#across the spiderverse fanfiction
Text
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.
#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel ohara x reader#miguel o'hara fanfiction#miguel o'hara fluff#miguel o'hara angst#miguel o'hara smut#miguel o'hara x you#miguel o'hara fanfic#across the spiderverse fanfiction#spiderverse fanfiction#miguel o'hara imagines#miguel o'hara#spider-man 2099 x reader#spiderman 2099 x reader#atsv fanfiction
12K notes
·
View notes
Note
heyyy, idk if your request or open atm but could you write about miles (e-42) sneaking into the readers house at night, to hangout 🤗 nothing nasty LMFAOOO but like a cute lil moment
— 2:00 AM
pairing: e-42!miles x fem!reader
contains: fluff, miles being a big baby because yes
summary: miles has a hard time falling asleep when you’re not next to him. wc: 1,205
a/n: i loveee soft 42!miles omfg 😭 also i realized i changed up the plot a little after i’d already written it and came back to find the request, so i hope you still like it <3
Tossing and turning instead of getting a full night’s rest seemed to be the norm for Miles as of late.
He laid on his back with an irked sigh, hands scrubbing down his face as he lightly groaned into them. There was no need for him to check the time, he already had a pretty accurate guess seeing as he’d been checking his phone every twenty minutes when his eyes would spring back open after another failed attempt to fall asleep.
He missed you. That he couldn’t deny. He’d made the mistake of falling asleep with you one night, and he’s found himself suffering through the same old routine ever since. He’d never slept as peacefully as he did than when he was next to you, and his mind craved your presence more than it craved sleep apparently. The both of you could’ve slept on concrete and he still would‘ve sworn it was more comfortable than his own bed.
It was a stupid idea, and had he not been desperate for a solution he would’ve realized that. But there was no one to talk him out of it as he got up from his bed and fished around in his dimly lit room for his jacket and a pair of nike slides, so it looked like he’d be going through with it anyway.
He scribbled a quick note for his mom onto a post-it note, stuck it to the fridge for her to find after her shift and left their apartment without another thought, making sure to lock the door behind him.
Night walks through Brooklyn didn’t scare him, in fact they calmed him. Everything was quieter at this time, slower— and he knew these streets like the back of his hand. And even if he didn’t, he was pretty good with the switchblade he kept in his pocket at all times. Your place was only a few blocks away, and even through the slight haze casted over him from his lack of rest, he was still vigilant as ever.
He climbed the fire escape just three stories up until he got to your window, using both his hands to hoist him over the steel railing, his feet landing on the old metal as quiet as he could make them.
He hoped that you still kept it unlocked for him, that your offer stood firm when you told him he was welcome anytime. He whispered a plea before he curled his fingers under the edge, sighing in relief when the window lifted open, though the unpleasant squealing due to the age of the pane made him wince.
The last thing he wanted to do was wake you, so he only lifted it halfway, ducking down and stepping into your room and out of the cold. He glanced over to see your cheek still smushed against your pillow, your legs probably tucked into the fetal position with the way your blankets were swaddled around you.
He managed to close the window without making a sound, but on his way over to your bed he accidentally bumped into your dresser, causing a bottle of perfume to clatter into the other objects you had up there.
“Fuck—“ he hissed quietly, twin braids following the act of his head whipping in your direction when you stirred.
You weren’t the lightest sleeper, but the noise had been enough to startle you awake. Lifting your head from the pillow, you sat up quickly, eyes adjusting to make out who the hunched figure was. The two of you had said goodnight just a few hours ago, and now here he was, in your room.
”Miles?” There was a slight rasp to your voice.
“Hey, ma…” he responded, hands nervously hovering over the mess he’d unintentionally created. He fixed it to the best of his ability, but it definitely wasn’t the way you had it before.
You reached over and turned your clock towards you, the bright white numbers making you screw an eye shut.
“Miles, baby, it’s two am in the morning,” you grumbled sleepily, rubbing your eyes with the heels of your hands and yawning. “What are you doing here? Did something happen?”
Blinking the sleep from your sight, you took in his slightly slouched disposition. He looked exhausted, annoyance from his sleepless night evident in the way he sighed.
”Nah, nah,” he shifted from foot to foot, hand hesitantly raising to scratch his head. His idea seemed sensible at first. He was willing to do anything to get some shut eye, and to see you again, but now he just felt silly for waking you up for no good reason.
“Nothing happened, but I—I couldn’t sleep for shit. So I just thought—“ he rubbed his brow and gave a halfhearted shrug. “I don’t know, it’s stupid. I wasn’t thinkin’ straight and I just wanna be laid up with you. I really didn’t mean to wake you up and I can leave if—“
“It’s okay! It’s okay,” you cut his rambling short and opened up your blankets, scooting over to make room for him. “Come on.” Even in your drowsy state you could tell he was getting flustered trying to explain himself.
“Oh thank God,” he said beneath a breath as he shuffled his jacket and shoes off, eagerly slipping into your bed beside you.
You shifted back onto your side like you were before and pulled the blankets over the both of you, his arm instantly slinking around your waist to pull your body into his, your back against his chest.
“I love you so much.” he sighed tiredly.
He buried his face into the crook of your neck, taking a deep breath in through his nose just as your hand came up behind you to caress the top of his head. His behavior made it seem as if he hadn’t seen you in weeks; like he was trying to refresh his mind of every aspect of you.
“I love you too… Miles, are you sure you’re alright?” you asked, not yet all the way convinced.
“Mhm. Just needed to be with you.” he hummed, his words muffled as he pulled you closer.
“What about your mom? I don’t want her to be worried.”
He grunted at that, his response slurred and barely audible. “She know where I’m at.”
His fingers slipped under the waistband of your cotton sleep-shorts, hand traveling to the round of your lower stomach and resting over it. Why guys were so obsessed with the extra weight girls held there was still an anomaly to you. You couldn’t wrap your mind around it, but he always threw a fit if you didn’t let him hold you like that so you allowed it.
“Goodnight, Miles.” You murmured into the stillness of your room.
Your eyes opened after receiving no response from him, and you were barely able to turn your head to look over your shoulder since his own was occupying the space there.
“Miles?” you questioned gently.
Your answer came in the form of faint snores and slowed breathing from the boy who was knocked out behind you, a smile inching onto your lips at how quickly he dozed off. You let your eyes flutter to a close, ready to fall asleep again, but this time in the arms of your favorite person.
#junie’s works ᥫ᭡#across the spiderverse fanfiction#earth 42 miles x reader#earth 42 miles fluff#earth 42 miles morales x reader#earth 42 miles morales x black!reader#miles morales x reader#miles morales fanfiction#miles 42 x reader#atsv fanfiction#atsv fluff#miles g morales x reader
6K notes
·
View notes
Text
Miguel falls short of calling you stupid when you’re on your period and you try to push his hands away from you.
“You think I care?” He scoffs.
He continues to take off your bottoms, his intimidating form walking you to the mattress before laying you down on a towel, groaning at the sight of your slick folds.
“C’mon princesa, gimme one before I give it to you.”
After coming once, he has to hold you down to take him, eyes pinned to where he’s literally making room for himself inside your tender walls.
“That’s it, asi, taking me so well,” he groans, the extra wetness making it easier for him to glide through you.
And when you start whining because you’re so sensitive, he shushes you, brushing your hair back and alternating between soft nibbling and sloppy kisses along your skin, “I know, honey. I know. Just one, just give me one more.”
#miguel o’hara smut#i have a problem#miguel o’hara fanfiction#miguel o’hara imagine#miguel o’hara#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o’hara x you#miguel o'hara smut#across the spiderverse#across the spiderverse fanfiction
7K notes
·
View notes
Text
PINK + WHITE | with 42!miles and 1610!miles
— how he knew he was in love with you.
42!miles x gn!reader | 1610!miles x gn!reader
IF YOU ARE OLDER THAN 17 , GO AWAY ! !
he creased his jordans for you.
“hey! slow down!” he yells, chasing after you. “hurry up! we’re gonna be late.” you giggle, taking off. for being the prowler, he was starting to grow tired.
“i don’t understand why you’re running so fast.” he grunts.
as cliche as it is, he tripped over a pebble, falling. but he wasn’t mad that he almost got hurt. it was his shoes. he creased them. for you.
“they were limited edition!” he screams. “i’m gonna beat your ass when we get there.”
but he couldn’t. your face was too cute to hurt.
you smiled as you munched on your burger and fries.
“you gonna eat yours?” you point to his untouched food. but he wasn’t paying attention. you amazed him. how could you be so cute when you just did something oh so cruel.
you let him reference you.
“miles?” “hm?” he hums in response, not looking at you. just scribbling away with his marker. he had a cap in his mouth that he would briefly chew on to concentrate.
“how much longer do i have to sit here? my body is getting tired.” you moan. “just a second. you’re doing great.” he smiles at the paper.
at first, he was supposed to sketch some anatomy drawings for his art class. but he got carried away. there was multiple sketches of your face scattered around the paper.
every time he looked up at you, his heart warmed. you looked so beautiful. and it was unintentional. you just had it like that.
“you’re doing a lot of staring and not enough drawing, miles.” you giggle.
his cheeks heat up. “uh…yeah. sorry, i needed to see something.” he clears his throat. you are forever burned in his mind.
#miles morales x reader#miles morales fanfiction#earth 42 miles morales x reader#prowler miles#miles morales#atsv x reader#atsv#atsv x you#across the spiderverse#spiderman across the spiderverse#across the spiderverse fanfiction
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
Another
AN: I feel like I should apologize for my Miguel O'Hara thirst but...I don't wanna.
(Un-beta’d)
PWP in which Miguel makes you come over and over and—
Rated: M+ (this is smut so, i mean, you’ve been warned?)
Words: 749
Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader
Warnings: PWP, p in v, kissing, cockwarming, mild biting, soft!Miguel, overstimulation, praise kink, mild blood, established relationship, multiple orgasms, creampie
AO3
——————
“Again, mi vida, give me another.”
You whine, limbs shaking, as each push of his hips sends another jolt of pleasure through your body. He’s been at this for what seems like hours, slowly bringing you to the edge and flinging you over it, only to pull you right back up again and again. He feels so good, his thick cock dragging against every sweet spot inside you, splitting you open, hands gripping your hips, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave bruises—
Your back bows when he changes the angle slightly, the tip of his cock bumping against your cervix. The pleasure rolls through you in waves, seemingly never ending, as he slowly pushes and pulls himself in and out of you. He still hasn’t come, is still rock hard inside you; he’s holding himself back, you know, waiting for you to reach a certain level of pleasure before he allows himself to experience it himself. If you weren’t so cock drunk right now, you’d probably say something, tell him that you want him to feel good too, that you want to see him lose the control he fights so hard to keep over himself.
The stirrings of your…fifth (or is it the sixth?) orgasm begin in your belly, the tendrils coiling, about to snap. You moan weakly as your cunt flutters, breath backing up in your lungs. Miguel grunts, jaw clenching as he maintains the same slow pace, his hand sliding from your hip to your sex. His thumb barely circles your clit when the tension inside you breaks, soft waves of bliss rippling from your core, alighting every nerve in your body as you gasp, mouth falling open in a silent moan. Your eyes roll back in your head and your body trembles, fingers twisting loosely in the sheets beneath you.
Miguel’s groan is broken as you convulse around him, his body moving forward to cover yours, to cage you in as he continues to rut into you, prolonging your pleasure. He presses his face into your neck, murmuring his praises into your skin (“Such a good girl for me, squeezing me so tight.”). His groans increase as your orgasm recedes, his steady pace faltering slightly as he (finally) chases his own pleasure. You moan softly in his ear, your arms heavy as you sluggishly wrap them around his waist, hands resting on his lower back. He mouths at your skin, tongue laving sloppily at the little nicks his fangs leave behind.
When he comes, he sinks his teeth into your shoulder, almost growling as he fills you to the brim with his seed. You gasp in surprise, the sharp pain immediately melting into pleasure. His cock is soft and spent, but you whimper nonetheless when he continues to lazily fuck into you, his cum spilling out with every press of his hips. Despite how tired you feel, you don’t want him to stop, instead slipping your hands low enough to grasp his backside. He pulls his mouth off of your shoulder with a hum, nose dragging up the column of your neck until he meets your lips in a slow, languid kiss. The taste of your own blood on your tongue sends a shiver through you, arousal once more pooling in your gut.
He must sense it, because he keeps going, keeps pumping his softened cock into you, his mouth swallowing every sweet little noise that escapes from between your lips. When you come this time, it’s less intense, the euphoria cresting softly as you bask in the pleasure. He groans brokenly as you squeeze him again, his forehead pressed against yours, half-lidded eyes glued to your face. His hips finally still as you both come down, and he kisses you again, soft and slow, his hand smoothing gently down the side of your face.
“Okay?” he asks, pulling back a little to study your face.
You hum, smiling drowsily at him, your hands running up and down his back.
He smiles back at you, a suspicious glint in his eyes as he churns his hips a little. “Can you give me another one?”
You whine, shaking your head, your nails digging into his back. “Miguel, no, please. I can’t—”
“I know, baby,” he chuckles, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your lips. “I’m just teasing.”
You fall asleep like that—his body draped over yours, his cock still inside you—his solid warmth lulling you into a pleasant sleep.
If you enjoyed this, please let me know! I appreciate every single reblog and/or comment. Thank you. 💖
🌟 Masterlist 🌟
i am no longer doing a taglist. please follow @charmingupdates for updates and turn on notifications.
#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara x you#miguel o'hara smut#across the spiderverse fanfiction#miguel o’hara fanfiction#my fic
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐀𝐏 𝐌𝐘 𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇
pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader
genre: smut, minors dni
word count: 4k
summary: after finding him wounded in an empty alleyway, against your better judgment, you decide to patch him up in your apartment. you expect that to be the end of it, never to see him again, that is, until you do.
warnings: piv, rough sex, dirty talking, biting, claws make a brief appearance, mild degradation (he calls you slut once), mention of female masturbation
You live in a world without heroes. Yet, the villains roam free.
You’re used to it by now, walking through the damp alleyways. You hear a shout here and there, always keeping your head bowed as you walk past whatever might be going on. Once upon a time, this bothered you. But after a knife to your stomach and a punch to the cheek, you learned to look the other way around, no matter how painful it might be. Sometimes you find yourself wondering why this might be. You always assumed some type of ying yang situation should be in place, making everything right, but you seem to be living in a world without good. Without light.
You don’t know what prompts you to do it. You’re walking back from work, the scent of rain and the stench of exhaust thick in the air. All you want to do is get to your cramped apartment before the downpour.
You think it’s the wind that makes you turn your head, you hate when your eyes water and dry out. When you do turn, you stare into the familiar abyss of the alleyway behind your apartment. It’s truly pitch black. Despite the darkness, you see a faint movement in shadows, a loud sound, a crash. You see a flash of red, blue. Your eyes narrow—what the?
You know well that you shouldn’t, that whatever was lurking in the shadows would be bad news, but you do it anyway. With a grunt, you open the flashlight of your phone and take a step closer. There’s a man laying on the cold ground, he doesn’t seem to be moving.
“Hello?” you call out. No answer. “Um, are you drunk or high? Should I call an ambulance?”
The broad figure groans and your heart nearly lurches. “No,” he mumbles. “No doctors.”
With a slight tremor in your step, you come closer. You shine the light into his face, his brows furrow, an annoyed scowl etching into his handsome features. Your lips part with a soft exhale. He’s so handsome.
Then you get a good look at the rest of him—what the hell is he wearing?
“Do you need help?” you ask, unsure. He doesn’t seem to be bleeding, his eye looks a bit swollen though. Wait, scratch that, you think you spot some blood on his lips. “Should I get you anything?”
Maybe you sound foolish, but you know better than to just call 911 for a random person. Everyone is a criminal these days. Fuck, if he was a criminal you should call the cops, this city is seriously starting to cloud your better judgment.
“No cops,” he chokes and coughs, as if he can read your thoughts. “Go away, I’ll be fine.”
No, he won’t.
He knows it. You know it.
“I live right next door,” you answer against your better judgment. “I have a first aid kit. I can patch you up if you want? I don’t wanna brag, but I am a nurse in training.”
He makes a sound that is similar to a chuckle but the sound quickly fades into a vicious cough. You tuck the phone into your pocket and lean over, “Alright big guy, you’re coming with me,” you attempt to throw his arm over your shoulder but that proves to be more difficult. “Can you stand? Even a little.”
He nods and straightens up a bit. You’re still carrying most of his weight but you manage to get him past the door and onto your couch.
You must’ve thrown him a little too hard because he lets out a loud grunt, teeth sinking into his bottom lip to stifle the sound.
“Sorry,” you mutter. “Just wait for me here, I’ll come back with water and the first aid kit.”
The man makes another sound. You’re starting to think this is his only form of communication.
When you come back, he’s still where you left him. Albeit looking a bit more alert now, eyes constantly scanning your humble apartment. You can’t really blame him though, you would do the same thing. You eye him warily, then place the glass of water on the coffee table. He glares at it like it’s poison.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
He scoffs, “I don’t think you could even if you tried,” he answers, tongue moving over his bloody bottom lip. He points at the table. “And there’s a coaster right there.”
“Who are you, my mother?”
Despite your sharp tone, you place the glass on the coaster and sit on the coffee table, the small first aid kit in hand. “Does that thing have a zipper, or. . . ?”
His right brow and lip cock up simultaneously. You’re acutely aware that no matter what you do, you’ll never be able to understand what’s going on in that head of his—Not that you want to. He’s a stranger. A man that looks strong enough to hold you by the neck before you can reach the pepper spray nestled in your bag.
The silence makes you uneasy, and when you finally open your mouth to speak, he leans forward. “Don’t freak out,” he grunts.
“Why would I freak out—” The rest of the sentence dies in your throat, his suit glitches—glitches—like a damn video game. It blinks once, twice and you swear you can see little particles glimmering on his skin, fading away from reality. Panic flaring in your gut, you look down.
Pants still on. And here your thought that the entire thing was a one-piece suit.
“I said don’t freak out,” he repeats, eyebrow raised and head tilted to the side. You snap your mouth shut.
“I’m not freaking out,” you say, voice shrill. “Who’s freaking out? Not me.”
His shoulders are broad, arms muscular with thick veins meandering down. You’ve never been a fan of veins popping out but whoever this man was made it look good. You swallow over and over in a weak attempt to wet the inside of your mouth. You fail helplessly. You’re not even aware that you’re holding the first aid kit with an iron grip, knuckles aching from the pressure. His torso is completely bare now.
“I don’t have a zipper,” he says unhelpfully, unaware of you behaving straight out of a 1950s cartoon.
“I can see that.”
God, he is the weirdest stray you ever brought over.
He points at the box, “So do you actually know how to use what’s inside or were you just bluffing when you said you were a nurse?”
“A nurse in training,” you quip. “And no, I wasn’t bluffing.”
With great strength, you finally drag your eyes down his torso. There’s a splatter of blood, some of the drops rubbed into his skin and the crimson trail is followed up by a giant slash across his stomach. The bleeding had stopped which was a good sign. You lean closer, your fingers fiddling with the box at the same time, narrowing your gaze you notice the wound is deeper than you had initially thought.
“Whoever it was that attacked you got you good,” you murmur. Without a second thought, you slide off the coffee table and kneel in front of him, you miss the glint in his eyes as he looks down, miss the way he spreads his legs so you can fit better.
“How do you know it wasn��t me who attacked them?”
The rough tone of his voice prompts you to look up. For someone who’s been stabbed, he’s eerily calm. His arms are spread over the backrest, chest slowly rising up and down as his eyes flit across your face, searching. The muscle in his jaw twitches, lips stretching into something resembling a snarl. Suddenly you’re hyper-aware of where you are, the position you’re in. The sound of danger rings in your ears—you don’t even know this man’s name. Your breath catches in your throat, stomach jumping. You don’t know why you initially felt so comfortable with him, as if you were long-lost friends, but you aren’t. You were being reckless.
“Scared?” he asks, venomous, hunching over your frame, caging you in. Heat radiates from his thighs, a stark contrast to the cold fear gripping your insides. He hooks two fingers under your chin, lifts your head up. Your bottom lip quivers. “You should be. You live in a dangerous world.”
“And you don’t?” you counter, your voice barely above a whisper, your words hanging in the air, challenging his assertion. The question slips out before you can fully comprehend its weight, and you see his jaw tighten as he ponders for an answer.
You meticulously cleanse the wound, removing dirt and debris with steady hands. The sting of antiseptic fills the air, intermingling with the charged atmosphere. You’re not shy with the way you touch him, a simmering annoyance warming your gut. He can take it, you think applying further pressure. He doesn’t make a sound.
The dim light of the room accentuates the harsh contours of his face, and his piercing gaze feels like it's cutting through your soul. You drag your teth against the smooth surface of the inside of your cheek. You’ve never had a patient stand this still.
Finally, just as you complete the final wrap of the bandage, he gives you an answer.
“Not the same one as you do.”
Miguel O’hara was his name. He told you just before disappearing into the neon lights of the dark and cold city. You didn’t think much of it, you were sure you wouldn’t be seeing him again, which meant remembering his name was useless.
But your mind wouldn’t let him go. You tasted his name in the dark hours of the night, hand between your legs, coming as you thought of scenarios where instead of dousing his wound in antiseptic, you took his cock into his mouth, helping him in a different way. His suit left little to the imagination and now that your imagination roamed free, you’re glad that it was.
Convinced that he’ll never show up again, you continue on normally, half in fear due to the chaos around you, trying to do your best.
That was until he did show up.
You step out of the shower, water trickling down your skin, softened by the warm steam. The towel hangs loosely around your chest, on the verge of slipping off. You never quite mastered the art of securing it tightly, but living alone means you don't have to worry about walking around naked if it happens to fall off.
The window cracks open, cold air seeping through, chilling your freshly warmed body. Tension instantly builds in your body, your eyes slowly moving to the window. You see him then. Miguel. He pushes the window open and climbs in, not saying a word. You hold the towel tightly around you—a dream, you think, it has to be.
With quick, large steps, he crowds your space, forcing your back against the wall. The air is knocked from your lungs, your throat convulsing with a sudden panic. He’s not touching you.
“M-Miguel,” you whisper. “I didn’t—I didn’t think I would see you again.”
“Neither did I,” he answers, large hands cupping your waist and pinning you to the wall. “I’m tired,” he adds, words dropping from his lips more like a punch than a plea. Like someone is squeezing the words out of him.
“What do you need?”
His eyes drop to your lips, a hungry gaze that sends shivers up your spine. You hold your breath. He’s so close, close enough that you feel his breath on your damp skin. He tilts his head to the side, eyes closing.
“I need to not think,” he answers painfully slow, tasting every word. “I need to not feel. I need to not worry. I need to disappear for a while.”
Miguel takes a long, languid breath. Filling his lungs with the scent of your watermelon body wash. His tongue pokes from between his lips, moving over the bottom one. “Can you give me that?”
His fingers tighten, the soft fabric of your towel bunching in his palm, you swear you feel the bite of nails despite the fluffy exterior. Your eyes search his. You know nothing of him. Only his name that he’d begrudgingly given you. Your pulse quickens, the rush of blood loud in your ears. He’s not here for you, that’s something you need to keep in mind before going any further. He’s here for the release, for the simple act of having another’s warmth surrounding him. You’re an escape. Something simple and easy he doesn’t have to think about when he runs off to deal with whatever he deals with.
After seconds that feel like hours, you decide you want to give that to him. You don’t mind the hurt you’ll feel after. Letting him take what he wants knowing that’ll affect you more than him. Something about him makes you not care.
“I can,” you breathe, instinctively searching for his lips with your own. “Do your worst Miguel O’hara.”
You drop the towel, damp fabric pooling at your ankles. His eyes widen briefly before smiling something wicked. His forehead touches yours, nose brushing your own as his lips ghost an inch away. Your breath catches in your throat, the need growing between your legs. A chuckle drops from his lips reminding you of gravel. You don’t share his humor, you just want to feel him.
“You don’t want my worst,” he grunts. “You’ll break.”
“I won’t.”
He scoffs but doesn’t argue. Miguel doesn’t attempt to probe you wrong, breaking things is meant to have consequences. You either try to fix it or ponder over what you’ve done, he wants none of that. Instead, he presses flush against you, body firm in contrast with the soft swell of your chest and stomach. Your nipples tighten. He crashes into you, tongue hungrily slipping between your lips as his mouth moves greedily. You feel hands on your chest, kneading, squeezing, pinching. You moan into his mouth, he swallows the sounds, grinding himself hard into you. You’re shaking, his body suffocating.
“If I touch you,” he says into your mouth, fingers skimming the outside of your thighs. “Will you be soaked for me?” With a whimper, you nod. He grins, canines looking sharper compared to what they did before, “Such a good little slut,” he growls.
Contrary to what he’d said, he doesn’t slip his fingers between your legs to see if you’re telling the truth. Instead, he slots his thick thigh between your bare legs, pushing the muscle up until you’re left gasping, your hands flailing as you wrap them around his broad shoulders. The pressure makes you dizzy, the fabric of his suit softer than what you expected, a delicious friction over your aching clit. You moan openly into his neck, teeth scraping against the vein.
“I’m going to fuck you like this,” he murmurs. “Up against the wall,” his suit fades away, cock hard against the soft planes of your stomach. You shudder as precome smears over the skin. He continues, licking your lips. “Then up against the window, want you to be loud. Want you to scream and tell me to take. . .”
The emphasis on the “t” sends a million tiny needles biting into your skin. Your chest heaves with the brush of his lips, you want to feel it again, the plush feeling of faux softness on your mouth. But he doesn’t give you that. He smiles a cruel smile, one that chills your skin but lights a fire in the pit of your stomach. He tilts his head.
“And take. . .”
You chase his lips, he refuses to give you what you want.
“And take. . .”
Your frustration grows, a desperate sound twists through you, and your fingers curl around his neck, knitting through his hair as you give the curls a warning tug. He doesn’t seem to be affected in the slightest. He drags his lips down your neck, hitches your one thigh up his hip, and positions his length against you. He doesn’t look at you, nor say another word. He fills you with one hard thrust, knocking you back against the wall, your body sliding up the rough interior. The stretch of him lingers on the line of being painful. There’s a bite to it, but also a deep pleasure that makes your legs shake.
“So fucking wet,” he rasps, sinking his teeth into your neck. It feels sharp enough that you think he breaks the skin, blood filling his mouth, but that’s not the case. The feeling quickly passes when his mouth crashes into yours in a messy kiss. He doesn’t wait for you to adjust, he doesn’t care. He takes what you give him and he does so violently, splitting you into two with every thrust.
He grabs handfuls of your hips, lifting you off the wall before slamming you back down with renewed fervor. He angles each thrust to the point of almost pain. You cry out, a long, desperate noise that almost drowns out his own, panting gruffly. You can feel the heat in your veins coursing through you as pleasure builds, the almost unbearable sensation sending you into overload. Your toes curl, your nails dig into his skin as his name leaves your lips in a plea for him to not stop. His hands grip you tighter as his movements become more violent, eyes locked together as they both reach the brink of ecstasy.
The look in his eyes, the furrow of his brows, the parting of his lips, the damp curls at the base of his scalp—it does something indescribable to you. You arch your back to give more for him. All your focus narrowing on the feeling of him.
Suddenly your body strains as he stills, the thunderous rumbling of your orgasm hitting you full force as you feel yourself tighten around his shaft in an attempt to prolong the blissful pleasure. His grip slackens and you fall forward against him, boneless as you feel the last throes of your orgasm lingering in your veins. You lick the salt off his skin, your body grinding sloppily against him.
“Fuck,” he hisses between gritted teeth, still achingly hard inside of you. “Already?”
“I—I never came that quick before. . .” you answer with a slight slur of speech, you’re tingling all over.
You’re not sure but you think you see a hint of pride in those dark smug eyes, “Don’t think you’re off the hook,” he says. “You’re mine until the sun comes up.”
Miguel is a man of his word.
He fucks you up against the window, just like he said. Your breasts pressed up against the cold smooth surface as he takes you from behind. It burns. It burns yet you can only beg for more. You scream his name, fog up the window, the rough drag of his cock forcing the roll of your eyes every goddamn time. The feeling of being stretched wide never passes, each thrust like the first time.
He holds you by the nape, pushes you forward, the pressure only adding to the fire. You figure out soon he likes holding you like that. He enjoys shoving you up against things, adding to the idea that you’re just a fleeting moment and nothing more. When he pulls out you instinctively search for him with your hips. His cock lays heavy over the curve of your ass, he spreads you and presses his cock between the globes, rocking until thick ropes of come land on your back. You shudder, breathless, your vocabulary reduced to only his name.
You feel a grip on your chin and he turns you enough so that he can slot his lips against yours. Your neck aches but your part for him anyway, allowing the taste of him to flood all your senses. When he parts only a string of saliva connects you, your breathing coming in heavy pants.
A second later the world around you blurs and you quickly find yourself straddling him above the bed. The old furniture creaking in protest. You forget how nervous you would be if it were someone else, how self-conscience you would be riding a man but Miguel doesn’t give you a chance to think about it. His feet planted firmly on the bedding, he snaps his hips, burying himself deep into the tight fist of your cunt, over and over, until you’re stupid for him.
His name rips from your throat, you can’t even think of saying anything else. You attempt to muffle yourself with the back of your hand but he’s quick to yank it back down.
“No” he utters a low, guttural sound, hands coming up your back. “I said I wanted you to scream.”
He sounds unhinged, like something snapped inside of him. You feel teeth on your collarbone, nails dragging down your back, sharp, leaving long lines of irritated skin. A pleasurable pain blossoming over your skin.
You begin to unravel as you thrust your hips against him, his movements setting off white-hot sparks of pleasure like incandescent lightning. Moans rush from your lips as his name is repeated in a mantra and you cling to him desperately, your hands clawing at his back and your nails digging into his skin as you spiral ever faster into oblivion.
Miguel is relentless in the way he drives into you. You can feel him swell inside you, every thrust pushing you closer and closer to the edge. He moves his hands to your hips, pushing and grinding against you as every muscle in his body strains.
His breathing is quick and harsh against your ear, his voice a hungry growl, “That’s it, take it. You were waiting for this, weren’t you? Hungry for a cock no matter who it belongs to.”
You can’t answer.
Miguel’s hips thrust harder, faster—his orgasm crashes through him, his hands gripping your hips painfully as he spills his hot seed deep within you. You find yourself trembling as aftershocks of pleasure ripple through you, your body feeling like electricity as you come down from the high. You clench tightly around him, your own overwhelming orgasm ripping through you, overstimulation making you cry out.
He spins you both, bringing you to lay underneath him. Miguel collapses against you, breathing heavy as his grip on you slowly relaxes. He holds you for a moment, your heart thrumming as his forehead briefly rests against yours, breaths mingling. Then, with a satisfied groan, he pulls away. You let out a hiss. It feels achingly empty.
You’re surprised when he starts pushing your legs apart, watching his spend trickling down your folds and making a mess on the sheets. He pushes globs of cum back into you with thick fingers. Your head falls, back arching into his touch. “You made such a mess,” he says, sounding almost transfixed. Cramming fingers inside of you and curling them, your body seizes.
After that, you’re not sure when he leaves. Sleep takes you and when you wake, he’s gone. No note, no message left behind. The only evidence that he was here is the ache between your legs, and the taces of him still lingering on your thighs.
You’re sure you won’t be seeing him again. He got what he came for.
The next night he’s back, climbing through the window for more.
#miguel o'hara x you#miguel o'hara smut#miguel o'hara x f!reader#miguel o'hara x female reader#across the spiderverse fic#across the spiderverse fanfiction#oscar isaac characters#oscar isaac character fanfiction#spiderman 2099 x reader#spiderman 2099 x you
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
Miguel will play hide and seek with you around the house. Go ahead now, he's giving you a head start. Hey! A kiss won't make him go easy on you, that's not what you want do you? He figured not.
You run from room to room, his growls and laugh right behind you, then in your ear as your pinned against the wall, his big body and big cock grinding against yours. "Don't scream now. Might make me think you don't want me." He kisses your neck before he lets you go, showing you into the dark hallway again, his eyes glowing as he blends back with the darkness. "Won't you run for me, little butterfly?"
The adrenaline in your body spikes, going right to your throbbing clit. "Fuck. I can smell how horny you're getting." He lets you run until your legs shake, right before you get pressed into the ground, your hands held behind your back with his big hand, the other tearing through your pants and panties so his cock can claim his prize, so Miguel can claim his prey.
#miguel o'hara smut#miguel o'hara#miguel o’hara imagine#across the spiderverse fanfiction#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o’hara blurb#spider man: across the spider verse#across the spiderverse
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
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
#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara x y/n#miguel o'hara scenarios#miguel o'hara x you#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara fanfiction#spiderman 2099#spiderman 2099 x you#spiderman 2099 x reader#miguel o'hara x fem!reader#miguel o'hara x f!reader#astv x reader#astv x you#across the spiderverse#across the spiderverse fanfiction#miguel spiderman#spiderverse x reader#spiderverse fanfiction#spiderverse x you
472 notes
·
View notes
Text
Punch-Out Love
Artwork by @guruan
FIGHT NIGHT
Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader
Summary: You're lucky enough to score ring-side seats at a boxing match on Friday night. Getting the best view in the house of boxing champion: Miguel O'Hara.
Word count: 1,500
Next Chapter
Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist
You know fuck all about boxing.
About the only thing you know about the sport was from the glimpses you caught watching scratched up old recordings of Muhammed Ali fights on the boxy mini-tv of your old childhood friend's house.
It always seemed barbaric. The practice of watching two human beings beat the shit out of each other for spectator's entertainment. It seems like something that was better left in the Ancient Roman times. Have we all human beings as a society, really not come further some 2,000 years later?
Your bestie used to get mad at you for this. Constantly defending the sport from your criticism, because (according to him) it's not just about smashing each other's faces in. Supposedly, there's an art to the sport. Boxers are taught to respect their opponents and adhere to the principles of good sportsmanship. It takes great mental discipline, dedicated work and years of hard and punishing training to master boxing.
You never saw any of that in the matches he showed you. All you saw were two men needlessly being hurt, sustaining brain damage for rich people's enjoyment.
Then again, he was more than a little bit biased, considering it was his dream to go pro one day. Tall and gangly, with his scrawny antelope legs, thick-rimmed glasses and big-ass braces, he looked like he couldn't punch his way out of a paper bag, much less another person. You never understood how exactly he thought he was going to make it as a boxer.
But you never found it in you to burst his unrealistic bubble when he used to point at the screen excitedly, drawing your attention to Ali's footwork and the artistry in it.
"It's like he's dancing," he used to say.
Except dancing is done with swelling music in the background. In dancing you often have a partner. It's an embrace. It's gentle and kind.
Boxing... was not that.
So you don't know how you managed to find yourself in the ringside seats of a local boxing match on a Friday evening, staring up at the boxing ring with the glaring ring lights shining into your eyes.
"Aren't these seats amazing?" Jess shouts excitedly over the familiar lyrics of ‘We Will Rock You' being belted out by Freddy Mercury on the loudspeaker.
You smile, and nod, because boxing-fan or not, she's right, these are some amazing seats. And considering you didn't have to pay a dime for them, personal aversions aside, you're never going to turn down free stuff.
Jess' husband tested positive for covid at the last minute, and you're the only one in your social circle that is anti-social and single enough to not have any plans on a Friday evening.
On the monitors above you, the menacing headshots of the two fighters swish into view.
"The first guy is an old reigning champ," she explains to you, as she leans in, shouting into your eardrums (and yet you can still barely make out what she's saying over the music). "The challenger is some new kid on the block. Has an amazing track record. Zero losses in the season. He's something else."
You look up at the gigantic screen, at the sharp cut cheeks, strong thick brows and the intense pitched brown eyes staring down at you.
Angry looking dude.
...Handsome too.
With a face like that, surely he could've gone into other careers. Calvin Klein model, movie star, or a news anchor. You wonder what makes a guy voluntarily have his face bashed in for money as a career.
"Ladies and gentlemen," a loud booming voice announces from the stage.
You jump in your seat from the suddenness, as you see a bald and overly formal dressed announcer in the middle of the ring.
"Welcome to the electrifying boxing showdown of the century! Are you ready to witness some knockout action tonight?"
The crowd around you cheers with a pandemonium of shouting and whistling.
"Introducing our first fighter, a true hometown hero! With an impressive record of 20 wins, 15 by knockout, and only 2 losses, standing at 6'3 feet, and weighing in at 340 pounds of determination and strength, give it up for ‘the Knockout King’ Bobby Kane!"
You watch as the reigning champion walks down the tunnel to the midst of adoring cheers as he waves and gestures at the crowd like royalty.
Every inch the king that he is nicknamed, he jumps over the rope and stands tall and proud over the ring.
The man is huge, bulging with almost grotesque muscles. He's so large that you almost expect each of his steps to send a reverberation throughout the hall, as if this was Jurassic Park and he's a T-Rex.
"Now, entering the ring with the confidence of a warrior, fighting out of the red corner, with 15 wins, 10 by knockout, and no losses, standing at an astounding 6 feet 9 inches, and weighing in at 310 pounds of raw power, let's hear it for tonight's challenger, ‘Steel Jaw’ Miguel O'Hara!"
Wait what? You do a double take at the announcement. Six foot nine?!?! What kind of giant is that?
From the far corner of the hall, you see his silhouette emerge, and your eyes go wide at the sight of him. Tall doesn't even begin to describe him.
There's a 200 year oak tree at Central Park, and with the shadow this man casts, you think their height must be nearly comparable. If you thought the Knockout King was tall, the "King" is practically tiny compared to this challenger.
You watch, as the man with cheeks so sharp they mind as well be blades (and god never has a nickname made more sense to you) as he strides towards the stage. He reaches the rope and barely even has to climb over it with how tall he is.
He's leaner than his predecessor. Every inch of him is cut muscles and tanned gorgeous skin as he stands in front of you. His presence is electric. The air crackles where he stands, towering over the stage.
You swear that his towering height blocks out the ring lights with it, casting the stage in the darkness of his tall shadow.
Somehow, he's even prettier in person compared to the still image of him blown up and plastered on the big screen. Soft brown curls and pouty lips. You don't understand in what world a man like that is a professional fighter.
From this distance, with the way that the light refracts from his irises, his eyes almost glow with a scarlet red that takes your breath away as you look up at him and meet his eyes.
If you didn't know better, you'd think he was staring at you.
The bell rings out, but he's not looking away. The intensity you find there is enough to make you swallow your tongue. Your face prickles with heat and for several long moments you forget to breathe, until the air seems to thin around you and your vision starts to swim.
Then he turns to face his opponent.
You're not quite sure where to look. There's so much happening at once. For his size, Miguel O'Hara is surprisingly deft on his feet. His footwork is somehow both unpredictable yet intentional all at once.
The King throws a strong punch, as he lunges forward, after his tall opponent. But O'Hara dodges them seemingly without effort. It's followed by punches so quick, the movements blur together.
Strike after strike. The King is giving it his all. But none of it properly connects. With every failed hit, you can see him growing increasingly more frustrated.
Your heart is in your lungs, and despite how close you are to the stage, you almost want to get up from your seat for a closer look.
Safe as you are behind the ropes, adrenaline rushes through your veins with a fury. You can't recall the last time you felt this ecstatic about... well, anything.
With each punch O’Hara dodges, you feel yourself lurch back in your seat, trying to dodge the punch with him.
It's titillating.
Exciting.
O'Hara's movements are precise and honed with intention despite the ferocity in his movements. Each one is measured and intricate and if you didn't know any better you'd almost call it graceful.
You think back to those moments in your childhood friend's home, and his excited words buzz in your ears now. For the first time ever you finally understand what he had meant.
It is like a dance.
Before you, O’Hara's eyes cross over in your direction and for a split of a second, you swear your eyes connect again. His gaze holds you there, pinned to your seat, and excitement shoots through the entirety of your spine until you feel lightheaded from the attention.
Then he finally steps forward, no longer evading.
It's brutal and efficient.
An uppercut that connects cleanly to his opponent's jaw.
Spit and blood flies out from the man's mouth, the flabby flesh of his cheek vibrating from the impact as he lands on the floor with an ear-shattering thud.
Then the guy is out.
Barely even eight minutes in.
There's a stunned and shocked silence. The crowd seems both enthralled and disappointed at how fast it all went. On the ring floor, you can practically see the circle of cartoon birds flying above the defeated King's head.
You may not know anything about boxing, but you know that this man is not getting up anytime soon, no matter how far the referee counts.
Tearing your eyes away from the motionless body splayed out on the ground elevated above you, you can see the victor towering menacingly over the body.
But Miguel O'Hara isn't even looking at his defeated opponent
No, his eyes are staring straight into the sea of awestruck spectators. Except he’s not looking at them.
He's looking at you.
~ Next.
Author's note: What's that you say? CiCi wtf are you doing starting another series when you already got one going on? ... Idek man. But I hope you guys enjoy it, cause I had a blast writing it, smut will ensue in later chapters I promise!
Dedications and Credits: Buckle up it's gonna be a big one!
Firstly to @guruan when I say she's my muse THIS IS WHAT I MEAN! Look at that beautiful artwork. I am drooling into my panties. I am crying between my legs. I am so damn horny! I cannot thank this amazingly talented genius enough. Please please give this wonderful brilliant human your love by following her, and drop by her KO-FI SHOP cause the art this woman bless us with is UN-fucking-REAL
Then to @djarinsbeskar who put this idea into my head. In my mind she is the OG Boxer AU champion and mastermind. If you are in the mood for more boxing content, she has a wonderful, devastatingly sexy series Boxer!Din AU that is just woof woof bark bark.
#miguel o'hara fic#miguel o'hara fanfic#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara x you#oscar isaac#miguel o'hara fanfiction#miguel o'hara#across the spiderverse fanfiction#spiderverse#spiderverse fanfiction#miguel ohara x reader#miguel ohara x you
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
braid my hair f’ me (miles morales x blk!reader)
— the thoughts have been thunken. I thunked the thoughts
— made em real cute for y’all
— ⚠️: cursing, reader n miles being silly goof balls
the night was peaceful, with sounds of the city blaring outside of your open windows. you found yourself turning to your boyfriend to tell him all the gossip happening within your school, and he was actively listening and engaging with you in conversation. you showed him pictures on instagram of the people you were talking about so he could keep up with names and visuals, and it wasn’t until near the end of your gossiping when you realized miles stopped responding.
it looked like he’d zoned out completely, just looking in front of him with his eyebrows furrowed.
"baby?" you asked, snapping your fingers in his face.
like a wake up call, his head bobbed up to look at you with wide eyes. "hmm?"
"are you ok, think I lost you for a sec," you snorted. miles contorted his face as he shook his head stuttering.
"it’s nothin' I jus- I mean- you think- ugh," miles groaned as his head flew back.
"it’s ok take your time," you teased with a small giggle. if miles was struggling to tell you something this hard, it was probably extremely embarrassing or he did something. you’d hoped it was the latter.
he sighed as he mumbled with his head hung low, "that guy— Tristan— you think his braids would look good on me?"
you looked at him with unbelievably wide eyes and a look on your face that screamed "you’re joking." and it was in that moment you realized; oh my god, miles morales wants to get his hair done.
"y’know, I thought this day would never come," you mumbled looking at the ceiling.
you heard him suck his teeth and you looked back at him to see his back turned looking away from you bashfully. miles had never been bashful before.
it was then when you began to giggle uncontrollably. you leaned into your bed frame from where you were on the floor, and you just couldn’t contain your fit of laughter. once he thought the laughter had settled down, he asked, "yeah y-you done now?"
this only set you into another short-lived fit of laughter. you were laughing so hard and so loud, that miles swore your parents could hear you from downstairs.
soon enough, you were panting and coming down from your high only to face an unamused miles with his back facing you. you crawled over to him and wrapped your arms around his waist from behind.
"you know… I can braid your hair," you chirped. he looked back to see the side your face smooshed into his back with a grin.
after a beat of silence, you heard a soft "hm" from miles.
"that’s not a no," you said as you poked his shoulder. he thought about it for a second, whether or not it was a good idea to let you do this.
for the few months you guys have been dating he wouldn’t let you touch his head, claiming to be tender headed and that the only person allowed to braid his hair was his mother. he said that she had “the touch,” whatever that meant.
"she’s just the only person who’s soft on my head!"
"miles have you ever even gone to anyone besides your mom?" you asked in disbelief.
"…no"
since then, you’ve let it go after much teasing and humiliation towards your boyfriend.
"imma just ask my mom if she’ll braid it—"
"milesss c’monnnn! I swear i’ll get you looking right and I won’t grip too hard. please?" you pleaded. you hooked your finger under his chin to guide his eyes to your pleading one’s. for a second he looked unamused, but then you swore you saw his lip twitch upward.
"ok, fine. I will allow you to braid my hair just this once." baffled were you at this sentence as you pulled away from him.
"ALLOW ME?! baby say it with your chest, you know damn well you WANT me to braid your head," you sassed.
he chucked, "actin’ like you ain’t just beg me to let you braid my hair-"
"ahhhhh that never happened! I am erasing your memory, that never happened. you WANT me to braid your hair," you quickly said as you rubbed his scalp imitating mind control.
miles laughed as he grabbed your hands as he led you to the bathroom with him.
after making miles sit in a chair for 15 minutes under your sink, and running shampoos and conditioners throughout his scalp, it was time to blow dry.
you sat him down in your bedroom near your dresser with all the supplies laid on the table.
miles shifted uncomfortably in his chair and he kept looking back at you plugging in the dryer with worry in his eyes.
"miles, the blow dryer will not blow you away. you have nothing to worry about," your voice dragged. you watched in amusement as he dragged his hand down his face and a deep sigh came from his mouth.
not turning the dryer on just yet, you got to work on parting his hair into fourths, clipping back sections as you went on. finally, it was time for poor miles to face his biggest fear; the blow dryer.
he heard the whirlwind sound as soon as you flipped the switch. he winced once he felt the warm air coming to his scalp, "WAIT!"
"lord have mercy," you said over the blow dryer. you turned it off completely. "what is it miles?"
"w-what about heat protectant?" he stuttered as he puffed out his chest. you sucked your teeth as you walked to your bathroom to find heat protectant. you could hear miles’ soft sigh as you left the room.
walking back with the spray, you sprayed miles head as you told him, "you know the faster we blow dry, the faster all of this will be over right?"
"alright, alright-" he threw his hands up in defense and tilted his head. "-simplemente no tires demasiado fuerte por favor."
you squinted your eyes in thought as you tried to translate in your head, and after a second you understood.
"you have nothing to worry about, I got most of the tangles out of your hair when washing. this should go smoothly."
and smoothly it did… except for the fact that miles couldn’t stop bobbing his head all over the place. you kept having to grab his head to keep it upright with the blow dryer. "miles keep still, jesus!"
"what d’you think i’m tryna do?"
once blow drying was over, you turned miles head up to face you looking down at him from his sitting position. "that wasn’t so bad now was it?"
"hmm nooo," he groaned. you bent down to meet his lips for a small kiss, thanking him for his (very difficult) cooperation.
taking his hair out of all the clips, you got to parting six equal sections of hair to braid. as you parted you made sure to add zig-zag patterns with your comb, just to give his braids a little flavor. as you clipped off the sectioned parts of his hair to start braiding you checked to see if miles was okay to start
"you ready baby?" he said nothing.
"miles?" you asked again. when you heard no response, you walked over to check on him. what you saw was truly a sight to behold—
there was miles, shut eyed and breathing slowed with his mouth slightly opened. "I made him fall asleep," you thought to yourself. quickly, you stumbled over to your bed and found your phone. snapping a picture of him in this state, you giggled as you went to instagram to edit in a pink heart next to him and save it at your new lock screen.
swiftly placing your phone on the dresser along with all your hair supplies, we went back to doing his hair. you opened up some hair grease and gel as you went to work.
"miles," you shook him awake. "miles, baby wake up."
stirring out of the deep slumber you put him in, he stretched his long limbs as he looked around for a second confused.
"finished?" he asked groggily. you noticed his voice was scratchy and deep, still laced with sleep. you turned him around in his chair for him to come face to face with your dresser mirror.
his eyebrows furrowed and his lips formed to make a small "o" shape as he looked at himself in the mirror.
running his hands across the top of his head he exclaimed, “damn mami.”
"eek-! you like them?" you smiled as you bent over his chair to wrap your arms around his neck.
"of course I do, these are clean," he answered. he turned his head to face your cheek as he kissed you.
"ouu lemme take a picture," you said. you grabbed your phone from off the dresser. you unlocked the phone, but before you could open the camera app, miles caught a glimpse of your lock screen.
"um-! when the hell did you take that??"
— i am an avid user of the pink heart emoji
— 🩷
— took me a while to decide whether or not I wanted this to be an e42 or e1610 miles fic 😞
— tbh it could easily be both
— @laylasbunbunny @ulovejayy @all444miles @nagi3seastorm
#miles morales#miles morales x reader#across the spiderverse#earth42 miles#into the spider verse#miles g#earth 42 miles morales#spiderman miles morales#miles morales prowler#42 miles morales#miles morales x y/n#prowler miles#miles my beloved#earth 1610 miles morales x reader#earth 42 miles morales x reader#earth 1610 miles#miles morales x black!reader#miles morales x you#spider man: across the spider verse#across the spiderverse fanfiction#milesmolasses
2K notes
·
View notes
Note
hey love!! if you're still taking miggy requests, can I request Miguel and short reader? (like 5ft)
He's being his usual grumpy self, but every time he sees them clambering on the counter to reach something high up or grabbing a chair to reach a high place, his stern expression just breaks and he usually covers his face to hide his amusement.
He also teases them for being short and if their romantically involved he definitely uses his height to his advantage to make them weak in the knees /.\
Or whatever you come up with it! 💕
Thank you!
tarren my love, i squealed when i saw u requested something of miguel. as a five foot zero inches girly pop, i was MADE to make this fic
warnings || reader is short, height differences, fluff, making out
masterlist
Miguel let out a long sigh as he closed the door to your shared apartment. It was well into the evening—11:45 pm, as it read on the clock, to be exact.
He could feel the rage and anger that still sizzled through his veins. Today was hard. Today was a shit-tastic day and was full of fuck ups upon fuck ups.
So, he probably slammed the door much louder than he anticipated. The sound made you jump in the kitchen, startled by the booming sound.
You were so engrossed with checking the oven that you hadn’t even looked up at the clock in over an hour. A smile slowly crept up onto your cheeks, though. You knew that particular sound.
“In here, baby.” You called. Your voice echoed across the apartment, and it seemed to put him into a trance.
He slowly sauntered into the spacious kitchen. He could almost feel how all of his ire had prodded its way through every single step he was taking.
It felt heavy. All of it felt so heavy.
He walked through the doorframe, huffing out a breath, and then immediately stopped in his tracks at the sight his eyes took in.
You had been baking a batch of chocolate chip cookies before he got home. It was supposed to be a surprise—and supposed to be done—but you had forgotten one ingredient.
Salt. You always put extra flakey sea salt on top of the gooey chocolate cookies. Then, to your dismay, the salt that you had needed was unfortunately on the very tippy top of the biggest cabinet in the kitchen. You were on the highest part of your tippy toes, and an arm stretched out as far as it could reach.
Miguel’s entire anger dissolved at that very second. You gave out a quick huff before stretching out your fingers just a little bit more.
Unfortunately for you, you didn’t grow any inches.
Miguel smiled. He turned his head, and he smiled. His lips curled at your continuous attempts to reach the salt.
It was so fucking cute. He swore his heart could burst. Little did you know that you were the only one that could truly do this to him. He had to turn his head to look away from you before he burst out laughing.
“Let me get that.”
You could feel him hover behind you. His tall stature sent shivers down your spine. Your head didn’t even reach the middle of his pecks, and god, did he relish this.
He loved the way your body curled up against his—so small and so perfect. He loved the way your hand just about fit his palm (he might have been a bit dramatic, here, but still).
He pressed his chest up against your body. You gasped at the full pressure of his chest and hardened stomach up against your back. His arm followed your own, and his hand brushed up against your fingers. Your whole body felt like it was going to catch on fire. You were so sure.
“I’ve always got you, sweet thing.” He says before swiftly taking the salt down.
“Thank you, baby.” You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. You were too dazed to do anything for just a moment. As if knowing that, he smirked.
“Next time, I’ll just get the stool.” You say more to yourself. God, he was so distracting. It was insane.
He scoffed. He was not going to tell you that he had gotten rid of all of the stools and ladders in the apartment. “Why need a stool when you have me?”
~
“Should we go to bed, baby?” You ask after finishing the last cookie you had set aside. Miguel’s favorite was always right after they came out of the oven. He liked them hot and gooey.
His eyes locked with yours. “I don’t know, sweet thing. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Your eyebrows furrowed at the thought. “What do you mean?”
Before you could even finish your sentence, Miguel is standing up. With habit, you’re standing upright with him.
He just smirks. He knew you’d follow him.
He immediately towers over you—dominating—and staring intensely into your eyes. “You missed something when I got home.”
You blinked. You blinked again. Your mind was blank.
You open your mouth to respond, but he’s quickly crowding your space. Your mouth quickly snapped closed, and your breath shallowed at how large he is.
Now, he’s pushing you, ever so slowly, to the nearest wall. “You forgot to greet me with a kiss, hmm?” He chuckled darkly into your ear. “How could you forget?”
He takes your wrists and traps them against his large hands, and places them above your head. He pressed hot, wet kisses on your jaw and they start to lean down to your neck.
“Look at you. I haven’t even said anything, and you’re already a puddle.” You open your mouth again, but nothing can come out.
Your mind is blank, and all thoughts and feelings are rushing about the man in front of you. He was just so tall.
His lips crashed against your own and it took all of the breath out of your lungs. His tongue swirled against your own, and his hand squeezed the base of your wrist.
Your lips molded against one another as he nipped and sucked. It was heavenly. He was heavenly as his body seemed to press further into you and the wall.
He bit against your lip and pulled back, but before you could even react with a small moan, his lips are back onto yours in full force. His smooth lips caressing each and every part of you.
Suddenly, his lips disconnect from yours. He takes a good look at you and smiled. You were entirely kiss-drunk on him. Your lips were swollen. Your chest was heaving up and down. Your eyes were completely hazy.
It was a sight to see.
“Let’s get ready for bed, querida, yeah?” Your body was screaming at you for letting his arms detangle from your body.
His whole form sauntered off, and you were left there by yourself, flushed up against the wall. Your chest heaved up and down—reeling in the feeling of his body pressed up against yours.
You never wanted that feeling to go away.
“Yeah. Bed.” You whispered—the biggest smile spreading across your cheeks. Every night, his large arms wrapped around your shoulders and stomach. You would sleep like that all night.
“Bed sounds good.”
#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o’hara x you#miguel o'hara x you#spiderman 2099 x reader#spiderman 2099 x you#miguel o'hara fluff#spiderman 2099 fanfiction#miguel o'hara fanfiction#marvel#marvel fanfiction#across the spiderverse fanfiction#across the spiderverse
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
IS IT TOO LATE?
Miguel O'Hara x Spider!F!Reader (one shot)
summary: He casted you back to your universe. But now he's back and you don't know why. you thought he hated you for the longest time. But that's furthest from the truth.
tags/content warnings: very much angst. heart strings will be pulled at. consensual smut. p in v. love confessions. soft!miguel. fangs are used for pleasure. begging. size kink. praise, like tons of it. mig and reader healing themselves together.
Word Count: 4.2k (whoops)
author’s note: not beta read. mild midnight miguel thots. more angst though with a very happy ending. idk i was in my feelings lol
You could sense him close to you. You always did, even despite your spider senses.
It was like he’s infected himself into you even years later, unable to get him out of your system.
You were in your kitchen, putting away some dishes when you got the feeling of him being near. It was like a prickle at your neck that grew and grew until every hair on your body rose. You whipped your head around the kitchen and narrowed your eyes to find him. You couldn’t though, he was always good at hiding himself.
“Miguel?” Your voice drifted throughout your apartment. It fell flat though and a sigh wringed out of your throat once you realized he wasn’t there anymore.
But then your spine stiffened to its own accord and you whipped your head this time toward the hallway. You grabbed the dish towel to dry your hands before you made your way. You weren’t on guard, but you kept the towel on your shoulder just in case. Your spider strength would probably work just fine, but you didn’t know what he’d want.
“Miguel? I know you’re here, somewhere,” you called out again with more tenacity in your voice.
There was a creak in the living room and you increased your pace until you were at the entrance, flicking on the light that flooded the room. He wasn’t hiding. He was in the corner, staring at a photo on top of your fireplace.
“What are you doing here?” You asked, fingers reaching for the towel on your shoulder.
His broad shoulders slumped for a moment before he finally turned. He was in his blue and red suit, the one you knew very well. He looked better than the last time you saw him. His face though, was contorted in an expression you couldn’t read.
“I–uh, I’m not sure why I came,” he finally mumbles.
You take a step forward and tread lightly. It’s been four years, so you really didn’t know why he came. This was his decision anyway, to leave you and keep you at a distance.
“It’s been years,” you remind him. He finally turns completely and his brown eyes gleam red a little and then fade back to the rich color you once loved.
The man you once swore you loved forever, until he didn’t. Your heart tugged at the memories of what you and Miguel had. Attempting to push those thoughts away to keep yourself from spiraling like before, you clear your throat.
He finally replies. “I had to see you.”
No reason. Nothing else. Just those five words.
You take another step forward and he does too.
“You can’t just come here without an explanation,” you pushed. Your irritation was starting to increase and your patience was starting to thin for your ex.
Miguel is quiet as he stays grounded. But your senses heightened when he lifted his hand and turned his wrist toward you. Before you could react in time, a bright orangish red web shot out of his wrist and latched onto your chest. You grunt as he pulls you into him, closing the distance. You grab the string of the web and pull it off your shirt, but it's stuck.
“Miguel,” you bite. A smile curls at his lips before a talon comes out of his pointer finger and he snips the web.
“Sorry,” he breathes.
“You’re here, because?” You press again. Your heart was hammering against your chest and you were hoping he’d tell you what he needed you for.
“Spider Society misses you.”
Oh. You weren’t expecting that.
“I’m sure they do,” you quip.
It wasn’t your choice to leave them. To go back to your universe and live out your days. It was Miguel who pushed you to this point.
You even got engaged two years ago to who you thought you could live the rest of your days with. And then things took a turn. Things didn’t work out. He felt like you were stunted by him in this universe. Although you still did your best to be the Spider-Woman your universe needed, it wasn’t enough.
It was like the action of Miguel casting you out back to your universe made you lose your spark. Made you less of who you were meant to be.
You hate him for it. Well, you did the first year before you started to make a life for yourself here. It didn’t work out, obviously.
The thing was, you never really understood why Miguel did what he did. It was so quick, so sudden, casting you out. You thought you were doing well in Spider Society. You made friends, you aced missions. So what did you do wrong? You even loved him to your best ability.
Was it because you couldn’t put universes first before anyone else in your life? Miguel was so bent up on the idea that sacrifices had to be made when it came to being Spider-Man. Guess that included you.
You were a sacrifice he had to make for a reason you still didn’t know.
“Just wanted to check in, see how you were,” he says in an almost whisper. He drops his gaze to your lips and you gulp. No, you couldn’t feel like this for him. Not anymore.
You lift your hand and press your palm to his chest. He looks at it before his brows furrow. His hand then reaches over and caresses yours. His fingers fiddle with your ring finger.
“Your ring, what happened? Where is it?”
You sigh, attempting to turn on your heel and get away from him but his fingers move to your wrist to keep you there. You knew he’d know about you getting engaged. You got your spider senses alerted whenever he was near the first two years you were gone. You knew he was checking up on you frequently. Until he stopped. He didn’t know the engagement was broken off and you lived alone in that small apartment.
“Miguel, let me go.”
He doesn’t budge, so you press your other palm against his chest for leverage but he doesn’t move an inch. Your emotions are getting heightened from it all and you can feel tears start to spring into your eyes. You feel pathetic.
“What happened?” He repeats, his eyes turning soft and curious.
“Nothing happened. You happy?”
“No–” he shakes his head. “Tell me.”
You sigh, not wanting to fight with him. You had years of it when he started becoming too focused on stopping Spider people from disrupting their canon events. Those fights ended up pushing you both to a point that couldn’t be turned back around.
“Miguel, I’m not in the mood. I’ve had a long day. It’s late.”
“Dime qué pasó,” he almost pleads.
Well, if it made him let you go then you had no other choice. You took a deep breath and stared at him. You needed him to know what he did and how it resulted with you no longer having an engagement ring.
“He left me, Miguel. Does that make you happy? He saw how much I couldn’t handle being so far away from my people. From my friends. From you. He saw how it ruined my life being stuck here. I tried so hard to fake it until I was happy, but he saw through it all. He loved me so much that he let me go. Unlike someone who casted me out–”
“I didn’t cast you out because I didn't love you,” he interrupts with a growl. His face leans closer and your core flutters.
Fuck, your body could still react to him like no time has passed.
“We were young,” you argue. “That wasn’t love, the longer I had time apart to contemplate it. We were simply infatuated, but that wasn’t love.”
“It was for me, sabes esto.”
“No, it wasn’t Miguel,” you bite.
Miguel is silent, dropping his hand. You take a step back, a deep breath leaving your lips. His own shoulders move softly with his breathing. Some of the strands of hair at the top of his head fall over his temple and forehead. You want to so desperately lift a hand and brush them back in place. But that's not something you can do anymore.
You take another step back, finding yourself sitting on your couch. You placed your elbows on your knees and took a deep breath. You heard his footsteps follow and he knelt down, placing a finger under your chin and lifted you enough to see him. To look at his eyes that are yearning for you to speak to him.
“Mira, I lied. They didn’t miss you. I did. I stopped checking in on you to give you space. To move on.”
You scoff. “You can see how well that worked out.” You lift your naked ring finger to make a point.
“I needed to see you one last time.”
This brought you to straighten your spine and look at him with widened eyes. “Last time?”
He nods.
“What do you mean, Miguel?”
He’s silent for a moment. “I’m not going to check in on you ever again. You won’t be bothered by me. I’m taking some space from Spider Society as well. They’re better off anyway.”
Your heart skipped a beat at the revelation. He was going to demote himself from the society he created for us? One of the best places you’ve been able to call home for years. You missed it dearly, you couldn’t deny that.
“You can’t just leave them. They need you.”
Miguel’s eyes cast down and this time it’s you bringing a hand under his chin and lifting enough for him to look at you. You scoot a little closer to him where your knees brush. A fire burns in your belly.
“They don’t. I hurt people. I hurt you. I need space and time before I can come back and delegate again. I took things too far.”
“So you’d rather disappear than try to fix things? Did you ever plan to allow me back to Spider Society?”
He shakes his head. “I thought you’d be content here with him. You seemed so happy.”
You laugh. “That wasn’t happy, Miguel. That was coping.”
His thick brows furrow. “No, you were happy.”
“Are you trying to convince yourself? Are you really trying to control the truth? I wasn’t happy. I thought I could play along with this life to deal with everything. I was in survival mode. It was purely a facade. Imagine being introduced to a safe haven and then being stripped of all access to it and its people. That’s what happened to me. I had no choice but to try to make a life for myself here.”
Miguel is quiet for a moment, pressing his lips into a thin line. His forehead wrinkles as he thinks deeply.
“This would be easier if I hated you.” He finally mutters.
Now you’re the one raising a brow. “Excuse me?”
“Call this an atonement,” he says. “I shouldn’t have done that to you, but I’m not sure bringing you back would fix things. What happened can’t be undone.”
“I never asked for you to fix it. I’ve learned how to make this my home. It was a home before I got my Spider abilities and it could be my home after.”
“But you’re not happy. You just said so yourself,” he counters.
You huff out a breath, exhausted at all of this back and forth. Why was he really here? If he wanted to see you one last time he could’ve done that without making himself known. He could’ve creeped in the shadows to do it.
“What do you want?” The words are sharp and roll off your tongue like venom. His hands raise and rest on your knees. He’s still kneeling and he scoots closer. A hand travels up your thigh and you suck in a breath.
“One last time,” he repeats so softly you almost miss it.
“We already had our one last time,” you say quietly. You remember that last time you felt him near you. That was when you truly thought that was the last time you’d feel him in your universe.
“No, bebita,” he responds gruffly. “I need you one last time.”
His words aren’t registering in your brain.
“You made it very clear you didn’t need me.”
“Will you let me finish?” His eyes connect with yours and your heart thumps loudly against your chest.
“Finish then,” you push.
“It’s easier to hate you because then I could move on. I never did, bebita.” The nickname rolls off his tongue in a way that makes your core flutter and you clench your thighs.
“I–” you start, but he cuts you off.
“Casting you out was the worst thing I did. I couldn’t take it back, my pride wouldn’t let me. I loved you so much, but I couldn’t say it. It was always on the tip of my tongue. You were it for me, bebita. It crushed me even more to see you making a life for yourself here. Finding a partner to be with, that was the worst of it. It took me months to deal with that one. But I couldn’t risk losing you to the things we did for the universes we saved. Pushing you away was the hardest thing to do, but the safest. If I didn’t have you to sacrifice in life or death situations, then that's what I had to do. I couldn’t lose you in those ways, I just couldn’t.”
His confession brings tears to your eyes and you wrap your hands around his neck. You lean in, pressing your forehead against his. You take a deep breath and he does too. Soon, your breathing becomes sync with his.
“You hurt me,” was all you could say.
“I know, bebita, I know. I’m so sorry. I loved you–I love you so much. It felt like the only way I wouldn’t lose you.”
“But you ended up losing me anyway in the process,” you remind him. He nods.
“I lost you anyway. Please forgive me. Or did I come at the wrong time where that’s not possible? Is it too late?”
You contemplate it for a moment. You hurt for so long with his decision, but now you know why. He did it because he loved you so much. It reminded you of your ex-fiance. He broke things off because he loved you and wanted you to find your true happiness. He knew it wasn’t with him as much as he wanted it to be.
Funny how it’s the same concept with Miguel, but not quite. Miguel’s way was harsher and broke you. But he’s here now apologizing and on his knees.
All the feelings of your life with Miguel come back surfacing. The good and the bad. But he was the best thing in your life.
“And what would we do after this? Would you just leave and never see me again? After everything that’s been said?”
He grabs your cheeks and pushes you back a little. His face is pained as he thinks of a response. He leans in, kissing your forehead before kissing your nose and then your cheeks. “I don’t know anymore. Lyla asked me the same thing.”
You smiled softly. “Lyla… I missed her.”
Miguel smiled as well, tears in his eyes. “She misses you everyday. She might be the reason why I came tonight.”
“I’m glad, then,” you say. This brings another smile to his face and your heart warms. Your whole body warms.
“Miguel,” you whisper. He leans in again, pressing his lips to your nose. You inhale his scent for a moment.
“I can’t repair what’s been done.”
“You can’t,” you concede. “But we can take it day by day.”
“Really?” He says with a little happier tone.
You nod. “But you can’t do that again. Don’t push me away. Don’t make me think you hate me. That I was the worst thing in your life.”
A sob pulls through you and tears cascade down your cheeks. Miguel is quick to brush them away with his thumbs. He finally brushes his lips against yours and you stiffen at the movement.
“Can I?” He asks softly.
Instead of answering, you lean in to close the distance. His lips were soft and the memories of kissing him all over filled your senses. Your body still craved him, you just pushed those feelings as down as you could.
He continues to kiss with passion, like a man starved. His tongue presses against your teeth and you part your mouth, allowing him inside. He groans a little at the feeling and a moan escapes your own lips.
“Let me make it up to you, por favor,” he asks, moving his hands to your thighs and running them up until they find your hips. You hitch your breath at the feeling and you nod.
“It won’t make up for all these years, but you can try,” you say with a little spite and a little tease. Something in you wanted him to work for it. You couldn’t just forgive this easily, he had to know how much you hurt all this time.
“I’ll live the rest of my days making it up to you then, bebita,” he kisses you once more before moving his hands from your hips to your backside. He pulls you hard closer to him before you’re straddling your hips. You squeal from the sudden movement and then he rises. He starts to walk as you continue to kiss, as if he mesmerized the layout of your apartment from his check-ins. This brought another flutter to your core and you needed him in more ways than one.
He enters your bedroom and plops you on the bed softly. You shift yourself up to the pillows and he climbs the bed alongside you. Your hands come up to his hair, making their home in his strands as he continues to attack you with kisses. He moves his lips to your neck and you moan loudly, bucking your hips up. He groans from the sounds.
“Bite me,” you plead through breaths.
“Estás seguro?” he asks, lifting his lips from your neck for a brief second. You push his head back down to your bare skin and nod.
“Yes, please, Mig. Bite me like you used to. Fuck me like you used to. Make me whole again,” you plead. You can’t help the tears that come back to your eyes and fall down your cheeks. He doesn’t notice though, which you’re grateful for.
He obliges though, kissing your neck and then you feel something piercing you. His fangs sink into your skin and it feels wet instantly. You moan through it, leaning down to bite his own neck.
“F-fuck,” he moans once his fangs pull out. He lifts his head to look at you and it’s like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen. His eyes light up and then turn into a feral thing you were so used to in the past.
Miguel knew how to be gentle with you when he could, but you always noticed the way his eyes would turn red with a primal need to love you until you were thrashing and screaming his name, clenching around him.
You needed him to go that far. You wanted him to.
“Don’t hold back,” you whisper finally.
His eyes search yours before he nods and snakes his hand under your hair and wraps his fingers around the strands until he can pull your neck the other way. He leans in and you feel that pain again as he sinks his fangs into the other side of your neck. Your hips buck up again and you gasp.
“Smell so good, taste so good,” he murmurs. His lips travel lower, kissing your collarbone. He helps you out of your mundane clothes before you’re lying naked in front of him. With a press of his watch on his wrist, his suit pixelates into nothing until he’s there naked over you. You forgot for a moment his suit does that.
“Please, Mig,” you say in deep breaths as you feel his erection pressing against your hip. You reach down blindly, feeling for his cock and then caressing it in up and down motions. He groans through this and curses under his breath, jutting his hips further into your hand.
“Need you,” he pleads.
“You have me,” you assure him.
He lifts himself on his knees which causes your hands to fall from his cock. He then begins to stroke himself and you spread your legs around him. His eyes glance down at your core and your cheeks heat.
“So fucking pretty and wet already for me, bebita. Just like I knew you’d be.”
You just nod as you stay transfixed on him, rubbing his cock before he positioned himself at your entrance. You didn’t care for him to prep you, you needed him now.
“It’s going to hurt, tell me to stop if you–”
“I don’t care,” you cut him off. You made a point by reaching down and grabbing his wrist around his cock and aligning yourself with his tip. You pressed his tip against your fold and you both gasped. You shut your eyes briefly at the wonderful sensation.
He always fucked you so well, that was something you missed. And now he was here, doing just that.
“Fuck, you’re taking me so well. Such a good fucking girl,” he grunts as he presses himself into you, inch by inch.
The pain soared throughout your body with each inch, but you didn’t care. You finally had him again and your cunt clenched around him. He moaned at the movements, but you couldn’t help yourself.
When he finally pressed into you all the way, you both took deep breaths. He leaned in, pressing his palms into the mattress to support himself. He shifted a little, moving inside you and you whined.
“So big,” you gasped.
“You can take it, bebita,” he cooed. “You always did so good for me, you can do it again. Okay?”
You nod, biting your lip as he moved his hips to slowly pull out of you and then he slammed back in, causing you to shift up on the bed from his strength. He curses under his breath again and you whine at the stretch of him. His girth was bigger than you remembered and you swore he was splitting you in half, but you loved it.
“More, more,” you begged and he obliged. He snapped his hips back and forth into you, earning a cry from your lips at each thrust.
“So pretty when you cry for me,” he groans as his hips start to grow sloppy. He was getting closer to his release and you were too.
Your core tightened and your pussy clenched around his cock in a beautiful way.
“So close,” you mumbled through his thrust.
“Come with me, bebita,” he says before leaning down, sinking his fangs into your neck once more. This makes all your sensations come alive and you can’t hold back anymore. Your legs wrap around his waist, causing him to push deeper into you and hitting the best parts.
“I’m going to–” you screamed before you felt everything explode. You saw stars, your body was shaking, and he was holding onto your tightly. He dropped his head into the crevice of your neck and muttered nonsense as he came right after you. Rope after rope of his cum filled you up and you clenched around him even more, milking his cock.
“Oh, fuck,” he whimpered as his hips stuttered and he collapsed over you. “Please don’t do that, not gonna last the night.”
You giggled, keeping your legs wrapped around his waist. You both breathed intensely but you were so fucking happy.
“I love you, bebita,” he finally says, lifting himself to look at you. He wipes a strand of hair that was stuck on your forehead. You grab his face and kiss him. He moans deeply and his cock twitches inside you.
You squirm underneath him. “I love you too, Miguel. Always have, always will.”
He kisses you back with more passion. “You mean it?”
You nod and laugh as he tickles your side. You try to squirm away, but it’s hard with his cock still in you. Your pussy flutters around him again and he groans. “Bebita, that will only make me go for another round.”
“I know,” you confess with a smile.
You had years of catching up to do, anyways. You didn’t plan to leave that bed anytime soon.
Miguel smiled and wrapped his arms around you before flipping you both over. His back plopped on the bed and you were straddling him above, your head laying on his chest.
“You don’t have to ever forgive me,” he whispers, stroking your bare back. “But I hope you give me the time to make it up to you.”
You lift your head, resting your chin on his chest. He cranes his neck to look down at you.
“It’s not too late,” you finally answer and those words were all he needed to hear.
#miguel o’hara x you#miguel o’hara smut#miguel o'hara#miguel o’hara x reader#spider man 2099#across the spiderverse fanfiction#spiderverse#spiderman#oscar isaac#miguel o'hara fanfic#miguel o'hara fanfiction
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
— headcanons. miles morales (earth42)
EARTH42!MILES who buys you whatever you want, whenever you want. you don’t even have to say anything, as soon as he notices your focus has gravitated towards a display in a mall’s window, he’s stopped in front of it and digging out his wallet.
“you want that?” “no, baby, it’s fine. it’s probably really expensive anyway.” “i don’t remember asking the price. do you want that, yes or no?”
EARTH42!MILES who shows up to your house to take you on you guys’ first date, two bouquets of roses cradled in the fold of his arm instead of one. he was raised by mama rio, after all, so he knows better than to show up to a girl’s house with only his words to impress her mother.
“wow, these are beautiful, miles… thank you. who’s the other one for?” “for your moms, to say thanks for letting me take you out.”
EARTH42!MILES who is so deeply regressed into the act of suppressing his love and affection for others, in fear that he’ll get too attached, only to lose you just like he did his dad. he doesn’t know if he can survive something like that happening again, so it takes a while for him to actually open himself up to you.
“i’m not going anywhere, miles. you can let me in, it’s okay.” “you promise?” “i promise, my love.”
EARTH42!MILES who gets so flustered when you kiss him or compliment him or hold his hand, though it doesn’t come off that way due to how good he is at hiding his true feelings. his stoic expression makes you think he just doesn’t like it, so you back off some. your fears are assuaged when you come over one day and skip your usual greeting of smothering him in kisses or confessions on how much you’ve missed him, and instead settle for giving him a brief, simple hug.
“¿qué pasa, mamí, what i do? ion get no love today?”
EARTH42!MILES who wasn’t the best at texting at first—often leaving you wondering where he was for most of the day or if he was even alive—but has since stepped his game up.
9:30 AM
[mi novio]: goodmorning mi vida, how you sleep?
11:30 am
[mi novio]: you eat anything yet?
2:34 PM
[mi novio]: i miss you
6:20 PM
[mi novio]: ima be busy at around 7, jus lyk so you don’t worry bout where i’m at. i’ll text you when i’m free, okay chiquita?
EARTH42!MILES who asks for a picture of you every time you get your hair done, because he’s too impatient to wait until the two of you hangout again.
[mi novio]: lemme see your hair and make sure your face in it too, i wanna see how pretty my baby look
[you]: attachment: 1 image [you]: you like it?
[mi novio]: lord have mercy it just keeps gettin’ better. [mi novio]: goddamn you look good [mi novio]: nah i gotta see this shit in person im omw
EARTH42!MILES who literally gets offended when he sees you wearing something he didn’t buy.
“where’d you get these from? i don’t remember buying them for you.” “yeah… i got them from the mall last week when i got paid.” “oh, what, so you sayin you don’t need me no more? it’s like that now, mamí?”
EARTH42!MILES who knows he can always run to you when things get rough; when it all becomes too much for him to handle on his own and he can feel his resolve withering. he knows that all he has to do is push open the window you leave cracked for him, climb through it and slip into bed next to you with his head nuzzled into your chest. you’re the only thing that helps him off the ledge nowadays.
“you wanna talk about it, papa?” “nah, not really. can- can you just hold me?” “i can do that.”
- please do not copy, plagiarize, or repost my works to other sites!
likes, comments, and reblogs are very appreciated 💗
#junie’s works ᥫ᭡#42 miles morales#miles morales#miles morales fanfiction#prowler miles#prowler miles fluff#prowler miles fanfic#miles morales x fem!reader#across the spiderverse#earth 42 miles morales#earth 42 miles morales x reader#miles morales prowler#across the spiderverse fanfiction#earth 42 miles fluff#miles g morales
7K notes
·
View notes
Text
Miggy thots of the day:
Everyone talks about him being hard and rough but what about when he’s slow and deliberate?
Is he the type to tell you to be quiet and take it? Or does he smile when you whimper around his size? Foreheads touching as he encourages you to breathe through it? Or does he kiss you to swallow your cries? Is it messy? I bet it is. Bet he licks into your mouth and steals your breath away.
His back curled at an inhuman angle bc he has to bow himself over you? Intertwines your hands and his sheer weight presses you into the mattress? Unintentionally? You don’t mind the pressure one bit. He’s got you pinned.
Miguel talks you through the first three, an insane amount of praise falling from his lips, half of it not making any sense but you catch some words; this sweet pussy, good little girl, my girl always ready for me, fucking love this pu—
Has to pick up speed when you start tapping out, eyes unfocused when your body exhausts itself under his control. Mumbling about how much he loves you, loves seeing you come apart for him, around him, all over him, wants to see it again, wants to feel it always.
“Oh you’re tired, baby? No no, not yet, I don’t want it to end baby, don’t go cross eyed on me now,” he says, noticing your eyes rolling back when he overstimulates you.
When he empties himself inside your warm and waiting cunt, Miguel’s breath comes out heavy against your temple. His spend spilling out around where he’s still buried between your thighs, he pulls out and groans at the sight, shuffling his way down to clean you up like the ever so caring partner that he is…
#miguel o’hara#miguel o’hara fanfiction#miguel o'hara smut#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o’hara x you#miguel o’hara imagine#Miguel o’hara fic#across the spiderverse#spiderman: across the spider verse#spider man 2099#across the spiderverse fanfiction
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
GIVE YOU THE WORLD | with 42!MILES MORALES
— where miles visits reader as the prowler .
fem!reader , reader does not know that miles is prowler…AT FIRST !! , miles and reader are exes , short fluff fic , black!reader
“so when you gon take the mask off?” you question, which pulls a laugh out off the masked man. “and why would i do that?”
you huff, “i don’t know. maybe because i got some masked dude in my room. who is known for killing, may i add. how is it gonna look if my parents walk in?”
“you have a point.”
he couldn’t take off the mask. you would shun him out of your life. again. and he can’t go through that again. he needed you.
“but i like to keep a private life. m-” he stopped himself. the name “ma” would’ve ratted him out. “mhm. one of these days, imma know who you are.” you smirk.
“you wish.” he did and didn’t want you to who he was.
did: if you found out, you’d see that he still cared for you after all this time, and he still wanted you.
didn’t: you wouldn’t see it that way. at all.
you yawn, “well, lemme get some sleep. i’ll see you tomorrow,” you throw on your silk bonnet, “my window is always open.”
“yeah…you should change that.” you laugh. “you’d pick it anyway,
miles.”
oh.
fucking.
shit.
#miles morales x reader#atsv x reader#atsv#atsv x you#miles morales fanfiction#miles morales#across the spiderverse#earth 42 miles morales x reader#spiderman across the spiderverse#across the spiderverse fanfiction
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
A Christmas Movie
Pairings: Miguel O'Hara x spider!Reader
Word Count: 5.4k exactly
Kink: Size Kink
Warnings: NSFW, smut, unprotected sex, swearing, size difference, fingering, multiple orgasms, creampie, love vomits, Miguel speaking Spanish…
A/N: This is a few hours late but I literally finished it five minutes ago. Miguel describes the reader as tiny a lot, but it is only meant in comparison to him, not as a physical description of the reader. Thank you!
Also A/N: This can be read as a sequel to this oneshot, but can also be read as a standalone. Thank you and enjoy!
“Is this necessary?”
You rub your side as you lay on the floor, an ache in your muscles as you get thrown to the hard floor again. Looking up at him, you move to stand. “Yes.”
Miguel crosses his arms over his chest, his gray hoodie loose enough not to allow you the pleasure of seeing his muscles bulging through the material. “Why?” he asks, waiting patiently for you to recover before he advances again.
You stretch your arms over your head, feeling your back pop with a heavy sigh. “Well, you saw my attempt just then. You threw me like a fucking ragdoll.”
He shrugs. “Are you ready?”
You sigh, shifting back into your starting stance.
“Firmer stance. I shouldn't be able to move you.”
You roll your eyes and scoff. “Of course you should. Have you seen yourself? You're huge…in more ways than one.” You smirk at him.
He just rolls his own eyes in return. “It should be harder to push you. If I can use my finger to make you fall, your stance is flimsy.”
“You can use your finger to make me fall apart any day.”
He ignores you. He walks over to you, ignoring your remarks as he fixes your stance. He nudges one leg further from the other, widening your feet before pressing down on your shoulders to lower you slightly. He shoves you, you stay standing.
“Better. Do that,” he says.
“You're so grumpy,” you mumble.
A chill rushes up your spine and your right cheek flutters with heat. Ducking, you narrowly miss Miguel's fist to your face. “Dude, what the fu–!”
You backflip, landing in a crouch as he went for another attack, this time aimed at your feet. “Always be on guard. I could have knocked you out,” he instructs, still coming toward you.
His webs shoot toward you, and you act quickly as you jump up once again. You flip before planting your feet off a wall and jumping off just as fast to fly over his head. Another web threatens to wrap around your body, you block it with your own web.
Miguel bounds after you. When you land, you shoot your webs at him one right after the other. He dodges them all, nearing you like a colossus. When he's close enough, you flip back again and spring off your hands. Your foot almost makes contact with his face, but he turns just in time to step out of the way, grabbing you midair and throwing you away.
You're about to fly into a wall when you manage to change your position enough to bounce off of it. He isn't fast enough to catch you this time. You hook your leg around his neck and manage to wrap them both there quickly. You squeeze your thighs tight around him. He reaches up to grab you, and you web his face to blind him.
Miguel's hands grip your body, but you tighten your legs around him and lean back with as much force as you can muster. You shoot webs to the floor, gripping them tight to add some strength as you manage to flip him forward. He lands hard on the floor, and you land in a perfect crouch.
He groans at the impact, moving to rip the webs from his face quickly to an attempt to stay on the attack. But while he's distracted, you web his hands to his face and web his foot to the floor, shooting a few extra for good measure.
He rips the webs on his hands almost too easily, breaking free from the restraints. In one swipe, his foot is free. He comes for you immediately, pouncing at a surprising speed.
You roll onto your back, propping your knees to your chest. You manage to maneuver him so he flies past you. He rolls to avoid another hard hit to the floor.
The chill in your spine is just a second too late. His webs shoot at you. You lose your balance as you try to stand, and you fall back in the middle of turning to face him. In the next second, he's on top of you, a hand around your throat and your hands pinned above your head.
His face is inches from your own, his breath heavy and his eyes are nearly glowing red with exertion. “What were you waiting for?” His voice is insistent and rough, high on adrenaline.
A shiver blossoms through you, a rush of pleasantness prickling your skin. Your breath is shallow and quick. As you stare up at him, wide-eyed and also on an adrenaline rush, you smirk. “Do we always end up like this?”
He tilts his head, confusion finding its way to his face. Then he remembers. You're in the training hall, this is just practice, and you're you.
He rolls his eyes, and the adrenaline seems to fade. He doesn't get up. “You're smaller than me, which makes you faster. You can't let down your guard, and you can't slow down for any reason.”
You huff. “Okay, but that kick thing was impressive.”
He stares at you, debating. Then he shrugs, “Wasn't bad.”
Again, you roll your eyes. “Get off me. You're heavy.”
He does, moving to stand and give you room to do the same. “Okay,” you stretch. “Let's go again.”
“No. Go home.”
You straighten your spine immediately, surprise taking your face. “What? No!”
He peels his hoodie off, leaving his top bare as he walks over to the shelf of towels. “Yes. Go.”
You run over to him, blocking his way. “We don't have to train, you know. We could…” You pause to think, clapping when you have it. “We could watch the surveillance systems! I love the surveillance systems!”
He raises a brow, walking past you. You walk with him. “You hate the surveillance systems.”
You pause. “I do hate them. But you'll be there anyway.”
He stops, looking down at you, unamused. He brings his hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “Go home,” he says, looking at you now. “It’s Christmas. You should be…” he thinks for a moment, “out spending time with friends. Not here…looking at surveillance with me.”
You shrug. “Okay, then we can do something else together.”
“Isn’t there some Christmas party for you to go to?” He starts walking. You follow at his side, shrugging again as you nod your head.
“Hobie’s throwing one in his dimension, yeah,” you mumble. “But I’m not there. I’m here.”
He stops again, turning his full body to face you with a raised brow. “Why are you here? Why don’t you just go home?”
You look up at him, swallowing thickly as your gaze slips from his. You sigh, letting the silence stretch a moment too long as you come to terms with saying it. “I have no one waiting for me at home.” Miguel’s stare softens, becoming a little more sympathetic as he processes your words. “And, like you said, it’s Christmas. No one should be alone on Christmas.”
He looks at you again. With a sigh, he shakes his head gently. “You’re too nice to me.”
You smile, accepting his defeat. “I know. Go get your shower. I’ll see you after.”
One day, he'll tell you.
~
Miguel’s shirt swallows you whole as you pull it over your head. It’s huge and gray, and it hangs at your knees , sagging off your shoulder. Your fuzzy socks are pulled up to your mid-leg, silencing your steps as you walk to the side table.
Miguel’s room in HQ is small, almost like a mediocre hotel room—the tiny room with a single bed and drawer (minus the TV) that nearly takes up the whole space, a tiny closet, a tiny bathroom, and a tiny living room with an okay-sofa and a TV. He has a small area for a coffee maker, a fridge, a cabinet, and a microwave, but that’s as much of a kitchen he has. A mediocre hotel room. He has a house, but he doesn’t go there often.
He comes out of the bathroom, steam rising from his shoulders as his white towel hangs low on his waist, He’s still dripping with water, tiny droplets from strands of hair, little tears streaming down his skin. He’s beautiful. You look away from him.
You pick up two DVDs from the side table, turning the cases over in your hands to examine the front. “Okay, so I got these from Movie-Verse.”
“Movie-Verse,” he mumbles, running a hand through his hair as his broad body stands in front of his dresser. He opens the third drawer and grabs the first pair of shorts he sees.
“Yeah, the movie store next to the cafeteria. Has a ton of movies from all the ‘verses.” You wave a hand dismissively, setting one of the cases down and taking the other in both hands. “Anyway, I picked this up. It’s called The Nightmare Before Christmas by some guy named Tim Burton.” You use a mysterious voice when you say the title, stretching the drama. “I think it would be cool.”
He finishes patting dry the water from his skin, tossing the towel onto the bed to pull his shorts on. “Sounds like a Halloween movie.” His tone is flat. He seems almost bored, his face dropped into that grumpy expression he’s taken on.
“Well, yeah,” you shrug, “but it says Christmas on it. Look.”
You toss the case to him. He catches it in one hand effortlessly, his gaze fixed on the drawer he was closing. He examines the front. “There’s a skeleton on it.”
“Doesn’t matter,” you matter-of-factly. “Put it in. We’re watching it.” He does as he’s told. You go to his little kitchenette and pull open the fridge. “Do you like eggnog?”
He’s retrieved his towel once more, rubbing it over his wet hair. His muscles flex with every little movement. Part of you wants to make a sly comment, but you refrain.
“No.”
“Yeah. Me, neither,” you hum. You close the fridge, pulling open the cabinet to retrieve two glasses he has stowed away (one that had already been in his cabinet and one you’d put there for yourself months ago). “I just got wine and hot cocoa.”
He practically grunts as a reply. He sounds uninterested, unimpressed. Your pep sours, and you feel yourself physically deflate as you try and fail to brush off his seeming apathy. You set the glasses down with a gentle click and fidget with the fabric of the oversized shirt.
Your voice is small when you speak, almost embarrassed. “Do you want me to leave?”
He looks up at you then, directing his attention. His brows furrow as he holds the remote in his hand, which dwarfs the “tiny” device. “What?”
You shuffle from one foot to the other, feeling awkward. “I can go if you want… Hobie has that Christmas party, like I said, and… I can just go there if you don’t want me here.” The last part comes out choppy, your lips unwilling to form the words, your mouth reluctant to speak it.
There’s a long pause as he stares at you. His furrowed brows soften, and he takes in the sight of you. You’re wearing his shirt, and it looks huge on you. He can see the outline of your soft panties through the material of it. You’ve got on fuzzy socks, long ones that cover most of your leg and your hair is set free.
You look shy. It’s something he doesn’t see often. You relish in dirty jokes and confident suggestiveness. You’re sarcastic, and you thrive on the sass you hand to him. Even during the times where he has your body in his hands, off on another rendezvous to release stress—his and yours—you still hold that glint of mischief and wit.
You look sad. You look sad and small, and he hates himself for making you look that way.
Miguel’s shoulders fall. He turns his body to face you, taking naturally large steps to stand in front of you. You have to crane your neck just to look up at him, but your disheartedness only allows you to reach his chest before giving up.
He raises a hand to your chin and lifts it just a little more so you can see his face, which he tilts down this time to better view you. He sighs and speaks softly, earnestly. “I want you here.”
You blink once, searching his face as your gaze shifts between his plump lips and his russet brown eyes. “Are you sure?”
He leans forward slowly, giving you time (partially because it’s quite the journey) before gently pressing his lips to yours. It’s far too gentle and far too sweet, but you relish it anyway. They’re gone just as quickly as they came as he pulls away just enough to break the kiss.
“I’m sure,” he says.It almost sounds pleading when he says, “Stay.”
His eyes examine your face for another couple of seconds before he steps away from you, lets his hands fall back down to his side. “I have a blanket you can use.”
You breathe a tiny chuckle out of your nose, effectively reassured by his warm and gentle plea. “Is it big?” you smile, considering his offer.
He shrugs a shoulder, beginning to turn on his heel when he shoots a rare smile at you over that same shoulder. “For you.”
It makes you giddy, your courage slowly returning. “I’m not that small.”
His back turned to you, he continues. “You’re right. You’re smaller.”
You roll your eyes at him, turning toward the counter again. You unscrew the wine bottle to begin pouring. You shake your head as you chuckle a little. “Oh, fuck off.”
He opens his tiny closet and pulls out a cream colored blanket (basically a thin duvet). He picks the remote up again, sitting on the sofa with his legs spread wide. He makes the couch look tiny. “You look even smaller in that. Mujer pequeña.”
You move into a pose, pretending to be sexy. “You like?” You wink comically at him.
He licks his bottom lip. “Are you going to sit?”he asks, avoiding the question.
You giggle to yourself, pouring the dark wine. “You love.” You carry the glasses to the sofa.
He's already started the movie, not that you mind. The music starts, the billowing of wind whistling in the background to set a spooky tone.
“The first song is literally saying it's Halloween,” he comments, lifting his hand from his lap, your feet kicking up and resting on his lap as you pass him his glass. He takes it and spreads open the blanket.
“Ugh,” you roll your eyes, “you make me sick.”
He lifts the glass to his lips. “You chose it.” He takes a sip from his glass, resting his hand on your ankle as his thumb strokes the skin over it.
You both sit and watch the movie in silence. You tuck the blanket closer. You sip tentatively at your cup as you direct your gaze at the screen. You miss the way Miguel's eyes linger on you, his gaze tracing the features of your face: the length of your nose, the curve of your lips. He memorizes the details of your face before he realizes he's been staring too long. He looks away.
Another little while passes of being hyperaware of you before he glances over again, noticing your glass go to your lips as you take a sip. He sighs silently. “Come here.”
You look at him, humming. He waves his hand invitingly, You move the blanket, setting your glass on the table. You sit next to him, snuggling into his side. He reaches over your body as his hand lands on your hip.
Miguel lifts you, pulling your body over his lap to straddle him. Your hands fall to his shoulders. He shows his affection the only way he knows how. He kisses you.
You hum lightly, pulling away from his lips and dipping your head, looking down at his chest instead of his eyes. You smile to cover your discontent as you lower your hands to his waist. “Is this why you wanted me to stay?”
His knuckles trace your cheek. “I want you to stay because, surprisingly, I enjoy your company,” he jokes.
You chuckle half-heartedly. “I'm like that.”
There's more quiet in the next pause as his eyes look over your face. “Why did you want to stay so bad?”
You look at him, biting your lower lip. “I told you.”
He rolls his eyes, chuckling lightly as his hands stroke your thighs, over the curve of your ass. “Yeah, ‘no one should be alone on Christmas’. But, like you said, Hobie’s got his party. You have plenty of friends there.” He glances over your face. “Why aren't you?”
You lick your lip, turning your head away. Another song plays quietly in the background, the sound of sleigh bells and horns and clarinets creating a holiday symphony behind you. You wanna gloat. “Ha, I was right. It is a Christmas movie.”
You sigh gently, the tips of your ears hot and the pit of your stomach fluttering.
“I don't want you to be alone.”
He takes a breath in, inclining his head just a bit as he considers your response. His eyes flutter as he stares at your face, seemingly entranced. You look back at him, unflinching.
“You're too nice to me.”
You smile. “I know.”
“You deserve better than me.”
Your eyes flutter at that and your heart stops beating for half a second. You're warm, and you laugh as you speak, “What's that mean?”
He glances away as he sighs, looking back at you with an expression that's almost pained. His heart is heavy in his chest, and he holds his breath a little when you lift your hands back to his shoulders.
“Don't make me say it,” he almost whispers, his eyes pleading. “Please don't make me say it.”
You hesitate, staring at him as your heart hammers against your chest. Your breath is thin. “Say what?”
“Corazón… I–” he breathes in, his voice reluctant, “–haven't said this in a long time.”
You move your hands from his shoulders to cup his face, making him look at you and taking away his option to turn the other way. If he's going to say it, you need to hear it. You need to be sure. “Said what, Miguel?”
He breathes, staring into your eyes and softening.
Tonight, he'll tell you.
“I'm in love with you.”
Silence strikes the room. The movie plays in the background, long forgotten in both your minds as the quiet and the tension drones on. Your skin prickles, your brain is fuzzy, your mouth is slightly agape.
Miguel stares at you, you do not blink. You stare at Miguel, he does not blink. The silence stretches. He's desperate.
“Please say something.”
“I love you.”
His heart pounds at the confession, but he doesn't believe it. This kind of thing doesn't happen. “N–”
“No. I love you, Miguel,” you promise, leaning closer to his face and holding him a little tighter. “I'm in love with you.”
His mouth crashes down upon yours, a clash of lips and teeth and tenderness and insistence. You moan lightly into his mouth, standing on your knees just enough to get some height on him as you kiss him back just as eagerly as he. Fire burns in your belly, in your face, licking at your flesh. Your hands tangle in his hair and fuel it.
He begins to turn you to lay you on the couch. You press on his chest, encouraging him back so he's on his own instead. His hands fall to your thighs as you straddle his waist, his shorts and your panties the only thing separating the two of you. You bend down against his body to continue kissing him with everything you have.
Miguel whispers your name against your lips, moreso when your hips grind against him. His hands smooth along your skin, dipping under his huge shirt on you to feel your waist with his gentle but insistent touch. Your hands roam his chest, feeling his soft skin over his hard muscles, enchanted by the way he feels under you. He relishes in your touch, hypnotized.
“Your hands are so small,” he mutters, his fingers lightly digging into your sides.
You chuckle lightly, losing your breath as you speak. “You’re just big.”
He smiles against your lips, his hands on your hips moving you slowly up and down on top of him. But, like you said, he’s big. Your hips grind over his belly, but the movement alone is enough to make you moan. You sigh heavily against his lips, pulling back just enough to speak as your brows knit together.
“Miguel,” you breathe. “I need you.”
He nods, reaching a hand to the back of your head to encourage you into another kiss. “I know, baby, I know,” he whispers. He opens his eyes to see you, and he loses his breath at the sight of you: disheveled with desire for him. You open your eyes to look at him, and he can see the way you gaze at him, like he’s everything to you.
His hand slips from your waist, down the length of your body until he’s dipping it between your legs. You bite your bottom lip as you moan at the way his fingers graze the thin fabric covering your pussy. Your whole body shudders at the feeling, and he just watches you react to him.
He rubs his finger teasingly over you, feeling as you slowly become more and more wet as he does. You grind your hips into his hand, eager to feel him. “You want my fingers in you, baby?” he says, his voice low and rough. “You want ‘em to stretch out this little pussy for my cock?”
“Please,” you mewl.
He's weak as he dips his finger underneath your panties and slips it past your folds, working it into you as he watches your lips part at the sensation. You grind against his hand, seeking more of him as his thick finger slowly moves in and out of your warmth. When you're slicked up enough, he slips another one inside. And then a third.
His fingers thrust in and out of you, slowly building in speed as he seeks out your delicious moans, the way your eyes flutter and your tongue darts out to lick your chapped lips.
“So pretty,” he mutters. “Your little moans sound so pretty, querida. I love them.”
You breathe soundly, squeezing around his thick fingers as he curls them inside of you. “Fuck, Miguel,” you moan. “Mm, keep going.”
He does, spreading you open with his fingers as he gets you nice and slick for him. His cock is painfully hard now, restrained by his shorts as it tents them. He feels like he'll explode just watching you. As you continue to grind your hips down on his hand, he shifts his thumb over your clit and begins to rub circles over it. “Mírate. See how beautiful you are, mi pequeña cosa?”
Your breath blows heavily through parted lips. His words play over and over in your head. “I'm in love with you. I'm in love with you. I'm in love with you.” You moan and hold the sides of his face, stroking your thumbs over his cheeks as the pleasure rises within you.
“‘M gonna cum,” you shudder, your pussy clenching around his fingers.
He curls his fingers some more, massaging them inside of you against that spongy spot he knows you adore. “Cum for me, chiquita.”
You do, mouth parting and eyes squeezing as the wave of pleasure washes over you. He feels you tighten and untighten around his fingers, encouraging your spasms by pumping them through it. You moan his name, slowly coming down from the pleasure as your hips jerk at the feeling of his fingers.
He pulls them out of you, bringing you down into another kiss as his lips slide against yours. “You did so good for me,” he sighs, leaning into you as you hum against him.
You pull at his shorts, pushing them down his thick thighs to get them off him. He actually helps you, kicking them off and leaving him bare as you continue to straddle him with his shirt draping low on your body.
You go to take it off, but he stops you, his hand on yours. “No,” he says. “You look perfect in it.”
He set his hands on your hips once more, raising you to hover over his cock. He stops, waiting for you. You want to kiss him again, biting your lip roughly as you whisper. “Please.” You stroke his face, “I need you.”
He’s weak. He can do nothing but comply as he lines you up with him, letting you down just enough to squeeze the head of him inside you. You moan, closing your eyes at the feeling as he holds you steady with a grunt. It’s you who lets him sink deeper inside, grinding your hips against his cock as you make him lower you.
He stretches you out, a delicious stretch you could never grow used to as you moan all the way down. When he’s buried to the hilt with you sitting properly above him, he groans. “Fuck, I love this little pussy,” he grunts. “You always take me so well.”
You huff, catching your breath as you roll your hips slightly, shuddering at the pleasure. “So big,” you mutter, gripping his hips as you give yourself another moment to get used to his size before rolling your hips again. The feeling is electric, sets off a deep hunger in your belly that has you grinding down on him so desperately.
“You like that?” he breathes. “‘Course you do. My tiny girl loves it when I stretch her out like this.”
You roll your hips over him, moaning as his cock presses deep inside of you. His hands slip underneath your shirt, feeling your waist as he helps you grind down on him. Your rhythm is slow and measured, feeling everything. Every little roll, every little squeeze, every little ridge of his cock dragging against your walls.
“Fuck, you’re so big,” you moan again, relishing in him.
He smiles, continuing to watch as you fall apart on top of him. You feel him sit up, one of his hands wrapping tightly around your waist. You open your eyes to look at him, whimpering when he slips his cock out of you.
“Shh,” he says, flipping you onto your back as his massive body towers over you, his size that of a predator but the gentleness of his touch and the care in his eyes that of a man who loves a woman. “I’m gonna take care of you, mi corazón.”
His eyes stay glued to yours when he thrusts back in. Both your moans rumble in your throats as you watch each other. He rocks his hips back and forth inside you, thrusting so deep and pulling out so far before doing it all over again.
He holds onto your tight as he fills you with his cock, so wrapped up in you as you moan and squeeze around him. The pace, still slow, picks up as he thrusts deep within you, grinding against the deepest part of you with a groan in the back of his throat.
You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as you bury your face in his chest. “Fuck, that’s good,” you whisper.
He manages to kiss your forehead, his hand slipping underneath you to encourage his steady rhythm as you continue to clench. His other hand finds your clit, rubbing slow circles over the sensitive bundle of nerves as he builds you up for another orgasm.
You tense, your walls fluttering around him at the feeling of his thumb on your clit. He grunts at the feeling of it, ready to fall apart as he watches you. “I love you, mi amor.” You shudder at the words. “I love your little body. I love your little smile. I love your little eyes. I love your stupid little jokes and the way…the way you care about me too much.”
You cradle his face in your hands, melting at his confessions. “I love you,” he says again, his voice spent and his breath speeding up as you squeeze around his cock and moan his name like a spell.
“Miguel, I…” you moan, the pleasure building into a knot in your stomach as you get ready to explode. You breathe in and you keep breathing in as he presses a little harder on your clit, circles a little harder as you clench him so tight.
Your eyes shut and your lips part as you come, moaning loudly as the ecstasy washes over you like a crashing wave. You roll your hips up into the pleasure, whimpering when he presses himself as deeply inside of you as he can go, grinding and intensifying every little feeling.
Miguel almost collapses on top of you when he cums, dropping his head down and grunting with a heavy breath as he spills inside of you, nearly fucking into you as he does. He moans something under his breath, all his muscles tensing as he keeps pumping his cock into you. You wrap your legs around his waist to pull him in closer.
It’s a while before you both come down, catching your breaths as the pleasure wanes and leaves a pleasant buzz in your bones. He pulls out of you, and you whimper at the sudden emptiness.
He sits up to pull some of his weight off you, though you keep him down by his waist to feel his body still looming over you. He brushes his fingers over your forehead, your heavy eyelids fluttering open.
“Fuck,” you sigh, looking up at him with a sticky smile. You readjust yourself so you can see his face better, taking it in your hands and pulling him down to kiss his lips. The kiss is soft, a gentle embrace as you take your time to pour your care into it.
“I love you, too,” you whisper back at him, kissing him again and then whispering it once more. He smiles. It’s a slow and small smile that spreads over his lips. For a moment, he forgets about all the fears and pains and dangers of love and just thinks about you. How much he loves you. He kisses you again.
“And I was fuckin’ right,” you smile, a gentle chuckle in your chest.
He hums. “About?”
“It is a fuckin’ Christmas movie.”
It takes him a moment to realize what you were talking about. It’s just then when he remembers the movie still playing in the background, another slow song in the background from the one girl that was meant to be a play on Frankenstein’s monster. He doesn’t remember her name, he wasn’t paying much attention.
He laughs. It isn’t a small laugh either. He throws his head and closes his eyes as a loud, booming laugh erupts from his chest and fills the room. It’s so genuine and so electric, you can’t help your own as you join his excitement.
You both laugh for a while, calming down enough for him to kiss you again and say, “You are right.” He takes a breath, staring down at you with a wide smile. “It is a fuckin’ Christmas movie.”
You giggle again, sighing deeply as you pull his weight down on top of you (though he still holds most of it to keep from crushing your tiny body). You hum, speaking in a quiet whisper. “I love you.”
Miguel wraps you in his arms and turns you both around so you’re laying on top of him. He pulls the blanket from where it had fallen on the floor and spreads it over your body, slipping his hand under your shirt so he touches your bare back.
“Merry Christmas,” he mutters, letting out a slow breath. “I love you.”
Oscar Isaac taglist: @loki-hargreeves @hb8301 @tessarqctt @fanreader @alexxavicry @gublur @katsukis1wife @hatterripper31 @papichulo120627 @anotherblackreader @kmc1989 @the-nerdy-goddess @minigirl87 @woahhajime @notzammm
Tag yourself here…
#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara x reader smut#miguel o'hara smut#miguel o'hara fanfic#miguel o'hara fanfiction#atsv miguel#across the spiderverse#across the spiderverse fanfiction#fanfic#fanfiction#reader insert#female reader#10 days of smutmas
683 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
risingequality
Equality-Rising Magazine
fmp2jackstretton-mason
FMP2jackstretton-mason
anabee-blog1
Fight like a Bee
vaporlwholesale-blog
vaporl.com
yogaallianceyogattc-blog
Multi Style Yoga Teacher Training in Rishikesh