can’t help feeling eager upon seeing their state of the art weight machines. You meet Hobie’s friends, Gwen, a melancholic yet resolute teenage girl, and Pavitr, a psyched-up teenage boy for who becoming spiderman sounds to be the best thing that ever happened to him. His enthusiasm momently makes you feel weird, reminding you of the not so long ago times where you only saw your powers as a curse, but you keep your mouth shut. Your own experiences aren’t universal and you have accepted years ago that your opinion isn’t prevailing. Not to mention that ruining a kid’s fun would be quite shitty of you.

You also don’t say anything about the alarming number of teenagers that appears to compose the ranks of the Spider Society. Naomi is the only kid who’s your responsibility, and therefore the only one you have any rights or authority over. Thinking back about your own youth, which was the period when you got your powers, you know from experience that stopping a 15 years old with superpowers to do whatever they want is, for ordinary humans, close to impossible.

Eventually your new acquaintances guide you to Miguel’s… – you can’t possibly call that an office – crypt? Mancave? At first you don’t understand why they stopped since there is nothing in front of you, but then you hear a sound of machinery running and follow the others’ gazes, somewhere much higher than where you were legitimately looking, and finally see the man. He’s standing on a descending platform equipped of a myriad of orange screens, so many that you can’t imagine how he manages to get his bearings between them all, back turned to you.

This is all good and well, except for the fact that his platform is going down at a painfully slow pace that makes you cringe just watching it happen.

“What’s happening?”, you ask the others. You find it hard to believe that with how advanced the technology here seems to be, there’s no way to make this stupid platform go faster.

“That’s his… thing.”, says Gwen. “Don’t mind him.”

You let escape a nervous laugh, the kind you have when you start feeling yourself go crazy.

“Is this a joke? It has to be a joke. Are you guys hazing me? I’m too old for this bullshit.”

The profound silence and the awkward grimaces that greet your remark makes you realize that, no, this isn’t a joke. You don’t know whether to pinch the bridge of your nose or roll your eyes. You want to tell them that they’re all a bunch of crazy freaks in costume and that you never should have come here. Then you grasp that this problem is actually very easy to solve and you leap on the platform. Like you’re in a fucking Mario game.

“What’s up, Miggy?” you force out, with the most insincere smile you can muster, not bothering to hide your irritation.

“Oh, you’re there. Great. Let’s get this over with”, he says with a deadpan voice and an even more deadpan face. That’s when you realize he didn’t even notice your presence until now, too absorbed in his screens. Add to that the fact that he looks like he just pulled an all-nighter. “And don’t call me that”, he adds afterwards, like an afterthought, frowning.

You restrain yourself from telling him he looks like a zombie, and decides to be proactive. The truth is, you learned teamwork the hard way – in the line of fire –, because it never came to you naturally, and you honestly despise it. Nonetheless you know when to put your feelings aside when the situation calls for it.

“Sure”, you start, slowly, testing the waters. ”How about finding some place with chairs and maybe even a table and some coffee? I was sooo excited to join you guys I didn’t sleep a wink last night.”

That last sentence is an obvious bootlicking lie that Miguel doesn’t buy, and he looks like he’s about to refuse, so you pout at the best of your abilities, trying to make him understand that you’re more stubborn than him, and he relents in a sigh.

“Alright. Follow me. And you three – he looks severely at the teenagers nearby – I’m sure you have better things to do.”

You bid farewell to the spider kids who obey Miguel with more or less reluctance.

“Lyla”, he calls out, “Can you tell Jess and Peter to meet us in the conference room?”

You open your mouth to ask who the hell is Lyla, because to your limited knowledge there is no one of that name in the room with you, and leave it open in incredulity when a light in the shape of a woman appears over Miguel’s shoulder and answers him.

“On it!”

“What the fuck is that?”

Alright, that may have been kind of rude, but you’ve had it with all the weird shit around here. You’ve been holding in your comments pretty good until now.

“Lyla’s my personal assistant.” Even if Miguel deigns to answer you, it sounds more like he did it automatically rather than anything else. He keeps walking without sparing you a glance and you follow.

“I’m an holographic AI software“, adds Lyla, who sounds glad to show off.

“You have holograms? That’s so cool… wait. So you’re from the future or something?”

“In my dimension the year is 2099. I’ll explain in details when we get there.”

And so your little trip continues in silence, one which is neither awkward nor comfortable. You think about how Lyla seemed way more chattier than Miguel, so you try your luck.

“Lyla?” There really is something particular about calling the name of someone – something – who you know isn’t there but who you expect to answer nonetheless.

“Yeah?” she replies, materializing in front of you, laying on her back with her hands crossed behind her neck, like she doesn’t have a care in the world. Which you supposed should be expected from a computer program.

“You don’t answer only to Miguel?”

“I am available to assist all members of the Spider Society in protecting the multiverse, but Miguel’s requests take priority.”

“What can you do exactly?”

“Sooo many things… I transfer calls between Spider Society’s members, I detect and track anomalies all over the multiverse, I check the state of the canon, I predict the appearance of canon events, I help Miguel create gizmos and goobers…”

You understood half of that but assume Miguel will explain soon the jargon. You chat amicably with the AI while being careful to not lose Mr Dark And Brooding because you know you will get lost.

***

“Did you get all that?”

After listening religiously to Spiderman 2099 for close to an hour and being bombarded with information, you need a moment to get your act together. You feel like you accidentally tore open the fourth wall of reality itself when you shouldn’t have and what you saw on the other side changed you forever. Alternatives dimensions are real and infinites. You are currently in another dimension where the year is 2099 and New York is named Nueva York. The possibilities are endless. Somewhere out there, there are worlds where your sister is still alive. Where you died instead of her in the accident. Where you don’t have powers.

Miguel’s question brings you back on earth, however. To yearn for another existence can only leads to death and destruction.

“Yep.”

Bad answer. He puts his hands on his hips and raises a sceptical eyebrow.

“Did you now?” His voice is dripping with sarcasm and you want to punch him again.

“Yeah I got it. The multiverse exists. Don’t stay in another dimension for too long or everyone dies. Do not interfere with fixed events or everyone dies. Do not let people from other dimensions linger in one that’s not theirs or everyone dies. This is pretty basic sci-fi time travel’s rules. I just compacted your lecture in three sentences, you’re welcome.”

“Che maravilla. Then you can be in charge of giving my “lecture” to the new recruits.”

“I’d say I don’t make a good pedagogue but at least I’ve never thrown a desk at a kid.” You retort without missing a beat, crossing your arms, a sneering smile spreading your lips, staring back at Miguel.

You can’t really be mad at him for the sarcasm, it’s your favourite form of humour after all. But if he wants to play, you’ll give as good as you get.

Once again, Peter plays the peacemaker.

“Heyyy Miguel, didn’t you want to ask about her powers?”

The aforenamed sits for the first time since you arrived in the room, in the chair facing you.

“Lyla, can you take notes of this?”

Lyla makes a military salute.

“From what I’ve gathered firsthand – he rubs his jaw where you punched him – you have enhanced strength. Is your skin completely impenetrable? What about the rest of your body?”

“Enhanced speed, enhanced stamina. I’m almost unbreakable. My muscles and my bones included. My eyes are not.”

“Define “almost”. ”

“The most damage I’ve ever sustained was when I took a shotgun to the head and it knocked me out for a couple days. Otherwise I’m usually bulletproof.”

“What about fire? Are you also immune? Electric shocks? Explosives?”

“Yes, yes and yes.”

It’s like having a conversation with your doctor.

Peter lets out an enthusiastic “wow” and Jessica considers you more attentively. As for Miguel, you can’t tell if he’s impressed or satisfied to have a promising recruit. However you’re quickly interrupted in your analysis of his expression as he stands up.

“Get up. Time to show what you’re capable of.”

#miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #spiderman 2099 x reader #mine #miguel o'hara/reader #atsv fanfiction #atsv fic #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel o'hara fic #atsv miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel ohara x you

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flowerpotmage · 9 months

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Tight Grip, Broken Dam (8)

<< Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter >>

You don’t question it anymore, when Miguel appears in your bed at night. He’s not there for sex, no, you’ve never even kissed—though you would be lying if you said you weren’t open to the idea of kissing him. He’s there for comfort. For rest. If only it could stay so simple.

Pair: Miguel O'Hara & GN!Reader

Notes: for series: slow burn, ambiguous relationship, found family dynamics, reader is in their late 20s. for chapter: no warnings. implied loss, grief, and described but unnamed anxious feelings.

Word Count: 2.8k

Read this chapter on Ao3 here. If you like my work, please consider leaving kudos there as well! You do not need an account to do so.

Stepping through the portal into your living room with Miguel feels new.

Obviously it’s not the first time he’s been in your home, far from it, and you know this. But it’s… different. You can’t keep your eyes off him this time, and you tell yourself it’s because it’s the first time since that first time that you’ve shown up here together.

But this time nothing is wrong. Nobody is injured, nobody is hurting, there’s no blood or exhaustion or hard adrenaline comedown. It’s just two people going back to one of their apartments after dinner with friends.

Huh. That almost makes it sound like–

“Are you alright?” Miguel interrupts your train of thought.

“Yeah, yeah,” you force a chuckle through your breath.

He watches you as you walk into the kitchen, placing your leftovers in the fridge, following you to stand on the other side of the counter. You hold your hand out for his leftovers, he passes them over, and you set them on the shelf next to yours.

You try to shut whatever it is that’s tugging at your mind away in the fridge with the matching tupperwares, but it slips out like a housecat escaping into the yard, continuously lurking just outside your range of sight.

“Water?” You ask, fidgeting with your nails.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Here.” You pass him a cup over the counter, having to lean forward slightly to reach his side.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, lowering his eyes and taking a drink.

A familiar routine ensues; Miguel following you to your room, you passing him the clothes you keep for him to sleep in and him going off down the hallway to change. In the small moment of his absence, you stand inside your bedroom door, conscious of your fingertips and the way they tingle after grazing his hands. You flex your fingers, shaking them out, before turning heel into your room to change your own clothes.

When you’ve finished changing and exit your room, you see Miguel in the kitchen hunched over the sink and restacking the scarce amount of dirty plates, placing the accompanying silverware into a cup. You move further from your room as he turns the sink on and fills the cup with soapy water.

“You don’t have to do that,” you say, even as your chest warms, and that old familiar feeling of something stirring behind the bars of your ribs returning. This time the strange new thing joins it, dancing in the corner, playing your ribs like a glockenspiel.

He doesn't look up, keeping his head down. “It’ll make it easier for you later.”

You nod. “Still, though…”

“I wouldn't do it if I minded.”

You chuckle, a puff of air from your nose. “Yes, you would.”

He glances up now, an eyebrow almost lifted, the corner of his mouth almost smiling. “Yeah, well.”

You smile at him from across the apartment, then point your thumb down the hall. “I’m gonna finish up and get in bed.”

Miguel nods, turning back to his self-appointed duties, and you slip away down the hall to the bathroom. The door clicks behind you, leaving you alone in the soft warm glow of the bathroom overhead light. A moth beats against the light cover—how it managed to get in truly baffles you. It’s when you’re putting toothpaste onto the bristles of your toothbrush that you catch the eye of your reflection and pause, because you look… soft.

You look away.

When you emerge from the hallway you see that Miguel is no longer in the kitchen, so you turn into your room. You come to an abrupt stop, hand on the doorframe and halfway through the threshold; Miguel is already in your bed. He lies on his back, a hand resting over his stomach, and looks at your curtained windows and the sliver of a gap where the glass pane remains uncovered.

You’ve never seen him laying down, before, without you in the bed beside him.

You flick the light off, and he turns to look at you. Wordlessly, he lifts the blanket— your blanket—as you approach your side of the bed. You slide in under his arm which lowers gently to rest on your side, the weight of it immediately sparking a domino effect of relaxation through your tired and tense muscles. Silence lingers for a moment as you settle in, shifting slightly to get more comfortable, broken only when Miguel speaks softly.

“How are your hands?”

Your breath catches, and you take your hands out from under the blanket and show him. Even in the dim light you know Miguel’s far superior enhanced vision will allow him to see more than you can—though how much more still remains a mystery. He takes your hands in both of his and tilts your palms up to be inspected.

“You tell me,” you say, quietly, your voice a whisper.

He begins testing the flesh of your palms with the pads of his fingers by pressing gently on the valley in the center, rubbing over the hill at the base of your thumb, over the pads on your palm at the base of your fingers. You try to keep your hands relaxed under his ministrations, but he presses a spot under one finger that makes the digit twitch involuntarily.

“Sorry,” he mumbles with a soft smile, a tiny laugh escaping as he smooths his thumb over the spot to punctuate his apology.

“‘S fine,” you mumble in return, your lips reflecting the twist of his amused smile before his own slides into a frown. That much you can see, even if you didn’t already feel his changed mood roll off of him like low cloud cover over a hill. “It didn’t hurt,” you whisper.

There’s no real animosity towards you in his voice when he responds in a prickly tone: “What, the reflex? Or when they got scraped open?”

It’s your turn to frown. “Either. It wasn’t that bad.”

“That hardly reassures me.”

“Miguel…” you resist the urge to pull your hands from his, though you’re sure he can feel the tension in your body by the way his fingers twitch around yours and the way he lets out a reluctant, surrendering sigh.

“I…” he lets a breath out, letting go of one of your hands and changing his grip on the other.

You squeeze his hand back, adjusting your hand so you can get your fingers around the side of his hand, between his palm and index finger, and cradle it against your chest near your heart. “I know. I… Everything’s okay.”

He pulls you closer, and you fall asleep cradled to his chest like his hand is to yours.

The next morning finds you trying to enter your kitchen.

“Stay over there,” Miguel threatens with a wooden spatula.

“It’s my kitchen!”

“And I’m cooking in it.” He shakes his head, muttering lightheartedly about your ungratefulness as he turns away to face the stove.

“Where did you get the eggs?” You ask, accepting that you’ll never get past him and settling into the seat he had occupied just last night.

“The store. Obviously.”

You jolt your head, blinking in exaggerated and playful astonishment. “Um, okay? With what money?”

You can hear the smile in his voice. “I’m resourceful. Your ID picture is terrible, by the way.”

You throw your hands up in the air. “You went in my wallet?!”

He turns and points the wooden spatula at you, a bit of gloopy egg white stuck to the end. “You’re lucky I only bought ingredients for breakfast. You need to go grocery shopping.”

You plant your hands on the counter, leaning back in your seat. “I’m a busy Spider. I don’t know what to tell you.”

He snorts, turning back to the stove. It doesn’t take him much longer to finish cooking what appears to be a version of huevos rancheros with an Earth-928 twist and serve it on two plates from your cabinet. He nods his head toward your balcony.

“Come on. It’s a nice morning.”

You follow him, maneuvering around him to open the sliding glass doors since he’s insistent on carrying all of the food.

The outside mid morning air is still quite cool, the sun rising on the other side of your apartment building from your balcony leaves you shrouded in cool morning shade with light reflecting back at you from the neighboring building’s windows. Miguel squints, shielding his eyes as best he can as he sets the food down on your small balcony table.

“Here, take this seat. The light won’t shine on you so hard,” you say.

“Thank you,” he takes the offered chair, which nearly looks like it belongs to a child compared to his stature.

You snort.

He frowns, looking across the table to you. “What?”

“You make that chair look like it belongs in a children’s play-set,” you tease, gesturing at him with your fork.

He snorts. “It’s not my fault you bought child size furniture to save money.”

You return with a playfully affronted gasp, a hand on your chest. “Hey! Some of us work normal jobs and didn’t get the big money from big scary mega-corporation jobs.”

He shakes his head, smiling, and lowers his gaze to focus on his meal. “Eat your food.”

You smile and follow his example, the two of you eating in comfortable silence, watching the angle of the morning light slowly change as the faint breeze carries warmer air from the light into the shade and across your faces.

The other Miguel’s Lyla tells him that you’re headed to the lobby, and so Miguel-209 swallows the nervous lump in his throat and makes his way there to find you. He’s not sure why he decides to bite the proverbial bullet and do this now , not sure if it’ll hurt as much (if not more) again as it comforts to see your face and hear your voice. He’s got to get used to it at some point, regardless, considering how much of a key member of this society you seem to be according to the Peter in the pink bathrobe, and that woman Jess, and… Well. It’s not the first time he’s had to face something painful, and you’re far from the first ghost he’s had to learn to live with.

He waits outside the lobby entrance, giving polite nods over his crossed arms to the various Peter Parkers and other Spider-People, and others, that pass him and offer friendly greetings.

And then he spots you, mask off and in your hand, walking his way.

Your eyes widen a fraction, eyebrows jumping a fraction in surprise to see him there and already looking at you. He straightens up, unfolding his arms, and gives a small awkward wave.

Very cool, Miggy. Real suave.

“Hey,” he says as you join him by the wall.

“Hi,” you say, your voice warm despite the visible polite confusion on your face, one he knows all too well. “Were you, uh,” you gesture vaguely at the spot he stands in. “Were you waiting here for me?”

Great, they probably think you’re a shocking creep.

“Yeah,” he smiles apologetically, scratching the back of his head. “I was wondering if you wanted to chat? Get some food, or something.”

He feels naked under your gaze, even though it remains on his face as you search for something. He swallows.

“Sure,” you say, offering a smile. “Cafeteria, or…?”

“Depends, how bad is it?”

You laugh, and it punches him below the ribs, knocking the air clean out.

“Not that bad. A lot of the food is engineered for our mutate Spider-People systems,” you say, a grin blooming across your lips. “Actually, do you like burgers? There’s this one special there that I think you’ll get a kick out of.”

He smiles, almost baring his teeth. “I could do a burger. Lead the way.”

Miguel-209 follows your lead, trying to keep an appropriate distance from your side. It’s uncanny, really, how similar everything about you is to what he knew while being distinctly different. Your hair is parted a few centimeters off from what he recognizes, and your gate is different: the unmistakable strength and grace of your spider-bite induced power lurking just underneath an otherwise normal stride.

“Have you gotten to spend a lot of time around HQ?” you ask him, and he realizes he’s been walking in silence for a solid minute or two, just observing.

“Not too much,” he says. “This is only my third visit.”

“Social or business?” you ask, glancing at him. Even the tilt of your head when you look up at him is just slightly different, and he looks away.

“A little bit of both,” he says.

“Hm.”

You reach the cafeteria, and Miguel-209 continues to follow you into the line. Even this space is so shocking bright that he’s still having to squint behind his sunglasses.

“Too bright?”

Miguel looks down at you, eyebrows lifted. “Oh, uh-”

“Miguel, the other one, is kind of light sensitive too,” you say, gesturing at his sunglasses. “We can find somewhere darker to eat after we get our food, if you want.”

Nothing ever really did escape your notice. The space under his ribs squeezes, hot and painful.

“That’d be great.”

You smile, and turn to the menu. “You wanted the burger, right? I definitely think you should get the burger.”

He chuckles. “Sure, I’ll get the burger.”

You order food for both of you to go, Miguel-209 not paying all that much attention as the light starts to stab at his temples.

It feels like he blinks and then the food is ready, and you’re guiding him out of the cafeteria with a slightly concerned frown and a light hand on his arm.

“That bad, huh?”

“I’ll be fine,” he reassures, cheeks warm with embarrassment.

You nod, remove your touch—something somehow both a relief and devastating in equal measure—and return to leading the way towards somewhere to eat. It turns out that the place you’re taking him is a nook high in the beams, a semicircle of planters shielding a small group of comfy looking seats and a few small tables by a tinted window. Miguel follows you to them, looking through the tinted glass as he sits.

“Better?” you ask, sitting in your own seat across from him and pulling two takeout boxes from the to-go bag.

“Much. Thank you,” he smiles, accepting the box you hand to him, setting it down, and opening it. “What the shock?” he bursts out in a laugh, looking at you again.

You’re grinning, opening your own takeout. “What? It’s the Spidey Special.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t imagine the other me approves.”

You chuckle. “I don’t think so, but he still doesn’t stop the rest of us from having our harmless fun.”

The burger, despite the surreal experience of eating a food replica of his alternate self’s masked face, is actually pretty good.

“How long have you been involved with… all this?” Miguel-209 asks after a few bites, waving his hand vaguely in the air.

You swallow your mouthful of food, settling back into your chair, pausing to think. “Oh, man. Uh…” you frown. “A few months? I think? It’s only existed for under a year, officially, I think.” You shrug. “How are you finding it so far?”

He shrugs, just managing to rip his eyes away from yours. Those are the same familiar shade, at least.

“Still trying to decide,” he says. “It’s interesting to see all the other Spider-Men, and people. The t-rex threw me for a loop.”

You laugh, the sound dancing on his ribs like felt covered xylophone mallets.

“Yeah, me too. Have you met Spider-Cat? Or Peter Parkedcar?”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m really not.” You both laugh, and a contemplative silence falls.

“Is there a Miguel in your dimension?”

You shake your head, and then laugh. “I mean,” you laugh, “I’m sure there is, but not a Miguel O’Hara. Not any that I know.”

He nods, hums thoughtfully, and looks out the window while he pretends not to feel your eyes on his face. Outside is a sea of green, pierced by white buildings and criss crossed with physical roads and paths like a web.

“Does your head still hurt?”

He looks at you, eyes grazing over the care filled angle of your brows, brushing across your eyelashes and down your cheeks, over your lips, back up to your eyes.

“It’s much better now.”

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#x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x gender neutral reader #atsv miguel x reader

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izukuwus · 9 months

Text

Boiling Point 3: ...Will Still Boil Over Eventually - Miguel O'Hara/Reader (NSFW)

First - Prev - Next - M.list - Ao3

A/N: well folks and strokes I have no self control. this was originally supposed to be the finale, but lol. lmao, even. you didn't really expect me to finish a storyline in only three parts?

Summary: You reach your boiling point.

Notes: sub drop, a frankly ill-advised length of time to be edging oneself

Word count: 3317 words!

It is day…

uh…

(What fucking day is it again?)

You’re tired. You’re bored. You’re horny. And that handsome motherfucker sent you a carousel of Spiders to explicitly make sure that you were actually resting in the time he so generously gave you.

Your package delivery was delayed by a combination of bad luck and worse luck, apparently, because it should have been here by now. You stopped bothering keeping up with your journaling partway through this, namely because you were starting to become hyper-aware of all your negative traits when you wrote them down (teenage boy levels of horniness and anger, mostly) and also because you’re starting to feel… low. Low low. Low low low low low.

The part of you that’s desperate for sex with a man you’ll never have or even just a fucking release at this point is losing out to your deep-seated need to be right. And in your contract, you said until the new vibe arrives. So, you are stuck waiting, lest you prove yourself completely slutty and undisciplined. And you are not slutty or undisciplined.

The worst part, you think, is the understimulation. Sure, you’ve got hobbies, but you don’t want to do any of them right now. You want to get someone’s hand on your tits and teeth on your neck, or else you want to hook yourself up to a vibrator until you discover new frontiers of consciousness and burn out the motor on that one, too, or else you want to lay here and rot. And fuck it, you can’t do any of that, because you still have your shitty office work to attend to, which doesn’t even distract you from the real problems in the world: dimensional anomalies, stopping criminals, and the criminal lack of dimensionally anomalous dick in your mouth.

Honestly, at first, it was sexy. You liked the little thrill of rolling over in bed and seeing your contract and knowing that you’re being so good even without a dom to make it so. You liked the idea of the denial, the promise of a new toy coming as a reward for all the longing in the meantime. Part of you still does, but that part has been glazed over with a level of self-loathing that usually being a Spider wipes away.

If you were worth anything, you wouldn’t have to enforce this yourself.

If you were worth anything, someone would be telling you what a good girl you’ve been, that you’ve worked so hard for this, that you’ve earned the right to cum.

Admit it.

You’re not doing this alone to prove a point.

You’re doing this alone because no one is ever going to do it for you. Not for long, at least.

You know two ways to fill time and void—searching for good views from too-tall buildings and masturbation. The too-tall buildings frustrate you even more, because occasionally one of your coverage Spider-Men will swing in and remind you that you’re under strict orders to rest, or worse, you’ll see them at work and know that Miguel has probably instructed them to web you to a wall if you try to help with YOUR job, and then you just feel even more useless and angry and empty.

Okay, so skyscraper sightseeing is out. What about masturbation?

Yeah, that’ll work. Add more sexual frustration to your sexual frustration. You like sexual frustration, right? Clearly, since you’re still doing this bullshit. Go ahead, we put some sexual frustration on your sexual frustration so you can get sexually frustrated while you experience some light sexual frustration. This can only serve to alleviate your problems. Clearly. Dumbass.

…you make sure to leave your wristband in the other room before you take your pants off.

And you know what? Maybe it’s the demon on your shoulder egging you on when you slip two fingers inside yourself and fantasize in scraps of images—sharp teeth, big muscles, webs holding down your wrists—and chase release, but you no longer care about the stupid fucking contract or your stupid fucking delayed package or your stupid fucking—

There is a noise in the other room.

A noise that sounds suspiciously like an incoming call on your wristband.

You can’t help it. Fuck your neighbors. You actually scream.

Okay. You’re overreacting. Walk it back. This is good. You didn’t break the contract, because you didn’t cum, and that call probably means you’re back in business and able to be a fucking Spider again.

So really, you're glad you got a call. You wash your hands, you scrub extra hard. You make sure your Spider suit is on, you make sure you're wearing casual clothes with the zippers all pulled and hiding your suit. When you're calm and collected and ready, the dread and self-hatred is still there, as is the frustration, but you didn't spend years in customer service without learning how to wear a smile even when the only desire you have left in your little heart is that lingering drive to take up serial killing.

You find the wristband on the coffee table. Slip it on. Hit the button to call back.

And there he is: man of the hour, loathe of your life, Miguel O'Hara. You've been trying not to think of him by his full name only, but it isn't working, mostly because you've also been halfway trying to not think of him at all.

You don't really process most of the conversation, too busy floating in the space between "horny" and "dead inside", but you do hear the words "we need you back on to help with an anomaly" pretty fucking clear, and you know damn well you wouldn't say no to that.

"Give me two minutes to get changed," you manage, already pulling at the shorts you so carefully hid your Spider suit under.

"You get one and a half.”

Aw, he's cute. Miguel's holo is looking away from you, and it blinks out of existence in the time it takes you to get your free hand hooked under your waistband. He's not flustered; you're not sure that's possible, but his unnecessary display of respect is endearing.

You're ready to go in one. You take the thirty seconds remaining to fix your hair and play it cool, even if you're now stuck between excited, horny, and dead. I heard, if you add a fourth emotion to the mix, you can build a house out of your weird bullshit and finally put a ceiling on it. Give it a try sometime!

You slip into spidery actions the same way you do swimming pools—the initial drop of your stomach, water too cold on your toes, New York City but Wrong, then the adjusting. You always adjust. Anomalies blur together for you by now, amalgamate into a series of fun diversions that lower your stress and put the pieces of you back together in the process.

They’re supposed to put you back together.

The anomaly is dealt with. You’re spidering again. You got your rush from the heights and the wind against your mask, your adrenaline from a fight gone well. You returned to HQ with your partners from this little adventure no worse for the wear, and even Miguel has afforded you an approving nod at the work you’ve done.

You’ve done a good job. A great job. Something has pushed out the rage in you and taken its place, but you know better. This fight against this anomaly did not, in fact, put you back together.

You need to go home. You have to report in, first. It’s redundant. You need to leave. You’re doing good. You need to smile and do it anyways.

Your smile is heavy, so heavy, nearly impossible to drag out of you. You wish you could leave it where it sits in the pits of you, go home and find a cave to live in where civilization is not and no one can ever make you smile again because—

You need to stop everything there is danger there is danger you need to MOVE—

You jolt away, violent, exaggerated, but it’s just Peter, frozen with his elbow raised awkwardly, halfway to nudging your side for your attention.

“[name]?”

“Sorry,” you mumble, as though that does anything, for anyone, ever, at all. It does nothing, in fact, and you’re hyper-aware of that. An explanation might help. “My head’s not back in this dimension yet.” Great explanation. You’re winning at this. I’m so proud of you.

“Right,” Miguel says. “Your report?”

“Oh. Right.” You rattle off the details. They’re hardly anything worth reporting, really. When you’re done, there’s a heavy silence in the room. Everything’s heavy right now, kind of. Like that week away turned the multiverse into molasses.

You glance up through the silence to see that Miguel is staring you down. Okay, more like looking at you, but it all feels the same right now, your skin crawling at being perceived at all.

“Are we done?” The words come out too aggressive. You’re not angry; you’re not anything. The words are just too heavy to drag out without a little bit of bluntness. You hope he won’t take it as a challenge.

“You did good.”

Fucking hell.

You didn’t brace yourself for that one.

There’s motions between you hearing the words and you being on the floor. There must be, because you were on your feet, and now you are not. The heels of your palms press against your eyes, you’re gasping for air, and—

Oh. You’re crying your eyes out.

Are you sure you’re not overreacting a bit?

Heightened spider senses inform you someone is reaching for you, begs you to move, screams at you to throw them away and make sure no one ever touches you again, but you’re too caught up in the tears to do a thing about it, too caught up in the waves finally crashing down on you and shredding your skin in the sand of all the resentments you’ve been building, too caught up too caught up too caught up—

Woah, hey, let’s take a deep breath—

Out.

I’m not just going to leave them crying on the floor—

Out!

—someone is touching you someone is holding you leave me alone leave me ALONE—

LYLA. Portal back to their home dimension. Now, please.

Already on it. I’ll send for Jess.

Good thinking. I’ll be back.

Miguel is careful not to jostle you too much as he sets you on your couch. You dissolved into tears and are still dissolving now, wordless. He shakes his head at the sight.

When he realized what was going on and placed you on leave, he had sort of been trying to avoid a situation that looked a lot like this. He tells himself there was only so much he could do and not a single right answer to keep you from steering yourself straight off an emotional cliff.

Well, that’s not right. There had been a right answer; it just wasn’t the one he chose. The least he can do is stay with you until you’re stable. The least he can do is see you through this drop.

You’re not talking yet, so he tears away from you to search for anything you might want for aftercare and tries to run the autopsy report of his latest failure.

Admittedly, he misjudged what a compliment would do to you, so close to the edge. The goal really had had been to uplift you. He could have done worse. It’s not like he broke out the ‘good girl’. And yeah, maybe it was too jarring coming from his mouth after the last time you spoke in person.

Maybe he was just too late. By the time he got to you, you were already locked in. Even before that, you were acting more reckless than usual. Really, he was the one who should have seen it coming and put a stop to it day one. He should know better by now, when it comes to you.

He’s on autopilot, so he grabs the fluffiest-looking blanket from the pile on your bed, the most hug-worthy pillow, and returns to wrap you up.

You accept the pillow wordlessly, don’t even bother resisting when he wraps the blanket around you. You’ve gone from sobbing to sniffles, but he’s got work to do yet.

“Better?” he asks, voice low. His voice comes out gentle, even gentler than he was shooting for, and he curses the effect you have on him like he does every time.

You eye him warily, nod silently. You’re all verb-adverb right now, it seems, but at least you are a little better.

“What do you usually do for this?” he asks, and okay, maybe that’s a little up front, given the way you jolt and shift your expression to a glare.

“What makes you think I do anything?”

He lets out a little huff, settles in on the couch next to you. “You haven’t figured out by now how to handle yourself?”

“I can handle myself just fine, and if you even begin to act otherwise I swear to god—“

“Have I ever said you can’t?”

“You put me on leave. For a week. Not just from interdimensional stuff, but from protecting my own city. What the hell else is that supposed to say?”

Oh. You completely misinterpreted him, didn’t you?

“It means that I thought you needed the rest and correctly gauged that you wouldn’t take it willingly. If I was wrong, then you wouldn’t be crying on your couch right now, would you?” He cringes internally. That came out wrong.

“It’s not like it prevented it,” you mutter.

He sighs. You’re not being very receptive, and he needs to get the right words in his head in the right order with the right tone before he makes things even worse. So he stands and begins walking to your door.

“Where are you going?” you call after him, and your voice is small enough that he nearly stops.

No, Miguel. Control yourself.

“Checking your mail.”

“You’re going to walk all the way down the stairs to the mailboxes on the first floor? You’re going to unlock my mailbox with a mail key you don’t have, and—“

By your front door, there’s three hooks with keys. One is labeled “mail”. He picks it up, then glances back to where you’re craning your neck over the back of your couch. His hand is already on the door, and he’s firmly unbothered by your attempts to protest with logic.

“You’re in your Spider suit, stupid. Do you want people to see you walking out of my apartment? Trying to give away my secret identity? It’s not like people aren’t gonna notice one of the Spider’s caked-up new friends walking around the apartment building—“

…Caked-up?

He shakes his head and opens the door anyway. You make a good point about him being in his suit, but it’s not like he can’t handle himself for one trip to the first floor and—

Oh. There’s a package on the floor in front of your door.

That’s good enough. He’ll bring that inside.

“Your neighbor got your mail by accident,” Miguel says, already walking back from the door. “Let’s see, he says…” In one hand, he reads from what looks to be a hand-written note, and in the other…

You catch sight of the logo emblazoned on the side of the envelope he carries and have to kill the screech in your throat. Whatever pathetic tears you were crying for stupid reasons before mean nothing now.

You’re so fucking glad you bought from a new sex shop this time. You’re so fucking glad this one doesn’t have some super obvious name that makes it very clear that the Sex Toy Destroyer Himself was carrying your replacement for all the toys he personally destroyed. Hell no, you’re not taking credit for those. You’re not the insanely hot one here.

Of course. Of course you would have a completely unprecedented breakdown in HQ directly in front of Miguel. Of course he’d stick around to make sure you weren’t completely useless. Of course your new toy would show up whenever Miguel decides to be weirdly nice and bring in your mail for you. How else would things go? You’re the one with all the luck here.

Miguel is mid-sentence saying something you’ve been completely not listening to, and you do feel guilty for that, but come on. It’s taking everything in you not to freak out. You’re giving yourself whiplash just trying to calm down. Like, it’s normal. People receive mail sometimes, idiot, and sometimes that mail gets delivered to the wrong place, and that’s good and normal, and sometimes your neighbor is kind enough to leave it on your doorstep with a note, and sometimes—

“He’s asking you on a date.”

“What?” In less than a second, your web is on the back of the page, and Miguel lets it sail from his hand and into yours. “Let me see that.”

Holy shit. Your neighbor returned your sex toy he mistakenly got in the mail and asked you out to coffee sometime. You check the unit number he listed—motherfucker. He’s the one that shares a wall with your bedroom. He’s probably heard more than he hasn’t. You sure fucking have.

You let out a low groan. Eyes flick to Miguel. It’s not like that particular bad idea is going anywhere, and you’re basically the ruler of Definitely Healthy Coping Mechanisms anyway, so maybe—

“That was nice of him. Is he actually worth your time, though?”

The sentences are so weird coming from his mouth that a little jolt of laughter bubbles out of you. “Why are you being so weird? That was almost nice. You’re supposed to be all, tough love and everyone thinks you’re mad even when you’re being nice.”

He blinks. Stares at you a moment. “You just had a complete breakdown.”

“Yes, thank you for reminding me.” You’re doing a tremendous job at ignoring that fact, thank you very much. “…Thanks for the consideration, though. And probably not. He’s like, not unattractive, I guess, but, you know. Can’t shake the feeling that he’s only asking me out because he shares a wall with my bedroom.”

Miguel arches a brow.

Oh, fuck. That’s sexual connotations. I mean, sexual meaning, too, but come the fuck on. You’ve got to be more restrained than that. What were those two weeks of training for?

“…right. Anything good?” He gives the package a little shake, and you remember how fucking precarious your situation is in this moment.

Another web snatches the envelope from him. He seems nearly amused by your reaction, based on vibes. Deadpan as always, but if you’re not mistaken, there’s a slight spark in his eyes. “What could you possibly have ordered?”

“Nothing.”

“Given that you just snatched it out of my hands…”

“Nothing,” you repeat. It’s meant to be emphatic, but you just sound whiny. You blame the post-cry snottiness.

He sits directly across from you. “No, open it. You don’t have to wait for me to leave if you’re that excited for it.”

“I’m good.” Your voice pitches high. “Really. Thanks for all your help today. You can go.”

He stares. You begin to sweat.

“Look. I was really hoping you’d figure discipline out on your own with all that time I gave you, but I guess not.”

“If… if you wanted me to be doing something specific with the past boring-as-shit week, why didn’t you tell me what it was?”

He sighs. “If you think two weeks of edging yourself without aftercare is discipline, then I guess I have to be the one to teach you.”

…oh.

Huh.

Fuck.

Tags: @deeplightgarden @idonthaveanameideayet @dusstory @roxannarichie @vegas-writing-den @cooch1ecruncher @bluepeanutharmony @instanttragedyfire @yohoe-hoe @ambientcryptidsounds

If you'd like to be tagged, shoot me a message or an ask, or ask here in the replies, tags, or reblogs and let me know what you'd like to be tagged in (all works, all miguel works, this series in particular, etc.). If your name appears on this list but is not underlined and you didn't get a notification, please check to make sure that your blog is NOT set to not appear in search results in your blog settings! If you've got that set that way for a particular reason, consider subscribing to the fic on ao3 for an equivalent update notification, as I always crosspost simultaneously! After three unsuccessful tagging attempts, you will be removed from the list.

As always, thanks for reading! <3

#miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara/reader #miguel o'hara reader insert #atsv miguel x reader #my fics #not sfw

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lethalchiralium · 10 months

Text

my tears ricochet | Miguel O’Hara

“Miguel!”

Miguel watched the beautiful woman enveloped his variant self in a button up shirt and slacks, arms around his neck as she squealed about his arrival. She was pretty, voice sounded like perfection, and it made his heart twist into knots. All he had before was Gabi. Her mother had abandoned her when she was young, so he had no happy family in a pretty house on the end of a nice street like his variant did. Miguel watched his variant kiss her face, watched his beautiful daughter happily embrace him.

His body was a mosaic of stone, his suit made of electricity did nothing to give him any reason to feel - he had ripped his feelings from his chest long ago, just to end the pain that seemed to drown him in its acidity.

“Let’s go.”

Miguel didn’t miss the way his tears fell to the ground, bouncing and shattering off his suit. He didn’t miss the feeling of his body melting away to expose the bones underneath. And he definitely didn’t miss the way he wanted someone like you, the beautiful wife married to a less fucked up version of himself.

So he followed Lyla. Followed her without any quick remark, any quip or venomous bark. She didn’t look at him after she watched his tears ricochet.

———

The Title List Prompts!

#lethalchiralium #lethal chiralium #the title list lethalchiralium #miguel spiderman #astv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #miguel spiderverse #atsv miguel x reader #miguel o’hara x f!reader

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panecitotulipan · 11 months

Text

Eating schedules

Miguel O'Hara/reader

Notes:

I am posting little chunks of a story in disorder. The chronological order list here. It will make sense and join dots once it starts to fill, everytime a new chapter comes out I'll actualize that list (works like in Beyond two souls but is a random y/n fic you found on Tumblr).

You may find fluff, touched starved physical interaction, angst, mentions of anxiety and bad health habits in these writings. I also think is important to point out that there will be no NSFW in any part of the story.

English is not my mother language, sorry if a few things sound off. But don't worry about spanish dialogues, i know those are well written.

The reader knows spanish, i have to admit i thought about they as a mexican person.

Gender neutral narrative, so anyone can be comfortable.

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Gif credit

"You may be useful" the Dorito shaped man said. When he offered you to form part of this, declining wasn't an option, who the hell would say no to travel between universes and work with advanced technology? Definitely not a nerd like you.

Casually chatting with the VR avatar girl and exploring the functioning of the machines was undoubtedly helpful to keep yourself busy when there were no missions assigned.

Once in a while the naps on the extravagant and irregular walls of the control room were comfortable, even though the 'boss' waked you up every time yelling in some kind of frustration tone, he was usually upset at everything and everyone.

As you didn't enjoy going out of this laid, the only times other spider people could see you was while buying food at the cafeteria, rather for you or the boss. Since he spent a lot of time in the same spot as you, the constant interaction was not avoidable at all. Even while your talks, everywhere but the floor was a better place to be standing on, which the 2099 unsurprisingly found annoying. A certain memory came to mind: he cut off your spiderweb, made you fly for a second, and then had lunch with you. All that in a period of 30 minutes approximately, hilarious to put it that way. By that time, you must have spent about' a couple of weeks of joining the society.

┄━═━┄

The 2099 was checking anomalies data in that floating and dramatic platform with the funny AI lady. When he called for you.

–Ah, yeah? I'm right here.– You said as you left yourself fall from the ceiling, already with a thin web that would hold you safely once you reached a level a bit higher than 2099's face.

–I know you're here, you're always here. If you're not on the walls you are hidden in a corner of the ceiling. It's certainly annoying.– O'Hara commented with throaty and toneless voice, then he relocated the conversation. –Did you upload the data i asked?–

–First of all. Why do you have so much problem with me being around in this room? I'm literally not bothering anyone, you yourself said I'm hidden.– You cleared your throat and then continued calmly. –And second, yeah I did, just after you ordered me to.– Supposing that was all, another thread of web came out from your free hand, pretending to swing away. But a tight grip surrounded your wrist, stopping you.

–Can't you stay still for a second? Are you a monkey or something?– The boss sounded a bit angry now.

He made a rough movement, snapping the web and provoking your fall. Hopefully O'Hara did it knowing you wouldn't actually get hurt, hopefully. Falling on your feet was not a big deal. Still very rude though.

Turning around on your toes in his direction, mockery was the chosen answer to deal with the situation.

–Not a monkey, I'm pretty sure I am quite literally more spider like.– Now you were messing with him. It wasn't your fault if he had a bad day, you didn't have to handle his cranky behavior every time he was stressed, which was frequent since tones of spider people joined the last two weeks, they have easily triplicated the number.

The 2099 rolled his eyes and tried to ignore you by talking to the AI. After taking a deep breath, his hand brushed his hair back to place.

–¿Ya comiste hoy?– You randomly asked in an annoyed sigh, getting the Dorito's eyes attention. –I've only seen you drink coffee since yesterday.– It was funny because you have proved that the boss got in a little better mood after having something decent to eat.

–No…no lo sé.– He returned his attention at the multiple screens, somehow avoiding your gaze.

–¿Recuerdas cuándo fue la última vez que comiste?– (Do you remember when was the last time you ate?)

–No.– O'Hara responded dryly. This man lacked self preservation when it came to basic health care routines. What a bonehead.

You left silently, and returned after about 15 minutes with two meals, each one on a hand. You were practical, not that much of a talker.

–Pedí algo nuevo, creo que te puede gustar.– (I bought something new, i think you may like it.) You said while raising his food container.

The 2099 didn't even look at you when a glowing thread stuck to the plastic on your raised hand.

–Hey!– You instantly grabbed the web and let your own container fall, hopefully nothing happened to your food. Most of the time you forgot how strong this man actually was, so when he occured to pull the freaking strand you were violently lifted from the ground as well.

The little flying trip to the platform ended abruptly by crashing towards the Dorito's chest. You grabbed his shoulder, trying to put yourself together.

–Dude, what the hell!– You exclaimed with a taut voice. –Say "gracias" at least.–

–Gracias.– O'Hara said with an ironic smirk. Asshole.

An annoyed growl escaped your mouth, and you let go of his shoulder. After jumping back off the platform you checked the fallen food container, still eatable. So lunch time finally started, not leaving the room at all.

The thought of insisting that O'Hara shouldn't eat while working invaded your mind. That was a bad habit too.

–Ahmm, boss. I'll say it once more, you shouldn't eat while working.– You talked in a ringing tone.

–I need to keep on–

–You'll do better if you recover your energy properly. Don't want to imagine you fainting in the middle of a fight due to malnutrition.– He slightly frowned when you interrupted him. Funny.

–If I go with you and have lunch. Will you shut up and let me do my work?–

–Pretty much so…eh, 60% of possibility.– Your hands moved in the air simulating a balance.

–I guess it is better than nothing.– He mumbled. –Find me a chair on the previous room or something, I'm reaching you.–

You smirked in success.

–Sure thing, Dorito.–

He hated that name, but you left before a possible answer. You grabbed a chair and sat on an edge of the table, careful of not throwing any near artifact. After a minute he appeared and started eating, despite of his efforts to not look starved, this man was eating too fast. When he finished his meal you weren't done with yours, so you offered the rest.

–I am not asking if you want. Come más.– (Eat more.) The boss didn't say anything, and with an vague air of shyness he took your plate and ate what was left.

–You honestly sound like a grandma sometimes.– There was his severe voice again.

–Good. Grandmas are the best.– You proudly declared with a grin on your face.

His smirk was slight and discreet, but noticeable enough to catch your eyes. O'Hara seemed to realize the eyeing, even if he didn't say a word. A moment of silence surrounded you both.

As soon as you caught yourself staring, clearing your throat was your immediate reaction.

–I'm glad you gave yourself a quick break. I will insist once in a while for you to take proper eating schedules.–

–As long as you're not too annoying, it's fine.– 2099 took a deep breath, and rubbed his eyes with his fingertips. –You don't have to... pero gracias.– The lasts words were pronounced in a mumble barely perceptible to the ear, but perceptible enough to your ear.

–No hay de qué, jefe.– (It is nothing, boss.)

#miguel o'hara #spiderman #across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #writing pacefully #atsv miguel #atsv fanfiction #atsv fic #miguel ohara #miguel x reader #atsv miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara x gender neutral reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x reader

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bruisedboys · 10 months

Note

❛ here, give this a try and tell me what you think. ❜ may i request baker reader who teases miguel by giving him a sweet kiss after trying what they made :)

thank you baby for the ask! I had heaps of fun writing this :) also I cheated and changed the dialogue a little bit oops

miguel o’hara x fem!reader, fluff, spoiler free!!! (also not proofread very well)

Miguel’s not an overly affectionate guy. He likes you, sure, but he keeps the physical affection to a minimum — he kisses you and touches you minimally when there are others around. He’ll hug you if you ask for it, he’ll hold your hand too, but only when it’s just the two of you alone. It’s not that he doesn’t like you, because he does, a lot, it’s just not his thing. Neither of you mind.

When it comes to your affections, however, Miguel is practically bombarded with them every waking second. And he says this in a very affectionate way, mind you. You’re always telling him he looks handsome. Always touching his chest or his arm, putting your hand in his hair (when he’s low enough that you can reach it). You’re not afraid of letting him know just how much you like him. It makes him weak in the knees, if he’s being honest.

You appear in Miguel’s lab slash office with the air of someone who’s excited and can barely hold it in. You’re bouncing on your feet and you’ve got your hands behind your back, hiding something.

“Hi, handsome,” you say, a happy lilt in your voice as you skip towards him.

Miguel bites back a smile. If he smiles, you’ll tease him for it, for sure. He tries not to sound too lovelorn when he says, “Hi,” back.

It doesn’t work. It’s probably the sappiest he’s ever sounded saying one single word. It’s hardly his fault. You’ve caught him at a bad time — he’d just been thinking about you and then you’d appeared. Very inconsiderate of you.

You stop a little way’s away from him and then make a show of pushing whatever you’ve got behind your back further out of sight. Miguel raises a brow.

“What are you doing here?” He asks.

You roll your eyes. “Am I not allowed to visit my boyfriend at work?”

The way you say ‘boyfriend’ makes Miguel’s heart feel funny. You’ve only just started calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend. Before that it was coworkers, then acquaintances. then friends, then friends who kiss. Now he’s your boyfriend. It’s a new feeling. Not bad, just new.

“You’re allowed,” he says. “Of course you are.”

You beam then. It makes you look even prettier than you already are when you’re neutral-faced, your cheeks appled and plump, your eyes all crinkled at the corners. Happy you is his favourite you.

“Good,” you say. “‘Cos I brought you something.”

You take another step forwards and finally pull out the thing you’re hiding behind your back. It’s a Tupperware container with a blue lid. It’s decidedly ordinary, in Miguel’s totally unordinary work place. You step closer still and curl your fingers around the lid, pulling it up gently to reveal its contents.

Inside are a dozen or so chocolate chip cookies. Miguel looks at them, and then looks at you. You’re smiling shyly.

“I made them,” you explain, a shyness to your words that Miguel thinks is awfully adorable. “Thought you might be hungry.”

Miguel gets a very clear picture in his head of you in the kitchen, scooping cookie dough onto a tray, and thinks that maybe next time he’ll have to be there when you bake so he can kiss you stupid.

“Here,” you say , reaching for a cookie and breaking it in half. “Try this and tell me what you think.”

You hold out the cookie half to Miguel and he’d be an asshole if he said no to that. Plus, he can smell the sugar and the butter, and you’re right, he is hungry.

“Thank you,” he says, taking the cookie from your, his fingers brushing the back of your hand. You’ve got unbelievably nice hands. He thinks about it as he takes a bite of the cookie. Then he thinks about how good the cookie tastes. It’s caramel-y like you put a lot of butter in it, but he can taste salt too, and the chocolate is just dark enough that it’s not too sweet but still totally delicious.

“Good?” You ask, looking up at him hopefully.

Miguel swallows, then takes another bite pointedly. You giggle.

“It’s good?” You say excitedly. “I didn’t know if you liked dark chocolate, but it was all I could find.”

Miguel shakes his head. “It’s good,” he says. “Really good.”

You beam, looking like you can’t contain your glee. “Really? You like it?”

Miguel smiles at you. He’s feeling very fond right about now. And there’s no one around, so he reaches for your face and cups your cheek in his big hand. He stands over you and smiles in a way that Peter B. would definitely make fun of.

“Thank you,” he says, taking a step closer to you. “You don’t have to be so nice to me all the time, you know. Have you tried one?”

You shake your head. You’re decidedly silent, like you’re thinking about something but not saying what it is. You shuffle closer to him, the Tupperware container squished between your bodies.

“Lean down, would you, handsome?” You ask, a playful undertone to your soft request.

Miguel obliges. He’s pretty sure he knows where this is going. He leans down to a point where he knows you can reach and waits.

You look up at him for a moment. Then you push yourself onto your toes and kiss him, your hand pushing up against his chest to anchor yourself. Miguel’s hand latches onto your waist, fingers curling, subconsciously pulling you in. It’s a sweet kiss and Miguel wishes it would go on longer but you’re pulling away after only a few moments, smiling like a fool.

“What?” He asks, and your smile has caught on his lips, too.

“You taste good,” you say, giggling. “I think I did a pretty good job with the cookies.”

Miguel grins. “Really?” He drawls in a low voice, his tone borderline teasing, and your giggling subsides as he inches his face closer to yours. “Want another taste?”

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kairiscorner · 7 months

Note

Hi precious🫶🏻

Love your story’s btw💕

I would like to request a scenario where someone is bad mouthing reader (out of jealousy or smt else u decide). While Miguel is hearing EVERYTHING, that is said abt his wifey. Whatever happens next is up to you darling.🫶🏻

Don’t feel pushed to write abt something u don’t feel comfortable with💕

OH MY GOD, SURE THINGGGGGG and THANK YOU SO MUCH ??? I HOPE YOU LOVE THIS TOO !!

not another word. — miguel o'hara x wife!fem!reader

his back muscles tensed up and his nostrils flared as he huffed and puffed, his eyebrows knitting together in a furious look that tried his damn hardest to remain calm. he could not, for the words he was hearing from the so-called 'friendly colleagues' you invited to have dinner at your place were laughing and muttering to themselves under their breaths how naïve you appeared–how you looked so young and stupid, that they were shocked that an 'pretty little airhead' like you became their 'respected' colleague.

"she's got a pretty face, sure, but have you seen how much of a kltuzy butterfingered little thing she is?"

"right? watch out for her, she might woo your husband away from you with that insipid little grin of hers that just makes me want to..."

"she's so annoying, she always keeps offering me her shitty treats that nobody wants–i'm surprised she even has a husband, no one in the right mind would put up with her."

your colleagues laughed amongst themselves as they kept insulting you and calling you names behind your back; you left the living room to get them some of the goodies you baked for them that you took so long trying to figure out how to make them and actually baking them up. you were anxious this whole time if they'd like it or not, but little did you know they were already dreading to taste what you made, not caring how much effort and thought you put into making these treats–and that angered miguel, very, very much.

he tried to calm himself down and remind himself that this was your gathering, he was just going to mind his own business and let you be happy. but he can't be happy if he knows that your colleagues right there that feigned a welcoming aura and a friendly demeanor towards you didn't like you, and all for the stupidest, worst reasons he had ever heard come out of another person's mouth. miguel had enough, he was going to teach them just what happens when they insult his darling little wife one more time.

"then i guess i'm not in my right mind for wanting to stay with her," miguel said in a low, intimidating voice that made all your colleagues tense up in their seats and turn their heads to look at your husband with pursed lips. miguel looked down at them with an angry glare, with hints of a furious red in his pupils. he looked everyone down one by one and noticed they were all frightened of him–good. "but i don't really care if i'm 'not in my right mind' for loving the most perfect woman in the world, i'm not in my right mind–i'm living the best life i can and that's with her." he said as his voice softened at that latter part, thinking fondly of you amidst his anger towards these horrible colleagues who dare take your kindness and generosity for granted.

miguel sighed and furrowed his eyebrows again. "i don't give a damn about who any of you people are, how much you make, or what my wife thinks of you all–which, believe me, is a far kinder judgement than anyone would have of such mundane, cynical people–i will break every bone in your bodies and make you all beg for forgiveness and grovel at my wife's feet if i hear another lick on an insult get spewed out by those disgusting mouths of yours."

miguel spoke that threat with a low growl in his voice, he was becoming a little more feral, which he promised to you he'd keep under control, but he couldn't in this situation–he couldn't stand idly by and let you be insulted by these morons; he can't help his emotions sometimes, but believe him when he says he's tried his damn hardest to hold back on getting even angrier on these colleagues of yours that couldn't even acknowledge you were a sincerely kind soul that just wanted to make others happy.

you soon emerged from the kitchen with a gleeful smile, carrying the delicious treats you made for your ungrateful colleagues. the moment you saw them, they all looked spooked; as if they witnessed dracula or somebody just say he was going to suck the blood out of them all and turn them into human prunes. you chuckled nervously, asking them what was wrong, with miguel standing up from his seat–giving your colleagues a glare of warning–and kissing you sweetly on the lips in surprise and muttering in soft voice, "nothing's wrong, querida. oh, my favorites–i'll have to thank you with something else you like later, hmm?" he offered as he wrapped his arm around your waist, making you all flustered and shy as you tried to remind him you two had guests over. "we can always kick them out, nena, it's fine... let me hold you just a little longer." he whispered in your ear as your colleagues gulped and tried smiling up at you and praising your treats, about how good they look and smelled, how tasty they must be–making you smile wider at the sudden compliments you were getting.

tags !! @miguelswifey04 @hearts4gabri @hisachuu @wreakingmarveloushavok @fictarian @yuridopted0 @simsrandomstuff @luvstarrstruck @popeheywardssecretgf @meeom @arachnoia @melovetitties @fable-library @ophanimgold @smokeywhalee @capnshtfce

despite the happiness you thought you were bringing your colleagues, miguel desperately wanted you to know that you don't need to make others happy... you've already make him happy since day one and he's been happier and happier with you ever since that day.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel o'hara fanfiction #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #atsv #atsv miguel x reader #atsv x reader #atsv x you #atsv x y/n #spiderverse #across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse fluff #spiderman across the spiderverse fanfiction

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winnielanddd · 9 months

Text

Seven Days A Week - Miguel x Wife!Reader (Winnie’s Birthday Special!)

Miguel O’hara x Wife!Reader

Summary: A long week for Miguel turns into something exciting for him.

Warnings: lots of smut (you’ve been warned), somnophilia, lots of fucking. oral both receiving and giving, yeah just lots of smut lol, fluffy ending :)))) translation at the end!

Word count: 2.8k

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Monday

It was the start of a long week ahead for Miguel. Groaning, he rolled over to turn off the sound of the alarm clock buzzing in the room. Plopping back down in the bed, Miguel extended his arms, feeling an empty space next to him. Miguel frowned. He was hoping to see his beautiful wife’s sleeping face and spend some time in bed before he had to leave for the HQ.

“Where did she go to now?” He thought to himself. Miguel made it his first mission to find his beloved wife.

Walking around the room, Miguel inspected every corner to see if things were out of the ordinary. He walked towards her vanity to see if he noticed anything different—only to find nothing changed. As he was about to call for his wife, Miguel heard the shower running. A smug smirk formed on his face.

Miguel made his way towards the bathroom door only to see it was left ajar. Perfect. He walked straight in, no warning sign or noise for his occupied wife. Miguel could feel himself getting hard with every step he took—why did his wife have to look so beautiful in the shower?

Stripping his own clothes, Miguel entered the shower with his wife. He wrapped his arms around her, startling the poor girl.

“Miguel! You can’t creep up on me like that! Especially in the shower!”

“Lo siento, cariño,” he mumbled, planting small kisses along her shoulder and neck. “You left before giving me my morning kisses.”

“Aww my poor baby~” she teased, “how can I ever make it up to my baby boy?” Oh, how the pet name rolled out of his wife’s mouth got him excited. Miguel could feel himself twitch against his wife’s backside. Biting his lip, Miguel looked pleadingly at his wife.

“Can you please suck me off? I’ll be good for you. I just need you, please.” It was going to be a good start to Miguel’s week.

Tuesday

Miguel was organizing some files about anomalies that were detected in a few universes. He ordered a few teams to be sent out to watch over the anomalies in the meantime while he gathered more information. Running a hand through his hair, Miguel sighed. He felt exhausted. He’s been staring at his screen for hours on end.

“Miguel, looks like you have a visitor,” Lyla popped up next to Miguel, filing her nails and adjusting her little heart glasses.

Miguel turned around to find his lovely wife standing at the entrance to his little spider-y cave with some bags in hand. “Do you want me to swing up to you or are you gonna come down here?” Before Miguel could respond, Y/N decided to swing up herself.

“I bought you some food. Wanted to try that small stand that sold empanadas. I also packed some food from home in case you wanted some of my cooking. Here eat,” she quickly opened up all the food boxes and shoved a spoonful of her home-cooked meal into Miguel’s mouth.

Miguel melted. It was so delicious. He could never get tired of his wife’s cooking. Ever. Miguel chewed his food and swallowed, looking up at her and studying her features. Her sparkling eyes that twinkled every time she smiled. Her beautiful, luscious hair which added more character to his wife. Her tempting figure that drove him insane—Miguel could tackle her right here, right now. How did he end up so lucky?

“Miguel, you’re staring again.”

“You’re just–beautiful. Stunning even,” he gawked at his wife, “I could take you right here, right now.”

“Miguel~” her whines sounded like music to his ears. Miguel leaned in to kiss his wife, both of their tongues fighting for dominance. Miguel pulled apart to give them some air to breathe. A trail of saliva leaving their lips. Miguel turned off Lyla’s programming and locked his space so no one could disturb them. He redacted both his and his wife’s spidersuits, hovering over her small figure. He leaned her back in her seat, making sure she was supported in the position. Miguel trailed kisses down her stomach, stopping at her entrance.

“Hay una buena chica. Let me show you what a good girl like you deserves.”

Wednesday

Message from Mi Esposa Bonita:

Hi Miggy, just wanted to ask if you were coming home for dinner? Should I bring you some food in case you’re staying late at the HQ?

Message from My Scary Husband:

I’ll be late tonight, mi vida. I’ll eat here so that you’re not traveling too late. I’ll be back before 1am.

Message from Mi Esposa Bonita:

Okay. I’ll put some food away in the fridge for you in case you get hungry later. See you soon~! <3

Miguel smiled at his text messages with his wife. He missed her warmth so much more today than ever. Miguel had to leave early this morning since Jess called him in for an emergency anomaly. Turned out it was just a glitch that caused the mayhem at the HQ. Miguel took this opportunity to organize the next few groups to tackle some of the anomalies within the coming few days this week. He groaned in frustration seeing that Gwen’s group was the only group available for Thursday’s mission. Y/N’s voice rang in the back of his head: “Be nice to them, Miguel. Sure they’re kids, but they’re just as competent as the rest of us here.” He groaned at how well his wife could speak—one of the reasons why he wanted to marry her.

“Hey Miguel, your wife, Y/N, wanted me to let you know that she’s heading to bed. She also said something funny like ‘he has my permission tonight.’ Funny. Don’t know what that means!” the little AI spoke, messing around with her phone and taking some selfies.

Miguel couldn’t help but chuckle. Why was Y/N so tempting this week?

“Lyla, shut everything down for the night. I’m heading home.”

“Yes sir.”

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

Entering his home with the help of the portal, Miguel was welcomed with a quiet house. He redacted his spidersuit, showered, and hopped into bed. His sleepy wife curled up with her back facing him.

“Te amo, cariño,” Miguel whispered, planting kisses from her ear to her neck. He couldn’t help but admire some of his lovemarks on her neck from previous days. Miguel felt himself harden from the memories. He needed Y/N. He needed her now.

Slowly and quietly, Miguel removed his grey sweatpants and undergarment, exposing his girthy self. He gently took off Y/N shorts and laced underwear, making sure they’re both comfortable. Miguel slowly inserted himself in her, groaning as he felt her wetness.

“Mierda, you’re so wet for me, cariño.” Miguel started to make small thrusts, moans escaping his dirty mouth. Before he knew it, he felt Y/N shift in her sleep. Quiet moans escaped her lips.

“M-Miguel, please,” she begged as she regained consciousness from her sleep.

“Please what baby? Use your words for me.”

“Make me cum, please. I want to feel you.” Her soft pleas were enough to bring Miguel to his climax, dumping all of his cum in his wife’s warmth. Soon after, Y/N came, reaching to hold Miguel’s from behind. After calming down from their climaxes, Miguel was about to pull out before he felt Y/N’s hand stop him on his waist.

“Can we cockwarm, please? I want to feel full tonight.”

Thursday

Miguel groggily entered the HQ. He loathed that he had to be up early and send out the teenagers on today’s mission. All Miguel wanted was to be at home with his wife and cuddle—Miguel loved his daily cuddles with Y/N. Peter B. walked up besides Miguel, Mayday obviously with him again.

“Relax Miguel. Give them some trust. They’re good kids. Y/N said so herself, so I’d trust her.”

Miguel grumbled some incoherent words to Peter B. as he entered the conference room. The teenagers already in there and waiting. Miguel went over the mission with them, no emotion laced with his words.

“Don’t fool around and get the anomaly soon before—”

“Oh, Miguel~ You’re being too rough again.” Y/N swung into the conference room with an empanada in hand. She shoved it in Miguel’s hands and turned to the group.

“You guys got this. Just be sure to return in a timely manner and” she glanced at her confused husband and laughed before turning to whisper to the teenagers, “try not to worry Miguel. He’s been a little moody lately.”

Gwen and Miles awkwardly laughed before nodding, heading out with Pavitr while Hobie saluted Y/N before exiting.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Miguel grumpily said, holding the box containing the empanada.

“I had to save them before you chewed them out. Eat the empanada before it gets cold. Oh Miggy! Did you see that the kitchen made different emoticons of the Miguel Burger? It’s so cute~” Y/N rambled on about how there were different buns that contained different facial expressions from Miguel. Maybe he regretted implementing a Miguel Burger.

Y/N walked over to Peter B. and Mayday, greeting the duo.

“Hi, my little princess! I’ve missed you so much~ Do you want to play for a little bit while your daddy does some work?” Mayday’s eyes twinkled, making grabby hands towards Y/N. Peter B. released Mayday from her little pouch, handing her to Y/N.

While the exchange was happening, Miguel couldn’t help but admire how lovingly and motherly Y/N was with kids. She was so good with them. Of course, they talked occasionally about having their own, but Miguel was hesitant after the entire Gabriella situation. He was afraid of the dangers of having his own family, his own flesh and blood in this universe. But something in him clicked from watching this exchange between Mayday, Y/N and Peter B. Miguel felt a sense of want–desire if you must. It was a desire to have a child of their own.

Miguel munched on his now cold empanada, deep into thought while Y/N ran off to play with Mayday. Thursday was going to be a long day for Miguel.

Friday

Miguel woke up later than usual since he didn’t need to be at the HQ early.

“One more day of work,” he muttered to himself while brushing his teeth and getting ready to shave his stubble of a beard.

Y/N walked into the bathroom and jumped from being startled.

“Jesus, Miguel. You’re gonna have to make yourself more known in this house. That’s the second time this week!”

Miguel couldn’t help but chuckle. He was lathering up his shaving cream and applying it onto his face. From his peripheral vision, he could see Y/N watch in awe.

“Can I shave you today? I promise I’ll be good and I won’t nick you.”

“Okay. C’mere, I’ll help guide you.” Miguel took his wife’s soft hands into his.

He then lifted her onto their bathroom counter and settled himself between her legs. Miguel could feel Y/N’s gentle movements while shaving his stubble. He studied her focused face, noticing her eyebrows crease from concentration. Miguel couldn’t help but stare at her lips that were slightly open. They looked so juicy, he could just bite them—literally. Miguel pulled himself back, causing Y/N to look at him confused.

“What? Did I cut you? Let me see—” Miguel kissed Y/N’s lips, not caring if his shaving cream got on her face. Y/N was taken by surprise, but refused to be the first to pull away.

“I couldn’t help it, mi vida. You’re just so tempting, I had to give in.”

“Well, I would say we should take this somewhere else, but I can’t today. Gotta go on a mission later. Oh! Tomorrow, I have to shop for some baby clothes for Jess’s baby shower. Wanna come with me?” Miguel pondered and soon agreed. Maybe he could buy some clothes to give to Y/N to hint that he wanted to officially start a family with her.

Saturday

Miguel felt relaxed. He was able to wake up with Y/N in his arms, have their morning cuddle session, receive his morning kisses, and have a quickie before starting their day. While cooking breakfast for the both of them, Y/N felt nasty. She woke up groggy and gross and felt ill. Even the smell of the omelet she was cooking made her want to gag.

“Honey? Can you finish making this omelet? I need to use the bathroom.” She quickly handed Miguel the spatula and rushed to their restroom. Before she knew it, she was kneeling next to the toilet, gagging.

“Fuck. It can’t be.” Y/N thought, rummaging through the bathroom cabinets. She pulled out the small test and took it. Y/N waited and waited and waited.

As she flipped the test over, tears pricked her eyes. It was really happening for them. Quickly, Y/N cleaned herself up, taking the test with her and hiding it from Miguel. She entered their kitchen once again and forced herself to eat the omelet to avoid suspicion from Miguel—although she really wanted to throw up from the eggs.

At the mall, Y/N and Miguel looked through the different varieties of baby clothes.

“Do you know the gender of Jess’s baby?”

“Nope. It’s a gender reveal, so I’m choosing gender neutral clothes.” Y/N rummaged through the racks, finding some cute character designs on the clothes.

Miguel took this opportunity to find something that would be his “hint” for Y/N to set the tone that he finally wanted children. He found a cute sleeping baby sheep plush that was wearing a bonnet and having a pacifier in its mouth.

“¡Qué lindo!” He thought to himself and took the little baby plush. Miguel searched for a matching colored blanket, finding the perfect one. He took it to one of the store clerks to quickly purchase it and hide his bag of goods. Once he was finished, he went to find Y/N, who was looking at some gift wrappings.

“Let me check things out and we can go. You can wait outside if you’d like, Honey.” Miguel agreed and left immediately, trying to be discreet with his bag of goods.

Y/N smiled to herself. Little did Miguel know that Y/N shopped for goods to surprise him with her pregnancy test. Once she checked out, Y/N found Miguel. Together, the couple went home, attempting to wrap their own little gifts in secrecy from one another.

Sunday

Today was the day. Miguel was going to give Y/N his little gift. He was going to set the scene with a nice home-cooked meal from him and then surprise her with the gift.

On the other hand, Y/N was planning to surprise Miguel at dinner, buying a little cake that had “Congrats Dad!” written on it and Miguel’s face in the center. It was silly, but it wouldn’t be fun without a silly cake.

The couple told each other that “dinner’s important tonight” before going off to do their own things. Dinnertime quickly approached while the couple prepared their own little surprises. Nervous, Y/N hid her surprise under their shared bed, while Miguel hid his behind the couch. The lovely duo shared their meal together, exchanging laughs and catching up with their lives. It wasn’t until Miguel cleared his throat, announcing that he had a gift for Y/N.

“Oh? I also have something prepared for you too. Wait here.” Y/N ran into their shared bedroom to grab her gift and ran back to the kitchen to grab the cake box. She placed both boxes down in front of Miguel, pointing to the white box first.

“Open that one first and then open the spiderman box,” she giggled. Miguel, on the other hand, placed his box in front of Y/N.

“Let’s open on the count of three.”

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

Together, they opened their boxes. Jaws dropped. Silence filled the air.

“You’re pregnant with my child?” “You want to start a family?” They both asked in unison, before standing to embrace each other.

“¡Santa mierda! This is amazing news baby!” Miguel could practically leap for joy hearing the news as he leaned in to kiss Y/N.

“I’m glad you’re just as excited as I am, Miggy.” Y/N smiled lovingly at her husband. She couldn’t have imagined a more perfect moment than this. If there was a week Miguel would want to repeat, it would be this week. Seven days a week.

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

Translations:

Lo siento, cariño = Sorry, dear

Hay una buena chica = There’s a good girl

Mi Esposa Bonita = My beautiful wife

Te amo, cariño = I love you, dear

Mierda = fuck/shit

cariño = dear

mi vida = my life/my darling

¡Qué lindo! = How lovely!

¡Santa mierda! = holy shit!

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A/N: Hello~! I decided to write this for my birthday since I can’t help it but love domestic, husband Miguel (who doesn’t :3). The title was inspired by Jungkook’s new song “Seven”! Def check it out if you haven’t already hehehe. Anyways! I hope you guys enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing this hehehe. Thank you guys for showing an immense amount of love for my Miguel stories <3 Until then!

-Winnie

#miguel o'hara #miguel x reader #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #miguel x you #miguel o'hara x reader #winnieland #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara fanfiction #atsv miguel x reader #atsv x reader #atsv x y/n

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