spoilers for spider-man: across the spider-verse below
please don’t read any further if you are avoiding spoilers
𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚
miguel hops dimensions expecting a new family, and a new life. he’s not expecting you —featuring a tired miguel and his confused but adoring wife. or, miguel gets the comfort he so desperately needs. requested here. fem!reader, 2.5k
tw. gun mention/no graphic scenes
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
Miguel seems different when he comes home that night. You've loved him for years, you know his face. He looks slightly younger and older at the same time, impossibly so. He looks like he has bad news and he doesn't want to tell you. Something harrowing. How else can you explain his expression?
You stand up from the dinner table. "Hey," you say gently. "Is there something wrong?"
He isn't convincing when he answers, "What? Uh, no. Nothing's wrong."
"Something looks wrong."
You step in front of him and lift your chin. Usually, he'd look down with a smirk, or at the very least a smile, but he seems weary. You lift your hand to his cheek, pinching it between your fingers without malice.
"Smile, handsome. You have a lovely smile."
He smiles. His lips part just slightly. "You… you really love me. You're happy."
"We're happy," you correct. "Me, you, and Gabs forever, right?"
"Gabs?" he asks.
"Don't start with me. Gabriella's a mouthful. A beautiful mouthful," you concede. "I still think we should've named her Sofia. And yeah, Miguel. I love you. Really really. Don't forget it."
You make him sit at the kitchen table. It's a selfish manoeuvre; you want him to sit so you can actually reach his hair. Your husband is the tallest man you've ever met.
"Did you get a haircut?" you ask, running your fingers through his hair slowly. He shivers at your touch, and tilts his head back in question. "You did. That's such a betrayal, my love. I've been cutting your hair for going on six years now, I'm suddenly not good enough?"
"You're good enough," he says. He really sounds so strange.
"I'm joking. Miguel, if there's something wrong, you really need to tell me. I can make it better. Well, I can try." You bite your lip, unnerved by his quiet, solemn air.
"Am I being weird?" he asks.
"No," you say, worried he thinks you're judging him. You never would. (He's being really weird.) "Of course not, you're just quiet tonight, that's all. Did you have a bad day at work?"
"I– I got mugged. On the way home from work. I forgot the– the milk."
"You what?" you ask, eyes widening in shock. Miguel's kind of gigantic. You've always said that you pity the fool who tries it, but apparently he's less hardy than you thought. A mugging explains his weird behaviour these last five minutes, at least. "What happened? Sweetheart, are you okay?"
You take his face into both hands. He has dark circles under his eyes and a scratch along his jaw, but he seems unhurt. You suppose being attacked would age you instantaneously too.
"Miguel, are you in shock? Should I take you to the hospital?"
"I'm okay. I just feel strange."
"Are you sure?” He nods hurriedly. You purse your lips. “I'll make you something warm to drink, that'll help. As long as you're not hurt, right? Did he take your wallet? We'll have to cancel your credit card."
Miguel catches your shirt before you can go too far.
"Hm?" you hum in question.
Miguel visibly deliberates. His eyebrows lift ever so slightly. "Could I hug you?"
The hurting and worry you have for him intensify before falling on the back-burner. You can shove your own feelings aside easily if he needs comforting.
"I don't think you have to ask me," you say, offering your arms.
Miguel is usually a short but meaningful hugger. You've hugged so many times and in what feels like every place on earth, and he's such a tall man that even if he doesn't mean for them to be, his arms are all encompassing.
It surprises you that this hug is different. He's tentative. When his hand falls to the small of your back it slots into place, and you can feel his relief like a palpable thing.
"You’re okay," you say, your lips at his crown, your legs between his.
He's keeping space between you, and you don't like it. You press yourself as close to him as possible, your arms behind his shoulders, cupping the back of his head. Soft hair tickles your palm.
"Was it scary?"
"Was what scary?" he asks. You don't mention his little sniff. He's smelling your hair.
"Being mugged? Did he have a gun?"
"Yeah, he did."
"Oh, I see. There's no shame in being scared, you know that?"
"I'm not scared. I wasn't scared when it happened. I just wanted to come home to you."
You frown. His admission is like a barb in your chest, aimed true for your heart. "I'm so glad you did," you confess against his forehead, a murmur of sound. "So, so glad. I don't know what I'd do without you."
You kiss his head three times in a row. The last kiss lingers, his arms slackening around you.
You pull away, not wanting to smother him. Whoever's watching knows he's had enough of you these last few years.
"Where–" Miguel clears his throat. "Where's Gabriella?"
"She's in her room. Call her."
You're hoping time with her will bring him back into focus. He's clearly more affected by this than he's willing to say. You don't know how you feel about it. Terrified, because you could've lost him. Euphoric that you didn't. You'd had this funny feeling all day long, and it's weird, you’d felt that something bad happened, a moment at the sink with Gabriella singing in her room, the clock ticking on the wall. Miguel late, but promising to bring the groceries you needed home with him before dinner.
"Gabriella?" he calls up the stairs. You watch from the stove.
You'll grab the pan and make him some hot cocoa. Just as soon as he stops looking scared.
"Daddy?" Gabriella asks back. She's audibly ecstatic, and her footsteps are a stampede from her bedroom. You can see her from the kitchen when she gets to the bottom of the stairs. "Dad, pick me up!"
"Oh, right," Miguel says, leaning down to hold her.
He pulls her with all the grace of an elephant to his chest, and she nearly chins him.
"Woah, careful."
"Dad, you're super late. Mom said I can yell at you for being late."
"You can yell at me, if you want to." He gives her a curious look. "I'm sorry for taking so long."
Gabriella tilts her head to the side, dark hair shifting. She's a gorgeous little girl and her dad can't withstand it, melting as you hoped he would, the taut string of his back finally cut in two.
"I don't want to yell at you," she whispers.
"Good, because I don't want you to yell," he whispers back.
Gabriella leans back in his arms and giggles thickly. He almost drops her, and has to readjust his hold on her back.
"I'm so happy you're home!" she cheers, bringing her little hands up together from her chest and thrusting them out like fireworks. "You work too much! I thought doctors was s'posed to make everyone better and go home."
"I'm not that kind of doctor," he says.
You turn from where you've brought cocoa powder and milk to an emulsified simmer on the stovetop and beam at him. It's your favourite thing in the whole world when she mixes it up. Ever since she found his ID card with DR. written clear as day before his name, she's been under the impression that he works at the general hospital. Alchemex might break medical thresholds, but it is far from a hospital.
"Are you having hot cocoa with your dad?" you ask Gabriella.
She gasp in excitement and lists toward you. Miguel almost drops her for a second time. "Yes, oh my gosh!"
"Well, come and sit. What mug?"
Gabriella can't decide on what mug she wants; there's the orange cat with too many whiskers, there's the black one with bright white stars. After some deliberation, she decides on her and Miguel's matching daddy-daughter mugs.
"You're having some too, right?" he asks you.
"Don't I always?" you ask. "Though I do want to protest the mugs. Where's my mug? Don't I deserve number one mom?" You kiss the top of Gabriella's head where she languishes in Miguel's lap, before placing their hot cocoa down far from her arm's reach. "It's hot."
Miguel doesn't touch his. You blow cold air at Gabriella's and dip your fingertip into it periodically, content to spend some time with them both in amicable quiet. Gabriella just loves him to pieces, and she leans back in his arms with her eyes closed, basking in his closeness.
She squints at you with one eye. "Dad?"
Miguel doesn't answer. You nudge his foot.
"What?" he asks.
"You're not doing the thing."
"The thing?"
You frown.
"Yeah, dad." She huffs and curls his arm manually across her front. "Please, I want the kisses."
He looks at you, completely lost. You're feeling similarly confused. "She wants you to kiss her hair," you say, wondering if perhaps he's suffering from stress related amnesia.
He leans down carefully and kisses her hair. It's not the usual enthusiastic kiss, and he doesn't bother blowing in her ear after.
Gabriella glares at him. "My ear!"
"Blow in her ear," you mouth.
He blows gently into her ear. She shivers, shudders, and laughs up a storm.
When the cocoa's been drunk and the mugs washed and put away, Gabriella races upstairs, promising to return with a storybook and the drawing she made earlier in the day once she’s changed into her pyjamas. Miguel looks less lost than he had. In fact, he looks normal. The warm drink has put colour in his cheeks, and his daughter's cuddles have done their job. He's relaxed. He's forgotten the fear of the mugging, you're almost sure of it.
You waver beside him. "Can I sit with you, or am I too heavy?"
"Why would you be too heavy?" he asks.
"You always say I'm too heavy," you say, sitting down on his thighs. They feel solid, a little different from usual. Miguel works out, but this is strange. He must be more tense than you thought. "It's your worst joke."
"I'm sorry. I won't say it if it upsets you," he says, his voice rough and low.
"Who said anything about that?" He's never called you heavy to be cruel.
"Sorry," he apologises again. "I think all the excitement today messed me up."
You spread your fingers wide across his chest, his heart beating a surface below. "It's okay. You don't have to react any one way…" You rub the tip of your nose against his jaw lightly. "I'm so glad you're okay. I had this weird feeling like something bad happened to you, you know?"
Miguel laughs and coughs at the same time. It borders on being distressed. He's really worrying you. "You did?" he asks.
"Mm-hm. But you're okay." You work hard to sound sure.
His hand slides between your legs, fingertips digging into the soft inside of your upper thigh, though it doesn't stay there. He pulls away, looking flustered. "Sorry."
"For what?" You blink.
"I don't know."
You laugh and press a kiss to the column of his throat, your nose squished against him. "I was thinking we'd watch that new movie tonight, with Harry Woodson, but it has guns and stuff. Would that still be okay?"
He puts his hand behind your ear and guides your head back to look you in the eye. It's a familiar touch. He looks like himself again, though you truly are offended by his haircut. Maybe something happened at work and fried it off.
"You're really something special," he says quietly.
"How so?"
His face softens with your flirting tone. "You're kind. You're so kind. I've never met someone like you."
"What are you talking about?" you mumble. It's your turn to feel flustered, jellified by the earnestness lining his features.
"You're sweet, and soft, and so pretty," he says, matching your tone. He's looking at you like he's seeing you for the first time.
You understand the feeling. Sometimes you look at him and can't believe he's your love.
"Soft," you repeat. "Are you trying to say something?"
"Like that. That joke. You don't even sound mad."
"You don't have to be so amazed. I've been like this since we met, haven't I? I'm hardly ever angry with you." You follow down from his eye to his jaw with your knuckle, tracing a tear he hasn't shed. He's spun you into thoughtfulness, and more than that —reverential fondness for him aches in the very centre of your stomach.
"I must have some good luck," he says.
His near death experience has inspired a wave of sappiness.
You lean in until your forehead touches his, giving him time to close his eyes or lean away if he wants to.
"I love you," you say simply. "You're not lucky, you're amazing, and all this good you see in me? I see it in you, O'Hara." You huff a laugh, breath fanning over his top lip as you steal a wonky kiss. You pull back. "You're sure–"
Miguel kisses you. His hand flies to the back of your neck and his lips are eager, his head tilted to one side to accommodate your nose. He deepens the kiss and it's a mess, really, nothing like his usual kisses, no practised ease, nor confident touches. His fingertips push at the hairs lining the nape of your neck as though he's not sure what to do with his hand. It's like kissing him for the very first time.
It's not a bad kiss.
You kiss back slowly. You're the steadying constant to his hotheadedness, in kissing and in everything else, pulling time into an endless stretch of his mouth under yours, his body heat seeping into your skin.
The sharp point of a tooth catches your bottom lip. You gasp into his mouth and flinch away from him.
"Um, ouch? What was that, handsome, did you get your teeth filed to spikes?" you ask, probing your lip, a flood of giggles slipping between your fingers.
He looks at you like you've lit the sky one star at a time.
"Sorry," he says. "I'll be more careful, I swear."
"Sure," you laugh. "Well, you'll have to be more careful later. You promised Gabriella you'd read her the Wishing Tree, and she's expecting a performance. Voices included."
He adjusts you in his lap with more strength than you knew he had. "Will you help?"
You'll always help him. He doesn't even need to ask.
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!!
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like a cat | miguel o’hara
pairing : miguel o’hara x reader
warnings/tags : implied shower sex, mirror sex, kinda mean dom!miguel o’hara x sub!reader, good ole p in v action, clit stimulation, the use of the word slut once, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it irl), breeding kink, husband!miguel, wife!reader,
wc: 762
author’s note: wasn’t proofread at all..posting this as i am about to head to bed rah. one of those ‘felt cute might delete later posts’ haven’t actually seen atsv so no spoilers i think, also let’s talk about miguel’s fangs ugggggh.
miguel loved control. you would think that leading a secret society of spider-people would satisfy him but no it’s just too much stress. chasing anomalies after anomalies tired him out and what he needs is a break.
what he needs is you.
he knew that you were waiting for him to come home, heck he knew you were worried sick. he hasn’t been home for a few days, so when they finally finished their mission on another earth, he practically ran home to your dimension.
finally reaching home, he ransacked the place looking for you. you were in the shower hearing your name being called out from outside. you turn the water off, calling for him. miguel couldn’t wait, he enters the bathroom drunk on the thought of you and what he wants to do to you.
“eyes up princesa.” he demands you look at the mirror adjacent his bed. your eyes catching his, it’s been a few days since you last saw him. it was clear that you both missed the feeling of each other. you’re his sweet girl, and
he’s been thinking about having you this way for days.
his hand lands on your ass, as he continues pounding into you, still keeping eye contact with each other despite you having a hard time complying with his command. you mewled as he kept hitting your pleasure point, you forced yourself not to look away from the mirror.
“so beautiful like this.” he says. the view you’re seeing was breathtaking, miguel’s hands gripping your hips, as he pounds into you with ease, his actions shaking the bed, your boobs swaying every time he inserts his length into you.
you hear him groan as you clench your walls around him. your eyes brimming with tears–you were so fucked out, you were reaching your fourth orgasm of the night and miguel was far from finished from toying with you.
“i-i can’t.” you say, looking down. the man behind you halts his actions, slapping your ass before pulling your hair back to look at the mirror in front of you. he leans into your ear, his fangs resting at the side of your neck, he was warning you… “take what i’m giving you, slut.” he says, before going back inside you.
you moan as he pushes deeper, each thrust getting harsher and harsher, you call out his name, gripping the sheets underneath you tighter as you feel your orgasm coming up. “fuck miguel- i’m- i’m gonna cum.” miguel takes his right hand off of your hips, directing it towards your clit, gently rubbing it in circles helping you in reaching your high.
“love seeing you like this honey. what do you say? should i put a baby in you ? hmm?” you get wetter at the thought. you arch your back towards him more, heaving breaths leave you as you get closer.
“you like that huh?” he taunts.
your neighbors probably hate you by now… how long have you two been at it? an hour? maybe two? you weren’t sure, but you were sure as hell this is the loudest you’re being.
miguel was cursing, groaning as he nears his climax, his movements become sharper as he’s focused on getting you both to chase your highs. “ah fuck, im close” he groans as you reach your peak, your walls clenching against him, squeezing his dick in you, your whines being drowned out by his moans, as he fucks you through your orgasm.
he finishes inside of you. you moan at the feeling of emptiness as he removes his dick from your hole. you practically plop on the bed, tired from the night you both just had.
you were about to say goodnight but miguel had other plans. he moves your body to face his. still on top of you, he kisses your neck, you feel his sharp fangs against your skin as his kisses move down. he spreads your legs, kissing your inner thighs before licking a line through your slit. you gasp as he sucks on your clit.. “m-miguel-“ you stuttered.
he chuckles lowly, and smirks. “what ? did you think i was done with you?“
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