#spiderverse fanfiction

[ichorai]

snow spider ; miguel o'hara.

pairing ; miguel o'hara x spider!reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; you were the ice to his fire—and miguel was burning for you.

words ; 4.4k

themes ; fluff, slight angst

warnings / includes ; set before the events of atsv, descriptions of injury/violence, cursing, a bit suggestive, mentions/appearances of other spidey characters, ben being a dramatic idiot, peter & may being adorable, cameos of magneto and doc ock, miguel is down so bad, can you guys tell i'm also in an asoiaf phase ? (winter is coming !!)

a/n ; there will be a part two set during the events of atsv !!

main masterlist.

You were Miguel’s seventeenth recruit. The first of your name. The first that wasn’t a Peter Parker, or a Jessica Drew, or a Ben Reilly. 

When Miguel dropped into your universe, one rife with crime and tragedy, stricken by a never-ending winter, he fell into a large pile of snow. 

“Damn it,” he whispered through chattering teeth, brushing off the frigid frost clinging to his suit and glancing around the iced-over city. There were sparse few people littering the streets, hovering over trash-fires and clutching rumbling stomachs. This was certainly a stark contrast to Nueva York—the universe looked dead, almost. A ghost town, frozen over into nothing but a glacial artifact.

Before Miguel could start forward to look for the Spider of the universe, a sticky web shot out from seemingly nowhere, binding his hands together. Ah. It seemed that you’d found him before he could find you.

“You’re not from here. I can’t smell the winter on you,” a voice echoed, saturated with curiosity, edged with caution. A second later, you materialized in front of him, clad in a white suit, sharp silver lines running over your form. On your chest was a spider, a pale snowflake engraved into its abdomen. Miguel stared at you with wide eyes. “Who are you?”

A beat of silence. 

“Your universe is cold,” was all he could think of saying, still caught off-guard. 

You took a step back. “My universe…?”

After clearing his throat, he shook himself out of his reverie. “My name is Miguel O’Hara. I’m from a different universe. I’m here to recruit you into my team to help keep the multiverse from collapsing.”

You shifted, muscles still tense. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

Lifting his wrists, Miguel twisted a hand and used his sharp claws to cut himself free of the sticky bonds. “Let me show you.”

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Miguel wasn’t supposed to like you this much. You were just meant to be another recruit for the Spider Society… maybe a close work companion, or a trusted friend at best. 

But as he watched you dart in and out of visibility, your suit only but flashes of white and silver, he couldn’t help but marvel at how easy it was to work with you. How much he genuinely enjoyed working with you, spending time with you, listening to you laugh at his stiff quips. And he really thought he was being subtle about it, but Jessica had already picked up on Miguel’s keen interest in you, always teasing him about having a crush on another Spider.

It wasn’t a crush, though. No, Miguel just really liked your work ethic.

Right?

“Heads up!” you yelled, swinging forward and using the momentum to kick an incoming car barreling right in his direction. The metal doors caved in beneath the power of your strike, veering to the left just in time to miss him. 

The two of you were taking down another anomaly that’d cropped up, one of the several dozens in only the past week. This anomaly, however, wasn’t the regular neighborhood villain they’d usually get, but instead an omega-level mutant: Magneto. 

Shards of metal rained down around you, but you were quick to deflect by thwipping out large, sticky webs to catch them before they could impale you. 

“This guy manipulates metal, Miguel!” you yelled. “Cuffs won’t work on him!” 

Another large metal pole rocketed straight for you, but Miguel dove towards you, yanking you out of the way.

“Thanks!” you told him, a bit too wound up to notice his large hands tightly wound around your midriff. “Can you distract him for me?”

Nodding wordlessly, Miguel shot out several glowing, synthetic webs in quick succession to momentarily blind Magneto. You used his shoulder to launch yourself upward, turning invisible in mid-air. 

Before the man could realize what was happening, you yanked his protective helmet off, landing a calculated strike to the back of his head. Immediately, all the bits of metal floating in the air came plummeting to the ground, and Magneto went limp in your hold. You swung down to the ground, coming back into view. 

“You’re gonna have to alert one of the Spiders that we need a metal-free cage for him,” you told Miguel, a bit breathless. 

Okay, a lot breathless. There was a sharp sting on your side—a broken piece of metal must have grazed you during the fight.

Miguel wound an arm around you to help you walk, concern festering within his chest at the sight of crimson staining your once-pristine white suit, his other hand dragging an unconscious Magneto by the scruff of his collar. With a tap of the watch, a portal opened up, flashing a multitude of bright oranges and purples. 

Back in his universe, Miguel was quick to hand Magneto over to a few Peters, telling them to be careful not to get any metal near him. You pulled off your mask and squeezed Miguel’s bicep in gratitude when he shifted his hold on you, ensuring that you wouldn’t put any weight on your injured side. Even exhausted, you were beautiful. Miguel remembered the first time he saw you without your mask: the entirety of his linguistic vernacular went flying out the window and he was left embarrassingly spluttering out a long string of incoherent sentences. You were patient with him, beaming wide and nodding emphatically, even though none of what he said had made sense. 

Yeah, alright, fine. Miguel had a crush. It really wasn’t a big deal (it was a very big deal). He’d be damned if he’d ever admit it to Jessica, though—that woman would never let him live it down.

Several Spiders waved hello to the two of you as you hobbled by, and you could only give them a winded half-smile in return. Some of them asked if you were alright, noticing the blood on your suit, but you reassured their worries away, “I’m fine. Miguel’s got me.”

A rush of protectiveness fell over him, and he clutched onto you all the tighter, hurrying to make his way back to the base. There were a few Spiders hanging around the control panels, chattering amongst themselves, and Miguel gave them a quick scan to make sure things were going smoothly since his departure. Once everything seemed to be in order, he finally tugged you into a more secluded room, helping you sit on a table as he grabbed the first aid kit. 

“Sorry,” he murmured, ripping off his mask as well. His dark hair was disheveled, sharp brown eyes softening with guilt. “I got distracted during the fight.”

“Hey, it happens,” you replied warmly, fingers lifting to pat his cheek. The feeling of your cold skin pressed up against the blistering heat emanating from his cheeks made a shiver dance up his spine. “We’re alive, and we got the anomaly. Everything’s fine.” 

“But you’re hurt.”

“I’ll heal.”

With careful, fleeting touches, Miguel drew back the ripped fabric of your suit to inspect the gash in your side. He cleaned away as much blood as he could, murmuring gruff apologies every time you flinched. The guilt worsened when he began deftly stitching up your wound—it didn’t go past his notice when your face twisted with the pain, and you bit your lip in a fruitless attempt to keep the sharp agony at bay.

“You did good out there, Y/N,” he said, desperate to distract you. “What was it like being the Spider in your universe?”

You spared him a loose grin, appreciating his attempts to keep you entertained. 

“Tiring,” you admitted, fingers digging into his shoulders when he began another stitch. “I mean, I’m sure you’ve heard the same story a million times by now. I was a scientist, trying to find a way to reverse the never-ending winter. I was bitten by a radioactive winter-spider… the only kind of spider left after our world iced over. I, uhm… I lost my uncle. My mom, shortly after. She was captain of the police force.” 

There was a long pause. It was obvious that you weren’t too keen on divulging all the details just yet. Your eyes watered with the memory, a glimmering film of tears warbling over your lower lashes, and Miguel gently patted your knee in understanding, silently reassuring you that you didn’t have to tell him everything.

You drew in a deep breath. “I realized I had powers—I had all the abilities of a spider, and I could turn invisible, and withstand the cold much more than before. I was known as the Snow Spider. A lot of people died from the frost. I couldn’t save them. I tried to help as much as I could, but it was just never enough. And then… I met you.” A smile graced your expression, one that sparked life into Miguel’s heart. “I moved from just helping my city, to helping the entire multiverse.”

Before you knew it, Miguel was tying off the last stitch, biting the thread short with his sharp fangs once he was done. You murmured a sincere thanks, placing your palm flat against his chest, feeling the quick thrum of his heart slamming against his ribcage.

If you noticed how his pulse seemed to kick up a notch with your ministrations, you didn’t say anything. For that, Miguel was grateful.

“There you go. That’s a brief summary of my life story. It’s only fair if you tell me yours.”

The man met your gaze, irises dark and warring with conflict.

“What’s there to say? I got powers, just like you. I lost people, just like you. I built the Spider Society… and then I met you.” The last bit was said as he nudged you gently, and he offered you a tentative smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Hesitant, you lifted your hand, softly grazing your knuckles against his cheek. Icy was your touch, but it felt nice—almost addicting. He found himself leaning against your hand, shutting his eyes as he exhaled.

“You’re a mystery, Miguel,” you murmured, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to his cheek as thanks for patching you up, before sliding off the table to stride away. Miguel watched you go with a lump in his throat. “Luckily for you, I like mysteries.”

“How long has that been a thing? I haven’t noticed because I’ve been too busy thinking about my… miserable past,” sighed Ben, coming to stand beside Jessica, the two of them watching Miguel follow after you like a lost puppy, face uncharacteristically mellowed with an undeniable lovesick expression. 

“It’s not a thing,” she replied with an amused scoff. “Not yet, at least.”

You halted what you were doing and turned around to grin at Miguel. “Look, I stitched my suit back together. It’s good as new!” 

His dark, molten eyes gleamed with affection. “It looks great.” He caught sight of your web-shooters, fixed against the base of your hand. “I still can’t believe you need those.”

“Well, I can’t believe you have spinnerets embedded into your skin. I can’t tell if I’m more grossed out or curious to know more,” you shot back, taking his hand to inspect his wrist with narrowed eyes. “What other kind of powers do you have?”

With a roguish grin, he bared his teeth, sharp fangs drawing out. 

“I can never get over those. They’re kinda intimidating, but in a cool way.” Before you could stop yourself, you tacked on, “And really fucking hot.”

Heat crawled up his neck. He stared blankly at you. “They’re poisonous.”

Still, you smiled at him, all sweet and flustered. “Hm. It’s a shame, really. I definitely would’ve asked you to bite me if not for the venom.” Neither of you were quite sure if you were joking or not.

Miguel was certain he was going to combust into flames. “I can still bite you without injecting the poison into your system. It’s a voluntary response.”

To his surprise, you burst into a fit of laughter. Gods, he was absolutely smitten with that sound. The way your nose wrinkled, the side of your eyes creased, the shaking of your shoulders as you chuckled… it was all too much for Miguel.

“Don’t tempt me with a good time,” you warned.

“Oh, I can do much more than just tempt,” said the man in front of you, making your laughter taper away into silence. 

You studied him for a moment longer. Before you could say anything, both of your watches beeped simultaneously. With one more amused huff, you patted his shoulder, brushing past him and pulling your mask over your face. “Come on, mister. Anomalies to catch, universes to save… we can continue this conversation later.”

The months pass by in a blur. 

You were wrangling back another Doc Ock anomaly, having webbed up all his metal tentacles, easily tossing him into a temporary laser cage with a sweet smile. The villain was spitting obscenities, going on and on about the power of the sun in his grasp, how you’d ruined everything for him. 

“You’ll pay for this!” he yelled, slamming his fist against the glowing barrier. 

“Sorry, Doc,” you said with a mild grin. “I’ve met around a dozen of you, and so far, you were the most compliant. That makes you my favorite!”

You saluted him with a wink, before turning on your heel and striding away. It wasn’t long before Miguel found you, falling into step with your stride.

“Look at you, taking on anomalies all on your own,” he murmured lowly, nudging your side with his elbow. “Good job.”

With a scoff, you pulled off your mask, regarding him with an expectant gaze as you leaned forward, so close that your nose nearly brushed against his. He could feel the cold frost of your breath blow over the heated planes of his cheeks. “Well, then, Mr. O’Hara, wouldn’t I deserve a reward?”

The vampire-spider only flushed at your words, mouth falling open and shut as he struggled with a rebuttal. 

Your laugh, soft and tinkering, made his heart nearly seize within his chest. Still chuckling, you shoved away from him, saying that you had to get back to your universe to make sure everything was still in order there.

As you made your way out of the room, using your watch to portal through to your wintry hellscape, Jessica appeared out of nowhere beside him, one hand on her heavily pregnant belly, and the other cocked upon her hip. 

“God, you really can’t be more obvious, can you?” she asked.

Miguel spared her a glance, snapping out of his reverie and standing up straighter. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Everyone knows you’re in love with the Snow Spider. And don’t you deny it—I know a liar when I see one.” She watched Miguel frown, but didn’t bother protesting her claim. “Yeah. That’s what I thought. Tell them, you big grump. Y/N deserves to know.”

Before he could reply, Jessica was already hastening away, yelling over her shoulder that she had to go to the bathroom because the damn baby was kicking against her bladder again.

Jealousy was not an emotion Miguel was well acquainted with. Ever since he witnessed an entire universe crumbling away in front of him, he was careful not to get too attached to anything. To anyone.

But he did. He grew attached to Jessica, who was his most trusted friend, always giving him the best advice and always available to lend him a helping hand. Though he’d never admit it, Miguel was also rather fond of Ben and his obnoxious penchant for his dramatic tragedies. And, most obvious of all, he was undoubtedly very close to his best soldier, Lego Peter.

Then there was you.

It infuriated him—the way you’d smile around him, give him the most fleeting of touches, always pleasantly cold, leaving prickly goosebumps in your wake. You would offer him an affectionate nudge and a myriad of teasing compliments that made his stomach want to fold in upon itself. But Miguel tried not to think too much of it: you were a generally kind person, with many of the Spiders in the society taking a certain liking to you. It didn’t go past his notice that you’d caught more than a few romantic eyes. Every time a Peter or a Ben would openly flirt with you, he could feel himself bristling, bile rising within his throat.

Again, Miguel wasn’t used to feeling jealous. He wanted to be the one cooking dinner for you, holding you in his arms, kissing you, touching you—

To his relief, you never paid them much mind, often politely declining with a poorly-forged excuse of having to return to your universe.

It was nearly a year since you’d first met Miguel when you were at Headquarters, holding a babbling Mayday as she crawled all over you. You laughed when she climbed up onto your shoulders, slipping down into your hands with a gleeful coo, blue eyes bright and wide. With gentle hands, you brushed her messy ginger hair away from her face. 

“She doesn’t look like you, huh?” you asked Peter B. Parker. “She must be a carbon copy of her momma.”

“A good thing,” admitted the man beside you, muffling a yawn as he dug the heels of his palms into his sleep-deprived eyes, adorned with dark bags. “Wouldn’t want her taking after her old man, now would I?”

“Why not?” you asked, amusedly watching when May shot out a web from her tiny shooters, swinging away to clumsily scale a nearby wall. “I think you’re very handsome. Trust me, the sleep-deprived look is very trendy right now. In my universe, at least. Nobody can really sleep well with the never-ending cold we got going there.”

Peter gave you a loose smile. “You know what, you’re right. Dad bods are making a comeback. By the way, did I tell you about my coin collection—”

Before Peter could finish what he was saying, your watch beeped noisily, and Ben’s slumped hologram appeared over your wrist. “Y/N, I’m glad you’re here,” he said. You had to hold your tongue not to retort that he was the one that’d called you. “I need you to come comfort me and hold onto my strong, muscular arms as I tell you about my gruesome past.” The pale image of Ben flickered as he flexed his biceps. 

You rolled your eyes to the side. Ben had become a close friend during your time with the Spider Society, nearly inseparable after you’d saved his life from an Electro anomaly once. That man was quite the emotional one, he was.

“I’ll be there, just give me a minute.” 

“Bring me one of those Spider-burgers, will you? Extra ketchup and no p—”

You tapped at your watch and his hologram disappeared before he could finish his request. With a mild wince, you glanced at Peter. “You wanna come with me and listen to Ben dramatically mope for an hour? I’ll treat you and May to Spider-burgers, because it looks like I’ll have to stop by there, anyway.”

“I would, I really would, but I gotta put May down for a nap,” he said with a sympathetic slant of his lips. As if on cue, the baby fell back into Peter’s arms, yawning widely. Bouncing her up and down, Peter absent-mindedly remarked, “Make sure Miguel doesn’t catch you being all sweet with Ben. That guy is crazy about you. Hah, he’d lose his marbles!” 

You blinked.

“What?”

Peter froze, realizing what he’d just said.

“What?” he parroted.

“No, uh, what did you say, about Miguel being…”

“Nothing! Huh? I didn’t say anything.”

“Yes, you did. I heard you. Peter, what are you saying? Miguel is—?” 

Sheepish, Peter scratched the back of his head. “Oh, wow, would you look at the time!” Peter pulled down the sleeve of his pink bathrobe to mimic looking at the watch. He hastily stepped away. “I have to go. I didn’t say anything. Bye! I’d love a Spider-burger with you another time! Bye! See you later!”

You watched in bewilderment when the older man swung away with his baby in his hands, muttering out a long string of panicked curses under his breath.

Miguel was crazy about you?

After a few seconds of deliberating your next move, you shot out a web and swung away, heading to Miguel’s private office, where you knew he would be buried in figuring out a solution to the influx of new anomalies. Surely Ben would be alright with you showing up a bit late (he wouldn’t, but you had more pressing matters at hand).

“Hey, Miguel,” you greeted with a soft voice, slipping inside after knocking twice. “Hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”

The man offered you a warm grin. “Never a bad time with you. What’s going on?”

“Well, I just… I had a rather interesting talk with Peter B,” you started, striding across the office until you stood just in front of his desk, with Miguel on the other side.

He tilted his head. “Was it about that collection of coins he lost to an anomaly? He needs to get over that.”

“I—what? The poor guy lost his coin collection? He’d been working on that for years!” Shaking your head, you mindfully got back on track. “Well, no, that’s not what we talked about.”

Dark eyes narrowing, Miguel crossed his arms, deadpanning, “What did he tell you?”

There was a rather mischievous hue to your expression that Miguel misliked. Slow and deliberate, you stepped around the desk, fingers dragging along the smooth top. You stood so close to him that your chest was only a hair’s breadth from his—if he were to take too deep a breath, the two of you would be touching by now.

“Hm… Peter accidentally let slip that you have feelings for me. Is that true, Miguel?” The way his name rolled off your tongue nearly made him choke as his brain short-circuited. 

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, echoing the exact thing he had said to Jess a month ago. 

You studied him, gaze dragging from his stiff face, to his tense stature, and back up again. It may have been a trick of light, but Miguel could swear he saw your eyes linger on his lips. 

With a hum, you leaned even closer. He could hear your heart thrumming now, a steady, strong beat���which completely juxtaposed against his own rapid pulse, drumming loud within his ears. Up this close, he could smell your perfume, see the flecks of color within your pretty eyes, notice the way your lips quirked up with a sweet smile. Even whilst teasing him, you made sure that you weren’t overstepping any bounds, giving him ample time to step away if need be.

“Oh,” you said, feigning confusion. Your hand rested upon his clavicle, nails lightly dragging down his neck. A sharp thrill struck down Miguel’s spine at the sensation. You were barely touching him, for God’s sake! “So you wouldn’t mind if I… go ask Ben out for dinner?”

A beat of silence. Miguel’s brows knitted together.

The next words were susurrated as you dipped forward to nudge your nose along his neck, pressing a cold whisper of a kiss along the underside of his jaw. “Or if I… I don’t know… if I invite him to stay at my place for the night?” 

Of course, there was no real weight to your words. Ben was simply a good friend, but damn if you didn’t enjoy the way Miguel’s eyes twitched.

Finally snapping, a low growl rumbled within his chest, his hands shooting out to grab your waist. You were cold to the touch, the ice to his fire, as his fingers curled over your back, shoving you up against the wall behind his desk. As if on instinct, your hands came to clutch at his broad shoulders.

You smiled, wide and triumphant. You’d finally broke him. 

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he gruffed, staring deep into your eyes to make sure you were alright with this. The last thing he wanted to do was make you uncomfortable. From your gleeful expression, Miguel could see that you were just the opposite. 

“Oka—mmph!” 

His lips slanted over yours, warm and rough, yet cold and soft at the same time. It was a kiss of starkly juxtaposing contrasts, heavy with months and months of unspoken yearning. His large nose brushed against your cheek, angling his face to kiss you harder—deeper. 

When one of your hands slithered up the back of his neck to tug at the roots of his dark hair, he sighed against your mouth, breaking the kiss to lean his forehead over yours.

“He was right,” said Miguel.

“Who was?”

“Peter. I do have feelings for you.”

You kissed the corner of his mouth, nudging your nose against his sharp cheekbone. “Really? I would’ve never guessed.” He surged forward to kiss you again, relishing in the way you just about melted into his touch. “If it wasn’t obvious already, I really like you, too.”

At your admission, Miguel beamed, loose and hesitant. “You still planning on asking Ben out to dinner and having him stay over at your place, then?”

You tapped a finger onto your chin, pretending to have a good, long think about it. “Give me a good reason to stay, and I won’t.” At Miguel’s slightly crestfallen expression, you patted his cheek, quick to say, “God, Miguel, I was just kidding. Ben and I are good friends. You and I, however… I wouldn’t exactly call you a friend—”

His lips met yours again, stealing the rest of your words from you. 

When you smiled into the kiss, he smiled back. It was a bit too early for love, sure, but Miguel already knew he was in too deep to back out.

He was falling in love with you. 

The thought terrified him to no end, but he merely kissed you harder, and clutched you all the closer to him.

[astroboots]

Stitches and Claws

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You find yourself in a compromising position on your knees when you help stitch up Miguel's wounds.

Content: Blowjob, riding cock, overstimulation, fangs and claws. Miguel kind of likes his horniness with a little bit of pain? Just a smidge.

Word Count: 3.3k

Astroboot’s Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist

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"Miguel, can you please just relax?"

"I am relaxed," comes the sharp reply, as he glares down at you. Jaw so tense, you're surprised his molar teeth hasn't cracked under the pressure.

Your hand comes to his knee, as you spread them wider, and you can feel the plane of his thighs tense underneath your palm.

Yeah, the man is anything but relaxed.

Miguel is still in his suit. Skin covered in dark blue and red. The only part of him not covered in the fancy spandex (and if he heard you call it that he'd be livid, cause it's Unstable Molecule fabric, not spandex) is that scowling face of his and a small patch on the inside of his left thigh. An area the size of your hand that's bare, revealing his tanned skin underneath and a nasty looking injury.

You poise the needle in your hand against the gaping wound. You don't even get the chance to make skin contact with the tip before he's hissing at you like some damned feral cat.

"I haven't even touched you yet. This is going to hurt a hell of a lot more if you keep fighting me."

You probably sound more than a little bit irritated, because this position isn't exactly comfortable. The hardwood floor is digging into your knees, and with hindsight you should've taken the cushion he'd offered you before.

God, up close, that wound look really bad. Four inches in length, red and angry. You're not a doctor. You don't know why the hell you agreed to do this. For all you know you're going to get the wound infected or worse.

"Miggy, I don't know about this, don't you think it's better go to a hospital. What if it gets infected? You'll end up with gangrene and then we'll have to amputate it and then what?"

"That's not going to happen. It's a tiny cut."

"Fine, but I'm not a medical professional and I'm probably gonna make it scar to shit."

"So it'll scar. It'll be your permanent mark on me."

"I'm worried I'm going to mess this up".

"No", he says, shaking his head. "I trust you."

Your cheeks warm at the words, barely able to look him in the eyes after he's said it.

Fuck, he'd have to go and pull that card didn't he?

With a big sigh and bigger reluctance, you dip your head down as you pierce the needle through the skin, threading it across. There's a muffled pained noise from above. The leather of your armchair squeaks as he grips it tight.

A sympathetic ache tugs in your chest at his pain and your hand still against his thigh. "Do I need to stop?"

"No, keep going," he bites out through gritted teeth.

From the corner of your eyes, you catch a glimpse of the pointed edges of his corner teeth protruding against his bottom lip. It's hard to keep your hands still when your fingertips tingle at the sight of them.

Jesus, you need to get your head out of the gutter. This is hardly the time. You persevere, dipping back down for a better view, so you can sew up the gaping wound as best as you can, ignoring the warmth of his firm thighs that are caging you in at your sides.

You try to pretend you don't hear the strained noises he's making. (Noises that are much too similar to the ones he makes when he's the one between your thighs). Practically bury your head into his thigh so you can no longer see the way his broad chest heaves or how he bites down hard on his lip when you make another stitch.

"Stop, stop!" he demands.

His hand grips down hard on your shoulder, pressing you backwards, but you ignore it, because the needle is already halfway through his skin, and for a man who is constantly battling supervillains on skyscrapers with jetpacks and regularly crashes into skyscrapers, he can be such a baby sometimes.

"Miguel, stop, I need to--"

"Enough!" He growls, his hand pushes more insistently, determined to pry you off him until your ass lands on the hardwood floor behind you.

"Let me do it myself."

Let him? Let him?! As if you had forced him to make you do this? This asshole. Swear to god! He's the one who came home in this state, plonked his dumptruck ass in your chair and asked you to help him. He's the one who sweet-talked you with his: "I trust you," when you had soundly suggested he go to the hospital.

He's always like this. Running hot then cold. Asking you to help, then pushing you away in the next second. It's a miracle you don't have permanent neck injuries with the metaphorical whiplashes he keeps giving you.

You drag your eyes upwards, the way he's hunched on himself in your chair, covering his thigh. His face is turned to the side away from you.

You don't know why he's being so unhelpful about this.

Stitching up your superhero boyfriend with a $10 Amazon sewing kit isn't your idea of a perfect Saturday night. But now that you've started you need to finish up with the stitches, you can't just leave it as it is.

"I'm sorry that I went too rough. If I hurt you, I can go slower, okay?"

He doesn't answer you, just drags one large hand over his face. It's only then that you notice that his ears and bits of his cheeks are flushed a darker shade of red than the tanned tone of his hand.

"That's not the problem I'm having," he mutters.

"Well then, can you tell me what the problem is?"

No answer.

Leaning forward, you place your hand back on his knee. That finally seems to get his attention and he removes his hand.

"You said you trusted me right? So let me know what's wrong so I can take care of you. Please?"

For all his obstinate stubbornness, Miguel is just as susceptible as you are to that card. He groans dramatically, collapsing back into the chair with a defeated expression on his face.

His legs shift in the chair, spreading outwards. The arm draped across his lap falls away, and the tight fit of his supersuit does absolutely nothing to disguise the shape of his cock, hard and heavy under the clinging fabric.

Oh. oh.

Clearly you’re not the only one being affected by the forced proximity of this situation.

"See the problem?" he says.

You look up and his eyes flicker away sheepishly. If you didn't know better, and if it wasn't for the scowl still plastered on his face, you might've mistaken him for being embarrassed. If you didn't know better, you might've made the mistake of calling him cute.

You ache between your thighs at the sight of him. But even though there's nothing more you'd like than leap into his lap and fill that ache with every inch of him, there's other priorities right now.

Crawling forward, you shoulder your way back between his thighs and settle there.

"Let me finish," you insist. "If you let me finish, then I'll help you with your problem."

It's an uneven bargain to say the last. Because the reward you're offering him, is something you want more than your next breath, and you have to bite back the 'ohthankyousweetjesus' on the tip of your tongue, when he gives you a small nod to seal the deal.

Maybe it's your newfound incentive, but this time as you pinch the needle between your fingers to stitch him up, it's a swift and efficient ordeal. You refuse to allow yourself to get distracted, eyes focused on your goal, even as you hear him groan above or shift underneath you. Not until the last stitch is done.

When you finally let yourself tilt your head back up. His eyes are pinned on your face, and you can see now that the familiar brown shade replaced by a red tinge.

Your tongue is heavy in your mouth, and you try to keep your eyes fixed on his, holding the contact as you lean forward. Anticipation rides heavy on your spine, as your mouth inches forward, until your lip press against the thin fabric of his crotch, and you nuzzle against the rigid shape of him.

The leather of your chair creaks, and there's a rip. From this angle your view is a bit obscured, but you catch sight of his hands, the firm unforgiving grip he has on your poor armchair. The extended sharp talons piercing through the soft leather in his excitement.

All you hear from above, is a breathy, "Fuck", then the thin fabric separating him from your mouth disintegrates, the dark blue fabric making way for his tanned skin underneath.

Then he's right there. Bare and naked for you to touch. His cock jutting upright between his thighs. He's ruddy and flushed, the fat tip of him glistening with precome that wells from the slit that you can practically already taste on the tip of your tongue.

Your mouth salivates as you part your lips to take him.

To call Miguel thick is an understatement. It's a struggle to fit him in your mouth, your jaw strain with the effort as you slide him further down. As deep as you can, until the blunt tip nudges against the back of your throat and you have to swallow around him in a panicked fit to suppress the reflexive gag pushing back in you.

It's always the hardest the first time. Your mind and throat instinctively fighting you, as you try to swallow down the intimidating girth of him.

"Take it slow nena," Miguel rasps from somewhere above. His voice is a slow and melted hum that drips sweet and honeyed in your veins, and that helps.

You take a deep inhale from your nose, taking in the familiar musky scent of him, and feel your throat relax around him, accommodating to his thickness.

Your thighs ache with arousal. Panties wet and slick as you clench down around nothing. Everything is tightly wound inside you. Your stomach heavy with the dizzying heat as the weight of him rests so fucking perfectly on your tongue.

It's all you can take. You shove your fumbling fingers between your thighs, tugging at the edge of your panties until the obscene wetness greets you and drag it up against your clit.

Relief and pleasure surges through your head, filling your veins with the sensation and you rock into the palm of your hand seeking for more of your own touch.

"Are you touching yourself?"

Your fingers still at the question. You're not exactly embarrassed, it's not like you're doing anything wrong, but you feel sheepish all the same at being caught.

You pull off his cock, letting it slide between your lips and when you finally look back up, he's staring down at you with a dark hunger in those otherworldly crimson eyes like he wants to eat you whole.

"Fuck, come up here," he directs, but you ignore him. Tongue lapping at the tip, savouring the heady taste of him as you run the flatness of your tongue down the length of him.

"Nena," he bites off impatiently. "Up!"

He doesn't wait for your reply this time. So fucking impatient this man.

He's already lunging forward, arms circling your torso as he pulls you up and into his lap with an impressive ease. His arm comes to your thighs, rearranging you to his liking in his lap, one large hand gripping his cock as he positions you above.

"Sit on my cock, nena. Ride me."

Your eyes flit to the poorly stitched up wound on his thigh that looks flimsy to say the least.

"Won't that hurt you?"

His head tilts, brow arching with that sardonic expression of his as if he doesn't see what the problem is. "And?"

This is such a bad idea. But you'd be lying to yourself if you said you wanted to stop now. Instead you settle on a compromise to ensure that you can at least limit the potential damage on him.

"You have to stay still for me, or you'll tear the stitches," you warn.

He nods perfunctorily in agreement and you don't think he's even listening to you. No surprise there, Miguel has never been the best at listening to yours (or anyone's) instructions. He'll do what he wants as he sees fit.

But you can't find it in you to stop. Not when you wrap your hand around the base of his cock, and the velvety smoothness of it twitch in your grip. Not when you notch the tip of his cock to your slick entrance and can feel yourself dripping down his length.

The only thing you care about is to have him inside you.

You lower yourself onto him, sliding down, inch by maddening inch, as that thickness stretches you to your limits and white hot pleasure invades every one of your cells until you feel drunk on the sensation.

"That's it," he encourages, with a sharp inhale, hand gripping to the sides of your hips. The honed edge of his talons gripping into your flesh, but never breaking the skin.

Your thighs are shaking as you inch down on him until they are pressed flush to his hips, and his cock is kissing that perfect spot deep inside you that has your vision whiten. Thick and sweet.

As promised, he doesn't move. Even though you can tell from the muscle twitching in his jaw, that there's nothing more he wants than to flip you over and thrust into you hard and deep until you're screaming his name with a force that makes your lungs burn out.

You lift your hips, savoring the sweet drag of his cock against your cunt, slow and unhurried until only the blunt tip of him rests inside you and stay there.

"Nena," Miguel says, and the nickname on his tongue sounds like a warning.

He's not a fan of the slow pace you're giving him apparently.

But you've never been one to heed his warnings. Instead you slide down on him, just as slowly, letting his cock fill you at a leisurely pace and it is fucking heaven.

You still as he bottoms up inside you, before you do it all over again. And again. Then again. To each grumpy groan of his that's mixed with pleasure and impatience. Then you do it again.

It's only a matter of time before his short-spanned patience snap. You can practically see it in the furrowed line of his thick brows, as you raise yourself up on his knees. His sharp canines bites down on his bottom lip, breaking the skin and that is all the warning you get before his arms wraps tight around your ribs, knocking the very breath out of your lungs.

Miguel's arms pushes you down flush on his cock, it's strong and demanding. A stubborn grip until he makes sure you've taken all of him to the root. It's blinding you with the force of it, and all you can do as he buries his face, sharp teeth poised at your shoulders, is whine.

Good, it feels so fucking good. The sweet ache of his cock filling every inch of you. You can't think anymore.

You try to raise yourself again on his cock but you wobble, the muscles in your thighs screaming in protest and gives under, unable to lift yourself back up again.

Fuck, you don't know if you can move anymore.

In a split of a second, Miguel straightens up and pulls you into his chest. "So pretty, nena," he groans into your skin, while he ruts up and into you, fucking his cock deeper.

You should probably scold him. Try to stop him somehow, so that he doesn't rip the tenuous stitches on his wound. But you can't bring yourself to open your mouth. Not when it feels this good. Not when aching pleasure is pulling you down under and robbing you of your breath and every word in your vocabulary.

"You feel so fucking good. Stretched so tight around me. Just so fucking pretty when you take my cock."

The sharp edge of his fangs skirts gently across the soft flesh of your throat, and sets every nerve in you alight. Every part of you tingles. From the tip of your fingers to the curl of your toes. That telltale warmth and heat coiling in your stomach and spreads outwards ratcheting up to a fever pitch.

Your orgasm breaks. It rushes over you, hard and punishing. Your body shakes, thighs tensing and your heart is beating hard and fast into a gallop in your chest. You shake and tremble in his lap as it courses through your veins. Lungs squeezed painfully tight as the sweet bliss of it invades your ribs and you struggle to catch your breath.

You still feel it, rushing and pulsing from your stomach down your thighs, it doesn't even have a moment to properly subside.

Miguel doesn't stop. His hands are already on your waist, lifting you up and almost off his still hard cock and you gasp at the shift in pressure inside you. You're clenching down around the fat tip of him reflexively, and there's no time to adjust, no time to think, next thing you know, he lifts his hips while pushing you down on the length of his cock. All in one swift, and harsh, unforgiving motion.

It's so much, too much. You whimper at the next thrust, the whole of your body wracked in shivers as the sensation overfloods your brain. As good as if it feels, you don't know if you can't take much more.

"Keep going, don't stop. I know it's hard nena. I know you're sensitive." he coos, his hands are gentle on your hips, guiding your movements, but for all his sweet cajoling words, and for all that you're struggling he's not easing up.

"Keep going. Keep squeezing my cock like that and I'll fill you up. I'll fill you up with every drop of me."

He keeps encouraging you, as if you have any other choice but to take his demanding thrusts. As if there is anywhere for you to go with how firmly he's holding you to him.

Fuck you can't, you can't-- oh fuck, you're--

Your arms scramble to grab onto something, anything, fingers digging deep into the firm muscles underneath.

It's chaos.

He thrusts up again. Deep and demanding and your brain shortcircuits.

Sharp electricity surges through your spine and it is blinding. All you can do is hold on to him, to claw on and hold for dear life, or you're pretty sure you're gonna fall off the edge of the earth into oblivion if you lose your grip.

Distantly, you hear him hiss in your ear, feel his hips stutter up against yours, cock pulsing inside of you, but you're too far gone to piece it all together.

All you know is that you're coming again or maybe you never stopped and this is that first orgasm still wreaking havoc on your body. Maybe it'll never stop. The sensation feels like a punch to your gut, consuming and all at once. Your eyes must cross behind your head, because your vision goes dark and blank, wiped clean of thoughts. The room seems to tilt, and crash then disappear. There's no weight to your limbs, and your thighs are so numb, you're not even sure they are there anymore. Your body is not your own.

When you come to, you're still perched on his lap. You feel like wrung out and boneless, body spent and broken. His arms wrapped around your torso the only thing that's keeping you upright.

The arms of your leather chair have been scratched up to hell. Long claw marks brandishing each side.

He looks like an absolute mess. Brown curl a deranged mop on the top of his head, sheen of sweat over his tanned skin. But he looks good, messy. Looks fucking beautiful in a way that has your chest squeeze tight when you gaze at him.

Miraculously, the stitches on his thigh has held up somehow and you feel more than a little ounce of pride of your own sewing skills at the feat.

Your hands slide off of him from where they're still gripping on tight onto him and Miguel's eyes follow the motion to his biceps where your nails have broken through skin. The tiny crescent marks looks red and raw and painful.

"Shit, Miggy I'm sorry."

He blinks up at you, eyes a little bit dazed before he breaks out into a smile. He raises his arm and looks at the mark with a pleased and admiring expression one filled with pride.

"I hope it leaves a scar," he says.

Dedication & Credits:

For @thirstworldproblemss who had to listen to me figure this one out, I'm still trying to find my voice for Miguel so sorry if this is a bit clunky for you.

Also dedicated to @guruan whose artwork literally inspires me to write/think/breathe smut 24-7 like a 7-eleven store. It's always open for slut business here. This artpiece with the spread thighs definitely inspired this oneshot.

I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

[allysunny]

Safe in my Arms

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Drunk!Fem!Reader

Synopsys: A nigth out with your friends turns into you getting drunk. You're lucky your sweet Miggy has come to pick you up.

Words: 3.5k words

Warnings: Alcohol and being drunk, duh, reader is said to be shorter than Miguel and is wearing makeup, lots of fluff and a bit of crack, some suggestive themes. It's just a nice, fluffy and funny fic overall. Untranslated spanish, do tell me if I fucked that up, please.

A/N: Hey everyone!!!! So, three nigths ago I got fucking plastered and I was wondering about how nice it would be if Miguel was there to pick me up and take care of me. I love this man so much, he'd be the best at taking care of a drunk person, fight me.

It's kinda short and it's not my best work, because when I thought about writing it, I was drunk,,, and as I sobered up the inspiration kind of disappeared? I still think it's rather sweet though, and I hope y'all will enjoy it.

“There you are, mi vida,” An extremely tall and rather handsome man said as he approached you near the bar. You’d been hanging out with your friends, celebrating the very-much promotion one of them had gotten. So far, it had been amazing. You all had been downing drinks and dancing to the sound of the catchy pop music playing on the speakers, and while you admitted your head felt lighter than it should be, and your limbs were getting harder to move around, you were still having an amazing town.

“Who are you?” you asked, narrowing your eyes ever so slightly to try and get a look at the stranger’s face. All you could make out were sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw, and what seemed like a soft smile playing on his lips.

“It’s me, honey, it’s Miguel. I’m here to take you home, do you have your things?”

Half of the things he said went over your head, the music far too loud and drowning out most of his speech. You shook your head and took a few steps backwards, putting your hands up.

“Sorry man, not interested. I’m here with a couple of friends.” You turned away from him and faced the very same friends you had just mentioned. The one being celebrated, Katie, smiled, somehow not noticing the imposing figure that stood behind you. You simply took her hand and spun her around a few times, laughing loudly as your feet swayed and the two of you tripped over and over again.

Another girl approached you to – rather, Miguel, and sighed before offering him an apologetic smile.

“Sorry to call you, she’s incredibly drunk and I didn’t want her doing anything stupid. I think it’d better if she goes home.”

Miguel gave her a tight-lipped smile and chuckled.

“Thank you for calling me. Before she left home, she said, and I quote, ‘Don’t worry Miggy, I’ll maybe have one or two drinks and head home.” He turned to you, standing on wobbly legs, and shouting loudly over the music.

“Well, you know her.”

“I do.” He nodded, before taking a few steps forward. “Thank you for calling me again, I’ll take her home now.”

“Thanks. Let us know when you two make it?”

“Of course.”

The girl walked away, leaving Miguel to look around himself – somehow, you’d disappeared in the middle of the crowd, and for a few seconds, it scared him shitless. Where the shock had you gone? You were standing just a few feet away from him just now. He turned around, walking and dodging the dancing bodies on the dance floor before he spotted someone whose hair resembled yours. Squinting, he made out your figure, leaning over the bar and gesticulating wildly.

Miguel approached you, sighing once more.

“ – And make it a double!” you yelled, before turning to face your friend and continuing to chat excitedly.

“Honey, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to have another drink,” Miguel said as he walked up to you. He wanted to wrap an arm around your waist, or place a gentle hand on your lower back, but he knew you were intoxicated and might be upset that he was touching you so freely. So, he simply stood by your side, hands itching to touch, but never doing so.

“You again? Look man, I have no idea who you are, but I’d appreciate it if you left me alone.” You mumbled, eyeing him with disgust. “I have a boyfriend, and he could be here within a few minutes and kick your ass. So, if you don’t want to taste the floor, I’d recommend backing away from me.”

It broke Miguel’s heart to have you address him so roughly, with such harsh words. But it also filled him with a sense of pride – even intoxicated, you knew how to stand your ground. It also made him smile how you were quick to mention him.

“Cariño, it’s me, Miguel. I think you’ve had enough to drink, don’t you?” he asked, voice as gentle as possible, considering the loudness of the club.

You let out a snort and looked him up and down, suspicion evident in your eyes.

“You!? Miguel!? Yeah, sure, buddy. You’re not even half the man he is.”

Miguel crossed his arms, an amused smirk playing in his lips.

“Really? I’m not?”

“Not even close.” You faced the bar once again and smiled at the bartender who placed a drink in front of you.

“How so?”

“Well, first of all,” you took a sip of your drink, humming in appreciation, “You’re not as tall.”

“Ah. Not as tall?”

“Mhm. Miguel is huge, he’s this tall!” You faced him and stood on the tips of your toes, hand up to illustrate a height you clearly couldn’t reach. “He towers over me, you know, he’s huuuuuuuuge! And he’s super handsome, and you’re clearly not.”

“You don’t think I’m handsome?”

“Why would I? When I have my Miggy at home waiting for me?” You punctuated your statement with a large gulp from your drink. Miguel wanted to stop you, but he didn’t want to scare you by taking another step forward. “He’s the best boyfriend ever – you know, he gets up real early because he has a super important job, but he always makes time to cook breakfast for me.”

“He sounds like a dream,” The man before you nodded, leaning against the bar.

“Oh, he is. And he’s so kind and considerate. You know, people say he’s grumpy and mean, but I don’t really buy that.”

“Grumpy? Mean?” Miguel knew people didn’t think of him as the most affectionate or outgoing or overall happy person out there, but it was never nice to find out people spoke about him behind his back. Nothing he wasn’t used to, but it still hurt. However, your sweet words made up for it – they always did. You never chastised him for being standoffish, or for not being as excited as you were sometimes, or for being kind of a glum. You embraced him for who he was, giving him the space he needed when he needed it, and loving him and his traits completely. You never minded that he seemed a bit grumpy or rude, it was simply who he was. Besides, he was never rude to you. Sometimes he could be grumpy, yes, but he never once raised his voice at you or treated you badly. He was the sweetest when he was around you, all honest smiles, and relaxed hugs.

“Yeah. People say he’s like an all-year-round Grinch, but I don’t buy it. He’s so nice to me. He loves me so much and proves it every day. I don’t care what people say about him, I love him, and I think he’s fantastic, and really handsome, and so nice, and I love him, and I am not going to abandon him for you because we’re happy together. And you’re a stinky homewrecker!”

Miguel had to chuckle at that. He knew just how honest you were, and it would seem the alcohol in your blood was only amplifying that honesty. He nodded and reached for his phone, turning it on and showing you his lockscreen. Your face contorted in confusion as your eyes raked across the two figures on his phone. Your Miguel, in a dashing black suit, his arm tightly wrapped around you, wearing a dress that matched the colour of his burgundy tie.

You scrunched your nose, and looked from the picture to the strange man, and from the strange man to the picture.

“How do you have this picture of me and Miggy?”

“I told you, cariño, it’s me. I’m Miguel, I’ve come to pick you up.”

You shook your head.

“No, you’re not Miguel. I told you, you’re not as tall, nor as handsome, and you don’t sound like him. I’m not stupid, you know. I’m not gonna fall for this.”

You picked up your drink once more, and he sighed, trying to come up with something, anything that would make you stop drinking.

“How could I prove it to you?”

“Huh?” Your hand stopped mid-air and you frowned.

“How can I prove to you that I’m Miguel?”

“Hmmm….” You rubbed your chin comically and offered him a grin. “How did we meet?”

Miguel smiled softly.

“We were at the library. I wanted a book on Genetic Science, and you wanted a book on botany. Somehow, they were in the same shelf, although they really shouldn’t have been. I accidentally dropped by book when I saw you were on the other side of the shelf, and you helped me. The rest was history.”

Your expression of confusion had turned to a silly smile of content. You really did like your little meet-cute and bragged about having such a cute story to tell your friends and possibly your children in the future.

“Anyone could’ve told you that.”

“They really couldn’t.”

“Yeah, they could! Next question. What’s 40 + 40?”

Miguel raised an eyebrow.

“How does that prove anything?”

“My Miggy is super smart, he’d know the answer.”

“It’s 80. Honey, please, let’s go home. It’s getting late and you need to be taken care of, your hangover tomorrow is going to kill you, and I’d like to help minimize it.”

“What flowers did my Miggy bring me last week?”

“Peonies. Pink ones, just like the ones you’d seen at the park last month. I know just how much you liked them, so I brought a fresh bouquet home. You almost cried, because you were on your period, and you told me it was fate because just as I'd done something nice for you, you'd done something nice for me and had cooked me those empanadas I like.”

As the man before you recalled the memory, your features softened, and he shifted before your eyes. He wasn’t a stranger – far from it. That was your Miggy staring right at you. His kind brown eyes, his fluffy hair, his sharp jaw that you loved to trace with your fingers on lazy Sundays.

“Miggy?” your whole body relaxed, and you reached forward. Miguel understood immediately and gathered you in his arms, sighing of relief. Now that you remembered who he was, he could get you home safely. It’d be alright.

“Yeah, that’d be me.” He hugged you back tightly, rubbing circles on your back with his hand. “How about we go home? You need to get some rest.”

“You gonna take care of me, Miggy?” You looked up at him with a dazzling smile that he returned.

“Of course I am. You got your things?”

You move away from him to go back to your booth. You fetch your things (with a little bit of help from your boyfriend), say goodbye to your friends, and follow him outside of the club.

All it took was a few steps outside of the building and in the direction of Miguel’s car for you to lean over to your left and empty the contents in your stomach.

“Mierda,” Miguel whispered, holding back your hair and your clothes, and making sure you were okay. You weren’t. You sobbed for a while about how you were “utterly disgusting”, accused him of never wanting to see you again because he’d seen you puke and you were sure he was disgusted and thought you were disgusting, and now your life was ruined because you just loved him so much and you couldn’t live without him, and how were you supposed to move on when he was the love of your life and wanted to break up over some vomit?

“And – and – and I just love you so much – and if you leave me, I will never be the same, and I promise I will never vomit ever again, please don’t leave me, Miggy, we’re so happy together aren’t we? And there’s no need to ruin that over something as stupid as vomiting, and, and – “

“Ven aquí,” Miguel mumbled, pulling you close to him. He took a tissue out of his pocket – did he know this was gonna happen? – and wiped your mouth. Your eyes were sparkling as he placed a kiss on your forehead. “I’m not leaving you because you vomited. ¿Me entiendes?”

“Really?”

“Really. I love you, and no amount of vomit would make me stop loving you.”

You placed a hand on your mouth, making a gagging noise.

“Please don’t say ‘vomit’ again, or I’m – “

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. C’mon, let’s get you home.”

And that’s exactly what Miguel did. He brought you to his car, buckled you in (stopping halfway to kiss your face once or twice) and drove home. He was kind enough to not speed up too much, making sure to take turns extremely slow for your sake.

Once you got to your building, you nearly burst into tears again.

“The seventh floor!?” You exclaimed, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “I don’t wanna – I can’t do all of that. I’ll just sleep here, and you’ll come get me in the morning. How is that, huh?”

“C’mere, muñeca.”

Without any more words, he picked you up in his arms, and you sighed in relief, burying your face in his neck. He smelled like Alchemax and coffee and him and you felt like the smell itself could lull you to sleep. He carried you up the stairs up to the seventh floor as if it was nothing – and it really wasn’t.

“Alright, we’re here.” He said, opening the door to your shared apartment. He put you down and carried you to your couch, where he left you for a few minutes while he prepared a light snack and some pills.

“I don’t wanna eat, Miggy, don’t wanna throw up again,” you whined.

“You can’t take these on an empty stomach, and you need to take these, otherwise tomorrow your pretty little head is going to hurt like hell. So, eat up.”

You groaned and threw your head back, but complied, nonetheless. Your boyfriend was an Alchemax scientist (not to mention Spider-Man), so he was pretty smart. He must know what he’s doing.

“Fiiiiiiiiine….” You took the crackers in the plate in front of you and gulped them down in an instant. They were nice – soft enough for your stomach to keep them inside, but still tasty enough to feel like food. Miguel surely was smart, how did he even come up with this?

Once you were done, you downed the glass of water and the few pills Miguel had placed on top of the small coffee table in front of you. You had no idea what they were for, but if he told you to take them, then that must mean it was for your own good.

“Alright, ready to take a bath?” Miguel asked as he appeared from inside your bedroom.

“A bath?”

“Yeah, don’t you want to clean up before bed? I can help you.”

You shook your head, whining softly. Your head was beginning to spin a tad less than when you were in the club, but you were sure you were going to either fall asleep or fall on the floor should you want to take a bath.

“Miggy, ‘m so tired…” you mumbled, leaning your head against the couch’s headrest. “Can’t we just go to sleep? I’ll shower in the morning… You can shower with me in the morning you know, and you can do that thing I really like, the one with your tongue, and – “

“Sí, sí. I get it.” He chuckled lightly before moving towards you. Miguel helped you up, steading you with an arm around your waist, just like he’d wanted to do at the club. Only now, you were completely out of harm’s way. “At least let’s get your makeup off and brush your teeth. Is that okay?”

“Mhm. That’s okay.”

Miguel led you to the bathroom, where he placed you on top of the sink in front of him. You laughed as you often did at his displays of strength and closed your eyes as he gently cleaned your face and removed every trace of makeup. You liked the feel of his hands on your skin, on your face, taking care of you so sweetly. It felt extremely intimate to have him take care of you like this.

“I love you, Miggy. Thank you for taking care of me and not breaking up when I vomited.”

“¿Es en serio? Why would I break up with you over something so silly as that, huh, muñeca? I love you. I promised to always take care of you, didn’t I?”

You looked into his eyes and nearly melted. There was nothing but kindness and adoration in his, and when you put your palm against his cheek to caress it, he turned to kiss it softly. His fangs grazed your hand and you chuckled. Your little vampire Spider-Man.

“You’re so good to me,” you mumbled. “Is my head gonna hurt tomorrow?”

“Most likely. And I don’t think you’ll remember any of our interactions tonight.”

“Really? Well then, you better take advantage of that.”

“How so?”

“Well, you could tell me something you didn’t want me to remember.”

Miguel pretended to think for a while, stroking an invisible beard and earning a few chuckles form you. Then, he placed his hands on either side of you on the side and brought his face closer to yours before beginning to whisper in that low voice of his that always got you blushing.

“I love you. Te amo con todo mi corazón. Eres mi todo. Mi vida. I could never part from you.” He stroked your cheek with the back of your hand, eyes never leaving yours. “I don’t think I say this nearly as much as I should, but I’m so grateful to have you in my life. And I want you to be in it forever. I want to marry you, someday. I’ll take you somewhere real nice and propose and promise to devote my life to you forever. I’ll love and worship you like a goddess because that’s what you deserve. I was so broken before I met you, so lonely and empty. I don’t think I ever knew what true love was until we met. All my life I’ve felt alone. My relationships seemed superficial. And then you came along and changed all that. I’m not afraid of saying these things when you’re sober, it’s just – you know how bad I can be with words and feelings sometimes. And we’ve never really discussed marriage or anything like that, and I wouldn’t want to scare you. But my point is, thank you, cariño. You’re everything to me.”

You were speechless. You didn’t know what to say, so you clumsily wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him to you. Big fat tears were rolling down your cheeks, the alcohol in your blood making you more emotional. It was true – your Miguel wasn’t a man of many words. He would rather show his love and appreciation for you through actions. Cooking you dinner, bringing you your favourite sweets, remembering small details you’d told him days before. So, it made it all the more special when he did speak, especially when his words were this sweet.

“You’re so sweet, Miggy. I love you so much.”

Miguel helped you brush your teeth, and then he carried you to your bedroom, where he took off your clothes (or rather, helped you wrestle out of them) and helped you put on your favourite pyjamas.

“We’ll just get some clean sheets tomorrow,” he mumbled as he helped you lay down next to him. You wanted to toss and turn a few times, but after your stomach started complaining about all the movement, you decided to stay still and curl up into Miguel’s side.

“Dulces sueños, mi vida. If you need anything during the night, just let me know.”

“Okay. Night, Miggy. Love you, Miggy. Thanks for picking me up.” you nodded, nuzzling into his pectoral. Miguel felt something wet covering his chest and realised you were already out and drooling all over him. He chuckled – it wasn’t a problem for him. He’d let you do whatever as long as you were safe and sound and comfortable. And if you felt all those things in his arms, who was he to complain?

And as you fell into a deep slumber, you smiled, feeling your boyfriend’s grip tighten around you.

The following day, you did have a killer headache (that could’ve been much worse if Miguel hadn’t advised you to take those pills) and your limbs felt heavy and weird, and when Miguel asked you if you had any memories of the previous night, you shook your head and told him no.

You did not tell him the sweet words he’d said to you, about a future and marriage were engraved in your brain, and your heart.  

A/N: And that's it!! Once again, I hope you guys have liked it. I am aware that it's short, and I haven't written for Miguel in a while, so I hope he's not too OOC. I need to write for my man some more, I have some nice requests for him, and I still have to continue Royal Secret omg, but my exam period is coming up and I'm getting kinda swarmed with papers and reports and whatnot. Luckily, I'll be able to write more when all of that is over.

I hope y'all have a wonderful day ahead!!!! <3

[angelltheninth]

Honey Bee on the Wall

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Fem!Reder

Tags: nsfw, smut, gentle to rough sex, whining, mirror sex, wall sex, size difference

Word count: 1k

A/N: Smut commission for a very cultured commissioner. Wall sex is amazing!

"Oh no. Not the puppy dog pout. You know I can't resist that."

"Come on sugar, please? Just once, I promise I won't drop you." Miguel put his hands together as he knelt few spaces away from you on the bed. He'd been a little odd lately, always looking over at you when you were alone, then away, then back at you. You figured he was pent up and yeah, his raging hard dick spoke for itself.

There was something specific your boyfriend wanted this time. "Where did you even get the idea to fuck me while holding me against the wall?"

"From Ben actually. I heard him talking about doing that with his girlfriend. Sounded pretty fun. Plus I've kinda been looking at ways to use my powers when we fuck. Much as I know you enjoy it, and I do too, I can't always be tying you up." Bondage seemed like a logical thing to try with someone who could shoot webs, that was one of the first things you tried with him.

Images of you being fully restrained and suspended from the celling flashed through your mind, not aiding the pulsing and wetness gathering between your legs, "But I like it when you tie me up Miguel."

"I know, I know but... I wanna try something new. Come on, pretty please." His full cute power came out as he pressed his lips together and crawled between you legs then looked up at you.

"Oh my fucking-" You had to turn and walk away to gather your thoughts, "Oh no. Not the puppy dog pout. You know I can't resist that." Miguel let out a small chuckle as he followed you, constantly invading your field of vision, "Fine! Fine! We can try it. You win, just stop with the puppy dog pout."

His grin really brightened up the room.

Miguel took you by the hand and walked you to the nearest wall in your bedroom, which just so happened to be on the opposite side of the mirror. He gave this a lot of thought. "I think we can compromise a little. Let me lift you up for a second." Not long after he did you felt the familiar pull and taunt of his webbing against your thighs and his hand around your wrists, "Look at how pretty you look."

When you saw yourself in the mirror you could see everything so clearly, your flustered face, your full breasts and stiff nipples, your pussy on full display and Miguel's fingers moving down towards it. He kept his eyes on you while you looked at yourself in the mirror, the way his fingers revealed your puffy clit and rolled tight little circles around it, the way his fingers pressed and pushed inside of your wanting pussy. "Hold on. This- this is embarrassing."

"And getting fucked like a sexdoll while hanging off the celling isn't? I want you to see how sexy you look when I'm fucking you." Just one of his fingers felt like two, almost three of your own, "Come on, look. Look at how well your pussy takes my finger. I think it wants more. I think it wants this." He moved himself in front of you, now his messy hair, big, muscular back, his ass and the bottom of his heavy balls was all you could see in the mirror. But what you felt was the broad, angry, leaky head of his cock pushing slowly past your entrance. "Okay so far?"

"I think so." But you weren't gonna be for long, not if he kept looking at you so softly while all you could see was your own horny face reflected at you. You'd never seen the face you made when he'd push inside of you, the way your lips opened or the way your eyes fluttered.

"You're tighter then usual. Knew you'd like it like this, seeing yourself getting fucked by me. Don't look away sweetheart, promise me you'll look until the end." Miguel puffed against your neck, big hands holding your hips, yours draping over his shoulders for that extra balance.

Rolling his hips forward he you felt his cock practically split you open, slowly sinking himself deeper and deeper into your wanting pussy. Small moans began to turn louder, longer, broken up as he finally bottomed out. "God Miguel. You make me so full."

"You feel good when you're stretched around me don't you? That's all for you." He pulled out equally as slow but the next thrust made you gasp and fall short of breath. He smacked inside you hard in such rapid pace. You can hardly breathe as you watch yourself get fucked by him, seeing it and feeling it the same time. "Good girl, good girl keep your eyes forward. I'm gonna fuck your orgasm right out of you."

Out of you? And his into you by how hard his balls kept smacking against your ass cheeks. In this position with your legs webbed open to the wall you didn't dare look down. If you did it would surely make you go crazy, this was already driving you crazy.

Your pussy starts gripping around him harder, almost refusing to let him go despite his relentless movement. The sight of your face on the verge of an orgasm combined with the loud squelching noises and wet skin slapping together urged you towards your climax quicker than you thought. Your cunt clenched and flooded all over him, egging him on to go faster. The stimulation was getting to be too much, one orgasm done and another beginning, "Yes, another, you'll come again. Come for me, baby, come for me!"

The next orgasm takes all the air from your lungs, making your vision go spotty and then white. Miguel kissed your neck in appreciation as his own body shuddering with release, painting your insides white with his hot load. Your pussy milked him of every drop of it.

The sticky mix of cum leaks and flows from you when he finally pulls out and takes you into his arms, "Open your eyes beautiful, it's okay now, I'm here, I've got you." You opened your eyes, vision blurry but clear just enough to see him press a firm kiss to your forehead. You melted against his body, murmuring an apology for the cum making puddle on the floor. "Takes two to make that mess. I'll clean it up don't worry, you sleep for a bit alright?" Miguel let out a deep rumble from inside his chest, the sound warming you up from the inside out, finally causing your heavy eyelids to close.

[darlingdekarios]

look upon me.

rating: explicit. 18+ only. length: 7,381 content: Jonathan Ohnn / The Spot x f!reader, pre and post-incident Jonathan / Spot, reader is described as being shorter than the Spot but everyone is, established relationship, fluff, smut [fingering - receiving, oral - receiving, unprotected p in v], kink(s) [hair pulling, biting, scratching, orgasm control], hurt/comfort, brief obsessive/possessive behavior, this was not edited because I'm lazy

of the things he’d lost that day, there was one in particular that weighed on Jonathan's mind like a bad conscience.

"Stop looking at me like that."

You hadn't changed your gaze to look at him, still locked-in on the meticulously organized papers in front of you as you scanned for the patterns and knowledge you needed. From across the table he was slumped forward, his chin resting on his hands as he did exactly that - look at you. It was so often that he needed to do little more than that to pass the time.

"Like what, baby?"

You couldn't help but smile at the false innocence in his voice. He knew what he was doing, he didn't care.

"Like you're just waiting for me to stop," you replied, eyes still locked on the scratches of ink beneath you. "I'm doing important stuff here."

"I'm trying to do important stuff to you."

The kind of embarrassing laugh that was accompanied by a snort left you, your head shaking slightly as you continued your steadfast refusal not to look at him, unwilling to have your concentration broken completely.

"Jonny, seriously," you were trying your best to sound serious and stern, but the smile on your face didn't quite match it. "I'm trying to make sure no one blows up in this deathtrap you're building at work, and your notes are nonsense."

"My notes are perfectly -"

"In the middle of this sentence you just wrote 'banana'," you pointed out, sliding the paper in question across the table and pointing to the word. "Do you know why you did that?"

"Because I needed them from the store."

You laughed again, the sound he was convinced was the most beautiful in the world, your eyes finally raising to return his gaze. When you made eye contact with him it sucked a deep breath from him - he was always struck by you, even after years of knowing you. He'd accepted long ago it would be this way until he died.

You looked annoyed, yet at the same time so profoundly in love he couldn't believe you were looking at him. You laughed again and he took your distraction as his cue to reach across the table, one of his hands laying atop yours gently.

"You're absurd," you stated, punctuating your words with a nod. Your hand flipped beneath his, threading your fingers together as your thumb brushed over his knuckles - the ones you could reach, anyway. "You either make complete sense or you don't make any at all. Black or white."

Sometimes you talked about him like another subject you wanted to figure out. If it meant you'd stay around until you did so, he was content to continue coming up with ways to puzzle you.

"But you chose me, Atom," he replied, reminding you of something that needed no reminder. Your cheeks burned under his special name for you, eyes locking on his as any annoyance left your body. He knew exactly how to melt away any negativity from you.

"Why do you call me that?" you questioned, head tilting slightly to the side in an adorable fashion that always made him love you just a bit more than he had a moment ago. So many things you did caused the reaction from him, and he was happy to continue to add to the list. "Anytime I ask you just smile. I want to know."

Something in the look in your eye and a feeling that now was when he should give you the answer you wanted had the words spilling out of his mouth. Compared to how long you'd waited it was rather unceremonious, but so many things between the two of you had always been as such. Neither of you were incredibly concerned with things being made into a big deal, and now was no different.

You already knew how much he loved you.

"Atoms make up everything," he explained, his hand squeezing yours lightly as he spoke. "You're my everything."

Your eyes softened further as you took in his words, your heart tightening just as his hand had around yours. With a smile you shook your head again, using your other hand to mark your place on the page you'd abandoned.

"How am I supposed to keep reading through this when you say things like that?"

"I could've been the next Shakespeare if I didn't love science so much."

"Did you even take theatre at any point? Or creative writing?"

"No, I took anatomy instead," that cheekiness was returning to his tone, the need heavy in his tone. You raised an eyebrow at his words, already expecting something along the lines of what would come next. "Wanna see what I learned?"

He wiggled his eyebrows playfully, a grin that you loved more than anything in the world spreading across his face as he leaned forward in his seat, waiting for permission to come closer, waiting for you to give in. You couldn't help it when you looked deep into his eyes, seeing how badly he needed you…you had to give him something.

As you nodded he immediately grabbed your chair to move it closer, only for you to reach out and grab the table, clicking your tongue against your teeth.

"Well, I still have to finish reading, don't I?"

"But…"

"Aw, don't pout, Doctor," you cooed, turning your head and leaning to kiss his cheek softly. "I'm sure you can find a way to prove how hard you studied while I finish up."

Yeah, he could.

The security deposit the two of you had put on this apartment was forgotten as he yanked his chair across the wooden floor, settling it right next to yours. As he got comfortable you began your work again, the switch of your own activated - when it was time to focus, you could always be relied upon to do so.

Even when one of his large hands slid across your chest, cupping one of your breasts tenderly. The first touch from him was always cautious and respectful, waiting for you to say a single word of disagreement. You nodded, eyes briefly flickering to his before you focused back in one your task.

Thankful for the oversized v-neck sweater you'd worn today he slid a hand into the soft fabric, mentally thanking you for having removed your bra already when you got home. The soft flesh of your breast felt perfect in his hand as he massaged it tenderly before his attention quickly turned.

His thumb brushed over your nipple gently before circling the sensitive bud, his eyes still focused on your face and searching for any sort of reaction. Even when he pinched not a single sound left you, your face unchanging as you read his words.

And while he wanted to let you focus, he couldn't stand to not hear you at least moan for him.

He abandoned his hold on your breast to hike the knee length skirt you were wearing up around your waist, gently pushing your panties to the side - still somewhat waiting for you to stop him. You didn't, convinced you could outlast him in this little game the two of you were now playing, but honestly not really caring if you lost.

You almost lost completely when he leaned down, his tongue circling your nipple as his index finger circled your clit. You slipped - it was understandable - and a soft moan filled the room, your eyes momentarily falling closed as he sucked your nipple gently before looking back up into your face.

"Well finally," he dragged the final letter out as he pushed his middle finger into you, running his tongue over the same nipple again. "You're so wet already."

"I like reading your work," you confessed in a broken voice, allowing yourself a brief moment to forget your focus. You felt his mouth fall open in shock and the groan that he let out at your words.

"Oh."

He kept his mouth busy, as he often liked to do when you were alone together in various ways, but where he chose to focus his attention on proving his anatomy skills was with his hand. As he pumped his longest finger into you he stroked your walls lovingly, pushing against the spongy spot behind your clit carefully and with the perfect amount of pressure each time.

When he pushed his index finger inside you as well, with ease considering how wet you were now and with a downright pornographic sound he couldn't help but moan as he suckled on your breast.

You were trying to focus still - a remarkable feat, mind you, considering how good his fingers felt pumping into you at this speed and with this amount of care - but one of your hands came up to hold the back of his head, fingers pulling at the messy strands of his hair.

"Jonny…"

Your moan immediately had his attention, his mouth abandoning you so he could flash you a cheeky grin, his cheeks deep red in color and pupils blown wide as he took in your face again.

"Oh, now you want attention?"

You blew a deep breath out of your nose, giving his hair a gentle tug as you met a pump of his fingers with a grind of your hips.

"I only have one more page to make sense of…"

"But…"

"You can wait five minutes…"

"I can't," he whined, his voice ridiculous in this tone but earnest - he really couldn't wait for you much longer before he got excessively needy, but you loved pushing him to the edge sometimes. "I swear to…whatever the hell scientists swear to I can't, my tongue needs to be in you now or I swear…"

You pushed his head upward to claim his lips in a heavy kiss, a heavy groan from him falling against your mouth as you licked across his bottom lip before whispering lightly.

"If you're a good boy and let me finish I'll let you cum in me tonight."

If he wasn't so excited about the promise you'd made he would have been embarrassed by the high pitched moan that he allowed to rip through his chest, instead he could only sit spellbound as you sank your teeth into his bottom lip lightly, pulling back slightly before pulling away entirely. You licked your lips slowly, eyes holding his gaze for a moment before you continued.

"But only if you let me finish, Jonny," you warned, turning your attention back to the documents on the table and releasing your hold on his hair. "D'you think you can manage that?"

"Yes," he promised with a huff, rolling his eyes at the fact he had to wait…he understood your fears about his job but at the moment would insist there were other things that deserved attention. He tentatively pumped his fingers back into you, not even risking a glance at your face now. "But…to clarify, I still want my head between your thighs first."

"Jonny," you warned again, flashing him one last serious look with your eyes, though a light smile played on your lips. He removed his fingers from you with another huff, lifting his hand to wrap his lips around them with an appreciative groan.

Aware of your attention on him again and your mouth falling open he grinned as he released his fingers with a pop, shrugging his shoulders unceremoniously.

"Sorry," it was the fakest use of the word he'd ever used, you were aware of that. "Just speaking my truth."

But he was capable - hell, he had a PhD, he could be patient if he really needed to be…no matter how badly he didn't want to be. No matter how hard his dick was throbbing against the black sweatpants he had chosen to wear around the apartment.

He waited until you started putting the papers back in a neat stack, instead choosing to stand quickly, grabbing you by the waist and leaning down to claim your lips in a hungry, somewhat messy kiss. Thankful you returned his kiss and chose calculated movements to encourage it into something more precise, he focused on turning the two of you until the backs of your thighs were hitting the edge of the table.

"Now," he whined out in a heavy breath. "Need you now. Please, now."

He was begging against your lips as he worked the zipper and button open on your skirt, pushing both it and your panties to the ground and kicking the fabric out of the way in hopeful anticipation. You could feel his hard cock pressed between the two of you and knew he had done the best he could in waiting, but that didn't affect how you loved to tease him still.

"You're ravenous tonight," you pointed out in what could be described as little more than a purr, nipping at his bottom lip again to pull another moan from his chest. He returned the favor before he stood straight - well, straight for him - encouraging you to lay back against the table.

"I'm about to show you how much."

He found his own seat in the chair you had been in and leaned forward as his hands slid to grasp your knees, encouraging your legs apart and baring your dripping sex to him. One of his hands trailed upward and he watched in awe as his fingers glided up and down her soaked folds, back and forth, spreading the slick he had already earned.

He continued this motion, adding in gentle rubs to your clit, as he kissed up your inner thigh, enjoying the soft feeling of your skin against his lips as you moaned at the familiar scratch of his beard.

"Jonny…please…"

"Oh, now who's needy?"

But he didn't tease like you, he wasn't able when it came to you, and it wasn't like he could wait any longer. Before you could blink again he had leaned forward, parting your folds with his tongue as he ran the thick muscle through them, well intent on tasting every inch of you again like it was the first time.

"Oh, you're indescribable," he grumbled against you after he'd flicked his tongue against your clit, glowing as your fingers found their way into his hair again, holding him close. Any complaints you'd ever made about his smart mouth were always forgotten when his tongue was worshipping you.

"Feels so good, Jonny," you moaned breathlessly, pulling his hair to encourage him back to what he had been begging for.

With a deep groan he continued, alternating between sucking on your clit and running his tongue between your folds, filling the apartment with lewd sounds as he slurped at your soaked pussy, ensuring every inch received his attention. He began to fuck his tongue into you, his nose pushing against your clit as he devoured you exactly how you wanted.

And that's how he got his first reward, your walls fluttering around his tongue as you came around him, your vision clouded as your orgasm rushed through you. As you moaned his name and your shaking thighs came closer around his head he didn't stop, instead continuing to lick at your sex like he was already setting out to pull another from you.

Your whines and whimpers of overstimulation filled the room, pulling at his hair as you fought to catch your breath and wiggle. He took the silent instruction and removed his mouth from your core, instead kissing along the thigh that hadn't received any earlier. He couldn't resist in full, though, his index finger slipping through your folds and into your still quivering sex.

"So wet," he cooed, just before he sucked a purple hickey to the inside of your thigh. "My dick's gonna slip right in."

"Please," you whined again, fully aware that now the tables had turned and you were the desperate one. You knew what Jonathan fucked like on nights where he was feeling like this and you were eager to feel him stretch you again, but through your orgasm's lingering haze you weren't sure how constructed of a sentence you could muster.

"Aw, baby, that's so cute," you could hear the smile in his voice and against your skin as he continued to kiss wherever he could reach, his lips now pressing to the hips he loved to grab so much. "Beg a little more for me?"

To be clear, he was asking - not telling.

"Jonathan," you whined, releasing your hold on his hair to instead reach for his shoulders, hoping to encourage him to finish his climb back up your body. You weren't thinking clearly, it was obvious - you may have thought the two of you were in bed but you weren't, and there was no way this old wooden table would support what he was about to do to you. "Please. Oh fuck please just…please. I need you."

"What d'you need?"

Okay, so maybe he could tease a little…he so rarely felt like he had any power in this world and these moments where he had you, the most beautiful woman in the world, at his fingertips were irresistible.

"Want you to fuck me," you whined, heart bursting as he finally gave into you and reached to press his lips to yours in a gentle kiss. His finger was lazily pumping into you still, holding you on the brink of overstimulation - he truly did know exactly what to do to your body.

"You want me to fuck you?" he questioned, a falsely puzzled tone behind his voice. "Or you need me to fuck you?"

"Semantics."

"Say it."

His voice snapped slightly lower, just enough in the way it did when he was trying to communicate his seriousness - something he honestly rarely did with you. He would never yell at you, but that didn't mean he couldn't let you know the gravity behind his words in other ways. He needed you to say it - exactly it, and to accentuate his point, he removed his finger from you altogether.

"I need you to fuck me, Jonny," you begged against his lips, turning slightly to press lazy kisses to the corner of his mouth until you reached lower, kissing his neck in the spot you knew would melt away this dark streak.

He stood up immediately, shoving his sweatpants and boxers down to the floor and kicking them to join your skirt, fisting his cock and rubbing it through your folds to gather the mixture of cum and his spit that lingered between them.

"Don't tease," you whined again, eyes meeting his in a hope to convey your desperation. His other hand reached to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing across the bone before it trailed to your bottom lip, repeating the gentle motion as he quietly shushed you.

He started slipping his painfully hard, leaking cock inch by inch into you, trying to take his time and savor the feeling of each push, but by the time he had sheathed his cock fully in you there was something already unmistakably unhinged about his movements, his hand that had been between your thighs grasping your hip tight.

"Fuck…fuck…" he groaned as he tried to force himself to still for a moment, instead finding he couldn't help but pull completely out and thrust back in roughly, his fingers holding you hard enough to bruise - which honestly, you hadn't been aware he was strong enough to do so until now, and this was far from the first time the two of you had fucked.

"Jonny, o-oh my…"

"Fuck," he groaned out as he continued to thrust into you desperately, his movements hard and a little sloppy as he tried to find a pace he liked. When he finally settled on one he leaned forward to kiss you again, pounding into you with your bodies pressed so close together you could hear obscene sound of his balls slapping against you. "You're so perfect. You're so so so perfect."

You kissed him until you were breathless, repeated moans covering his lips as he continued with the perfect pace to match how feral he felt for you now - quick and hard, almost bruising, desperate to coax you toward another orgasm and earn his own.

You dragged your nails down his back - you might had even drawn a couple of specks of blood with how rough you accidentally slipped into - kissing back down to his mouth as you fought for a desperate breath through moans and mewls. You made a mark of your own on his neck, a spot he would wear with pride for the days it would last on his skin.

"I want you to cum again for me," he managed out between heavy breaths, one of his hands sliding to hold the back of your head gently. "Before….before I…"

"Before you fill me up," you finished for him, your tone breathy and lascivious before you ran your tongue over the hickey you'd just given him.

He moaned - whether it was at your words or tongue didn't matter - and grabbed your hip harder, his pace faltering again into something much for harder and carnal as his mind was overtaken by the idea of spilling his hot load into you.

"Gonna…gonna fill you…" he began muttering promises through breaths and thrusts, any semblance of normal speech pattern forgotten. "So fucking full."

"Please."

"Yeah, baby," he promised, managing to fight through the primal thoughts in his mind to carry out another delicate action, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Know you love it. Go ahead and milk it out of me."

His hold on your head remained as he released your hip, slipping his hand between your bodies instead to rub your clit with purpose, fully intent on not allowing himself release until he felt you spasm around his cock.

With the loudest moan of his name he'd perhaps ever earned you threw your head back, thankful his hand was there to protect it from the hardwood as your vision turned white, the temperature in the room seemingly one-thousand degrees as you clasped your legs around his waist, holding him closer.

His thrusts continued to get sloppier, and when he felt your orgasm approaching a more manageable end, he opted to ask before finding his own release.

"Can I…can I…"

"You owe me two minutes that you interrupted…when I was trying to clean…"

"Baby, no," he begged, his head shaking as he pressed gentle kisses to your cheeks and forehead and nose, hoping his sweet affection would earn him favor. "Oh, please, no…"

"Not yet."

It was a wonder that he could continue fucking you like this with how hard he was, the discomfort and need to cum evident by his begging and whining. When you finally gave him the permission he was seeking his orgasm was immediate - thick, hot ropes of his cum filling you so much it didn't take long for the thick liquid to start leaking out around his cock.

You were both overly sensitive, but that had never stopped him before and it certainly wouldn't now as he continued to drag his half-hard cock through your painted walls, content on doing so until you were a mess, pleading with him that you'd had enough and it was too much.

He listened, removing his cock from your freshly fucked sex and sitting in the chair that waited beneath him, eyes fixated on your leaking cunt. He couldn't resist - three fingers gathered the mixture of fluids that was flowing from your pussy and he pushed it back in with little consideration toward your overstimulation.

You shot up with a gasp, sitting upright just as he removed his fingers again, wasting no time and unwilling to hear complaints as he dove back between your thighs, messily licking and slurping at your hole until he felt enough of your combined releases were on his tongue. He leaned back up, one of his hands coming to the back of your head to pull you down to meet him in a heavy kiss, passing you the thick liquid he held on his tongue and continuing to lick at your mouth as it slid down your throat.

When he broke the kiss for breath his eyes were full of so much love you thought he might break your shared "no marriage" rule and propose.

"I fucking love you," he finally breathed out, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into his lap gently to continue the shared moment of pure bliss.

"I love you, Jonny," you promised in return, nuzzling your head against his shoulder as you curled against him. "In every universe."

There was no way for you to know that, and yet, it didn't sound like too much of an impossibility.

"Atom…"

His affectionate tone was matched by the loving way he pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose before he claimed your lips again in the softest kiss of the night, letting you climb out of his lap afterwards knowing there were things to be done after sex.

"'m ordering a pizza before we go to bed," he called after you as you grabbed your sweater from the floor, using your other hand to attempt to run your fingers through your messy hair.

"'m gonna shower," you replied, grabbing the other pile of clothes to add them to the hamper. He loved how easy things had become between the two of you in these recent years - he wouldn't give it up for all the power in the world. "Extra cheese or I'm breaking up with you."

"What kind of monster do you take me for?"

"The kinda monster that better hurry up so he can join me in the shower."

You took him by surprise by leaning behind him, pressing a kiss to his cheek as your arms hugged around his neck briefly. Sometimes he didn't know how or why or for how long it would last, but he knew for now, at least, you loved him in ways writers try to convey in novels.

"I'll be so fast you'll think I teleported there."

Of the things he’d lost that day, there was one in particular that weighed on his mind like a bad conscience. The reason for so many of what he used to hold in his heart as his best days, the very same that now incessantly repeated in his mind, an unremitting reminder of what he used to have. 

When he declared he had lost everything due to the incident, he was speaking of you. 

It hadn’t taken long for him to reach through to steal a look at his lost love, and while he told himself it needed to be something that didn't become a habit that's exactly what happened. Some things never changed - he was still more than happy to do nothing more than gaze at you in silence, enjoying how you adjusted annoyances as you read, the way your nose crinkled in focus, the way you fell asleep on your desk, the way you played with the necklace he'd given you when you were nervous…

He'd almost broken his promise to himself several times now, happening across you on a bad morning and an even worse night when the emptiness in your chest at the loss of him was too much to bare, the false face you normally wore too much effort to carry on forever. You missed him, and sometimes you couldn't bring yourself to do more than sob that fact into the night, clutching the lab coat wearing teddy bear he'd gifted you to your chest.

He was positive he still had a heart, because he could feel it breaking every time.

Now was one of those times, perhaps the worst he'd seen you endure, and he'd only been watching for a minute now…at least, that's what he thought, though he wasn't keeping track of time. Your eyes were burning red and you had a framed photo of the two of you lying on the bed next to you, one of his old shirts hugging your frame in familiarity.

“Jonathan?”

The sound of his name from your lips again punched another hole somewhere in him far deeper than any other. You felt him - without words you knew he was there, his presence occupying your space in a familiar comfort that you’d come to accept was irreplaceable. So he had lost track of time…enough time for you to feel him again, the man you'd spent so many hours with in the past exactly like this.

“Jonny?”

He wanted to disappear, a war waging in his mind between the profound desire to hold you again and the need to hide what he’d become from you. Instead, he was frozen, even his mind quiet as the way his name rolled off your tongue again filled his ears sweeter than any memory. He'd promised himself that you would never have to look at what he had become, insistent that you thinking he was dead was better.

“Please, Jonny…I can feel you,” your voice broke more and more with each word, desperate to plead to him enough to persuade him. “I know…I know you’re there, somehow. Please.”

What was he supposed to do when you begged like this? You used to beg in the sweetest ways, he'd never made you beg for anything in earnest, not through tears like this…

Seeing you like this because of him made him feel more villainous and monstrous than anything else he'd done. It was anxiety inducing to watch you beg for the man he used to be, knowing he could never again give you what he once did. It made him sick - every cell felt sick, every portal poisoned and shrinking, withdrawing within himself.

But one more sob from you and a lapse in judgement from him led to a wrong step, his form stepping through a portal directly at the foot of your bed before he could take it back.

Oh, how he'd missed your bravery. You were sitting in a flash, eyes wide and puzzled but not at all afraid as you looked upon him - the new him. For the first time he had to wonder if this form blushed - he felt his cheeks heating like he would have before, but that didn't mean they looked the same. You leaned against the headboard, away from him which was exactly the opposite of the pull you felt to him.

A familiar pull - one that you'd only ever felt before with one person, with your person. Your eyes resolved in knowingness and you glanced at the photo beside you before your eyes found what was technically his face again, eyebrows pulling together as you worked through your puzzled thoughts.

At least you'd stopped crying.

"J…Jonathan?"

A breath was sucked from somewhere in him and filled the room with a heavy sigh saturated in relief - he couldn't deny how right it felt that you were speaking to him again, seated in the same room…seated in the room you'd shared.

"Remember…you used to say I was so black or white," he cleared his throat that suddenly felt far too dry, an oversized hand coming up to the back of his neck to rub nervously. This is where he used to run his fingers through his hair, you noted internally as your eyes watered again hearing his voice. "Either a genius or an idiot. Now I'm black and white all at the same time…"

His rambling was cut by your arms flying around his middle, the size different between the two of you that had always been there now even more significant in his new form. He stood frozen in his place, form rigid as you squeezed him as though you would never let him go.

"You're here."

"I…I'm here," his voice was shaking and he wanted to run, he could feel the unease spreading across his body and expanding like a sickness. But the worse he felt, the more the holes shrank…everything about him was on-edge. "But I'm not me anymore, baby. I'm…this."

"You're you," your voice was that sweet, understanding tone you'd used in college with him, before the two of you had even dated and when you were both pretending you were nothing more than best friends. He'd always said it was like a lullaby to a baby. "I felt you."

But he didn't want to hear it now, and something dark and incendiary inside him screamed that you were lying - that there was no logical scenario where you were okay with how he looked.

"Don't patronize me," his voice snapped into something dark, holes flaring out again and spreading to almost encompass him in darkness, almost like a shield. "Don't. I know what I look like. I might not have eyes but I can see. I can see that I look like…a fucking freak. An abomination."

You couldn't imagine what he was feeling. There was no lying to him, he was a reasonable, intelligent man - he knew that this form was not what anyone would describe as perfect and was certainly not what you had fallen in love with, and there was nothing you could say that would convince him otherwise.

"You look like something tragic happened to you," your voice was unfaltering, the delicate tone coaxing him into the relaxation he used to always feel with you. "But I don't care what you look like, and I never have."

"It's not like a bad haircut or weight gain, Atom," he snapped. The vulnerability he was displaying was difficult to navigate as there was truly never someone to go through what he was…there was no anecdote to help him. These days, his default setting was anger.

Anger was better than anything else.

"I'm hideous. Look at me."

"I am," you said quietly, your voice dropping to just above a whisper. You looked right in his face, unwaveringly. He longed to kiss you more than ever before. "I'm looking right at you, Jonny."

That quieted him as he lost himself in the tranquility of you - you were the only one who had ever understood him enough to walk him through the difficult emotions and that was still true, even with his sorrow and rage felt and expressed tenfold. He'd thought so before, always known so with no scientific way to prove it until now…you were made for him.

And him alone.

"My Jonny."

Before he could register the movement your hands were resting on his chest and the walls he was trying to built crumbled, the spots essentially exploding into dozens of smaller ones all across his body, avoiding where your hands rested. As you lightly stroked your fingertips there they merged again to several larger, relatively heart shaped blobs.

He hadn't felt a gentle human touch since the incident, and he'd never thought he'd feel your touch again. If it was possible, he could have died on the spot. It was obvious that he was lost for a moment, forgetting the danger he presented to you, forgetting to maintain control.

But only for a moment, the horrors ever present.

After temporarily losing himself in the haze of feeling your touch again his shaking hands flew out, grasping your waist tight as his breathing came in heavy, concentrated breaths. Instead of letting him retreat within himself you stepped closer, hands slipping as close to his shoulders as you could reach.

"I thought I'd lost you forever," you said quietly, already teaching yourself how to get used to looking up into his face and not seeing his eyes. "And here you are."

"I lost everything," the vulnerability was shining through more as he opened himself to you again, almost having to reteach himself for a moment that you were someone he could share his emotions with. "My dream job…gone. My body…which was no temple to begin with but now I'm just this…this thing. I lost…I lost you. My dream girl…my everything. I lost my everything."

He saw the pain flashing in your eyes as you listened to him - as you empathized as you always had, your heart connected to his.

"You found me again," your voice was breaking again as you spoke, desperate for him to understand that all the times you'd said you'd love him no matter what you'd meant it. "I'm right here."

You moved your arms lower to wrap around his waist, stepping closer - but he ripped himself from you the moment you were close to connecting your head to his torso, the holes once again flaring in fear.

"No!" he shouted, immediately kicking himself for shouting at you. He took a deep breath to steady himself, swallowing hard as he calmed his emotions enough to speak again without lashing out. "You can't…the spots…the holes…"

Your brow pulled together like it always had when you were feeling inquisitive and you only sought to close the distance between the two of you again, stepping forward as you took in every inch of him.

"Holes?"

"They're portals," he explained, suddenly feeling self conscious about himself in ways he hadn't experienced since his one attempt at a high school dance. "I'm still figuring out how they work…and I don't want to lose you. I could really…really lose you."

He had missed this expression on you - when you were so deep in thought it was obvious your full focus was on solving the puzzle presented to you. He'd thought of this long ago and come to the conclusion that you would want to study him - to understand him more.

He wasn't sure he was ready to be the experiment under your scrutiny. But he was certain he could never be away from you again.

"Portals to where?"

"Everywhere," just like a doctor and patient, you were asking questions, formulating a hypothesis, he was providing the data. How many times had the two of you lived this scenario? Was now really so different? He remembered how you used to look at him in amazement…your expression now was truly no different than it ever had been. "Sometimes just back through another portal. Sometimes to other dimensions to other…universes. I've gotten lost and…I'd never forgive myself if you fell through. You can't be close to me."

"You just need to learn how to control them."

"I can't," he breathed out, his words exasperated with a break in the middle to accentuate it. It was all he could manage - it was all he had to.

"You can," it wasn't a tone full of false hope, it was decisive and resolute - you believed he could, and with your belief, he would try. "It's just another thing to learn, and you're the smartest man I know."

Before he could react to your sudden movements you closed the distance between the two of you again, sticking your hand through one of the holes in his arm with a deep breath.

"Hey -!"

Almost instantly your hand reappeared through his chest and a sigh of relief ripped through him, a puzzled smile spreading across your face as you wiggled your fingers. "Intriguing," he swore he could hear a familiar purr behind your words, and he had to wonder if you were trying to distract him from the complex mix of emotions he was experiencing. "How unique."

"You…you mean how freakish," he attempted to correct, focused on the feeling of you reaching into him. "This uhm…this has to be weird."

"You've stuck fingers in me," you defended, the playful tone in your voice one of the exact things he'd missed. Then again, in truth, he'd missed everything about you, even the parts he once didn't love.

"Atom…"

You pulled your hand back through him which earned another relieved sigh from his chest, his nervous breaths returning as you wrapped your arms around his torso again, your head finding a rightful position lying against his chest.

"Just hold me. You'd never let yourself lose me."

Your faith in him was misguided and foolish, the love you felt for him clouding your mind from the horror that you held in your arms - he was convinced of it. He froze, unwilling to give into even the slightest movement that would create a domino effect, unwilling to do anything to increase the risk he posed to you.

But seconds passed without incident until he'd been allowing you to hold onto him for several minutes. You were still here, still against him, still warming him up in ways he had longed to feel again for what had already felt like an eternity. Slowly, his arms circled you, pulling you slightly closer, clutching to you like you might still disappear at any moment.

As the minutes ticked away his arms got tighter and tighter, his hands resting on your lower back like you were made of porcelain.

"You kept all of my stuff…"

His voice was still so unsure, like he felt he was intruding…like he didn't belong here, in his own home. Like he didn't deserve to be holding you again. You nuzzled into him further in response, your hands flattening against his back to hold him against you tighter.

"I could never get rid of anything that makes me think of you," you whispered, eyes closed as you soaked in the moment, feelings both familiar and new.

"I haven't…laid in a bed since…"

He trailed off and you could feel the energy around him darken - you knew anger was a secondary emotion and in this instance it followed unimaginable hurt.

"Come to bed with me," you weren't asking, it was an instruction - voice unwavering and unquestioning. You looked up into his face again, and it was just like it had always been - you looked at him like you loved him.

"But why would you…ah -"

You really didn't mind the new height, in fact him towering over you more than ever before was causing other feelings that weren't quite appropriate for this sweet lovers' reunion, but it did make standing on your tiptoes more obsolete than ever, your lips barely reaching his chest. His words were cut off, a whine taking their place when your lips connected with his skin. He melted like it was the first time you kissed him, any residual panic withdrawing further into him as he held you tighter.

You felt the shift in his energy and smiled against him as you pressed more kisses wherever you could reach, mindful when you approached a spot, lips continuing to brush against him as you spoke.

"If you get into bed with me I can kiss more of you," "You're so tall now, Jonny. Can't reach."

One thing that hadn't changed was his complete willingness to obey you, to give in to your every request, to fulfill every instruction…it continued to be true as he scrambled into the bed, nearly groaning at the familiar feeling of his pillow and the sheets you'd insisted they needed again. The seconds that passed with him alone - with him getting used to his new height in the bed he once fit comfortably in, getting used to controlling the holes (when was the last time he'd laid down?).

But when you climbed into the bed beside him, the anxieties vanished. You moved as close to him as you could, one of your hands delicately resting on his torso while the other reached to his face, stroking your thumb across his cheek delicately.

It was the kind of moment where your eyes close in serenity, and somewhere inside him he felt it. Maybe he was a fool for thinking this could last, but with the multiverse at his fingertips, he'd always reach out to you.

All of the versions of you were meant to be his.

And they would be.

masterlist. marvel masterlist.

[imagines-for-the-fangirls-soul]

Trick or Treat - Miguel O'Hara

A/N: Happy Halloween! Here's a little Miguel blurb for ya!

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara Word Count: 1k Synopsis: Halloween is not Miguel's favorite holiday.

"What are you wearing?"

"What does it look like I'm wearing?" you ask.

"Cat ears," he says dryly. You turn to smile at him and he jumps back. "And whiskers."

"Well, no one can say you're not observant, Miguel."

"What's the occasion?"

"Is that a joke?"

"I don't joke."

You walk over to him, recognize his tired face, the slump of his shoulders, and put your arms around him. "Long day?"

"You could say that," he says with a sigh. You give him a soft smile and he leans in to kiss you.

"I'm sorry, my love. And the occasion, is Halloween."

"Ah, how could I forget?"

"Don't pretend like you didn't notice a million little spider-kids on your way home."

"The real question is why are you dressed up."

"Didn't I already say this, it's Halloween." Miguel rolls his eyes at you and breaks out of your arms.

"You going to a party tonight?"

"No, I know you wouldn't want to do that." You follow him down the hall to your bedroom and watch as he undresses. "I just thought it might be fun to hand out candy and have a cozy night in."

"I like the cozy night in part," he says, snaking an arm around you, his bare chest warm against you.

"I figured I could convince you on that part," you say, kissing him. He hums deeply and suddenly you're falling back onto your bed, Miguel on top of you. "We could just stay here and I could find out if there's a tail to match this little outfit."

"Miguel," you say in a breath, squirming out of his touch as his hand travels down your backside. You roll out of bed and straighten your ears as you stand.

"Come back, baby."

"I can't," you tease, walking towards the door slowly.

"Come back," he says again, deeper. You open your mouth to respond just as the doorbell rings.

"Hold that thought," you say and rush towards the door. A pumpkin and a scarecrow are at your door and both happily take candy.

Miguel is behind you when you shut the door and turn around. He's frowning at you, and you notice that his shirt is still off.

"Don't you think it's a little chilly for that," you say, touching his muscular chest.

"Don't you think you could just leave that bowl at the door?"

"But then I would miss all of the cute kiddos."

"I don't care." He kisses you again, taking your chin in one hand and the bowl in the other. You are pressed against the wall, Miguel's muscular body against you. You could have stayed like that if you didn't notice the hand holding the bowl stretching towards the door.

"We are not leaving it at the door," you say, breaking away from his lips. "Now, why don't we find you a shirt and something spooky to watch."

Miguel sighs, a long suffering sigh, but follows you into the living room. You watch as he takes in the scene in the living room - three blankets over your couch: one with pumpkins, one with colorful ghosts, and one with some Halloween cats.

"I had to set the mood!"

"And set it you did," he says. Again, he is next to you, wrapping an arm around you. You kiss him softly and again, the doorbell rings. With a laugh you walk away from your growingly frustrated boyfriend and open the door to a few more trick or treaters.

"You missed three princesses," you say when you come back. Miguel has chosen a movie - one with a zombie bride in it - and you settle onto the couch next to him.

"Sorry I missed that," he says dryly. You come around the couch and rest in his arms.

"What's with you and Halloween?" you ask, looking up at him.

"I don't have a thing with Halloween," he says, "I just want to spend time with you."

"You are spending time with me."

"Not if you jump up every few seconds when the doorbell rings."

"You must have had a really shitty day," you observe. "I mean you can be negative, but I have not seen you this negative in a long time."

He kisses your forehead softly before taking a deep breath.

"Halloween . . . Halloween was Gabriella's favorite holiday. It was kind of our thing," he says. You sit up quickly and turn to face him.

"You should have told me that," you say, gently pushing his shoulder. "I wouldn't have--"

"You haven't done a single thing wrong. I should have told you. It's just . . . hard. It sucks."

"It does." You lean in to kiss his cheek. "I'm sorry."

"Don't--"

"I am, and I love you."

"I love you."

You are not apart from him for long. His arm wraps around your waist and you're back in his arms, falling back on the couch. Sounds of the zombie bride fade into the background as your lips lock. His hands are rough as they graze your skin. You are just leaning into his body, breaking for air when the doorbell rings again.

"Son of a--"

You giggle as you get off the couch and bring candy to a cute little girl dressed as a cat. When you turn around, Miguel is there again. After sharing what he did, the weight on his shoulders seems to have lifted, but he seemed even more annoyed, this time around.

"We need to put the bowl outside?"

"We need to put it outside," he agrees.

You open the door and place it on the porch, and before you have even closed the door, Miguel is pulling you into his arms. You hear a splat and see a small web over your door handle.

"No more trick or treaters," he says, kissing you.

"No more," you say with a giggle as he wraps you into his arms and leads you back to the couch.

"Happy Halloween, my love," he says, hovering over you as he drops you onto the couch.

"Happy Halloween."

[angelickks]

Fond

1k – grumpy!miguel oʻhara x sunshine!reader

summary: miguel oʻhara is very fond of you. warnings: none really! unless you count fluff and the use of one swear word. no use of y/n. notes: first drabble! itʻs short and sweet, so hope yaʻll like it. itʻs not much but i rlly love the grumpyxsunshine trope and this came to mind. donʻt be afraid to give some feedback, its greatly appreciated! not proofread so bare with me.

“get out!” a small smile began to appear on your lips as he mistook you for someone else. “hi handsome, you okay?” you ask, sincerity present but he knew you were teasing him. he sighed but you knew it wasn't because he was stressed, if anything, he was relieved. you patiently waited a few seconds until you saw his infamous platform begin to lower, just for you. stepping towards the platform your smile only widens the more and more you see of him, until you practically beam at the daunting man. “what are you doing here, hm?” He asks, his features softening at the look you are giving him and if you pay real good attention, which you always were with miguel, you see the way his shoulders drop unconsciously at his relaxation. you give him an incredulous look at the question, “you've been here since the crack of dawn hun, and I know you havenʻt eaten either…” your voice trails off slightly as you look at the building mess on what you could barely refer to as his “office.” papers scattered haphazardly across the table in the corner, a few stray takeout cups (probably from the last few times you came and left takeout for him), and overall a pileup of the last few days. miguelʻs been on edge for a few days, he had offered you some vague details but you didn't know the entire reason behind his stress for the past few days.

always dismissing your concern with “I have it handled querida, tell me about your day while I work on this, yeah?” the sentiment makes you swoon slightly, always giving him space. Today was different though, he had been going at this assignment of his for several days now and you knew he needed to take a break, even if it was just for lunch. your smile falters a little, upset that he had been here non-stop, not taking care of himself and putting all his focus on his work. you were proud of him, he was a man with great responsibility and handled his work with ease at times, despite having to take on the weight of the multiverse. But it always came with its drawbacks, one being miguel putting himself after everything else. he nods knowingly, offering you an apologetic look “I must get back to this.” you let out a sound of disapproval, “you gotta take care of yourself, miguel. I am not here to bring you takeout again, come with me and eat.” he sighs again, you know he hesitates at the offer. fortunately for you, you know how to convince him. “please, just a break for half an hour,” you look up at him, eyes twinkling and pleading. he frowns slightly at you, but you know you are close to breaking him. fuck, he thought to himself.  “stop that” you giggle at his words before mumbling,  “i donʻt know what you're talking about, hun.” you always knew miguel had been fond of you, even if he doesn't outwardly admit it, you can see it in how his features relax. the way his eyes droop slightly in what seems to be the only bout of relaxation in his day when he is with you. his body looks more at ease compared to the constant tension it’s used to. Yeah, miguel is very very fond of you. he likes it that way and much to his luck, more than you know. His lips press into a tight line and you widen your eyes ever so slightly, non-verbally telling him to give in to the offer. he let out a breath, “fine. only half an hour and i go back to work, and you go find something to do yeah? spending too much time in here.” to anyone else, they would interpret his statement as serious. But you knew better, you could easily detect the teasing tone behind it. you gave him a swift nod, once again beaming at him, causing the corners of his lips to lift slightly at the sight before he caught himself.  

when the rest of the spider society see their colleague and their boss, who they havenʻt seen for a few days now, in tow; the surprise is an understatement. they all went about what they were doing to avoid Miguelʻs stern glare, but all eyes were on the sight. their boss, dawning his permanent scowl and intimidating, is next to you, who is cheerful as usual. you lightly nudged him, giving him a goofy look, your nose slightly scrunched, and a small smile painted across your lips. he grunted, almost letting out a chuckle at the sight, blushing a little. you were looking at him, just him. It made him feel special, paid attention to, and he was buzzing with the feeling. so much so that he forgot where he was, at work, in front of his colleagues. this made him briefly glance around and scowl like he was trying to warn a nonexistent (unbeknownst to him it was very existent) audience to avert their gazes. but before he had gotten the chance to get even more observant of his surroundings, you were both sitting down. 

“stay here, I'll go grab our food, they have your favorite so if you need me I'll be there, okay?” he rolled his eyes at you playfully, “i am not a child querida, I can see where you'll be.” your face fell comically at his comment, tilting your head slightly “donʻt sass the person getting your food. that's how you end up poisoned, miguel” he lightly flicked your hand that was brushing against his fingers, “yes maʻam.” you chortled, giving him a pleased smile before making your way to the empanada stand. he let out a sigh he didnʻt realize he was holding in and ran a hand through his hair, ruffling his curls in the process. 

safe to say that lunch was longer than the half hour you promised. it was the most anyone had seen their boss smile possibly ever, at you of all people. the sight brought a distinct hue of pink to your cheeks, miguelʻs chest tightened at the sight.

so much for keeping his so-called fondness to himself.

[queencaffeine18]

don't zoom in bc it'll fuck up the quality

a commission of miguel and my oc, joia!! 🥺🥲 Spider Dad and Snake Mom are going out for date night 🥂

you can find all my spiderverse drabbles with miguel and joia here on ao3!

artist: plasebo_art_ on insta 💖

[ivystoryweaver]

Decadent chapter 7

prev || Fic Masterlist || My Masterlist || next

Summary: Miguel doesn't want to hurt you anymore, but you don't want him biting anyone else. Which of you is more stubborn?

Pairings: Miguel O'Hara from the film Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse x female reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Notables: NSFW. 18+, angst, cursing, arguing, smut. p in v, oral - f rec. biting, bondage, wounds, blood. lots of twisty feelings. not beta'd.

PREVIOUSLY on Decadent...

Breaking your kiss, he caged your face between his forearms, pushing into you with searing, deep thrusts.

"Can't ever get enough of you, mi amor," he whispered, staring fervently into your eyes.

Caressing his face, you slid one leg around his waist, urging him deeper. "I know, Miguel, I..."

But you couldn't tell him. So you kissed him again.

The next two weeks went by in the same fashion. Miguel never said anything else about his daughter, his feelings or anything else personal. The temptation to fall into your eyes the last time he was in your bed wrecked him. The tender way you made love to him, the concern in your soft gaze over the loss of his daughter - he started to wonder how he could keep his frozen heart from thawing.

He had to change before he could really let you in. He had to be better, and leave the monster behind.

So you went back to the way you started. Every evening before you left for the day, you found yourself bouncing on his cock, bent over his desk or on your knees for him.

Weekends were the same - you called your aunt, did the usual in your apartment, and even went out with a new friend.

That friend, who was actually a neighbor, encouraged you to tell the truth about your feelings. You hadn't admitted who your feelings were for - simply that you found yourself in a situation where you wanted more than just sex. Although the sex was so good, you had no intention of giving it up.

Then one fateful day, you opened your mouth and sent everything right to hell.

Miguel was in a particularly feisty mood, and you had come to learn, it was likely because he had not fed. You knew for certain had had not tasted any of your blood recently. So either he found another source, or, from what you could tell, he was ravenous.

Your thighs were spread wide across his lap - skirt bunched up at your waist. He had taken a break from shredding your clothing, preferring to return to your sexy little stripteases. But today, he was too hungry, so he was already inside you by the time his fingers yanked your blouse over your head and tugged down the cups of your bra.

You were always wet and ready for Miguel's cock, but he'd taken you so suddenly today, you were still getting warmed up, causing you hiss in slight pain as the tip of him pushed inside you.

"Wait, it's too much," You panted, gripping his shoulders to hold yourself up.

Knowing he could get you soaked in a matter of seconds if he wanted to, Miguel opted for something different today.

"Come on, baby," he coaxed squeezing your hips and moving your much smaller body back and forth over his tip. "Let me in. So tight for me. Gonna stretch you out."

"Fuck, yes, Miguel..." you moaned, already wetter from the sound of his voice.

Pulling you down over his cock, Miguel didn't thrust upward, but used his forceful grip on your hips to fuck you down on him like a toy.

Feeling every inch of his dick plunging deep inside you filled you so good, the slight sting of the sudden way he'd grabbed you and speared you, yielding to a hot, building pleasure.

"Good girl. Squeezing me so tight." His voice rumbled deep in the expanse of his muscular chest. Then he let go of you and leaned back in his chair.

You knew what he wanted. Now that you were soaked and full of cock, he wanted you to ride him. Pressing your palms down on his chest, you pushed yourself slightly upward and then let gravity slam you back down. Slowly at first, just to see him twitch uncomfortably. Then you started to bounce.

Releasing a groan of pleasure as you worked yourself over him, Miguel rid you of your blouse and bra entirely, eyes flashing a wild ruby as he watched your tits jiggle - your nipples hard and begging to be sucked.

The thought of sinking his fangs into your soft flesh overwhelmed him, but he promised himself - no more. Not with you. He had to stay focused on the research, so maybe he could be someone you could actually love someday. Fucking you every afternoon was just a bonus you both so clearly enjoyed. But no more hurting you.

You felt so good, deliciously wrapped around him - he knew he would finish before you at this rate. The slide of your hot, wet cunt over the length of him was like nothing else. Never had he craved anyone the way he craved you. Pushing his thumb in between your joined bodies, he found your tender bundle of nerves, sending your back arching as you wildly moaned.

"That's my girl," he breathed, one hand cupping your breast and pinching your nipple.

"Miguel..." You were so close, and you wanted him to feel as good as you did. "Bite me," you encouraged, interrupted by your own cry of pleasure. "You can bite me. I know you're hungry."

Despite his impending orgasm, and your current one, Miguel jerked his hands away, gripping your hips and holding you still.

"What did you just say?"

Too drunk on his cock, and painfully suspended between the roar of utter bliss and the sudden stop, you tried to rock your hips. But it was no use because he was too strong.

"Please," you whined, clenching him tauntingly. "I know you want to. Let me come again and then you can have me."

Almost subconsciously, the tip of Miguel's tongue traced over his fangs but the heat of his gaze burned right through you. "No," he firmly responded. "We can't do that shit anymore."

You assumed he was trying to abstain, given that he hadn't marked or bit you in a couple weeks, but that didn't mean you didn't want him to. And he would eventually need to feed.

"Baby, come on," you begged, writhing against him, the stretch of his cock inside you making you desperate. "You have to feed. Doesn't it feel so much better while you're fucking me?"

"Enough," he snapped, lifting you off his lap so suddenly that you stumbled back a few steps before finding your footing. The two of you stared at one another for a long, suspended moment before he stuffed himself back into his pants and climbed out of his chair, leaving you bare from the waist up. Your skirt bunched awkwardly around your hips as arousal dripped down your thighs.

"I said no," he ground out, reaching for your bra and top, tossing them to you with more force than was necessary.

His sudden shift of mood left you speechless and a bit breathless, not to mention humiliated.

Noticing your discomfort, Miguel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Get dressed," he told you, "and go home."

You silently obeyed, too stunned to do anything else. Yanking down your skirt, you fastened your bra and pulled your top over your head before searching for your panties. Once you were fully dressed, you realized Miguel was ready to walk out the door for the evening.

"What did I do wrong?" You blurted, smoothing your skirt, attempting to make yourself a little more presentable.

Pausing at the door, Miguel glanced sideways over his shoulder, as if barely willing to grant you an audience. The sudden change in him had you reeling. He was so cold, when only a few moments ago, you had been stuffed full of him.

"You know what," he reminded you, in a scolding tone. "I told you."

"No, actually, you didn't," you clapped back, scurrying to your desk to gather your belongings, lest he leave you behind. "You didn't say anything about feeding on me except that you liked it. Remember?"

He turned away from you then, broad shoulders sagging as his head dropped. "I know what you're doing. It won't work."

"What the fuck am I doing, exactly, Miguel?" You questioned, clambering around to stand in front of him.

"Trying to make me angry so that I'll finish what we started." Even as he refused you, the flash of his scarlet gaze and the bulge in his pants told you a different story.

"When are you going to feed?" You asked him in all seriousness. Placing a hand on his broad chest, you inched closer to peer up into his eyes. "I know you're hungry."

"How the fuck is that your problem?" He snapped, jerking away from you. You weren't wrong. He was starving and wanted nothing more than to feel you come, clenching around him while he sank his fangs into your throat, sucked you to exhaustion and emptied himself inside you.

"Because you need it to survive," you pointed out the obvious, still following him around, trying to get him to look at you. "And I don't want you out there killing people - drinking their disgusting blood when you can have me!"

Squeezing his eyes shut, he shook his head rapidly. "No. I only kill people who deserve it. You know that. And sometimes I feed in other ways."

"I know," you reminded him, the pitch of your voice ascending frantically. "I don't want you to bite another woman, Miguel. I don't want you to be with another woman. The thought of it makes me sick."

As soon as the words left your mouth, you realized how pathetic you must sound. How possessive and desperate you'd become. Were you really willing to let this man hurt you, just to keep his attention on you? Or was there a darker part of you that craved the madness?

You expected Miguel to look down his nose at you - both literally and with disdain, but he didn't. His eyes softened as he swallowed hard. "I told you I haven't been with anyone else since before we met."

"But you will, won't you? If you get hungry enough," you accused.

Despite the tense air around the two of you, something stirred in Miguel's chest. Something he hadn't felt in years. Something warm. You wanted him. And you were jealous.

Which made this all a horrible idea.

"I have to go," he deflected, pushing past you and walking out the door.

After a quick cry, two glasses of wine and a pint of ice cream, you found yourself in bed with your vibrator. Miguel had left you alone and frustrated in every way, and you needed some relief.

After two orgasms in rapid succession, you found yourself as restless as when you started this whole self-pitying evening. With a huff of frustration, you headed for the shower, cleaned up, and then drank a third glass of wine.

Finally, you grabbed the latest reading material from your bedside table, hoping to get lost in the lives of characters and not have to think about your own. Nothing helped. You felt tired, but sleep wouldn't drag you under. Tossing your book aside, you turned off the light and stared into the darkness.

You wondered where Miguel was - what he was doing. Ugh, when did you become this obsessed girl? He probably thought you were pathetic. He was probably somewhere right now, either ripping out someone's throat, or worse, feeding on some poor, unsuspecting woman.

The thought of his mouth on someone else enraged you, but you actually had no real claim on him. Balling up your fist in frustration and envy, you slammed it down on the bed with an irritated huff.

You thought about digging out your vibrator again, but you knew it wouldn't help. Not with this.

Just when you thought you might go insane, overthinking every single moment that had transpired between you and Miguel this evening, you heard a sound at your window.

A bolt of fear shot through your body, making you sit up in bed. Someone was definitely outside your window and it was opening. The first thought you had was to call Miguel, but you should probably try to hide and call the authorities.

Scrambling out of bed, you reached for your phone when an imposing figure appeared in your bedroom, merely a sinister silhouette bathed in moonlight. In a few, long strides, the figure crossed to your bedside and yanked the phone from your grasp.

"It's me."

Miguel stood before you, wrapped head-to-toe in his dark blue spider suit.

You whimpered in relief as he swept you up into his arms. His mask disappeared just before his mouth claimed yours hungrily. It was fortunate that he held you, suspended off the floor because your legs completely gave out as you surrendered to his kiss.

"You were right," he murmured, hotly mouthing a trail to your ear as he pulled your legs around his waist. "I am hungry."

"Miguel," you gasped, running your hands over his solid chest, trying to ground yourself. The pounding of your heart sent blood rushing through your body as you rapidly cycled from fear to relief to raw desire. "I thought you were angry with me."

"Never you," he whispered, sliding his hand under the soft curve of your ass. "Only with myself. Because of what I've done. Because of what I'm about to do."

He kissed you again, silencing any protest you might launch. The heat of his tongue and the grip of his strong hands had you wet in seconds. Ripping his mouth from yours only a moment later, he set you down.

Fiery red webs shot out to bind your hands and before you could think to react, another set of webs yanked your arms upward until you were suspended from the ceiling, hanging with your arms over your head. Your feet dangled at least three feet off the floor and the strain on your arms made you cry out.

"Relax," Miguel instructed, ripping your pajamas from your body until you were hanging before him, entirely nude.

The strain on your arms burned, but there was something alluring about being put on display like this for him.

Running his tongue over his fangs, Miguel eyed you hungrily, his red eyes glowing menacingly as his spider suit disappeared, leaving his thickly muscled frame completely bare.

The sight before you made you whimper with desire and anticipation. So many of your sexual encounters occurred at work, half or mostly clothed, so seeing his every rippling muscle sent a bolt of desire spiking straight down to your core.

"I do need to feed," he admitted, reaching for your legs. With little effort, he slung one of your thighs over each of his broad shoulders, and shoved his face right into your cunt. With no further warning, he nudged your clit with his nose and blew a puff of air over your sopping folds.

Feeling immense relief at not having to hold up your own weight, you arched wildly into his face as he ate you out. Hooking your heels into the defined muscles of his back, you ground against his mouth, whimpering as he sucked and licked you mercilessly.

Miguel's hands caressed up and down your thighs as he plunged his tongue into your hole, his nose continuing to tease your clit.

You felt so wild and so turned on, you came suddenly, drenching his face with your juices, which he eagerly lapped up. You felt the sharp sting of his talons on your legs as his lips latched around your tender bundle of nerves.

You knew exactly what he was doing. Making you lose your mind with pleasure before you went numb from the venom in his fangs. Then he would drink his fill and likely fuck you while you were out of it.

It felt so good you just didn't care. Besides it was actually your idea that he bite you anyway. And he did. Laving his tongue over the soft flesh of your inner thigh, he waited until you came again and then his fangs pierced your soft skin.

The sting lasted only for a moment - euphoria mingling with a twinge of pain before blissful numbness set in. After drinking his fill of one thigh, he switched legs, drinking and drinking until you felt yourself losing consciousness.

He must have realized this because he untied you, cradled you in his arms and carried you to bed. He cleaned and bandaged your wounds and got you something to drink. Finding a robe hanging on your bedpost, he pulled it around you just as the paralytic started to subside.

He was still naked, which was very distracting, yet his level of comfort with you was somehow soothing.

Pulling you against his chest, he covered both your bodies with your blanket. "Is this okay?" He softly whispered, smoothing his hand over your shoulder to help you get comfortable.

"You can stay," you answered him, hoping that's what he was asking.

"I just want to make sure you don't pass out," he reasoned, trailing his fingers down the length of your arm to tangle with your own. "I drank too much. I'm sorry."

Shifting closer to him, your leg gently bumped into his evident arousal. "Don't be sorry," you murmured, shifting your thigh between his legs. "I asked you to do it. I don't want there to be anyone else."

"There is no one else," he breathed, groaning as you dragged your thigh back and forth over the heavy length of him. His hips automatically responded, rutting into you, desperate for friction. He had already taken too much from you but he wanted you so badly.

"Come here," you coaxed, reaching to grasp his cock with your fingers as your tongue licked into his mouth.

A deep moan rumbled in the expanse of his chest as he rolled his hips into your touch, kissing you carefully yet deeply, as to not damage you any furthur.

"Too much," he murmured, tearing his mouth away. You thought maybe your grip was too tight, or you were working his length too fast - which didn't really track for a man with superpowers.

"You give me too much," he made clear, pushing your thighs apart and easing on top of you. "But I always want more. I always want you."

Sliding his arms underneath the curve of your back, he cradled you gently.

"You can have me, Miguel. I'm right here," you offered, using your grip on him to ease his cock into your wet channel.

He took you gently, with languid, deep thrusts, slow, syrupy kisses - his strong arms cradling you like a treasure.

"You're too good to me," he whispered between kisses, rocking into you fervently. "So good, baby. So good."

It didn't take you long to fall apart underneath him, your body alight with his praises breathed hotly on your ear.

You started to hope that things might really change between the two of you.

The next morning, you woke up alone...and sore. The puncture marks on your thighs were bandaged but they burned, along with several scratches. You had no idea what had happened after you fell asleep in Miguel's embrace.

You had wrongfully assumed he might spend the night with you, but, as far as you knew, he didn't sleep with you all night long. Disappointment washed over you, but you climbed out of bed and got ready for work anyway, still buzzing from the intimate moments you'd shared.

Miguel had been running so hot and cold with you lately that it shouldn't have surprised you when, upon arriving at work, Lyla redirected you to a different office. You thought she might explain, as she was never short on words, but Miguel appeared, thanking and dismissing her.

"Miguel, what is this?" You asked, glancing around at the impressivly sized and beautifully decorated office.

"Your new office," he smiled politely, but no warmth reached his eyes.

"My new - but...we always work together," you countered. "What's going on?"

Shaking his head, he slid his hands into his pants pockets with frustrating nonchalance. "I'm promoting you. Congratulations."

"I don't know what to say," you breathlessly answered, glancing around you, not entirely sure if you were being punished or rewarded.

Leaning back on what was apparently your new desk, his dark eyebrow shot up curiously. "You don't want to keep being my assistant forever, do you?"

He had a point. Still, something felt off with him.

"Besides," he went on, folding his massive arms over his chest, "If I'm completely honest...I think we could probably use a little space from one another."

Ah, there it was. Last night he was all over you, breaking into your home, drinking you blood, and today he needed space? Typical.

"What is going on?" You repeated, easing over to stand right in front of him. "What do you mean - we need space?"

"You know what I mean," he answered, meeting your gaze. "This thing we have between us...it can't go on if we want to work together."

"And what exactly is going on between us, Miguel?" You challenged stepping into his personal space. "Because you seem to change your mind about me every day of the week."

"Exactly," he almost flippantly responded. "I agree with you and that's why it has to stop. We can't get any real work done if you're coming into work distracted."

"You...you think I'm distracted?" You challenged, a deep frown pulling at the corners of your mouth. "My work here has never suffered for personal reasons - you know that."

"It has though," he accused, pushing past you and tossing his hands in the air frustratedly. "Because of the way you see me. And worse, I'm distracted. It's my fault too. We're wasting time in the office doing...what we do, and it's more than that."

He kept his back to you because he knew that if he saw your wide, pleading eyes at this moment, he might cave. "You...you accept who I am - what I am, and that's not what I need right now. It's not what our research needs."

Despite how you tried to stop them, warm tears stung the corners of your eyes. "Then tell me what you need," you whispered, wishing you didn't sound so desperate, wishing you could just tell him to go to hell.

Whirling around, Miguel seemed more than happy to deliver your answer. "I need the woman I hired. I need your mind. Your objectivity."

"You have it," came your surprisingly steady reply. Placing your hand on his arm, you tried to get him to look at you. "I'm with you a hundred percent. I'm here to work, you know that."

"No," he shot back, pulling away from your touch, doing his best to ignore the way your caress burned him alive. "You like the monster too much."

With a heavy sigh, he pushed his fingers through his dark waves, dreading the rest of this conversation. But it had to be done.

"I should be thankful for someone like you," he softly explained, turning away again as your jaw clenched in fury. "You're brilliant. Beautiful." He swallowed hard. "I love spending time with you. I want more. Believe me, I do. I even told you about Gaby, but..."

Mustering all the courage he could possibly manage, he faced you. You deserved that, at least. "Somehow...you like the monster I am. You let me do things to you that should make you run away screaming. I hurt you. I've done terrible things to you, and you seem happy to let me do it."

"How is that a bad thing? You said I was good to you," You whispered, swiping angry tears with the back of your hand. "Why is it wrong of me to accept who you really are?"

"That's not who I really am!" He cried, grasping your arms with sudden desperation. "It's what I am. It's what happened to me. And I let myself get lost in how good it feels when I feed - when you give yourself to me. It feels so fucking good - "

"Miguel - "

"No!" He silenced you, squeezing your arms to almost the point of pain. "Stop...tempting me. You make me feel like it's okay to be this way when I know it's not! I know it sounds like I'm blaming you for my choices. But we are in the lab every day to figure out a way for me to stop being this monster. I need someone who can help me do that, don't you see? Not someone begging me to rip her open."

His chest heaved as he roughly released you, walking away as his face burned with shame.

"We have to stop all of this," he went on, running a hand over his face. "I can't work in the office with you. That's not your fault - it's mine. I get so distracted. And I'm not feeding on you anymore. Don't ask me."

Your lip trembled as tears freely flowed. In trying to show love to Miguel the only way you knew how, you had completely wrecked everything. But maybe it wasn't love at all to let him use you like this. Maybe he was right and you were only enabling a monster because he was wild and dangerous and the sex was life-changing.

"I know you're angry with me," he roughly whispered, after a short, painful silence. "I don't blame you if you walk out of here and never come back. I've treated you horribly, and not just by physically hurting you. I say one thing and then do another almost every day. It's cruel," he concluded, his voice soft now, and distant. "But if you are at all interested in our research, then let's work. Enjoy your promotion - you have more than earned it."

Locking eyes with you one more time, he added, "And if you really care about me, help me. I don't want to be like this anymore. I don't want to hurt you anymore."

With that, he left you to your new position in your new office.

next->

All right, what do we think? The song "Should I Stay or Should I Go?" comes to mind. Don't worry, things will get ironed out soon.

@deputy-videogamer @toecurlingstories @zephyrixx @wordacadabra @juleshadalittlelam

[cheezyratz]

Peter stared into Miguel’s eyes. He stared longer than he should have, longer than was polite, but could you blame him? Miguel’s eyes were beautiful, hypnotizing, shiny. There was a sparkle to them too. For a second Peter thought it was just him reciting some cheesy line from a romcom, until he realized something.

Peter grabbed hold of Miguel’s face, hands pulling the moon-being closer a bit harsher than he meant to. Miguel had specs in his eyes, small and scattered and gold. No, not specks, stars. He had actual stars in his eyes.

“Uh, are humans usually this invasive?” Miguel spoke. Peter let out a curse as he pulled away his hands.

“Sorry! Your eyes are just super beautiful so I wanted to… get… a better look at them…” Peter hirriedly apologized, sentence trailing off as he processed what he was saying. A blush took over his face, turning him red.

Miguel’s eyes grew big, blinking in confusion before they refused to look at Peter. “That’s— uh— well, your’s are… nice too, ” Miguel spoke with a sheepish smile.

“Thanks,” Peter whispered. He looked over to Miguel, who was smiling up at the moon. Slowly, Peter inched his hand closer to Miguel’s before holding it in his hand. Miguel let out a quiet gasp and Peter made to pull his hand away, only for it to be caught in Miguel’s own.

“You’re… warm…” Miguel whispered, eyes still focused on the sky. “I… like you…” he continued, before yelping. “I-I mean—! Uh—! I like your… warmth… yeah. It’s much colder on the moon than um… here with you.”

Peter smirked, bringing Miguel’s hand to his lips and kissing his knuckles. “You don’t have to explain yourself.” Peter moved closer to Miguel. “You just have to be yourself.”

[ichorai]

get better ; hobie brown.

track nine of BROKEN MACHINE.

pairing ; hobie brown x spider!cottagecore!reader (gender neutral)

synopsis ; electric guitars and strawberries, leather jackets and quilted skirts, city spiders and cottage spiders. the two of you were perfect for each other.

words ; 5.5k

themes ; fluff, mild angst & action, established relationship (dating)

warnings / includes ; mentions of death, a nightmare/mild panic attack, reader is a mutant on top of being a spider (has the ability to conjure flowers), reader's universe is basically cottagecore universe, pav is there even tho he shouldn't be bcs i wanted to include him, hobie is an amazing bf and affectionately calls reader 'cheeky' :( and a little charles xavier mention bcs <3 the x-men are everything to me

main masterlist.

London was a cold, dreary place. You didn’t belong there, no, sticking out like a sore thumb from the cold, harsh corners of buildings that grazed the clouds and the damp, narrow streets. But you were there anyway, almost as often as you spent time in your own quaint universe, where York was nothing but homey cottages and endless green fields of flowers, strawberries, and farmer’s markets.

You were there for your boyfriend, who cared for the people of the city enough to criticize its leaders—a feat the large portion of the country couldn’t be bothered doing.

Today was a long day of protesting. Inhumane laws were being passed, the government was in shambles, and the PM was a fucking joke. You wanted to be there for him and show him support—it wasn’t your universe, sure, but it was important to you, anyway. Nobody deserved to live in fear of tomorrow.

The two of you made your way back up into Hobie’s dingy little apartment when the sky began to grey with gloomy clouds and cold rain dribbled down dirty rooftops. Hobie slammed the door behind him, the faded Sex Pistols poster loosely tacked on the back warbling with the sudden movement. In turn, you made a bee-line for his bed on the opposite side of the room—really, Hobie’s apartment was just a narrow rectangle, with a cramped bed in one corner, a beaten-up green sofa in another, and the kitchen furthest away from the door. There was another door by the other end that led to the bathroom with cracked mirrors. All the walls were covered with art, posters, random memorabilia, and stickers. 

It was a claustrophobe’s nightmare, but it was home to Hobie, which made it your home, as well.

You moaned with relief when you laid down on his thick comforter, shutting your eyes for a moment. Still leaning against the door, Hobie watched you eagle-spread over his bed with a small, amused smile. 

He could never get over how funny you looked, surrounded by dark colors and ripped clothes and filthy artwork, when you yourself were the exact opposite—all soft hues and gentle nature and sunshine. Hobie loved that about you. How you were unabashedly so lovely no matter where you were, or what you were doing.

“You falling asleep on me, Cheeky?” he asked, voice lilting with the affectionate pet name, languidly striding over to sit onto the mattress beside you. The bed creaked with protest under the additional weight.

“Mhm,” you hummed in reply, turning your head so you could offer him a tired grin. “Rain always gets me sleepy.”

The silver of his piercings glinted with what little light streamed through his window. “Take a nap, then, yeah? I’ll wake you up for dinner.” 

With your final murmur of thanks, Hobie dipped down to sweep the hair away from your face, placing a chaste kiss to your forehead, before standing back up to go fix himself a snack. 

Hours later, when you had only begun to twitch with the beginnings of a nightmare, Hobie had gently shaken you awake, beaming at the way your nose wrinkled and your heavy eyes fluttered open to meet his bright ones. 

“Rise and shine,” he greeted, smoothing out the creases of the shirt you were wearing. “Well, it’s not really shinin’ out there, innit? Rise and gloom.” 

A steaming cup of peppermint tea was pushed into your hands. You didn’t even have to taste it to know that he’d added just the right amount of sugar for you. “Thanks, Hobie,” you mumbled, craning your neck to kiss his cheek.

“Got you somethin’ from the chippie—it’s in the microwave whenever you want it.”

Still groggy, you loosely wound your arms around his neck to tug him into a warm embrace, careful not to spill any of the tea. Half of your body was slung over his legs, the other hanging off the bed. Without hesitation, Hobie’s long arms came around to pull you tighter against him, hugging you close. 

“Argh, you’re just too good to me,” you whispered, clutching him tight. “How much was the food?”

“Ah, ah,” he said, pulling away to click his tongue and shake his head. “Don’t worry about it. My shitty universe, my shitty quid.”

With an affectionate roll of your eyes, you pulled away from him. “Alright, well, next time we’re at my place, I’m treating you.”

“Would expect nothing less, Cheeky.”

The two of you shared the microwaved dinner from the chippie together, the large fries nearly burning your tongue and the fish drenched in far too much vinegar for your taste, but the two of you ate it happily regardless. 

After the food was cleaned out, you curled up into Hobie’s sofa—which smelled just like the mango perfume you had given to him for his birthday—and brandished the sewing kit you had kept here, hidden beneath the cushions. Your boyfriend took a seat beside you, his guitar situated over his lap and a dull pocket knife gripped in his hand. He took to engraving his initials against its side (and planned on engraving yours right next to it), as you pulled his leather vest closer, stitching one of the patches that had come loose back on. 

A comfortable silence stretched over the both of you, like a warm blanket draped over your shoulders. It was only broken by Hobie’s disjointed humming to a song you couldn’t recognize, and the soft pattering of rain outside. 

Once he was done with the ‘B’ of his last name, he peered over your shoulder, leaning down to press a kiss to the base of your neck. “How’s it coming?”

You turned with a sweet smile, one that made Hobie’s chest warm. To him, you were the literal embodiment of sunshine. “All fixed,” you chirped, nudging him slightly. “How’s the guitar?”

“Good as ever. D’you mind if I put your name next to mine?”

Your eyes shone. “Go ahead,” you replied, before reaching down to fish something out of your pocket. “Oh, I totally forgot—I embroidered this for you! Made it from my own synthesized silk ‘n everything.”

It was another patch, about half the size of his palm, depicting a bright red strawberry sitting against an equally vibrant yellow backdrop. A genuine smile flickered over Hobie’s countenance. 

“Oh, this is wicked, Y/N! Looks fuckin’ fab,” he exclaimed, leaning closer to inspect all the tiny details. Somehow, his beam grew wider. Hobie situated the patch over an empty spot on his vest. “Could you sew it here?”

You nodded whilst humming an affirmative. A rush of heat pulsed over your face when Hobie leaned down to kiss your cheek, pulling back with an obnoxious mwah. 

“You’re a talent, you know that? Thank you.”

It was a few minutes later when you showed him his vest—finally ready and decked out with a multitude of both new and fixed patches. In turn, he showed you your name etched right next to his. Overwhelmed by just how much you loved your boyfriend, every single bit of his punk, anarchist self, you threw yourself into his open arms, hugging him tight. A flower appeared behind his ear, and he pinched it between two fingers, pulling it away to inspect its small white petals and smooth green stem. With a hum, Hobie pushed it back onto his ear and returned your embrace.

A week later, you and Hobie were at another underground music concert, filled to the brim with punk rock enthusiasts and anarchists of the very same ilk as him. Seeing as he was the last gig to play, the night ended with an elongated guitar riff, and Hobie’s fist thrusting high up as the final notes crashed against the cheering crowd. It wasn’t long before he was hopping off the rickety stage, immediately greeted with your wide smile and more tiny flowers blooming within the moist cracks of the sidewalk by your feet. 

“You did amazing!” you exclaimed, bouncing on the heels of your feet excitedly. “Argh, I’m so proud of you! When you did that thing—with that guitar—and then you just—AH! I loved it, Hobie!”

Your boyfriend slung an arm over your shoulders, briefly pressing his nose against your hairline. “Thanks, Cheeky.” He glanced at the large box you were holding. “What’s all this now?”

“Merchandise,” you chirped with bright eyes. “Made it all myself back in my universe. Free of charge, of course. Everyone deserves to enjoy art without worrying about its price.”

Hobie swore he fell in love with you just a smidge more right then and there.

With nimble fingers, he plucked a bundle out of the box, unfurling it to reveal a dark black t-shirt with a messy crimson scrawl of ANARCHY! across the chest. To his fond delight, there was a little flower drawn just beneath the large text. A touch of him, and a touch of you.

Not waiting another second, Hobie slipped the shirt over his head, one of his piercings momentarily snagging against the collar. You were quick to shift the box onto one arm so you could help him safely tug the shirt down without ripping his earlobe into two. 

After murmuring his thanks, Hobie cupped his palms over his hands to yell, “Oi, you lot! Come ‘round here for free shirts! Made by the loveliest person I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing!”

The two of you stayed at the venue until all your shirts were given away, and even then there were a few stragglers left, disappointed they hadn’t gotten anything.

“Come to Hobie’s next gig, I’ll bring some more things by then,” you reassured them with a kind smile. 

After another series of goodbyes, Hobie finally pulled you out of the dingy venue, his hand curled over your upper back and your arm wrapped around his hips. 

Hobie was a true artist. Everything he touched, he could turn into something of beauty, something raw and pure and breathtaking. When you had vocalized such thoughts to him, he smirked, loose and humored. 

“Don’t like labels,” he said, gaze fixed on his guitar and the uncapped marker he was using to draw just beneath the strings. “You sure you’re not biased?”

“Not at all,” you hummed in reply, leaning against him. The two of you were in your universe, laying spread over a checkered blanket on a vast field not too far from your little cottage. The grass was greener than what Hobie had back home, and the air was clearer and lighter than anything he’d ever breathed before. Somehow, the breeze that whistled between the two of you smelled of strawberries and peaches—or maybe that was your perfume. Hobie couldn’t get enough of it, either way. Your universe was beautiful—nearly as beautiful as you were. 

Whilst he was concentrating on his scribbled drawings, you were tinkering with one of your web shooters—a series of miniscule gadgets with brown fixings to wrap around your wrist. Once you clicked it back into place, you jutted it out to Hobie, the round capsules hovering only inches beneath his nose.

He laughed, gently pulling your hand away so he wouldn’t go cross-eyed. “You make these yourself?”

“Synthesized them with all natural ingredients. Took a lot of trial-and-error, but I think I’ve finally perfected the colored formula,” you said, pressing down with both your middle and index finger, showing him how the webs shot out so far he couldn’t even see where it disappeared within the swishing blades of grass.

Arching a brow, he echoed, “Colored formula?”

You grinned. “Take a look. I made them green! I think it’s much prettier than plain ol’ white,” you said.

“Green spider webs, huh? You really are something else,” he surmised with a half-chuckle, half-snort, a goofy smile to his lips. Your excitement was beginning to rub off on him, so he took your hands again, admiring your craftsmanship. “These are so fucking cool.”

“I could make you colored webs, too—whatever color you want!” You perked up with the idea, smiling brighter than the golden sun hanging sweetly in the soft pink sky (the skies were pink during the day in your universe, it was trippy as hell). Little flowers bloomed around you, a few appearing in the surrounding grass, some popping into his hair, others materializing on your flowing blouse.

Flustered, you reached over to pluck out the flowers in his hair, murmuring a quiet apology. 

“Nah, it’s cute,” he reassured you, shooting you a curious look. “So—does your universe have others that are also called ‘mutants’ or is it just you?”

“There’s not a lot of us,” you admitted. “It was scary, at first. I was completely… normal until I hit thirteen years old—all of a sudden, flowers started blooming everywhere and I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t control it and it only grew worse the more scared I got. A man named Charles Xavier took me under his wing at his school for gifted students—well, that’s just a code word for mutants—and he helped me train to control it. Obviously… not well enough—flowers still sprout when I feel strong emotions.”

Hobie’s nose wrinkled. “My fault. You like me a bit too much, Cheeky.”

With a playful shove, you huffed out a tinkering laugh. “Anyways, while I was at the school, there was a student with the ability to turn objects radioactive. Highly dangerous, and he could’ve been used as a weapon of war if in the wrong hands. One day, he was just fucking around and… he accidentally turned a spider radioactive. He didn’t tell anyone because he was scared he was going to get in trouble. Lo and behold, it got loose, and the next day, it bit me while I was out on a walk. So not only was I a mutant, I became a Spider, as well. I trained with my newfound powers every day in the Danger Room. I graduated top of nearly all my classes. And not too long after, Miguel came popping out of nowhere—the look on his face when flowers started appearing all over his suit was hilarious.” You chuckled lightly, leaning your head against Hobie’s shoulder. “Your powers are much cooler, though. I wish I had electric abilities.”

The marker in Hobie’s hand was quickly capped, and put to the side so he could raise it to stroke the back of your head. “Flower power is cool as fuck, what are you on about?”

You smiled. Another flower, a fragile pink thing, blossomed onto his lap. Hobie barked out a roguish laugh.

“I love you,” you hummed. 

“Love you back, Cheeky.”

Nueva York was the exact antithesis to your world. Everything was new and modern and cutting-edge, heavy on minimalism and plain white canvases of nothing. It lacked art and humanity and just… life, in general. You didn’t really enjoy coming to this universe—the only reason you did was to help out with anomalies whenever you were needed. Though you didn’t quite agree with Miguel’s canon theory (it was messy and evidently didn’t apply to every Spider), you had to agree that villains running amok in rogue universes was no good for anyone. You had personal experience with the matter when a glitching Mysterio came tumbling through a farmer’s market in your universe, baskets of fruit flying every which way and bouquets trampled beneath his descent. 

Today, however, you were called in because of your boyfriend. His hologram had appeared over your wrist, offering you a loose smile and a two-fingered salute.

“Hey, Hobie,” you greeted, pausing your baking and brushing errant strands of your hair away with flour-covered hands. “What’s going on?”

“I’m at HQ. Heading over to see Miguel. D’you mind coming, if you’re not too busy?”

“Oh, uh, sure,” you said, heading over to the wash basin to rinse off your hands. “Is everything okay?”

The hologram of Hobie hummed, warbling as you rushed to change out of your clothes and into your suit—a white top with beige and green accents, webbing into a spiral around an embroidered collection of flowers on your chest shaped into a spider. Your boyfriend lowered his voice to say, “The original is here.”

“Original?”

“The first anomaly.”

“Oh,” you said, eyes widening a fraction. Oh. 

Hobie pursed his lips. Though he was doing well to hide it, you could see the buried worry behind his dark irises. The both of you were well aware that Miguel wouldn’t take this lightly. “Yeah. You’ll be here?”

“I’ll be there. See you in a minute, yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ll be waiting by the Spider-burger place. Love ya, Cheeky.” With that, he flickered out of view. You blew out a breath, snagged a bag from your room, and pressed a few buttons on your watch. A glowing orange portal opened by your kitchen door. You stepped through, and a tunnel, an elevator, and a hall later, you found yourself at the heart of Spider Society.

Hundreds of Spidermen, Spiderwomen, and Arachnids alike were passing by, chattering aimlessly, or rushing to wrangle their anomalies to the Go-Home Machine. After weaving through the crowd, you made your way to the McSpiders booth, where they sold the most delicious burgers, but you didn’t think you had time for that today. 

Hobie was waiting at one of the tables, Pav glued to his side, and Gwen on the other. 

Your boyfriend waved, shooting you a wink just as Pavitr shot up, dashing forward to envelop you in a tight hug. 

“It’s been so long!” the younger Spider exclaimed. “How’ve you been? How are you?”

“I’m good, Pav,” you warmly replied, patting his back affectionately. Then, you waved to Gwen, who looked a little uncomfortable at the predicament she was in, but tried her best to push it down for a moment to say hello.

You gave her a warm embrace, squeezing tight, a nonverbal confirmation of telling her you were there for her. Knowing that she was technically universeless, both you and Hobie would often let her crash over at your respective places. In fact, she slept in one of your extra rooms so much it was practically hers by now, filled with plenty of her personal belongings. She was one of your closest friends, and seeing her so anxious did nothing but fill you with worry. 

Once you pulled away from your two friends, you gave Hobie a quick hug, kissing his cheek. Pav cooed obnoxiously whilst Gwen lightly joked for the two of you to get a room.

Hobie shoved at the blonde’s shoulder with scoff. “Come off it, we wouldn’t have the time anyway.” 

Finally, you turned your gaze to the last one in the group—Miles Morales. 

It was certainly strange to see him in the flesh, when he was such a popular topic of discussion amongst the verse-traveling Spiders. He was a gangly yet handsome boy, with a head of dark, curly hair, and large brown eyes. 

He offered you a nervous smile. “So, uh, you must be Y/N! I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I can say the same thing,” you replied, thinking back to all the times Gwen would lounge in your bed and tell you about her time helping Miles with Kingpin. “It’s nice to put a face to your name after all this time.”

“Yeah, yeah, same.” Awkward as ever, Miles let out something akin to a laugh. His eyes darted down when he noticed Hobie’s hand slipping over your midriff. “So! You’re Hobie’s partner, right? I thought he didn’t believe in consistency.”

You grinned when Hobie drummed his fingers along your hip, shrugging in a nonchalant manner. “If I was inconsistent all the time, that’d be me being consistent, no? Keep with the times, mate.”

Confused, Miles’ lips parted to ask another question but you shook your head. “Just don’t question it. God knows how many times I’ve stumped myself trying to figure him out.”

Hobie shot you an amused look. Before anyone could say anything else, Gwen swung onto her feet, shifting her weight in a fidgety manner. “We should probably get a move on, before Miguel gets mad.”

“Oh, yeah, of course. You guys mind filling me in with what happened on the way?”

And so the five of you set off, with Pav and Gwen taking turns on telling you what had transpired in Mumbhattan, with Hobie occasionally chiming in. Miles was far too enamored by all the other Spiders to really pay attention to what they were saying. 

Once you were all informed, you supplied a worried look in Miles’ direction. Stopping a canon event from happening… Miguel definitely wouldn’t be happy about that.

Sensing your eyes on him, Miles met your eyes. “Is there something on my face?” he asked. 

“Oh, no. Sorry. I was just distracted.” A flower popped on your shoulder, and another appeared in Miles’ hair. He pulled it out with a surprised raise of his brows.

“Huh. That’s new,” he said with a slightly curious smile. “So, you and Hobie! I guess I just didn’t expect him to be with someone so…”

You tilted your head. “So…?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “You guys look, like, complete opposites.”

Pavitr clapped his hands. “Well, opposites do attract!”

With half a smile pulling at one corner of his mouth, Hobie chimed, “We aren’t complete opposites. We both have a crippling hatred for capitalism and greedy billionaire corporations.”

“That we do,” you agreed, beaming warmly at him. Suddenly, you perked up, remembering what you had brought with you. “Oh, I almost forgot! Pav, Gwen—I made you tote bags a while ago and haven’t gotten the chance to give it to you guys. They’re all made from ethically sourced materials, of course. Sorry, Miles, I would’ve made you one if I’d known I was going to meet you today.”

“It’s no problem. There’ll be a next time, right?” he said, watching as you handed the rolled up bags to an excited Pav, bouncing on the balls of his feet with a litany of thank you so much, this is amazing on his tongue, and a hesitant Gwen, smiling despite being so strung-up to face Miguel. 

“Right… A next time…” you echoed, unsure if there’d even be a next time if Miguel had his way with things.

Everything was going wrong. 

Miguel went too far, as he often did in his tunnel-visioned haze for order, and trapped Miles in a laser cage, intending to keep him in Nueva York while his father died back in his home universe. A sick feeling curdled within the pits of your stomach—none of this felt right to you. Peter and Gwen were yelling at Miguel, their words washing over you in a blur, like the crashing and the retreat of a wave against an unsuspecting shore. 

You watched helplessly as Miles turned around, betrayal lacing heavily across his crestfallen features, staring at the people he had once considered his friends. For half a second, Miles caught your gaze. Anxious flowers—various shades of violet and scarlet—blossomed by your feet. To your side, your boyfriend held both his hands up, gaze fixed on Miles.

“Palms,” he silently mouthed. 

Heeding his advice, Miles pressed both his palms against the barrier.

And three beats of a heart later, he had broken free. A blast of energy pushed everybody back a few feet, and you could hear Hobie’s faint laughter echo right beside your ear. You couldn’t help but smile along with him. 

Someone had to look out for the little guy, right?

Apparently, Miguel had other ideas. He wasn’t a rational man. No, he was a perfectionist to the core, needing everything to go according to his plan, his theory, his ideology. When the stakes were this high, who was to say no to him? And now, he had somehow convinced nearly the entire population of the Spider Society to chase after a fifteen year old.

Then what? Lock him up? Force him away from his home and wait out his father’s death?

No. It wasn’t right. None of it was.

As pandemonium broke out during the chase after Miles, Hobie gave you a glance. “Just for the record, I quit,” he announced. It wasn’t directed at you, per se, but it was important to him that you knew of his stance. That he wouldn’t sit around and idly twiddle his thumbs at this bullshit. 

A portal opened behind him, bathing his dark skin in a bright clementine glow. He unclasped his watch and let it fall to the ground. “You coming, Cheeky?”

“I’ll meet you at your place,” you reassured him. An unspoken trust me hung heavy between you. A white little wildflower appeared in his hair, but Hobie didn’t move to pluck it away. Instead, he ducked his head to press a lasting kiss onto your forehead. You shot him a fond grin before leaning forward to peck his cheek in return, and hurriedly rushed off to go help Miles, canary-hued flowers floating behind you with every swing.

It was by pure chance that you happened upon Miles and Peter, the latter begging for him to hold his baby, which he most definitely shouldn’t have brought along to a chase. You hid behind a large metal pipe, waiting for Miles to leave Peter. It wasn’t long before Miles was running away again, believing his mentor had betrayed him once again, and you were quick to follow after him. Green webs shot out from the fixings on your wrist, and you caught up to the younger Spider in no time.

“Miles!” you exclaimed.

“Please, just let me go back home!” he yelled, stress and panic coiled around his words as he rounded around cars and signs.

Guilt settled around your lungs in a constricting manner. You’d lend him your watch to get home, but with a quick glance behind you, noting the several dozens of Spiders hot on your tail, you realized that there was no way that he’d make it there in time without them following after. There had to be another way.

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” you replied, trying your best to convey that you were on his side. “Trust me, I’m with you on this! If not for you becoming Spider-Man, there’d be no Spider Society, and I would’ve never met Hobie. Of course I’d try to help you, Miles! Listen to me—there’s a bullet train that goes to the moon here—if you draw all the Spiders away from HQ, then you can use the Go-Home machine to get back to your universe!”

Miles shot you an initially dubious glance, which soon melded into one of cautious appreciation. “Where?”

“A couple miles that way! You won’t miss it—it’s a huge glass tube going up to space.” You nodded in the direction he was to be headed. “Good luck, Miles. I’m rooting for you!”

With a shout of his gratitude and a slight smile, Miles swung away from you. 

It’s a shame that this was goodbye. Both you and Hobie were really starting to grow on him.

It was raining again, as it almost always was in gloomy London. You were in bed with Hobie, having passed out after letting him know about how you helped Miles, and listening to him tell you about the watch he made for Gwen, knowing she’d most likely need it later down the line if things didn’t work out. He was taking up most of the space on the bed, one arm behind his head on the pillow and the other curved beneath the small of your waist, fingers splayed out over your stomach. Chests rising and falling in synchronized tandem, you were curled up onto your side so that your spine brushed against his side with each breath.

Nightmares weren’t a common thing for you, but when they did slink into your unconscious mind, they were always terrifyingly realistic, and always of the same event. Your canon event. 

Tonight was no different. 

Soft pink skies. Swinging through the trees after something—someone. Prowler. 

The forest gave way to steep mountains. Steep stones and ice and cliffs. The pink above you bled into a menacing shade of purple.

Nets of webbing shooting from your wrists. Desperation. Pleads on your tongue, but you didn’t quite know what you were saying. 

The villain tripped over the webbing, rolling down a mountainside that tapered off into a sheer drop. You darted forward, shooting out a web to catch the Prowler.

But it was too late. 

They tipped over the edge, stray pebbles tumbling down in their wake. If the Prowler screamed, you couldn’t hear it over the thrumming blood in your ears. 

It took over a minute for their body to hit the ground with a sickening thud. 

Horror stained your insides black. You weren’t quick enough. You failed.

You made your way down the mountain, wide eyes fixed on the motionless body. You crept forward, checking for a pulse. Dead. 

Gingerly, you peeled the mask away from their face. The hazy face of your best friend stared back up at you, beaten and bloody. 

Your fault, your fault, your fault—

You woke up with a gut-wrenching sob, jolting up with a broken wail. Hobie had startled from his slumber at the sudden commotion, quick to prop himself up on an elbow, his hand shooting out to properly wrap around you.

Comforting words were murmured into your hair. You only cried harder, gently pushing the blankets away from you, feeling overwhelmingly hot and crowded. It took you another moment to realize that you were hyperventilating, large flowers popping up everywhere around the two of you. 

“Breathe,” you could hear your boyfriend say, tracing slow circles along your lower back. “That’s it, love. You got this.”

After a few minutes, your breaths had slowed down, and the tears stopped flowing. You sniffled quietly, turning to Hobie with an apology on the tip of your tongue.

“Don’t apologize,” he said, seeming to know exactly what was on your mind. “You alright?”

“Nightmare,” you whispered in return, voice hoarse with disuse and thirst. “My canon event. It’s my fault Prowler died. My best friend.”

Another circle along your spine. “You wanna talk about it?”

Your eyes, puffy and red-rimmed, blinked back more cresting tears. You nodded, croaking out the tragic story of you and your best friend—the Spider and the Prowler. Hobie listened intently, humming soothingly into your skin. 

Once you were finished, he adamantly shook his head. “You can’t blame yourself for that. It’s not your fault.”

But it is, you wanted to say. You swallowed the words, deciding instead to remain quiet and simply lean further into his touch. 

“I love you,” he said, voice low and soothing. “You hear me, Cheeky?”

“I hear you. Thank you for… for always being there for me. You’re the punkest punk that’s ever punked.” 

A hum rumbled from his throat. ���I’ll always be here for you. I trust you’ll do the same for me. We’re all broken, but… it’s a good thing we Spiders got sticky webs to keep us together, yeah?” A pause before Hobie backtracked, “That didn’t come out the way I intended it to but you get my point.”

You wrinkled your nose in amusement. “Yeah. I’m glad we found each other in all this chaos, Hobbes.”

“Mmh. Nothing better than a bit of chaos, innit?”

The two of you sat in silence for a bit longer, simply soaking in each other’s comforting presence. When you arched your neck to press a lasting kiss along the underside of Hobie’s jaw, you could feel his face shift with a fond smile. Before he could reciprocate the gesture, a tangerine glow shone from outside the window, warbling with the rain, but still a stark juxtaposition to the macabre grey of the city.

Both you and Hobie peered out of the window, limbs still tangled. 

Outside was Gwen, her cowl pulled over her uneven strands of blonde-pink hair, hexagonal portal rings shifting behind her. Her features were solemn and grim as she locked eyes with the both of you. You and Hobie glanced at each other. Small pink flowers started to bloom along the windowsill, much to your chagrin.

With not another second of hesitation, the two of you leapt out of bed, hastily yanking on your suits and swinging out of the window to join Gwen.

To join her in saving Miles Morales, and, ultimately, the multiverse.

[astroboots]

Rainy Night Patrol

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Summary: Miguel comes home after a night of patrolling with a lot of pent up tension to find you sound asleep.

Content: Somnophilia, panty-tearing practises (in this fucking economy?!??! I know gurl) jerking off with panties kind of? overprotective Miguel is our favourite Miguel. Rough sex. Multiple orgasms and overstimulation (cause do I evern write anything else anymore?). Implied violence against random street criminals.

A/N: Pre-established relationship with pre-established consent for somnophilia.

Word Count: 4,800

Astroboot’s Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist

Rainy nights in New York are the fucking worst.

It brings out the worst in people. Stressed-out bankers who will push old ladies out of their way to get to a seat on the subway. Drunken assholes who piss everywhere, making everything reek, and alleyway mugging seems to increase by a disproportionate amount whenever it's pouring.

It surprises Miguel that street robbery even happens outside of comic books anymore. Do these people not have a computer? Cybercrime is a thing. A successful phishing scam targeting a bank employee can net millions overnight.

Yet here Miguel is, headbutting this public nuisance for trying to rob and assault a sorority girl on her way home, fists eating into the man's face. Even though it is evident by now that there is no way the man has a fighting chance, he refuses to stop. He's hissing and spitting at Miguel, lunging at him with the ferociousness of a rabid racoon.

The easiest solution would be to bite and paralyze and call it a night. But from the reek of stale sweat and copious body Axe spray coming off of this asshole, Miguel has no desire to put any part of this man's body into his mouth.

So here Miguel is, putting this bargain-bin Sylvester Stallone wannabe in a headlock and slamming his head into a street lamp in an attempt to knock the man unconscious, instead of where he wants to be: home, in your questionably sized apartment and lumpy feeling bed.

Christ, he hates this city.

By the time it's all said and done, and everything is wrapped up, it's already past midnight. As he slinks in through the window sill into your bedroom, you're fast asleep.

You're lying on top of the quilts, the bedside lamp still on, which means you've been up waiting for him, even though you're supposed to have an early morning tomorrow. Something, something about how it's year-end and you have to present... something or the other.

It's... endearing that you still do that, try to wait up for him every night, even though you should know by now that more often than not, he'll be home much too late for you to still be awake.

Climbing inside the bedroom, the post-fight adrenaline is still surging through his veins. He's riled up, irritated. There's heat brandishing under his skin that is pushing at the edges begging for an outlet.

He glances in your direction. You look so soft in the dim bedroom light, half of your face buried into the pillow.

No, tonight is not the night. You need your sleep.

With a shake of his head, he walks over to his side of the bed, letting the Unstable Molecule fabric of his suit recede until he's left standing naked in the half-darkness of your bedroom.

Dragging away the sheet, he tucks it over you, you hum and shift in your sleep. Leg swinging Akimbo over to his side before he's even had the chance to lay down. The oversized sleep shirt does nothing to disguise the curves of your body, falling completely off one shoulder and riding up to reveal the tantalizing curve of your bare thigh.

Shit.

His mouth waters at the sight, cock half hard just from watching you. It's not helped by the adrenaline still buzzing in his head. It wouldn't take much to get him the rest of the way there.

Miguel groans and rubs the bridge of his nose, trying to ease the tension growing between his temples. How exactly is he supposed to be getting any sleep with you lying next to him, all soft heat and sweet little hums that make him want to grind up against you like a cat in heat?

The weight in the bed shifts as you roll back away from him. A quiet snore issues from where you’re digging your face deeper into the pillow, clearly exhausted. 

Fuck, guess he's just going to have to try. It'd be cruel to wake you now.

He slides into bed next to you, settling for the comforting warmth of you next to him, as he curls one arm around your waist and wraps himself around you. Burying his face into the warm nape of your neck and taking a deep inhale. The smell of your shampoo and soap that pleasantly lingers on his skin, washes away the memories of the stench of rain-soaked streets of this city, the disgusting smell of sulphur and piss.

New York throws a lot of stuff in his way. Muggers, arsonists, would-be murderers. It's nothing he can't handle. And he can handle what it throws at you too. Whether it is torrential rain or some freak force of nature threatening to put you in harm's way, it doesn't matter. He keeps you safe.  And despite all the close calls, you're still here. Still alive. Still his.

His hand slides over the curve of your thigh at the thought, needing to feel your warmth underneath his fingertips. Goosebump prickles your skin at his caress, and he watches the way your back arches, pressing into his touch, even in your sleep.

A slow steady warmth blooms in his chest at your reaction. It's a heady blend of protectiveness but also pride. The universe itself can throw any tantrum it wants. He'll protect you from it all.

Your eyes stay shut, still clearly asleep, but your mouth parts with a needy hum, and Miguel gives you what you want, easing your body back into his arms. Like clockwork, you snuggle back against him, and the slight wiggle of your ass brushing against his front ensures there's no half about how hard is dick is anymore.

Needy heat rolls off his back in waves, and he slides one hand under the hem of your shirt and up along the softness of your stomach. If you were awake, you would be leaping away and smacking him for tickling you. But now the touch just makes you stretch and let out a contented little hum, your nipples already drawn up tight and hard for him by the time he reaches them.

Why are you so reactive when you're sound asleep? Part of him thinks you must be doing this on purpose; there's no way you can't be when he feels you shift again, the soft lace of your panties brushing up against his aching cock.  He palms your hip, following the edge of the lace down over the curve of your ass, then hesitates.

You only pull out the lacey panties when you really want to rile him up. Saving them for special occasions because (as you never fail to mention while scolding him whenever he's ripped another pair in the heat of the moment) 'fancy underwear isn't cheap!' One of these lacey thrilly little things easily would set you back at $80 a pop. Miguel isn't exactly hard pressed for cash, but he sees your point.

Still Miguel doesn't know what he is supposed to do when you keep pressing back against him the way you are at the moment. He grits his teeth, jaw muscles protesting as he grinds them together, knowing fully well he's fighting a losing battle. It’s really only a matter of time. Miguel isn't a fucking saint, and right now the need riding the length of his spine is burning hot enough to incinerate him.

Oh fuck it!

Hooking a finger around the hem of your panties, he eases them to the side, and his hips hitch forward, rubbing himself against you. Sharp pleasure skitters along his back, and he has to bite down the groan in his throat. He draws back, and does it again, letting his cock ride along the curve of your ass. Letting his aching, leaking cock settle between your cheeks, the delicate lace trapping him in place against you.

You’re definitely gonna bitch at him later for stretching out the elastic. But that's okay, you'll forgive him, the way you always do.

He holds there, gently rolling his hips, doesn't go too forceful or too eager with his thrusts, some half-formed intention to not wake you. Thighs shaking as he savors the contrast between your smooth skin and the textured lace. He tells himself that he should take it slow and not disrupt your sleep. But Miguel's never been a patient man.

His hands are already moving, reaching, before his brain has anything to say about it, fingers hitching your panties even further to the side, and fuck the elastic, he'll buy you a new pair. Shit, he'll buy you twenty new pairs. A whole fucking store of panties if that's what you want.

He pulls back, presses forwards again, cock sliding between those plush thighs, the head, slick with precome, gliding smoothly against you.

And fuuuuuck.

He drops his forehead against your shoulder, eyes squeezing shut to ground himself. He can feel how wet you are, drenching his cock as he skims the hard length over and through your slick folds. You're warm and inviting and oh so fucking tempting. You may still be fast asleep, but your body is telling him it’s oh so very ready for him.

God you feel so fucking good.

Angling his hips, he slides the sensitive head of his dick against your slick folds, notching himself against your entrance, gritting his teeth against the way your pretty pussy clenches at the threat of invasion. He holds himself there, breath hissing between his teeth as he teases you both, with tiny, incremental movements forward, in, and back.

Pleasure swirls through him, hot and heady, his ears buzzing with electricity. He's lost in it, but not so far gone that he misses the noises you're making, your reaction. Those little sounds of dissatisfaction, the way your back arches, pressing your hips back against him.  All of it telling him the same thing.

He presses his mouth to the corner of your shoulder. Has to hide the feral grin threatening to break out, because for all his vague intentions of letting you rest, part of him has been waiting for this. Part of him has been aiming for this exact outcome.

You. Awake. Fully ready to take him.

He presses forward again, just far enough that the head of his cock slips inside you, and is rewarded by your body clenching warm and wet around him.

Fuck, you feel too good. You always fucking do. It punches the breath right out of his lungs, needy heat singing through his veins and along every nerve ending in his body until he goes dizzy with it. There are advantages and disadvantages to enhanced senses, and right now, he's fully feeling both. Needs to get on with it, because he intends to have you coming on his cock at least twice before he's done.

Hooking an arm around your waist, he cups your mound. He stays there, pressing with his fingers and the heel of his palm, until he's rewarded by your hips hitching forward into the pressure, then rocking back again, causing you to sink down further onto him. A gasp and a small soft moan falls from between your lips.

He does it again, encouraging you to rock forward and then back again, taking him deeper each time. Inch by brain wracking inch, you take him in. He can feel your tight little pussy stretch around him, adjusting to his cock, as he presses your hips back and back and back until you're taking him all down to the root. Until he’s buried as deep as he can go.

Somehow it's not enough. Not when he's waited this long.

He centers three fingers over your clit through the lace of your panties, resting the heel of his hand just above your pubic bone, and then he presses down.

Your pussy clenches tight, and you jolt hard against him, gasping awake with a breathy 'oh' that does funny things to his brain. Makes rational thought skitter away from him, and when he hears his name on a long gorgeous drawn out moan everything inside him roars to attention.

"Miguel."

Satisfaction thrums under his skin. You’re awake, and he wants you awake for this. Wants you to know exactly who is about to fuck your brains out.

"That's right, nena," he croons, easing his hips back, and skimming his lips up from your shoulder to nip at your exposed neck, careful not to break the skin, relishing the sound of the perfect little gasp of yours. "I'm right here. You ready for my big cock, baby?"

"It– mmmmmm– It feels…" you mumble, voice still stumbling and sleepy.

He slams back into you just as you're trying to find your words, taking a bit too much pleasure in interrupting them when he hears you whine out a breathy, "Fuck, fuck!"

"What's that?" Miguel raises a hand to your chin, cradling it in his palm, tilting you back until he can press his lips to the edge of your jaw. "What does it feel like, tell me."

"Fee-feels like– ngh– like I'm already– taking your big cock." Your words are staggered, stuttered out each time he fucks his cock into you, and Miguel smiles.

"You are," he tell you, "You're taking me so well, nena."

It's a struggle for him to get the words out smoothly. He’s rolling his hips at a steady pace, fucking you in earnest now that you're awake to appreciate it. Every slick slide into your needy little pussy has pleasure burning sharp and insistent through his nervous system, overwhelming and inescapable.

He pauses, moving his hand away from your clit for a second, and grins when you whine and clutch at his arm.

"Patience," he scolds you "I've got you. I'm just gonna..."

He tucks his hand under your panties, and you stiffen against him, making a sound like an outraged cat. He knows exactly what you're going to say even before the words leave your lips, so he ignores you, sliding his fingers along the boundary where you're stretched so wide around the base of him, getting them nice and slick.

"You didn't take off my panties!? Miguel, these are my good wuh– oh fuck."

The words cut off when he locates your hard little clit, settling two fingers over it this time, one on each side, the way he knows always drives you crazy.

"What was that, nena?" he bites back a smile, "Something you wanted to say, huh?"

You suck in a breath, but he doesn't give you a chance to answer, fucking into you hard, and wastes no time resuming his former rhythm. The only thing that comes out of your mouth is a broken moan.

"Sorry, baby," he teases, "I didn't quite catch that."

You don't answer. There's no way you're going to, not with the way your body is drawing up tight, gasping for breath as if he's driving every last ounce of oxygen from your lungs.

He knows your body as well as he knows his own, and he has you caught now, like spider with a fly in its web. He keeps holding you tight against him, hips angled to drive up against just the right spot inside you, the one that has you sobbing and clawing at him with every thrust, each one forcing you forward against the fingers he has bracketing your sensitive little clit.

No more words from that smart mouth of yours now, only gasps and whimpers and cut-off moans that might be the first syllable of his name.

You're clawing at his forearm, breath stuttering in and out of your lungs in staggered gulps. Your heart beating loud and fast and alive in your chest, and he can tell that you're close now. He can feel it in the way your tight little pussy clenches and quivers around him, clutching at his cock like it wants to hold him close, closer, closest.

"Mi– Mi– Mig–" The sound stutters out of you in time with his thrusts, high pitched and desperate—cut-off moans that might be the first syllable of his name, more whine than words. Pride swells in Miguel's chest at seeing you, hearing you like this, strung out and stuttering on his cock, begging him for your pleasure.

Pleasure that only he can give you.

"That's right, nena." He fucks into you hard. Can feel you clench around him relentlessly.

"I'm right here."

You're squeezing him so goddamned tight.

"Fucking you."

It takes everything in him to hold to the same angle, the same pace. To give you just what you need, the way only he can give it to you.

"Making you come," he bites out.

You writhe against him, whining louder now, sweet noises growing higher pitched.

"Come for me, nena," he demands, and you shudder against him, your voice rising into a wail.

Your hot little cunt clamps down tight, fluttering around him, and bright spots of pain bloom into pleasure as your fingernails dig into his arm, drawing blood. Your pretty eyes flutter shut as the whole of your body tenses under him.

Fuck, you're coming.

"That's– fuck– That's it," he grits out, slowing his thrusts, rocking against you gently to help draw out your orgasm. To buy himself a freaking second so you don’t take him over the edge with you. He keeps the soft rolling rhythm until the wracked shivers seizing your body settles. Counting down the seconds until the grip of your nails into his biceps is easing, and then…

"Again," he demands, snapping his hips forward, fucking into you hard, "Come for me again, nena."

Miguel locks his arm in place, holding you at the angle that will let him hit that perfect spot inside you every time, the one that makes your eyes roll back in your head, and he intends to have you seeing stars. He hears your breath leave you with a strangled noise, feels your pussy clench tight and perfect around his cock, and grins through gritted teeth.

If he times it juuuust right, he can send you over the edge a second time. He's done it before, forcing you into another orgasm before you've even come down from the first, and he’s not above using his enhanced reflexes to make you do it again.

And right now? The way you're writhing against him, hands and arms and pussy clutching at him, like you're trying to pull him closer—pull him in, despite the fact that he's already fucking you as deep as he can go. All of that tells him his timing was spot-fucking-on today.

It doesn't take long. It never does when he makes you come this way. And thank fuck for that, because the feel of you clenching around him is almost enough to take him over the edge with you. He has to grit his teeth as he slows to the gentle rocking rhythm you like best when you’re coming. His free hand fisting in the bed sheets, claws digging into them in a way he knows will earn him another scolding later. But R.I.P. your damn linens. Better them than him. You may have come twice, but Miguel's not ready to be done with you just yet.

This time, when you come down, he keeps things slow and gentle until you go loose and boneless. Forces himself to slows further until every muscle in your body melts under his grip. You sink down into the mattress with a little sigh, like you're ready to drift back off to sleep just like this, safe and snug in his arms, his hard cock still buried inside of you.

And if he wasn't so hard up, skin crawling with need and desperation, maybe he'd let you.

But that’s not happening tonight.

Unfortunately for you, Miguel's too hungry for you. Starving. Wants to lick and bite and swallow you down to the very marrow of your bones. 

He's been good. He's been patient. Has held himself back while he made you come. Twice. Satisfaction burns bright in his chest, almost as bright as his need for you. Two fucking times he's gritted his teeth, holding back his own orgasm by the skin of his fucking fangs as that pretty little pussy came around his cock, squeezing him so tight that for a second he was sure he'd black out and see god behind his eyelids.

Miguel is out of patience. 

Any intention to go easy on you because you need the rest is gone. Any consideration for your early morning tomorrow has flown the nest.

Hands on each side of your hips, he rolls the two of you, easily flipping you forward onto your stomach and drags you down along the bed. You stay limp and relaxed, as you let him move you like a ragdoll, positioning you the way he wants, head and chest resting against the matress, ass in the air.

Once he's got you where he wants you, he takes just a second to admire you, taking in the way those pretty lace panties highlight the curves of your ass but do nothing to conceal your slick center, pulled to the side as they are, leaving your pussy fully exposed, all pretty and puffy from how well he's fucked you and glistening in the low light.

You shiver under his heavy gaze, and he can see the way your pussy clenches, can see how wet you are, shining slick, halfway down your thighs.

Miguel must've taken too long with his one second. A soft inquisitive "hmmmmm?" emerges from where your head is buried in the pillow, and you rock your hips gently side to side.

His dick jerks at the obvious invitation. Precome oozes from the tip, and he takes himself in hand, lets himself stroke once to spread it along his length, as though he wasn't dripping with you already.

"What's that, nena?" he bites out. He's so fucking hard for you, cock aching from holding back, but even now, he can't help but tease and goad you. "You want more? You didn't get fucked good enough already? Does that pretty pussy want my cock?"

"Mmmmm.... yes," you say, one hand outstretched behind you, making a 'gimme' motion at him.

The gesture is ridiculous, but he can't help the way it makes his chest pull tight. You're always so ready to have him, no matter how much he tires you out. Suddenly, he can't wait another fucking second to be inside you again. 

He starts to line himself up, the wet heat of you just kissing the head of his dick when you tense up and make a sound of alarm. Fear stings his spine, and he freezes.

"You okay, nena?" he asks, pulling away from you, suddenly terrified that he's hurt you somehow.

Miguel has always been big—even before the "accident" that changed him—and he's bigger now, exponentially stronger.  He’d thought he was being careful, but fuck, it'd be all too easy for him to let his strength get away from him, to go harder than you can handle.

"Are you hurt? Was I- Was I too rough?"

Because he forgets sometimes. Forgets that others don't heal at an accelerated rate like he does. That your body isn't protected by enhanced endurance that lets him walk off falling from a building, barely feeling the six broken ribs and fractured arm that results.

It's why he needs to protect you. 

Always. 

Unlike him, you can be hurt. Can be broken, can be killed. And if he’s hurt you, then he–

You make a negative sound, shaking your head.

  "No, you big doofus," you mumble out into the pillow, and Miguel's heart slowly starts to ease its way out of his throat. "The panties. Take them off first. Don't want them to tear."

He stops, blinking in confusion as his eyes narrow down at you.

Your. Fucking. Panties!?

Really? His mouth curls down into a peeved frown. That's your fucking priority right now? After he's fucked you silly, made you come twice the way only he can?

"You want me to take your panties off, nena?" he demands, tone low and harsh, edging forward on the bed until he’s looming over you.

"Yes," you confirm. "They’re my last good pair." You’re nodding your head energetically in a way that tells him he hasn't done nearly as good of a job of tiring you as he thought. He’ll have to fix that.

With a snarl, he lances the crotch of your panties with a single claw, ripping them off your body.

"Miguel!" you squeak, clearly not expecting that, your voice pitched with disbelief, "Did you just–?"

"They were in the way," he manages to rasp out, lining himself up and pressing forward, unceremoniously shoving inside.

The tight, hot clench of your pretty pussy is blindingly good. It always fucking is. And just like always, Miguel is lost to it. He holds there, buried as deep in you as he can get, shuddering against you. He's damn lucky that extraordinary stamina comes bundled along with super-senses, or he'd probably come every damn time he slips inside you. It'd be all over at the first thrust.

Fuck, he has to move. He pulls out, and you gasp and claw at the sheets, shuddering under him as he starts to fuck you again. Obscene wet, squelching sounds fill the room, along with the echoing slap of flesh on flesh as he fills you over and over and over. You’re so fucking wet, so fucking perfect. He grits his teeth, trying to get a handle on the feeling, but it’s overwhelming. 

Your hot, perfect little pussy clenches and flexes around his dick, and a blissful burn sears against his spine, streaking white and hot with pleasure. A tell-tale sign, warning him of what's to come if he doesn't stop. He sucks in a breath, trying to stave it off, barely hanging on to his control by the tips of his claws because he wants to feel you come around him one more time.

Because twice isn’t enough. Three times won’t be either. Nor would four, five, ten. Miguel’s greedy for you. Selfish. No matter how much you give him, it will never be enough. He will always want more of you.

More of your soft body pressed up against every inch of his. More of your eyes looking back at him, glazed over as if you have no coherent thoughts left in that pretty head of yours. He wants all of that and more. Another orgasm. Another fuck. Another kiss. One more breath. Just more, more, more.

He curls his hand around your throat, feels the chaotic race of your pulse under his fingertips.

"Come for me, nena," he demands, "I need it. Need to feel you." 

He tilts your face up, your back arched like a bow towards him. So fragile. So trusting, that you let him do this to you. 

He dips down to claim your lips, snapping his hips into yours faster now. Ramping up the pace as he chases his inevitable climax, forcing you to yours. 

You whimper and keen with each thrust, eyes rolling wildly. Your mouth hangs open, panting out sweet, stuttered moans that he swallows in a bruising kiss. Your whole body tenses under him, going rigid, then your pretty pussy starts clenching down around him as you come again.

This time, Miguel can't hold himself back. Doesn't even try. Lets himself succumb to the sight, the sounds, the smell, the feel of you surrounding him, coming for him. His stomach draws in tight, toes curling into the sheets, as he can feel his balls drawing up, cock swelling further as he manages a last few ragged thrusts. Then he’s tumbling over the edge with you, burying himself as deep as he can as the unforgiving bliss rises and spreads, blotting out everything else.

It's endless. Pulses after devastating pulse that won't stop. He comes and comes and comes, emptying himself inside of you until he's lightheaded, barely able to hold himself.

No amount of supernatural stamina can help him in this moment. Not when he can feel his spend filling you to capacity and more, so full that it starts leaking out of you, down the line of your thighs and onto his. His strength gives out, and he collapses into the bed, bringing you down with him.

The two of you lay there, trying to catch your breath. You’re trapped under his weight, your small back heaving under his larger chest, sweat slicking your skin to his. He has no desire to move. Shifts slightly to the side, a concession to your need to breathe, but refuses to go farther than that. He wants to keep you right here, covered and cocooned by his body. 

You tilt your head until you can peek over your shoulder at him. There's a look in your eyes, one that he has only ever seen on you. One just for him, filled with exasperated fondness, heat and loving familiarity. One he wouldn’t give up for anything.

"You're getting me new panties."

A warm huff of laughter escapes him. The bright warm glow in his chest spreads outwards, filling him with contentment.

"Sure, nena."

"And coffee in the morning," you add.

He hums in agreement because that's fair. You're going to be in zombie mode otherwise.

"And cupcakes for breakfast," you finish triumphantly.

Miguel turns his head to observe you, the way you're trying to hide that satisfied grin into the pillow to not betray how fucking over the moon you are right now after he's fucked you silly.

Smartass. Always pushing your damn luck. But it's not like he's going to ever say no to you is it?

He puts on a show of sighing loudly with mock exasperation. "From Gladis, yeah?”.

You nod into your pillow.

"Mmhmm."

He leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, circling his arm around your waist, easily pulling you to his side.

The rain is still pouring down outside, but here in bed with your warm body pressed up against his side, the sound of it pitter-pattering against the window is almost soothing. He can feel his eyes slipping closed as it lulls him off to sleep. 

The rain isn’t so bad when you’re warm and safe in his arms. Nothing is, as long as you’re here with him. 

He’ll keep you safe. 

Always.

Credits and Dedications: I have to give so so so so much credit to my clown-in-crime @thirstworldproblemss poor woman doesn't even go here, and spent the whole of her evening writing porn to me in my DMs. 90% of the porny parts have been written by her. So for all those who enjoyed this, please go to her inbox and send her much deserved love!!!

I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

[allysunny]

If you said your requests are open… I know this is silly but JEALOUS MIGUEL

Dude gets annoyed if Y/N talks abt someone else (Ben Reilly, Peter B, some other spider people orsome of her friends back in her world) fondly and even LYLA called him out on that

Then one time when Y/N was doing that thing where she talks abt someone else in a fond way and Miguel accidentally said smth that reveals his feelings for you 🤭🤭🤭

A Jab of Jealousy | Miguel O'Hara x Spider Fem!Reader

Words: 3.4k

Warnings: Jealous behaviour from Miguel - seriously, he's kind of a stalker in here. He's down bad and whipped and acts like a sulking baby. Mentions of violence, but it's for comedical effect. Peter B. is a menace. Perhaps OOC Miguel? If there's anything I missed, please let me know!

A/N: Hey guys!! Hello!! It's me again! Gosh, it's been kinda long since the last update. I'm very sorry, but as I mentioned, I'm super busy with university, and am trying to juggle everything without going absolutely crazy. I hope you guys haven't forgotten about me! Please be patient <3

Anyways, I had a blast writing this! I'd never really written for jealous characters before, so I'm not really sure if this is any good. BUT it was very fun to write a sulking Miguel. He's just so funny, picture a big grumpy cat, upset his owner won't give him any attention, hahaha!

Anyway sweet Anon, I hope this is to your liking! It's a bit shorter than my usual works, so I apologize for that, though. But I hope it meets your expectations!!

Miguel was fuming. So much, that he could probably fry an egg on his head. In fact, Lyla had expressed a desire to do so. If only she had a physical form, she thought.

But since frying eggs on top of her boss’s head wasn’t an option, she simply chose to watch as he dug his own grave over and over again, acting like a complete moron.

It’s not like she wasn’t amused – but there is only so much she could say when Miguel sulked because you’d given someone else your attention without making him upset and causing a “I am not jealous” rant to happen.

Lyla did not want that.

Lyla knew better than to prompt that conversation.

More people should be like Lyla – namely Peter B., who’d caught onto Miguel’s little act rather early on. But the brunet couldn’t help it – pissing off Miguel was a hilarious past time, and he loved to push his buttons. He wondered how long it would take for him to finally admit his feelings for you.

Thing was, Miguel had a soft spot for you.

A very soft spot for you.

A “I can’t listen to any of these idiots talk, but as soon as you start a conversation, he’ll tell everyone to shut up so he’ll listen” soft spot for you.

A “I do not want to see anyone, leave me alone you insufferable brats, but if you walk into his office, he’ll pull up a chair and let you keep him company” soft spot for you.

A “I can’t believe you guys disgraced your mission and were unable to contain the anomaly, it is unacceptable, unless it’s you because then it’s only a ‘common mistake’” soft spot for you.

A “I’m Mr. Grumpy and Annoyed and spend my whole days sulking, but if you walk through that door, I’ll light up like a Christmas tree” soft spot for you.

A “this is the last empanada in the cafeteria, and I really want to eat, but you seem to be starving, so please have it, I don’t want you passing out on me” soft spot for you.

A “I’m not jealous, how dare you, but if I see you talking to someone else, I will most likely punch a wall (and destroy it in consequence)” soft spot for you.

Yeah.

Miguel was down bad.

But he’d never admit it to anyone – let alone himself.

He’d simply sulk in a corner, muttering about how “Ben isn’t really that interesting, and he doesn’t really need help, he’s just dramatic and needs to grow up”. Or something of the sort.

Right now, he was watching as you casually conversed with Peter B. The two of you were sitting next to each other, munching on some spider themed burgers for lunch and catching up. Mayday was contentedly eating her own burger, cheddar sauce smeared all over her face and coating her hands. 

Peter must’ve made the greatest fucking joke ever, because you bent over the table, laughing like a maniac. Miguel loved your laughter - so carefree, so unapologetically you. You wiped some tears from your eyes, still giggling. You reached out and touched his arm, which made Peter smile, and Miguel frown. 

Why’d you be touching his arm? Were you two that close? Sure, you were friendly with everyone, but were you this touchy? You’d never touched him. Did you only do that to your close friends? Did you perhaps want something more with Peter? Well, Peter was a married man. And a loyal one at that - he wouldn’t leave Mary Jane. Why would you go for a married man?

Miguel was single. Why not go for someone single?

“Oh Peter - never change!” you exclaimed with a bright smile that could’ve lit up the whole Spider Society. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go take care of some reports for the big guy.” 

The Big Guy? Who the hell is the big guy?

“Ah, yes. Don’t want him to throw a table at you, do we?” Peter joked.

A table? 

Miguel had only done that once. 

And it was deserved.

Were you talking about him?

“Don’t be like that -” your voice quickly interrupted Peter’s. “He threw a table at you because you’d been slacking off. You let that Doc Ock anomaly escape. He’s not normally like that.”

Precisely. 

Oh.

You were defending him.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sure he’s not. Off you go, you busy bee!”

“Give MJ my love - I can’t wait to try her casserole. Tell her I’ll bring the pizza rolls, I promised I’d give her my recipe.” You placed a delicate kiss on top of Mayday’s red mane (to which she giggled and reached out her arms towards you - Miguel wondered if you were this naturally good with kids, or if it was just the younger B. Parker that made everyone act like this) and walked away.

Peter smiled to himself, ruffled his kid’s hair, and then looked straight at Miguel, giving him a knowing look from across the cafeteria. He nudged his head towards your figure, and wiggled his eyebrows, mouthing “Jealous?”

Miguel sulked even more, finishing his burger in one whole bite.

Jealous. As if he was jealous. 

The next time something like this happened, Miguel had been doing some research on the Spider Library. It was a fascinating place, really - Spiders from every earth would donate books from their homeland. There were books on just about everything, from Victorian etiquette to small Lego blocks Lego Spiderman would swear to be books (a claim Miguel has never once doubted, for the little guy was one of his most trusted allies). 

He’d been looking through a few cookbooks (Because even Spider People deserve to learn how to cook), looking for casserole recipes. He convinced himself it was simply a way for him to eat a more balanced meal, for him not to eat at the cafeteria every single day - not that there was anything wrong with it, but he sometimes longed for the warmth of a homemade meal. 

“Noir!” your voice cut through the silence, and Miguel caught a glimpse of you chastising yourself for speaking so loudly in a space meant to be relaxing and quiet. “Sorry,” you whispered with a small giggle, before turning to the black and white character. 

You conversed happily, feet tugged under your body as you relaxed on one of the library’s comfiest chairs. The cookbook long forgotten; Miguel was now busy watching you. The way the corners of your lips titled up whenever Spider Noir said something that pleased you, how your hands fidgeted with your hair, twirling it around your fingers or tugging it behind your ear, how your eyes would widen in recognition whenever you deemed the topic good. 

“Stalker much?” Lyla whispered on his ear, making him jump. 

“Mierda! Coño - Lyla - pendeja de una…” He mumbled under his breath, looking around to make sure no one had heard him - unfortunately for him, you had. You looked over in his direction in confusion and gave him a soft smile once your gazes met, as well as a small wave. He retributed, far too stunned to speak, before returning his attention to Lyla. 

“What the hell do you want?” He asked, keeping his voice low and gruff. He hated being interrupted, especially when someone interrupted him while he was looking at you. 

“You do know this whole ‘Watching her from the shadows’ thing is getting sort of old, right? And it’s real creepy Miguel, real creepy!” Lyla chimed in, looking at him over the rim of her heart-shaped glasses. She was way too done with him. And with good reason. While it was amusing to watch jealousy eat him up from the inside and watch how smitten he was whenever you walked in, it was also draining, because it meant she was stuck with a big grumpy cat whenever you weren’t near, or whenever you were near someone else. 

“Why don’t you just ask her on a date?” she asked, voice way too exasperated. It wasn’t the first time she suggested this. Nor the second, nor the third. It surely wouldn’t be the last. “Grow a pair of cojones and ask her out. You’re a decent cook - why not cook up something for dinner? She’d like that, I’m sure.” 

“Why would I ask her out?” Miguel grumbled, trying to focus on his book once more. “And why would she say yes? She’s got plenty of friends, of companions. I’m sure she doesn’t lack dinner invitations.” 

Lyla scoffed and rolled her eyes, wishing her boss wasn’t so stubborn. 

“Well, you should ask her about because you’re whipped! Damn it Miguel, it’s becoming really disturbing to have you sulk and pout all day because she didn’t look your way, or smiled too much at someone else. It’s annoying. And you are becoming a stalker. Look at you! You followed her into the library and were watching her!” 

“I was reading!” replied Miguel, trying to keep his voice down but failing - which earned him a few “Shhhhh”s from other dedicated spiders. “Sorry…” he grumbled. “But I was reading. It’s got nothing to do with her.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure, big guy.” If Lyla were to roll her eyes again, they’d probably roll into the back of her head. “Anyway, you have some new reports to catch up on. The new recruits have done a brilliant job, actually. You might want to give those a look.” Miguel sighed and swiftly exited the library, but not before catching your gaze again, and receiving a smile from you. 

Miguel was halfway into reviewing one of the reports Jessica had sent him when he heard a knock on his office’s door. 

“Who is it?” he asked, not particularly thrilled to talk to anyone.

“Oh, it’s me! [Y/N]!” You. [Y/N]. 

Well, his door would always be open for you. 

“Come in,” he said, turning away from his multitude of screens. 

Just be cool. 

It’s not like Lyla was right.

Or Peter. 

They love to tease him - they’re both insufferable and love to annoy him. 

He’s not jealous. 

He’s not possessive or anything. 

“Miguel?” You asked, breaking him out of his trance. “You okay?”

He looked up to meet your kind eyes, and immediately relaxed before them. 

“Yeah,” he nodded, “I’m fine. Sorry, I’m just distracted. Jessica sent me some new reports, and I need to revise all of these before I store them.” It’s funny. Miguel would never admit he was tired. Not to Lyla or anyone else. He wouldn’t even admit it to himself - but you were different. You made him feel safe. He felt like he could confide in you and tell you all that troubles his mind.

“I could help you out, if you wanted to?” You leaned against a desk, shrugging your shoulders. “I mean, I don’t have much on my plate right now. If you want, I could look at them?”

Miguel couldn’t do that.

He couldn’t give someone else his workload, couldn’t trust someone else with such an important task. Should you overlook something, the consequences could be disastrous. Even the tiniest detail could lead up to catastrophic events. That’s why he always took it upon himself to review everything himself, to make sure there were no mistakes.

“I might just take you up on that offer.” 

Huh. 

That’s not what he meant to say. 

No, what he meant to say was, 

“It would be great to have a helping hand.”

No. 

No, actually, abort mission. Abort mission.

Miguel didn’t need help. He was doing fine on his own. He was the only one qualified for such important jobs, and that was why he had to set the record straight and tell you,

“Thank you, [Y/N].”

You smiled brightly at him, one of those smiles reserved for your closest friends alone (at least that’s what he thought, because Miguel had not been stalking you, and most certainly wasn’t aware of the types of smiles you gave people).

But did this mean he was one of your closest friends?

Miguel shook his head at the thought, and you giggled – a cheerful, melodious sound that Miguel didn’t mind hearing more often.

“You know, everyone around HQ keeps saying you’re like this big bad wolf,” you begin, gesturing with your hands, as if painting a picture. “It’s funny because you’re not like that at all! It seems like I’m the only one who sees that, though. Oh, and Peter B.” You chuckled, rolling your eyes. “You see, the other day, we were joking about what kind of animals each one of us would be, and – “ Miguel’s ears blocked out the rest of the line.

Peter B. this, Peter B. that.

How close were you two anyway? And why are you always talking about him?

“ – And then I was like, no, Miguel would totally be a cat, and then Ben just completely faints on the floor in front of us, and we burst out laughing!” You’re doubling over yourself, even going as far as wiping tears from your eyes. “Oh, he may be dramatic, but boy is he funny. You should listen to his impression of Victorian Spider; he’s got it down to a tee! And oh – he can mimic Peter Parkedcar so well, he does this thing with his voice, in which he goes – “

He's not even that funny.

“Huh?” You questioned, looking up from your little rant.

Huh? What “huh”?

Oh. Mierda.

Had he said that out loud?

“I’m just saying, he’s not even that funny. Ben Reilly.” He grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest, and looking away. “I don’t even know why you hang out with him. He steals everyone’s jokes and makes everything about himself. Also, he’s annoying.”

Way to go Miguel. You do not sound a day over four years old. Not at all.

“Well, I find him charming.” You reply sympathetically. “We all have our flaws.”

“Charming. Tch. Sure, if you find crying over his ‘traumatising day’ which probably consists of a spilled Sepsi charming, then sure, he’s the spitting image of a charming gentleman.” Miguel scoffed, still not finding it within himself to look you in the eye.

“That’s just who he is. I mean, you can’t really blame him, that’s probably how his whole Earth is. Oh goodness – could you imagine? A whole earth full of Ben Reillys?” Your eyes widened and you grinned once again, covering your mouth with your hands. “Peter’s always saying –“

“Peter should probably get some adult friends. And doesn’t he have a baby to take care of? I mean, he can’t possibly be bothering everyone around HQ when he’s a father – you must have things to do other than listen to him ramble on and on and on about whatever topic. Dios, he desperately needs a hobby. Doesn’t he have a wife to return to?”

Perhaps Peter B. could arrange some playdates for Miguel and Mayday. Who knows, the two children might get along.

You’re looking at him, mouth agape in a grin. You supress a chuckle and clear your throat, amusement rather obvious in your eyes.

Could Miguel O’Hara, the big bad wolf leader of the Spider Society, be jealous?

“Someone seems to be a bit jealous.” Your remark was accompanied by some sort of smile that was also a smirk. Almost like you were too amused by the situation but were also flattered. Which you were.  

There was that word again.

Jealous.

Miguel ran the word repeatedly in his mind. Could it be he was actually jealous? Was he, perhaps, too possessive of you? You weren’t his. There was no reason for him to feel so protective.

“They’re just friends, you know.” You shrugged, tilting your head. A few strands of hair fell in front of your face, but you made no effort to move them. It gave you a slightly ragged look, and Miguel felt his heart leap in his chest at the sight. “You could hang out with us sometime. I’m sure they’d appreciate it. You’re the boss, I’m sure fraternising’s not against Spider Society rules.”

It was Miguel’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Yeah – right. I’m afraid any conversation I might have with them will reduce my brain capacity. Thank you, but no.” He waved his hand dismissively. It was true. Ben was a focused superhero, that was true, but he could get caught up in his own drama far too quickly. And Peter B… Peter B. was Peter B.

This was getting quite ridiculous.

Here he was, nearly stalking someone, attacking all her friends, and acting like a possessive jerk, all because he was sad said someone wouldn’t look at him, or hang out with him as much. Miguel was a grown ass man, but lately, he’d been acting like a confused teen going through puberty. You deserved quite better. Much better.

He’d dated women before, surely, he could do it again. He’d had nice dates and formulated interesting conversations. He could do all of that again. Without stalking you and following you around like a lost puppy. He could take you out and grant you a night of fun. Treat you nicely. Cook you some dinner, perhaps.

Something ran through Miguel’s mind – a thought he never expected to have – Lyla was right. Maybe it was time to do things like a proper adult instead of pouting and throwing tantrums whenever you looked somewhere else. It wasn’t fair of him to keep acting this way, and especially towards you, who’d done nothing to warrant such a weird treatment. All he hoped for was that you hadn’t noticed his strange demeanour these past few weeks.

“But, well,” he started, trying not to sound like a sulking child, “I surely don’t lose any of my faculties whenever I’m with you. Perhaps you would like to get some coffee sometimes?”

There it was.

An invitation.

(Even if slightly half-assed)

An opportunity to stop being some creepy loser (Peter’s words), and maybe get closer to you.

(It should be noted that Lyla was observing the whole thing, and although she was merely AI, the joy she was feeling was far too big to be considered “synthetic”. She was simply happy her oblivious moron of a boss had finally manned up. She was so proud. It was like watching a baby take his first steps – only in this case, the baby was a 6’9 superhero who could crush a car with his bare hands. She was proud, nevertheless. He was all grown up now.)

Your smiled softened, and you nodded.

“I’d like that. I really would.”

Miguel looked up.

Huh. That’d been surprisingly easy.

And you’d said yes.

“Really?” Were you messing with him? Was Peter going to kick his door down, shove a camera up his face and proclaim he’d been pranked?

“Yeah!” You shrugged, linking your hands behind your back. “I think it’d be fun. I’d really like to go on a date with you.” Your eyes widened. “Unless – I mean, is it a date? It doesn’t have to – I’m sorry, I just assumed – but it really doesn’t have to, and I’d love to get coffee either way!”

You scrambled for words, face heating up by the second, which made Miguel smile. He didn’t do it often, but in your presence? All was possible in your presence. You brought out the best in him.

“Would you like it to be a date?” Okay, now the ball was on your court. While Miguel had been the one to ask you out, you were the one in charge. If you told him you’d rather meet up as friends, he’d respect your decision. (Maybe stalk you some more with heartbreak in his eyes, but he wasn’t about to say that.)

“I… I’d like that. If it were to be a date, that is – I’d really like that.” You tried to hide the way your fingers fidgeted with each other, but it was far too obvious. And completely okay. Miguel too was nervous.

“Me too.”

You smiled at his words, and Miguel’s smile mirrored your own.

“That’s settled then. It’s a date.”

In the background, Lyla did cartwheels in the air, mentally congratulating her boss.

Miguel’s smile softened and reached his eyes.

Maybe he was jealous.

But he was sure it would work out in the end.

A/N: And that's it! Again, I hope you guys liked it! I'll be working on more requests, and stuff of my own hehe, I can't wait for you guys to see what else is up my sleeve. Thank you and have a wonderful day!!

[angelltheninth]

You're Hot and You're Cold

Pairing: Pavitr Prabhakar x Reader

Tags: fluff, established relationship, domestic fluff, teasing, kissing, cooking, injury, comfort

Word count: 0.5k

Flufftober Day 12: Fire & Ice

A/N: Really struggled with this flufftober prompt but happy with how it came out.

"Ah! Shi- ugh!" Well that was quite something to wake up to. It was definitely Pavitr's voice, but he sounded very much in pain, so like a good girlfriend you wanted to see what it was all about. There was one of his discarded shirts that you found that seemed very cozy right now, so that would do for clothing.

You made your way through his apartment and just as you suspected you found him in the kitchen, jumping up and down and holding his hand, cursing his heart out. He didn't seem to notice you so you thought you'd enjoy the show and how silly he can be. It brings you joy.

Eventually he did see you from the corner of his eye. He shut his mouth right away and waived at you, his palm already turning red from the burn. "Hi. Morning. Nothing to see here. Just me making my lovely lady some breakfast. Go back to bed." He tried to hard to keep the pain out of his voice with little to no success as his voice cracked towards the end.

"Oh I'm sure you'd like that." You walked to the other side of the kitchen to the get an icepack for him, "Come here, let's get some ice on that before it gets worse." The food was already off the stove so there was no danger of getting a fire going in the kitchen, "Looking hot today. Cause of the bruise of course." There was no need to clarify what you meant, it could be true in both ways and in many ways it was.

"Yeah, lucky you I didn't get any on my chest and abs huh?" Pavitr let out a loud hiss which turned into a pleased groan when you pressed the icepack to his palm, "Ah, that's the stuff babe."

That was way too sultry, "Why are you like this?"

"Because you love me as I am. And I was just trying to get you breakfast in bed, not my fault the stove got out of hand." His fingers flexed against the ice pack, letting out another longer groan.

"Stooop!" You laughed, trying to stop him from grabbing you into a hug, "You said you made breakfast, we gotta eat it since you went through all that trouble." His hand still looked red when you removed the icepack but neither that or the cold stopped you from planting a small kiss on his palm.

"Well now I wish I got burned on my chest and abs. In fact, oh ouch, I think I did actually, and my lips too, better kiss me to make me feel better."

And that was the last straw. You pushed away from him and went for the plates, "Pavitr, I'll set the table, you go and take a nice, long, cold shower okay? Seems like you need to cool off." Pavitr pretended to be hurt by this statement but kissed your cheek anyway before skipping his way into the shower. As soon as he was gone you let out a relived sigh, "Why did I have to fall for such a cute dork?"

[your-averagewriter]

Miguel x reader and reaction to Spider-Man squishmallow by chance please? Hopefully that is not too cringey, but maybe just Miguel not understanding the fascination. Then later, admitting all of the Spider-Man squishmallow a are cute 😭. If not, no worries, take care!

Summary: (y/n) finds some Spiderman plushies in the store and buys one, Miguel not understanding her interest in it but he comes around to the cute plushie.

Word count: 0.8K

Warnings: Nothing.

-

-

“Miguel, I’m just going shopping, you don’t need to come with me.” I say as I grab hold of a trolley from the trolley bay.

“I know, querida but I like spending time with you.” He says with a slight smile.

“It’s just food shopping.” I chuckle.

“I like doing the simple things with you.” He mumbles, his cold exterior returning as his eyes scan over the store, automatically searching for any danger out of habit.

“Well, I’m not gonna stop you.” I smile up at him softly. “Having company is nice.” I say, pushing the trolley through the doors to the supermarket.

Walking down the aisles I look at the items, picking up things I know we need. After a few minutes we get through the aisle and there are some items up high, higher than I can reach and I strain on my tip toes trying to reach the box but I still can’t until I feel Miguel’s body close to mine, reaching further up than me and grabbing the item with a small smile, bordering on smirk.

“Here, cariño.” He says, placing it in the trolley, leaving me standing awkwardly.

“Thank you.” I mumble, moving to push the trolley more down the aisle.

We walk down more aisles, collecting items and checking lists until we reach a more home-like section: clothes, toys and similar things.

Smiling, I walk towards the toy section seeing the cute plushies and soft blankets and Miguel follows behind slightly confused as he trails after me.

“I don’t think you need any more soft things.” He mutters from behind me and I just ignore his statement until he walks to be next to me. Picking up one of the plushies he inspects it. “Is this meant to be a cat?” He asks, looking at it, tilting his head confused.

“Yeah, a sushi cat!” I smile, it’s a soft cat plushie that’s meant to be wrapped in a sushi roll but Miguel doesn’t seem to understand itl.

I walk away from the sushi cat and towards the other soft toys and my eyes go wide with excitement as I see some of the other toys.

Quickly, I make my way over to cute Spiderman plushies and I grab one, picking it up and showing it to Miguel as he trails behind me.

“Look!” I say, not wanting to expose his secret identity but wanting him to see it. “It’s so cute!” I say looking from the plushie to Miguel’s unimpressed face.

“I don’t understand.” He mumbles, one of his fangs overlapping his bottom lip as he speaks.

“What do you mean?” I say looking at the plushie, adoringly.

“Why? Why does this exist?” He asks, rubbing his forehead.

“Because they’re cute.” I say, putting the Spiderman plushie in the trolley. “And it’s Spiderman!” I say. “Everyone loves Spiderman.” I point out.

“Whatever you say, cariño.” He mumbles, just going along with what I’ve been saying.

We trek through the store getting everything else we need before checking out and I smile when the cashier scans the plushie which Miguel still seems confused about.

Once we’ve checked out, Miguel carries the shopping bags whilst I hold onto the Spiderman plushie, happy with the discovery. He packs the bags into the boot of the car and we drive home and unpack the bags, putting all the shopping away.

“I can’t believe they made a plushie of me…” Miguel sighs, looking at me hugging the plushie on the sofa next to him.

“It’s you as a plushie.” I point out slowly like it’s obvious. “What’s not to love?” I ask, turning to look at him.

“I’m not fluffy.” He mumbles and I reach up to ruffle his hair with a smirk.

“You’re a little fluffy.” I chuckle and I can see he’s suppressing a small smile.

“I guess you're right, querida.” I yawn, tiredly.

“Anyway, I’m gonna go to bed now ‘cause I’m tired.” I start to get up from the sofa, still holding my plushie.

“I’ll join you, mi amor.” Miguel says getting up after me and gently holding onto my hand as we walk to the bedroom tiredly and fall onto the bed, tucking ourselves under the covers.

“Are you really gonna sleep with that?” Miguel asks, looking at my plushie as he wraps his arm around me.

“Yeah, now I’ve got two Miguels.” I sigh, relaxing in his arms.

“It’s kinda cute, I guess.” He mumbles reluctantly, resting his chin on my head and I immediately perk up at his words.

“You think it’s cute?” I ask, turning to face him again.

“No, I said you were cute.” He dismisses, not very subtly.

“You said it was cute! I heard you.” I chuckle.

“Mi vida, you must be hearing things.” He mumbles quietly, although the corners of his lips turn up slightly at his joking dismissal before pressing a gentle kiss on my head.

“I know what I heard.” I smirk. “I knew you’d like it.” I rest my head back on his chest, snuggling back down in the covers.

“Mm, okay.” He says quietly, relaxing again. “Whatever you say, mi querida.” He mumbles and I can hear the smirk in his voice.

-

AN: Thanks for the request!

I hope you enjoyed reading!

[chaoticlicense]

Sloppy (Miguel x F!OC)

Summary: Amber gives Miguel some much-needed head (basically, I just wanted to write my OC going down on Miguel...don't judge me...I'm only human)

Word Count: 793

Tags: NSFW, Miguel O'Hara, Miguel O'Hara x F!OC, Female OC, AFAB OC, Smut, Blow Job, Blow Jobs, Oral Sex

Miguel is losing control. All of the composure that usually clings to him whenever he enters a room is slowly slipping away. And he hates it. He hates that he can lose control so easily because of her. He quickly learned that it doesn’t take much for him to come undone for her. It doesn’t take much for her to weaken his resolve and break down his walls. 

He fucking hates her for it.

No, he doesn’t.

How could he? How could he hate someone who has lost as much as he has, if not more? How could he hate someone who has given him the chance to feel alive again? And how could he hate someone who brings a near unearthly pleasure to him simply by wrapping her lips around his cock? 

The truth is that he can’t. No matter how much she drives him up the wall and has done since their first meeting, he can’t hate her. He can only love her. Her ferocity, her unwavering loyalty…and the way she swirls her tongue around the head of his cock before sliding her mouth down along his length. Miguel’s chest heaves as she takes in as much of him as possible before pulling back and sucking on him hard. She drags her teeth along the sensitive skin as she does so. Enough to sting but not enough to hurt. Enough to drive him wild with lust as he looks down between his legs at her. 

Amber kneels on the floor in front of him, hands on his thighs to steady herself, ochre-coloured eyes staring up at him and twinkling with mischief. When his gaze meets hers, he lets out a shaky breath. Her face is flush, cheeks red, drool dripping down her chin. The sight of her alone is enough to bring him to the edge. But the sight of her with the added pleasure of her warm, wet mouth sucking him off? It’s enough to push him over that edge and send him falling into oblivion. 

Reaching down, Miguel brings a hand to her face and swipes his thumb over the corner of her mouth. 

“You’re getting sloppy,” he manages to say through breathless pants.

Moaning in response, she lowers her eyes, focusing on working his cock until he’s nothing more than a mess of a man. Her hand wraps around his shaft while her mouth works his head. The sensation of her tongue licking and sucking the sensitive tip of him makes his legs shake. He’s so close that he can taste it. So close that he can’t help but squeeze his eyes shut and let his head fall back as he nears his orgasm. 

“That’s it, baby,” he pants. “That’s it, don’t stop.”

She doesn’t. She listens like the good girl she is and keeps sucking him off until his hand grasps the back of her head, fingers digging into her scalp. Miguel cries out as his hips buck upwards into her mouth, forcing his cock to the back of her throat. She coughs, choking a little around him. Even so, she keeps going. Even as he cums, pleasure spreading through him like wildfire, she keeps working him until there’s nothing left for him to give. 

With drool covering the lower half of her face, Amber pulls off of him and sits back on her heels. She looks over Miguel as he slumps back against the desk, hands gripping the edge of it. He is completely and utterly wrecked. She smiles at the sight, proud of herself for making him come completely undone. 

Wiping the back of her hand over her mouth, she grabs hold of his thighs and comes to her feet. With heavy breaths, Miguel opens his eyes to find her standing in front of him, hands on her hips and a smile on her face. 

“You were saying something about me being sloppy?” she asks.

As his suit reforms around his body, he flicks his wrist and casts a glowing web. She doesn’t bother stepping out of the way and instead lets it wrap around her waist a few times before Miguel gives it a tug to pull her into him.

“I said no such thing.” He chuckles, placing a kiss on her nose.

“Mhm.” She rolls her eyes. “Maybe next time I’ll get so sloppy I forget to let you cum.”

Miguel raises his brows. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, but I would.”

“You’re cruel.”

“And you are full of yourself, Mr O’Hara,” she counters with a smile. 

“Maybe, but you love me.”

This makes her laugh and Miguel grins at the sound. It’s a rare thing for her to laugh, but every time she does, it makes his heart flutter.

”You’re right, I guess I do.”

All written content belongs to ©chaoticlicense // you do not have permission to use any of my works // do not repost or modify/edit // all content is written for adults by an adult // any characters unless stated otherwise, belong to their rightful owners.