#miguel ohara oneshot

[honestsycrets]

mío | baby-fever!miguel o'hara x wifey!reader

❛ pairing | miguel o'hara x wifey!reader, starved prequel

❛ type | oneshot, explicit

❛ summary | after watching mayday, miguel develops a bad case of baby fever, longing for a family of his own.

❛ tags | explicit, miguel has baby fever, babysitting, talk of family planning and contraception, f!reader, breeding, pregnancy kink, much fluff, some angst, starved!reader, miguel being frustrated and cute, clean that kitchen, one stereotype of latina women, Spanish is not translated, best friend!peter, self edited.

❛ request fulfilled | could you possibly write an imagine in which Miguel and his wife take care of mayday? + multiple requests for more starved reader/miguel.

❛ sy's notes | written to fulfill some requests. i do have another daddy miguel blurb to fulfill, but my future works should be nice and angsty.

Peter has it out for him.

It’s the only logical reason why he’d do this shit to him.

Miguel stood in his dark room in a pair of scratchy jeans, dragging a belt loop to loop when he heard the door to his room draw open. A resonant schwap, schwap, schwap.

“Mi reina?” Miguel cocked his eyebrow up, extending his claws.

“¿Sí?” you called back from the bathroom, the distant scent of his favorite perfume wafting into the air. Miguel threw a look to the bathroom, reaching for the bedroom door. It burst open before he could open it. 

“Hi, Miguel! Where’s your wife?”

Peter dragged his feet into the room, whirling around with a sloppily put-together backpack that leaked diapers onto the floor. An exasperated breath left his lips, dripping in the way he looked at Peter.

Unfortunately, his little wife liked Peter a bit too much for his taste.

“I should have known.” Miguel ran his hand through his hair, strands of mocha brown flyaways wisping along his tawny forehead. “Why are you here?”

His normally disheveled appearance was a little more disheveled. It wasn’t his appearance that bothered him but how it reached his eyes. Shocked, confused, tired. Peter pat his deltoid, awkward laughter choking in his throat. It bubbled on the edge of an overwhelmed sob.

“Well, you see, your wife said she’d watch Mayday because I have a date, and I haven’t had a date in a really, really long time. Like, a really long time—”

“Is Peter here?”

His head snapped to your bathroom where you came out, threading a golden hoop earring. You probably already knew the fight that was heading your way-- but for your part, you couldn’t be bothered to care any less.

“Got it, you need this date.” Miguel cut Peter off, standing behind you with his massive arms crossed. “¿Por qué no me dijiste?”

“¡Mi nena! Muévete Miguel,” you giggled, shoving your way past Miguel to Peter’s child carrier, sneaking your hands underneath her little armpits and whirling her around. She cackled, a glittering warmth to her mischievous eyes. You came to a stop, settling Mayday against your chest, nuzzling your foreheads together in some secret pact that the two of you shared.

Oh no, no, no, no. Not this. It hits him at once.

The sight of his wife— beautiful and cuddly with a very young baby in her arms. The only sight more beautiful was at the altar on his wedding day, your shy smile behind a sheer veil. It had been a long time, too long, since he had someone to call him father. He can still picture her glimmering eyes, the way she looked at him in nothing short of admiration, looking past the things that he’d done to see him and only him. Glimpsing at Mayday, remembering Gabriella’s soft, small face, it took him a moment to snap free. 

He's so fucked.

“You would have said no, amado mío.” 

You’re a natural at this, scooting by both men to set Mayday on the bed. Your tiny fingers spiraled out from her belly to change her diaper. Peter jittered uncomfortably, looking as though he wanted to jump in himself. You cleaned her, replacing the dirty diaper with a clean one. “We’re going to a market with Tío Miguel--” 

“Don’t bring me into this.”

“Are you sure it's okay? I’ll be back at five, it's just a few hours, really--” 

“¡Vete! A ratty house robe and a dirty spider suit aren’t sexy. Look at mi Miggy,” now you’re just buttering him up. He shifts his weight from one leg to the other, inspecting the ground. “Wear something nice.” 

They’re sexy to her, he might have murmured. Not on a date, you bopped him. Mayday’s bright eyes tracked the space between you and Peter before you broke away to wash your hands. Peter’s clammy hands cupped Mayday’s sweet face, littering at least a dozen sickly daddy kisses over her tiny face. But Miguel what if--

“Adiós, Peter!” You returned to force Peter out of your room. Miguel peered at Mayday whose head snapped to the side, cheek against her fiery hair as the door clicked shut. He braced himself for the shrill that would inevitably come with her realization that her daddy was gone. She whined, grabbing her toes and tipping nearly off the side of the bed. Miguel begrudgingly hovered at her feet, blocking her from rolling off the bed. He could do this, he told himself, he could resist those giant baby eyes staring up at him.

He didn't need a baby, he didn't.

He blames Peter for having such a good baby.

She doesn’t ask for much other than requiring chest-to-chest contact with Miguel. It’s not that he doesn’t want to hold her, he finds himself aggravated by how much he likes to be around her. In a market full of things to look at food trinkets such as necklaces, body scrubs, and empanadas, it’s all her. Miguel props her up with an arm just under her bum, her tiny finger peeking curiously into his fangs. He snapped his teeth playfully at her, a nip, nip, nip, missing playfully every time. It rips ping a toothy grin across her face. 

“No biting Miguelito,” you called out, sliding your fingers in a teasing ring around his muscled back to chest. You leaned up on your tippy toes, placing a small little kiss on his lips. You ran off to go get her a pineapple whip after her tiny fist yanked your hair over and over again. You relented, staring at what she was cooing at. Sweets-- obviously, sweets. All the little ones loved sweets. 

“She likes it.” 

“Ya sé,” you said, “But we don’t need anyone noticing you’ve grown fangs.” 

“Tch,” he clicks his teeth in protest. She does too, throwing you a mean look for interrupting her fun. You plucked up a bit of the whip on your spoon, cutting through her displeasure through the power of sugar. 

"There's a lot of people here, Miggy, let's go to the park." You point toward the park, pointing away from the mounds of fresh produce and locally sourced goods toward a healthy patch of green grass. Miguel is glad-- he’s sick of being stared at for his huge frame. Despite the ring on his finger, people still seem to try their luck. He couldn't be more disinterested.

You lay a picnic blanket as Miguel holds Mayday's treat. Mayday sprawls across his chest, trying to take just one more bite-- then another-- Miguel looks down, chin level, eyebrow raised. She offers a bit on her tiny index finger to Miguel. A peace offering. “She’s not going to wait.” 

“Give her to me.” You kicked off your sandals on the edge of the blanket, dropping your things on another corner. You pluck Mayday from Miguel’s arms and set her down on the blanket in a way that is too easy. As though you wouldn’t have much of a learning curve in becoming a mother. No, no— you never mentioned anything about kids. Did you even want kids? He couldn't bring his heart to ask, to hope again.

“I didn’t know you were so experienced with kids.” 

“Mami had six,” you noted, plopping down with the whip by Mayday’s side. She sat with a small slant, reaching out toward the sweet treat again with those chunky, adorable hands. You brought her into your lap, at last relenting. “When you’re the oldest, you have to learn a little something to help out. Can you imagine-- being pregnant six times? Ay no.”

“How many times do you want to be pregnant?” he blurts out. Usually timed and precise, the question causes him to pinch his brow as he sits beside you. “Si quieres,” 

Your other hand comes on top of his and shifts it away from his face. 

“As many as will make you happy.” 

Shock. He chews on that response, his eyes glued to Mayday lapping at the last spoon of sweets you are willing to give her. She falls into a fit of complaints, a conniving look at the sweets, just as you lift her onto your shoulder.

"I never thought about it."

"No more, your papa won't forgive me if I bring you home all sugared up," you tsked your tongue at her. You patted along her back in small, tight circles until her angry huffs faded away. He reaches for the baby bag, slipping free a soft yellow blanket with white spiders strewn across the front. Miguel slides the blanket on top of Mayday’s small body, her groggy eyes sliding closed.

The more he watches you with Mayday, holding her so close, swaying as you held her, the deeper this ache burrowed in his chest. You would look beautiful all swollen with his child. Never mind Mayday or Peter, he can nearly see it, feel it under his fingers, the feeling of your taut belly under his skin, or the kick of tiny feet against his palm.

“We’ll see, Miggy.” 

We’ll see-- the answer seems too noncommittal, too distant to be a satisfactory answer. With Mayday sound asleep, you settle her between your plush thighs. She expelled bursts of energy that milked her energy dry.

A little old woman passed by, her cane pierced soft grass as she moved closer with a bag of tomatoes and green beans. Her face, aged by time, pulls into a wide smile. He doesn't like her smile.

“You two are doing a great job. How old is she?” 

You blink, looking up into the woman’s cool blue eyes, her dark hair peppered with thick grey and white strands. You tuck Mayday in her soft blanket, sparing the woman a kind smile that Miguel doesn’t quite have the patience for. 

“Oh, oh. Thank you-- um, a couple of months,” you recount, perhaps thinking of Peter’s anxious pacing or his delighted shouts about becoming a father. 

“Adopting is a great option. Back in the day, my husband was a bodybuilder too. Had a low sperm count don’t you know. Steroids shrink things. Oh, but these days you can do all sorts of things like IV--”

A what-- Miguel’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull at the suggestion. Was this old bitch’s suggestion that he couldn’t do it-- couldn’t get you pregnant? He could easily do that. If he wanted you pregnant, you would be shocking pregnant. He’d be damned if some old woman put it in your mind that he couldn’t.

“We’re babysitting for a friend,” he blurts out. “I have--” had, “a daughter.” 

“Oh, do you? I’m sorry. I thought-- well, it doesn’t matter what I thought, have a good day."  

She’s saying that, but it comes out slanted. You don’t bother correcting Miguel, not on this. Rather, your hand inched toward his, picking up on the energy that was pluming from his body in waves. Irritation-- annoyance-- the little old lady hobbles off. You’re in your mind well enough to bid her goodbye. But you know better than to say anything more, slumping your cheek on Miguel’s firm chest. It makes the ache of Gabriella's memory a little more bearable. 

 Low sperm count his ass. 

It bothers him long after Mayday is gone. Peter, for his part, looks refreshed. He supposes that’s what happens with a full day of opportunity to empty your balls after weeks of no relief. It bothers him long after you come back from the kitchen, his favorite dark red slip plastered to your perfect body. It would look beautiful, full of his children— he just knows it. 

“I may have hijacked the kitchen a little bit,” you teased, the waft of warm chicken and brewed spices filled his nose. He had no appetite. “But I made you some pollo guisado.” 

“Hm,” he grunts into a pillow. “Later.”

Beside the bed, he has a bowl of brightly colored condoms. With your sensitivity to birth control, it is the best option available. It wasn’t, however, something he was ever happy about. He should be able to feel your body. Not once had he felt your body pure and unadulterated, warm and perfect for him. He was your husband. He wanted that moment— to fill you up just once, watch his cum dribble out of your cunt. It would be perfect. You set the food away, bowl and spoon clinking together.

“Miguel.” 

Forget your warm body. This room is too quiet. It is almost stifling in its silence. Mayday’s sweet huffs, the memory of Gabriella’s laughter. A proper home full of a child's giggles. He’s going crazy-- he has to be-- this isn’t normal. This isn’t Miguel. 

“Mi vida, don’t pout,” you reach out, rolling your fingers through his long brown hair. Your fingers tease along his scalp, turning around his ear. Your fingers tickle his lobe, your voice cemented in a concern that he wanted nothing more but to fix if it were anything other than this. “Miggy. Miggy, what is wrong? You look sad.”

“I’m not sad,” he says with a whine on his pillow. How silly he must look with his broad arms wound around the body pillow, squeezing its fluff for life. If he said the words well enough, you might believe them. 

“I know you are,” you nudge the pillow loose. He takes you instead, the air thickening with the closeness. You fed off the tension, sliding your leg over the sheet that covers his naked hip. “Tell me why.” 

He turns his hands over your thighs, traveling past your hips to ghost along your belly. 

“Sí, Miggy?” 

“I need…” he trailed off, finding the words nearly impossible to admit. They grow into a ball and cement in his throat, present but stubborn. Rather than break the words free, he swallows a bolus of desire and frustration. “It’s nothing. Let it go.”

The issue was— you loved him enough to let it do so. 

Miguel doesn’t want to press the issue. He knows you. All you want is Miguel’s happiness. Sometimes, he worries it is at the price of your own. The distance he places between you and him is intolerable. It bothers him every time he finds you babysitting Mayday.

Today, while Peter goes on a small date, you and Mayday make his favorite empanadas. She’s covered in a dusting of flour from head to toe. Peter would have fun with that. 

“Miggy you’re back?” you called as Mayday’s chubby hands shot out, nearly plopping off the counter if not for Miguel’s quick reflexes, setting her back in place. 

“Empanadas?” he settles the words in a small kiss to your lips. You glance at him over your shoulder. 

“It's... it's Gabi's birthday, isn't it?"

You’re too good for him. Despite the day coming and going, no one else notices his grief today. Not even Peter who came in alongside him, reading the room, and snatching up Mayday off the countertop. He’s babbling something, a thank you, see you later— you kiss Mayday with only the sweetness a mother could know.  

“Peter! Mayday made these for you,” you reach out to a box of uncooked empanadas. “Take them home!”

Her first empanadas— the delight is palpable. Peter may have snapped a photo, or ten, of his little flour girl on the way out, empanadas in hand. Then there’s silence. Miguel returns the nearly forgotten bundle of empanada dough and filling to the fridge in the space of unspoken tension. Miguel dips down to your neck, caramelized perfume warm on your neck. His lips trace the warm pulse of your neck. 

“Mami,” his voice mesmeric, warm like the filling you used to make him happy when no one else could. Your doting attention, even in the face of real issues like work and babies, was always on him.

"Sí, mi vida?"

His hands coast around your waist, using his strength to gently turn you around. It isn’t important right now. What is important is how he lifts you up onto the floury surface, purring his need into your slight ear. “I want a baby.”

“¿Qué?”

“Una niña,” Miguel leans his fingers along your collarbone. 

“Oh, Miggy.” You puff the words. They come out almost wounded. You know him so well, the vulnerability of the words causing him to look down. Your warm palms cradle his cheeks, forcing him to look into your eyes. “You miss being a father, don't you?”

You’re not stupid. Neither is he. He thought he could wait— watch Mayday grow up and not feel this sundering longing. As though he could stomach never feeling a child in his arms again. The ghosts of the past that came with Mayday’s longing haunt him day by day. 

You devour his insecurity, winding your legs around his waist and forcing him forward. He stumbles into your embrace, as though he were not a man who could decimate villains and spiders alike. When he was here, in your arms, he barely felt like the weapon of a man that he is. 

“Miguel. Speak to me.”

“You’re right,” he can’t lie— can’t hide the longing that comes with the thought of his own child on his chest. Not Mayday, no matter how many times she cuddled up to his chest. At the end of the day, she would never be his. You drew your lip into your mouth, nipping it fat and red, a bob in your head. His heart beats faster, strumming as though it would break free from his chest. Whatever it is you’re thinking he’s not sure. Only that it’s been so long.

“I just want to make you happy, will this make you happy?” you nearly whisper, knowing that there’s no one but him to hear the words. It’s what he wants for you, too. As he stands there, coursing his fingers along your thighs and hiking your dress up your hips, he can’t help but feel the foggy discomfort of forcing you into parenthood before you were ready. 

“It will.”

As well as it could. It would never erase Gabriella-- and, in the vulnerability of begging his wife for another child, came the guilt. Not only the guilt of failing to be a proper father or to protect her but moving on without her in his life to a beautiful family she would have loved. The feelings surge in his chest, a well of uncomfortable emotions in his eyes, threatening to fall. 

“Miguel,” you’re whispering, your fingers cutting across his sharp cheekbones. You cup his face, drawing your lips together in a commanding kiss. You never liked being ignored or forgotten. He’s not sure how he could now, with your tongue flicking between his lips, begging him to come back with a sugary sweet whine. “Stay with me, Miguel.” 

“I am,” he says, gripping either side of the counter by your hips. He feels your eyes on him, soft and careful, pressuring him to meet your gaze. He searches for an inkling of an answer in your gaze. "¿Qué piensas?"

“We can try,” you bite your lip, sliding it free between your teeth. “If you don’t have a low sperm count,” you tease. “Maybe it’ll take.” 

“¡Por dios!” He throws a curse to the side as if he believed in such a being, throwing a look back at you. “You don’t actually believe that vieja.” 

“Ay Miggy, of course not.” His lips work into a budding smile. You leaned up against his stubbly jaw, setting soft kisses there. Your lipstick stains his neck, dragging down to his prominent adam’s apple. He looks down at you with heady eyes, tracing the way you suckled a mark on his throat. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like them a little more when others noticed them, little marks of possession. Miguel’s fingers come up to the straps of your dress, easing them over and down your slight shoulders. You pull back, words forming puff against his neck. 

“Not right here,” you inhale a soft breath. “Someone could come in.” 

Miguel eases his finger over the small bud of your breast, rolling his thumb along the silken skin, His hand comes up, encompassing your neck and shoving you back into the cabinets. It isn’t comfortable, not by far. He works the nub to its peak before turning his attention to the other. His mouth covers your breast, fangs grazing your nub as he suckled and tugged gently. Miggy, you pull him back up, stripped of your touch. Your hand slide across Miguel’s chest, tracing the taut muscles of his chest. 

“Who would come in?” 

“Peter,” you answer. 

It’s always Peter. He supposes that you wouldn’t want your friend to see you here, cunt stuffed with Miguel on the very same counter you earlier made him empanadas on. Miguel snatched the dress that fell along your hips laxly, utilizing it to yank you off the counter. You fell forward into Miguel, a heavy wall of muscle, your lips failing to form anything of use. You looked at him, cheeks flush and eyes doting, he’s the only one you see. 

“The balcony, then.” 

“Dianche, Miguel! Do you want all of Nueva York to see me?” 

“Maybe.” 

No, but see Miguel breeding you? Undoubtedly yes.

He couldn’t simply choose the bed, that would be too easy. Miguel set a kiss on your forehead, soft and scratchy with his stubble. You return it by dragging him down for another kiss, a wave of warmth coming over him as you force your hips back onto him, rolling your hips against his, teasing him. Miguel doesn’t appreciate the tease and gently pushes on your hips, motioning you to face the counter. 

“Bend over.” 

"Can't we go to my room?" you complain but comply all the same. Miguel’s palm ghosts your spine, dragging his fingers smoothly over the middle of your back and past the dress that gathered around your hips, He strips you of the little cover the dress gave, eager to have you bare and rid of the thin clothing that served as a veil from prying eyes. Miguel can cover you from the prying eyes of others if necessary. Not that he cared if others saw him fucking-- he’s all the more eager to have you all to himself, here and now. 

“No panties,” he notes, his warm hands on your inner thighs. “It’s almost like you knew.” 

“I might have,” you return, spreading your legs obediently for him. He palms your vulva, your hips shifting down over his hand. Sticky and wet, he wonders if his need to breed you has rubbed off on you too. His fingers shift, sliding over your soft hole. “Apúrate Miguel, you’re so slow.”  

“Can’t you be be good for once.”

You were always bossy. He likes it, most the time, being led around by what his pretty little wife wants. Today he wants to take his time, curving his broad fingers into your glistening cunt. Your wetness drips over his knuckles, fingers teasing the velvety soft walls he has never felt without a condom. A pleasured cry wracks in your chest, turning your head over your shoulder to watch Miguel’s fingers stretching you out. No matter how much your walls gave under his fingers, you would still ache when he penetrated you. It was the favourite part, the rich pull of his dick into your hole, bottoming out as best he could in your stomach. He soothes your complaints by grazing his other hand against your perky clitoral hood, finding the soft nub there for relief. You settle your arms on the floured surface.

“I never-- ah-- am,” you threw back.

Miguel slipped his fingers free, cupping your cunt with his palm for a teasing slap. You want to be good-- it’s just so hard, your cunt pulsing in the abswnce of his touch. He drags his sodden fingers to your lips, glazing them in taste of your lubricant. You suckle your tongue around his thick digits, savoring your own taste, his soft grunt of approval spurring you on. You feel like such a good girl with his fingers crooked in your mouth. 

“Are you ready?” Miguel stands fully upright, dragging your hips to his. He’s hard as the counter you were pathetically clinging onto. His hipbones ground into your plush ass, dick pulsing in his immediate ache to feel your cunt. He backs up, fiddling with something at the waist. You don’t need to ask to know that it was his big cock grinding between your cheeks, smearing fluid over your slit.

“No condom?” 

“No condom,” he affirms. You bow your head, nodding gently over the countertop. The head of his cock drove into your wetness, pushing past bundles of nerves. It’s impossibly different without the bag over his dick. It’s been so long. His world blinks out, savoring the feeling like he was an inexperienced teenager again. 

“Carajo, you’re so good,” he finds himself cursing, leaning over your back. 

“Now he says I’m good."

“Shh,” Miguel clips with a mean nip at your nape, lining it with soft kisses, encouraging you on to take him. Warm and wet, Miguel can only describe the slide into your cunt as untethered delight. Released from the bondage of his usual condom, he’s a mess against your soaked cunt, gripping you for a semblance of stability. 

I just want to make you happy. For all your needy complaints and little quips, he knows you do. Otherwise he wouldn’t be here, with your hands cupped on top of his, squeezing for more closeness. Miguel laces your fingers together in a needy weave, drawing back to stroke his cock right back into your wet body. You lead one of his hands between your legs, urging him on to stroke your clit. Your walls clamp down on him, teasing out bursts of pleasure with how deeply he was buried. Miguel’s lips part into a whine of his name, skin slapping against skin. He sets a kiss in the crook of your neck, breath nearly unbearable. 

“Mami,” he gasps, the word coming out between his unstable thrusts. Your eyes shut hard, sparks of pleasure winding and building in your core. “Give me a baby.”

“Sí papi,” you heave, “I”m trying to.”

Miguel knows what you like-- and you like him desperate. His voice so low and rich that you gush around his swollen length, falling apart below him. He catches your body from dropping in an instant, his thighs shaking as he works you through the fibers of gentle pleasure. Hot pressure builds low in his stomach. 

“Qué bella eres. I’m going to finish, fill you and knock you up,” he whispers, drawing himself free and admiring the hazy space of pleasure and reality. Miguel turns you back to face him. You think you may complain-- you didn’t cum, or something of the sort. He shifts you to sit on the counter, spreading your vulva for inspection. Miguel spat on your cunt, rolling his fingers over the swollen folds to spread you apart. He slipped into the space between your shaking legs. You felt him thrust into your body hard and sharp. Your hands reached out, dragging Miguel’s shoulders forward, clinging onto his body. 

It comes all at once, Miguel’s stuttering thrust forward, a deep groan filling the kitchen, his hand clasped onto your thigh so hard you know he’ll bruise it. You catch his moan in a kiss he doesn’t reciprocate, buried so deep in your body that all he can think to do is to force you to take all of it. He shakes himself free of the web of pleasure that he’s enveloped in, looking at you past the thin rivulets of sweat you wiped away with your loving thumbs. 

“I think there are better positions for baby making,” you lean in, kissing him gently. He returns the kiss this time, eyes light of the strain and stress of the last few days.  “Like… not this.” 

Miguel pulls back, his soft cock slipping free from your warm entrance. Miguel watches as his seed dribbles from your hole, grunting in acknowledgement. He swipes your mixed fluids and rolls it between his fingers. 

“I’m open to suggestions.” 

He loves his wife. More than anything. What he doesn’t love is how Peter seems to know that you’re trying for a baby.

The thing about having a woman from his same cultura was this: you loved to talk with your best friend. Who, just so happened to be Peter. He doesn’t even have to say anything, just staring at him with a quirk on his lip and a terrible glitter in his eye after he’s resolved another meeting.

“Hey, Miguel.” 

“Don’t start.” 

He’s crowded with work at his desk-- he has no time for Mayday’s curious little eyes to glitter at him, Peter to be doing that shit he did when he wanted to be helpful. He offered his hands up, shrugging. 

“I’m just saying! I’m a man, you’re a man,” he mumbles, inching a little closer and closer. “If you want a baby--” 

“Let me guess. She told you.” 

“Mayday could use a spider buddy,” he held Mayday up, out of her carrier. Miguel glanced down at her wild hair, exhaling air out of his nose with a little huff. “Sooner than later?” 

“I’ve done it before,” Miguel throws back. “I know how to knock up my own wife, Peter. I don’t need help.”  

Peter is offering help as if Miguel hadn’t tasted the changes in your body when he ate you out. Never mind that he saw you nauseated this morning, too sick to handle a call that Miguel promptly answered. He knew his seed had stuck-- you wouldn’t feel so miserable otherwise. It doesn’t matter, he’d answer them all if it meant another little one in his arms at the end of it all. Just so long as you and the baby were safe. 

“Are you sure? I know--” 

“I’m damn sure.” Miguel turned around, his head in his hand. “I’ve had enough of you. Why don’t you do something useful? Bring her something for her morning sickness.” 

“Oh,” realization fell over Peter like a hammer, looking down to Mayday who looked right back up to her father. For all that Peter knew about his love life, he was shocked that you hadn’t told him how awful the smell of breakfast meat made you feel. His hand fell away, a film of pride slipping from his practiced features when Peter spoke. “But... She’s already pregnant?” 

He leers. Peter scuttles away. 

Privacy is important to Miguel. You knew the damn rule. No telling Peter about the inner workings of your bedroom. For that, you were going to fucking get it. You likely knew you were going to get it-- even if you were likely already pregnant.

He can’t wait.

[luveline]

could I get some miguel aftercare pls 🙏🙏🙏

cw suggestive content mdni !! I actually loved writing this it was the highlight of my day, thank you for requesting. fem, 1k

“You’re doing that thing,” Miguel says. 

You’re breathless where he’s fine, voice lost as you ask, “What thing?” 

He smooths his hands across either side of your face briefly. “Locking up. Relax, sweetheart. Catch your breath.” 

You cover your face with your hands but end up too hot, the back of your neck wet with sweat and your face glowing with heat. Miguel laughs softly, blowing cool air up and down your face where he lays beside you. 

He’d usually call you cariño or some other pet name in his native tongue, so sweetheart is out of the blue but no less affectionate. You close your eyes against his cold breath and slouch toward him, where you’re quickly held in his arms again, his voice quieter as he asks, “You okay?” 

“Mm.”

“Yeah?” He works the soft cup of your bra back down over your chest, pressing a kiss to the hill of your breast. “You sure?” he asks, your skin warmed by his breath. 

You curl down around him, trying to keep him there, your face in his hair and your knee sliding up his thigh as you turn onto your side. 

You’re hot all over and aching, but not unhappy. You walk a careful path up his chest and shoulder to his neck, your fingers brushing over the soft surface of his skin one centimetre at a time, not dragging, just touching, searching for his face. You hold his cheek in your hand and kiss his hair, not caring if it’s slightly ineffectual. He’ll know what you’re trying to convey either way. 

Sex with Miguel nearly always leaves you like this. More than satisfied, desperate to be hugged, and desperate to impress upon him how much he means to you if the sex hadn’t already. Your hand moves with him as he lifts his head to yours, eyes aligned, the familiar hint of a smile playing on his lips. 

“You want me to open a window?” 

“I love you,” you say, because what you want is reassurance that it felt the same for him. 

His voice is velvet. “I love you. Te adoro. When I look at you… me dejas sin aliento.”

“Tell me,” you mumble. 

“I can’t breathe.” 

You tip your head back with a laugh, “That’s ironic,” you say. 

He chases you there, his nose down the curve of your throat and his hands pressing behind your back, wrapping you in, hugging you and kissing under your ear, bridging the gap again. It’s weird to be so together, to feel like one person and to have that end, but he hugs you and it’s nearly the same. It’s a different kind of connection. It eases your heart, calms your hot flush. 

“You are beautiful,” he affirms. “I just have better stamina.” 

“Don’t say stamina.” 

“You’re jealous of my stamina, and that’s okay.” He smiles into your neck before kissing it tenderly. 

Moments of this Miguel are rare. He’s so happy, you only get to see him as uninhibited in moments of intense connection, though that can be anything with him. A teasing remark as he helps you up the short step of the tram or a shared smile when you lean back into his chest for no reason at all, knowing he’ll take your weight. 

You savour it. He’s got a good heart. 

And a great physique. “Doesn’t count. You got it all from a bottle.” 

His lips part. “Oh?” he says, the slight scratch of his teeth sending shivers down your arms. 

His lips close in a soft, soft kiss. Miguel pulls away from you to sit up a touch, and then he’s caressing your hip and your knee like he can sense the ache, his face pensive. “Do you want to shower, or should I bring you a towel?” 

“Whatever you want to do.” 

“I want to take care of you,” he says earnestly, hand back up, resting on the strip of fat between hip and ass. “But…” 

You look at him. Unbeknownst to you, Miguel’s taking you in, and thinking you might be the most lovely thing he’s ever seen, not just because he’s fucked you and you took it beautifully, or the sounds you made, or the feeling of your arm wrapped behind his head as you kissed him, but everything about you. He loves you and you know that, but he can’t convey it right. And he thinks if he cleans you up he might spend an hour just looking at you, because you’re the most perfect thing he’s ever seen, all your marks and wrinkles and softness. He’d lose half the night. 

“You want to fuck me again?” you ask gently. 

“That’s not what I’m trying to say,” he denies, leaning down over you. You close your eyes and allow him another kiss. “It’s late, we can’t stay up all night. You’re tired.” 

You hum regretfully. “Yes.” 

“Was it everything you wanted?” he asks. “I can…” His hand trails down to your stomach. 

You laugh under your breath. “I don’t think I can anymore,” you mumble, half flirtation and half aching fondness. “Thank you.” 

“Thank you?” He brings his hand up and squeezes your face, taking another kiss, so many now you can’t count them. 

You smile into his mouth. You’re thinking thank you for being caring enough to think about it, and he’s thinking you’re crazy for not expecting it. Regardless, he doesn’t touch any lower, only dropping his hand and rubbing a sweeping, soothing line over your tummy and your side. “You’re so pretty,” he whispers. 

You peek at him through threaded lashes. “Your eyes are closed,” you whisper back. 

“I knew before I closed them, and I know it now.” He sighs. “Sorry,” he says, kissing your cheek, “forgive me. I’ll get a towel.” 

“It’s my fault, being so enchanting n’ all.” 

Miguel kisses you again. “Exactly.” 

[fairlyang]

18+ smut. miguel blurb. size kink 🕷️

miguel is such a big guy, apparently over 6'0 so he's taller than the average woman.

and he's so fucking strong he'd just throw you around like a rag doll until you were in the positioned he desired.

now no matter what this man would be so much bigger than you and could lift you up with ease, no questions asked.

one day while he was eating you out right by the front door he didn't have any patience and quickly pulled you up to your feet only to then slip inside you then pick you up from behind.

you held onto his arms while his were wrapped firmly around your stomach, lifting you up while your legs dangled inches from the floor while he pounded into you.

he was able to thrust his hips into yours and it all felt so different. mostly because his arms were tightly around your stomach to hold you in place and of course you felt even more pleasure because that's where his cock was, hitting your sweet spot perfectly.

you were a whimpering, needy, moaning mess and it only made his thrusts become harder. they were adding fuel to the fire and was just what he needed to fuck you better.

you held on to his arms for dear life but you knew he wouldn't drop you, nor would he even want to.

instead he pounded into you effortlessly, as if you weighed like a feather. Somehow in this position you were even tighter, which was exactly what Miguel needed.

he needed to use your tight hole to make sure he got to cum, and if carrying you somehow made you tighter, of fucking course he was going to carry you.

his head was right behind yours and you could hear every grunt and dirty nothing he'd groan out while his pace became more rapid.

"take that fucking cock baby."

"doing so good for me."

"so fucking tight."

and you'd go on to stroke his ego because you knew how much it'd make his head spin to a mess.

"you're just so strong baby."

"too easy for you."

"fucking me so good."

and as soon as he felt you clench against him while you said these things he literally couldn't help but cum deep inside you.

he held you tightly as you both came and he made sure to still be inside you so not a single drop of his cum would come out.

he knew this wouldn't be the last time he'd be fucking you while lifting you up just based off both reactions from your bodies.

[nev3rfound]

out of sight : m.h

everyone at HQ is looking for you, and all signs lead to Miguel, yet for some reason, he won't explain where it is you're hiding. 913 words.

masterlist / permanent taglist / etsy shop

(requests are open, slowly working through them:))

Keeping his gaze fixated on the monitors in front of him, Miguel sighs at the sound of the door opening and slamming shut.

"Hey bossman," Hobie yells, waving his arm in the air whilst Miguel's back remains turned. "charmin' as always, any way you seen Y/n about?" He continues despite the silence that ensues from the platform. "She said she'd be 'ere today, but not seen her."

"She's not here." Miguel simply answers, Lyla appears in front of him lowering her heart-shaped glasses, only to roll her eyes. Feeling Hobie's presence still lingering below, Miguel forces himself to look over his shoulder. "Something else you need?" He coldly questions, only to see Hobie shake his head and salute before exiting the room, the door slamming once more causing Miguel to shudder.

Lyla tuts to herself, crossing her arms over her chest. "You know, words going to get around, Miguel." Lyla sings, glancing upward before returning to see Miguel's expression remaining stoic. "Hobie isn't going to be the only visitor you know."

"It's none of their business." Miguel states. "It's best they don't know."

Humming in response, Lyla's smile only grows at the hint of concern crossing Miguel's face. "Sure." She shrugs, disappearing from his view whilst he returns to work.

Oblivious to the goings on, Peter strolls into Miguel's office with Mayday in his arms who continues to babble in his embrace. "I know, but I'm sure the big guy knows, Mayday." Peter explains quietly, hoping to see you perched on the platform with Miguel. Yet, you're nowhere to be seen in the room.

"Looks like you've got another visitor." Lyla chimes in.

Miguel groans internally, turning around as the platform slower lowers to reveal the sight of Peter B Parker and Mayday, who is hanging upside down in Peter's arms.

"What do you want?" Miguel doesn't bother to disguise his annoyance, even as Mayday reaches out for him.

Pulling her back, Peter averts his focus from Miguel's scowl. "Oh you know, Mayday was hoping to see Y/n. Overdue a game of hide and seek." Peter chuckles, only to be met with silence in response. "You seen her around?"

"She's not here, Peter." Miguel states, walking back to his platform and returning his attention to work.

Not quite convinced, Peter lifts his head up past the platform, noticing a stream of light to the left of the platform. "Well, worth a try." He calls out, tuning his ears to try and hear something, anything. And then he hears it. "I'll see you around, Miguel!"

Walking out of the office, Peter smiles to himself, only to be interrupted by Hobie and Gwen. "Well, where is she?" Gwen asks with a huff.

Hobie shakes his head with a half smile. "He ain't sayin." Hobie remarks, throwing his arm over Gwen's shoulders. "Come on, Gwen, best we leave 'em to it, yeah."

Back inside Miguel's office, he remains in front of the screens of amber, watching the various worlds until he hears the sound of movement to his left.

Checking the surrounding areas of the room, and the cameras around HQ, Miguel steps away from the screens to the small door on his left. "Hola, mi amor." Miguel whispers, cracking the door ajar to reveal you curled up in a twin bed, an eye mask covering your eyes and mouth ajar, snoring lightly. "Y/n?" He gently rubs your exposed shin, only to be met with a kick and a groan of you waking up.

"Miggy?" You mumble, lifting the eyemask up only to squint immediately at the angelic glow forming around Miguel. "'M still dreaming, aren't I?" Yawning through your question, Miguel shuffles into the room to sit on the edge of the bed.

"How's your head?" Miguel keeps his voice low, helping you sit upright before passing you some more water.

Taking a long sip, you sigh as the glass leaves your lips. "Never had any complaints." You joke, resulting in Miguel rolling his eyes whilst you chuckle to yourself. "It's a bit better, think the worst of the migraine is over."

"Tu quieres quedar, la monada?" Quick to slump against Miguel's lap, you hum in response, muttering something under your breath. "Que?"

"Heard you talking to the others." The mumble is more coherent this time, and Miguel nods. "Thank you, I'll make it up to Mayday tomorrow."

"Only when you're ready." Miguel strokes your hair from your face, removing the face mask hanging from your forehead. "Go back to sleep, okay? I'll check on you in a bit." He leans down, kissing your temple before helping you back to lying down.

As Miguel rises to leave, your hand shoots out to grab his. "Can you stay for a bit? Just 'til I nod off again?" Your pout was almost irresistible, something you knew and often used to get your way when it came to the big boss, much to his own dismay.

"I'll keep my eye out, boss." Lyla comments, appearing beside you, and smirking at you with a knowing nod.

"Fine." Miguel admits defeat, lifting his arms up for you to bury your face into his chest. "Ten minutes, Lyla, si?"

Checking her watch, Lyla nods before disappearing once more, and Miguel can't help but allow his eyes to close, just for a minute.

"Ugh, they're so cute." Lyla takes a photo, knowing somewhere in Miguel's heart, he'll love having this moment immortalized for all to see (well, maybe just you.)

t a g l i s t (thank you for the support!) link in my bio and at the top of this piece to add yourself☺️(if your user isn’t tagged, it’s because nothing comes up sorry!)@bissstuff @psychicforest@lourightm@mywinterwolf@justsomedreaming @stanlux17 @smokeandnailz @supermoonchildbroski @xrosegoldwolfx@courtneychicken@marvelsangels@supraveng@tommy-lee-81@smilexcaptainx@fandom-princess-forevermore@sarge-barnes-sir@pleasantlysecretdream @decaffeinated-fangirl @howdyherron @kirby-boo @florencxs@eldahae @handmesomecoffee @hi-my-name-is-riley @dev1lbella @thanossexual @alissaginger @sambucky8@notbrooklynsblog@nikkixostan @cosmiccaptian @adoreyou976@sarcasticallywitty15@multi-fandom-princess07@16boyfriends-and-me@courtneychicken @mackevanstan80 @torchwoodoctor@pleasantlysecretdream@yougottalovefandoms@magicalxdaydream@soccer-100000 @tenaciousperfectionunkown

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[lizard-on-a-window-pane]

candlelight 🕯️

hii it’s me again! congratulations on 1k!! i’ve thinking about this recently (a lot) because im seriously in my miguel ohara kick🥰

but can you do shy & nerdy reader with popular miguel who are dating?? he adores making her flustered and how shy she is.

he makes her ask for his help because he knows how badly she needs him? because she’s just so stressed out about school and stuff? as always if you’re not comfortable writing totally ignore this! this is my first time requesting smut so i don’t know if it’s silly or not! but if you write it i know you’ll do good by it bc ur such an amazing writer😌

-🎀

hiiii, thank you so much!! and thank you for requesting! ahhh, i'm so thrilled you asked for miguel; i was dying to write him and probably will more, especially if people want; i hope you like it! i hope i got enough of the request in here

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x reader word count: 2.2k notes: modern au, established relationship, fluff, smut (i'm going to keep with marking where it gets smutty, though, bc it's like a full fluff fic before any smut, for those who only want the fluff; MDNI!) part of my 1k celebration!

so, i trickled in just a bit of spanish because i'm actually a native speaker so found the opportunity exciting; i don't want translations to be annoying in the middle of it or for you to have to scroll to the end, so thought putting them here was best: mi amor / amor mío: my love / literally something like love of mine but works more like emphasis cariño: term of endearment kind of like dear, literally affection mami: another term of endearment, more often cheeky or sexier descansa: rest dime: tell me que maravilla: a joke from the movie, literally what a marvel / wonder, kind of like how wonderful or even just amazing hope i didn't miss any others

The phone buzzing beside you startles you almost completely out of your chair. Coffee makes you jumpy. An entire pot in one night makes you… suspect what you’d be like on cocaine. You’d thought you’d put it on silent. No phone till at least one paper is done, you’d told yourself. Finals had you reeling, and you were desperate to make some progress. When you grab your phone, you see a text from Miguel:

You take your headphones off, and sure enough, a moment later hear a knock at the door. You open it to a Miguel in loose sweatpants and hoodie, dark hair messy, gym bag slung over one shoulder. Even these clothes could do nothing to hide the impressive broadness of his shoulders. 

“Hey, baby,” he says through a bright smile. He kisses your cheek and steps into the apartment. “I know you were trying to focus, but I was getting worried.” “Sorry, I had my headphones on; the neighbors were being too loud again, and I really needed to focus.” “No, not the waiting at your door, mi amor. I’m talking about all of… this,” he gestures wildly around the apartment then his gaze lands on you. “Those dishes were there when I was here days ago, and even though I’m pretty sure adding anything to that tower would topple it, you haven’t. When’s the last time you ate?” “I ha—“ you begin to retort, but he cuts you off. “And I mean real food.” You start again but just give up and shrug. “And you.” He steps close to you and frames your face with his hands. You lean into his touch as he caresses your face. “Baby, you know I think you’re the most beautiful woman in the world, right?” You blush and look down immediately. 

It used to be worse, before you got together. When you were confused about his even noticing you, and instead he’d flirted with you. Even now that he was your boyfriend, it took very little from him to fluster you.

He can’t help but chuckle at your reaction. He always does.

“Don’t you? My gorgeous,” he kisses one warm cheek, “gorgeous,” he kisses the other, “girl,” he gives your nose a concluding peck. 

You nod shyly. “C’mon, cariño. Tell me,” he encourages, his tone still teasing but ever adoring. “I want to hear it." “I know you think I’m pretty,” you whisper. “Pretty? No, amor mío, I think flowers and bright colors are pretty; the ocean or a view of the mountains, too. But you, you are beauty personified.” “Miguel, stop,” you whisper through the smile you can’t help, hiding your face in his chest. He laughs lightly. His hand comes to your hair and scratches lovingly.

“I just wanted to make sure you knew that.” He gives your forehead a kiss. “Before I told you you look terrible, baby.” He starts laughing loudly and holds you closer into his hug when you smack his chest and try to pull away. 

“That’s so mean!” gets muffled into his sweatshirt. “It’s not mean; it’s true. You’re still beautiful, but you need a break.” “I can’t, Miguel. I’m drowning in work still, and you know being sick last week really got me behind, and it feels like no matter how long I sit there, I’m no closer to finishing anything, and you’re right my apartment is falling apart, but every time I do something else I feel guilty for stalling on work, and, and —“

Before you can find another overwhelming thing to list, Miguel is hushing you and stroking your back in his warm embrace.

“Breathe, baby, breathe.” He sways you lightly then pulls back a bit to look into your eyes. His hands are caressing your face again, and his fingers brush lightly under your eyes, where you know there are dark circles, as he whispers, “You haven’t slept.” He sound sad rather than accusatory. 

“Okay,” he starts softly. “Look, I know how much you have on your plate, and I’m not telling you you’re wrong to be stressed. I get it. But you can’t get it done like this, running on fumes and caffeine. How about this? I’m going to help you relax tonight, you’re going to forget about everything you have to do, you’re going to sleep well, and then tomorrow morning you’ll get back to it all.” “I’m fine, really. You don’t need to worry about me. And I’ll rest after finals.” Just then a car horn blares near your window, making you jump cartoonishly. “Yeah, you seem totally fine,” Miguel deadpans teasingly. “There’s nothing wrong with taking some time, Y/N… And accepting a little a help, okay?”

You nod lightly. “Great,” he gives you a quick peck and moves toward your kitchen, hunting around your barren fridge and cabinets. “Here’s the game plan then. You are going to put on your favorite playlist then go take a warm shower for as long as you like. Your kitchen is as empty as your stomach, so I am going to run down the street to pick up some empanadas then I’ll work on cleaning up this war zone a little bit when I get back.”

“You don’t have to clean.” “Stop fighting me,” he tsks. “Besides you know I don’t mind cleaning. I’m glad I’m not hearing complaints about the food at least,” he laughs. “I love empanadas,” you whisper defeatedly. He cackles. “Who doesn’t?” He kisses you as he moves past you toward the door. “Be back soon. No working! I expect you in the shower when I get back.” You quirk an eyebrow teasingly at him. You were still too shy to say anything teasing, but he’d been working you out of your shell during your time together. And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t really like that aspect of being with Miguel. 

His eyebrows mimic yours, and he chuckles lowly. “Don’t give me that look, mami, or you’re not getting me out the door, and you’ll miss out on the empanadas.”

You pull the neck of your shirt up to cover your face, making him laugh. You hear him bound back over to you from the door. He pulls your shirt back down, gives you a short but intense kiss, then heads out. 

Miguel is back before you know it. You are in fact in the shower when you hear him return. You’re already rinsing, but you linger a little longer, enjoying the feeling of the warm water easing the stresses off your tense body. 

When you leave your room to join him again, you’re immediately hit with the delicious smell of food. You see it resting on the counter and find Miguel washing your dishes. 

You come up behind him, wrapping your arms around his firm torso, resting your head on his back. “Hola, cariño,” he coos. “I’m almost done.” You nod into him, humming.

When he finishes up, he turns in your arms, bringing his own large ones around you. He leans down and kisses you softly. “Hungry?” 

You nod enthusiastically, and he chuckles. 

You opt to eat on the sofa, getting comfy. Miguel does most of the talking. Between how tired and how hungry you are, you don’t have the energy or available mouth to talk much. He doesn’t seem to mind, happy to regale you with his silly stories.

When you finish, Miguel cleans up, holding you down and giving you a faux menacing look when you try to get up to help. 

When he comes back, he settles much closer to you than he had been before. You relish his warmth, physical and emotional, and lean into him. 

“Turn around,” he whispers.

“Hm?” “Like this.” He adjusts your body so you’re facing away from him and starts massaging your shoulders. You hadn’t realized just how tense you were until the amazing feeling of its being relieved somewhat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ NSFW beyond this point ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Miguel,” you exhale approvingly, earning a chuckle.

“I like it when you say my name like that.” He leans in and whispers into your ear, his breath tickling the back of your neck deliciously, “Reminds me of other times you end up whining my name.”

It’s shocking how quickly he works you up. You turn to look at him, and when you do, his expression shifts from teasing to intrigued.

“Oh?” he asks. He smirks. “I know that look.” He leans in and kisses your neck sloppily, and you whimper. You’re embarrassed at the sound, but he seems to like it. You feel him smile against the skin under your jaw. “I’m more than happy to give you what you want, but I need to know what that is to give it to you.” His voice is much lower but just as mischievous.

“Miguel,” you complain. “Dime, mi amor.” 

“I —“ Any other words get caught in your throat. Your throat he’s busy sucking on.

“Please, baby. C’mon, I know you can. Tell me what you want.” He runs his teeth along your neck like he knows you like. You often joke he feels like he has fangs when he does. “I want you,” you tell him. 

“Yeah?” “Mhm…”

“I’m yours, mami. How do you want me?”

“I want you to make me feel good.” “Oh, I’ll make you feel good. I’ll make you feel so, so good.” He punctuates his words with kisses, working his way up your neck, your jaw, your mouth. “Tell me how,” he whispers, and you feel his lips grazing yours with each word.

You want to relax, and you know exactly what relaxes you the most. “I want you to eat me out.”

His eyebrows jump in surprise. Such directness was unlike you. Your exhaustion was probably weakening your filter, and the way he was already making you feel certainly wasn’t helping it. You almost get shy about it, but when you see just how dark his eyes have gotten, see his Adam’s apple bob and his bottom lip come between his teeth, you keep yourself from shrinking away. He nods slowly, staring deeply into your eyes, then kisses you hard. “Get naked,” he says gruffly. 

Already starting to do as he says, you weakly whisper, “You too?” He chuckles lightly but obliges quickly. 

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to seeing him like this. He’s so beautiful. His broad chest and toned abs; his caramel skin and dark hair.

You look back at his face and find he’s noticed you staring at his body. He’s so confident, you think he’s going to tease you about it. Instead, with an adoring smile, he tells you, “That’s how I feel when I see you, too.” You lean up and kiss him, pouring all the emotions you can’t articulate in words into it. 

Without disconnecting your lips, his body guides yours back down until you’re completely prone. He keeps kissing you until you’re breathless, lovingly attends to your neck and down your chest. He lingers there, his tongue making you arch your back, pushing your body up into the sensations he’s delivering. He sucks harder at your visceral reaction then hotly finishes his path down, his face now aligned between your thighs.

He looks at you intently and whispers, “Que maravilla.”

He looks up at you, eyes black storms you lose yourself in as his mouth connects with your body. 

From your delightful vantage point, you watch his muscular shoulders contort as he moves to pleasure you. He looks like he’s thoroughly enjoying it, and seeing him so into it gives you confidence. You start subtly moving your hips in rhythm with his motions. His hands tighten where they hold your thighs, and, mortified, you interpret this as his telling you to stay still, so you do. 

Then Miguel shakes his head hard — the vibrations of which shoot shocking pleasure into you — and he pants, “Keep doing that. Show me how you want it.” His strong grip pushes and pulls you in a movement close to what you were just doing. You take over and move faster. He’s nodding now, and the shake of it has your thighs shaking on either side of his head. 

You’re making loud whimpering sounds when you yell, “Mi — ahh — Migueeell.” He doubles his efforts, picking up his pace and pressing hard against you. You come on his face, and he looks feral as he eats you through it. When you’re done, he licks up your entire slit before shuffling his body back over yours. You’re chest to chest, and his hand comes up to stroke your head. “Good?” 

Your cheeks warm, and you nod shyly. He giggles and gives you a peck. “You’re adorable, mi amor.”

Your legs feel delightfully like jelly as you move them, wrapping them around his waist. He hums approvingly and gives one thigh a tight squeeze, pulling it impossibly closer to his body. He begins stroking it as he kisses you lazily. Your hands entwine in his thick hair, stroke his strong back, hold him close.

When he shifts his weight slightly on top of you, you notice his hardness against your body.

“You want me to…” you whisper, thrusting your hips up into his in place of words.

“Uh-uh, maybe in a little bit, baby, but for right now, I just want you to relax.” 

He continues kisses you languidly, enveloping you in his body heat, and as you close your eyes and melt into the sensations, you’re sure you’re going to have no trouble sleeping soundly tonight. 

[kozkenlvr]

🕸️ — ice cubes

Without uttering a word, Miguel selects an ice cube and traces it along the column of your neck, his touch sending shivers rippling down your spine. The icy tendrils dance across your sensitive skin, awakening every nerve ending.

He continues, dragging the ice slowly down your collarbone, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. The chilly sensation intensifies as he circles the areola of your breasts, causing your nipples to harden and ache for more.

Miguel takes one ice cube between his fingers and brings it to his mouth. He wraps his lips around the frozen morsel, his tongue lapping at it, as he fixates his gaze on your exposed nipple. Slowly, sensually, he brings the cold cube to the peak, causing an involuntary gasp to escape your lips as the frigid temperature collides with your heated flesh.

Without warning, Miguel takes the ice into his mouth once more and engulfs your nipple, sucking and swirling his tongue around while the ice is pressed up against it. 

His hands roam down your body, leaving a trail of warmth in contrast to the melted ice droplets trailing across your skin. Miguel's touch, combined with the lingering coldness, sends shockwaves of desire radiating through your body, pooling between your thighs.

As the ice cube continues to melt within his mouth, Miguel's lips move lower, trailing along your abdomen, pressing wet kisses along your skin. He teases and torments your skin with the remaining ice cube, swirling it in tantalizing circles before nearing the apex of your thighs.

With a devilish glint in his eyes, Miguel spreads your slick folds, revealing your throbbing clit, begging for attention. He places the last remnants of the ice cube on your sensitive bud, causing an immediate jolt of surprise to shoot through your body, back arching off the bed with a loud gasp. The juxtaposition of the freezing cold against your pulsating heat is an intoxicating combination, intensifying the sensations building within you.

As the ice cube melts away, Miguel’s tongue takes over: flicking, circling, and lashing against your sensitive clit. The combination of his warm, wet mouth, and the remnants of ice is driving you fucking crazy as you entangle your fingers with his hair and grind your hips against his mouth.

With a forceful grip on your hips, his fingers dig into your flesh as a warning.

“¿ Makin’ you feel that good, mami ?” He growls against your pussy, brushing another ice cube at your fluttering hole. He continues to glide it along your slick folds as he throws a trembling leg over his shoulder, exposing your quivering cunt for his eager tongue once more.

[cherryberry-sugarandspice]

If The World Was Ending You'll Come Over Right?

A snippet of a story I plan on writing for my AO3.

It's in third person but the reader's name is never mentioned, as the reader in this snippet is an alternate reader and when I do start writing the story, it'll be in 2nd person for the reader

CW: death, destruction of a universe, child birth, heart break, story is really devastating

Reader's Disrupted Canon Event: she was supposed to become infertile after some sort of chemical explosion, but she had sex with Miguel beforehand and fell pregnant. She always wanted kids and didn't want to lose this one. So, she decided to give up her universe for her baby

The night is long and painstakingly cold. Outside of the apartment are the frightened screams of citizens running away from their unavoidable fate. Buildings slowly sizzling away into pixels, disappearing into the void. People losing their legs and falling upon the ground, disintegrating into nothing.

Only she's not worried about those screams.

The high-pitched wails of her baby is keeping her focused. The newborn is wrapped in a blanket, laying on her chest. Her little head moves from side to side, searching for a breast to suckle on. She guides her newborn to said breast and winces when the baby latches on, her little cheeks puffing in and out.

She's laying on her bed, naked and covered in sweat and amniotic fluid. The afterbirth had rolled off the bed and is splattered on the floor. She breathes heavily, the world going in and out. But when she puts her gaze on her daughter, her slowly beating heart fills with love and content.

The hours of agonizing labor, rocking back and forth on her hands on and knees, screaming in pain as the world trembled, leaves turning into pixels and birds disappearing in plain sight. Her aching hips as they spread to make the baby slide out easier- but painful for her.

Twisting the bed sheets in her hands, back arching off the bed as she pushed the baby out with a powerful scream. She's had a helicopter fallen on her before, but giving birth is the most painful experience of her life.

Except it was worth it.

The baby is covered in goop and her head is a little cone shape, but she has her father's broad shoulders-which is why pushing her out was so painful-and his thick, brown hair. Yet she has her mother's eyes, the shape of her face, her nose, and hopefully her kindness.

As she takes the moment to spend this little time with her daughter, spiderpeople are spilling out into her universe, trying to stop the black hole from eating up the dimension. And one of those spiderpeople is Miguel O'Hara, the leader of the elite strike force.

As he's giving out commands, he realizes she's no where to be seen. The spiderwoman of this dimension. With his nerves in a bundle, he swings to her apartment, sliding open her balcony door and stepping into her room.

"Hey! What is going...on..." his voice trailed off at the sight of her nursing a new born baby. His red eyes turn wide, his mask coming off to expose his shocked expression.

"M-Miguel," she rasped out weakly, managing a small smile. She gently takes the baby off her breast and holds her out to him. "H-Here..hold your daughter."

Miguel isn't able to form a single thought or word. His hands move on their own as he takes the small infant. She's tiny in his large hands, squirming within her blanket. She makes a noise of distress and he brings her close to him, rocking her gently.

The rocking motions soothes her and with her belly full, she falls asleep, little hands clenched into fists by her face.

"I was never meant to have kids," she breathed, face turning pale. She struggled to keep her heavy lids open, as she wanted to keep her vision full of her daughter for as long as possible. Her head rolls to the side, her chest aching with every breath. "I-I..." she trailed off, as speaking hurt too much.

"Is...this why you broke up with me?" Miguel whispered. His chest is constricting, a knife scraping along his heart. He blinks and a couple of tears fall onto his daughter's face, which he wipes away with the brush of his thumb. "Were you scared to tell me?"

She nods, the motion causing her to wince. "Yes...because...I-I..didn't want to lose her."

"We could've figured something out," Miguel said. His tone is quiet and dismissive, but if someone were to take a peek into his head, there's screaming and breaking of things. His heart is being ripped to shreds. "I never would've suggested-"

"Yes, you would've," she whispered, tears trickling down her cheeks. "The multi-verse is important to keep intact. And I'm not sorry for keeping her. I just...I just wanted to have her." She did go to the doctor. She did try going through with it. But they did an ultrasound and she heard the heartbeat. The heartbeat that told her 'isn't it unfair that you were destined to never have kids?'

Besides, looking into it, she was bound to end up getting cancer from the exposure to radiation and chemicals and dying a painful death. So, really, this was the better route.

Miguel doesn't say anything. He slowly looks up from their daughter to her, and he wants to cup her cheek and tell her everything will be okay. But it's not.

Everything is happening again.

The fall of a loved one's universe because he decided he wanted to be happy.

It's as if anything he touches...he destroys.

"H-Her name is Imogene...Imogene O'Hara," she coughed, gagging from the immense pain. "Momo for short."

Miguel just stares.

She grinds her teeth, eyes squeezing shut for a moment when her body begins to feel as light as a feather. She opens them, tears flooding out of her eyes.

"A-Are you not going to say anything?" she chuckles weakly, choking on a sob. "When we were together...I couldn't make you shut up..."

Miguel opens and closes his mouth. Any and all words die on the tip of his tongue. He can't bring himself to speak, otherwise the floodgates of his emotions will open and he'll break down.

"Please...don't blame her," she pants, eyes rolling to the back of her head. She quickly composes herself and shifts, her gaze on her daughter once more. "She's so small...and i-innocent...take good care of our baby girl..."

That's when it starts to happen. Her naked body begins to turn into yellow pixels fluttering up into the air. Surprisingly, it doesn't hurt. She keeps her eyes on Imogene the entire time, ready to accept...

Accept that she won't be able to raise her daughter?

No...no!

"W-Wait," she said in a panic, arms reaching out. "I want my baby. M-Miguel, I want my baby!" Pure heartache is laced in her shivering words. She cries as the pixels trail up her body, her hands disappearing.

"I want my baby!"

The last words Miguel hears from the love of his life right until she disintegrates into nothing. He stands there for a few moments, his breathing loud in his ears. He hugs their daughter close to his chest, drops to his knees, and cries.

Once again, all because Miguel O'Hara wanted to be happy...

...he killed someone dear to him.

[oharamwah]

♡☆— a secret ? : your life-long partner has been keeping a big secret from you about his career. → 2.3k

read pt. two → it’s not a onsie

husband!miguel o’hara x fem!reader

contents : au!miguel, florist!reader, sliiiightly ooc (he never had gabi), slight gore? (i kinda just describe injuries miguel has),

posted july 22nd - to be edited !

© oharamwah , please do not steal my work

like any other day, you sat in your living room mindlessly listening to the tv blaring a brain frying romance reality show. you already ate dinner, though today you ate alone. despite the tv playing and the dishwasher running, the house was quiet.

‘he’s usually home by now, this is the fourth time this week.’ you thought.

your husband, miguel, worked at alchemax, the biggest scientific research company in all of new york. he was always so dedicated to his job, always giving it his all, but you are his wife. he always made time for you. you are his world. right?

##

new york, new york - 2089

6:03 pm : you run a small floral shop in new york right on the edge of broadway street. flowers are your favourite thing in the world — they’re so beautiful without even trying. you sat down, ready to take your first break of the day. a bad storm had hit the city the previous night and completely ruined your outdoor setup. what used to be a lovely arrangement of wooden shelves bathing in different floral collections you gardened became a mess of buckets, paper wrappings and loose flower petals. so, you spent the entirety of the day cleaning up and gathering the remains of your flowers.

you dusted your hands off on your apron and collapsed into your chair, a deep sigh following after. you closed your eyes and settled into relaxation, but suddenly..

door chime

your eyes jolt open. ‘seriously? the shop is open all day and no one comes in until now?’

you got up anyway. before your eyes at the entrance of the shop is a man. a tall man, nearly as tall as the door itself. he must’ve had to crouch to get in. he had messy brown hair, reddish-brown eyes, and a small scar on his left cheek.

you greeted him sweetly as he walked towards the counter and flashed a handsome smile, his canines slightly pointy. “evening,” he said politely, leaning one elbow on the counter. “i need a bouquet.” he said. duh. “well, you came to the right place,” you replied. “what kind of flowers are we looking for?”

the man thought for a second before sheepishly asking for advice.

“actually, they’re for my mother. i’m not very good at flowers or gifts, but it’s her birthday tomorrow.”

you gawk at this. ‘awww how sweet. does this mean he’s on the market??’ you thought. “oh, well, do you know her favourite colour?” you ask. “hm.. i know she likes pink. and yellow.”

you nod and walk past the counter, past the tall handsome man, and take a look around the shop. you come across a patch of pink dahlias and an idea pops into your head.

“might i suggest these lovely things? they make lovely centre pieces in assorted bouquets.” you say, your mouth curving into a smile as you make eye contact with the beautiful stranger. he smiles back. you hold up one of the flowers and he takes it into his hand, inspecting it as if it were some oddly creature — it was a flower. he rose the flower to his nose to smell it and his eyes closed in delight. he opened his eyes and looked into yours. ‘god his gaze is intense.’

“perfect.” he said with a small smile.

he had a certain look to him. not skeevy, not overbearing, he just looked good. now, not in an attractive sense (although that was definitely something that was on your mind) but in a human way — something about this man and his demeanour screamed “i’m a good man with a good heart who loves deeply.”

and at the time, little did you know, but the man thought nothing less of you. he knew for certain the second he saw you: that first visit to your floral shop would not be the last.

##

by the time miguel got home, it was already 4 o’clock in the morning. to say you were upset was an understatement.

yes, you were still awake, but only a little. you lay in bed scrolling on your phone as your eyelids weigh down on themselves, your brain fighting to keep them open. the idea of making sure miguel got home safe was the only thing keeping you up. and then, you hear the familiar sound of the door unlocking, followed by the kicking of boots and the dropping of a briefcase. miguel grunts.

in this moment you are livid. your husband has come home late in the past, yes, but never this late. before you know it, you’re on your feet again, awake as ever.

“miguel?” you call out as you leave the bedroom. the more you near the front door, the more you hear him panting. you get closer, and there he is. your husband is leaning against the wall, his scrunched up face showing nothing but pain. he has a few blood stains on his shirt, his hair is a disheveled mess, and the entirety expresses a deep exhaustion.

“oh my god, miguel,” you say in a sigh, rushing to him, your heartbeat picking up with every second. you grab onto his shoulders to support him from falling. “miguel, dios mío what happened to you??” you pleaded. “y/n,” he said in an exhale, “you should be asleep, my love.”

you couldn’t believe him. first, he comes home late. second, he’s clearly injured. and third, he’s completely ignoring the fact that he is injured.

“miguel..” he refuses to look at you. he can’t. “miguel look at me.” you say sternly, your voice slightly louder than normal.

miguel is convinced that in your entire marriage, and in the whole 11 years of you two knowing each other, you never raised your voice when you don’t have to. parties? sure. calling miguel down for dinner? of course. but when you’re upset with him? never.

miguel looks up at you, breathing heavily. his eyes are worn and weak. in this moment, he feels ashamed.

“what happened, miguel?” you said in a whisper, cupping his face in your hand. “who hurt you..” your other hand reaches his chest, his quick heartbeat along with the warmth of his skin seeping through his blood stained shirt. your faces were inches away, miguel could feel your breath on his nose. he only looked at you.

“miguel, please. talk to me.”

by now you were more desperate than upset with him. all you wanted was to make sure he was okay. you and your husband aren’t the kind to keep secrets from each other. anything and everything about yourselves, the other could recite the fact in their sleep. so what happened this time? what’s been happening this week to make miguel think he had to hide and come home at ungodly hours? let alone covered in his own blood?

you reached for the buttons of his shirt and slowly undid them, and what was revealed shattered you. miguel’s chest was painted with scratches, and one big gash right across the middle. he could only look down with embarrassment. it was hard for him to know you were seeing him in this state.

the most that’d happen to him at work is a small cut on his hand that he’d play off as a paper cut, or even red eyes that he’d blame on being around too many chemicals. he was your strong husband, your miguel who never felt any pain, or showed it. him being this vulnerable infront of you made his heart clench. he never wanted you to see, to know. but this was inexcusable. he knows today is the day.

“y/n,” he said, breaking his silence. “cariño.”

he looks at you, for the first time in what felt like hours.

“i haven’t been good to you, and i know that.” he admits. “and i know that i’ve been coming home late, and dismissing your concerns when i do,” he takes your hand and gently holds it. “miguel-“ you start, but he interrupts you.

“my love, i hope you know i mean well. i only want to be good to you.” he assures you, almost begging for you to hear him out.

“i know that baby but-“ “but today is different, i know.”

you’re at a loss for words. on one hand, you’re extremely confused; where on earth is he going with this? but on the other hand, all you want is to kiss him, clean him up and go to bed.

“mi reina, i haven’t been 100% truthful with you. about my job.” he states. “i..”

miguel pauses, trying to think of the tamest way to tell you the truth without sugar coating it. “you..?” you say, getting impatient.

“i’m not just a scientist at alchemax.” he looks at your lips and back into your eyes. “what, you’re a shitty hit-man too?” you say, half joking, half serious. ‘dios bueno is going on..’ you think. “no.” he says in a sigh, “no i’m.. i’m..” “what is it miguel please..”

and then he says it.

“i’m spiderman.” he looks at you.

“you know, that guy that’s always on the news?”

“oh.. you’re.. you’re… are you serious?” you let go of him. miguel nods. he isn’t surprised, he knew this wasn’t easy information digest.

the news stories didn’t exactly show is best side either. sure, he helped people, but he’s killed people too. out of malice? no, definitely not. but for the sake of the civilians? give or take a few. and miguel knew exactly what you thought of vigilante types.

“i just wish they didn’t hurt anyone at all,” he recalled you saying one evening. “this spider guy would be a lot better in my eyes if he just saved a kitty stuck in a tree once in a while.” to which miguel would get defensive and argue that “maybe he’s doing his best not to hurt them, honey.”

it all started to make sense.

“please let me explain.”

“explain..” you say in disbelief. “oh yeah take a minute to explain this huge secret you’ve been hiding for how long?!” you exclaimed. here comes the anger once again.

“y/n, please just hear me out.”

you look at his face, and then at his wounds, and suddenly you remember who you’re yelling at.

he was stupid to lie to you. really stupid. but you love miguel, you’ve loved him since you met him that one evening in ‘89. so you cross your arms and stay quiet.

“i wanted to tell you, my love. i did. and i should’ve. but.. you just don’t understand.”

“understand what, miguel?” you ask, so quietly you’re almost certain he didn’t hear. your heart hurts.

“i kept this from you to keep you safe.” he explained, and you scoff. he can’t be serious.

“miguel-“

“i know you, cariño. i know that if you knew, you would find a way to get involved and end up getting hurt. i could lose you.” he takes a step forward and reaches out for your waist, pulling you closer. you give in.

“i’m involved regardless, miguel. i’m your wife.” you explain, desperate to show him that you care. “we’re supposed to be a team, remember?”

you’re looking up at him with teary eyes, the same eyes that miguel fell in love with years ago. miguel’s got many weaknesses with you, but your eyes have proven themselves fail proof. the way you’re looking at him makes his entire brain go fuzzy.

miguel sighs. he knows you’re right. all of a sudden, his shoulders feel 10x heavier with all the guilt he’s carrying.

“you’re..” you pause. you have to think.

“you’re spiderman,” you whisper nervously, “but you’re my miguel first.”

miguel is taken aback by this. the anger he expected, but this? he did not prepare for.

“i don’t want you to feel as if you have to hide who you are.” you gently trace the scar on his cheek. “if this is who you are,” you say, gently touching around his injuries, “i still love you miguel.”

the weight on his shoulders is lifted. he knew you loved him, but the confrontation inevitably led him to think that might not last.

he sighs, “i just don’t want to let you get hurt, my love. i could never forgive myself if i did.” he looks at you longingly.

“if i promise to stay out of it,” you grab his hand, “to stay as far away from all the danger you face..” he gives you a sorry look. “would you just trust me?”

“i love you y/n, i do trust you. you are my entire universe and more.” his usually furrowed eyebrows are softened and his heartbeat had calmed down. “and i.. i’m sorry for not telling you. for making you feel like i don’t trust you. i really do,” he leans his forehead against yours. you can feel his breath again, but this time, it’s breaths of relief.

“i forgive you, miguel.”

his eyes are deep, but you’re close enough to see that his pupils dilate at the sound of your mercy. miguel felt his body regain strength, rejuvenating itself. he leaned in to kiss you softly, so soft in fear that if he was too rough then you’d crumble away and disappear. the kiss was gentle and loving, but the feeling that lingered after was begging for more.

your eyes remain gazing at only each other and you both smile wistfully.

“whaddya say we get you cleaned up and in bed,” you say, comfortingly rubbing his shoulders. miguel chuckles.

“only if you’re gonna help me,” he said, looking at you in a way that showed he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

you jokingly roll your eyes, smiling.

“lead the way, mi héroe.”

spanish glossary :

dios mío - oh my god

dios bueno - good god

cariño - my dear, sweetie, honey

mi reina - my queen

mi héroe - my hero

[urmammy]

I can show you pretty

Miguel O'hara xFem!reader Smut one-shot

+18 content below, minors please do not interact.

Warnings: Primal play, extreme aggressor/ possessive Miguel, Dom/sub relationship, HEAVY degradation. This smut is simply for the girlies who get it, and the girlies who don't, don't. For the girlies with a twisted sense of arousal 🧍🏿‍♀️🖐🏿 guilty as charged.

Summary: You were the newest recruit of the spider society and happened to be the most desirable as well, and Miguel was no acception. And although he shoved it down his throat every day for the sake of work, he found himself getting jealous over the attention you got. But he didn't know that yours was all on him.

"I'm not sure if I should try and ask her out Tuesday and I know it's still a long shot-.." A few of the spiders were in the cafeteria at lunch discussing plans to ask you out on a date, their multi colored suits and different faces being the only thing you could tell apart from the all too familiar clan with names repeating themselves over and over.

Spider-man

You were called Widow-Spider, you had the ability to see through walls with your fingertips, almost like how a beluga uses its calls to see its surroundings, and you had such incredible vision and hearing that someone from a mile away would seem like they're five feet in front of you, making your headshots clean in times of desperation during missions that could end fatally for your team if not done.

"She's so stuck up though, you really think she'll even glance in your direction? A bitch like her doesn't want anything to do with us."

Miguel just happened to be around the corner, ears fixating on the conversation before he decided to saunter towards the chattering group, his eyes narrowing in as he looms over them like the grim reaper waiting to collect his next victim.

"What were you saying?"

The group went utterly silent, heads slowly turning to look up at the towering hero before one of them spoke hesitantly.

"That widow-spider is one of the best recruits we've seen in years-"

"That's what I thought." He stated bluntly, giving one last glance around the group with an icey cold gaze that could pierce a dragons heart before whipping back around and sauntering back to his office, his footsteps being so light nobody could barely hear them across the corridor, but with your sensitive hearing, his footsteps sounded more aggressive than necessary, seemingly upset as he walked to his office.

Your ears perked slightly, head whipping in his directing as he walks past you and to his office without a second glance, but you could feel his anger, and it peaked your interest, causing you to follow behind him slowly and carefully.

After he went inside, you waited outside his door for a few moments before pressing your fingers to it gently, your sonic vision giving you a view of his red silhouette, pacing about his office for a moment before throwing something and yelling out in frustration. His hands tossle his hair as his chest heaves and he sits down at the edge of his platform, sighing and slapping his hands on his legs.

You pulled your fingers away slowly, face twisting in confusion and worry before you knocked gently.

"Miguel, can I come in?"

A long pause.

"Yeah."

You opened the door slowly, your petite figure seeming like a mouse in a fridge as your frame peaked from behind the door and entered the room slowly, closing the door behind yourself gently. He had managed to get himself together from the time you knocked on the door to the time you entered the room, standing on top of his platform and tapping on his holographic monitors with a blank expression on his face.

"I just wanted to know if you needed anything from me before I clock out for the day?" You asked softly, your big (Y/E/C) eyes staring up at with him a vulnerability that he couldn't help but soften under, looking down at you with a small smile as he spoke gently.

"Not that I can think of, Míja."

You smiled up at him, the room going silent for a few moments as you just stared at each other before you finally decided to speak, inhaling sharply before doing so.

"So! I guess I'll just get going-"

"Do you have any idea how pretty you are?"

You were caught off guard by his words, a shocked expression on your face as the heat rushed to your cheeks, blinking a few times in disbelief before speaking.

"You think so~?" You say cutely, clasping your hands behind your back and watching him as he steps down from his platform and hovers over you, his height towering over your own as if you were a speck of dust in a punch bowl, but his gaze soft and gentle as if you were a frozen feather flying in the wind.

"I don't think so. I know so."

His fingers grazing underneath your chin softly and earning a giggle from you before your doe like eyes switched to a siren out for blood in an instant, looking up at with a half-lidded lust filled expression as you spoke.

"I can show you pretty."

And with that, something in him snapped, the smile on his face immediately dropping and his eyes clouding over with a predatory lust as his hand abruptly wraps around your throat, walking you back with that same predatory gaze in his eyes and pushing you into the wall.

He leaned in closely, breath fanning over your ear.

"I am so sick, of watching everyone come after you. I need to fill you. I need to cover you in my scent, so they'll leave. You. Alone.."

You were gasping softly, his hand gripping tight enough just to show you who's boss, but not enough to cut off your air supply. You were aroused to say the least, the warmth spreading through your clothed heat and causing you to whine in need.

"Then why haven't you?" You gasped out softly, causing him to grip your throat tighter and chuckle darkly, eyes scanning over you and your state, so vulnerable beneath him.

"Because I wanted to stay focused on work. But you see, the problem is, I can't. I can't focus on work with you walking around, looking like such a fucking whore, plastering her legs open for everyone else-"

He was panting.

He was angry.

And he was horny.

"I'm gonna fuck the shit out of you.." he growled out, almost gasping with his sentence as he let go of your throat and placed one hand on your hip, the other firmly on your ass in order to press your heat into the bulge in his suit, earning a grunt from him as he practically dry humps you, holding you there with a firm grip.

"I'm gonna fuck the shit out of you, and you're going to like it, and everyone's going to hear you scream for more.."

You were a moaning whining mess in his arms, panting, sweating. He was everything he wanted to make you.

Flustered and willing for him.

Needy for his cock.

"Take your damn suit off you dumb bitch." He grabbed the back of your neck, shoving you away from the wall as he watched you closely, his hand reaching back behind his neck to deactive his suit, his cock springing to life as he stands in front of you, fully naked. You were slightly surprised to find out he walks around bare underneath his suit, but didn't question it considering you usually do the same, bra and underwear usually being too tight and constricting underneath the skin tight fabric.

"Now."

You flinched slightly at the tone in his voice, eyes glancing down as he strokes his length slowly, spitting in his hand and coating his cock generously, his eyes never leaving your body as you deactivate your suit, breasts practically bouncing as the fabric let's them free, your sweat glistened body revealing itself to Miguel, earning a groan of approval as he pumps himself faster.

"Come here." He gestured you towards him with his free hand and you immediately followed orders, shuffling over to him shyly and looking up at him with those same doe eyes you had at the beginning of your conversation, and he chuckled.

"Cute. Now, sit. Down." He placed his hand on your shoulder, gripping it gently and forcing you to your knees, a sly grin spread across his face as he shoves his erect member in your mouth and grips your hair tightly.

"Good girl.."

You were gagging, tears streaming down your face with drool dripping from your chin and down between your breasts as your body trembled against the thrusts into your throat, eyes half lidded as you look up at him. He had his head thrown back, moaning loudly with each thrust, eyes closed in ecstacy as he enjoyed the feeling of your throat convulsing around him.

"Hhnnng-!" He pulled away with a loud groan, panting heavily as he watched you fall back on your hands, gasping and coughing for air as your sore throat begs for a chance to breathe. You didn't even have time to, he grabbed you by the shoulders again, pushing you down to the floor as he cradled you between his legs, giving you zero room to inch your way further from him.

You were on your stomach, his dick stuffed in between your ass cheeks as he fucks them gently, panting softly in your ear as he spoke, pinning your hands to your sides.

"Look at you. So willing. So needy and desperate." The only response you coild muster out was a cry of pleasure as he slammed himself into you, hips flush against your ass as his cock twitches inside of you slightly.

"Aahhh~"

You didn't have to see the look on his face to know he was smiling, your cheek pressed against the cold metal floor as he pounds into you with a relentless force, seemingly unwavering in his actions of violation against your body.

And you weren't stopping him any time soon.

You were nothing but a sweaty, mewling mess beneath his force, ass pressing against his every thrust, tongue practically sticking out of your mouth as your eyes rolled back.

This seemed to drive him further, sitting up straight as he grips each of your ass cheeks roughly, moving in slow small circles until you became particularly squirmy in a certain area. He chuckled that same dark chuckle before growling out loud again, seemingly animalistic as he burries himself inside of you. Again. And again. And again.

"More.." you cried out "More~!"

"Gah! You dirty little slut.."

And at those words, you lost yourself beneath him, crying out as your walls clench and tighten around his cock, seemingly unwilling to let him go as he let's out a long drawn out moan and empties himself inside of you.

You were both silent for a moment, panting as he remains inside of you, giving a small grunt every spurt and clench of his balls until he finally pulls out, sighing with approval.

"I think I could make this a regular with you. You were such a good girl for me..."

OKAY WELP. HAPPY KINKTOBER :D

[honestsycrets]

starved | [miguel o'hara x reader]

❛ pairing | new papi!miguel x new mami!reader

❛ type | oneshot: explicit content

❛ summary | peter says he's sex-starved. he isn't. he's just... adjusting to less time with his wife.

❛ tags | breastfeeding miguel, lactation kink, slight pregnancy kink, touch starved, pissy miguel, spanish is not translated, mention of violence, some cursing, f!reader.

❛ sy’s notes | written as per poll request! thank you everyone who voted.

Miguel likes to work.

Or, he thinks he likes to work.

The fate of the multiverse and all that boring ass bullshit. Peter has heard it all, twice, thrice over. What he knows is what he sees. What he sees is an overworked man running through anomaly files, sending out orders, and not spending time where it really mattered.

“Is that who I think it is?” Peter’s annoying ass house slippers flapped over the ground by Miguel’s feet. Peter’s hands rubbed together, sparking little bursts of heat between his palms. “It is! Mireya!”

Mireya, the newest addition to his small family. She was nestled comfortably in the crook of one of Miguel’s muscular arms as if it were the safest place in the entire world, suckling on what was left of a bottle of breastmilk. Miguel turned to place the empty bottle down on his desk. Peter followed, peeping over Miguel’s arm at her. Despite Miguel’s reservations, her bright brown eyes bored Peter with interest. She cooed at him. “Can I hold her? Let me hold her, it’ll be great! Aw look, she has curls.”

“My daughter isn’t your doll.”

“Look how pretty, she’s just like her mami. All sunshine and dimples and--,” Peter reached forward, easing his scrawny hands under her plush little arms and picking her up. Miguel’s hands fell onto his hips, shifting weight from one foot to the other, glancing down at his feet expectantly. “You know, for a new dad, you’re grumpier than usual.”

“Peter.”

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” he bobbed back and forth, spinning in a circle. She giggled the kind of laugh that was all sugar, making Peter grin even harder. “I mean, wasn’t Mireya your idea? Are you-- y’know?”

“Y’know?”

“Sex starved,” Peter whispered like it was a great, terrible secret. As if in this vast space of silence, someone might catch his words and convict him because of them. Miguel’s half-lidded eyes slid against one another, held for a second, then spread open in an annoyed flick. He fluttered his gloved fingers at Peter to hand Mireya over.

“I’m just saying if you need a night alo--”

“I don’t. I’m not sex-starved.”

He waved him off. His eyes fell on his daughter, boring back up at him with those beautiful eyes he had waited so long to see. He shifted his weight from one leg to another, lulling her back into her late-night slumber, cradled against his chest.

Sex starved, he said. What a shocking joke.

His room was no place for a child. It was perpetually dark, dimmed for his sensitive eyes. So, at the end of the day, Miguel had your room to return to. A real home, one with more than a ratty run-down chair and a lifetime of regrets. A home that he couldn't make alone. Miguel pressed past the bedroom door where he found you overcome by sleep. Just like Mireya in his arms.

He turned his gaze down to Mireya once more, her soft and squishy body a vision of peace. Tiny fists balled up over her belly as she slept in her soft velvet onesie. The whole world in his hands: the start of a happy little family. Only right now, it didn’t feel so happy. Those were the cycles, the push and pull of life.

Tonight would prove to be another silent night with his thoughts. His chest swelled with a rush of air, bunching up his shoulders as he moved to the adjoining room to set Mireya into her warm crib. Torn from his warmth, her palms stretched out, ready to wail. Miguel placed his hand along the wooden rail, his stomach flopping into throbbing anxiety in his stomach. She could wake you up. "Shh," he set his finger in her tiny palm. Mireya’s small hands rested listlessly around her head. The wail never came.

“Mi vida,” your sleepy voice fell over his ears, a gentle caress. He longed to hear it from your lips again. “Is she already asleep?”

“Sí--” he glanced over his shoulder, catching just a sight of one of his favourite little slips. Dusty rose with delicate lace details. He studied the edge of the gown, flowing over your thick thighs as you walked. Shock.

“You look beautiful." You looked down at your soft belly, a mincing smile pulling at your lips. He knew you were nervous, the way your hands obscured your plush belly. Mesmerized, his finger fell away from Mireya's soft grip. Peter's words echoed in his mind, a deep annoyance. It made his skin crawl, this growing annoyance in the acknowledgment that he had no sex in weeks, months. He took a step forward.

“I hope she doesn’t sleep through the night. My breasts are full,” Your fingers skimmed the taut skin. The glint of your wedding band invited him forward as if… you should be his tonight. You were his wife-- and though he didn't expect you to give him relief, he missed you. Miguel dipped his head, stroking the sore muscles of his neck.

Are you, y'know, sex-starved?

“When does she ever..." he couldn't help from saying. He grazed his fingertips over the swollen skin of your breasts, glancing from the skin to your deep, shy eyes. His breath thinned, realizing that you were disengaging, too scared to look him in the eye.

“She does, Miggy,” you breathed. His jaw worked, annoyed. “Lately. You’d know if you came home at night.”

If it was lately, he had no knowledge of it. Every lab screen he pulled up, every status report from Lyla, and every silent night in the lab, obsessing over how his little girl was doing-- he missed it. He should be coming in more often, crossing the threshold of work to family life. His hand cupped the underside of your breast. You winced, embarrassment working on your face. You pushed his hand away, likely feeling exposed by his touch on your tender skin.

“Does it hurt?” He leaned down, mingling his smoky, musky scent with your delicate one. He leaned in to place a soft, open-mouthed kiss along your neck, the warm pulse of your skin against his plump lips.

“Miggy, you’ll wake her up.”

Your fingers laced in his before you pulled him out of the room with a click of the door. He settled his hand on the middle of the door, sliding his hand up your waist, the soft fabric crinkling over the movement. He glimpsed a look at your soft panties cupping your round ass. “Miggy, I… I can’t. I’m tired.”

Of course, you were tired-- He underestimated how much work you took on in her care. He willed the wisps of his desire to snuff out. The distant flicker of hope followed promptly after. Maybe, one day, you would want him again. It wasn't today.

“Ya veo,” he suppressed his frustrated growl, wrinkling his forehead. “Another time.”

It wasn't the next day. Or the one after that. Or the one after that.

The anomaly whirled along a cobblestone street, exploding in a cloud of dust and stone. Its many black dipped hands flickered, dulling into little more than a negligible tremor of their limbs. Everyone else noticed the complacency that came with loss of consciousness. Miguel did not.

Miguel sauntered forward, dragged it by its muddy boots out from the crumbly remnants of the wall, and whirled it into another. It wasn't moving. It was done, tired, exhausted. He didn't care, his large hand encompassing its tendril hair and smashing it over the dusty floor. A violent crack, crack, crack of its head scratched his inert need to destroy something, anything, anyone. It fell from his hands with a slump. Miguel spat a bit of blood to the side, his cheek chewed raw under the tension of the moment.

“You need to take Peter up on that offer.”

Miguel stretched his neck one way. Then the other.

“We’ve been over this,” Miguel grumbled, hiking the pummeled body over his shoulder. It gushed blood, streaming into a diluted pink with the downpour of rain. A simple contusion, Miguel said. It was just a contusion. And a concussion. Maybe a gash or two. It would heal if the thing woke up. “I don’t need help.”

“You thrashed it, whatever it was,” Jess said pointedly. Miguel’s finger ran across his watch. The air was stale without an acknowledgment of Miguel’s churning temper, growing into a churning tempest by the passing minute. He stared long and hard through his mask. She drew out the silence as she waited for his response.

“It’s a contusion.”

The portal whirled to life before them in a slurry of vivid color, an unforgiving abyss. Jess slumped her bike with weight on one thigh, hand on her belly. The longer Miguel stared at her, so full and pregnant, the more he was reminded of you. He pinched the bridge of his nose. There was no use-- he saw visages of you everywhere he looked.

“Doesn’t look like any head contusion I’ve seen,” Gwen slid into the portal. His lip curled, annoyed by the obvious objection to what he was saying. If they would let it go-- he could go on about his life, wait for this obsession with his sex life to abate. Wait for you to come back to him.

“You can’t keep taking out your—“

“I am not sex-starved!”

“Convincing.” Jess sped into the portal.

Miguel soothed the stress out of his forehead, opening and closing his palm, a current of energy coursing through his palms. They picked— and they picked— and they picked at him. At some point, he was bound to explode. He only hoped you wouldn't be in his way when it happened. He whipped the anomaly through the portal and followed after.

On the other side of the portal, there was Peter— again. Cooing with his hands on his daughter— again. His dark mask faded away, his suit wicking water off his frame. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he located you beside Jess and Gwen. You nudged its crumpled body with your shoe. He didn’t often feel ashamed of his actions. Usually, they were necessary. Something was wrong, your face pinched and curled in disgust. He felt the string of your disapproval pulling through his arms, a slight, incriminating tremor flickering through his finger. He willed it away.

“What did you do to this poor thing?” you turned to Jess, a click-click-click off your tongue. He’d hardly call it poor. “It’s overkill.”

“Girl, ask your husband,” Jess folded her arms, reclining on her bike.

“Mi Miggy?” you went to him. You leaned over, pecking his cheek with a terribly insulting kiss, tickling his jawline. He swallowed. Blinked. Then frowned and brushed off your fingers, finding the care misplaced. You could care for an anomaly but didn't care to ask him how he felt. What he needed. Your voice wilted that sunshine quality, dropping almost to a whisper. “¿Qué te pasa, Miggy?”

“Nothing.”

“Miguel--"

“I said nothing!” He knelt down, grasping its ankle and dragging it down the long, drab hall that stored a variety of anomalies. A line of blood soaked the floor, swerving after his rumbling steps. You took a step forward, snatching his wrist between your fingers. He whirled around, a tremble on his lips firmed out into an unforgiving glare. You let up the pressure on his wrist, allowing him to spin his hand free. “Déjame en paz! There is nothing shocking wrong!”

Mireya cried. So did you.

The admittance that Peter was right wasn’t one that Miguel was about to make openly.

Although he showed up that night, as you informally requested, the night proceeded awkwardly. There was no talk over dinner, not as he watched you feed his little girl, swaying by the window of the enormous city below. As you gazed into the sea of twinkling lights, Miguel came up behind you. His palms encompassed your slight shoulders, moist against your exposed shoulders. His naked chest grazed your back.

"Are you going to apologize?"

Why should he have to? If anyone listened to what he was saying-- he wouldn't be in this mess. Still, Miguel steeled his face. He placed a mincing kiss on the top of your head. His voice thinned out, barely a feather on his lips.

"I snapped."

"You did a lot more than that. You scared her."

You let him sit with his regret until you fell asleep. He debated returning to the lab or his room to try again tomorrow. But he knew his wife. You were attentive to everything that he did. You might take it as a sign of his disinterest. After minutes turned to hours, he breached the door and slid into your bed when he was sure you were asleep.

When his eyes coursed over your figure, he realized all he missed. It was too long since he felt the warmth of a real kiss. Not the brief pecks on his lips as he rushed out the door to help Jess or Gwen or any other number of spiders demanding his attention. He missed the warmth in your eyes, the way they turn into crescents with a happy smile or jaunty laugh. He longed for that sensation of your fingers combing through his hair, taking your time and curling his fluffy hair behind his ear, eyes trained on his alone in a sea of spiders. That… sensation of being the only one that you wanted.

Mireya was that for you now. He longed for it every time he came into the room, seeing you sway with his child in your arms, cradled against your breast, feeding her into a restful sleep. What he thought was a mere seed of jealousy turned out to be a terrible beast, tendrils of resentment that you can’t see what he needs. He needs you. And it isn’t his beautiful Mireya’s fault, no. It’s his.

Instead, he lay there with his palm wretched around his cock, soaked in the artificial lubricant, throbbing into his hand. He remembered his words that night. A begrudging -- Mami, give me a baby-- and how well you took him. Your body seemed to know what he wanted, swelling with his child after a few weeks. He buckled into his palm, cranking around the base and swirling up to his leaking tip, bubbling with his need. He circled his finger over the head, swiping the fluid away.

“What are you thinking about?”

Miguel paused, sweat crept down his thick throat over his broad chest. He shuddered under the weight of your silken words. His hand coiled around his cock in one more jerk, somehow accepting that he had been caught.

“Are you thinking about me? Or is there someone else?”

"Someone else?" he breathed. His lips dropped into a frown, agitation simmering to a boil. It cooled when you looked at him-- but really looked at him. The bed shifted under your weight, ruffling pillows aside. You hoisted your legs over his body, pushing his cock against your soft vulva and his stomach, breasts pushing into his face. So close that Miguel inhaled the uniquely sweet smell of your milk obscured by thin lace.

“Why would I have anyone else?” he asked, his chest distantly aching. His gaze tracked from one breast to the other. He stole a glimpse at your face, stricken with shyness. The slight pout of your lips, eyes refusing contact. “Do you even want me?”

Undoubtedly yes.

“You don’t come to see me. You don't fuck me. You don't even--"

"You're always tired."

"But you could wake me.”

“Could I? To deny me again?” It hadn’t meant to come out so passive-aggressive, but with the natural inflections in his voice, he knew you could read him like a book.

“Oh, papi," not that soft voice. He might hope again. "I always want you.“

Hmpf. Debatable.

“Even when you’re jerking off in my bed. Or couch.” You slid your pink tongue along your lower lip, guiding your body against his. The wet draw of your juices over his dick drew his sharp scarlet eyes to the sight, knocking your stiff clit with his dick. For a moment, his words failed. He should have known you would watch him.

“Is that why you're so... angry? Because of me?" He made a small noise, barely a huff. You drew his hands to your full breasts, obscured by a thin layer of fabric. This time, he smothered a groan in his chest. How pathetic, he thought, to be moaning from something as simple as your firm breasts back in his hands. What was he-- twelve? "Have I been neglecting you, Miguel O’Hara?”

“Yes-- you've neglected me,” he murmured, dragging the lace underneath each breast, knocked together by the straps of the fabric. He melded your breasts again between his hands, massaging the sore skin. His thumps flickered over your nipples, stiffening them into peaks. With a small pinch to your breasts, milk dribbled over his fingertips.

"I won't do it again," he wondered if you missed his touch by the full, grateful hum of your lips, your palms disappearing into his dark hair. You coursed along his dick again, eliciting another piteous noise of longing from his throat. "I promise."

“Hm," was the only agreement. "What a mess,” he teased, not bothering to look at you. It had the desired effect, your shoulders shyly bunching up, the cute pout of your lips, warmth in your cheeks, quivering eyes. He loved it when you looked so fucking shy, so vulnerable, and all for him. "You're leaking all over my hand."

“I’m-- sorry,” you flushed, “It… happens.”

“Mhm, you're full,” Miguel flicked his pink tongue along your stiff, fat nipple, drawing it into his mouth with a suckle. Sweet milk soothed his tongue. He hungrily drank it up, shifting his other hand back to angle his cock at the entrance of your core. A hand left his thick locks and jerked to his broad shoulder, stabilizing your hips down to sink onto him. Blood welled to the surface with your claws scratching piteously along his sunkissed skin. With a bit of resistance, he slid perfectly into your body, just like he always did. A satisfied sigh escaped his lips against your breast. It was somehow different-- the tug and stretch of his cock-- as he fucked the mother of his child. Maybe it was all in his head. “Shock, you’re gorgeous on my dick.”

“Miggy--”

He shifted to the other breast, his hands nearly stapled on your hips, encouraging you to do the work. Your warm milk slid into his mouth, down his starved throat. The pleasure of knowing he was draining you of your milk was tempered with the ever-present fact that soon, you’d have his spunk in your belly again. Your hips flushed, drawing around in quick circles, flushed with his pelvis. Small waves of pleasure grew in your belly. Your stiff clit glided against his skin, again, and again with the undulations of his hips. You felt pinned between his mouth and dick, restricted in movement, but all his, devoured by his need.

“Come here, mi hermosura,” Miguel released your breast from those lush lips, sliding his tongue along his lips to catch the remnants of your sweet milk. He slid down along the pillows, flushing your chest to his, and propped his legs slightly for a better angle. His muscular arms wound around your back, cock pumping into you with renewed vigor. He knocked against your cervix in this position, holding you fast and tight in his arms. You nestled against his sweaty chest, accepting his thrusts so well.

“Miggy-- I’m not-- on anything.”

“You're breastfeeding, close enough,” he mused in your ear as though it were a joke.

You might have argued with him if you weren’t so blinded by that fantastic juddering of his hips. As it were, pleasure rocked all thoughts of birth control out of your mind. Miggy, an ever-present lover, groaned as he held out through your orgasm milking and soaking his swollen dick in your cum. Not a moment later, Miguel forced a long stroke of his dick inside your cunt, reaching his climax buried deep in your tremoring walls. You squeezed him tight, milking him dry of his orgasm until it all faded into fuzzy pleasure. You sighed as his arms loosened, warm and full of Miguel after so long. His soft dick slipped free, cum oozing onto his thighs, but he couldn’t be bothered to deal with the mess.

He set a kiss on the top of your head, then your forehead, and eventually snatched your lips in a warm kiss. You could taste the sweetness of your milk on his tongue and flushed. Your head dropped down on his chest, listening for the gentle whining of your daughter. It was silent but for the intermingling of your heaving breaths.

After all the issues: the disappointment, the fighting with Peter and Jess, Miguel couldn’t help but chuckle. All it took was jerking off in your bed. He should have known-- you never did like to be left out on his fun. You were always a jealous lover, even at the threat of his own hand.

“Hm? Why are you laughing?”

“Peter said I was sex-starved."

“Well," you glistened a smile, kissing along his jaw. He huffed. "He wasn't wrong."

[luveline]

hiii could I please request miguel walking in on reader crying in secret?? ty!! :)))

thank you for requesting! fem!reader, 1.2k

It takes Miguel half an hour to fix your spider suit, but when he picks his head up from his work desk with a brag waiting on his lips, you aren’t there. He hadn’t noticed you slinking away. Perhaps he should’ve, given his fantastic sixth sense and his habit of awarding you special attention, just you’re quiet when you want to be. 

He sends you a short message through his wristwatch. Where are you? delivered 7:58PM. 

No response. Miguel folds your suit into a square and holds it under his arm, flicking off his workbench light as he rolls his neck from one side to the other. He wanted to finish the repairs before nightfall so as not to disrupt your routine. He quite likes your routine together. In a stressful life, time spent with you is peace he doesn’t deserve. You aren’t a peaceful girl, of course, you’re his idiot, but he knows the stark difference of having you versus not having you. 

He can’t track you without your suit on and your watch doesn’t have that capability, but he can ping your phone. 

You’re in the building still, at least. 

He texts you. Where did you go? I fixed your suit. It’s dinner time soon. 

Loosely translated, it means, Why did you leave? We always eat dinner together. 

Miguel sighs and decides to check the most obvious places first. The alcove of the hallway leading to the laboratory where you like to hide, the arts lounge, the atrium where your friends hang out, and the outdoor area right at the surface of the society. By 8:30PM he’s agitated wondering where you’ve gone, because he should probably know, but he’s not a great boyfriend and you’re not always as honest as you claim. You could be anywhere. You could be with someone nicer. 

He’s pissed. With no choice but to admit defeat, he decides he’ll head up to bed (he’s not going to bed, he’s gonna find you, because you can go wherever you like whenever you like but it’s been a long time since you disappeared without telling him). He cares about you too much, even if he wishes sometimes he didn’t. Not because of you. 

He sulks into the apartment (his apartment, your apartment, you were never supposed to live with him but here you tend to stay), throwing his phone and command pod onto the made sheets of the bed. 

The shower drips in the bathroom. He can hear the plink of water dripping onto the floor, a slow, dysrhythmic pattering. Two seconds, a drop. Three seconds, your breathing. 

He startles. You’re shuddering, a sharp inhalation, that strange sound you make when you’re overwhelmed without being smothered by his shoulder. “Stop,” you say under your breath. Another harsh breath, and a pained whine to follow. 

Miguel has never crossed a room so quickly. For a moment he thinks there must be someone else there, not a fully realised theory but an instinct —you’re telling someone else to stop, because someone is hurting you, because you aren’t alone. But he can hear only your heart, and your breath. So he stops cold by the door without bursting in and forces himself to knock. 

“Mi cielo?” he asks, aiming for tenderness, roughness seeping through. He knocks the door. “I’m coming in, okay?” 

Miguel doesn’t realise the door is locked until he’s cracked the doorframe. 

You stare at him in shock. Tears fall fast but quiet down your cheeks, thick streams of them, the kind to accompany gutted sobbing. 

“What’s wrong?” he says, his chest falling. “What’s wrong? Y/N, tell me. Tell me,” he prompts, secretly terrified at your tears and your quiet. He sounds demanding instead. 

“I’m fine,” you say.

“No you’re not.” He speaks before you can deny it again, not sure what to make of your teary voice or the way you’re smiling; trying to hide. 

“It’s okay–”

“It’s not okay, mi cielo,” —he takes your hand if only to be touching you— “you're crying.” 

“You weren’t supposed to see,” you say, closing your eyes. 

Tears squeeze their way out unbidden. Miguel reaches to his right for the toilet paper and pulls off a few sheets, bundling them in his palm. Careful, hesitant, he brings the corner to your face and begins to dry your tears from your cheeks, your chin, the wet line running down to your t-shirt and then back to your eyes. He shushes you as you shudder, “Shh, lovely. Everything will be fine. Everything… Todo va a estar bien.” 

“It’s fine,” you whisper tightly. 

“It’s fine,” he echoes, much more kindly, though he’s no closer to understanding why you’d locked yourself away to cry so intensely. “Tell me what’s wrong, yes? You tell me what’s upset you.” 

“It’s nothing–”

You try to persuade him but end up sounding even more upset than you had, shaking your head from his touch, receding backward toward the sink. 

“Why won’t you talk to me?” he asks gently. 

“It’s so stupid, Miguel, you weren’t supposed to know.” 

He’d say it was unlike you to be secretive with your feelings. You love loudly, tease louder. You’re spirited and petulant when you feel like it and you’re constantly barraging him with cheerfulness he doesn’t deserve, so why doesn’t your unwillingness to share this with him surprise him? 

“But I know now,” he says, bending to be your height, to meet your tired eyes, “and I want to know what’s wrong so I can make you feel better. Can you let me do that?” 

“I don’t feel very well.” 

Miguel can only handle so much. He uses some of his added strength to wrap you up in a full body hug, your toes struggling to stay on tiptoes and then completely off the ground as he leans back under your weight. “I know,” he says, though he hadn’t, “it’s okay, cariño, I’m here. I’m gonna take care of you.” 

You’re all softness in your off-duty clothes. The rolled neck of a worn t-shirt, your naked arm curling behind his neck and your thighs to his. He doesn’t keep you up for more than a few seconds, just enough to take your weight and hopefully save you the energy it’s taking to stay upright. You sag against him as your socks touch down again. He’s the one thing keeping you standing, and he doesn’t mind. You should know that already. 

“Please,” he says emphatically, “don’t cry by yourself. You have to let me know.” 

“Sorry.” 

He moves his head from one side to another slowly, his nose rubbing along your hairline. “Don’t be sorry. But if I don’t know, how am I supposed to fix it for you?” 

“You shouldn’t have to.” 

“Are you kidding?” He encourages your head back tenderly to meet your eyes. “That’s what we do, hmm? What do you think?” 

You smile. Still sad, still watery-eyed, but a real smile. “Yeah.” 

“Alright. Let’s go sit down, okay? I’ll get you a drink.” 

“So weird,” you murmur. 

“I’m weird?” 

“You’re being really nice to me.” 

Miguel squeezes your arm. “Don’t get used to it, Spider-Girl.” 

[fairlyang]

Different 🕷️

when you're woken up suddenly horny and find a surprise between your legs (request)

w/c: 2.5K

pairing: incubus!miguel x f!reader

tags: 18+ smut. no plot just smut, horny demon, somnophilia, non-con, fingering, unprotected sex, breeding mention, so much cum

notes: had meru the succubus in mind when writing just kinda reversed the scenario

Miguel had been all over the city of Nueva York wanting to find fresh meat, a new girl he could fill up. He needed a new pussy that would feel so good against his cock.

But he's gone through half the city and most of the girl's weren't good enough to go for seconds.

He was having such a hard time finding a new victim and his cock was growing impatient. Tonight was taking him longer than usual and his cum was just piling up in his balls with every passing second.

Until finally, he found the most gorgeous girl he's laid his eyes on. Sleeping so peacefully and luckily for him with her bedroom window wide open.

He flew right in and carefully dropped down, turning to look at the sleeping girl in a tee shirt that was hovering over her pretty tits, and a thong.

He felt his cock twitch in his boxers and he slowly climbed on top of your bed. He spread your legs carefully and you continued letting out soft snores.

He brings a hand up to your slit and gently runs a finger up and down. He lets out a quiet moan as you squirm but were still in deep sleep.

He then brings two fingers up and starts rubbing small circles against your clit. You stirred in your sleep and were suddenly having a wet dream playing in your head.

He could feel your wetness slowly start seeping through the fabric which meant he could start playing with you soon.

But he wanted to be patient, you seemed different, and he didn't want to immediately startle you even if his cock was practically begging to be inside you.

And he could already tell your pussy was going to feel so good, so tight and wrap around him flawlessly.

But he shook his head and focused on what was already in front of him.

A pretty little wet spot along your slit, he leaned and took a little sniff, not expecting to fall head over heels with your sweet scent. He rolled his eyes back and inhaled the smell of your arousal.

He then licks the wet spot softly, looking up to see if you're waking up yet but you were still asleep. Even looked pretty while you were sleeping.

He could only just imagine how pretty you're gonna look as soon as he slips inside you. That exact moment his tip goes into your entrance, pure bliss.

He moves your little panties to the side now fully exposing your pretty cunt to him. Along with all your arousal that was now dripping down to your asshole.

He couldn't help the moan that escaped his lips as soon as he saw how soaked you were. He hadn't even begun playing with you to the best of his ability yet.

He spread your lips with two fingers then licked a strip from your entrance and up to your clit then went back down as you let out a little mumbled moan. With a smirk he continued, going nice and slow to make sure to savor every drop of you.

He wraps his arms around your thighs and then dives in, immediately devouring your pussy like the starved demon he was. He's been craving some good pussy all fucking day and he actually found one.

One that by the looks of, may be a little inexperienced based on how fast you got wet. But this was good news for him, he loved virgins and girls who didn't know what they're doing. Those types of girls only made him cum even more.

You stirred in your sleep, your wet dream becoming more vivid and realistic as Miguel continued eating you out, flicking your clit with his tongue and teasing your hole with his finger. He looked up at you and had a feeling you'd be waking up soon, by then he'd have to put on his ultimate charm. He needed to cum inside you, no questions asked.

He went down and lapped on your folds before sticking his tongue into your hole, his hands now moving down and squeezing your hips. You whined and your body shook, it was now feeling way too real but your wet dream was just so good and you didn't want to wake up from it.

He pulled away and slid his finger inside which prompted a loud moan to escape from your lips. He grinned and shoved it in all the way earning himself some muffled whimpers from you. You were gripping his finger and that was enough of a confirmation for him that you've either never been played with or it's been a while.

And how lucky you were that you'd have a professional to be doing this for you. Sure, a lot of girls could say the same because he couldn't help himself but he was going to make sure you were extra special.

"So fucking tight." He mumbled to himself before adding a second finger and instantly pumping them deep inside.

You could then consciously feel yourself let out a moan and now this wet dream was starting to feel real?

You were about to let out a yawn when instead a moan takes it's place and your eyes shoot open, looking down. You were about to let out a scream but a stranger quickly brought a hand up to your mouth to shut you up.

"Don't freak out baby... and don't pretend you don't like it, look how drenched your little cunt is for me...." He mumbles before diving his face back onto your clit, sucking it gently while his one arm is gripping your hip.

You were going to protest and swat his hand from your mouth when you cry out in pleasure from his digits going at a faster pace now, still fucking you deeply.

You bucked your hips towards him and let out more muffled moans over his hand. You then look down at him and notice he had red horns, dark slicked back hair and almost red-like tattoos along his arms and back.

Maybe some kind of demon?

His digits dump into you harder making you whine when his hand finally leaves your mouth. "W-Why are you-"

"Because I've been needing some good pussy all fucking day baby. Got lucky and found you." He coos leaving you shaking underneath him.

"Can't even pretend you don't like it huh? Almost like you've been craving for it to be played with." He murmurs making you whimper and shake your head.

"That's not true!" You exclaim only making him chuckle and shrug.

"Oh yeah?" He mocks and a smirk tugs on his lips.

You hesitantly nod, making him scoff and roll his eyes, "not sure I believe you sweetheart." You roll your eyes and then think of something.

"W-Why me-"

Any more questions that entered your brain swiftly left as the demon stopped and added a third finger then shoved them all in making you whimper. "Fuck!"

He grins up at you, sharp fangs being the first thing you notice, which frighten you for a second before just deciding to relish in the pleasure and laying your head back and bringing a hand down to his hair, to tug on it and bring him even closer to you.

"You talk too much doll, just let it happen. You're too worked out... let me take care of you." He coos, already falling to the handsome demon's charm and given you really haven't gotten attention like this in so long, you did indeed let it happen.

Without another word he goes back to sucking on your clit while his digits were fucking you faster that he could practically feel all your juices slipping out with every thrust.

Now usually he never makes it this far and as soon as the girl wakes up he takes his cock out and immediately starts fucking her but he kind of wanted to keep pleasuring you.

Which was new to him, not pleasuring a woman obviously, but wanting to continue. He hasn't made a girl cum from just his fingers in maybe decades. He's always too focused on his own pleasure and making sure to fill every pussy he encounters with every drop of his cum.

But you were different.

So he was going to treat you that way.

So he started going faster and curling his fingers up, hitting your sweet spot deep inside you that already has your legs shaking and moaning like there's no tomorrow.

It just felt so good and you haven't felt anyone else's touch in so long. And your own fingers can't hit that spot like his did.

His were working their magic on you like no one's done before and it had your head doing circles. You felt like stopping would be the smartest and most logical thing to do but deep down you knew how badly you've been wanting this.

And now that you have it, would you really tell him to completely stop?

"Please don't stop-" you cry out as both his hands are now gripping on to your thighs for dear life as his face is still buried in your pussy.

He'd never had so much fun fingering a human girl before, he likes to have his fun with the succubi but you were just out of this world and like nothing he's ever seen before.

Your moans were angelic and just motivation for him to keep going, he didn't want to stop and wanted to keep going just to hear your moan. In his mind he already decided this wouldn't be the last time he saw you, especially with how absolutely divine you tasted. He couldn't get enough.

And because of the way the starved demon was sucking on your poor bundle of nerves, your orgasm quickly approached and hit you hard. You cried out for him and let him go, covering your mouth as you shook and his fingers were slowing down.

He pulled his face away from you, only to see you covering your pretty face as you rode your climax. He waited for you to be done and as soon as you were he pulled his fingers out.

Your juices leaked out and you looked down at him just as he brought his fingers up to your mouth, which you gladly took and sucked clean. He moaned and with a snap of his fingers, he was naked.

He couldn't be bothered to wait anymore, he needed you so desperately and probably had twice the amount of cum stacked up by now. He moved up your body, now hovering over you as you looked into his eyes while you were sucking on his fingers which was the main reason why you cried out when you felt the tip of his dick make contact with your entrance.

Just the tip alone was thick and your pussy clenched around it until he pulled back and swirled it around, covering it in your juices. He then slammed the whole thing into you making you cry again but this time he didn't want to wait around.

He pulled back and slammed right back into you, leaving you a shaking little mess below him. His hands went over to your legs, spreading them open and as wide as they can go. He then left his hands at the back of your thighs as he now started fucking you. He was pulling back and thrusting into you in slow but deep strokes when he then started going faster.

"Taking this dick so fucking well baby." He groans and grips your skin, as your walls clench around him tightly.

You moaned and brought your hands to your sides, gripping the sheets as he rammed into you desperately. "S-so b-big-" you cry and look down at his thick cock pounding into you like there's no tomorrow.

"And you're taking it so fucking good sweetheart- I fucking knew this pussy was going to be perfect." He murmurs then brought his upper body down, his arms now squeezing and toying with your tits.

You whimpered at the praise and looked into his crimson eyes as they bored into yours. He then leaned down and crashed his lips onto yours. You instantly kissed back and brought your arms around his neck as he rammed into you harder while slipping his tongue into your mouth.

You let him take control and just melted into the mattress, taking in the fact you're getting rammed by a demon. At least he was a sexy one at that.

You moved your hands down and started scratching his back but as he brought his hips to yours, filling you up even deeper, you dug your nails into his skin making your own red marks on him. He groaned into your mouth which you reciprocated and moaned into his.

You wrapped your legs around his waist which helped him get even deeper inside you making you both moan instantaneously. His hands then came up to cup your jaw as he felt his orgasm approaching the more and more you clenched around him.

He could already feel it was going to be a big one which only excited him knowing he was going to fill you up to the brim. And hell maybe even possibly impregnate you if he was lucky.

Your second orgasm was also coming up to you quickly, faster than the first, which Miguel could feel since you were now squirming. You could also feel he was about to cum by the way his thrusts became sloppier and his cock was twitching inside you.

You were too fucked out to even think of telling him to pull out. He was fucking you too good you didn't want him to stop for a second.

"Oh fuck- please- please!" You moaned out and at this point you didn't even know what you were begging for.

Suddenly he groans and shuts his eyes, and with one last thrust deep inside you, he cums inside. Your body shook as you came over him and you could feel how much cum he was spilling into you. Too cock drunk to speak you close your eyes and grind against him as your second orgasm of the night washes over your body.

Miguel was still buried inside you, he finally pulled out and was still shooting his load. He brought the tip of his cock onto your clit and let it all stream down as the cum that was inside you, was now spilling out at the same time.

He nestled into the crook of your neck as he finally stopped cumming and tried to control his heavy breathing. That was the best he's ever had and he didn't want to stop until he ensured you were pregnant. You were the perfect pussy for his cock and were all ready to take almost all of his load that he piled up just for you.

He got off you and laid down next to you, you, tired out barely moved your body to the side and laid on his chest as your own breathing calmed down. He wrapped his arms around you as you both closed your eyes and drifted off to sleep without another word.

[alismithlier]

PROFESSOR

Miguel era grande a comparación tuya, era imposible no notarlo, un hombre alto, hombros anchos, piernas gruesas y esas manos tan grandes, venosas y masculinas, además de apuesto paseándose de un lado a otro en medio de la sala explicando ese tema importante que dijo que estaría en el examen final, pero no podías prestarle atención estando metida en tus fantasias.

Pensando lo bien que se vería  sentado en esa silla contigo entre sus piernas y  debajo de ese escritorio, o como se vería entre tus piernas contigo sobre el escritorio, cuando de repente.

- mith - lográs entender muy cerca tuyo - Señorita Smith - era el profesor O'hara mirándote con una ceja alzada mientras parpadeabas nerviosamente intentando adivinar que espera de ti. 

- ¿Disculpe? - atinas a decir al no comprender la situación

- Le estaba haciendo una pregunta correspondiente al tema de su trabajo final, está usted muy distraída y esto es importante - comenta con un tono duro, que le da cuerda a tus fantasias, mientras finges estar muy avergonzada ante las risillas de tus compañeros en el aula.

- Silencio - le regala una mirada rápida antes de regresar a ti -Hablaremos  al terminar la clase - y sin más continuó con la clase, regalandote una mirada que podrías comprender perfectamente.

~~~~

Su relación realmente había comenzado antes de que fuera tu profesor directo, pues se habían conocido en su antiguo edificio, ya que resultaron vecinos, no sabias que seria tu profesor ni nada por el estilo, pues sus materias no correspondian a tu carrera, no fue hasta que decidiste entrar a una asesoría para conseguir unos créditos que te faltaban en una materia que compartieron aula por primera vez y, por Dios la seguridad con la que compartía su clase y se movía alrededor del aula era hipnotizante.

Todos salieron del aula y quedaste al final, a solas, con Miguel

- Sígueme - te indico con un movimiento de cabeza guiándote a su oficina, en donde te dejo pasar primero para poner el pestillo de la puerta - Se supone que debes concentrate en las lecciones, no fantasear con tu profesor amor - susurra detrás tuyo poniendo tu piel de gallina

- Lo sé. lo siento, pero deberías verte exponiendo clase - dices en voz baja.

- Creeme, puedo sentirme exactamente como tú - desliza su nariz por la curvatura de tu cuello desde atrás mientras una de sus manos toma el dobladillo de la falda que decidiste usar hoy - Verte con esta falda, apretando las piernas mientras me miras - Deposita un beso en la base de tu cuello, mientras sube tu falda mientras acaricia tu muslo y te estremeces - es muy difícil no mandar a todos a la mierda y tomarte ahí mismo -- suspiras encantada.

Te toma de la cintura, te gira y te besa, la diferencia de altura lo hace encorvarse y para evitar una tortícolis te levanta de la cintura llevándote hacia su escritorio para sentarte sobre él y acorralarte con su enorme cuerpo, continuo besandote llevando una mano a tu mejilla, pero antes de que la alcanzará te separas.

- Espera - le dices intentando recuperar aire y te mira extrañado y le sonries tranquilizadoramente mientras te encargas de aflojar su corbata y desabotonar los primeros 2 botones de su camisa - necesitaba sacarme esta imagen mental teniéndote enfrente  

Se ríe roncamente para continuar donde se había quedado, tomando tu mejilla y besandote de una manera muy pasional, moviendo su otra mano por tu pierna, dejando leves apretones en esta y moviéndose a tu entrepierna en donde toca sobre la tela, ya humeda, la hace a un lado y desliza sus dedos por tus pliegues.

- Miguel - te separas un poco y suspiras su nombre de manera entrecortada y vuelves a besarlo intentando callar tus gemido, procede a mover la mano que estaba en tu mejilla hacía tu cabello, retrando la pinza que usabas para soltar tu cabello,  tomarlo en un puño y separarte.

- Tu distracción en clase debe ser castigada - dice mientras te mira desde su altura y da una palmada sobre tu clítoris y te sobresaltas -Compensaras eso, ¿verdad cariño? - asientes ya perdida en el deseo, suelta tu cabello, se deshace de tus braga, te pone de pie y te observa, aprovechas esa pequeña distracción para empujarlo sobre la silla.

Tu fuerza no podría él, por supuesto, pero lo dejo ser y dejó caer su peso sobre la silla.

Te hincas frente a él entre sus piernas, acaricias sus muslos sobre el pantalón y subes tus manos lentamente hasta la cremallera de este, lo deshaces hábilmente y depositas un beso en el bulto que sobresale de su ropa interior, mirándolo a través de tus pestañas. Te mira con deseo, bajas su bóxer y el te ayuda levantando su cuerpo, su miembro queda libre y golpea el abdomen de Miguel, lo tomas con una mano y das una rápida lamida al glande, lo escuchas gruñir y ahora das una lamida rápida desde la base hasta la punta mientras lo sostienes con la otra mano, sientes su mano en tu cabello, acariciandolo antes de hacer un moño con este y alejarte.

— Basta de juegos — dice de manera ronca y seductora — manos en la espalda y abre la boca — ordena y como buena alumna, obedeces. Toma su masculinidad con una mano y la otra en tu cabello te guía hacia esta para empujarse en tu boca, te toma por sorpresa, te atraganta un poco antes de sacarla y empujarse nuevamente hasta el fondo, ahuecas tus mejillas para intentar meterlo todo, pero es demasiado grande — mmm, vamos cariño, abre más para mi — al vislumbrar las lágrimas en tus ojos se separa y golpea tus cachetes con su polla, mientras sacas la lengua esperando que vuelva a tu boca

— Por favor, Profesor — Le pone que uses honorarios, se unde nuevamente en tu boca, entrando y saliendo de una manera rápida y constante golpeando la campanilla en tu garganta, lo recibes gustosa, ahuecando las mejillas y respirando por la nariz, para evitar arcadas, sus gruñidos van directo a tu centro, retiras las manos de la espalda y empiezas a jugar con uno de tus pezones sobre la blusa.

— Mierda — gimio, la imagen que le regalabas fue demasiado para el, sientes que el agarre en tu cabello se intensifica para hundirse más en ti y se corrw en tu boca, se separo de esta — abre — dice, abres la boca con su corrida en esta, se separa del respaldo de la silla en la que estaba, su agarre en tu cabello te inclina hacia atrás y con su mano libre te toma de las mejillas para escupirte — tragatelo — y así lo haces, le muestras tu boca vacía — Buena chica, ahora me haré cargo de ti —

Te levanta del suelo, toma tu cintura y se cierne sobre ti, quedas a la altura de su pecho aún con esos zapatos de tacón que llevabas puestos, quita tu blusa y sujetador del camino, dejándote solo con la falda y los zapatos. Te observa un momento tomándote de la cintura

— Jodidanente sexy — se inclina nuevamente para besarte y te paras en puntas para "facilitarcelo", sus manos en tu cintura decienden por tus glúteos al llegar a tus muslos, te toma de estos y te lleva hacia el escritorio donde continúa con sus besos y descender a tus pechos poco a poco, lenta y torturosamente, toma uno entre sus labios, mordiendo tu pezon, mientras que su mano libre juega con tu otro pecho, golpeándolo y pellizcando el pezón

— Miguel, por favor, Profesor, por favor — dies desesperada por su toque intentando frotarse contra el, quien sólo se ríe burlonamente, continúa descendiendo dejando un camino húmedo por tu abdomen, hasta llegar al hueso de tu cadera el cual intenta morder.

—¿Quieres esto?— habla sobre el tu piel y puedes sentir su aliento — Que te haga venir con mi lengua y tomar todo de ti, mientras suplicas por más ¿mmm? — continúa hablando mientras sigue bajando, hasta que sienes su aliento en tu entrepierna desnuda y chorreante

— Sisi, por favor cómeme — casi lloriqueas para que te haga caso hasta que sientes una lamida en tus pliegues — ah, por Dios — hechas la cabeza hacia atras y tomas su cabello en un puño, mientras sigue brindándote placer, esta vez sientes su lengua tentando tu clitoris antes de tocarlo y arremolinarlo, para posteriormente lejarse solo un poco para observarte — Por favor — contoneas tus caderas en busca de más contacto con su boca.

— ¿Quieres correrte? — vuelve a tu coño para succionar tu clitoris y te escucha suplicar nuevamente — ¿mmm?, necesito tus palabras —

— Si, si, Por favor Sr O'hara — se deshace de tu agarre en su cabello, se pone de pie contigo desparramada en el sofá, palmea tu entrepierna excitandote más, toma tus caderas, pone tus pies en el suelo, de espaldas a él con tu culo en pompa y tu falda de pormedio, proporcionando ahora una nalgada en tu glúteo.

— Esto es por la poca atención el día de hoy señorita, espero se aplique — toma tus caderas con una mano, te lavaanta un poco más, hasta que terminas con tus pies colcando, se alinea en tu entrada y arremete con fuerza, por lo mojada que estás la intromisión es muy fácil, entra y sale de ti, sus pelotas golpeando tu clitoris, una de sus manos en tu cuello usándolo como palanca mientras rebotas. — Mi pequeña puta, tan necesitada que no puede evitar fantasear con su profesor — gruñe, sus palabras tienen efecto sobre ti, pues tus paredes lo aprietan con fuerza — aún no puedes correrte, no te lo he permitido — dice mientras deposita nalgadas.

Te voltea, aún dentro de ti, en la posición del misionero, con tus tacones en su espalda, tus uñas en sus bíceps, viéndote a la cara con tu gesto contraído, sigue arremetiendo contra ti, ahora con la falda enrollada en tu cintura, cada vez sus embestidas son más descuidadas, ya no puedes más

—Mig... Ahh, Miguel, por favor, por favor, dejame correrme — oírte suplicar es su debilidad, tu coño ordeñandolo, también es demasiado para el, golpea ligeramente tu mejilla, lo que te hace abrir los ojos.

— Quiere tus ojos en mi cuando te corras — hunde dos de sus dedos en tu boca para disminuir tus gemidos, los succionas, entierras aún más las uñas en sus bíceps cuando maltrata tu clitoris — correte encima de mi polla — y así lo haces, lo aprietas aun más mientras te dejas ir, no puede evitarlo y se viene dentro tuyo, se retira lentamente y fija su mirada en tu coño en donde observa como este gotea de sus fluidos, antes de dejarse caer en tu pecho.

— Cinseguiras un obresaliente en tus notas — dice aún sobre ti y golpeas si espalda ligeramente mientras lo escuchas reír — Deberíamos irnos a casa —

Se separa de ti, te pone las bragas con sus fluidos aún en ti y te sigue ayudando a vestirte para después vestise él

[nev3rfound]

by your side : m.h

with time passing, your condition is becoming more of an apparent struggle to cope with. after a particularly hard day, you confide in Miguel about their future together and what it could be.

wc: 771 requested: by a very sweet person, whom I wish brings a sense of comfort during this time warnings: mentions of blindness and losing eyesight

masterlist / permanent taglist / etsy shop

Opening the door to the apartment, Miguel calls out your name, his ears perking in anticipation of hearing you respond. Strangely, silence follows.

“Carino? You here?” With a sense of urgency, Miguel stalks toward the bedroom, expecting to find you simply curled up with a blanket over you, fast asleep. But as he peers into the bedroom, no one is there to greet him with quiet snores.

Backing out of the bedroom with a heavy sigh, Miguel finds himself checking the other rooms, his heart beating faster with each step. "Y/n? Where are you, baby?" He can hear the desperation in his voice as silence ensues. "Lyla? Where is Y/n?" He asks his AI who appears before him with her head hanging low.

Repeating her name again with confusion, Lyla forces her gaze to meet Miguels. "I'm really sorry Miguel," The AI starts, aware of the rapid pace of his heart only increasing. "Y/n is at HQ, in the medical bay." She explains, and within moments Miguel finds himself back at HQ, stalking the corridors.

"Miguel, I thought you left?" Jessica notices Miguel passing by with his brows furrowed, but the anger not quite meeting his eyes.

"Y/n's in the med bay." Miguel comments, keeping his eyes fixated on the signage in his view, finding his feet moving faster to burst through the doors.

Other Spiders in the room continue working, not daring to bat an eye at the sight of Miguel approaching the only bed with a curtain drawn. With a stoic look, Miguel pulls the curtain back and his shoulders sink upon the sight of you curled up on the bedding with your head buried in your knees.

"Mig?" You quietly speak up, lifting your head up to reveal redness around your eyes. "I'm, I'm really sorry," You start, but Miguel pulls the curtain behind him, allowing you as much privacy as a place like this can provide.

Wrapping his arms around you, Miguel rests his chin on the top of your head, feeling your body tremble. "Did it happen again, mi amor?" He dares question, knowing each day was becoming an increasing struggle.

"Yeah, everything was just a bit too blurry and I didn't see the stairs." Wincing at the memory of being found, you were unable to fully decipher who it was helping you up and to the hospital. Tears rise back to the surface with the memory.

Hushing softly, Miguel moves to sit down on the bed with you. "I've got you, carino." He mutters into your ear, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple before holding you into his embrace.

"I spoke to a Doctor today," You sniff loudly, moving out of Miguel's arms hesitantly. "nothing more, nothing more can be done." Your voice is void of emotion as the words leave your lips, but Miguel can hear your heart breaking.

Your lip begins to tremble as your eyes meet Miguel's, taking in his reaction. "Let's go home." He tells you, helping you out of the hospital bed before generating a portal for you to leave together.

Once home, Miguel helps you to the sofa. "Would you like tea, or something stronger?" He rises to his feet, only to find him tethered to you with a tug of his hand in yours.

"Please don't go." You whimper.

Complying, Miguel sits back down by your side and squeezes your hand in his. "I'm not going anywhere, never." He assures, but there's a look of doubt written in your eyes. "Listen Y/n," It was a rarity to hear him say your name rather than the numerous pet names he has coined for you. "I am going to find a cure for this, I will reverse the effects, understand?" His hand rises to cup your cheek, wiping away stray tears with his thumb.

"What if this is it?" You shrug. "I'll never see our children, I'll be in a world of darkness as voices guide me." You could see the hurt across Miguel's face. "I'm scared." You whisper. "Of what's next, Miggy."

"I know," Miguel nods, now bringing you into his lap. "but I'm here, and I always will be no matter what happens." He assures, peppering your face with kisses. "I promise you Y/n."

Lifting your head up, your lips find his. The kiss is heartfelt, portraying your love and sadness about everything. "You'll help me if I fall?" You whisper into his lips, your eyes remaining closed.

Miguel breathes a laugh. "I'll always be there to catch you, mi amor. No matter what." He tells you, knowing the future is blurred for you both, but he'll never leave your side.

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[safixiovi]

My theme song with Miguel

[nagycyra]

Miguel O´Hara

Si me lo pides, te daré mi corazón (próximamente)

Un marinero sin rumbo. (próximamente)

Entre detalles

Más de una nota

Mi única oportunidad

Novio Miguel (próximamente)

Celos (próximamente)

Mi pequeña consentida (próximamente)

Cotilleos

Pequeña esposa (próximamente)

Aturdimiento (+18)