#spiderman 2099 x reader
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Firefighter!Miguel Part 2
content warning: the urge to use AAVE was slipping through the nerves of my fingers. I tried to hold off, so if you see something that looks grammatically different, then it’s probably AAVE that I couldn’t NOT add. this is all fluff too! there are also mentions of food, but that's a norm for these drabbles
word count: 2.2k, proofread! (I think there's no mistakes 😭)
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“Eileen! Is that you?!”
You internally groaned as your grandma hopped out of the motorized shopping cart to greet yet another person.
The trip to the grocery store to buy ingredients turned into a meet & greet with the star being your grandmother knowing everyone in the town.
You felt loopy, going from almost burning down your house to contemplating whether or not the hot fire captain would prefer yams or potato salad. Maybe both?
You grumbled to yourself as you scanned the aisle for a specific brand of cookies for some banana pudding. If all else fails, this was a dessert you could make with no oven.
“And now we’re here, trying to find this child something to cook with,” you heard your grandma fuss out. Why did your business have to be the topic of the conversation?
You turned and walked the short distance to your grandma and another woman who was….her old coworker? Her church member? Or maybe they went to school together….
“Good morning Ms. Eileen,” you say, thankful that you caught her name. You couldn’t keep up with everyone like your grandma.
“Is this the baby?!” she says, shocked eyes going from you to your grandma and back to you.
Your grandma nodded, a smile growing on her face.
“Child, I haven’t seen you since you were this little!” she says, holding her hand about 2 feet off the ground. She turns back to your grandma, “This can’t be the baby!”
You stand there with your lips in a line as you wait for the realization that at least two decades have gone by since you’ve last seen her.
Or more like since she’s seen you. You’re still trying to gather who she is.
“Yeah, this is my grandchild! All grown up and now we’re trying to win over a husband,” your grandma says, shaking your arm.
You wanted a hole to swallow you up or possibly grow some wings so that you could take flight. Anything to get out of this conversation.
“A husband?!” Ms. Eileen smiles mischievously. “Who are you trying to marry?”
“Uh-”
“Honey, this child got the Fire Chief ringing my doorbell!”
“He’s actually the Fire Captain-” you mumble, trying to get your two cents in
Ms. Eileen holds your hands and starts doing an excited bounce as she vocalizes her excitement.
“I need to get right then if we’re fixin’ to have a wedding!” she said, gesturing to her hair as if to fix it.
“It’ll be soon! Just wait and see!” your grandma says, putting her hands back on the handlebars of the car. “Let us go on and buy the rest of this stuff. We’ve got a lot to do. It was good to talk with you!”
Your grandma starts to move forward, somewhat ignoring Ms. Eileen as she started to open her mouth again.
“Leave me some of that food ok?” she calls out.
“If there’s any left, I’ll let you know!” your grandma says as she turns down the aisle.
You chase after her, waving to Ms. Eileen as you leave.
“Who was she again?” you ask as you two go down a new aisle.
“Eileen Wilkins from the school.” So she was a coworker! “She still doesn’t know how to stop talking, though.”
Your laugh sneaks out of you as you watch your grandma stop at some seasonings.
“Why do you say that? You were keeping the conversation up.”
“I was just being nice! It was fine until she started bragging about that granddaughter of hers. That girl doesn’t know her left from her right. How she make it to nursing school?”
“Maybe she’s a hard worker!” you respond.
Your grandma snorts, “Yeah. Working hard at paying somebody else to do her work.”
You just shake your head at your grandma. What are you going to do with this woman?
“Will you call the number already?”
“I don’t really want to do that,” you say, tapping your foot against the ground.
This would be the fourth station within the area that you called with no record of a "Captain O'Hara." You were starting to believe that you and your grandma made him up. Just a small figment of both of your imaginations. What your grandma saw as a suitor and what you saw as a hot guy just trying to do his job.
"You need to want to call," your grandma, responds. "We didn't get all of this food made for nothing. And you're wearing my good necklace! He won't know what hit him when sees you."
You both decided on soul food. Tin pans full of food for the entire crew from greens to mac to fried catfish. Then, there was a hefty styrofoam takeout plate made especially for him. Your banana pudding for him in a tupperware container with Nilla wafers patterned along the side.
Not to mention, you spent an unhealthy amount of time deciding which scent you should wear.
You looked infinitely better than you did when he last saw you with ingredients dusting your front and smoke coming out of your windows.
Still, it would all be for nothing if you couldn’t find his station.
While yon were staring off, your grandma tapped your phone, impatience riddling her frame.
“Grandma!” you shout, holding your phone as if it were a game of hot potato.
“Just ask if he’s there!” your grandma says.
“That’s not how this works-”
“Station 29, this is Captain O’Hara speaking.”
“Hi! Hello,” you turn back to the phone in a rush, embarrassed that he might have heard you and your grandma. You introduce yourself properly this time, saying that you wanted to bring some dinner down to the crew.
You hear a noise of shock as he starts to speak again, “That would be amazing actually. The crew was just trying to decide what to eat. When can we expect you?”
“I’ll be there in 10 minutes,” you say, a little too quickly to be honest.
“Perfect. We’ll see you then!”
You end the call and look up to your grandma who’s staring at you with a small smile.
“Now you tell him to bring back my good tupperware,” she says, instantly switching back to her regular self.
You just shake your head. Grandmas will be grandmas.
“I’m just trying to get you a good man!” she fussed. “And that’s my good tupperware. He’ll hear from me until I get it back.”
“And who were you just on the phone with? You’re smiling real hard there.”
“Shut up Parker,” Miguel fired back. “And why are you even in here. Aren’t you supposed to be washing T29 right now?”
“I finished that an hour ago, thank you very much. You’re so touchy!”
Miguel got up and shuffled Peter out of his office, “I’m not touchy. You’re just irritating me like usual.”
“Oh my god? You do have someone you’re talking to,” Peter says as he digs his feet into the ground, stopping Miguel. “How come you didn’t tell me? Is it that lady with the tree-loving cat? No! It’s the guy whose dog keeps getting stuck in the wall! There’s a theme here.”
“No, I’m not- Will you move? I’m not dating anyone with daredevil pets,” Miguel responded, trying to push Peter in a new spot.
“Cap is dating?” Ben asks as he walks by the two bickering like cats. “When can we see them?”
“I’m not dating-”
“Miguel! You didn’t tell me anything,” Jess says as she comes down the hallway.
“Why won’t you ever address me as Captain?”
“I will if you tell me who you’re dating,” she says with a smile on her face.
“I’m going to lose my mind,” Miguel mumbles, letting Peter fall to the ground instead of fighting him.
“Well if you weren’t talking to your lover, who was that?” he asks from the ground, the wind knocked out of him.
“While you all were slacking, I was making sure that everyone goes home with a full stomach. Remember the kitchen fire from earlier this week? They’re bringing some food for us.”
“Will it be safe to eat?” Ben says, eyes flittering to Jess nervously.
“It was a broken gas line, you idiot,” Jess says with her mouth turned sideways. “At least wait until the food is here before you judge it.”
“No way,” Peter says from the ground. “You put them in your lap and now they’re bringing you food.”
Miguel lightly kicks Peter in the thigh, making him scream out a scale of keys.
“That face gets so many people,” Jess sighs annoyingly.
Firefighter!Miguel who jogs out to the car when you arrive. No, he wasn’t watching the clock or his cameras. He just happened to see some movement in one of the security cameras.
He opens the door for you, helping you out of the car.
It’s like you’re a totally different person from the frantic little baker from earlier.
“Can you help me get the plates out of the trunk?” you say, voice barely reaching his ears with how soft you’re speaking.
“Of course,” he replies.
He manages to carry all four hot tins of food, leaving you with just two plastic bags to carry.
Firefighter!Miguel who places the tins on the table with ease.
“Is there anything else?” Peter asks, walking up to his side.
“No, I think this was all of the tins,” Miguel replied with his hands on his hips.
“Show off,” Peter whispers with a smile on his face. He patted his shoulder and walked towards the entrance.
Miguel blushed, realizing how that might have read to you.
Firefighter!Miguel whose eyebrows raise as you hold him back from getting in line, a plastic bag aimed towards him.
“I made you a separate plate. You were especially kind to me and I wanted to show my appreciation,” you say with a smile on your face.
“Thank you,” he says, taking the bag. “Should I give you the verdict?”
Your heart beats faster, watching his pretty face light up. You nod your head, hopeful that he’ll love the food.
Firefighter!Miguel who has you sit next to him at the table. The crew is quiet for once. Nothing but smacks and the shuffling of cups could be heard.
“Don’t be rude, guys. Say thanks,” Miguel chides at his crew.
At the sound of his voice, everyone starts thanking you profusely.
Miguel starts to open his bag and you feel like you could break out in a sweat.
You watch as he opens the plate and his eyes go big.
“Hey, how come he gets the extra stuff?” Ben whines from the end of the table.
Jess elbows him to shut him up, eyes throwing daggers.
You may or may not have added some fried chicken and potato salad to his plate.
You wait anxiously as he takes a bite.
Is it weird that you counted the seconds as he chewed?
“Damn, that’s good,” he says, leaning back in his chair.
If everyone could hear your thoughts, they’d truly be terrified at the screams going on right now.
“You like it?” you ask, biting your lip.
“This might be the best food I’ve had in a while,” he replies back. “Thank you!”
Your smile grows, watching as he tears away at his food. His laser focus doesn’t stop him from smacking Peter’s hand away from his banana pudding.
Firefighter!Miguel who walks you back to the car. Everyone was chatting and laughing at the table. The after-food glow on all of their faces.
“Everything was really delicious. Thank you for this. You didn’t have to,” he says as he opens your door.
“Stop, I really wanted to thank you guys. You all are the true heroes. Oh! And my grandma would really appreciate it if you brought her container back.”
Miguel chuckles, giving you that pretty smile of his. He looked so pretty that way. The black shirt he was sporting was hugging him just right too.
“Of course,” he responded. “We still have to check out your kitchen too, yeah?”
You nod, shocked that he remembered.
“Tell you what, I’ll give you my number and we can work that out tomorrow.”
He hands you a card, writing down what you assume is his personal number. As he hands the card to you, your heart picks up as his fingers graze yours.
“I’ll see you then,” he says, waiting for you to get in your car before he closes it. He taps the hood and walks backwards, watching as you back out of the driveway.
You give him a little wave and squeal to yourself when gives a hearty one back.
Firefighter!Miguel who is hounded by his crew when he gets back inside.
Some of them are making kissy faces and the others are patting his back in encouragement.
“Would you all get back to work?” he sighed, annoyed at all of the attention.
He moved fast to his office, face in flames.
Firefighter!Miguel who groans out when he scoops some banana pudding in his mouth.
You were good. Really good.
He makes an angry face as he takes another bite, “My god.”
“Oo, they got you real good,” Jess snickers as she steals a bite of his dessert.
“Hey!” he said, moving too late to stop her.
She laughs as she runs from his office. Miguel gets up and locks the door, making sure that no one else could steal his food.
It was specifically made for him, after all.
divider by: @dollywons + @starzyyy1 ❤️🔥
a/n: Special thanks to @slushycoookie for giving me ideas! It was brilliant and much needed ☺️
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taglist: @snails-doodles22 @xerorizz @questionable-behaviour @babygotl01292003
#love lab drabbles 💊#Firefighter!Miguel ❤️🔥#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o’hara x gn!reader#miguel x reader#miguel o'hara x reader#spiderman 2099 au#spiderman 2099 x you#miguel x you#miguel fanfic#x gn reader#miguel x black reader#x black reader#spider man 2099#spiderman 2099 x reader#atsv miguel#atsv x reader#miguel o'hara#miguel 2099#miguel o'hara x you#miguel ohara x reader#miguel o'hara fanfiction
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Missed My Pillow
Miguel's spoiled. He can't sleep if you're not right there...
“Y/N?” Miguel stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing a hand over his face.
“Oh, hey, Migs.” Turning, you looked over your shoulder to give him a tired smile. Miguel yawned and made his way to stand behind you. You turned your attention back to the stove. “I thought you were asleep.” He responded by wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his nose in your hair.
“I was.” You grinned at the muffled vibration against your neck.
“Then why aren’t you still asleep?” You whispered, leaning back into him, gently whisking the milk you were heating. Miguel pulled his nose away from your neck and rested his chin on your shoulder.
“I couldn’t find my pillow.” He yawned, tightening his grip on your waist.
“Miggy, I have to get the cocoa powder.” Miguel turned his face back into your neck and grumbled.
“I was just getting comfortable.” He protested. With a chuckle you turned your face a little to look at him. He pulled back and yawned again.
“Oh, that’s charming.” Miguel narrowed his eyes at you. A warmth bloomed across your chest. He was so adorable with his hair wild and his eyes still bleary with sleep. All you wanted to do was run your hands through his hair and fold yourself into him like a koala.
“If I let you get it, will you come back to bed.” He grumbled, not willing to release you. At your nod, Miguel moved to release you. He looked a little surprised when you grabbed his wrists and wound his arms back around your waist. Turning back to look at him again, you gave him a warm smile.
“Walk me to the cabinet, Spider-Man?”
“Can’t make it by yourself, gorgeous?” Miguel smirked.
“What can I say, this is a pretty rough town.” You gave him a playful grin. You felt Miguel's chest rumble, but he acquiesced and walked you to the cabinet and back. Uncapping the cocoa, you poured some into the milk and gently began stirring again.
“Couldn’t sleep, Y/N?” Miguel whispered, resting his chin back on your shoulder. With a sigh, you melted back into his frame. Miguel reached around you and turned off the stove before guiding you towards the bedroom. He noticed how you stiffened as you reached the bedroom door, and instead opted for the couch. Sitting down first, he pulled you back into his chest.
“What’s wrong, muñeca?” He whispered, you rested your head on his shoulder and reached for his hand. Several moments passed like this. Miguel holding you while you played with his fingers.
“I love you, Miggy.” The words came out thick. Looking down at his hand, you traced each finger and wove yours in-between his own. “You’re one of the best things that’s ever happened to me.” You could feel Miguel's breath stall. His fingers tightened around yours.
“I should be the one saying that, muñeca.” He rasped. You held up your joined hands towards the light.
“Maybe it’s true for both of us.”
“Y/N?” He rested his chin on the top of your head.
“Yeah, Migs?” Lowering your hands, you shifted so you could look up at him.
“Let’s go to the beach tomorrow.” He smiled down at you, and you returned it with a slowly spreading one of your own.
“I’d like that.” Miguel moved to lay further back, when you remembered something. “Oh!” You shot up, startling him. Miguel gave you a confused look. “I forgot my milk!” When you moved to get up, Miguel shook his head and pulled you roughly back into his form.
“Sleep.” He shifted and tucked you into his side. You blinked up at him and opened your mouth.
“But,” You tried.
“Sleep.” Your brows raised at his commanding tone.
“Yes, sir.” You mumbled. Satisfied that you weren’t going anywhere, Miguel wrapped an arm around your middle and curled himself around you. Stifling a yawn, you gave in to the sleep edging around your mind.
#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara x reader#atsv miguel#miguel o'hara x you#miguel x reader#spiderman 2099 x reader#miguel imagine#fluff
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Miguel O'Hara x AFAB Reader
TW: Minors DNI, what plot??? smut(handjob, praise, cum eating, Miguel is kind of a sub in this one), mention of oral sex f receiving at end) words: a little over 700
A/N: someone take my phone 😫 just wanna make him feel loved while I- [REDACTED] anyway....I can't think of a title for this either 💀 NSFW under the cut
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Jerking off Miguel while you shower him in praise. You'll be sitting in his lap so you're above him like the goddess you are, running your fingers through his hair with one hand while you cup his pretty face with the other, letting him knead and massage your thumb with his warm tongue while he's moaning and groaning when he feels your aching pussy grind against his cock.
"So pretty, baby...." You coo above him, letting your tits bounce in his face.
"Mmm...." His eyes widen when he feels one of your hands grip his hard cock through his boxers.
"Ah-Ah....baby..." He pleads, releasing your thumb and letting his head fall back, those beautiful rubies staring up at you.
"Aww, my baby likes this?" You purr sweetly, giving him a little squeeze and a rub with your hand.
"Mmmhhhnnn....cariño, porfa..." He babbles, eyebrows knitting together.
"Shh, Shh...." you tease, slipping your thumb back into his mouth as you caress his cock with the other, adding a little roll of your hips.
Miguel's eyelids flutter and he lets out a huge groan.
"Mmmmm.... that's it. My boy...my pretty baby..." You tilt your head, eyelids half-lidded. "So handsome...."
Miguel's lips twitch into a smile as he sucks your thumb again, cheeks turning a blooming red.
"Mmm...you're so good baby. How'd I get so lucky with you, hmm? My beautiful, beautiful boy...."
"Oh cariño please...." He pants, doing his best not to cum. "Please..."
"Please what, baby?" You breathe out, pouting your lips. "Hmm...what do you want from me, sweetheart?"
"I wanna cum...please let me cum..."
You smile and lean in, giving him a deep kiss, grinning slyly when you feel him moan at your tongue in his mouth. "Go on, baby...cum for me..."
"Ohhh cariño...ahh....shit..." He grabs you and presses little kisses onto the swells of your breasts then he lays his cheek against them, resting and holding you while he enjoys you rubbing his cock which you've now fully freed from his boxers.
Your foreheads meet, he's whimpering, quietly panting, holding onto every sweet word about him that tumbles from your lips, getting drunk off the sound of your voice.
"You're so sooo sexy when you're underneath me like this.." You emphasize each word by making each stroke of his cock drag a little slower with your soft palm.
"Mmmm!" He groans. "You...are... unbelievable...."
"I'm making my baby feel good?" You ask sweetly.
"So good..." He pants a little harder. "Keep talking like that....please, baby. N-need more..."
"Aw...." You gently tug his hair back, making him look up at you while you continue rapidly stroking his cock with your other. "My handsome boy needs to be praised?"
He nods desperately, damn near in tears from all the pleasure you're delivering from just your hand, the sight of his gorgeous girl above him spoiling his cock so beautifully. "Please, mi amor....?"
"Oh baby..." You coo. "You're so good..."
You start panting a little as you move your hand faster, his precum starting to seep from the tip.
"You're absolutely perfect...." You kiss his neck, moaning directly into his ear.
"Such a beautiful face, mmmm....a beautiful mind. Mmmmm....my sweet baby works so hard *kiss* and he's, so, so smart..."
You're driving him wild as you tilt your head, tracing his face softly with your finger as he sighs.
"....mmmm those gorgeous red eyes....those full, perfect lips..."
You kiss him. "Taste so sweet..."
"Fuck I'm gonna....oh cariño..." He groans into your mouth. "I love you..."
"Mmmm...I love you baby....you don't know how much I do....mmm..." You close your eyes as you lock in, trying to put off the ache in your hand so you can make your sweet boyfriend cum.
He shakes violently and your eyelids flutter as you watch his thick cum spurt all over your hand and fist, using it as lube to give him a couple more strokes as a little extra.
He breathes heavily, his mouth falling open and cock twitching again when he sees you slowlyyy bring your hand to your face, licking up his cum and dragging down your bottom lip, rolling your hips with a pretty smile on your face.
"God I love you..." He groans.
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He spent like two hours eating you out and pulling orgasms out of you after that -
@hislastbimbogff 🖤🫶🏽
#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara x reader#atsv miguel#miguel x reader#miguel atsv#miguel ohara#miguel o'hara smut#miguel o'hara imagine#spiderman 2099 x reader#spiderman 2099 smut
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so real
part three of congratulations series masterlist
pairing: miguel o’hara x fem reader
contents: more angst ��👹, depressive thoughts, use of a vape, drug addiction (rapture)
synopsis: miguel’s boss, tyler stone, offers him an.. alternative route to deal with his grief
author’s note: CAN I TALK MY SHIT AGAIN 🗣️‼️ anyways i’m sure you all knew by now but none of this is 100% canon :3
word count: 6.3k
Church bells echoed through his head time and time again, the relentless sound practically playing on cassette in his head. The sound was accompanied by the sounds of Tempest's screaming, screams of anger and fear combined. Screams that would engrave themselves into his very being, reminding him of his failures. Why didn't you save me? I trusted you!
He patted the spot where you'd laid to him next to him, finding it empty. That was enough to wake him up from his restless slumber. He scrambled up to his feet, his mouth open to call out for you but nothing came out. All that was running through his head was the worst possible outcome, of finding you seriously injured or possibly even unconscious. The only thing he could do was listen as you called out to him: Miguel. Miguel. Miguel.
"Miguel."
"Miguel," his eyes snapped up open, realizing that was just another dream. He looked down to see that you were laying down next to him, your face grimacing as you wiggled. Oh shock. He'd clung on to you too tightly, practically almost squeezing you against his body. His grip immediately loosened, your body immediately relaxing. The loss of contact was evident even if you'd only moved a couple inches away from him.
His very being craved to be next to you, as selfish as it was. Your comfort was the only thing that he needed now, more than the very oxygen he inhaled.
"I'm sorry about that," he muttered, his voice hoarse from sleep and from all the crying he'd done just a couple hours prior. "It's okay, just go to sleep," you mumbled groggily, still half asleep. You rubbed your eyes, looking over your shoulder at him through half lidded eyes. You'd never seen him look so.. miserable. And yet, you had no idea who he couldn't save. You had no idea how to help, all that you could really do in this position was stay where you were and offer him your presence.
Sleep did not come back to him after that, despite how comfortable your body felt next to him. Every time he shut his eyes, the image of Tempest's rotting corpse came to the forefront of his mind. How no matter how hard he'd tried, he had nothing to account for that in the end. All that he had to account for the amount of effort that he'd put in was the amount of guilt within himself, the amount of blame that he placed upon himself for not doing more. Even if the rational part of his brain tried to convince him that he did the most he could.
He looked over at you, entranced by the small fall and rise of your chest as you slept comfortably next to him. The way your mouth slightly parted to let out a couple snores. Silently admiring all the little things he took for granted in the few times that he had you in his bed. Probably would be the last time that he got to see you in such a vulnerable position. "I love you too, chiquita. It's always been you," he whispered, kissing the top of your head before closing his eyes once more.
He was tempted to pull you back into his chest once he saw you stirring awake, a yawn escaping from your lips. "Morning," he spoke up as he saw you get up from the couch, stretching your arms out. You looked restless, probably from the uncomfortable position you'd been forced in. "Morning," you didn't even bother looking back at him, going over to the kitchen to get started on making a fresh pot of coffee.
Miguel leaned against your kitchen counter, his attention solely focused on every single one of your movements. The coffee pod that you'd chosen to put in the machine- a vanilla espresso. The amount of sugars and creamers that you'd set down on the counter. The slight curve of your body as you leaned against the counter, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. The way that you tried to avoid his not so subtle staring, your eyes flickering to all the small surfaces around.
"Why'd you come to me last night?" you decided to bite the bullet and ask the question that'd been rummaging through your brain all night long. For claiming to have nothing 'serious' with you, he was sure comfortable coming to your apartment at wee hours of the night. Not that you discouraged that activity by any means, though. Maybe you were more responsible than you would've liked to admit.
"Because I needed you."
"You can't do this to me. Treat me as if I'm nothing to you and then seek me out when you're at your lowest."
"I never treated you as if you were nothing to me."
"And yet, we were nothing serious? Or are you going to deny saying that?" You were expecting for him to have some kind of comeback to that, but he stared down at his coffee like it was single-handedly the most interesting thing in the world. The silence almost suffocating, you could almost see the gears turning in that big head of his.
"Look I don't know what happened but serio-"
"Tempest.. passed away last night and I couldn't save her. No matter how much I tried to."
Now that had stunned you into staying quiet, an apology at the tip of your tongue. For what, exactly? For making assumptions or to offer your condolences? Both, most likely. But before you even got the chance to open your mouth, he was already speaking again. "The engagement was a farce. She needed access to insurance and she only managed to get that through being with me."
"And you felt as though you couldn't be honest with me? I know that we've slept together and I don't know about you, but I've spent longer than that loving you," you told him, setting your coffee mug down on the kitchen counter. A stupid mug that he'd gotten for you, World's Best Girlfriend Situationship.
"Look Miguel, I get that you're going through a lot but you can't expect for me to be here only when you want me to be around. I think I deserve more than that by this point."
You were so right. The words were at the tip of his tongue, but how could he say that when he'd treated you just the way you described ever since you came back? Even if he said so, he knew that his words wouldn't be enough to convince you otherwise. He stared at you in silently, his face conveying the pain that he wouldn't dare to voice out loud. Don't fall for it. Don't. As much as you wanted to comfort him, as much as a part of you couldn't bear to see him so upset, you needed to put your own needs above his own for once.
"Finish up your coffee and grab your clothes from the drier. I'll be here when you're ready to treat me like I mean something to you, but up until that point, I don't want to see you."
Miguel tried to prolong the couple sips of coffee he had, taking a few drops every two minutes. Anything that would give him the excuse to be around you longer than he should've. "I'm sorry," he spoke up, watching as you paused in cleaning your mug before resuming. "What's the point of saying sorry if you haven't done anything to change it yet?" your words came out so hushed, his ears practically perking up. If you'd noticed that he wasn't finishing up his coffee, you hadn't bothered to say anything just yet.
Miguel lost track of how many times he'd passed the sponge by the mug, lost in his own thought. How is it possible that he lost two of the people he cared about in less than 24 hours? He could practically see his own reflection in the mug by the time he decided to put the sponge down, rinsing the suds away. He walked over to the laundry room, grabbing his clothes before making his way out of your apartment. "Bye," his words were barely audible, unable to look at you or talk to you after how the last exchange had gone.
This time around, Miguel drove with extreme caution. Almost as a way to overcompensate for his rash behavior last night. He didn't even bother slamming his hand against the wheel when a car merged onto his lane without using their turn signal. At least he didn't have to go into work until Monday, leaving him enough time to seep into his self loathing. And to think about the fact that despite the fact he'd dreamed about the day you'd move back to Nueva York to be with you, it was starting to become more and more unattainable.
He was tempted on calling out on work when Monday rolled around, saying that he needed some time to grieve. But all that he'd been doing at home was look up at the ceiling and think about different alternatives. Alternatives where he wasn't a screw up. Alternatives where his efforts actually counted towards something, where he was actually saving people. A different alternative where you didn't hate him, where he was less of an idiot to prove to you just how much you actually meant to him.
Sleep didn't come to him that easily either. He'd spend hours counting sheep and listening to white noise only to find himself groaning into his pillow. Every position proving to be futile in his restless nights, the image of seeing Tempest in that hospital practically tattooed at the back of his eyelids every time he closed them. His eyes burned from how long he’d kept them open, his head pounding as it urged for him to take at least a nap. Not that he would listen.
Awake or not, his life was starting to become a continuous torment. Every day was the same miserable cycle, though he wasn't making any effort to change it either. Maybe he deserved to feel the way he did right now. It's what he told himself anytime that he was starting to feel the numbness get overwhelming. That he didn't deserve to have some relief from this grief. The days blurred onto one another to the point where he couldn't tell the distinction between them until he looked down at his phone to check the date.
Get up. Drink coffee. Eat two bites of an overpriced sandwich he'd buy at Alchemax. Work. Close eyes. Repeat until exhaustion.
Upon grabbing a fresh lab coat from his closet, he caught a glimpse of the suit he was supposed to wear for the wedding. The wedding ceremony that would've happened tomorrow. Instead, it would now be his funeral suit. He pushed the suit to the back of his closet, pulling his dress shirts over it to conceal the fact. Just looking at it had proved to be an eyesore. He grabbed the first pair of socks that he found, not even bothering to check that they were the same pair before putting his shoes on. Spoiler alert: One was bright red and the other one was a dull purple.
He ran a hand through his messy hair, the action doing completely nothing to aid the bird's nest in his hair. Hairs stuck out from every end and there had even accumulated a gloop of dry hair gel on his scalp. He was a mess in every sense of the word. If that was even a strong enough word to describe his current state. He wasn't even sure when he bothered to take more than a five minute shower, maybe a week ago? Though he told himself that a couple days ago so he wasn't truly sure how much time had really passed.
"Puta madre," he grumbled, a couple of the comb's teeth falling from the sheer force that he'd exuded into just trying to run it through a couple strands. Miguel tugged on the comb with a bit more force, though it wouldn't go through no matter how much he wanted it to. He set down the black comb, rummaging through his cabinets to find a new one. He'd be lying if he said that the sight of seeing Tempest's stuff mixed in with his didn't make a couple tears run down his cheeks. From the halfway finished hair products to the new perfume that she was wanting to try out.
After breaking a couple more brushes, Miguel decided to give up on the effort to fix up his appearance. Not that he even needed to put that much effort, much of the interns didn't even bother to put on deodorant before they showed up. He'd completely forgotten about the work meeting that was set up for today, stepping into the room about ten minutes later. The attention of the room went to him immediately, the loud slam of the door behind him doing nothing to aid the situation. He muttered a half ass sorry before going to sit down.
Gloved fingers snapped in front of him, disrupting whatever little train of thought was coursing through his head. Miguel couldn't even bother to hide the irritation in his face as he turned to look at Aaron, raising his eyebrows as he waited for the shorter man to speak. He was almost tempted to laugh at the way that Aaron had to huff out his chest to put on an intimidating facade. Trying so very hard to present the small bit of authority that Tyler Stone had placed upon him. And failing, truthfully.
"Get your head out your ass and listen closely. Mr. Stone can't handle any mistakes in this project," Aaron's voice seemed so far away, so insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Nothing that he did mattered, anyways. He couldn't keep the girl. He couldn't save anyone. Aaron's voice faded out into a low hum, a garble of technical nonsense. How the project at hand could put human lives at stake if done incorrectly and of how it could improve lives if it actually worked. Nonsense he's heard time and time again.
He didn't even realize he was dozing off, his body slumped against the rolling chair behind him. "Wake the hell up or you're fired in the next five seconds! Mr. Stone requested to see you in his office," that same damn voice that sounded like nails on a chalkboard broke him out of his slumber, a large palm slamming on the desk in front of him. Miguel grumbled as he rubbed his eyes, willing himself to wake up before getting up from his chair. He ignored the small snickers that followed after he departed the room.
Miguel took the opportunity to step into one of the bathrooms, taking the opportunity to look over himself before he appeared in front of Mr. Stone. He didn't need to receive a lecture on unprofessionalism on top of the lecture he was probably going to receive already. Not that he cared all that much, but he wasn't sure just how much more yelling he could take with the steady pounding in his head. Rumors floated around people getting fired for even looking at Mr. Stone in a way that they shouldn't have, his ruling over the company an iron fist.
He splashed some cold water on his face, rubbing his eyes to get rid of the last remnants of sleep that lingered behind. The water did nothing to aid with the redness in his eyes, the sleep deprivation apparent to anyone who would spare a second glance. Luckily enough for him, Mr. Stone couldn't care less if his mental health was deteriorating. He grabbed a bottle of eye drops from his coat pocket, squirting some of the substance into his eyes before making his way over to Mr. Stone's office.
Miguel brought his hand up to the large wooden door, knocking on it twice. He looked up to see the camera hanging above the door now pointed towards his direction, the stare from it lasting for a couple seconds than what was necessary. A loud buzz came through the large doors before they opened to reveal the space that was Mr. Stone's office. If it could even called that. While interns were forced to work downstairs in cubicles with a half-functioning air conditioner, Mr. Stone had a tiger rug placed in the center of the room.
Miguel almost felt bad for getting the floor dirty, his eyes shifting to what else the office had to offer. Large windows that went from the top of the wall down to the floor, presenting a perfect view of the Nueva York skyline. The sunlight coming through the windows reflected onto the gold podiums that he had set up, the sight almost painful to look at. Mr. Stone turned around in the rolling chair he was on in a villainous fashion. Miguel was almost surprised that he didn't have a white cat on his lap to finish up the touch.
"O'Hara, right?" While Aaron tried so hard to exude power he didn't have, all Mr. Stone had to do was speak. He could almost feel the temperature drop a couple degrees from the sheer coldness of his voice. "That's me, sir. I heard you wanted to see me," Miguel spoke up, clearing his throat. He stood at a distance, not making the slightest attempt to move closer unless Mr. Stone asked for him to do so. Mr. Stone stayed quiet for a couple seconds, analyzing him carefully from head to toe before speaking,
"We're testing out a new drug at the facility. It's completely safe for consumption and I believe it's what you need to get over this grieving period."
"Excuse me?" It was the first time that Miguel had heard of an employer actually promoting the usage of drugs, though it was no secret that a majority of Wall Street in Nueva York was high off cocaine just to get through business meetings. He expected Mr. Stone to tell him that it was a test, to see if he would take the bait but all he got in return was more silence from the man. Suddenly, he stood up and dusted off his suit. A suit that probably cost more than his apartment building if he had to guess. "Please, follow me. I have something to show you."
Tyler unlocked a steel door with his ID badge, the temperature inside the room enough to make Miguel shiver underneath the thin white lab coat he had on. He wanted to turn around, tell Tyler that he wasn't interested in this anymore but a green vial was placed in the palm of his hand. "Look, I'm not telling you that you need to take it but just know that we have the resources here to help you," Tyler really was trying to amp up this caring persona up to the max with his soft way of talking.
"Just think about it, okay? You have full access to this center of the facility from now on in case you do end up taking it," Tyler finished up as the two of them stepped out of the room, leaving Miguel with a decision to make. A decision that had he been in the right state of mind wouldn't even be up for debate at all. And yet, here he was actually considering going through with what Mr. Stone had told him. By the time that Miguel came back to the conference office, he found the room void of anything other than the things he left behind. He stuffed the vial deep into his pocket before going to pick up his things.
Miguel held the vial between his thumb and pointer finger, analyzing what he could about the drug. From what he could discern from the bottle, the drug didn't seem too different from over the counter pain prescriptions. But he's seen things over the months, seen the way that Alchemax deliberately failed to mention certain ingredients just to get FDA approval. The way that they put human safety at the bottom of their priority list, funding for research at the top. Of the experiments locked away in the basement begging for some kind of mercy, for the chemicals to stop making every breath impossible.
And yet, with that doubt in his mind, he injected the drug into the first vein that he could find on his arm. The pounding in his head dissipated to a low hum, the pressure from his body relieved. He felt the best he had in days, the exhaustion from his body was something of the past. He felt like he was on top of the world, like he was able to run a marathon and win first place. Everything seemed much easier now, making him even wonder what he was even depressed about. There was truly nothing else that could replicate the blissful feeling inside of him.
Funny to think about how he'd gotten on his brother for having a vape a few years back. A 'Very Juicy Mango Pod' that was on the market for lasting longer than normal vapes. Half the school had been indulging in those substances just to get through the day, something that he hadn't dabbled in and quite frankly would never dabble in. He hated that feeling, the feeling of having no control over his body. Of only being susceptible to that temporary euphoria. The feeling of only having relief with one hit of those things.
"You know that stuff's gonna fuck up your lungs, right?" His tone was condescending, only because he truly did care about Gabriel. He wafted the thick smoke blown at his face, his eyes narrowing slightly upon seeing the stupid grin on Gabriel's face. "That's just a rumor, hermanito. You can't really say anything until you try it out," Gabriel retorted, dangling the small bar in front of him. Miguel took the vape from his hands after what seemed to the forth dangle, hesitantly bringing it to his lips. He inhaled, the smoke traveling down to his lungs immediately.
He coughed, his body immediately rejecting the substance. How anyone liked that stuff was beyond him. He practically tossed it back to Gabriel, the touch of the bar almost enough to disgust him. "Just.. don't get hooked on that stuff, I care about you too much to lose you," Miguel told Gabriel, sitting down next to him. It was one of the couple times where he expressed love for his brother verbally rather than letting his actions do the talking. "I know and I won't, I promise," Gabriel's voice was full of determination, an arm slung around Miguel's shoulders.
The next morning when he woke up to go to school, he found Gabriel's small stash of pods and bars tossed in the depths of trash can. Some of which he'd barely bought at an outrageously high price from a plug. Though when Miguel had asked him about it, Gabriel simply shrugged it off like it was nothing. "I don't want to give you reasons to worry about me. You do that enough as it is," Gabriel assured him, letting him know that he'd done him a favor. "I know it was hard but thank you," Miguel told him, the two going out for lunch after school that day.
The low hit him harder than he could've expected. It hit him when he was at home, watching the news on TV. The reporter was babbling about some robbery that happened on 54th Avenue, but all he could think about was when he would be able to get his next fix of the damned drug. His mouth practically salivated at the idea of having it in his system once more. Within that need however, there also resided a deep feeling of guilt. A guilt that was clawing him from the inside out, yelling at him to stop what he was doing. That Tempest, his mother, Gabriel, and you would all be disappointed in what he was doing.
"Shut up, shut up!" He yelled at nothing in particular, tossing his remote control at the TV with more force than necessary. The TV changed into an array of colors before shifting into black and white, the remote almost cracking the screen upon further inspection. He paced around his living room floor, the pounding in his heart difficult to ignore. Sweat dripped down from his forehead despite the fact that he turned the AC to the lowest he could without freezing to death, his body begging for just one more hit. Just one.
The urge to have more of that small green vial overwhelmed every sense of his being. Just five minutes without the drug made him feel like he was drowning. He thought he felt pathetic before but this was a new low even for him. Sitting down on his bathroom floor, injecting a fresh vial of Rapture just so he wouldn't feel like he was completely losing his mind. It didn't even feel pleasurable as it did the first time, but it did help with bringing back his body to stable levels. It helped him to forget the small voice in his head that was screaming at him to be rational.
The red beaming light from the camera placed on the steel ceilings of the laboratory seemed to mock him every time that he approached the storage room. Despite how many cameras were placed across the laboratory, he couldn't help but feel that this one was zeroing in on every movement he made. On every new vial that he grabbed. Almost as if Mr. Stone was checking up on him, checking to see if he fell for his carefully woven trap. And he did. His pockets were stuffed full of vials, trying to assure that he wouldn't have to go without them.
He was starting to become a brainless zombie. Coming into work with the illusion that he'd be able sneak in a couple vials of Rapture during his lunch break without capturing anyone's attention. Though, rumors had been starting to circulate. Hushed whispers about how the one with the most promise at Alchemax was now a drug addicted fiend. Not that anyone would ever said that to say his face, the whispers died down every time he was in close proximity.
“Hey, have you talked to Miguel recently? He hasn’t been answering my calls and that’s just not like him, y’know?” Gabriel called to ask you around three in the morning. Clearly the brothers had a taste for waking you up at the ass crack of dawn. “No, I haven’t. I haven’t talked to him in like three weeks, I wanna say. Let me know if you hear from him though,” you responded, rubbing your eyes as you tried to stay awake for Gabriel’s sake. “I will, thank you. And please, don’t give up on him. I know he’s an idiot but his heart’s in the right place.”
You looked down at Miguel’s contact information, wondering if you should call him. You did tell him to leave you alone if he wasn’t willing to prove himself to you. And if he hasn’t answered his own brother’s phone calls, then why should he answer yours? After letting the thought seep in, you decided to dial his number. You were hoping for some kind of miracle, that you’d be the one he would make an exception for. “Please leave your message after the beep. BEEP!” Was the only response you received though.
“Hey, I know I said I wasn’t going to talk to you but please call me or Gabriel. Just let us know you’re alive, please. He’s really worried about you. Okay, well I hope you’re taking care of yourself. Bye.”
Calls from Gabriel went unanswered along with the thousand voice messages that he'd left, asking him how he was and expressing concern for him. "Llámame cabron, que estoy preocupado por ti.” I've asked around and no one's heard from you in a couple days. For your sake, I hope you're not dead in a ditch," was what the last message had transcribed to, Gabriel's voice a pitch higher. Usually, Miguel wouldn't have let his brother worry this much about him but he couldn't feign being sober to save his life.
He couldn't take it anymore. The urge that he had to feel that high, even for a couple seconds only to end up feeling like complete crap after he'd taken it. The lows were what got him to get up and inject that poison into his system, the thoughts in his head too much to bear. If he thought that it was bad before the drugs, it was much more worse now. The images of Tempest were much more vivid now, he could practically feel her cold fingers on his skin as she pleaded him for something. He couldn't make out what that something was, it was just an endless string of 'please.'
He was taking the drug more so out of obligation. His body goes cold after a few minutes of sobriety, trembling as his grip on reality starts to waver. The drug offered him shorter periods of relief with every new vial that he inserted into his body, but it offered him some kind of relief. Even if it was just fifteen minutes of letting him forget about the misery that his life was. It wasn't until he looked at his reflection in the mirror that he realized how truly screwed he was, how much he'd been disregarding his own health.
Miguel could hardly recognize the man staring back at him in the mirror. He let out a small gasp when he stuck his hand out, his reflection meeting him halfway. Was this what he had become? His eyes lacked any signs of energy, dark circles ringing underneath. He wasn't even sure when was the last time he managed to sleep more than twenty minutes at a time. His stubble was in patches, a couple splotches of red skin from the scratching he had been doing. He couldn't take looking at this stranger anymore. He punched the mirror out of fury, the pieces shattering below him.
What haunted him the most about looking down at those pieces is that he still saw the reflection of that stranger looking back at him.
After doing some extensive research on all the chemicals that Rapture contained, he came to a conclusion that he already knew at the back of his head. There was no way to break the addiction, not without death involved at least. The drug was unlike any others that he'd seen, the chemical components much higher than some of the hardcore drugs on the market. It changed his genetic makeup to the point where he needed the drug as much as he needed oxygen to breathe. Even slow withdrawals from the drug was a guaranteed death. Every treatment was futile against said drug.
Miguel didn't even want to think about what Mr. Stone was capable of doing if he caught whiff that he was trying to break loose from the viscous cycle he was in. He seemed so eager to get Miguel to take the drug, surely he must've known what effects the drug would take on his body. All the research that he did was on a private network in the safety of his apartment, where he could keep the information safe. He'd come up with one final conclusion, that he needed to change his genetic component back to what it was before getting hooked on Rapture.
Maybe he shouldn't have been so cocky in his own abilities. He really should've done more research on what the dangers of altering his DNA would be. Though, anything would be a relief from the constant nagging in his head for more. More. More. More. The straps on the side of the capsule he was standing in secured him into place, a low hum from the machine next to him indicating that it was ready to start. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, all while hoping for the best and expecting the worst. Though, anything would be better than what he was going through right now.
Aaron truly didn't expect anyone else to be at the lab at this hour, even the workaholics at the lab had their limits. He was there to pick up a couple files that he needed for one of the reports Mr. Stone had asked for, but how could he possibly miss out on this opportunity that just presented to him so perfectly? Even through the green rays of the machine, he could see Miguel O'Hara standing there in his full glory. Attempting not to grimace from the burning sensation coursing through his very veins. Oh, how'd he dreamed of this moment.
All the times Miguel poked fun at him, the times that he'd belittled his work, and all the times that he'd managed to outshine him were the perfect motivation for Aaron to code spider DNA into the system. See how he likes that. The studies on animal DNA altering humans wasn't promising, a 99.999% mortality rate as of yet. He didn't care. Nobody would find out about what he'd done, he knew Mr. Stone would remove all the security footage if it came to that point. He amped up the machine to the max, staring at the capsule eagerly.
Agonizing screams followed soon after Aaron departed from the scene, a traitorous laugh escaping from his throat upon realizing what he'd done. "AARON!" Miguel's yells echoed into the steel hallways, bouncing off the walls though Aaron was less the wiser. It was truthfully the best melody that Aaron had heard in his life, hearing one of the men he hated the most cry out for help without actually receiving any aid. "WHAT DID YOU DO?!" Miguel's voice was raw from the screaming he'd been doing. The machine beeped loudly, indicating that the genetic splicing was now finished.
Miguel stepped out of the chamber, wobbling and stumbling through the laboratory floor before touching what he assumed was a table. He gripped the edges of the table, blinking rapidly to ease the blurriness that clouded his vision. Everything felt odd. His body didn't feel like it belonged to him, it felt like it belonged to some monster. Long claws protruded from his fingers, scratching the table the harder he tried to hold onto. He ran his tongue through his teeth, letting out a small groan upon feeling a sharp sensation on the side.
Fangs..? No, he must be daydreaming. Some after effect of long term exposure to Rapture. And yet, no matter how hard he tried to wake up from this torment, he remained still. Footsteps pattered in the hallways, a reminder that someone else had been witness to this situation. Miguel ran faster than he was ever able to, tackling Aaron onto the ground in a matter of mere seconds. Miguel gripped Aaron's arms above his head, paying no attention to the sound of ripping flesh. All that Miguel knew is that he needed answers and he needed them now.
"What the hell did you put in me?!" The accusation didn't come out the way he expected it to, a lisp in his words. Aaron winced in pain from the prickles that Miguel was inducing with his claws, a self satisfied smirk on his face at seeing what he'd managed to reduce the man to nonetheless. "ANSWER ME!" Miguel's voice boomed through the empty hallways, echoing throughout the dead of night. He swore that the vein throbbing in his forehead was about to pop the second that he saw Aaron laughing.
Miguel tossed Aaron to the side without any regard to where he landed, going back to the lab to look for any hints of what Aaron had coded into the system. He went back to the previous code, seeing that some form of spider DNA had been entered into the system. He shouldn't even be alive right now. Not when all the other people who'd gone through this procedure morphed into a version of the creature before ultimately exploding. His head was spinning with the realization, not even bothering to notice the fact that he didn't need the drug anymore.
He looked down at his phone, his finger hovering above your contact name as he debated on whether or not he should call you. Before he got the chance to make a decision though, police sirens blared loudly out of the building. The sound seemed to rattle his head, his ears all too sensitive to the sound. Miguel got down on his knees, pressing his hands to his ears in hopes that it would alleviate with the pain. It did not. All he could do was hope that the sound would soon go away while he curled up into a ball.
"NYPD! Come outside with your hands up!" A man's voice boomed through a loudspeaker. Miguel looked around, trying to find a way out of the facility. He could hear the boot stomps from the first floor, every possible exit blockaded by the police. So he did the most logical thing he could think of. He jumped out of the window and swung? Wait, what? Sure enough, he looked down at his wrists to see a small pocket shooting out white webs. Though, he really should've been paying more attention to the sights in front of him.
THUMP
He crashed face first into a building, a measly web falling from his wrist next to him.
taglist 🫶🏼: @yougavemeyourheartyouknow @lazyjellyfish300 @pxtched @nympholove @ifiwasaguybrickedup @nixinluv02 @hislastbimbogff @lizaistewdelulu @swiftiegirliepop @1800-get-alife @cl3stevu @mvlanchqly @tomalymme @boringpersonality @laysmt @scaryplanetdestroyer @crimin4llyins4ne @cheerrioeoz @peachey-pie @scaleniusrm @simpinonyouz @lauraolar14 @nediks @ayamaiis @iheartlinds (unsure if y’all still wanted to be tagged again so i just did. but pls lmk if you wanna b removed 🙏🏼)
#moon-rivr#Spotify#miguel o’hara#miguel o’hara angst#miguel o’hara smut#miguel o’hara au#miguel o’hara x y/n#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o’hara x you#miguel o’hara x fem!reader#miguel o’hara fanfic#miguel o’hara fanfiction#spiderman 2099#spiderman 2099 smut#spiderman 2099 x reader#spiderman 2099 atsv#miguel spiderverse#miguel ohara#miguel ohara fanfiction#miguel ohara fic#miguel ohara smut#miguel ohara angst#miguel o’hara spiderverse#miguel o’hara self insert#miguel o’hara spiderman 2099#miguel o’hara imagine#miguel spider man 2099#miguel spiderman#miguel o’hara across the spider verse#angst
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This is me and Miguel btw
#it’s actually a problem how down bad I am for this fictional man#ygmyhyk thoughts#miguel o hara fanfic#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara#miguel o’hara au#spiderman 2099 x reader#astv spiderman 2099#astv miguel#miguel spiderverse#spiderman 2099 fanfic#miguel spiderman#Miguel O’Hara
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📂 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭.𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐞
𝐂𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐬:
♠︎: 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭
♦︎: 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟
♣︎: 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭
↳📂 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐎’𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐚.𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐞
↳📂 𝐒𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐇𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝.𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐞
𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐜𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐬...
Marrying a scientist superhero has its unique perks <3 these are in chronological order
MOODBOARD!!!
Headcannons ♠︎♦︎
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Your relationship in a nutshell
For Biology ♠︎♦︎
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: In an effort to make amends for neglecting Miguel, you dedicate a night to spend quality time together. However, Miguel has other ideas to make the evening unforgettable— using science.
Lunch Break ♠︎
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You catch Miguel doing something he shouldn’t while dropping off his lunch. Now you both have to face the consequences.
Stimulant ♠︎
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: It has always been a routine for you to come into Miguel’s lab every once in a while, but this time you feel a strong sense of arousal out of nowhere.
In sickness and in health ♣︎♠︎
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You’re tired. He’s tired. There’s only so much stress you can withstand before you reach your tipping point. Luckily your husband is here to keep you grounded
Some more Biology ♦︎♠︎
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: After you gave birth to your first daughter, Miguel spends the night admiring the changes that motherhood has done to your body.
#★— ayrus writes#❤︎ scientist husband ❤︎#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o’hara smut#spiderman 2099 x reader#spiderman 2099#miguel o'hara smut#miguel o’hara imagine#miguel ohara x reader#miguel x reader#miguel o’hara spiderman 2099#spiderman 2099 smut
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My Husband has a Symbiote! Pt.4
Pt.1 ~ Pt.2 ~ Pt.3 ~ Pt.4
Relationship: Miguel O'Hara x AFAB! Reader
Word Count: 2.9k
Content: Miguel is showing off his breeding kink again, somnophilia, oral sex, pregnancy sex (kinda), MINORS DNI!!
Summary: It's the big thing you've all been waiting for.
A/N: Every time I write Miguel with a symbiote, I go crazy. He just brings that feral part out of me. Enjoy!
You felt exhausted.
The weight of your exhaustion felt like a ton. You could barely move your body, struggling to even get to the bathroom. You managed to make it to the sink as you leaned on it for support. Your eyes are fighting to keep open. All you wanted to do was rest.
“You should take Ravage.” Miguel stood close by, a hand on your back. His voice lingered with concern, “They'll make you feel better.”
You shook your head, “I had them the other day.” You agreed to take the symbiote once a week. Just so you wouldn't get addicted to having them attached to you. You didn't want to take advantage of using the alien either.
“You've been feeling this way for a few weeks. I don't like it, we should get you to a doctor.” You grimaced at your husband's concern. “Don't be like that. We have to see what's going on.”
You glared at him, annoyance brewing inside. “We’ve been having sex nonstop. Don't you think I'd be tired?”
“Obviously.” He rolled his eyes, “But you're never like this.”
“I'm fine, Miguel. I just need to sleep.” You brushed by him, completely forgetting whatever you were supposed to be doing in the bathroom. Instead, you burrowed yourself under the blankets, getting comfortable in bed.
You thought due to the constant love making your body had enough. Punishing you by making you sleep for hours on end. Only getting enough energy for potty breaks and to eat something. Before sleeping again. It was getting so bad that you had to take some days off of work. You were shutting yourself inside your bedroom, determined to rest.
On your days having Ravage, you felt normal. Going through your day-to-day routine with no issues. Not getting irritated at Miguel or eating your weight in food.
Ravage hummed in your mind as you worked, feeling rejuvenated. “Should we tell you?”
“Hm?” You perked up, “Tell me what?”
A guttural growl erupted from the alien, “But if we tell you, there will be little intercourse.”
“What? Ravage, what are you talking about?”
There was silence on their end. You wondered if they were just ignoring you. But you finally got a response, “Nothing.”
You weren't sure how to take the mysterious behavior. You didn't see any concern for you to bring it up to Miguel. Only forgetting about it when your symptoms came back after handing Ravage back. Maybe it was time to go to the doctor's.
Miguel was close by as he took you to HQ's infirmary. He was worried that if it was something the symbiote was doing to you, no regular doctor could fix it. You sat on the cot, lowered eyes watching your husband pace around the room. Your stomach churned thinking about how you made him stress over you. Due to your stubbornness of not wanting to be seen. Hopefully, this was just a really bad cold so he wouldn't have to worry.
While explaining your symptoms, your spider-doctor, that's what you usually called them, lit up with an idea. And didn't elaborate further when saying they wanted to perform some tests. Miguel stayed by your side, holding your hand to calm himself for whatever's going on. He's usually touchy feely when he's nervous or stressed.
At what felt like hours, which was only 20 minutes, the doctor came back with the test results.
You were pregnant.
The doctor showed you the positive results so you could see with their own eyes. The bolded, green colored word succumbed to their vision. You was pregnant. They were going to have a baby.
Your heart pounded in your chest at the exciting news. For some reason, the idea was way below your thoughts as you didn't think you were showing any of the common symptoms. The spider-doctor reassured you that each person was different in terms of pregnancy. Some checked off all the boxes in terms of the symptoms. Others wouldn't even know if they were pregnant until their belly got bigger.
Miguel’s hand pressed against your stomach, face filled with a mix of disbelief and happiness. “We’re having a baby.”
“Yeah.” You placed a hand on top of his, “We are.”
The doctor recommended you continue getting rest. The exhaustion will fade away in due time but other symptoms may appear. Heavy eating, nausea or vomiting, mood swings, and back pain. You were more concerned about work, knowing you didn't have infinite time to take off. You couldn't take off a bunch of times to rest. Miguel said he would take care of it, even offering to pay your salary if you didn’t have any time left.
In fact, once you got home, a flip switched inside him.
He was usually attentive, close by and understanding. Now he was that by tenfold. When you arrived home, he constantly asked how you were feeling. If you needed to lie down or eat. You let him fret over you as he carried you to bed. You were feeling peckish so he gave you a list of food he could get. So you settled on pizza.
Constant messages appeared saying congratulations. Someone must've heard the spider doctors give the news. Now your watch blew up with activity of spiders wishing you well. Multiple requests appeared, asking if they could babysit the baby once they were born. You particularly noticed ones from Ben who also ended up coming over to make sure he was the first person to be called to watch the baby. You couldn’t say no to those cute puppy dog eyes.
Jess also stopped by in person to congratulate you, just as excited at her baby finally having another kid to play with. She went over her entire pregnancy experience to give you some tips. How she had the weirdest cravings like pickles with chocolate ice cream. Or how her bump got in the way a few times. Although, you knew the experiences were going to be different at the fact you were talking to a superhero. Who still fought crime while pregnant with her baby. You weren't sure you could make it to the bathroom in your current state.
Peter B. and MJ also came over one day to offer endless amounts of advice when it comes to babies. And their own experience with Mayday.
“Peter had sympathetic pregnancy for a while.” MJ admitted, causing Miguel and you to raise their brows in surprise. “He was miserable around the last couple of months.”
“I swear to you, my back was hurting all the time. I was bloated and nauseous. I'm surprised we didn't have two babies when Mayday was born.”
You laughed at Peter, “Poor you.”
“Of course he'd get that.” Miguel shook his head, close to you as you all sat on the couch.
“Hey, don't be surprised when you suddenly start feeling gassy. I was just happy to finally relate to my lady.” Peter gave a gentle kiss on MJ's forehead.
The married couple also left tons of material involving babies for them to read. Self-help books, videos, even started giving them some of Mayday's baby clothes to help prepare. You were excited to finally start planning for the baby to arrive if you could stop feeling so tired first.
You were lucky to have a wonderful husband.
Miguel made it a point to do everything in the house. Cook and clean. Tidy up the house if it needs tending. He often did his part around the house when you weren't pregnant. Now, he insisted on doing everything for you. Emphasizing that your rest was important. That he wasn’t going to let you overexert yourself if he was there. All while caressing you for reassurance.
He had also gotten more handsy than usual.
He was constantly nearby when he didn’t have to work. A hand on your belly, gently pressing against it. His warmth comforted you and soothed any worries you might have had about the baby. Soon, his hand went upward, a feel of your breast and a grunt in your ear. His hips rocking against your plump bottom. You wiggled your ass against his in small reciprocation but a yawn combated your rising arousal.
That made him stop.
“You should get some rest, baby.”
You shook your head, “I'm fine, we can-” Another yawn occurred, denouncing any argument you had.
“Let’s just sleep.” Miguel kissed your forehead before leading you to bed. You noticed his bulge and your stomach twisted with guilt. Miguel was extremely understanding, not once making you feel bad of your decreased energy. But you knew it wouldn't last long. You had read those horror stories of husband’s not desiring their partner as they were pregnant. Which led to frustrations or cheating. You knew your husband wouldn’t ever do that to you. But you couldn’t help but worry.
You had a proposition for him after making out with your husband one evening. Miguel gazed at you with apparent lust as he groped and kissed you with a burning passion. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah…” He gave you a gentle kiss. “My wife is pregnant. Why wouldn't I be?”
Your fingers laced through his own, “I just thought you were nervous. Since we're going to be parents.”
“I am. The thought of us with a child excites me and scares me…” You could feel a ‘but’ coming as he continued, “but seeing you like this, gets me going. Like I want to make sure you stay pregnant.”
His crimson eyes lowered, entranced at the sight of your belly. It hasn't grown much yet, still early for you to be showing. A shiver went down your spine at his gaze, “Is this you talking or Ravage?”
“No, no I think this is all me.” Miguel pulled you in close, hands remaining on your hips. “I want to make sure you stay knocked up. Be by baby making machine…” You noticed his breathing getting heavier at him riling himself up. “But you've been tired and you have no obligation to indulge me. I'm not going to exhaust you out further.” That's when he reluctantly parted, showing some restraint.
“Well, I did have an idea.” You started to say. You had been talking about messing around while the other was asleep. It was consensual and only if the other was extremely tired and couldn't participate as much. You thought this would be a great time to try. “You have my permission to use me while I'm asleep.”
Miguel perked up, “Really?” You nodded, “Are you sure? You don’t have to do this for me.” You nodded again, letting out a small laugh.
“I want to do this. Just be gentle. I'd rather not wake up to you jostling me all over the place.”
“I will.” He pulled you back in for a hug, holding you tight.
You thought this would be the beginning of him using you while you slept. But after a few days of permission, there was nothing. You felt the same after waking up for the day or from your naps. No clear evidence of you being fondled. No delightful warmness between your thighs. Miguel was cautious. You thought he wasn't ready to do that.
Until you had an incredible dream. One where he was behind you in bed, a leg draped across his arm, cock buried inside you. He was in his symbiote suit again as the large shaft was splitting you open. You heaved from the aching sensation, mind heavy and focused on him being inside. Whimpering his name as he gently thrusts into you.
Your walls are squeezing him as you climax, wrapped in bliss. He's never too far behind, his voice strained as he comes inside, lazy pumping into you to make sure not a drop is missed. The dream ended with a kiss and when you awoke, your body felt like liquid. Your attire was still the same, usually a pair of shorts with a large tshirt but your sex warm. Legs slightly sore and Miguel snoring peacefully from behind. A strong arm wrapped around the area where their child is forming.
You never caught the actions while you slept. Your dreams gave you a clear indication of what he was doing to you. Giving you satisfaction while also ensuring he didn't wake you.
Slowly, your exhaustion started to fade. The need for naps lessened, but you were still tired. So when you took a nap on the couch, that pleasant dream was coming back again. This time Miguel was buried between your legs, tasting you like there was no tomorrow. You sighed in relief before waking up to see the real thing.
The hunched position of his symbiote form over the armrest of the couch. Spreading your legs wide and pinning you down against the cushions to keep you still. Miguel made it a mission to remember every taste of you, his long tongue running along your folds, stimulating your clit.
“Miguel…” You moaned, eyes lowered at the sight. His head raised, eyes boring into yours in lust.
“Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you.”
“It's fine.” You muttered, “Don't stop…” You pushed his head back down and he obliged. The small lick and sucking sounds would make you blush if you weren't half asleep. But the occasional growl against your sex made you curl your toes. You sighed, feeling your body warm up. Your fingers dug into the pillow under you while you shifted under his hold. Miguel continued to press further into you, moaning against your sex like a starved man.
That familiar feeling pooled in your stomach, your breaths getting short. Lips parting to release the sound of ecstacy. Creating warmth around your frame. You weren't sure how long Miguel was eating you out as his mouth shined in the light.
“You should continue to get some rest.” Miguel’s gigantic frame towered over you, the sofa creaking from the weight. “I can take care of you.”
Your mind was long gone as his hips rolled against yours, entering you slowly. Hard thrusts savoring the moment. Watching you sleepily cry out for him below, the grip on his bicep non-existent. Tears fell from the corners of your eyes as you begged for him to not stop.
“We're gonna make sure our kid has a sibling.” He grunted, face twisted in pleasure. “A brother? A sister? Maybe if we're lucky, twins…”
You gasped, arching your back as another climax took you by surprise. Miguel’s own thrusts started to falter, his cum shooting inside quicker than he could blink. Once again he made sure you took it all, not missing a single drop.
He buried his face on your head, the symbiote suit disappearing and showing off his naked form. Miguel held you close as if he missed the heat from your skin. “I'm sorry…I really didn't mean to wake you.”
Your heart melted at his large eyes filled with guilt.
“It's okay. It was nice to wake up to.” Your lips found his again to give a soft kiss. Miguel lifted you up, still adamant on making sure she had enough sleep by carrying her to the bedroom.
Soon, you were starting to show. And your energy was back to normal. No more sleeping all day. Your mind became clearer. Which made you finally think about your extra guest.
Miguel said he'd get rid of Ravage after it was clear you were pregnant. Yet, it’s been a few months since then and the symbiote was still here. No one brought it up so of course you had to be the one to do it.
“So? When is Ravage leaving?” Miguel paused in the middle of his work, not saying anything for a bit. You could tell they were speaking as the silence lingered in his lab. “Miguel-”
“Ravage thought they could stay a little longer. At least until the baby is born.” He interrupted.
You purse your lips, “That's not what we agreed on.”
Your tone didn't match up with your words. In all honesty, you didn't want Ravage to go. It was bad enough Miguel had to cut off them from being attached to you after you got pregnant. Not wanting to affect the baby. But you missed them. Feeding them chocolate bars or hot cocoa. Keeping you company when Miguel had to work late. It was odd to develop a decent relationship with an alien but you had to remind yourself that your entire life was weird.
“We won't cause any harm to the child.” Ravage came out to say. “Your husband's been making us watch baby videos. Their laughs are infectious.”
Your brows furrowed at the thought of the symbiote watching baby videos, “You serious?”
“Yes.” They said, “We have no urge to eat the baby anymore.”
“Anymore.” You pointed out, “That means you thought about it.”
“Multiple times.”
Miguel quickly cut in, “But they said they don't want to do that now.” He held your hands, “You know I don't want anything to happen to this baby, right?” You squeezed his hands, believing him wholeheartedly. “I promise you, I will die before I let anything happen to our kid. Trust me. Trust us.”
“You know I do.” You embraced him, head in his chest.
Somehow, that comforted you. You agreed to at least let them stay until the baby was born. Although, in the back of your mind, you had a feeling they may be keeping them much longer than that.
#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o hara x reader#miguel o'hara x you#spiderman 2099 x reader#miguel x reader#miguel o'hara smut#slushycoookie writes
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Ok so i have this fic idea where reader and mig are from different universes and reader is a scientist and one time mig and her get drunk and start talking about the multiverse and suddenly they are on the topic of what would happen if people from different universes had a baby together. (You see where i am going with this...) they end up drunkenly fucking and saying it's for "research" because they can't admit to themselves that they are in love. If this request is too complicated feel free to ignore. Thank you in advance cherry!! I hope u have a marvelous new year!! 💕
Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x fem!reader
Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Penetrative Sex, Mentions of Oral Sex, Mentions of Animal Testing (for science), Breeding Kink
A/N: Thank you, love! I hope you're well!!!
You know there is a process.
And you know this isn't it.
There are supposed to be hypotheses and written out procedures. Dependent and independent variables, a control group. Fucking hell, you should be experimenting on fucking mice. You should be limiting the margins of error, should be going with the most direct, straightforward pursuit for results.
And yet...
You don't stop Miguel when he pushes you back onto the couch. You don't pause or even really think when he's pushing your pants down your legs, placing kisses along the skin as he goes. You lift your hips to aid him when his fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, shivering when his warm breath fans over your exposed sex. If this experiment was in any sense proper, you would get straight into it. Cut out all the unneeded steps. But you can't help but pull his head closer to your aching core, craving the way his warm tongue laps at you. If you weren't already drunk, you would be drunk on this feeling alone.
But god, nothing has even been more satisfying than doing the work. You know the data would be void in a real experiment. The trials bleeding into each other hardly make for adequate data, but the way you beg him for more is involuntary. It feels too good, to have him desperately thrusting into you. It makes your mind numb, and everything you know about your life's passion is erased. The only thing that fills your head is the words Miguel grunts into you ears, promises of fucking a baby into you. Vows to make you bloated with load after load of his cum. That all it'll take is one of his orgasms to make it happen.
You guess that is a hypothesis in itself: Miguel O'Hara can get you pregnant with just one orgasm.
Too bad he's too desperate to find out if that hypothesis is correct. Because he doesn't stop at one. No, he keeps going. One after the other with no breaks in-between. But you guess that's to be expected, he is a man of science himself. A passionate one at that.
He's almost crazed in the way he overstimulates himself. Sweat beading in his hairline as he grunts down at you, watching the way he creamy cock slides in and out of your abused pussy. You've lost count of how many times you've come alone, but you know based on the way your body shivers and jolts that it's far more than you've ever had before. It's almost painful now, the way your next orgasm rips through you and shatters your soul again. You let out strangled breaths as you fight through the aftershocks and the continued pleasure of Miguel's cock slamming against your cervix. You swear you black out before he finally stops, your eyes and mind groggy as he pulls your hips flush against his as he spills into you.
You can feel him trying to push deeper into you as he pants ruggedly, his cock twitching against your walls until he's milked dry. Even when he's done filling you, he stays connected. He collapses onto you, breathing in the linger smell of sweat and sex on your skin.
"Got to make sure it takes."
Well, does the process really matter if you get the desired result anyway?
#cherry's requests🍒#miguel o'hara#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o'hara x y/n#miguel ohara x you#spiderman 2099 x you#spiderman 2099 x reader#atsv miguel#miguel smut#miguel ohara#miguel o'hara smut#miguel x reader#miguel spiderverse#miguel spiderman#miguel o hara#miguel atsv#miguel 2099#spiderman 2099#miguel x you#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel ohara x reader#miguel o'hara x you#miguel o hara x y/n#miguel o hara x reader#miguel o hara x you#miguel ohara smut#miguel ohara x y/n#miguel ohara x reader smut#spider man 2099#spiderman 2099 spiderverse
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Can you write a college roommate head cannon for miguel O’Hara ( 18+ f!reader)
ik you asked for HCs but I have no self control... my bad, anon!
College Roommate!Miguel O'Hara Headcanons
(AO3 Mirror), Main Masterlist
pairing: College Roommate!Miguel O'Hara x f!reader
summary: Miguel is your roommate. And he’s hot. That’s it, that’s the tweet.
warnings: 18+ as fuuuck. F-receiving oral, using toys, masturbation, voyeurism (-ish), grinding, praise, service dom (idk?) Miguel, recreational drug use (reader and Miggy smoke a blunt). Minors DNI
a/n: I am a firm believer that modern day Miguel listens to 90s rnb, back when men were men: unabashedly, unashamedly down so fucking bad for their partners. he just gives me those vibes!!
edit: I'm writing a full fic for this! Rigor Mortis, college au fic, read here.
wc: 6k
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'm thinking you become roommates but he's your last choice.
Very last minute: you have a big falling out with your now ex-boyfriend, and the plans for flatsharing next semester goes right out the window.
So all the good places are taken, and you're going apartment-hunting, but everywhere's either too expensive, too dirty, or there's a predatory clause hidden in the lease: shitty landlords and blaring red flags in 9pt Times New Roman.
When you stumble upon Miguel O'Hara; a student in private accomodation who, lucky you, is in need of a roommate; it feels like a godsend.
Rent is affordable and he's nice enough; refusing to grunt more than a few words to you, but is clean, organised, and from what you can tell, is barely in the apartment.
You sign onto the lease, desperately, hoping you've just been lucky and trying not to look a gift horse in the mouth.
You give a thousand mile stare at the blank document in front of you. A bullshit paper due in exactly 12 hours. Yes, you left it until the final stretch, and yes, it's 10k words. Very doable. You're not fucked. Nope.
You blame it on the banging from next door. Paper thin walls; obscene noises. Cries of Yes Miguel and Just like that, daddy have been plaguing you for almost an hour. His stamina must be superhuman, the way the woman in his bed has been howling. Howling may seem extreme, but she sounds like a dying cat: cock drunk and babbling over Miguel O'Hara?
Your new roommate had been nice enough. Quiet, unassuming, and seemed more than absorbed in his schoolwork. So you didn't expect him to unashamedly fuck the girl he's been tutoring for the past week. It all clicks. The "perfect roommate" turned out to have one teeny tiny little flaw: loud, obnoxious sex, well into the early hours of the morning.
On autopilot, you're clicking through tabs on your bed. Perhaps you're a prude, but the sex noises are abrasive, excessive, to the point of parody. Persistent, Miguel's low voice reverberates in the walls of your bedroom; making heat pool at the base of your stomach.
"You want it, hermosa? Tell me…. such a pretty girl… like that?" It's muffled, but his voice is unmistakable. Low, greedy, heavy with want. God, the last time someone's spoken to you like that was…
You shake your head free of cobwebs. No. You're not rewarding him. You can't . Your roommate is shameless, and inconsiderate, and really fucking annoying .
The smacking noises increase, coupled with banging on his side of the wall. Resolute, your face hardens. From where you perch on your bed, you slam the wall with the side of your fist.
"O'Hara! Keep it the fuck down!"
~~~
He's a biochem major, up to his ass in assignments and he still has time for societies, internships and tutoring.
The only times he'd be in the apartment really was an impromptu session, and you didn't notice at first, but it became more obvious as the semester went on.
As a so-called tutor, he only seemed to pick the prettiest girls - they would twirl their hair on your kitchen counter and bat their pretty lashes at him when they didn't understand. Favours for a couple of friends, is his only response when you ask.
It felt like you'd open the door to a new girl every week and you are baffled. Donned in makeup and short skirts, they'd waddle in asking for Miggy, or drop off half-finished assignments whilst craning their head through, trying to catch a glimpse of him.
The absurdity would make you laugh if it wasn't affecting your sleep.
Not that he's not absolutely gorgeous, but he's so quiet you would never have thought he had it in him: to have a revolving door of women lining up to lay underneath him.
This time, her name is Sarah: pretty little thing in Miguel's Advanced Math class. She perches on a stool, wearing a tight dress that is wholly not appropriate for a tutoring session. She's one of his regulars, if you can call it that, and has been failing for at least 2 semesters. You flash her a smile as you pad through the kitchen, searching the cupboards for a snack. God, she is gorgeous; dolled up for another long session with Miguel, no doubt.
"Where's he gone?" She asks politely.
You shrug. "I couldn't tell you, sorry."
"It's okay… I'm just a bit stuck." You almost snort and catch yourself. For some reason, you didn't think they actually did any work, merely a pretense for the… cardio later on in the day.
You glance at her sheet of paper, scribbles in purple pen with large swathes crossed out. Leaning over, you scan the page.
"Right here." You point and she follows with a manicured finger. "You fucked up with this integral and I think… yeah, I think that messes with the whole thing."
Her eyes light up as she follows you, explaining with a piece of cookie hanging out of your mouth. She's definitely smart, just a few little mistakes here and there that you're happy to point out. Thanking you fervently, she rushes to correct it.
"Ah, it's no problem. I get mixed up with it too." You smile and notice Miguel by the doorway, watching with a strange look in his face. You roll your eyes as you walk past. What a fucking weirdo.
"Thought I was the tutor?" He croons.
You raise an eyebrow, voice low as Sarah is engrossed in her work. "...I don't want to fuck her, Miggy , if that's what you're worried about."
A little cruelly you push past him, shoulders clashing against one another. Is he smiling ? For now, you blame your perpetual tiredness when you think you catch the hint of a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
~~~
You're a light sleeper, and it all makes for a tired, delirious combo. You sleepwalk through the day, scramble to finish assignments and whilst it's not all O'Hara's fault, you can't help but blame him for a lot of it.
After you successfully get through one long week, you decide to celebrate. That means a couple hours of mindless hedonism: your favourite movie, greasy food…. and your trusty dildo. Not at the same time, of course.
Miguel's not home, and he's not tearing down the walls with some other girl, for once, so you decide to treat yourself.
You've been going through a dry patch, and you'd hate to admit it, but he does sound good through the thin drywall.
It was a joke gift; given to you by a friend for your birthday. An obnoxiously purple dildo with a suction cup at its base. Aptly named Hugh, due to its - ahem - large stature. Standing tall at 7 or 8 inches, far bigger or thicker than any partner you've taken in the past. Sitting around a small diner booth with your friends and opening the bag to reveal him, had been quite the experience, for sure.
It wasn't your fault you had gone through a dry spell in the past few months. With work, with school, with relationship issues, you hadn't had the time or energy to sleep around. Not that you were desperate for drunk, lackluster sex, followed by an awkward dance of ubers and shitty coffee in the morning. Like many, you preferred to do it yourself.
Laptop open, you ease yourself onto the toy, already slick with lube. Prepping yourself with your fingers had been quite the task, tabs open to something on a lewd website. It's cheesy, but you didn't really like the bright lights and plastic of usual porn. The moans felt too fake, the sex devoid of any real passion. So you found a couple of independent creators; couples, mostly; carnal fucking with fervour only borne from real love . It's embarrassing to admit it, but your favourite parts are the little kisses and touches in between, or light laughter after a rough session. As if to say: it's okay and I'm still here.
On your screen now is a longtime favourite video, a broad man bullying his fat cock into his partner. You can't help but think he looks like Miguel, not as pretty but tan with strapping shoulders, and large hands that wrap around the neck of the girl in the video.
" F-Fuck," You breathe, sinking down onto your toy. You bet Miguel's palm on your throat would be deliciously rough, and you imagine how he'd fuck the brat out of you like the man on your screen.
What hadn't occurred to you, however, was that the thin walls went both ways. Whilst you were quieter than many of the girls Miguel brought home, you were fairly shameless with the moans and curses that fell from your lips. Headphones on, you were blissfully unaware that Miguel had slipped into the apartment some time ago. The slap of your thighs to the floor, the desperate whine as you roll your hips over the toy - he can hear it all.
Miguel has a conscience, so he does feel some amount of shame when he slips a hand down his trousers and presses an ear to your shared wall. He closes his eyes and bites down lusty groans, fisting his cock to your pretty noises. Noises he's been wanting to hear from you for months, now, imagining it was you underneath him instead of his usual partners.
He times it just right, squeezing around his tip in time with the steady slap just beyond the wall. Are you fucking yourself? On your knees, hands flat on the floor, churning up your insides with a toy… or maybe ass up, dildo attached to something…? He almost cums with that mental image, wondering what you'd look like on your knees for him. Is the dildo as big as him? He knows you, knows you'd want it to hurt - for his cock to stretch out your pretty pussy when he cums deep inside you.
All things he thinks about with a hand around his cock, and he's already close. But he wants to cum with you, listening intently for the signs.
" Fuck," Your voice comes out muffled, but it makes him buck up into his fist all the same. " Need it… oh God, I-"
He speeds up, wondering what it would be like to have your thighs shake underneath him, what it would take to have you babbling and begging for more. How would he break you? Maybe on his cock, where he'd watch you squirm as you take his length. Or on your knees, choking around him and licking up his cum. Or, God, thighs wrapped around his head, riding out your high with his mouth sealed on your clit, crying for him slow down, for him to-
" H-Harder, Miguel, please."
He releases, sudden and intense, spilling white ropes into his boxers.
" Fuck, Miguel…"
He fucks his fist through it, overstimulated from the way you say his name. It feels like the only way it should be said; spilling from your mouth, haphazard and desperate. Like honey, like treacle; sweet things he didn't know he had the capacity for. He lets that feeling wash over him, panting, bringing his forehead to rest on cool wall.
~~~
He's hot. He's smart. He's a whore.
A total blindspot for you, and no matter how much you can't stand him; you still find yourself stealing glances whenever he's home.
And he does seem to be home a lot more, often choosing to study on the dining table rather than his room. It's like he does it on purpose, using the warmer weather as an excuse to wear tiny tank tops and loose gray sweats - showing off the muscles of his broad back and arms perfectly.
Funnily enough, when he's not around those girls, he's bearable - seems to have grown a couple of brain cells in those short few days between sessions.
You laugh and joke, sometimes, and he surprises you by suggesting a movie one quiet night.
He offers you his sweater to snuggle into, you eat your weight in greasy takeout, and your roommate seems like an actually decent guy??
You had fallen into an easy routine: O'Hara leaves a flask of coffee for you to snatch up in the morning, hair damp from the shower and all, and you meet him with netflix and instant noodles in the evening. A push and pull that works in the little space - much smoother than your rocky beginnings.
After a truly shitty day, you come home to a quiet apartment. Almost sleeping through an exam, forgetting lunch, missing the bus home, and having to trek back through pouring rain in a thin coat. Everything that could go wrong, did, and you are left with the pieces. You trudge through the living room into the kitchen, the wet squelch of socks on laminate floor haunting every step. Shedding your limp outerwear, you lay the contents of your backpack onto the kitchen counter: clumps of loose paper, the damp leftovers of a textbook, bleeding ink. Your main concern, however, is your laptop slick with rain water.
With baited breath, you put it on the slab, and press the power button. A click, a stuttering whir, and the screen flickers on. Then, just as strained, it putters off. Dead. Completely dead. Your legs almost give out, and you lean on the counter to steady yourself. Half of your life was there; including the final project that would make up a good chunk of your grade. It takes you everything not to collapse onto the floor right then and there.
"How was it?" You hear the click of a door and Miguel calls out from the hallway.
You wince."...F-Fine?"
You hear footsteps, as he gets closer. "Are you asking or telling me?"
You clear your throat, desperately trying to keep your voice steady. "Fine. It was fine. I'm just… it was fine."
Back still turned, you fumble around with the wet contents of your bag, hoping he doesn't notice.
"Long day?" He says warmly, head poking into the kitchen. Haphazardly, you spare him a glance from behind your shoulder. He's dressed in a sweater that fits snug around his chest, rolled up to expose his forearms, and loose sweats. In his hands, he drinks from a cheesy mug - your mug, donning a stupid pun. He looks warm. Cosy. Domestic. For some, reason it makes your heart sink even further.
Long day? "Something like that." You manage to squeeze out. There's a pregnant pause as he comes closer. Rummaging blindly through a cupboard, you try to hide behind its door. If he sees you like this, now, you don't know if you'll be able to hold it together.
You close the door, and all of a sudden he's there, mug in hand.
" Fuck, man- " It makes you jump, as he squints and takes a sip of his coffee.
"You look… wet."
"That's because it rained, Miguel." Snapping at him, your tone is biting. You're tired, stressed and in desperate need of a cry, but he is unrelenting in his gaze.
"Are you ok?" He asks, unfazed.
There's a lump in your throat and all you can do is nod with a tight expression. His eyes flicker towards the counter and you shuffle, trying to cover up the mess. And then you watch it happen; initial confusion, a flash of realisation, and then worry; all in the space of a couple seconds.
Gently, he pulls you aside to inspect the damage. "Mierda. This is pretty bad. You sure you're ok?"
He's got a hand on your arm now, The dam breaks and you crumple into tears in the kitchen floor. Of course, he comes with you, rubbing your back as you blubber through the details.
" Nothing's going right for me… and I've got my final project on there… I'm barely keeping up as it is…" All he does is nod, face tight with something you can't quite name. It must seem pathetic to him, you think, shamelessly crying on the kitchen floor, complaining to your poor roommate. He can't leave you like this, because he's a decent person - but internally, he must think you're going crazy.
It helps, having him there: a steady presence by your side. Slowly but surely, your tears subside.
"You could've asked me to pick you up." He hands you some tissues off the counter, and watches as you mop up the tears. "I would've come, if you called."
"I didn't… I didn't think we were…" You search for the right word.
"...friends?" He offers, with a small smile. "You think I let just anyone steal my sweaters?"
"First of all," It makes you laugh, despite yourself. "You offered. And second, I've seen what you do with your friends, and I don't know if I have the energy for it."
"Ouch." Bashful, he rubs his chest like it aches. He sits a little close to you, knocking your shoulders with his own. "I know this girl who's crazy good with computers. I could ask her to take a look, if you'd like? Might not be able to save it but maybe we could recover the files?"
"...I'd like that, to be honest."
"Muy bien ." He leaps to his feet, palm stretched towards you to help you up. "I'll run you a warm bath or something. You're creating a puddle and it's going to ruin my floor."
"Our floor, asshole. I pay rent here, too."
~~~
You find that you enjoy being around him, and he feels the same.
You can't help but compare him to your shitty ex who you were planning to move in with: and even with his quirks, Miguel is better in every way.
There is harmony in your household, for a while, and you almost look forward to coming home to him after class. Almost.
It doesn't last long, because of course it doesn't. You'd thought you'd come to a tentative ceasefire, able to casually rib and joke with each other - takeout and B-roll movies aside. He leaves you leftovers from food he makes, you turn down your music when he's studying, and he even woke you up the other day when you had slept through your alarm.
Beyond the wall, his music is loud: a playlist you recognise as the one he puts on to (unsuccessfully) mask the noise of his usual late night adventures. Cheesy love ballads, heady RnB that leaks into your own room. You'd rather die than admit his taste in music isn't horrible, but it usually means a long, long night for everyone around. With finals around the corner, there's no way you can let this stand.
What kind of person does that? Lull you into a false sense of security with Snakes on a Plane and pepperoni pizza?
Absorbed in your own work, you hadn't even realised he had someone over; let alone was gearing up for obnoxious sex. You'd bang on the wall, but you feel like you guys are past that: crossed a threshold of intimacy that means you can shout at him up close and personal.
So you stomp over to the hallway, banging at the door to his room. In the short trip there, you've worked yourself into a frenzy. How many times have you told him to keep it down? That it was rude and inconsiderate to flaunt his sex life in your face; to fuck other women so loud you were practically involved? There was something about the little smile he would give you afterwards, when you catch him shepherding his latest out the door in the morning - like he gets off on it, enjoys it, when you react. Even when you think you're over it, he still manages to drive you absolutely crazy.
“Miguel? Open the fuck up!"
You're still fuming when the door opens with a click, and Miguel appears in the sliver of the doorway. He opens it so that his frame is half swallowed by the door, top half peeking through with a lazy hand in his hair. And of his top half, he's bare from the waist up, black band of his boxers sitting low on his v-line and loose sweats.
All the wind is knocked from your sails, and you lose your train of thought.
"Yeah?"
"I…" You clear your throat. "I don't care who you fuck, but when I'm doing work-"
"-I'm not." He chuckles. "There's no one here, hermosa. Just me. And you, I guess…"
There's something about the way he says it, lazily, as if it's his first time saying those words - wrapping his tongue around your name to see how it fits. If it fits, how it tastes. His relaxed posture, the way his hair falls…
"You're high." Your brow shoots up. "... you're high!"
With a finger pressed to his lips, he grabs your hand and pulls you into his room, eyes darting around the hallway.
"Shhh! You can't-" Now, he gets close, whispering like he's saying something he shouldn't. "You can't tell anyone. "
"I won't." You breathe. His face is serious at first, and then you're both giggling. You've never seen him so carefree, and it's nice to see Miguel walking around without the weight of the world on his shoulders.
He's still holding your hand, pressed close, and you see him drag his eyes up and down your figure. "You want do something you'll regret…?"
"...I've got a 9am, tomorrow, I really-"
"-shouldn't?" He finishes, dragging his hand up your bare arm, pupils blown. He gets up to your shoulders, tucking your hair behind your ear. It's sinful, the way his touch is gentle but gaze heavy - violent in the way he practically eyefucks you. You feel bare, in little sleep shorts and a t-shirt.
He steps back, lounging on his bed, and makes for a half finished blunt by the adjacent window sill. Sighing, you sit by him, sinking into the mattress. He pats you closer, dangerously close, and you comply. One arm curled by your waist, the other brings the blunt up close and you wrap your lips around it. When Miguel brings a lighter to the blunt, you lean into it, knuckles brushing your lips.
You take a drag, long, heavy, eyes closed. And when they open, you're met with his own. Maybe it's the weed, maybe it's the heady atmosphere, but you swear his eyes are low and deep with lust.
"Good girl." He rumbles, cupping your chin and tracing a thumb to your lips. He separates, bringin the blunt to his own lips before leaning back to pass it to you. As quick as he gets close, he pulls away; leaning back into the expanse of his large bed. And he looks good, head drawn back and the curve of his tan arm drawn upwards. Tufts of hair from his chest, the trail that leads down suggestively - and without inhibition, you basically drool over him. God, there it is. You feel it kick in and let it wash over you.
His music, long forgotten, blends into your downy haze. You want to sit in his lap, rest your head on his chest. You get it now: if this is the view all those women he tutors get to have, then you finally understand.
"Come closer, hermosa ." You barely register the nickname, only focused on the way he says it, the delicious way it rolls off of his tongue. You nod, and shuffle closer. His siren song sounds sweeter, somehow, up close.
You pass the blunt between you both, and watch it dwindle to the last dregs. Lying down next to him, he clutches your hand and takes the butt between his fingers, letting its flames die as you watch. You giggle and his gaze softens.
"I didn't expect this from you." You look up to see an upside-down Miguel, hiding a smile.
"Expect what?" He drags himself downwards, to rest his head by your side.
"All…" You gesture vaguely. "This. Don't even think I've been in your room for this long, before."
His room looks exactly how you'd expect it: tidy and modest, a row of trophies neatly lined up on a shelf, a telescope pointing out towards a window. There are posters by his bed; science related, mostly. You tilt your head in the direction of one of them.
"Is this what they see?" You mumble to no one in particular.
He manages to catch it, sluggish in his response. "...Is this what who sees?"
"All the girls you fuck." It tumbles your of your mouth, before you can help it.
He tilts his head too, looking at the poster and you watch the sharp lines of his jaw besides you. Even at this angle, he's so pretty.
"Huh. I guess they do."
"It's not very romantic, is it?" You blink, oblivious. Your question is met with a noncommittal shrug. "What was her name last time? Cassie, Clara-something…"
"Katie." He hums.
"Katie." Ignoring the twinge of disappointment at his quick response, you hope it's the weed and not jealousy that made you pretend to forget her name.
You sit up on your haunches, tracing the valleys and mountains of his bare chest with a leisurely finger. You try not to notice the way he shivers at your touch.
"I could hear everything. Every, 'Yes daddy'," You feign a moan by curling your lips into an O-shape. You bring your other hand to your hair, head tilted back with exaggerated movement. "And 'right there, Miggy, right fuckin' there' ."
Technically, you're making fun of him and laughing, expecting him to follow. But he doesn't, head back and eyes boring into you - only bringing a hand to press yours at his chest.
"Thin walls, Miguel." You clear your throat, sensing a shift in the atmosphere. Too far, probably. "Sorry, shit. I didn't mean-"
"I hear you too." He says softly. "I heard you, the other day."
Head filled with cotton, it takes a moment for his words to really click. So he elaborates, lacing his fingers with your own.
"Fucking yourself, hermosa ." He says it lazily, like the vulgarity of the act doesn't register.
Your eyes widen in horror. How much exactly did he hear?
"...and I heard you say my name."
"It was…. i-it wasn't like that-" Fuck. You can't think straight as it is: and his voice is low and silky, rubbing circles on your hand close to his chest. Even now, he oozes confidence, the steady thump-thump of his heart giving away nothing.
"Hmmm? Then what is it like?" You blink at him, unable to answer. "You're a hypocrite. You complain about all these women I supposedly fuck, but then-"
He pulls you closer, so that your lips almost touch his. "-you lock yourself in your room, touching yourself and thinking about your poor roommate. What am I meant to do with you?"
A pause, and in your daze, you can't breathe. For all your theatrics, it's too easy for him - to prod and tease, and for you to chase after him. You move to kiss him, but he grabs your chin at the last second. "Not quite. I want to hear you say it."
"Fuck- " You crumple, hiding your head in the crook of his shoulder. Even in your haze, the nerves bubble up from the base of your stomach. "Fuck me, please , Miguel."
He places a hand on your thigh, leading you to straddle his middle, other hand wrapped around your waist. He grinds your lower half into his, leaning up to bring your lips together.
He tastes sweet, greedily lapping up your moans in the clash. You're not thinking, not really, lost in the heat of his body, desperate and eager when you kiss. To contrast, Miguel cups your chin, pulling you away for air whenever you sink too deep. Somehow, he still manages to look smug, taunting you with a flash of his little fangs whenever you separate. If you weren't feeling the effects of that blunt, you may have had the means to be embarrassed at how much you want him - needily grinding against him and pawing at his chest.
It's too slow, too leisurely, like a punishment; and he refuses to give you what he knows you want. Your whines betray you when he finally slips a hand down your shorts.
"¿Paciencia, hmm?" He grabs a handful of your ass, clothed cock catching on your clit. It rips another moan from you, which he happily swallows with another kiss. "Patience, princesa."
You hump against one another like teenagers, your hands planted by his head for purchase. Hips moving of their own accord, you chase the relief Miguel provides: with his hands kneading your ass, length catching at your clit, and teeth nipping at your bare neck.
He licks a stripe up your collarbone, soothing the blossoming hickeys with a hum.
Fuck, how can he be so casual ? You don't know if it's the weed or something else, but he is in his element, hand dipping down your back to graze at your pussy from behind. He hisses when he realises how wet you are, swiping his fingers down your slit and taking them out to pop them in his mouth.
Now, flushed and face hot with embarrassment, you look up at him with big doe eyes. It makes Miguel feel guilty for stopping you so close to your climax. Beautiful : lower lip hooked under your teeth, plump and swollen and kissable. He'll make up for it later: a promise he whispers into skin.
"You're soaked." He cups your cheek to press a kiss to your forehead, and all you can do is whine. His gaze dips down, to the swell of your tits in that thin shirt..
"What did you think about when you touched yourself?" It's soft, said in the warm press of your bodies; hook-shaped and hazy and you fit like you were made for one another. The thought lingers, plants a dangerous seed that makes you forget that the man underneath you is your roommate : unrepentant whore, Miguel O'Hara.
"You." You've seen it first hand, he eats hearts for breakfast; and yours is on a platter for him to devour.
He laughs, deep and rumbling, hands resting on your waist. "I know that, baby. You don't have fantasies? Fuck yourself to the thought of someone touchin' you just right?"
Not just someone, him, you think. Your voice dies in your throat at the way he looks at you. "Just… n-nothing really-"
He hums, grinding your hips onto his. "Speechless, I can't believe it. Is this what I need to do to get some fucking peace around here?"
You roll your eyes, "Don't be a dick, Miguel. When I shout, it's because you deserve it."
"...there it is." Eyes shining, his face stretches into a shit-eating grin. Wide, unabashed, unambiguous. "You back with the living, sweetheart?"
It makes you laugh, even though you hate to give him the satisfaction.
"What do you want?" He kneads your thigh and pleasure pools at the base of your stomach.
You mumble something begrudgingly.
"Hmm? Can't hear you, baby."
Louder, now. "...want to sit on your face, Miguel."
Lowly, he groans, shaking his head. "Mierda… of course you do."
Expertly, he helps you take your shorts off, dragging the thin material down your thighs. You clambers upwards, wrapping them around his shoulders, watching intently as he kneads the soft skin. It's tentative, at first, and you place your hands on the headboard to perch just above his mouth.
He licks, diving in with the flat of his tongue: a long upwards stroke that ends with him sucking your clit. Moaning, your hips jump and he chases your pretty pussy up, large palms pushing you back down. He concentrates on your bundle of nerves, lips around your clit like a man on a mission.
And, God, does it feel good; he watches and learns from your every movement, committing your body to memory. His moans vibrate deliciously, tension building at that spot faster than your mind can register it. Then, you clench around nothing, gushing into his mouth whilst he eases you through it. The noises he makes are obscene; one leg off the bed and a hand snaked under his boxers. He's getting off on it; watching you crumple and sob around his tongue.
And when you begin to move off, thighs sore, he doesn't relent, sealing his mouth on your pretty little hole.
"Miguel.. fuck-" After your first orgasm, it surprises you when he continues, tongue fucking you with fervour. He presses you close, impossibly close, and your body fights against his ministrations. Heat, everywhere, and it's too much. The haze of the blunt begins to wear off and you are left with biting clarity. You want more of him, deeper; drunk off of just his tongue.
You card your hands in his hair, and he moans: deep and wanton, with his eyes fluttering shut. He wants to look, to watch you when you cum on his tongue for a second time. Back arched, the curve of your tits peeking through a tiny top, fucking yourself on his face. He wants it hard , wants you to take control and use him to get off.
"Right there, fuck… "
Like you can hear his thoughts, you press yourself down harder, riding the deep ridge of his nose for relief. Miguel complies and leans into it. He eats you out like a man starved and the carnality of it all brings you to a second peak. You cum once again, legs wrapped tight around his face. Head back, he laps it up readily.
You separate with a wet pop, and Miguel looks blissful : fucked out and panting, wiping the slick off of his face with a forearm. Exhausted, you lean back onto the mattress beside him.
"That was…" He searches for the right word, and it's your turn to finish for him.
"... good. " Scarily good. So good you won't be able to see him around the apartment without remembering what he looks like trapped between your thighs.
Gently, he turns to cup your cheek and bring your lips to his. It starts off sweet and deepens rapidly, making that thread at the pit of your stomach tighten, again. He grabs your thigh, bringing it closer, and you feel his length poking your stomach. Fuck.
"You haven't…?" Your hand makes for his trousers, and he stops you. "I want to, Miguel. Want you to feel good too."
His head sinks into your shoulder. "I know, baby, I know. Not like this. Not yet."
You nod, still wrapped up in his arms. You haven't even fucked, and it feels more intimate than it should.
"You've got a 9am tomorrow." He smiles with a hand underneath his head.
"I've got a 9am tomorrow," You repeat, sighing. "...and my life is falling apart. I'm failing half of my classes as it is."
He turns to you, lazily.
"I could tutor you, if you'd like."
…
"That's not fucking funny, Miguel."
_
_
Miguel taglist: @d1lf-loverrr, @afro-hispwriter @ilovemiguelohara @weedxgirlx420 @ladydovahkiin180 @aaliyuh3 @sweetanimebakery @vvitcxen @rosecoloredlenses708 @daikondal @magikmina @impettywhenyouare @alonelygirlsuicidenote @plushyplants @javi0ca @rheeves @starrfruit @nikirikii @marsbars09 @foxglove-grove @mimooyi @crosshairclown @dead-by-light @kynamitedessert @naarra @wanderlustingcastaway @sagejin @cookielovesbook-akie @tangerineloverrr @gobblegluckgluckgod @wolfiepirate @jxxey3 @ebrysteria @elliemm @manchuria @youngghostpeachslime @weasleybuns @ilovemuppets @vauriz @bonbyon @aimno256 @ancientbeing10 @tvije @venus1224idkpleaze @neteyamsbulletwound @chickenjefferson-blog @maki-z @jasjasthings
_
edit: the full fic xx
#i am very very close to making this a full fic#(implying that this isn't alr basically a full fic lmfao)#miguel o hara x reader#miguel o'hara x reader#across the spiderverse#kat_writes😼#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara smut#miguel o'hara headcanons#spiderman 2099 masterlist#spiderman 2099 x reader
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𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐈𝐧 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧
Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader
Summary: Everyone at HQ was convinced there was something going on between you and Miguel. Just...no one knew what. But one group of spiders were determined to figure it out.
Warnings: None! Just a lot of goofiness and a whole lot of fluff :3
When you have a superhuman with superior senses, they’re bound to be perceptive to their surroundings. Now when you have an entire lobby the size of multiple football fields filled with superhumans with superior senses, very few things will go unnoticed.
It’s why people very quickly realize that you and Miguel have…something between the two of you. It’s just that no one is quite sure what.
Camaraderie? Maybe, you were one of the first spiders to join the society.
Friendship? Perhaps, but it was known that Miguel wasn’t one to do friends. Not with the amount of loss he has gone through.
A relationship? This one seemed the most unplausible. Miguel was, well, Miguel. Stoick, cold and calculating. Meanwhile, you were you.
You had a light that drew people in, kindness that knew no bounds and warmth like a fire on a cold winter’s day.
Everyone knew the saying ‘opposites attract’, but it was like comparing night and day with the two of you. Regardless, a small little group within the society were set on trying to figure the two of you out.
~
“Ain’t no way the two are together, she’s too good for him!” Hobie argues, his legs kicked up on the table in front of him.
“I don’t know, maybe that’s why they work together. Because she makes him better?” Miles says, but his tone of voice failed to hide his skepticism.
“I think you should just leave the two of them be. Besides, what happens if you figure it out or not anyway?” Peter says, feeding Mayday as he does. Immediately a chorus of arguments breaks out from the group.
“OKAY! Okay, forget I asked,” he says with a shake of his head, while Mayday just laughs at the commotion.
They spot the two of you walking into the cafeteria making conversation none of them could make out.
“Look at them,” Gwen says, “have you ever seen the guy happier than he is with her?” she asks, and Hobie snorts.
“C’mon mate, you call that happy? Mans got that frown tattooed on his face, can he even be happy?” he says, but they all continue watching intently.
You glance over to the table they were surrounding, and they all brush off your gaze pretending as though they weren’t just studying the two of you like specimens under a microscope.
You wave your hand, a bright smile on your face while Miguel only glances over for a moment before continuing to walk. You jog to catch up to him, grabbing a tray and picking up things you wanted for lunch.
They watch as they see Miguel pick up the empanada, the last one left. He pauses for a split second, holding it before turning to place it on your tray. Almost as though they were straight out of a cartoon, they freeze at the interaction.
You seem to be slightly surprised as you, saying something to him but he only brushes you off before continuing on.
“Did…that just happen?” Pavitr asks. Everyone at HQ was aware of Miguel’s fondness for the food (even if he did hurl one right at Miles when they first met), there was no way he would give one away so easily for just anyone, right?
“Somebody pinch me,” Gwen says, and Hobie jumps at the request.
“OW!”
~
Miguel never lets anyone help him out when he’s injured. That was just a known fact. He could walk into HQ battered and bruised and wouldn’t even look in the infirmary’s direction once. After depending on himself for so long, he wasn’t going to stop now. Besides, what were First Aid kits for after all?
The only way he was going to the infirmary was if someone dragged his unconscious body there themselves.
Well, unless you were there.
“Miguel O’Hara I swear to god, you better get your ass to the infirmary or so help me I will tie you up and drag you through the halls myself,” you say sternly as you both reemerge in the Lobby. The rest of the Spiders there continued with what they were doing, but their attention was zeroed in on you both.
“I’m fine,” he says, glaring at you as if trying to say ‘Just try’. Had you been anyone else, you would have backed down by now but you didn’t.
“You wanna test me right now? That was a nasty hit, I will not be letting it get infected under my watch,” you retort, and he puffs.
“This is nothing, I’ve dealt with worse,” he scoffs, and in an instant your finger shoots out, making contact with the side that got hit with the anomaly’s flames. Miguel can’t help the sharp intake of breath as the pain from the impact hits him.
Your eyebrow raises, an expression of disbelief on your face before it softens. Murmuring softly, you say something that only he can hear.
For a moment he studies your face before sighing, finally relenting. With a triumphant smile, you place a hand on the man’s broad back, leading him towards the infirmary with a gentle but firm hand.
There, Pavitr is laying in bed recovering from an awry mission of his own. The doctors had ordered bedrest for the next 2 hours at least. Superior healing or not, they were not going to risk it. So there he lay, slinging his golden bangles up and down bored before he hears the two of you come in.
“Mr. O’Hara-" a doctor’s voice can be heard, but he is quickly interrupted.
“She’s got it from here,” he says, Miguel’s tone final. A small “yes, sir” can be heard before footsteps fade away, the doctor’s office door closing once more.
“You know, you should really let the professionals help you,” your voice can be heard.
“You dragged me here, you can deal with the consequences,” he says, and you just laugh fondly before your voices quieten, murmuring too quietly for Pavitr to hear.
Curiosity builds as he recalls the conversation he and his friends had, and before he can stop himself he shifts silently to the side, just enough to be able to catch a glimpse of you both from the small gap between the hospital curtain and the wall.
There, Miguel sat on the bed, a disgruntled expression on his face but his eyes were soft as he watched you fuss over his side.
He only watches for a few seconds before pulling away, this being a clear invasion of privacy, and his boss’ privacy no less.
It wasn’t going to stop him from telling everyone else though.
~
“This is a bad idea. This is a really, really bad idea,” Miles says, grasping onto the ceiling like his life depended on it.
“It’s only a bad idea if we get caught, so Shut. Up,” Gwen says sharply, hanging from her place on the ceiling as they watched the fight from above.
Gwen had come up with the mighty fine idea of sneaking into a mission between the two of you. It wasn’t often that it happened, Miguel more often than not only went on missions with only Lyla by his side. But when he needed a partner, it was always you.
“Why did you have to bring me with you,” he whispers, “Miguel already doesn’t like me. He doesn’t need more of a reason to.”
“Because I needed backup and you can turn invisible. And let’s be real, Hobie would be laughing his ass off getting us caught, Peter would bring Mayday which would get us caught, and Pavitr is already on a mission, now shhh,” she whispers, turning back to watching the scene below.
You swung from pillar to pillar in the abandoned factory with practiced ease, a carefree laugh escaping your lips as Miguel stands on the ground fiddling with his watch.
“The anomaly’s last known location was here,” Lyla’s voice echoes out, and you let out a sigh.
“Why can’t villains have easy powers. Maybe a giant blob that is easy to take down? Why do they have to be so complicated? What’s this one again, a freaky shadow monster?” you think out loud.
“Where’s the fun in that?” Miguel retorts, glancing up toward you for a moment before turning back to Lyla. “Do a scan of the place, will you?”
“What do we say~” Lyla responds, and you giggle softly while Miguel huffs.
“Please,” he mutters.
“What was that?”
“Please, Lyla,” he says a little louder now, irritation growing in his voice.
“Already done,” the AI snickers, and he groans out loud as your laughter bounces off of the walls, a fist held out for Lyla to bump.
“The two of you will be the death of me,” he says lowly.
“Oh, don’t be like that, grumps. You’d be too stubborn to die,” you retort before tensing up, the hairs on the back of your neck rising with the familiar feeling of your heightened senses at work. The moment you sling yourself up is the moment a loud thud sounds out from where you once stood.
“Oh, I forgot to mention that the anomaly was in the far right corner,” Lyla says before disappearing.
“I really need to do a rewrite of her code,” Miguel mutters to himself.
In your previous spot emerges a dark figure, plumes of smoke emerging and dissipating from its form and allowing it to disappear into the shadows with ease.
With a simple nod, you get to work. Like a well-oiled machine, you work in practiced synchrony, bounding across the walls and slinging webs.
And just like that the anomaly is captured, the force field around it effectively trapping it for the ride back to HQ so it can be sent back to its own universe.
“That was…kinda lame,” you snicker, pulling off your mask
“Told you so,” Miguel says as he opens up a portal for you both, dragging the anomaly behind him.
“Don’t say that to me,” you pout.
“What, can’t handle the truth?” he retorts, a smirk playing across his lips as your bickering voices fade through the portal.
“…was that a smile,” Gwen asks as she watches the spot where they both had stood.
“Was that what it was?” Miles asks, a shudder racking through his body.
~
It was late at night at the HQ, and at this time everyone else had already gone back to their own universes. The few that lingered were the ones finishing up after a late-night mission.
Or, you were Peter B. Parker frantically searching through the kitchen for a bottle of milk for Mayday after a playdate with a select few spiders that went on for way longer than expected.
Mayday was an easy baby. Always happy and smiling, but that all disappears when she was hungry and you did not want a spider baby on a rampage.
“Alright, alright, give Daddy a few seconds to warm up your milk please?” Peter pleads as Mayday continues to babble angrily, crawling all over him.
She pauses for a moment, attention drawn elsewhere as she hangs off of her father’s back before leaping.
“Hey, lil spider!” You say with a laugh, catching her in your arms. “What are you doing here so late?” you ask.
“Playdate with Miles, Gwen and Hobie. Time really flew and she refused to leave until now,” Peter sighs tiredly, and you pat him on the back before putting her up onto your shoulders. “What are you doing here so late?”
You shrug, grabbing two mugs from the cupboard.
“Working late. Like you said, time really flew,” you say, but Peter knew that wasn’t the full truth.
“Working so hard that you need two cups of coffee?” he asks, holding out the bottle for Mayday to take, which is what she does happily as she snuggles up in her father’s arms.
“What can I say, caffeine doesn’t really work on me,” you grin, pouring the coffee from the machine. “Goodnight, Peter, Mayday,” you say, ruffling her red hair fondly.
And as quickly as you appeared, you disappear.
~
People didn’t often disturb the big boss man Miguel when he was working. Not if you wanted to stay on his good side.
It was even less often that someone barges into his room full of screens as he monitors the Archno-Humanoid Polymultiverse, let alone a group of them.
“We heard you talking to someone! And laughing,” Gwen says hesitantly as if she couldn’t even believe it herself. But she was invested in figuring out what the deal was between the two of you now.
“Well, do you see anyone around?” Miguel deadpans, his arms wide and gesturing around broadly. You could barely stifle the giggle as you sat on a beam high up on the ceiling, going unnoticed.
“W-well, no…But!” she says, and Miguel raises an eyebrow which makes Gwen shrink in her spot slightly before recovering. “But we heard you. There was someone here, wasn’t there?”
Hobie, ever the perceptive one tracks his eyes along the ceiling before spotting you swinging your legs with an amused look on your face. It seemed as though no one else had noticed though.
Miguel watches Hobie spot you and his eyes narrow in his direction, as if saying ‘I dare you to say anything’ to which the spider only raises his hands in mock surrender.
“No. There wasn't." He says, his tone final. "If that’s all you’re here for, I have important work to get to. So why don’t you go bother someone else, yeah?”
~
“I give up,” Gwen says, slumping in her chair. “We’re never going to figure it out.”
“Figure what out?” Jess asks, walking up to the group.
“Whether or not there is something going on between those two,” Miles says, nodding towards you and Miguel talking over in the corner of the room.
Jessica only hums, a knowing look in her eyes but she doesn’t say anything. Only asks a simple question.
“What makes you think so?”
“Everyone here knows that there’s something there, even if they want to admit it or not. She’s one of the few people he tolerates, they’re together almost all the time and he actually seems happy around her,” Gwen reasons.
“You could have just asked, you know,” you say, coming up on their conversation with an amused look on your face.
Their expressions range from flustered to simply amused and you can’t help the laughter that bubbles up as you make eye contact with Jess.
“And to answer the question,” you reach down your suit, pulling out a simple chain with a ring dangling off of the end.
“We’re actually married.”
The group goes silent for a moment, eyes wide as they stare at the necklace in your hands, trying to process your words.
Then, all hell breaks loose.
A/N: Hehe, I'm quite happy with this one :3 This is my first attempt at writing Miguel, sorry if I butchered him but I am absolutely hyperfixating on him after seeing ATSV in theatres yesterday.
Based on the prompt by @imslightlycreative though slightly changed :)) I hope you all enjoyed <3
Part two out now!! Read it here.
#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o'hara#across the spider verse spoilers#across the spiderverse#spiderman across the spiderverse#spiderman 2099#spiderman#miguel x reader#miguel ohara x reader#spiderverse x reader#miguel o hara#spiderman 2099 x reader#marvel
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mating szn
part 1 (part2)
pairing: miguel o'hara x f!gf!reader
warnings: smut, fluff, scent marking, primal play, rutting miguel, possessiveness, reader is ovulating
summary: miguel comes home feeling extremely needy
You're preparing dinner when you hear the opaque glass doors of your shared mansion open for your lover to come in. It's almost midnight, and it doesn't take you longer than a few seconds to realize how tired he has to be.
Miguel walks into the open kitchen, frowning.
"Baby! I missed you!" You jolt to him, pans clattering dangerously as you throw them aside, careful enough not to ruin your work but swiftly enough to get to him as fast as possible.
You curl your arms around his neck, standing on your tiptoes, pressing your chest flush against his hard pecs. His hands grab at your hips, absentmindedly and by habit.
"What's wrong?". You place a gentle, loving hand on his cheek, trying to meet his gaze. But he's not looking at you. His eyes are darting all over your face and body, brows still creased.
He could feel it, your scent. A collection of the whole day, everything you've done. The food, the places you've been. He feels like it's been so long since this morning, when he woke up beside you, kissing along your neck.
He feels a surge of blood rush from his heart and through his lucidity, a shot of adrenaline inexplicably taking over him.
You don't smell of him anymore. Anger bubbles in his chest as he thinks of all the people you must've talked to around HQ, who didn't smell his strong musk on you, who had no idea you belonged to him.
He's never felt like this before. He brushes the unfamiliar feeling aside for a moment, grounded by the silent plea in your eyes.
"I'm good. Just a bit tired." He brushes wild strands of baby hairs out of your face, finally matching the loving look you've greeted him with from the start.
He leaves you to finish the meal and steps into the shower, hoping that an ice cold stream would cool him down. Only it doesn't do anything but worsen the situation.
The second he feels the water spray hit his body, he flinches, unlike the usual relief he gets. His skin is abnormally feverish, the ghost of your body in his arms taunting him further into madness. He soon finds himself desperate to get out, to be reunited with you and the warmth only you could ever provide for him.
Images of your supple body breaking in his embrace flood his already lust crazed mind against his better judgment, and he feels his cock fatten slightly at the memory.
When he takes it in his hand, he nearly starts bucking his hips into his hold, sensitive and insanely needy. He imagines you in the bathtub with him, arching your back over the edge, spreading your legs for him to pound his cock into you under the hot stream, your moans echoing and ringing into the stone tiles.
He can't take it anymore. His body aches for your touch and attention.
Exiting the shower, he pulls a pair of loose boxers up his thighs, the only thing he can tolerate with the fever that has taken hold of him so suddenly.
And then, he focuses on the image of you, standing where he left you, gently stirring in a bowl. You're wearing one of his t-shirts, draped down to the middle of your thighs and over your elbows, an oversized dress.
He approaches you, wrapping his arms around your front and waist, dropping a fraction of his weight on your back just to keep you from moving or fighting against it. You throw your head back, closing your eyes.
His head drops to your neck, kissing here and there, exhales smoldering hot on your throat, stopping momentarily to deeply inhale your scent. Among all others, there is a distinctive smell of you, of your arousal and need for him that drives him mad.
"Wait- Miguel, let me finish this-" You protest, your creamy tone betraying your true intentions.
He groans, kissing your naked shoulder, his hands squeezing your form in front of him.
All tasks are ultimately abandoned as he pushes you against the counter, his defined abs hitting your back, the marble surface cold against your thighs. He presses his fat, hard cock up against your plush ass, his hands fondling your breasts through his shirt, groaning low and quiet in your ear.
With his biceps curled and constricted around your navel, your body goes limp in his hold, trembling ever so slightly as his warm, broad palms squeeze the soft flesh of your tits. He pushes them together, massaging gently, almost experimentally. He flattens them with the heels of his palms softly, only to them constrict his fingers around them so perfectly, fondling and groping away.
"Mm- Miguel, oh-" You breathe out, finding balance on your hands, arching your back into him. You feel your core pulsate with need, swelling up under his movements. You're almost completely wrapped up in his massive body, with nowhere to go.
And just then, you accidentally knock a knife off the counter, startled when it hits the marble floor with a loud clank. He jumps, backing up from your body. Your face is flushed, eyes half lidded, breath heavy, nipples perked under the thin cotton. Landing back to your senses, you move to bend down and pick it up.
His eyes automatically snap to your round ass and the dark wet spot on your panties that invites him so blatantly to shove his cock in between your pussy lips.
He can't help it. He can't control himself anymore.
Balance leaves your position as you feel his rough, eager hands grip your hips, harshly pulling you back into him. The plumpness of your ass hits the girthy shaft of his cock, but before you can look for the lost balance with your hands in front of you, he thrusts his erection up against your clothed cunt, making you whine in need.
"Ay, mi amor-" His voice is rugged and satisfied, laced with a deep groan. A broad palm hits the side of your behind, making the tender flesh ripple against his hard-on. "Te necesito muchísimo ahora." (I need you so badly right now.)
You yelp, perplexed, instinctively grabbing his wrists for balance. He pulls you up with your back against his chest, splaying a cursory hand across your abdomen, sending shivers thundering down your spine and butterflies fluttering in your stomach.
"Miguel!" You playfully fight against his possessive hold, "Is this your way of helping me prepare dinner?!" You free yourself, giggling and letting a wide smile take over your features. Stepping back and extending your arms in front of you in an attempt to shield yourself from him, you chuckle wholeheartedly.
Seeing you resist, he lets out a defeated exhale.
"Fine. I'll be good, lo prometo." (I promise). He motions for you to come closer and trust that he'll behave. Letting your guard down, you approach the counter, eyes fixated on his playfully.
He feels your body heat nearing him, so comfortable and tempting. The smell of you, and everything that drives him crazy about your presence alone. His breaths deepen and quicken abruptly, his cock straining in his boxers, twitching freely against the material, begging to be enveloped in your wet warmth.
He looks down at you like a panther about to pounce, waiting for the perfect moment to do so. Your smile curls wider, eyes shining with lust and a teasing playfulness. His body dwarfs yours, his shadow alone making you feel puny. His shoulders are tense, the same way they are when he's on top of you, riding you into next Tuesday.
He shifts to place a clawed hand on the counter, the sharp edged digits tapping against the surface catching your attention momentarily in the corner of your eye. He exploits the split second it takes you to look down to his arm, snapping and squatting to grab your thighs, throwing you over his shoulder.
"NO! You promised! Miguel! The food!" You try to reason, throwing any and each accusation you can think of, knowing that you definitely don't want him to drop it and leave you alone, truly. And he knows it.
And that's when he feels it. With your ass on his bulky shoulder, he can smell it. Your arousal, dripping hot. His fat cock finally hardens completely, its monstrously girthy shaft poking through the shorts.
You're ovulating.
Groaning ruggedly, he delivers a rough spank to your plump ass before pushing two fingers over the wet mound of your clothed pussy, running them over your slit, teasingly, collecting more of your scent.
He swears the only thing stopping him from fucking you raw right on the kitchen floor is your comfort.
"Okay! You win! Put me down, I'll let you fuck me."
Without a second thought, he places you back on the floor, hands on your hips, talons grazing your tender skin deliciously.
His eyes have reddened, pupils blown wide, exhales hot and labored. You don't want anything more than to wrap your arms around his neck, to press yourself into him, to feel his hard abdomen on your stomach, his pecs on your soft tits, his mouth on your neck.
But you want to see more of how needy he is.
You jolt to the stairs with no warning, climbing the winding wooden steps like a cat. You hear him behind you, his weight put onto each movement as he chases close behind, the staircase creaking under him.
Looking behind before reaching the hallway of the first floor of your mansion, you feel your panties dampen at the sight of the man and the sheer size of him, massive shoulders slightly hunched forward in focus and adrenaline, his height successfully making you stagger on your way to the bedroom.
divider by @cafekitsune
HOPE YALL LIKE IT IMMA CONTINUE ‼️‼️
a/n: primal play is thoroughly discussed beforehand. insisting that your partner has sex with you even after resistance without having discussed the aforementioned resistance is abusive.
#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara smut#miguel ohara x reader#miguel ohara#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o'hara imagine#miguel o'hara x reader one shot#miguel o hara#atsv miguel#miguel smut#miguel o'hara x you#miguel o’hara smut#miguel spiderverse#miguel spiderman#miguel x reader#spider verse#spider man 2099#spiderman 2099#spiderman 2099 x reader#across the spiderverse#oscar issac characters#oscar isaac
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pervy roommate!miguel who mumbles to himself after you ask for help to cum after your little pink vibrator died and wouldn't be recharged for an hour. the only problem? you told him you've never fingered yourself because you didn't think you're fingers would fit.
so now he's finally got two of his thick digits inside you, listening to how you try to muffle your whines and moans as your pussy gushes around his fingers. the feeling of them slowly rubbing against your walls made your hips twitch, but what really got you was the absolute filth that left his mouth.
"s'fuckin' tight, so small...jesus."
"pretty little cunt 's creaming all over my hand, baby girl, holy shit."
"god, mami, i wanna taste you so bad, es injusto."
"c'mon, lemme speed it up, you're gettin' wetter for me. shh, shh, i knowww, it's too much and too big, but it's okay. miggy's gonna make it feel real good, baby."
"so dirty, asking your roommate this late at night to make you cum. if it was someone else, would you ask? no? it's 'cause it's me isn't it, bebé? mmn, it's cause you wanted my big fingers to stretch this little cunt, didn't you?"
#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o’hara smut#miguel o'hara#miguel ohara x reader#miguel ohara smut#miguel ohara hcs#miguel ohara x y/n#miguel o'hara x you#miguel x reader#miguel ohara x you#atsv miguel#miguel spiderverse#spiderman 2099#spiderman 2099 smut#spiderman 2099 x you#spiderman 2099 x reader#miguel o'hara smut#miguel o'hara hcs#miguel x you#miguel spiderman#miguel ohara#🕷️ ── temptblabs.
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I'll Be Teasing You Tomorrow
Just a little Miguel fluff... and for the record, I'm DEFINITELY not terrified of cockroaches...
"Babe, I'm just asking you to think about it." Miguel sidled up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. Rinsing another dish, you rolled your eyes and turned your head to look at him. He'd placed his chin on your shoulder, his beautiful red eyes shining imploringly.
"We already have the one cat, Migs." You pursed your lips and looked at him pointedly before turning back towards the sink.
"And you love her." He said, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.
"She's grown on me, but that doesn't mean I want another cat."
"Just consider it?" He nibbled lightly on your ear. Sighing, you braced your hands on the edge of the sink and closed your eyes.
"You're not going to seduce me into saying yes." You instinctively tilted your head giving him more space. Miguel smiled into the crook of your neck.
"Maybe I'm just really turned on by my best girl, did that ever occur to you?" He breathed against your ear, squeezing your waist for emphasis. You smiled warmly and leaned into him.
Until you saw it.
With a screech you jumped inhumanely high and moved to hide behind him. Miguel's old instincts kicked in and he tensed like a live wire, talons bared, and was silently scanning the perimeter of the kitchen.
"Do you see it?" You whispered peaking over his shoulder.
"I don't see anything." He narrowed his eyes and glanced at you quickly. "Doll, what did you,"
"Oooh, Miggy! There!" You squealed, jumping on his back, doing your best to put space between you and whatever it was you'd seen.
"What? I don't see anything!" He practically shouted to be heard over your panic as you were still trying to climb him like a tree.
"There!" You waived a hand emphatically at the wall behind the sink. He made a soft 'oof' sound when you accidentally cuffed him in the ear with your elbow and followed your flapping hand with narrowed eyes.
And then he saw it.
"A cockroach?" He stared at it in disbelief. Then it skittered up the wall and you shrieked again, burying your face in his hair and to your great embarrassment, whimpered. That was enough to push him into action. With you still wrapped around him like a territorial koala, Miguel swiftly grabbed a paper towel and smooshed the offending creature and threw it in the trash can.
"Is it gone?" You raised your head tentatively and looked down at your boyfriend. He looked up at you and his eyes softened.
"Yeah. It's gone." You sighed and started to climb down only to be caught around the waist and swept into Miguel's arms.
"Migs," He cut you off with a firm kiss to your forehead.
"Oh, I'm going to be teasing you ruthlessly tomorrow, but tonight," He jostled you in his arms playfully. "My best girl needs movies and cuddles." You raised a brow and opened your mouth to protest, but he gave you a very convincing scowl. "That's an order." You shivered and your expression turned coy.
"Well then," You wrapped your arms around his neck. "Yes sir."
#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara x reader#atsv miguel#miguel o'hara x you#miguel x reader#spiderman 2099 x reader#miguel imagine#fluff
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Miguel O'Hara x gn!Reader
A/N: based on a lyric from the Taylor Swift song The Tortured Poet's Department. 🖤
TW: jealous Miguel, that's it and fluff.
-----
Miguel's definitely the type of man to move any rings you're wearing to your ring finger if you're not already wearing one. 🫶🏽
At an Alchemax dinner with the Osborns, Harry's been letting his eyes linger on you for a little too long. Miguel turns red, sliding his palm over the top of your left hand and bringing it under the table.
"Sweetheart?" You giggle.
"Shh..." Miguel leans over you, gently wiggling that ring you've got on your left middle finger and placing it on your ring finger.
"Wha-what was that for?" You ask him with a soft smile as he sits back in his chair with pride, letting his arm rest behind you, your heart exploding.
"Just making sure someone whose name rhymes with Barry, understands that you're with me."
------
@hislastbimbogff 🫶🏽🖤
#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara x reader#atsv miguel#miguel x reader#miguel atsv#miguel ohara#miguel o'hara smut#miguel o'hara imagine#spiderman 2099 x reader#spiderman 2099
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mío | baby-fever!miguel o'hara x wifey!reader
❛ pairing | miguel o'hara x wifey!reader, starved prequel
❛ type | oneshot, explicit
❛ summary | after watching mayday, miguel develops a bad case of baby fever, longing for a family of his own.
❛ tags | explicit, miguel has baby fever, babysitting, talk of family planning and contraception, f!reader, breeding, pregnancy kink, much fluff, some angst, starved!reader, miguel being frustrated and cute, clean that kitchen, one stereotype of latina women, Spanish is not translated, best friend!peter, self edited.
❛ request fulfilled | could you possibly write an imagine in which Miguel and his wife take care of mayday? + multiple requests for more starved reader/miguel.
❛ sy's notes | written to fulfill some requests. i do have another daddy miguel blurb to fulfill, but my future works should be nice and angsty.
Peter has it out for him.
It’s the only logical reason why he’d do this shit to him.
Miguel stood in his dark room in a pair of scratchy jeans, dragging a belt loop to loop when he heard the door to his room draw open. A resonant schwap, schwap, schwap.
“Mi reina?” Miguel cocked his eyebrow up, extending his claws.
“¿Sí?” you called back from the bathroom, the distant scent of his favorite perfume wafting into the air. Miguel threw a look to the bathroom, reaching for the bedroom door. It burst open before he could open it.
“Hi, Miguel! Where’s your wife?”
Peter dragged his feet into the room, whirling around with a sloppily put-together backpack that leaked diapers onto the floor. An exasperated breath left his lips, dripping in the way he looked at Peter.
Unfortunately, his little wife liked Peter a bit too much for his taste.
“I should have known.” Miguel ran his hand through his hair, strands of mocha brown flyaways wisping along his tawny forehead. “Why are you here?”
His normally disheveled appearance was a little more disheveled. It wasn’t his appearance that bothered him but how it reached his eyes. Shocked, confused, tired. Peter pat his deltoid, awkward laughter choking in his throat. It bubbled on the edge of an overwhelmed sob.
“Well, you see, your wife said she’d watch Mayday because I have a date, and I haven’t had a date in a really, really long time. Like, a really long time—”
“Is Peter here?”
His head snapped to your bathroom where you came out, threading a golden hoop earring. You probably already knew the fight that was heading your way-- but for your part, you couldn’t be bothered to care any less.
“Got it, you need this date.” Miguel cut Peter off, standing behind you with his massive arms crossed. “¿Por qué no me dijiste?”
“¡Mi nena! Muévete Miguel,” you giggled, shoving your way past Miguel to Peter’s child carrier, sneaking your hands underneath her little armpits and whirling her around. She cackled, a glittering warmth to her mischievous eyes. You came to a stop, settling Mayday against your chest, nuzzling your foreheads together in some secret pact that the two of you shared.
Oh no, no, no, no. Not this. It hits him at once.
The sight of his wife— beautiful and cuddly with a very young baby in her arms. The only sight more beautiful was at the altar on his wedding day, your shy smile behind a sheer veil. It had been a long time, too long, since he had someone to call him father. He can still picture her glimmering eyes, the way she looked at him in nothing short of admiration, looking past the things that he’d done to see him and only him. Glimpsing at Mayday, remembering Gabriella’s soft, small face, it took him a moment to snap free.
He's so fucked.
“You would have said no, amado mío.”
You’re a natural at this, scooting by both men to set Mayday on the bed. Your tiny fingers spiraled out from her belly to change her diaper. Peter jittered uncomfortably, looking as though he wanted to jump in himself. You cleaned her, replacing the dirty diaper with a clean one. “We’re going to a market with Tío Miguel--”
“Don’t bring me into this.”
“Are you sure it's okay? I’ll be back at five, it's just a few hours, really--”
“¡Vete! A ratty house robe and a dirty spider suit aren’t sexy. Look at mi Miggy,” now you’re just buttering him up. He shifts his weight from one leg to the other, inspecting the ground. “Wear something nice.”
They’re sexy to her, he might have murmured. Not on a date, you bopped him. Mayday’s bright eyes tracked the space between you and Peter before you broke away to wash your hands. Peter’s clammy hands cupped Mayday’s sweet face, littering at least a dozen sickly daddy kisses over her tiny face. But Miguel what if--
“Adiós, Peter!” You returned to force Peter out of your room. Miguel peered at Mayday whose head snapped to the side, cheek against her fiery hair as the door clicked shut. He braced himself for the shrill that would inevitably come with her realization that her daddy was gone. She whined, grabbing her toes and tipping nearly off the side of the bed. Miguel begrudgingly hovered at her feet, blocking her from rolling off the bed. He could do this, he told himself, he could resist those giant baby eyes staring up at him.
He didn't need a baby, he didn't.
He blames Peter for having such a good baby.
She doesn’t ask for much other than requiring chest-to-chest contact with Miguel. It’s not that he doesn’t want to hold her, he finds himself aggravated by how much he likes to be around her. In a market full of things to look at food trinkets such as necklaces, body scrubs, and empanadas, it’s all her. Miguel props her up with an arm just under her bum, her tiny finger peeking curiously into his fangs. He snapped his teeth playfully at her, a nip, nip, nip, missing playfully every time. It rips ping a toothy grin across her face.
“No biting Miguelito,” you called out, sliding your fingers in a teasing ring around his muscled back to chest. You leaned up on your tippy toes, placing a small little kiss on his lips. You ran off to go get her a pineapple whip after her tiny fist yanked your hair over and over again. You relented, staring at what she was cooing at. Sweets-- obviously, sweets. All the little ones loved sweets.
“She likes it.”
“Ya sé,” you said, “But we don’t need anyone noticing you’ve grown fangs.”
“Tch,” he clicks his teeth in protest. She does too, throwing you a mean look for interrupting her fun. You plucked up a bit of the whip on your spoon, cutting through her displeasure through the power of sugar.
"There's a lot of people here, Miggy, let's go to the park." You point toward the park, pointing away from the mounds of fresh produce and locally sourced goods toward a healthy patch of green grass. Miguel is glad-- he’s sick of being stared at for his huge frame. Despite the ring on his finger, people still seem to try their luck. He couldn't be more disinterested.
You lay a picnic blanket as Miguel holds Mayday's treat. Mayday sprawls across his chest, trying to take just one more bite-- then another-- Miguel looks down, chin level, eyebrow raised. She offers a bit on her tiny index finger to Miguel. A peace offering. “She’s not going to wait.”
“Give her to me.” You kicked off your sandals on the edge of the blanket, dropping your things on another corner. You pluck Mayday from Miguel’s arms and set her down on the blanket in a way that is too easy. As though you wouldn’t have much of a learning curve in becoming a mother. No, no— you never mentioned anything about kids. Did you even want kids? He couldn't bring his heart to ask, to hope again.
“I didn’t know you were so experienced with kids.”
“Mami had six,” you noted, plopping down with the whip by Mayday’s side. She sat with a small slant, reaching out toward the sweet treat again with those chunky, adorable hands. You brought her into your lap, at last relenting. “When you’re the oldest, you have to learn a little something to help out. Can you imagine-- being pregnant six times? Ay no.”
“How many times do you want to be pregnant?” he blurts out. Usually timed and precise, the question causes him to pinch his brow as he sits beside you. “Si quieres,”
Your other hand comes on top of his and shifts it away from his face.
“As many as will make you happy.”
Shock. He chews on that response, his eyes glued to Mayday lapping at the last spoon of sweets you are willing to give her. She falls into a fit of complaints, a conniving look at the sweets, just as you lift her onto your shoulder.
"I never thought about it."
"No more, your papa won't forgive me if I bring you home all sugared up," you tsked your tongue at her. You patted along her back in small, tight circles until her angry huffs faded away. He reaches for the baby bag, slipping free a soft yellow blanket with white spiders strewn across the front. Miguel slides the blanket on top of Mayday’s small body, her groggy eyes sliding closed.
The more he watches you with Mayday, holding her so close, swaying as you held her, the deeper this ache burrowed in his chest. You would look beautiful all swollen with his child. Never mind Mayday or Peter, he can nearly see it, feel it under his fingers, the feeling of your taut belly under his skin, or the kick of tiny feet against his palm.
“We’ll see, Miggy.”
We’ll see-- the answer seems too noncommittal, too distant to be a satisfactory answer. With Mayday sound asleep, you settle her between your plush thighs. She expelled bursts of energy that milked her energy dry.
A little old woman passed by, her cane pierced soft grass as she moved closer with a bag of tomatoes and green beans. Her face, aged by time, pulls into a wide smile. He doesn't like her smile.
“You two are doing a great job. How old is she?”
You blink, looking up into the woman’s cool blue eyes, her dark hair peppered with thick grey and white strands. You tuck Mayday in her soft blanket, sparing the woman a kind smile that Miguel doesn’t quite have the patience for.
“Oh, oh. Thank you-- um, a couple of months,” you recount, perhaps thinking of Peter’s anxious pacing or his delighted shouts about becoming a father.
“Adopting is a great option. Back in the day, my husband was a bodybuilder too. Had a low sperm count don’t you know. Steroids shrink things. Oh, but these days you can do all sorts of things like IV--”
A what-- Miguel’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull at the suggestion. Was this old bitch’s suggestion that he couldn’t do it-- couldn’t get you pregnant? He could easily do that. If he wanted you pregnant, you would be shocking pregnant. He’d be damned if some old woman put it in your mind that he couldn’t.
“We’re babysitting for a friend,” he blurts out. “I have--” had, “a daughter.”
“Oh, do you? I’m sorry. I thought-- well, it doesn’t matter what I thought, have a good day."
She’s saying that, but it comes out slanted. You don’t bother correcting Miguel, not on this. Rather, your hand inched toward his, picking up on the energy that was pluming from his body in waves. Irritation-- annoyance-- the little old lady hobbles off. You’re in your mind well enough to bid her goodbye. But you know better than to say anything more, slumping your cheek on Miguel’s firm chest. It makes the ache of Gabriella's memory a little more bearable.
Low sperm count his ass.
It bothers him long after Mayday is gone. Peter, for his part, looks refreshed. He supposes that’s what happens with a full day of opportunity to empty your balls after weeks of no relief. It bothers him long after you come back from the kitchen, his favorite dark red slip plastered to your perfect body. It would look beautiful, full of his children— he just knows it.
“I may have hijacked the kitchen a little bit,” you teased, the waft of warm chicken and brewed spices filled his nose. He had no appetite. “But I made you some pollo guisado.”
“Hm,” he grunts into a pillow. “Later.”
Beside the bed, he has a bowl of brightly colored condoms. With your sensitivity to birth control, it is the best option available. It wasn’t, however, something he was ever happy about. He should be able to feel your body. Not once had he felt your body pure and unadulterated, warm and perfect for him. He was your husband. He wanted that moment— to fill you up just once, watch his cum dribble out of your cunt. It would be perfect. You set the food away, bowl and spoon clinking together.
“Miguel.”
Forget your warm body. This room is too quiet. It is almost stifling in its silence. Mayday’s sweet huffs, the memory of Gabriella’s laughter. A proper home full of a child's giggles. He’s going crazy-- he has to be-- this isn’t normal. This isn’t Miguel.
“Mi vida, don’t pout,” you reach out, rolling your fingers through his long brown hair. Your fingers tease along his scalp, turning around his ear. Your fingers tickle his lobe, your voice cemented in a concern that he wanted nothing more but to fix if it were anything other than this. “Miggy. Miggy, what is wrong? You look sad.”
“I’m not sad,” he says with a whine on his pillow. How silly he must look with his broad arms wound around the body pillow, squeezing its fluff for life. If he said the words well enough, you might believe them.
“I know you are,” you nudge the pillow loose. He takes you instead, the air thickening with the closeness. You fed off the tension, sliding your leg over the sheet that covers his naked hip. “Tell me why.”
He turns his hands over your thighs, traveling past your hips to ghost along your belly.
“Sí, Miggy?”
“I need…” he trailed off, finding the words nearly impossible to admit. They grow into a ball and cement in his throat, present but stubborn. Rather than break the words free, he swallows a bolus of desire and frustration. “It’s nothing. Let it go.”
The issue was— you loved him enough to let it do so.
Miguel doesn’t want to press the issue. He knows you. All you want is Miguel’s happiness. Sometimes, he worries it is at the price of your own. The distance he places between you and him is intolerable. It bothers him every time he finds you babysitting Mayday.
Today, while Peter goes on a small date, you and Mayday make his favorite empanadas. She’s covered in a dusting of flour from head to toe. Peter would have fun with that.
“Miggy you’re back?” you called as Mayday’s chubby hands shot out, nearly plopping off the counter if not for Miguel’s quick reflexes, setting her back in place.
“Empanadas?” he settles the words in a small kiss to your lips. You glance at him over your shoulder.
“It's... it's Gabi's birthday, isn't it?"
You’re too good for him. Despite the day coming and going, no one else notices his grief today. Not even Peter who came in alongside him, reading the room, and snatching up Mayday off the countertop. He’s babbling something, a thank you, see you later— you kiss Mayday with only the sweetness a mother could know.
“Peter! Mayday made these for you,” you reach out to a box of uncooked empanadas. “Take them home!”
Her first empanadas— the delight is palpable. Peter may have snapped a photo, or ten, of his little flour girl on the way out, empanadas in hand. Then there’s silence. Miguel returns the nearly forgotten bundle of empanada dough and filling to the fridge in the space of unspoken tension. Miguel dips down to your neck, caramelized perfume warm on your neck. His lips trace the warm pulse of your neck.
“Mami,” his voice mesmeric, warm like the filling you used to make him happy when no one else could. Your doting attention, even in the face of real issues like work and babies, was always on him.
"Sí, mi vida?"
His hands coast around your waist, using his strength to gently turn you around. It isn’t important right now. What is important is how he lifts you up onto the floury surface, purring his need into your slight ear. “I want a baby.”
“¿Qué?”
“Una niña,” Miguel leans his fingers along your collarbone.
“Oh, Miggy.” You puff the words. They come out almost wounded. You know him so well, the vulnerability of the words causing him to look down. Your warm palms cradle his cheeks, forcing him to look into your eyes. “You miss being a father, don't you?”
You’re not stupid. Neither is he. He thought he could wait— watch Mayday grow up and not feel this sundering longing. As though he could stomach never feeling a child in his arms again. The ghosts of the past that came with Mayday’s longing haunt him day by day.
You devour his insecurity, winding your legs around his waist and forcing him forward. He stumbles into your embrace, as though he were not a man who could decimate villains and spiders alike. When he was here, in your arms, he barely felt like the weapon of a man that he is.
“Miguel. Speak to me.”
“You’re right,” he can’t lie— can’t hide the longing that comes with the thought of his own child on his chest. Not Mayday, no matter how many times she cuddled up to his chest. At the end of the day, she would never be his. You drew your lip into your mouth, nipping it fat and red, a bob in your head. His heart beats faster, strumming as though it would break free from his chest. Whatever it is you’re thinking he’s not sure. Only that it’s been so long.
“I just want to make you happy, will this make you happy?” you nearly whisper, knowing that there’s no one but him to hear the words. It’s what he wants for you, too. As he stands there, coursing his fingers along your thighs and hiking your dress up your hips, he can’t help but feel the foggy discomfort of forcing you into parenthood before you were ready.
“It will.”
As well as it could. It would never erase Gabriella-- and, in the vulnerability of begging his wife for another child, came the guilt. Not only the guilt of failing to be a proper father or to protect her but moving on without her in his life to a beautiful family she would have loved. The feelings surge in his chest, a well of uncomfortable emotions in his eyes, threatening to fall.
“Miguel,” you’re whispering, your fingers cutting across his sharp cheekbones. You cup his face, drawing your lips together in a commanding kiss. You never liked being ignored or forgotten. He’s not sure how he could now, with your tongue flicking between his lips, begging him to come back with a sugary sweet whine. “Stay with me, Miguel.”
“I am,” he says, gripping either side of the counter by your hips. He feels your eyes on him, soft and careful, pressuring him to meet your gaze. He searches for an inkling of an answer in your gaze. "¿Qué piensas?"
“We can try,” you bite your lip, sliding it free between your teeth. “If you don’t have a low sperm count,” you tease. “Maybe it’ll take.”
“¡Por dios!” He throws a curse to the side as if he believed in such a being, throwing a look back at you. “You don’t actually believe that vieja.”
“Ay Miggy, of course not.” His lips work into a budding smile. You leaned up against his stubbly jaw, setting soft kisses there. Your lipstick stains his neck, dragging down to his prominent adam’s apple. He looks down at you with heady eyes, tracing the way you suckled a mark on his throat. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like them a little more when others noticed them, little marks of possession. Miguel’s fingers come up to the straps of your dress, easing them over and down your slight shoulders. You pull back, words forming puff against his neck.
“Not right here,” you inhale a soft breath. “Someone could come in.”
Miguel eases his finger over the small bud of your breast, rolling his thumb along the silken skin, His hand comes up, encompassing your neck and shoving you back into the cabinets. It isn’t comfortable, not by far. He works the nub to its peak before turning his attention to the other. His mouth covers your breast, fangs grazing your nub as he suckled and tugged gently. Miggy, you pull him back up, stripped of your touch. Your hand slide across Miguel’s chest, tracing the taut muscles of his chest.
“Who would come in?”
“Peter,” you answer.
It’s always Peter. He supposes that you wouldn’t want your friend to see you here, cunt stuffed with Miguel on the very same counter you earlier made him empanadas on. Miguel snatched the dress that fell along your hips laxly, utilizing it to yank you off the counter. You fell forward into Miguel, a heavy wall of muscle, your lips failing to form anything of use. You looked at him, cheeks flush and eyes doting, he’s the only one you see.
“The balcony, then.”
“Dianche, Miguel! Do you want all of Nueva York to see me?”
“Maybe.”
No, but see Miguel breeding you? Undoubtedly yes.
He couldn’t simply choose the bed, that would be too easy. Miguel set a kiss on your forehead, soft and scratchy with his stubble. You return it by dragging him down for another kiss, a wave of warmth coming over him as you force your hips back onto him, rolling your hips against his, teasing him. Miguel doesn’t appreciate the tease and gently pushes on your hips, motioning you to face the counter.
“Bend over.”
"Can't we go to my room?" you complain but comply all the same. Miguel’s palm ghosts your spine, dragging his fingers smoothly over the middle of your back and past the dress that gathered around your hips, He strips you of the little cover the dress gave, eager to have you bare and rid of the thin clothing that served as a veil from prying eyes. Miguel can cover you from the prying eyes of others if necessary. Not that he cared if others saw him fucking-- he’s all the more eager to have you all to himself, here and now.
“No panties,” he notes, his warm hands on your inner thighs. “It’s almost like you knew.”
“I might have,” you return, spreading your legs obediently for him. He palms your vulva, your hips shifting down over his hand. Sticky and wet, he wonders if his need to breed you has rubbed off on you too. His fingers shift, sliding over your soft hole. “Apúrate Miguel, you’re so slow.”
“Can’t you be be good for once.”
You were always bossy. He likes it, most the time, being led around by what his pretty little wife wants. Today he wants to take his time, curving his broad fingers into your glistening cunt. Your wetness drips over his knuckles, fingers teasing the velvety soft walls he has never felt without a condom. A pleasured cry wracks in your chest, turning your head over your shoulder to watch Miguel’s fingers stretching you out. No matter how much your walls gave under his fingers, you would still ache when he penetrated you. It was the favourite part, the rich pull of his dick into your hole, bottoming out as best he could in your stomach. He soothes your complaints by grazing his other hand against your perky clitoral hood, finding the soft nub there for relief. You settle your arms on the floured surface.
“I never-- ah-- am,” you threw back.
Miguel slipped his fingers free, cupping your cunt with his palm for a teasing slap. You want to be good-- it’s just so hard, your cunt pulsing in the abswnce of his touch. He drags his sodden fingers to your lips, glazing them in taste of your lubricant. You suckle your tongue around his thick digits, savoring your own taste, his soft grunt of approval spurring you on. You feel like such a good girl with his fingers crooked in your mouth.
“Are you ready?” Miguel stands fully upright, dragging your hips to his. He’s hard as the counter you were pathetically clinging onto. His hipbones ground into your plush ass, dick pulsing in his immediate ache to feel your cunt. He backs up, fiddling with something at the waist. You don’t need to ask to know that it was his big cock grinding between your cheeks, smearing fluid over your slit.
“No condom?”
“No condom,” he affirms. You bow your head, nodding gently over the countertop. The head of his cock drove into your wetness, pushing past bundles of nerves. It’s impossibly different without the bag over his dick. It’s been so long. His world blinks out, savoring the feeling like he was an inexperienced teenager again.
“Carajo, you’re so good,” he finds himself cursing, leaning over your back.
“Now he says I’m good."
“Shh,” Miguel clips with a mean nip at your nape, lining it with soft kisses, encouraging you on to take him. Warm and wet, Miguel can only describe the slide into your cunt as untethered delight. Released from the bondage of his usual condom, he’s a mess against your soaked cunt, gripping you for a semblance of stability.
I just want to make you happy. For all your needy complaints and little quips, he knows you do. Otherwise he wouldn’t be here, with your hands cupped on top of his, squeezing for more closeness. Miguel laces your fingers together in a needy weave, drawing back to stroke his cock right back into your wet body. You lead one of his hands between your legs, urging him on to stroke your clit. Your walls clamp down on him, teasing out bursts of pleasure with how deeply he was buried. Miguel’s lips part into a whine of his name, skin slapping against skin. He sets a kiss in the crook of your neck, breath nearly unbearable.
“Mami,” he gasps, the word coming out between his unstable thrusts. Your eyes shut hard, sparks of pleasure winding and building in your core. “Give me a baby.”
“Sí papi,” you heave, “I”m trying to.”
Miguel knows what you like-- and you like him desperate. His voice so low and rich that you gush around his swollen length, falling apart below him. He catches your body from dropping in an instant, his thighs shaking as he works you through the fibers of gentle pleasure. Hot pressure builds low in his stomach.
“Qué bella eres. I’m going to finish, fill you and knock you up,” he whispers, drawing himself free and admiring the hazy space of pleasure and reality. Miguel turns you back to face him. You think you may complain-- you didn’t cum, or something of the sort. He shifts you to sit on the counter, spreading your vulva for inspection. Miguel spat on your cunt, rolling his fingers over the swollen folds to spread you apart. He slipped into the space between your shaking legs. You felt him thrust into your body hard and sharp. Your hands reached out, dragging Miguel’s shoulders forward, clinging onto his body.
It comes all at once, Miguel’s stuttering thrust forward, a deep groan filling the kitchen, his hand clasped onto your thigh so hard you know he’ll bruise it. You catch his moan in a kiss he doesn’t reciprocate, buried so deep in your body that all he can think to do is to force you to take all of it. He shakes himself free of the web of pleasure that he’s enveloped in, looking at you past the thin rivulets of sweat you wiped away with your loving thumbs.
“I think there are better positions for baby making,” you lean in, kissing him gently. He returns the kiss this time, eyes light of the strain and stress of the last few days. “Like… not this.”
Miguel pulls back, his soft cock slipping free from your warm entrance. Miguel watches as his seed dribbles from your hole, grunting in acknowledgement. He swipes your mixed fluids and rolls it between his fingers.
“I’m open to suggestions.”
He loves his wife. More than anything. What he doesn’t love is how Peter seems to know that you’re trying for a baby.
The thing about having a woman from his same cultura was this: you loved to talk with your best friend. Who, just so happened to be Peter. He doesn’t even have to say anything, just staring at him with a quirk on his lip and a terrible glitter in his eye after he’s resolved another meeting.
“Hey, Miguel.”
“Don’t start.”
He’s crowded with work at his desk-- he has no time for Mayday’s curious little eyes to glitter at him, Peter to be doing that shit he did when he wanted to be helpful. He offered his hands up, shrugging.
“I’m just saying! I’m a man, you’re a man,” he mumbles, inching a little closer and closer. “If you want a baby--”
“Let me guess. She told you.”
“Mayday could use a spider buddy,” he held Mayday up, out of her carrier. Miguel glanced down at her wild hair, exhaling air out of his nose with a little huff. “Sooner than later?”
“I’ve done it before,” Miguel throws back. “I know how to knock up my own wife, Peter. I don’t need help.”
Peter is offering help as if Miguel hadn’t tasted the changes in your body when he ate you out. Never mind that he saw you nauseated this morning, too sick to handle a call that Miguel promptly answered. He knew his seed had stuck-- you wouldn’t feel so miserable otherwise. It doesn’t matter, he’d answer them all if it meant another little one in his arms at the end of it all. Just so long as you and the baby were safe.
“Are you sure? I know--”
“I’m damn sure.” Miguel turned around, his head in his hand. “I’ve had enough of you. Why don’t you do something useful? Bring her something for her morning sickness.”
“Oh,” realization fell over Peter like a hammer, looking down to Mayday who looked right back up to her father. For all that Peter knew about his love life, he was shocked that you hadn’t told him how awful the smell of breakfast meat made you feel. His hand fell away, a film of pride slipping from his practiced features when Peter spoke. “But... She’s already pregnant?”
He leers. Peter scuttles away.
Privacy is important to Miguel. You knew the damn rule. No telling Peter about the inner workings of your bedroom. For that, you were going to fucking get it. You likely knew you were going to get it-- even if you were likely already pregnant.
He can’t wait.
#miguel o'hara x you#miguel ohara x reader#miguel o'hara oneshot#miguel x reader#miguel ohara oneshot#miguel o'hara/reader#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara x y/n#miguel o'hara imagine#atsv miguel imagine#atsv imagine#atsv x you#atsv x reader#atsv imagines#across the spiderverse fic#spiderman 2099 x reader#spiderman 2099 x you#spiderman imagines#miguel o'hara smut#miguel ohara smut#spiderman 2099 smut
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Thinking about Actress!Reader who finally got to change into a pair of shorts and a crop top after being in a corset and long dresses all day after shooting was done for the day.
Actress!Reader who gets invited to go get Gelato with Peter to help cool off after being stuck in such stuffy clothes for the past six hours.
Bodyguard!Miguel who had to suppress a scowl when you told him that you were basically going on a date with your fellow actor. But that didn’t deter him from volunteering to watch over you both when you went to walk through the streets of Rome. He’d rather be the one watching over you than Peter’s bodyguard.
Actress!Reader and Actor!Peter who didn't notice when a group of passersby recognized them, snapping a few pictures of you both without your knowledge. You weren’t completely used to the whole “having photos taken of you without your permission or contact” but that was unfortunately a price to pay when you’re new and on the rise.
Actress!Reader who finally went home to relax, getting a good night's rest now that the jet lag has finally stopped.
Actress!Reader who wakes up the next morning with 24 missed calls, 35 new messages and her name trending on twitter.
—
Jake (Manager): (Y/N).
Jake(Manger): (Y/N), call me when you wake up.
Peter 🐝.: Did you look at Twitter yet?
Peter🐝.: Or like any social media yet?
Bestie💝: Girl…
Bestie💝: You’ve got some explaining to do.
“What’s… happening?” You mumbled as you scrolled through your new messages as you waddled into the kitchen of your hotel suite, where Miguel was already drinking his cup of coffee. Glancing up at him for a moment as he greeted you.
“Morning.” He mumbled as he placed his mug down. “Your manager told me to have you call him when you're up.”
“Do you know why?” You asked him as you scrolled to Jake’s contact info, receiving a grunt in response, a no.
“(Y/N) (L/N), would you like to explain what went on yesterday after you finished up on set?” You felt like you were five years old and being scolded by your mom all over again, except you genuinely didn’t know what you did.
“Um, I went to go get a snack with Peter. Why-“
“A snack.” He repeated, his tone questioning despite it being deadpan.
“Yes, a snack.” You huffed, your confusion turning into irritation as your brows furrowed together. “Why? can't I have a snack after work with my coworker?”
“You can have a snack after work, but from what I’m looking at here it doesn’t seem like it’s with a coworker.” His words make you pause.
“What?” All attitude now gone, confusion settles back in. “What are you talking about?”
“You haven’t seen the pictures yet?”
“What pictures?”
“Oh dear God…” Jake mumbled under his breath, before letting out a sigh. “Go on twitter, and check the trending tab.”
You put him on speaker and did what you were told, waiting for the little bird app to load, before clicking on the explore tab. Eyes widening as you read out the headline at top.
“Peter B. Parker and (Y/N), coworkers on a new upcoming movie, spotted out on date?!?”
Miguel almost started to choke on his coffee after he heard you recite the words, having to hit his chest to clear his windpipes as you frantically started to scroll through the tag.
“No, no it wasn’t a date though Jake, it wasn’t-“ Your words died on your tongue as your finger stopped scrolling once you hit a particular picture.
A picture of Peter making you try his flavor, by spoon feeding you.
Fuck how can I be so dumb? How could I forget that happened? It was only 2 seconds Max. And now it’s trending.
“I need you down at set an hour early. We have some things to discuss with Peter and his team.” Jake sighed before you heard the dial tone of him hanging up the call.
Shit.
—
Part 4<
Not proofread.
Word count: 600
Taglist: @famouscattale @strawberryjuice9 @loser-alert @maomaimao @franceseca-the-1st
@mcmiracles @mangoslushcrush @queerponcho @yournextbimbogf @tinybirdhideout
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@enananawoah @messicampeon @anastasia1972 @lauraolar14 @huniedeux
@bluesidez @nommingonfood @chrishy973 @m4dyy @night-spectrum
@electricgg (to be added click here)
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