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alchemax-genetics-division · 10 months

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The Parenting Habits of one Miguel O'Hara

Continuation of Sleeping Habits || Peter B Parker x Miguel O'Hara || Gen

This is for my beloved wife @virgo-dream, who begged me to write Daddy!Miguel (no, not like that, get your mind out of the gutter). Beloved, I hope you enjoy this when you wake up (and if I don't get the chance to tell you before you read this, I hope you had a wonderful night's sleep)! I love you, my dear, and I hope this lives up to your expectations! For everyone else, I also hope you enjoy this continuation!

Peter had, perhaps innocently, perhaps idiotically, assumed that he had learned everything there was to learn about Miguel O'Hara. It had been months since he had unearthed (and kept) the secret of his sleeping habits, animalistic and clingy as they were, and they had fallen into somewhat of a routine since then. More often than not, Peter would crash at HQ, falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, only woken by the cries of his daughter or his boyfriend falling into bed on top of him. The latter was far more easily rectified than the former; indeed, the latter required no rectification at all, simply a pair of arms to wrap Miguel in and the work of a moment to slip back into unconsciousness.

Mayday's midnight screaming, however, was more difficult to deal with. MJ had always been better at quieting their daughter back down; it was almost magic the way she could weave a calming story within moments, leaving a soundly-sleeping Mayday in her crib mere minutes later. Peter had never had such luck. He tried singing (badly, which seemed to do more harm than good), reading stories (including the voices, which delighted Mayday, but didn't exactly put her in a sleeping mood), and pacing the tiny length of his living quarters, rocking her futilely (which only served to make her cry harder). It had gotten to the point where, on nights when May was taking up residence in the crib that had been installed in Peter's HQ quarters specifically for her, Peter expected to be woken up by her plaintive cries at least once, sometimes more.

Which was why confusion and panic descended, one after the other in lightning-fast succession, when he woke up one night to complete silence.

At first, his sleep-starved brain struggled to find a reason for his sudden bout of wakefulness. The apartment was still dark, the only light coming from a small nightlight next to Mayday's crib. A quick sweep of the room revealed nothing amiss; his and Miguel's spider-suits slung over the back of the single chair, right where they had left them; the door's deadbolt still locked in place, a lock that had no doubt been picked by Miguel when he had joined Peter and Mayday in their tiny sanctuary hours ago.

Miguel.

Miguel was missing.

As soon as he noticed it, he kicked himself for not noticing sooner. Miguel was conspicuously absent and Peter suddenly felt chillingly bereft. Adrenaline flooded his veins and he threw off his blanket, still warm from the radiator he called his boyfriend, and sprung out of bed. His racing heart was thunder in the quiet apartment, punctuated only by the rasp of his breath echoing in his own head.

"Shhh."

The hushing sound, long and low and oddly ominous, cut through the noise and Peter honed in on the dark shape looming in the corner next to Mayday's crib.

The dark shape looming in the corner holding his daughter.

The figure's legs were cast in subtle blue light courtesy of the nightlight, and Peter could make out a pair of arms cradling Mayday's tiny body. The figure was staring down at her, head tilted just so, angled so that Peter couldn't see any defining features. Immediately, his heart kicked up again, every paternal instinct woven through his very being screaming to rescue his daughter from the arms of the intruder. He took two bounding steps, web slingers at the ready to restrain the stranger in his bedroom, his muscles bunching in anticipation of a fight.

And then the stranger turned, lifting his head, and Peter found himself face to face with Miguel.

"Peter?"

"Miguel," Peter breathed, lightheaded with relief and the knowledge that he had been mere milliseconds away from attacking his own boyfriend.

"What's wrong, Peter?"

"Nothing," he said, "I just thought-"

His gaze flicked down to Mayday as she twisted in Miguel's arms, undoubtedly seeking out the same warmth that Peter himself gravitated towards and Miguel's eyes followed the movement. His nostrils flared, no doubt smelling the adrenaline and panic that was washing off of Peter in waves and realization dawned on his face, his softly glowing eyes widening in alarm at the implications.

They both opened their mouths at the same time, quick to attempt to clarify the situation.

"Mig, I'm so sorry, I didn't-"

"No, it's okay, Pete, I shouldn't have-"

Silence descended and Peter sank into the chair, exhaustion suddenly catching up to him. He relaxed infinitesimally at the warm, heavy hand that came to a rest on his shoulder. He glanced up into the soft face of his boyfriend, a love-swathed expression that always made him weak at the knees. Few had ever seen Miguel so tender, so warm, and Peter was always achingly aware of the fact that Miguel's trust wasn't easily earned.

"I'm sorry," he said, because he still felt horrible for nearly jumping his own boyfriend in an instinct-driven panic, but Miguel shook his head slightly, a lock of hair falling across his forehead at the movement.

"Peter, I was once a father too. I understand. God knows what I would've done if I had ever seen a large figure standing over Gabriella's bed in the middle of the night. Even my own brother wouldn't have survived it."

"Hey, I like your large figure," Peter protested half-heartedly, picking at the easiest thread. Miguel only snorted softly in response. By now, he was used to Peter's humor-laced avoidance.

"What happened?" Peter asked, after a beat. His pulse and breathing were slowly calming, gentled by the quiet peace that suffused through the room and Miguel's solid, pacifying presence.

"She started to fuss, a couple of hours after I got here," Miguel said softly. "I didn't want her to wake you up, so I got up to-"

At that moment, Mayday wriggled in the crook of Miguel's arm, scrunched up her eyes and puffy cheeks, opened her tiny mouth, and let out a piercing wail.

"Fuck," Peter swore without heat. "I have a bottle around here somewhere-"

"She's already been fed," Miguel said. "I think she wants you."

He held her out, his massive hands cradling her body as gently as a live landmine, and Peter's heart flipped in his chest.

"No," he protested, "I've never been good at quieting her, MJ's always the one who gets her back to sleep. If you give her to me, we'll all be up for hours."

"Hours?" Miguel exclaimed. "She settled down right away earlier."

"Well, keep doing whatever you were doing, Magic Mike."

"I was just singing," he said, tucking Mayday back against his chest.

"Then she likes your singing a lot better than mine," Peter chuckled, "because my singing only makes her cry harder."

Miguel shot Peter a disbelieving look before returning his attention to the child in his arms. He dwarfed her, and the size difference between them would've been comical if not for the adoration on Miguel's face as he gazed down at her. Then, he opened his mouth, and Peter was suddenly very glad to be sitting down, because the sound that dropped from Miguel's lips would've brought him to his knees.

Miguel's singing voice was one of the most gorgeous things Peter had ever heard. It was at once so similar and yet so different from his normal speaking voice, soft and throaty, and Peter's heart spasmed in his chest, as if it were trying to escape the bone bars of his ribs, trying to get as close to the love of his life as possible. He watched as Miguel started swaying from side to side, still crooning in subdued Spanish. Mayday quieted almost immediately, which would've allowed Peter to pick out the words if he had spoken a lick of Spanish. Instead, he simply admired the way his boyfriend's lips curled around the unfamiliar syllables, the way his boyfriend's eyes softened impossibly as he gazed down at his daughter, the way his boyfriend's hand cupped Mayday's head of wild curls in his palm, as gentle as morning light.

Dos oruguitas enamoradas Pasan sus noches y madrugadas Llenas de hambre Siguen andando y navegando un mundo Que cambia y sigue cambiando Navegando un mundo Que cambia y sigue cambiando

By the end of the third stanza, Mayday had fallen back into silence and by the sixth, she had fallen back into deep sleep. Peter, too, had nodded off several times during Miguel's quiet performance and when he tapered off, letting his voice ease back to quietude, Peter blinked up at him with sleepy, half-lidded eyes. He watched Miguel place Mayday back into her crib, impossibly delicate.

"You always were," he whispered, nearly a soundless breath. Miguel set an adorable confused gaze on him, exhaustion pulling at his features. "You said you had been a father once," Peter clarified. "But you always were. And as long as you stick around, you'll always be Mayday's dad."

Miguel's face cracked open in shock, his lips parting and his eyebrows raising of their own accord. Peter wordlessly raised an arm, an invitation, or maybe a demand. Either way, he got what he wanted, because Miguel took his hand and pulled him out of the chair and towards their bed, instantaneously wrapping him in a vice grip.

"What was the song about?" Peter used precious breath to ask.

"Us," Miguel mumbled, reverently, into the crook of his neck, and the remaining air in Peter's lungs left in a whoosh. Even as Miguel relaxed against him, his breath evening into the rhythm of sleep, Peter stayed awake, his mind racing, his chest fit to burst with the love contained within the confines of his ribs.

He had, perhaps innocently, perhaps idiotically, assumed that he had learned everything there was to learn about Miguel O'Hara. But as he ran his hand along his sleeping boyfriend's spine, rucking up his shirt, making him snuggle impossibly closer, he knew that Miguel had a lifetime of surprises, and Peter would gladly spend the rest of his lifetime discovering them.

------

Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it!

Just as before, if you would like to show your support via kudos/comments, this chapter is posted on AO3 here!

#across the spiderverse #spider-verse #spiderdads #miguel o'hara #peter b parker #peter b parker x miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x peter b parker #spiderman 2099 #fluff #domestic fluff #Miguel O'Hara is a good dad #Peter B Parker is a good dad #just a couple of spidermen being good dads #mayday parker #coparenting #probably out of character but i don’t care #slightly canon compliant

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eroseas · 10 months

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i wanna hear you say it — miguel o'hara/peter b. parker

summary: miguel is lovesick.

word count: 1.4k

cw: mdni. 18+ only. sexual tension, mature topics, descriptions of violence.

tags: @anchoeritic

an: listen guys idk what got into me but spiderdads slaps like idk what to tell y'all.

It comes out of left field, if Miguel is being really honest.

He’s not a big fan of interventions. They’re a little stupid, a little dramatic, and a little too vulnerable, but with only Peter B. Parker being here, it doesn’t feel like an intervention. It feels like he fucked up. Big time.

“I think you’re confused,” Miguel said, voice tight, eyebrows furrowed, “I’m not–”

“Emotionally available? Good at communicating? Yeah, I noticed.” Peter laughed dryly, leaning back on the couch in Miguel’s apartment. He’d made himself at home so quickly that it ticked him off– how did he even do that? It would take Miguel five visits to even think about lounging around like that, let alone actually doing it.

And yeah, he isn’t exactly emotionally available, but not in the way Peter is thinking. Not in that kind of macho-super-closed-off-nobody-can-get-to-me way. No, definitely not. Everything gets to him– everything makes him feel, and it’s too much, like the overhead lights in a grocery store, or the heat in the summer. He feels too much.

It’s all disgusting, too. It’s all violent and harsh and disgusting. Even his love is like that– it’s all teeth and claws and blood, but it’s the only way his brain and heart see it as right, so it is what it is and he’ll just never find love again. And it’s fine.

“If that’s what you think,” he finally replied, and really, that’s all he can say, because, at the end of the day, he can’t control what Peter thinks, or what the kids think, or what their colleagues think. He can’t control it, and it makes something ugly and cruel claw its way out of his gut, but it’ll never come out of his body, and that’s good.

Peter is in his space quickly and unforgivingly, his eyes a little too dark, his expression a little too serious. It throws Miguel for a loop– because it’s weird, isn’t it? Peter never looks like this, is never one to have tough conversations. Then again, Peter was the one who brought him home after he lost his daughter, and Peter is the one who forced food down his throat, and Peter is the one who called (calls) every day to check up on him and make sure he’s not trying anything stupid.

Which, yeah. He understands. He’d probably do the same if Peter lost Mayday, but he’s not and this is different because he’s fine, he’s just in love– and it’s disgusting.

“Listen,” Peter said lowly, and Miguel bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from interrupting because Peter is still more experienced, still older, still knows more than he does–

“Something’s up with you and you’re not talking about it. You can’t keep this up.”

Miguel doesn’t know what comes over him– really, he doesn’t. But his lips are pulling up before he can really think about it, his mouth is opening up so he can bare his teeth and snarl at Peter, because who the fuck cares? He’s thirty-two fucking years old, he can keep secrets and hide and run away if he damn near pleases.

But then– oh, but then– Peter’s hand is on his face, his finger is hooked around one of his fangs, and he’s pulling. He’s fucking pulling, and Miguel can’t think for a little bit, can’t do anything but lean forward because Peter is strong, Peter is insistent, Peter is warm–

“You’re acting like a child,” he growled, “Showing your teeth like a damn dog.”

And maybe– maybe that’s why he does it, right? Maybe it’s because Peter spoke to him like that and it was finally a language his heart spoke, it was finally teetering on the edge of disgusting and harsh and absolutely ruthless. Maybe that’s why his lips close around Peter’s digit, and maybe that’s why he bites, then licks, then sucks.

Peter is– well, Peter is quiet and shocked and staring. Miguel opened his mouth and shoved him away, though everything in his body was begging him not to. Bite him again, something whispered, make him bleed, bite him, bite him, bite him.

“Leave,” he sneered, “Maldito– don’t come back.”

Peter, of course, doesn’t fucking move. Just stares and stares and stares, and sometimes that’s all he does, and Miguel notices because of course he does. He may not have that stupid spidey sense, but he’s not a fucking idiot.

His breath is coming out harsh, and quick, and short. The silence is too much, he can hear his own heartbeat, and it’s not okay. This is not fine. He feels the need to fill the silence, but then he’s just pleading– his voice isn’t stern anymore, it’s just pathetic.

“Go,” he insisted, “Leave me alone, Peter, please–”

Peter is crowding him, then, backing him up into his wall. He lets out a shaky breath, his eyes wandering all over Peter’s face, but he can’t make anything out. That bothers him more– more than seeing disgust or anger. At least then he’d have a reaction, at least then he’d have something to work with.

“Is that it?” Peter murmured, his hands pressing into Miguel’s stomach, pushing him hard against the wall. He makes a noise at the back of his throat. How pathetic.

He doesn’t say anything, just keeps watching Peter’s face, waiting and hoping and praying–

“You’re throwing a tantrum because you want me?”

And– it’s a little more than that, actually, because Miguel wants Peter like Peter wants MJ, except Miguel has no grasp of what real love looks like. Not the love you feel in the movies or the love you write songs about or anything like that. No, no– his love is carnal in nature. It’s animalistic, it’s a little monster that rips and claws at his insides, or maybe he’s the monster, but either way, he wants. And it makes him sick.

“And you know what I want?” He snarled sarcastically, pushing him off. Peter barely budges but moves anyway.

“No,” he replied, “That’s the problem.”

Miguel’s chest heaved, and he doesn’t know what has him so worked up (Peter), he doesn’t know what’s gotten into him (Peter), he doesn’t know why his heart hurts so bad (PETER).

And, at this point, nothing is really holding him back. Nothing else could really go wrong.

“I–” He faltered, growling in frustration, “I want you like you want MJ.”

Peter stood very still, then, his expression morphing into understanding because it’s not some sex thing, it’s seriously not. It kind of is, obviously, but it’s not everything, and Miguel wants everything because he’s never been one to pick and choose. Certainly not with Peter B. Parker.

“I want to eat you alive,” he breathed, that little monster roaring in delight as Peter flushed, but his eyes went dark, “I want to bite you and ruin you because that’s what I do–”

He flinched back when Peter came close, shaking his head quickly.

“Stop–” He choked, trying to get away from his too-warm hands and his soft touch because he doesn’t deserve that.

“Miguel,” Peter whispered, pressing so close and so insistent and Miguel can’t help but press back. “Miguel, you can.”

And he doesn’t really get it. Not at first, anyway. He doesn’t understand until Peter is pressing him against the wall and tugging at his hair– not until Peter is kissing him hard and ruthlessly with too much teeth and too much tongue, but it’s exactly what he’s always dreamed of, and it makes him so, so warm inside.

He kissed him back because what the fuck else is he gonna do? He tugged at his clothes, at his arms, at his back. He can’t help that his claws are a little too long, that he’s scratching a little too much. Peter is careful with his fangs, though, but he’s still as desperate as Miguel is.

Miguel can’t even remember the last time he did this– can’t remember the last time ever showed him genuine interest and desire. His heart is hurting less and less, especially when Peter grabs him by the scruff of his neck like a little cat and pushes his face into the junction of his neck and shoulder.

He shuddered at the implication, at the sheer amount of trust, and licked at a patch of skin.

“C’mon, baby,” Peter murmured, “Have at it.”

And he does.

#spiderdads #miguel x peter #peter x miguel #miguel spiderverse #miguel o'hara drabble #miguel o'hara/peter b. parker #miguel o'hara x peter b parker #petter b parker drabble #spiderdads fic #spidersdads drabble #ೃ⁀➷; girluvrr writes

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melodygatesauthor · 4 months

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The Webs We Weave

Peter B. Parker X Miguel O'Hara

Not Beta Read

I MIGHT write more for this, but as of right now I don't plan for it to be a series.

Summary

Miguel is babysitting May one night while Mary Jane and Peter are on a date. When they come home and Peter is drunk, things take a turn that Miguel wasn't expecting.

Tags/Warnings

NSFW, smut, top!Peter, bottom!Miguel, anal sex, we're ignoring anal prep in this one folks, anal creampie, cheating (Peter cheating on MJ), porn with some plot, gay sex, dirty talk, drunk sex, unprotected anal sex.

Word Count: 2k

“Thanks for watching May,” MJ whispered as she walked by Miguel who was sprawled out lazily on the couch.

“Yeah,” Miguel murmured, the fatigue of a long afternoon with the toddler weighing on him.

“I hate to ask this but, Peter is–”

“HEY MIG!” Miguel groaned upon hearing Peter’s voice outdoors, understanding perfectly well what Mary Jane was going to ask of him.

“On it,” Miguel grumbled, making his way to the door.

A drunken Peter was still sitting in the car, playing music far too loud for the neighborhood he lived in, and far too loud for one o’clock in the morning. Not to mention it had been a bit of a struggle to get May to sleep, and Miguel didn’t like the idea of listening to a screaming child all night. He practically ripped the car door off its hinges, turning the radio off before promptly grabbing Peter and pulling him out of the car.

“Will you shut the hell up? Your kid is sleeping.” Miguel hissed through clenched teeth, dragging Peter by the collar of his shirt into the house.

“I’m sorry!” He slurred. “Just trying to have fun with my wife, you know, that’s what I was trying to do!”

“Peter!” MJ whispered harshly, aiding Miguel to the bedroom with her intoxicated husband. “Put him on the bed. You getting drunk every time we have a date night isn’t fun for your wife.”

It was tough to see them like that. Miguel knew how much MJ meant to Peter, and vice versa, but he knew they weren’t happy. They hadn’t been happy for a long time. They’d invite Miguel over for dinner, or sometimes host parties and it would always end in one, or both, of them crying about how miserable they were.

“Gotta stay together for the kid. I know it might not make sense to you since…”

Peter didn’t say shit like that on purpose, but it always made Miguel wanna knock the guy’s lights out whenever he did. The man’s a fucking idiot, Miguel reminded himself.

“Are you staying?” Mary Jane asked, eyes nearly pleading with Miguel.

He sighed, “yeah, yeah I guess I can. I had plans to go home and get a good night’s rest but yeah I can babysit your husband too. Why the hell not.”

~~~~

Miguel stayed. Of course he stayed. What else was he going to do? Leave his closest friend’s wife to deal with his bullshit? She was choosing to put up with his nonsense as much as Miguel was, but Miguel had a soft spot for Peter and his antics, even if he sported an irritated face ninety-percent of the time. Beneath that tough exterior, he cared deeply for the guy.

Miguel was curled up in the guest room when Peter sauntered down the hallway to the door.

“Mig,” Peter slurred, jumping Miguel in his bed.

“Jesus, Peter. You scared the shit out of–”

“Sh,” Peter shushed, sitting on the bed next to Miguel. “Don’t wanna wake up MJ.”

Miguel could see Peter’s features through the moonlight coming through the large window on the other side of the room. His eyes were underlined with dark circles and hair sticking out in every direction. Miguel’s eyes traced the outline of Peter’s body, white teeshirt sitting loosely over his frame.

“So you thought it was a good idea to wake me up? Peter–”

“I want a divorce, but I don’t want to do that to May.”

Miguel groaned. This wasn’t the first time he’d heard Peter talk like that, and it wouldn’t be the last.

“You’re drunk. Go to bed.” Miguel grumbled, laying back down and rolling over so his back was to Peter.

“Miguel,” Peter whispered, putting his hand on Miguel’s shoulder.

He tried to shrug Peter’s hand away but the man was persistent. He moved in, curling up behind Miguel and pressing his chest against the larger man’s spine. His arm snaked under Miguel’s arm and around his waist.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“I’m just getting comfy, just relax will ya?” Peter sniffed out a laugh as he cozied up closer behind his friend.

Miguel could feel it, the hard press of Peter's dick against his ass cheek. He tried to ignore it, thinking that drawing attention to it might be more awkward than just letting it go. What Miguel couldn’t ignore, was Peter’s fingers grabbing at the waistband of his boxer-briefs and tugging them down before reaching for Miguel’s to do the same.

“Peter, what the fuck are you doing? Are you stupid?”

“Yeah, but also, really fucking horny, Mig,” he slurred drunkenly. “Be a good friend for me okay? Please?”

Miguel wanted to tell him to stop…didn’t he? This was weird, and it was wrong. MJ was right in the other room, and Peter was his best friend. They’d always been just friends…that’s it.

Miguel heard Peter spit and felt him jerk himself once, and then twice, before sliding his cock between Miguel’s cheeks. Peter couldn’t see the way Miguel was gripping the sheets, nor the way his jaw was clenched so tight he thought his teeth might break.

“I’ve never done anything like this before so do I like…do I just…”

He moved his hips forward, the fat tip of his cock rested against Miguel’s tight ring of muscle. Miguel exhaled sharply, cock springing to life almost immediately with the prod of Peter’s thick head. He tried to relax, making himself more pliant. Peter pushed forward, his wide girth slipping into Miguel’s hole like it belonged there.

“Holy shit,” Peter breathed, feeling his cock throb inside Miguel’s tight ass. “You’re so tight, Mig.”

Miguel couldn’t respond, the feeling of Peter’s cock stretching him out made his brain short-circuit. He huffed out through his nostrils, fingers digging into the sheets as Peter started rocking himself back and forth. The bed creaked, forcing him to slow just a tad, fearful that Mary Jane would find out what they were doing.

Peter’s dick twitched inside of Miguel again, forcing him to choke back a moan. He still didn’t want to tell Peter he liked it. Part of him, despite his friend already being balls deep in his guts, still wanted to pretend that they weren’t doing what they were doing. Miguel’s cock ached, the glossy tip leaking precum all over the bedding. He rutted forward, the delicious friction of the sheets forcing a soft exhale from his lips.

“God, Mig, you like that hm?” Peter asked, his pace still a slow roll into Miguel, body shuddering every time he bottomed out. “I can hear you whining, it’s cute,” Peter laughed.

“Cállate,” Miguel grumbled, trying to ignore how good it felt to have Peter stretching him out like that.

“Oh come on Mig, you…fuck…you like it,” Peter teased.

Miguel didn’t say a word, not wanting to give Peter the satisfaction of thinking he’d won Miguel over. He was still trying to process the fact that his best friend of the last couple years was buried deep in his ass with the man’s wife sleeping just two doors down. Miguel’s talons extended outward, digging into the extra pillow by his head. He pulled it down to his cock, shuddering at the feeling of his slick length brushing against the fabric.

“Y’know if you roll that thing up just right I bet it would feel amazing,” Peter slurred in Miguel’s ear. “Try it.”

Miguel grumbled but eventually conceded to Peter’s idea, rolling the pillow so it had a hole in the middle and stuffing his dick inside. The fucker was right. It did feel good. He breathed out, bucking his hips forward into the makeshift fleshlight.

“You thinking about me, Mig?” Peter’s hips rolled behind Miguel even faster. “You thinking about how good it would feel to fuck my ass? F-fuck, maybe I’ll l-let you try me out next t-time.”

Peter started struggling to speak, breaths coming out in sharp gasps the closer he got to spilling everything he had into Miguel’s tight hole. Miguel felt Peter’s hands digging into the meat of his narrow hips. His thrusts were getting more ragged and sloppy, and Miguel couldn’t shake the delicious feeling of his own cock throbbing and leaking into the pillow the more he fucked into it.

God he felt depraved, happily letting his drunken friend fuck him dumb while he rutted desperately into a damn pillow. Of all the times Miguel had felt self-loathing, this was near the top of his list. Every time Peter’s cock stuffed him to the brim though, he forgot all about it, mind going numb with nothing but the feeling of his asshole getting railed.

“Peter, this is so f-fucking dumb,” Miguel said, still holding on to the smallest bit of dignity he had left, the part of him that felt bad for Mary Jane.

“Sh,” Peter whispered, nails digging harder into Miguel, “I’m so close Mig, please.”

Peter whined in Miguel’s ear, and how could he possibly say no to that?

Giving in, Miguel started moving along with Peter’s rhythm, fucking the hole he made in the pillow like it belonged to a living, breathing human. Miguel’s mind went blank, filled with nothing but the feeling of his aching cock against the fabric while he rolled his hips faster.

“Oh god Mig, do you want me to come in your ass? I can pull out if you want I…oh shit I’m…” Peter didn’t wait for an answer before he felt his cock twitching and shooting hot ropes deep into Miguel’s tight hole.

“Fuck, Parker, for fuck’s sake…”

Miguel lost it, cum spilling out into the stark white pillow while his asshole contracted around Peter’s dick. He’d never had such a strong orgasm before that night, the feeling forcing his entire body to stiffen and shake with every throb of his cock. They laid there for a while, the room filled with nothing but their combined heavy breaths before Peter finally pulled out, leaving Miguel feeling empty.

“Fuck, Miguel,” he whispered, kissing Miguel’s neck once before pulling his sweats back up around his hips.

Miguel didn’t turn around. He didn’t know what he’d do even if he had. It didn’t feel like the right time for post-sex cuddling and a soft makeout session, so Miguel just kept his body turned away from Peter as the man got up and left the room silently. If not for the cum still dripping out of Miguel’s spent asshole, it would be like Peter was never there in the first place.

When morning came, Miguel wasn’t sure what would happen. Would Peter even remember stealing into Miguel’s room the night before? Would he go on as if nothing ever happened? As far as Miguel was concerned, it would be best if they let it go. How could they possibly continue running the Spider Society as partners if they were…doing things in secret behind the scenes? It didn’t make sense. Not to mention…Mary Jane.

She was smiling when Miguel made his way into the kitchen in the morning, the red headed toddler hanging off her shoulders while she made coffee. Miguel and MJ exchanged pleasantries, but Miguel’s aching rear amplified his guilt tenfold. He felt like he should tell the blissfully ignorant wife that her husband had cheated on her the night before.

Then again…Miguel didn’t exactly do anything to stop it.

“Morning!” Peter exclaimed, coming out of his bedroom with a wide stretch and a loud yawn.

“Morning, Peter,” both Miguel and Mary Jane said in unison, turning to face him.

“I’m so sorry if I caused too much trouble last night, I was deeerunk,” he said nonchalantly, walking up behind MJ at the counter and kissing her on the cheek.

While she was turned away, Peter and Miguel shared a glance where Peter looked Miguel up and down.

“I don’t remember much so, I hope I wasn’t a…pain in the ass…”

Miguel gulped. Peter clearly didn’t intend on ignoring what had happened between them the night before, and Miguel couldn’t shake the new feelings he felt stirring inside.

Miguel O'Hara Masterlist

Main Masterlist

#miguel o'hara #astv #astv miguel #peter b x miguel #peter b parker #peter b parker x miguel o'hara #spiderdads #miguel x peter #miguel o'hara x peter b parker #miguel o'hara x peter b #miguel spiderverse #miguel spiderman #spiderman 2099 #miguel ohara #spider man 2099 #atsv miguel #miguel atsv #across the spider verse #peter b atsv

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