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fangswbenefits · 9 months

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Devotion

Summary: You give yourself to Miguel, and he's about to show you what complete devotion looks and feels like.

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x spider-woman!reader

Word count: 6.5k

18+. Miguel POV. Reader POV. V*rginity loss. Cr*ampie. F*ngering. C*mplay. Org*sm denial. After care. Edg*ng. Br*eding k*nk. Mentions of pregnancy.

Part 1. Previous Part.

Thank you so much to @ancientbeing10 for the help with the Spanish 🩷

Miguel had scooped you up in his arms effortlessly and carried you to his bedroom, slowly placing you on his bed.

He then leaned in to place a kiss to your temple, sending a shiver down your spine.

You tilted your head back, hoping to have his lips on yours once instead.

The truth was that you were absolutely smitten by him. Relationships are often complicated. People are complicated. Miguel was a complex person, and yet, you felt drawn to him.

You could still remember the first time you realised your feelings for him transcended those of a regular friendship.

It had begun with him looking after you in the lab. It had been innocent and fleeting enough, but the heart works in strange ways. The way he was so adamant about you having to take care of yourself awoke in you a feeling that you were seldom presented with:

Affection.

His lips hovered over yours, snapping you from your thoughts, and you brought a hand to the side of his face. "Please kiss me…"

Even through the darkness that engulfed his room, you could still spot a faint smile.

And he did as you requested.

Your back arched nearly instantly, seeking more of him. Even though your body had barely recovered from your orgasm, you felt desire flare inside you at an alarming rate.

He quickly deepened the kiss by parting your lips with his experienced tongue, and you eagerly let him in, moving your hand to the back of his neck, yanking him closer.

Nearly losing balance, Miguel placed both hands on either side of you for support, settling in between your legs.

A moan rose in your throat, and you broke the kiss at the feeling of your clit throbbing, as the underside of his cock settled between your folds.

"We can stop."

You stared into his crimson eyes. "Do you want to stop?"

He pressed a fleeting kiss to the corner of your mouth. "This isn't about me."

Oh.

Desire had clouded your mind, almost making you forget that you were still very much inexperienced. But you still craved the fluidity and eagerness of couples who already knew their way around each other's bodies… with no virginity in the way.

Truth be told, if there was anyone who you'd give yourself to, it would be Miguel O'Hara.

You wouldn't utter these words out of fear of sounding ridiculous at best, and desperate at worst.

"I want more…" you whispered instead, rolling your hips and causing his cock to slide along your clit.

He moaned, but gripped your hip to a halt with strong fingers. "Are you on birth control?"

The question caught you momentarily off guard, and you blinked. "What?"

"If you want to continue… I have to know."

"Yes—Yes, I have an implant."

Hormonal imbalance had been the sole reason, though. Irregular periods accompanied by terrible cramps had taken a toll on you.

Pregnancy had been the farthest thing on your mind.

Miguel groaned lowly before burying his face in your neck, lips caressing your flushed skin, which caused your hips to jolt into him.

He immediately hissed from the sudden friction, and began to match your tempo deliciously slowly.

You bit your lip, not wanting to moan embarrassingly loudly with each slide of his cock against your clit.

He quickly grazed his thumb across your lower lip, releasing it from your teeth's grasp. "Please… let me hear you…"

The plea mixed with his gentle touch was enough to have your mouth part in a whimper.

"Louder."

Your eyes fluttered shut once the tips of his fangs began to poke your skin, and you couldn't hold back the loud moan that erupted from your throat.

Wet sounds and sticky sounds echoed all around you, as you began to drip, adding more and more layers of your own wetness around his cock.

Ambient lights were suddenly switched on, an orange and yellow gradient filling your field of vision.

Miguel brought his lips to your cheek. "Are you sure you want this?"

You sank your fingers into his soft hair, arching your back slightly, your nipple piercings digging into the taut muscles of his chest.

In reality, you were terrified. Miguel seemed to be on the thicker side than what you had expected, and you didn't see yourself taking more than one of his fingers, so his cock definitely overwhelmed you.

Would it hurt? Would he be gentle? Would you even enjoy it?

The preconception that having sex for the first time was a painful ordeal was engraved into your subconscious. Growing up, you had heard some scary recounts of first times from your friends.

But you were still clinging on to the hope that Miguel knew what he was doing.

So you took a deep breath, staring into his eyes. "I'm sure…"

He shifted to press a kiss to your forehead. "You can tell me to stop if it gets too much," he murmured. "And I will."

You had no doubt he would.

But it still made your heart speed up, and an uneasy feeling spread throughout your body rather quickly.

He reached over you to grip one long pillow and eased it under you until your back pressed against it, angling your torso so your eyes could be met with the sight of his cock dripping precum.

Now you understood why he had turned the lights on.

Then, you heard a click and stared as he removed his dimensional travel watch, placing it on his bedside table.

Oh.

Your soaked folds were wrapped snugly around him, and you gasped as you spotted your swollen clit peeking from under his cock.

"Does that feel good?" Miguel asked, voice strained.

You could only stare in complete and utter fascination, as he kept dripping more and more precum, the droplets eventually running down along your folds.

"Yes… you're really…" you paused briefly, completely transfixed with the amount of precum. "Is it normal for you to…"

Miguel's eyes followed your line of sight, and he chuckled upon realising what you meant.

"With you, yes."

His bluntness had your walls clench instinctively around nothing in anticipation.

He then raised his hips and you watched as strings of precum mixed with your wetness dangled from his cock, before he kneeled at your side, slowly dipping the mattress.

You were about to protest at the loss of contact, but he immediately silenced you with a hungry kiss, drawing a couple of whimpers from you.

The taste of him had become so familiar to you by now, that it served to soothe your frustration and impatience.

Your hand tapped around blindly until it found what it was looking for.

Wrapping your fingers tightly around his hard cock, you tugged gently, and Miguel quickly broke the kiss with a delicious hiss. "Fuck…"

The heat pooling between your legs was becoming unbearable and, with each throb of your clit, uncertainty gave way to burning desire.

"Miguel… please…"

He pecked your cheek. "I need you ready for me."

You pouted in response. "I am."

He then brought his lips to your ear, whispering softly, "Can you take more than one of my fingers, then?"

Your heart faltered once you felt one hand trail down from your neck, caressing your hardened nipples, before traveling down until it reached your swollen clit.

"Can you, sweet girl?"

That term of endearment had begun to grow on you, and it almost made you moan out your answer.

"I think… I think so," you said, trying to muster your confidence.

He then pressed a kiss to the pulse point on your neck.

You watched as he traced your clit with his middle finger, coating it in your wetness. The view was hypnotic and you stifled a moan as he rubbed at your entrance once, before plunging the finger inside.

As if seeking an immediate anchor, you gripped his cock tighter, feeling beads of precum steadily spreading across your hand.

"Easy, cariño… not so tight."

This wasn't even considered dirty talking, but it was enough to have you buck your hips against him, and he eased inside easily, burying himself knuckle-deep.

Crimson eyes watched your every reaction attentively, and you gasped as the heel of his palm pressed down on your throbbing clit.

"Tell me how it feels," Miguel cooed, sliding in and out of you at a torturous pace. "I need to know."

You hummed in response, trying your best to ride his finger through throaty whimpers.

He paused abruptly. "Use your words."

You snapped your half-hooded eyes to him. "It feels good… really go-" the word died in your mouth as he began pumping into you once again.

He unclasped your fingers from around his cock. "I know you're eager, but if you keep touching it like that I won't last…"

You were sticking out your lower lip in a silent plea, but decided to bring your precum-soaked hand to your breasts, letting the warm liquid drip onto your nipples, earning an approving growl from Miguel.

"Do you think you can take a second one?" he asked, bending over to swipe his tongue across one nipple. "You set the pace."

The sight of him tasting himself on you was the most erotic thing you had ever experienced, and you immediately nodded, just so you could feel his tongue again.

Suddenly, you felt a second digit probing at your entrance, and you couldn't keep your chest from heaving rapidly at the stretch.

Miguel shifted closer to you, catching your eyes in his. "Relax, cariño… you're doing great."

You tried. You really did try to stop your walls from tightening around his fingers, but your body was moving involuntarily at the sudden intrusion.

He placed a reassuring kiss on your cheek. "Nearly there…"

A raspy whimper parted your lips and you allowed yourself to relax ever so slightly, until he was buried as deep as he could.

The discomfort of the stretch turned into impatience, and you rolled your hips, seeking more and more friction.

"More…" you mumbled desperately.

Your eyes dropped to the mesmerising motion of both fingers sliding in and out, glistening with your wetness, as your swollen clit peeked from between your folds.

Wet sounds filled your ears and your head fell back once his palm pressed against your clit. Miguel immediately took advantage of this angle, and had his lips on your neck, sacking gently.

The familiar coil in your lower abdomen warned you that you were nearing the point of no return. The delicious friction mixed with his thick fingers fucking you at a steady pace.

"You're so close…"

You bit down on your lip so hard you feared drawing blood. At this point, you didn't trust yourself to utter any words, and chose to lose yourself in the blissful moment.

Miguel took your hand in his and had your fingers wrap around his cock once again with a hiss. He was so thick and hard and warm and leaking so for you.

"Let me fuck your hand…" he growled into your neck, snapping his hips. "Just… squeeze harder…"

You eagerly gripped him tighter, feeling strings of precum sliding down your wrists as he matched his hips with the tempo of his fingers inside you.

"Miguel… Miguel…" you managed to moan as you neared the precipice.

His lips were on yours all of a sudden, and you crumbled under his touch, whimpering into his mouth as his tongue found yours.

You were so close.

So deliciously close.

"You’re doing so good," he praised you over and over again.

Your back arched reflexively as the blissful turbulence of an orgasm began to wash over you.

And then, it was gone.

Your peak never came and your moans immediately died in your throat.

Confusion took a violent hold on you, as you slumped into the pillow and mattress underneath you.

Miguel had removed himself from you entirely, and you were left clenching around nothing, mourning the loss of his touch.

"Miguel…why?!" you protested, as you felt tears prickling the corners of your eyes.

You dropped your hand from his cock to grip the sheets, hoping to rein in your frustration in between sobs.

"I'm sorry," he said, sounding truthfully. "I want you to come around my cock, cariño…" he added, before kissing your quivering lips.

You wanted to be mad at him for denying you of your pleasure, but he managed to gain a nod from you instead.

The mattress dipped around you and even through closed eyes, you could tell he was positioned right between your legs.

He then brought his fingers to his mouth, tasting you. You felt slightly taken aback, not expecting him to do this.

"You taste really good."

You laughed nervously. "I do?"

His lips tugged upwards. "Don't take my word for it, then."

He brought two glistening digits to your lips and you immediately took them in, savouring yourself on him.

You sucked on him for a moment, enjoying how he looked so smitten by it.

He pressed your tongue flat with his fingers, before sliding out, saliva dangling from the tips.

"You're so hot."

That compliment threw you for a loop, and you immediately looked away, not quite feeling like you deserved it.

He cradled your face with his hands. "Look at me."

Slowly, but surely, your eyes met his as you tried to even out your laboured breaths.

"You are. You are beautiful."

Your heart clenched and you were left speechless at how genuine he sounded.

You felt like you could cry from this. You didn't cry easily, but his words always found a way to tug at your heartstrings like no one had ever managed to.

He craned his neck to press a soft kiss to your wet lips, and you felt his cock resting against your throbbing clit.

"Are you sure of this?"

"I am. Please, Miguel…"

He caressed your cheeks with his thumbs. "I'm not going to last long," he whispered softly. "But neither are you."

The jab at your stolen orgasm had you pouting at him.

He groaned in response. "Try to relax as much as you can, okay?"

You swallowed hard with a determined nod. "Okay."

You felt his cock slide along your soaked folds, grazing your clit, before you felt a small pressure at your opening.

Instinctively, you squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself for the pain and discomfort.

But Miguel kept his hold on your face with one hand. "Please look at me…"

You took a deep breath and mustered the strength to stare into his crimson eyes.

"I've got you," he promised, brushing his knuckles across your heated cheek.

And you believe him.

Even when you felt the tip being pushed slowly into you, your breath caught. Your gaze faltered and your mouth fell open in a strained gasp. You felt his other hand press flat against your thighs, and you spread your legs as much as possible, hoping it would be enough to ease him in.

"Breathe…"

You slowly let out a shaky breath, realising he had stopped.

"Are you okay?"

No.

You wanted to be, but you could feel yourself tense up and you brought your hands to claw at his back, feeling the muscles underneath his skin flex as he adjusted himself.

But you still nodded. You wanted to be done with this. First times can be tricky, but you would have to keep your fear of pain at bay until the worst had come and come.

He pushed his hips into you again, and the stretch had you holding your breath again, as a sharp sting tore through your entire body.

You didn't dare breathe.

Your chest became so tight it ached, and you felt the familiar tension in your eyes, as the first tears began to blur your vision.

"Stop… please…" you begged, tapping on his back.

He immediately halted, his face softening. "Do you want me to pull out?"

You shook your head, the motion causing one tear to slide down from the corner of your eye. He captured it with his lips, a silent reassurance that he would take care of you.

Deep down, you feared he might be turned off by your hesitancy. You were sure he wanted to go deeper and faster, but the discomfort was gripping you hard.

"How much…" you sobbed, staring down at the length of your body to find where the two of you were connected. "... is it almost there?"

Miguel smiled warmly at you. "Nearly there, sweet girl."

Your lungs expanded with a deep inhale and you sighed through your nose. "Go…"

You dug your nails into his skin as he slid deeper inside, drawing a sharp gasp from you. This time, you had to bite down on your lip again, feeling Miguel's unwavering stare on your face.

"Tell me to stop, and I will."

But you didn't want him to stop. Not now. Not when you were so close to being filled to the brim with him. No amount of pain or discomfort would take that away from you now.

He was being so gentle and caring, assuring that you were the priority here.

And you wanted this to be on equal grounds, soon.

His pleasure would be yours.

Your pleasure would be his.

He was kissing every single tear away, whispering praises, and you knew he was fully buried inside, once he stopped moving again.

This time, you felt him shudder under your touch, breath coming out in shallow pants.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice raspy and shaky.

"Yes."

You would be soon.

The pain hadn't been as bad as you had expected and once you began to relax, you could feel the remnants of it slowly fading.

The two of you remained still for a few more seconds, with only the erratic breathing keeping you company.

"I'm not going to last long," he confessed, burying his face in the curve of your neck. "Can you relax a bit more?"

You tried to drain the tension from your muscles, and you immediately felt his cock twitching inside you.

He was so deep...

"Please move," you asked, ready for what was to come.

Miguel inhaled sharply, and you felt him drag it out slowly, earning a few pained whimpers from how thick he was.

Before you could take a deep breath, he slammed slowly into you.

Your clit was swelling up again and you knew he had bottomed out again when you felt his balls press into you.

But you needed more. You needed to feel more.

"Can you go faster…"

He dragged his fangs along your shoulder. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't. Please…" you begged.

Miguel set a slow pace at first, and you heard the wet sounds of your pussy clenching around him, which had him groan with each thrust.

Your gaze was on how his cock reappeared only to disappear back inside you, visibly struggling to move past your tightness.

"So good… fuck…así… no pares," you heard him mumble mindlessly each time he pushed all the way back into you.

You managed to snake one hand in between your bodies, and you immediately gasped as the tips of your fingers slid past your clit only to finally touch his slippery cock.

His pace quickened slightly, and he removed your hand with his, pressing down on your pulsing clit.

"Just… just like that…" you whimpered breathlessly.

You arched into him, your pierced nipples digging into his chest, and he suddenly stilled.

"I need you to come first," he rasped, drawing circles around your clit. "Please… please…"

There was something incredibly riveting about having Miguel O'Hara begging. Such a strong and serious man, was now on top of you, completely taken by how you milked his cock, and how close he was

His thumb left your clit, and he pulled his torso away from you and moved back, pressing your legs together with both hands and pushing your knees into your chest.

The new position nearly pushed you over the edge, as your walls pressed further around his cock. His thumb was on your clit in an instant, and you moaned and whimpered, gripping the sheets with both hands, holding on for dear life, as he skilfully brought you closer and closer to the edge.

"Come for me… clench around me, cariño," he urged desperately.

You heard the sound of fabric tear as your grip tightened around the bedsheets, plunging you into a blinding orgasm. Your vision blurred and you arched your back, feeling rhythmic contractions ripple across your walls, gripping his cock hard.

As your chest heaved rapidly with a rush of adrenaline, you felt him slam into you only twice before reaching his own peak.

"Mierda, te sientes tan bien… carajo," he mumbled in between groans, as he buried himself as deep as possible, finally spilling himself inside.

Even through the numbness of your orgasm, you could feel his cock twitching inside you, filling you with a burst of warmth.

Beads of sweat poured from your skin, and you felt completely spent by the time he finally slid out of you. A whimper escaped your lips once he was fully out, and your walls involuntarily clenched.

You felt him slide his cock along your folds a few times, the added friction on your oversensitive clit making your jolt.

He released his hold on your legs, and you let them flop down, feeling something beginning to seep out of you.

"Wait here," he said as he slid out of bed and pressing a sloppy kiss on your parted lips.

You remained still for a few seconds, before curiosity got the best of you, prompting you to slide your band in between your legs.

A warm liquid began to coat your fingers and you propped yourself on one elbow, watching in awe as your clit and folds were covered in his cum.

You dragged a small quantity from your entrance and brought it to your lips, eager to finally taste it.

Its saltiness and warmth invaded your mouth and collected it with your tongue, slowly swallowing all of it.

"Does it taste good?"

Your eyes widened slightly as you found Miguel standing next to you, fully naked. He was a complete marvel of muscle and beauty, and you felt heat rise to your cheeks as his burning gaze bore into you.

He had a towel in his hand, and slowly kneeled on the floor, tapping his finger to your jaw to have you fully face him.

Miguel was so very handsome. It was almost criminal. Sweat-damp strands of thick hair covered his forehead and you brought your free hand to brush some of them aside.

"Does it taste good, cariño?"

You smiled innocently, removing your fingers from your mouth. "You can taste it yourself."

Miguel's lips met yours and his tongue slipped past them hungrily. Your eyes fluttered shut and you pushed some of his cum with your tongue into his.

He eventually broke the kiss and you felt the soft fabric of the towel being softly pressed to your forehead.

Some drops of cum coated his gorgeous lips and you found yourself unable to look away from his face.

"Let me take care of you."

Affection and devotion.

You nodded as exhaustion slowly weighed down your body.

His lips curled into a faint smile and you mimicked him. "What?"

"You're so… perfect," he drawled out, sliding the towel down the side of your face and neck.

You giggled. "Is this a post-sex thing?"

He arched an eyebrow, looking very serious all of a sudden. "You're doubting me?"

Your smile faded slowly. "Oh, I just… I… don't think I'm perfect. No one is."

Miguel pressed his lips together, his gaze shifting to your breasts as he continued to pat the sweat away.

"You are to me," he mumbled.

You had heard so much about love over the years, and thought Tom had been the personification of it in your life. Even after what had happened between you two, you never doubted he was the one who had gotten away.

But now?

You weren't so sure anymore.

And it wasn't because Miguel was so easy to offer you compliments and praises. That was easy to do. It was much harder to be stricter with those one cared about, and Miguel didn't hold back from grounding you when you needed the most.

After all, he managed to get a hold of your heart with the way he took care of you.

Just like he was doing so now.

He reached in between your legs, and you jolted from the surprise.

"Was I too rough?" he asked, uncertainty dripping from his low voice.

You shook your head. "You were perfect."

His crimson eyes met yours and you smiled warmly, allowing him to clean the cum mixed with your own wetness.

"You said no one is perfect."

"I'll make an exception for you," you said, feeling your eyelids grow heavier and heavier.

He leaned in to press a kiss to your cheek, and your vision darkened as your breathing steadied. You faintly felt more cum drip out, which Miguel quickly wiped, and vaguely wondered how much was still left inside you.

But your thoughts were cut off by your drowsiness, feeling exhausted and as you lay limp on the mattress.

You were almost dozing off when you heard his voice. "Want to take a shower?"

A grumble left your throat. "Later… I'm so tired."

"I'll carry you."

For the second time that night, Miguel took you in his arms with little to no effort, and sauntered into his bathroom, occasionally pressing loving kisses to your face.

You had looped your arms around his neck for support and groaned lightly as he stepped into the shower, tepid water hitting your skin gently.

"Can you stand?"

"Yes, yes…" you said, fighting through a yawn and landing on your feet and easing your hold around him.

Miguel silently washed your back witj both hands, and you were able to feel more cum drip from inside you, blending in with the running water.

You pressed your forehead to the tile as he moved the wet piece of cloth in between your legs, and you flinched away.

"Did I hurt you?"

"It's just a bit sore…" you breathed out, reaching down to touch your numb clit. "It's fine… don't worry."

You then turned around to face him and tip-toed to place a wet kiss to his jaw.

Adoration didn't even begin to cover how you felt about this man.

Maybe he would be your first 'I love you'.

Maybe.

- 2 months later -

Miguel shot his laser-like string of web to the side wall of glass that led to his apartment.

The window was open, and he smiled to himself.

You were home.

He flung himself upwards, the opening presenting itself as the perfect entryway, and he swung through it, landing gracefully on the tiled floor.

His digital mask vanished, and he ran a hand through unruly hair.

Immediately, his senses were hit with the familiar smell of freshly cooked empanadas, and he immediately smiled as you entered the kitchen, specks of flour resting on your cheeks.

"Hey, you," you greeted sweetly.

"Hey."

He closed the gap between you two in an instant, taking your face in his hands.

"Are these empanadas all for myself?"

Your eyes fell to his lips. "Depends."

He dusted off some of the flour with his thumb, raising an eyebrow. "On what?"

"Payment."

"Oh, really?"

You hummed, bringing your lips so close to his, he could feel your breath fanning them lightly.

"What sort of payment, sweet girl?"

He could almost taste you, and his heart jolted in his chest.

It seemed that he was doomed to having your presence have this permanent effect on him. No matter how much time passed, he could not get accustomed to the hold you had on him

"One kiss."

He quickly complied, tasting your sweetness.

You were quick to break the kiss, however. "And… promise you won't be upset."

At this, he felt a faint scowl settle on his face. "What did you do?"

The reply to his question came in the form of Peter B. Parker waltzing into the kitchen, with an empanada stuffed in his mouth.

He waved and tried to speak, but his voice only came out muffled and intelligible.

Miguel's scowl deepened and he glared at you, earning an innocent shrug.

"Peter and MJ are visiting, and I thought it would be nice to invite them over," you said endearingly, offering him a napkin.

Peter beamed. "Thank you! And Miguel… not a surprise to see you here," he added, wiggling his eyebrows.

"What is that supposed to mean?" he grumbled.

MJ walked in with Mayday clinging to her shoulder. "Hey, Miguel!"

He inwary winced, already anticipating an upcoming headache. In all honesty, he just wanted to spend some time with you after arriving from a mission, and now…

"MJ," he greeted flatly, before patting Mayday on the head, her curls bouncing lightly.

She stuck out her tongue in response before breaking into laughter.

"He's not even using doors anymore, Peter," MJ started with a devious smile. "It's serious."

Peter nodded, taking Mayday into his hands. "Definitely serious."

Miguel's scowl deepened further and he watched as you laughed nervously.

The two of you hadn't told anyone about your relationship. Miguel would rather keep it that way.

Why?

Because this was the result, and it annoyed him to no end.

"Oh, wipe that frown off your face, Miguel O'Hara," MJ scolded. "Everyone knows about you two, already."

"What?"

Peter quickly brought Mayday to him. "Here, hold her. It will calm you down!"

Miguel reflexively took her in his arms, but kept his gaze on MJ. "What do you mean?"

She rolled her eyes, joining your side, as you began to clean off the counter. "All the missions together… always coming in together… spending time at the lab," she continued, listing off everything with each finger. "Peter and Jessica told me all about it."

Anger flared inside him briefly, but it quickly plummeted as defeat took over.

"Just a coincidence."

MJ shrugged. "Sure."

Mayday sat on his shoulder, tugging gently at a few strands of his hair, giggling. He winced in pain and removed her from him in an instant, holding her far away from him.

You turned to him and moved to grab her from his grip, pressing her adoringly against your chest. "Don't worry, Mayday. He's just a little bit grumpy, but he's a cutie, too!"

His scowl softened at the sight of Mayday melting into your touch.

You really were a natural at this...

"You're the cutest, though," you whispered in her ear, and she immediately gave you an ear-to-ear grin.

MJ was glaring intensely at him with a knowing smile, and he cleared his throat.

The last thing he needed was them realising how he yearned to be a father, with you carrying his children.

"You're so good with Mayday," Peter praised, stealing another empanada from the plate, and earning a death glare from Miguel who considered hiding them away. "Imagine Mayday and Jessica's kid having another friend to play with!"

Your eyes widened lightly. "Oh! I… I think…"

Miguel wanted to catapult Peter through the window, but he wouldn't do so in front of his wife and child. He always found a way to be inconvenient, and even though Miguel agreed with him on this, he couldn't let it show.

Out of spite.

MJ motioned for him to cut it off, and the two of them walked out, leaving a babbling MJ with you.

You chuckled. "They're good fun, right?"

No.

But he wouldn't dispute that with you, because this was what you did. You adored making people around you feel included and your love language definitely spoke louder.

As you rocked Mayday against your chest, lulling her into a peaceful silence.

"Actually, I have something for you," you whispered with a smile.

Miguel's brow quirked again. "Please don't tell me Hobie Brown is about to burst through the ceiling."

His remark caused you to stifle a giggle. "No, but he might pop up later today."

Miguel's face hardened again.

"I'm kidding, Mr. Grumpy," you said, pointing to an envelope on the table. "Open it."

He glared suspiciously at you before shifting his attention to the piece of paper. Once he unsealed it, he peered closely at what was inside.

A small plastic rod.

His eyes widened and his lips parted.

That was…

"Yeah. I had my implant removed," you said, standing close to him. "The spider-doctor told me to wait out for my next cycle, but…" You began rubbing Mayday's back as she dozed off with a yawn. "Pregnancy can happen earlier than that if we try…"

Miguel was too perplexed to say anything.

You were indeed aware of his breeding kink, and he would gladly give you as much time as you needed. Even if you ended up deciding not wanting to have children, he would be more than fine with that decision.

He was too in love with you to push you beyond your comfort zone.

And yet… here you were, willingly fulfilling his wishes.

"Say something," you said, nudging his arm with yours.

He swallowed, finally meeting your eyes. "You didn't have to…"

You nodded. "But I want to, Miguel. And I know you want it, too."

There was no denying it. The past few months had been torturous at times. Each time he fucked you raw and spilled inside you, knowing fully well nothing would come of it. Witnessing his seed going to waste would torment him.

He pressed his hand to your head and pulled you against him, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Te amo."

You lifted your head to stare at him. "I love you, too."

- A couple of weeks later -

Miguel stormed into the lab later that afternoon, needing a refill of his serum.

But he didn't expect to see you still there, sitting on a chair, and tapping at the screen in front of you.

"What happened?"

Your head turned and he was met with tired eyes. "Oh, I was wondering if you could draw some blood."

Alarm bells chimed inside his head right away and he was quickly in front of you, scanning your face for any signs of distress.

"I'm okay, Miguel," you assured him with a faint curl of your lips. "Just want to check something."

You sounded off.

So he quickly gathered what he needed to comply with your request, always eyeing you from the corner of his eye.

He came to sit next to you and motioned his fingers so you'd lay out your arm for him.

"Did something happen?" he pressed again, pulling the sleeve of your lab coat upwards.

You shook your head, gaze dropping to his hands.

He wasn't convinced in the slightest, but decided to give you some space, offering a respectful silence.

Hi fingers tapped your skin, tied a latex glove just above your elbow as a tournique, seeking a bulging vein.

"It's funny…" you said with a sigh.

Miguel lifted his eyes briefly, finding yours staring right back at him. "What is?"

The faintest tug at the corner of your lips had him relax slightly.

"The first time I met you… you also drew my blood for testing," you said, and your tone told him you held the memory of it fondly. "And now, here we are again."

"Under different circumstances, I'm sure."

"Better ones."

He was unsure of what you meant by that, so he dropped his eyes to your arm again. Once he found what he was looking for, he punctured the soft barrier of skin, watching as the vial in between his fingers filled with liquid.

As he withdrew from you and pressed a pad to the wound, a weird feeling began to loom over him.

Could it be that...

He eyed you curiously, hoping for you to confirm his suspicions, but you remained silent.

"Apply some pressure," he asked, and you nodded, your fingers replacing his.

Scooting over to the analysis machine, he placed the vial inside and watched the liquid being sucked inside.

"Why do you need your blood tested?"

You shrugged, but he could sense you were holding something back.

By the time the first results began to appear on the hovering screen, he scanned them, looking for an outlier.

It didn't take long for it to show up.

Miguel's heart lurched as the confirmation hit him, and he checked it twice, but there was no mistake.

< hCG (mIU/ml) - 145 >

The human chorionic gonadotropin was colloquially referred to as the pregnancy hormone, and its level could inform how far along a pregnancy was.

This value had Miguel guess you were around three weeks.

"Why didn’t you tell me right away?" he managed to ask, swallowing the lump in his throat.

He felt you looping your arm around his, resting your head on it. "I figured it would be more romantic than peeing on a stick and showing it to you," you chuckled softly.

In all honesty, he wouldn't care either way.

How could he?

In front of him was the proof that the bond he shared with you was now bearing fruit.

"... besides… this is your field, right? Genetics," you said, tightening your grip around him. "It felt right for you to find out this way."

Miguel felt overwhelmed all of a sudden, upon realising just how you never missed anything. Down to the last detail. Everything you did always held a purpose, no matter how insignificant it might seem at first.

"I…"

You shifted until you were in front of him, and quickly laced your arms around his waist, placing your chin on his broad chest, eyeing him with absolute adoration. "Come on, Miguel… don't tell me you're surprised it happened so quickly."

He truly wasn't.

He had bred you over and over again over the past few weeks, always making sure you would lay still after each time, a pillow under you, not allowing any cum from going to waste.

You had protested at first, but he excelled at providing after care, and those sessions soon turned into opportunities at exploring your intimacy to the point you were eager to be filled over and over again.

His sweet girl…

"I think I love you," he blurted out, immediately realising how ridiculous he sounded.

Your chuckle reverberated across his skin. "You think? I hope you're more sure than that. There's no turning back now."

His arms circled you, pulling you into a tighter embrace as his gaze met yours. "Thank you."

You quirked an eyebrow. "For what?"

"Everything."

Author's note: Thank you so much to everyone who has been with this story from beginning to end. It means a lot. I hope you were able to connect with these characters in one way or another 🩷 I will be missing Miguel and sweet girl so much... this story wouldn't be anything without your vital support, and I will forever be grateful! Ruby~

Masterlist

#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o’hara imagine #answered ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

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moondirti · 11 months

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animalic (3)

← chapter two // series masterlist

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader rating: mature word count: 2.2k summary: he's got a plan that neither of you like warnings: enemies to lovers, predator/prey dynamics, biting, bondage, temporary paralysis, concussions, miguel is not nice, no use of y/n notes: this was supposed to be longer but the cut off at the original point was super awkward. this chapter is super exciting for all you fang lovers out there

You really can’t catch a break.

The city bustles with a verve rivalling your own, a kaleidoscope of luminescence dancing upon the glass facades of its skyscrapers. Their spires pierce the ink-dark cloak of night, and if you weren’t so busy running for your life, you’d stop to admire the way their aviation obstruction lights mimic the stars back home.

(Everything has a trade off, you suppose. You remember what it was like as light pollution gave away to reveal the cosmos above, the beauty of it lost upon your own grief.)

Now, it’s fear – clinging like a shadowy spectre to your heels. The pavement is unforgiving beneath you, each step sending a jolt of energy through your bones. Despite it, you can’t go any faster. Sidewalks crowd with the humdrum of everyday life – people filtering out from work and bodegas, dressed in a slightly odd fashion, their clothes a reminder of your unfamiliar landscape. Car horns blend into one another, providing an unsteady tempo to the race of your heart.

It’s disorienting, all of it. Times like these, you wish you’d been given the opportunity to hone your abilities. Stamina, flexibility. Web shooters in particular would have proved handy in avoiding the bustle of the ground.

Of course, he has that advantage on you too.

You can’t see Miguel, but you sense his proximity. It prods you, nipping at your flesh in a constant assault, intensifying goosebumps and raising hairs. Your spider sense usually doesn’t last this long, solely serving as a warning for immediate danger. Yet that’s just what he is, immediate. Dangerous. Predatory eyes track your every move, sourced from all directions. He’s everywhere; atop buildings, within alleys. Neon signs morph into twisted apparitions; serrated talons, red skulls.

How did he track you down so fast?

The day pass?

You wonder if he’d brought back-up – whether there are other spider-heroes here who trust in his noble cause. Your anxiety triples, and passerby’s begin to warp too. Their hurried footsteps now strike discordant notes, amplifying your isolation. You think you see some tense their wrists, or unbutton their coats, ready to reveal their tailored suits and ensure the capture you’ve managed to evade thus far.

It’s luck. It’s only ever been luck, and that fact changes depending on who you ask. You’ve never outsmarted him, never disabled him. You just so happen to have the power of being a pain in his ass.

Something itches at you, though. A nagging sense of foreboding. His presence in the past has spurred chagrin, annoyance, and – admittedly – arousal. But the genuine terror that lights your nerves now is new. Perhaps because you understand him, are far more familiar with his pride than most. The logical part of you can predict that he won’t let you off so easily, not after your stunt with the kiss. You won’t – can’t – get away this time, even if it damn well nearly kills him.

Any hope you had of a bargain dissipates, rolling back from shore and into the depths of an elusive sea. You jerk the rubber band off your wrist, throwing it into some undisclosed corner.

In a then desperate bid to throw him off, your path loses cohesion. Like a leaf seized by a tempest, you turn based on split-second instinct, weaving through the labyrinth of New York’s grid. Your body sways in frenzy, bolstered by pure adrenaline, which works to dim everything else. Your ribs haven’t fully healed yet – they’d taken a pretty bad beating upon your last fight with Miguel – but you can barely feel the ache as you focus purely on the task at hand.

Your determination surges, recklessness taking hold of your rationale. Veering abruptly, you just about collide with the racing line of cars that flow at a green light. In fact, you think you do. Your skin prickles, and a taxi runs straight through you, blearing a loud honk all the while. Some vehicles break off, drifting around your form at the last minute. In your peripheral, you can see the glowing red of your pursuers web, stretched across the gap between two apartment complexes.

Chest tightening, your breathing loses depth at the sight, shallowing to leave room for the distress that torrents up your system. You clamber up on the hoods of parked cars, using a mast arm pole to propel yourself forward. It’s a fruitless effort. You know it’s too late – have known it since he walked into that convenience, prowling in search of one thing.

(A lion only catches its prey a quarter of the time. But that twenty-five percent?)

Your ankle is the first victim to his hardwearing web, wrapped in the silk and pulled out from underneath you. The back of your head smacks into the concrete below, a high pitched ring reverberating through your skull upon impact. The collision sends a shock wave of pain throughout your being, and in that harrowing moment, everything stutters to a crawl. Spots speckle behind your clenched eyelids, metallic warmth flooding your mouth.

Well, fuck.

To add insult to injury, your atoms rip apart and splice into one another, a consequence of your abandoned day pass. The glitch aggravates the headache that begins to pound at you. You’d allowed yourself to forget how bad it could be.

The willpower that had just played a forefront in your mind steadily starts to trickle out, absorbed by your humiliation and the ground below.

“You really gonna give up that easily?”

Yes.

You make a point to never lie to yourself. In truth, you won’t ever get enough of Miguel’s cadence. Deep and resonant – it smoulders with a charred ruggedness. Commanding attention, rumbling like distant thunder, an unmistakable authority woven into each word. Yet, even amidst the rough contours, there lingers a softness, a subtle grace that soothes the edges of his threats.

(Sharp claws, sharp teeth, sharp cheekbones. Soft voice.)

More webs bind you, erupting from an unclear point to circle your legs, chest, and secure your arms behind your back. You’re diminished to little more than an aggravated caterpillar, ensnared in a spider’s web. And, just as his little game of bondage draws to a close, said spider stalks within view, splitting through the crowd that quickly forms around the commotion.

With his mask on, he stands as completely impenetrable. You, on the other hand, try to reduce your quivering the best you can, afraid of relaying how truly pathetic you feel.

“Maybe I’m biding my time.” You bite back, calling on a complete bluff. “I’m sure you know how good I am at that?” It’s a low blow. Even if you could control when and where to phase out, you wouldn’t get very far before he catches up to you again.

But Miguel doesn’t waver in his closing in – not until he towers over you, looking down at your incapacitated state. Space buckles under the gravity of his existence; you, too, can feel yourself sinking, drawn in closer by the credence that bubbles off him in flares. You wish you had a cover – your pair of makeshift goggles, a face mask, anything that could elevate you to a degree relative to his. But you’re bare, figuratively naked, and you’ve never hated him more.

He lingers, assessing you, weighing his options. The moment he turns to survey the mass of people who look on inquisitively, you wiggle upward into a sitting position, then throw your head forwards, aiming for his crotch. His wrist gets in the way, though, blocking your pitiful attack on his only defenceless area. Your forehead cracks against his dimensional travel watch, shattering its screen.

“Tu puta madre!” Miguel hisses, snapping back to survey the gadget while you begin to slink away. He seems to have an eye on you, however, because you’re tugged back just as soon as you make the effort.

Like a naughty cat. You shift uncomfortably at the thought.

“Are you gonna spend all night deciding what to do with me, then? I have plans, even if you don’t.”

“Plans. I have plans alright.” The low timbre of his threat slices you where it hurts.

With a calculated flex of his shoulders, he crouches down, gathering the webs around your arms. They serve as leverage when he hauls you upward, exercising his muscles – of which you’d suspected had been padding up to this point – with one swift motion. The world upends on itself, nausea enveloping your senses with its oppressive weight. It allows space for little else; not the uncertainty, not the trepidation. You divert all your efforts on keeping your scarce lunch down, accepting the possibility of a concussion by product of his less-than-refined manhandling.

The journey to wherever he takes you is not at all long enough for you to recover. Before you know it, he’s busting through the creaky door of an empty storelot, carelessly tossing you to the floor. Your vision doubles.

Yeah. Definitely a concussion.

Like you could afford one right now.

“You’ll stay, and you’ll listen.” He points an accusatory finger.

“Sure. Until I’ve had enough, that is.”

“And where would you go, exactly?”

“Nice try, O’hara. Like I’d tell you,” Snickering, you let your head roll to face the ceiling. The action sends you back to earlier, to the robbery you’ve been seeking to suppress. How careless you’d been, letting your fortune to date trick you into thinking that any collateral was safe too. You’d killed that woman. You. “Maybe I’ll fall right through the floor. That way, you’ll never have to worry about seeing me again.”

The notion makes him pause mid-pace, hands on his hips, tilting his head to look at you with what you imagine is the most earnest glare. The air bobs, suspended in static tension, a crackling constant that only unravels once he seems to make up his mind.

Marching forward, he drags you along with him to a nearby wall, upon which he then pushes you upward until you have to look down to meet his eyeline. Your bound legs kick forward, but the struggle hardly affects him.

“I didn’t want to resort to this.”

You assume he means treating you like a toddler does its shiny new toy, hurling you across this playpen of a city. “You really didn’t have to, then.”

He stays quiet, fists clenching tighter around you.

“I suppose we’re past the courtesy of letting the other recover from the last fight before starting a new one? My forearm is still fucked, thanks to you. Maybe if you’d given it some time, I would’ve proved more of a challenge today.” Your words, whilst never your most steadfast allies, betray you in lieu of this restlessness, tumbling forth with unruly incoherence.

Miguel's mask pulls back, the nanotech collapsing to just above his adams apple. Your mouth moves faster.

“Okay, I get it. The fate of the multiverse and all that. I’ll listen, whatever you want, but at least try and make the lecture original.”

His hand cups your jaw, tightening around your chin to firmly guide it upwards. Your throat stretches taut at the motion, its smooth expanse spread across the wall – an evening repast for a party of one. The imagery breaks down an all too sobering realisation into fragments small enough for you to register. His talons rest against your cheek, bordering perilously close to your waterline.

Traces of that patchouli aftershave hit you. His skin looks especially bronzed in the dark, highlighted at the edges from the phosphorescence outside. His curls droop where they’re plastered to a sweat slicked hairline.

You can’t help it. Your gaze flickers down to those plush lips.

Fuck. Fuck. It’d felt so good to kiss them.

Please let this just be a kiss.

“O-Or go with the… the usual, y’know. I don’t–”

Miguel lunges, sinking his fangs into the fleshy sinew of your neck.

Christ.

Your jaw hangs open, but no breaths filter in. Shock wedges itself at the site of his bite, implacable, steadfast as a barrier between logic and uninhibited emotion. Your reasoning plays no part in this, provides absolutely no valuable contribution to the series of reactions you undergo.

It’s physical, first. The cold slither of paralytic venom distends through your nerves, neurotoxins striking their functions, rendering them useless beyond the point of sensation. Which, you’d say, is the cruellest part. Miguel’s poison doesn’t stop you from feeling anything; not the puncture, nor the burn. You can truly feel it, trekking its graceful path to all muscles in your body, taking hold of the tissue, suppressing their vitality. Your back arches, your body doing its very best to fight what it cannot prevent. It cracks up your bone, down your spine. Your toes unfurl, fingers loosening to hang lamely at your side.

And, when you lose all executive authority over yourself, you’re pulled in to centre on his mouth again. His canines slowly retract, tongue taking their place. It’s warm – so fucking warm – and dextrous, covertly lathering the blood that beads down your nape.

Your last proper breath is wasted on a whine; a loud, keening, absolutely wanton whine. After it, you can do nothing but hold your flat inhales to cycle in as much oxygen as possible – diaphragm weak, your resolve weaker.

Miguel draws away, letting you slump to the floor, heavy and just as useless as a sack of flour. He wipes the excess carmine from his chin, kneeling to regard your glassy eyed stare.

“Fall through now, and you’re as good as dead.”

(You might as well already be.)

chapter four →

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tarjapearce · 5 months

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What is Mama an Miguel’s fave sex position?

Jsksj omg nonny. NSFW undercut

Miguel absolutely LOVES Doggy style. Specially when he presses your head further into the mattress, muffling your cries and your ass is displayed before him in all it's glory.

He loves watching his fat cock slide in into your weeping pussy, stretching to his girth cause you feel so perfectly warm and tight for him, and he loves watching his cum rolling down your clit.

Missionary is another one of his favorite. Specially when he's feeling particularly romantic and want to enjoy you thoroughly. It's one of his favorites cause he gets to see all of your expressions while he's inside you.

He loves loves so badly when you're cupping his cheeks, mumbling how much you love eachother within blown breaths and pants as he wraps your legs around his waist. Eye contact is a MUST. He'll kiss you nonstop until you look at him in the eyes. And he can cradle you as you come undone underneath him.

He relishes into feeling your despair for him. That consuming need only he sates, leaving you both begging for air, disheveled and his front strands colliding against your forehead. It's so intimate. And you calling him Mi amor in that sweet moaning voice during?

He really means it when he tells that you have no idea the things you do with his mind.

The Spider. C'mon. What a better position to have him underneath you just for him to see how well you take him? And when you're extra needy, he'd lean back and enjoy the show, looking how well you fuck yourself to him and talking you through it. Controlling the pace.

Reverse Cowgirl cause, yeah, it morphs into doggy style. Plus he just lose it as soon as he sees your ass jumping and bouncing ontop of him, taking him like a champ. He loves watching the size of his hands groping and squeezing your ass.

When he's extra needy and kinky, He'd slap any surface he can reach while plumbing your insides, specially when you beg him to not be gentle.

As for Mama, needless to say, Mama loves it rough, but also enjoys a good vanilla from time to time.

Mating press is on the top list cause you love feeling the teasing stretch of Miguel inch by inch as he delves inside. His 6'9" caging you completely in his strong frame makes your orgasm mind shattering. Some even have you laughing like a total fool while he renewes your walls white.

The Prone Bone, works wonders, specially if you're tired but in need of your beefy man to rearrange your guts, specially after a stressful day on both ends. He loves when you're biting either the pillow or sheets

Flatiron is your own version of the missionary. Having such a fine man as your husband to talk both the sweetest things and pure filth in your ear while he smothers you with his body, specially when he cradled and embraces you to then bite your earlobe, and sets the pace for a slow and torturing tempo.

You live for his whimpers and wanton moans as you squeeze him, making your walls to snug him in a Pompoir choke. He can feel everything, and so do you.

Hearing him a moaning and grunting mess above you makes your imagination and senses to soar in delight.

The L, is perfect to have your insides well plowed and milked while Miguel kisses your ankle and thigh. Plus, it grants you a good clit massage from your husband.

You're somehow flexible, given Miguel's size, your muscles have accustomed to his manhandling and melding.

Against the wall? Of course. Having no room to breath properly while he fucks the daylights out of you is simply delicious and oh so kinky if you're doing it in the laundry room, mouth covered and hoping that Gabi doesn't knock on.

The thrill of being absolutely quiet to the point of your pussy and it's continuous 'zrup-ing' noises were heard every time he slid in, was matchless.

His neck was full of bites and his chest adorned with little hickeys. His back with delicious scratches, he wore proudly underneath his button shirt.

Whenever you used sweaters or pants, meant that he had left your inner thighs marked with either his own share of lovebites and fangs grazing. Only to remove your clothes at night to admire his handiwork and look for new places to put them in.

#miguel o'hara #t writes✨#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #soccer family ⚽🕷️#miguel o'hara smut #miguel spiderman #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel o'hara x y/n #spiderman 2099 imagine #spiderman 2099 smut

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tempocativo · 2 years

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Dia Internacional da Biodiversidade

Dia Internacional da Biodiversidade Penso tratar-se de uma aranha-caranguejeira-das-flores (Misumena cf. nigromaculata) Local: Braga © Tempo Cativo

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xxoxobree · 10 months

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We’re Home?

Miles Morales (1610 & 42) x Fem!Black!Reader, Spider Person Reader

A/n: Couldn’t get this idea out my head so here you are 🫶🏽

Summary: You and Miles got sent to the wrong dimension.

WARNINGS: None I think ❤️

In a moment of terror, your eyes met Miles' with a shared sense of panic as Miguel relentlessly tried to reach you, his clawed hands outstretched. Your chest heaved rapidly, matching the tempo of your racing heart, as you desperately clutched onto Miles' hand, offering a comforting squeeze. And then, in a split second, a blinding flash of light consumed your surroundings, casting you both into the void. As the disorienting journey through the portal came to an end, you found yourselves violently landing a mere few feet apart, breathless and shaken.

"Miles... Miles!" Your voice pierced the air, filled with urgency as you desperately called out his name. But he stayed silent, lost in his own pain, his chest heaving with each labored breath. The sight of his panic broke your heart, you knew all too well the reasons behind his distress.

You removed your mask and knelt by his side, "Miles, baby, it's alright. We made it home," you whispered, your voice laced with reassurance, as you gently clasped his trembling hand and pressed it against your cheek. In that moment, you hoped that the warmth of your touch, the softness of your voice, would offer him the comfort.

But his breathing grew more rigid, his body filled with tension as he forcefully snatched his hands away from your grasp. Without sparing you a glance, he stood up and swung away from you, distancing himself.

Desperation welled within you as you called out to him, pleading for him to stay, but he only swung further away. Frustration boiled over, and you couldn't contain the words that tore from your lips. "Fuckkkk..." The word echoed through the air, a raw expression of your frustration. You swiftly donned your mask once again, the cold metal against your skin a stark reminder of the mission at hand.

You chased after your boyfriend, the sound of your webs in the silence as you pushed yourself to catch up with him. Deep down, you knew exactly where he was headed, and you couldn't afford to lose sight of him.

Miles slow down please." You tried to plead with him, but he showed no sign of stopping, his head not moving from looking forward.

"Mil-" Your spidey sense triggered. You looked around to see a truck coming full speed ahead, on a collision course with Miles. Time seemed to slow down as panic surged through your veins. Without a second thought, you swung into action, pushing Miles out of harm's way.

He was fine, but that didn't mean everything was okay. As the adrenaline started to fade, you felt the pain radiating from your pelvis all the way to your knee. For sure, something was broken. You winced, gritting your teeth, and looked at Miles, who was still in panic mode.

"Miles, please," you whimpered, your voice strained, holding your side.

But he only looked at you for a second before swinging off again, his mind consumed by his fathers fate. You felt your heart shatter from your lover's actions.

You took off your mask, revealing your tear-streaked face. The pain you felt radiated throughout your body, causing you to whimper softly as you attempted to stand. You mustered the strength to limp forward.

"Come on, Spider-Man," you whispered to yourself. "You've got lives to save."

You shot a web into the distance, propelling yourself towards Miles' home.

As you gracefully landed on the building across from his window, you balanced delicately on your toes. From this point, you watched intently as Miles crawled through his window.

You swung across, the wind rushing past you as you. Crawling towards the window, you knocked on it, hoping that Miles would open it. To your relief, he did.

"Are you okay now?" you asked, your voice filled with concern. Miles nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

You couldn't help but be overwhelmed with emotions. You grabbed his face gently, pressing his forehead against yours, desperately savoring his warmth. You wanted him to feel the love radiating from your skin, to know that you were there for him, no matter what.

"I'll meet you on the roof, Papa," you whispered, your voice filled with determination. "Let's save your dad."

With that, you pulled away, crawling onto the roof. The night sky stretched out before you, twinkling with stars.

You looked around the bustling streets of New York City. It was Miles' building, but something felt off, and you couldn't quite put your finger on it. Your eyebrows scrunched together as you searched for any signs or clues that could explain this strange feeling.

You turned your gaze towards the entrance of the building, and that's when you saw it. Words etched in bold white letters. "R.I.P Jeff Morales, Husband, Hero, Father." Your body froze, and you stumbled back in shock, your mind struggling to comprehend what your eyes were telling you.

Tears welled up in your eyes as the reality sank in.

"No, no, no," you whispered, your voice choked with grief. "They said two days. They said we had two days." The words tumbled out of your mouth, a desperate plea to rewind time.

You finally felt the tears fall, overwhelmed by the weight of you were looking at. You had failed Miles, and Mrs. Morales. Regret gnawed at your conscience.

While you were lost in the depths of your thoughts ,Miles had been silently watching, his heart pounding with a mix of hope and confusion. Could it be true? Had you really returned to him after vanishing without a trace? Countless hours were spent scouring every corner of the city, searching for any lead that would bring you back, only to find all trails going dark.

But there you were, standing before him, a familiar face yet somehow different. In a Spider-Man costume, you now wore the very attire you used to tease Miles about. And your hair, once a vibrant shade of pink that he had grown to adore, was now a striking red. Your two puffs now a single one.Baffled he observed as tears streamed down your cheeks.

What were you crying about? It suddenly struck him. Of course, you had disappeared before the demise of his father. The pain of losing him must have been shocking for you, and now, in this moment, it all came crashing back.

As he dropped with caution, his steps were hushed, barely making a sound. Your spidey senses seemed to have temporarily deserted you, leaving you vulnerable and unaware of his approach. It was you, he thought, drawing closer to confirm his suspicions. Standing there, he observed you with a mix of awe and admiration, taking in your presence for a brief moment.

Just as he was about to reveal himself, your instincts kicked in. Without any conscious thought, he reacted, striking you swiftly and forcefully, rendering you unconscious. The realization of what he had done washed over Miles, his eyes widening in regret and horror as he caught your falling body, preventing it from hitting the ground.

"Shit, what did I do," Miles exclaimed, his voice laced with anguish and remorse. He cradled your limp form gently, the weight of his actions sinking in.

He turned his gaze towards your face and a gentle expression washed over him. You were in his arms safe and secure.

"Hello, Amor. I've missed you so much," he said, his voice filled with emotion, almost on the verge of breaking.

Realizing that he had to share the news of your return with someone, he decided to text Uncle Aaron. Setting you down gently, he took out his phone.

"Yo unc, you wouldn't believe who I found," Miles texted back, his fingers rapidly tapping on his phone's screen.

"Miles, I'm right next to you. What are you texting for?" he questioned, his tone laced with confusion.

Miles looked up, and replied, "Next to me? What are you talking about?"

"Get in position," the text message buzzed on Miles' phone. "I'm coming to the roof now."

As he positioned himself, hidden from view, he observed his uncle walking through the door, followed by someone unexpected.

And then, standing before him, was a figure that sent chills down Miles' spine. It was Him.

Miles wasted no time leaping, knocking himself out.

You regained consciousness, your eyes still closed, a massive headache washing over you along with the pain in your side. You groaned, trying to move, only to feel that you were tied. Your wrists were bound, as well as your ankles. Your eyes shot open as you wriggled around, sitting up.

You scanned your surroundings. You would recognize this apartment from anywhere. Aaron's apartment, but he's dead. How'd you get here? Dread slowly filled you.

"You should stop moving, sweetheart," you heard a voice say.

Your head snapped up toward the voice. You blinked your eyes, unable to believe who stood before you.

"Yeah, it's her nephew,"

"You're supposed to be dead, we watched you die," you said lowly, the painful memories of that day flooding your mind.

"Unc, please, you have to let me go. Where's Miles?" you whimpered out, trying to hold back your emotions.

"Why would we let you leave?" The voice boomed, sending a shiver down your spine. The sound of heavy footsteps refilled your ear, growing louder with each passing second. Your heart raced as you braced yourself for whatever awaited you.

Suddenly, the figure responsible for the voice came into view. A masked figure, dressed in a black and purple suit adorned with the distinctive prowler logo, stood before you. The cold steel of his claws brushed against your chin, causing you to flinch.

"Red suits you, amor," the prowler taunted. You hardened your gaze, recognizing the familiar logo on his shirt. This was no ordinary criminal. This was personal. But you were still confused as Aaron stood to the left of you.

"Don't call me that," you retorted, your voice filled with a mix of defiance and fear. The memories of the past encounters you and Miles had with the prowler flooded your mind, fueling your determination to escape.

As the prowler's mask powered down and slowly retracted, revealing his true identity, your breath caught in your throat.

"Miles?" you whispered, your voice barely audible

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jellyjaws · 1 year

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cmon, if you're in the cocoon forever i wouldn't get to see your face again, and that's no good, huh~?

#hypnosis #cocooning #tempo the spider

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jellybeans2099 · 9 months

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Cam Person Drabble

Paring: Miguel O'Hara x Spiderperson!Reader

Part 2 Here

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, obsessive behaviors, masturbation, breeding kink, size difference (if you squint), s-x work is real work

Word Count: 0.5k

A/N: I used they/them pronouns for the reader so insert whichever ones you use. No real descriptions of what the reader has going on to keep this neutral. This idea has been swimming in my head for DAYS and I need to just get it out. Let me know if you want a longer version of this! (also loosely based on @oharahive's Frustration series, I just love the idea of frustrated Miguel and oblivious reader so I took my own spin on it)

He wondered how pathetic he looked staring at his computer screen with such an intensity. The object of all his late night longing was right in front of him and yet he knew they were so much farther away than he could ever get to them. How silly was it to get attached to the person behind the screen. And yet here he is every single stream, cock in hand. It started out as an accident. An honest to god accident. He didn't want to know what you did in your spare time and how you supported yourself when you weren't at HQ but he saw your username handle while doing a routine check in on new recruits. You only met him once and had never even made a point to see him again. Only exchanging a hello out of curtesy or a brief recap after a mission. You didn't go out your way to see him, just another person here in the spider society. He shouldn't have looked it up and found you streaming in your down time. The moment he laid eyes on your half dressed form, moaning and pleading with someone in stream controlling your toy he was transfixed. He found himself dick in hand pumping hard and fast in tempo with you. He was absolutly obsessed. He felt a desire bubble up he had never felt before. How much he would give to see his cum leaking out your pretty little hole, moaning his name as he fucks it all back into you. Watching himself go deep inside you, into places no toy could ever reach. By the time he came to he had a large load of cum covering his t-shirt and sweats dripping on the floor underneath his desk.

Now here he was almost 6 months later and he couldn't stop himself. Every night you were streaming there he was in front of his desk waiting for you to go live. He paced himself now, not cumming until you finished the stream as a reward for being so patient. Sometimes a stream was quick, just 20 minutes before you were abruptly interrupted by "nosy neighbors" which was always something going down at HQ that needed your urgent attention. Those days are particularly hard to pull himself back together to face you as your assigned a mission for a new anomaly. Some days he made sure that HQ had a backup for you just incase you wanted to be live a little longer. Those streams sometimes went on for up to 3 hours and he savored them to the last second. At HQ he could hardly face you without getting an immediate hard on, often meeting you only when his back was turned, You hardly seemed to mind, you kept your distance as much as you could. He once overheard a conversation you had with Peter B. saying you found him intimidating and that you were keeping your distance. Oh how little you know about the beast you've awakened in him.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara smut #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #atsv miguel #miguel x you #miguel o’hara fic #miguel o'hara x spiderperson!reader #spider man 2099 #spiderman 2099 spiderverse #miguel ohara x y/n #miguel o'hara drabble

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comicchannel · 6 months

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Funko Pop Movies Marvel Venom Let There Be Carnage - 926

Link para compra BR: https://amzn.to/3tFWfHx

Buy here: https://amzn.to/46zZyP2

#Funko Pop #Action Figure #comics #movies #marvel #spider man #homem aranha #Venom Let There Be Carnage #venom tempo de carnificina #venom #symbiote #carnage #carnificina #cletus kasady #woody harrelson

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buryustogether · 11 months

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lilac - chapter 7

miguel o’hara x f!reader

wc: 5.3k

summary: the truth will always come to light.

warnings/tags: smut, p in v sex, domestic life, mentions of pregnancy (not reader), mentions of murder/bodies, knife violence, angst, choking, kidnapping

author’s note: listened to am i dreaming while writing this and bawled

Two weeks later, you found yourself slipping into one of the private rooms at The Menagerie, feeling the thumping, thrumming music all the way from the floorboards through your feet and into your teeth. Your very heart seemed to shake with the vibrations. Your thin, sparkly cape-like train swayed behind you as you moved quietly into the room, brushing against your thighs as you locked the door.

“Hi, handsome,” you said to the customer sitting in the chair in the center of the room. The neon lights were too bright, too loud, like you were floating in a dream from another planet. “How are you doing tonight?”

Before you were able to turn around, to even get in another breath, the man was up behind you, his chest pressing into your back and his hands trailing down your sides. His breath fanned across your ear, your temple, your neck. You would have told the guy to back off if you didn’t recognize the low, even voice that spoke just inches from the shell of your ear.

“Good to know you greet all your customers the same way,” murmured Miguel from behind the painted porcelain spider mask. You could practically hear the smirk in his voice as his hands slowly slipped up your front, edging along the underside of your breasts. “Wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea, thinking they were special.”

Your racing heart slowed its uneven tempo as you were unable to put down the grin set upon your lips. You turned your head ever so slightly so that you were able to see a sliver of his wide, massive frame hulking over yours behind you. Moving upon their own accord, your hands reached up to rest over his where they sat on your stomach. Then you tugged his palms up so that they cupped your breasts through the flimsy fabric of your monarch costume.

“If you wanted me to touch you,” you said, just audible over the beat enveloping you both even here in the private room, “you could have just waited until I got home.”

“Hmm - but where’s the fun in that?”

Finally turning around, you smiled and reached up to nudge the spider mask over Miguel’s face. Those features of his - those beautiful, rugged, wonderful features of his - were bathed in the neon from the lights as you pulled it off his head entirely. His smirk was predatorial, hungry and eager to start the hunt for what he was after. You pushed against his chest, backing him up across the room because suddenly the roles had changed, and when he sat back in the chair to stare up at you, he knew it.

“The fun in that,” you said as you sank down to your knees before him, “is that you get to moan my name as loud as you want at home.”

This was how it had gone for these past two weeks, and that was how it went for the next one, as well. Pure bliss clouded your mind like a fog that refused to go away. Even if you wanted it gone, you couldn’t have gotten rid of it. Your brain was partially blind to the world around you as you went about your life as if you weren’t dating Miguel O’Hara, as if you weren’t housing Spiderman in your shitty little apartment, as if your world hadn’t been uprooted for the absolute better.

It went like this even when you called up the school at the beginning of the third week, reaching out to the front desk ladies who always did crosswords and snapped bubble gum instead of actually doing their jobs.

One of them picked up on the fourth ring. “Washington Elementary, this is Janice at the front desk.”

“Hey, Janice,” you said as you leaned over the countertop of your kitchen. A small cry attempted to escape you, but you were successful in keeping it down. “Listen, I know it’s short notice, but I need to use - hmm! - a couple of my vacation days I have saved up. I-I’m going out of town for the week and I won’t be back… back until next Monday.”

The front desk lady was typing away on that ancient computer of hers with those tacky nails, though you were barely able to hear it over the racing and thundering of your heart in your ears. “Alright,” she drawled in a voice that was way too slow for you. “Did you have a particular substitute in mind?”

You pressed your lips together until they ached as you pressed further up against the counter, practically folded over it at this point. “Nope,” you said, your tone strained and tight. “Any will do. And thanks! See you next week.”

“Wait-”

You clicked your phone off and sent it skidding further down the kitchen countertop, finally able to release the long, strangled cry that you had been holding in the entire call. The long, thick cock buried inside your sopping cunt had been shallowly bucking into you while you talked, and the wide, calloused hand pressing you by your upper back into the counter hadn’t helped, either.

You exhaled a pant and whimpered in pleasure as the man behind you leaned over your smaller form, his warmth pressing up against you. “Good girl,” Miguel murmured against the shell of your ear, then bit it gently with the tips of his fangs. “I told you you could stay quiet for me.”

Days were spent lounging around the apartment, recovering from the throbbing ache the previous day’s (or, oftentimes, that morning’s) sweaty, heated session had left you with between your thighs. You would tidy up your home or run errands, always anticipating the soft sound from your bedroom of the window being rolled up and the near-silent noises of Spiderman crawling in from the fire escape. Afternoons you would spend bent over the nearest surface - the counter, the arm of the couch, the bed, the coffee table. He didn’t care, and neither did you. And the evenings were spent with dinner with your new little family, or out at late night soccer games flooded with light from the torches over the field. No matter where you were, whether it was his leg pressed against yours or his hand slid into your back pocket or just his hand atop yours, Miguel was always touching you.

It felt like a dream. It felt like maybe you’d died and gone to heaven, because, really, life in this smog-ridden, violet-colored sky couldn’t be this good. It shouldn’t have felt this good.

And, of course, because all things must come to a close, an end, a stop - this dream did.

It was late in an afternoon, when the sky outside had just finished painting itself with the dull colors of sunset, that you found yourself folding laundry in the living room and watching the news on your television. Unconsciously, because you had been doing this for nearly three weeks now, you made three stacks of the clean clothes; yours, Gabriella’s, and Miguel’s. His and yours were set aside to go back to the bedroom. Hers would stay out here and be stored in the drawers of your shelves; if the O’Haras were going to be staying with you for much longer - which you really, really hoped they did - you were going to need a bigger apartment. Gabriella needed her own room. And you and Miguel… you needed a bedroom with thicker walls.

You’d decided to wear one of his favorite dresses - a short, pink little number - in anticipation for when he retired from patrolling the city this afternoon. He intended, as he’d told you this morning before you both got out of bed, to come home, fuck you until you saw stars, have dinner, then go back out again for a night watch.

And you had no problem with that.

You’d just reached down to grab a shirt from your basket when there came a knock on your front door. Not gentle, but not unfriendly, either. Standing straight and turning the television down a few levels, you silently padded across the apartment and stood on your tiptoes to raise yourself to look through the peephole. The multiple golden locks glinted to your right.

You’d expected to find a neighbor asking for a favor, or maybe girl scouts selling cookies for their little fundraisers. Hell, even your landlord coming to ask if the new additions to your apartment would be staying permanently, and if so, demanding more rent. But instead, you found three people you had not seen before. They were an odd little trio, one that made you take a second glance after you had scanned them all over once.

The one who had knocked on your door was a woman with dark skin and large, round glasses with tinted lenses sitting on her nose. One of her hands, the wrist decorated with bangles and other bracelets, protectively held the massive bump on her stomach; she looked ready to pop and have her kid any day. On her left was a boy that looked no older than twenty; he, too, was dark-skinned, with dreads that stuck out like a halo and multiple rings affixed to his nose, his brow, his ears… Eyeliner had been applied to his lids, and across his back was a sleek-looking electric guitar. And on the woman’s left was a middle-aged man in a fluffy bathrobe, busy adjusting the baby carrier strapped across his front. The toddler inside giggled and attempted to paw at his fingers.

Your first thought was that they were just a strange-looking family, maybe asking for directions or hoping for some charity. But if that was the case… why had they come up to your floor?

Taking a breath, you unlocked your door and swung it open. The trio looked up - including the red-haired baby - and they all seemed to do a double-take on you, as well. The man’s lips parted in surprise. The teenager quirked an amused smile. And the woman pressed her lips together in a sense that said she saw something she didn’t like.

“Now we know why the bloke’s stayin’ ‘round here,” said the boy in a thick English accent.

Blinking a few times, you nervously folded your hands over your stomach and put on your best smile. “Hi,” you said to the tiny group. “Can I help you at all?”

The woman - who had visibly composed herself - returned your smile and straightened herself out. “Sorry to bother you,” she said in an apologetic way that, if you thought you heard right, sounded more on edge than anything else. “We’re looking for Miguel O’Hara; he’s a friend of ours. Does he live anywhere around here?”

For a brief moment, you flashed back to that day at Alchemax, when you’d overheard Lyla the defective AI talking to Miguel about spending time with friends. Were these the friends she’d been speaking of? Fuck, you suddenly wished you remembered their names. “He lives here, actually,” you said, then stepped aside to welcome them in. “Would you like to come inside? He’s out… running a few errands, but he should be back any time now.”

One by one they filed into your apartment, practically filling the little kitchen your front door opened into. The boy hopped up on your kitchen counter, adjusting his guitar strap across his chest and spreading his legs out to take up space.

You introduced yourself to them, told them your name. “Can I get you anything to drink?” you said, eyeing the strange little trio as they took in your apartment. Suddenly you felt like you were being held under a microscope; they were examining your decor, the pictures on your walls, the half-finished stack of laundry still sitting on the couch. You guessed you’d expected Miguel to have more… plausible friends. Other scientists at Alchemax. Fellow single fathers. Not a stylish pregnant woman with something against you, a manspreading teenager who was leaning back on his hands on your damn counter, and a middle aged man cooing at a toddler strapped to his chest.

“No, we’re fine,” said the woman.

“Actually,” said the man, earning himself a swift glare from his companion, “do you have anything sweet lying around? She just had lunch, and she gets fussy if she doesn’t have the dessert I promised.” He gestured to the red haired little girl sitting in her carry-on seat, staring up at her father with large, wide eyes.

“Peter, stop it,” hissed the woman.

Shaking your head, partially to dismiss the strangeness of the whole situation, you stood up on your tiptoes and began to search through your cupboards for something sweet; you’d been keeping a lot more treats around since Gabriella had moved in. “No, it’s okay,” you said as you handed the box to Peter, who gasped dramatically for the sake of his baby. “I need to get rid of these anyway.”

You stood back against the sink, feeling awkward in your own home as the strangers waited. Clearing your throat and attempting to look busy folding a dish towel, you said, “So… how did you guys meet Miguel? He hasn’t really talked about his friends much… at all, to be honest. I kind of thought he was more of a lone wolf.”

“Hah!” the boy on your counter barked out a laugh. “That he is, love.”

“We work with him,” said the woman. She reached up to adjust her tinted glasses, and it was then that you noticed she wore a silver band around her wrist with some kind of orange interface - a watch of some kind? You peeked at the other two, and realized they wore them, as well.

“Really?” you said, tilting your head and forcing yourself to smile. You glanced at the boy. “No offense, but… I didn’t think Alchemax would hire anyone so young. Are you an intern?”

“They wish,” he replied and crossed his ankle over his other leg. He wore bright teal sneakers, one sporting yellow laces and the other, blue. “Don’t think some stuffy, thieving corporation like that could handle me even if they tried.”

Peter scoffed and rolled his eyes, in the process of breaking up cookies to give the toddler against his front. “Sure, Hobie,” he snickered. “That’s why.”

“He told you he works at Alchemax?” said the woman, who had come closer to you than you realized until she was just feet away. You were able to see her eyes through her shades - almond-cut and heavy-lidded, those brown irises filled with an emotion that you could not place. It intimidated you slightly, and you wanted to look away, but her words brought an unfamiliar sense of unease slowly rolling through you.

“I… yes?” you said, wringing the towel in your hands now. “He does work there. I’ve - I’ve been to his office before. He’s a geneticist.”

“Jessica…” said Peter in a voice that sounded akin to a warning.

Jessica’s lips had pursed into a thin line, one that set a line at the corner of her mouth. You backed further against the sink. “Do us a favor and call him,” she said, but it didn’t sound like a favor, and more of a demand. “We really need to speak to him.”

Swallowing thick and steeling your heart, because no longer did you refuse to be ordered around in your own home, you set down the rag and stood straight again. “I think it would be best if you all left,” you said, looking around at the three. “I’ll tell Miguel you dropped by.”

Then, like they were a pack of animals all sensing something you could not - even the damned baby - they all turned their heads in the direction of your bedroom. Their eyes were focused, all other movements ceased. It was one of the strangest things you had ever seen. Then, finally, you heard it, too - the sound of your window being opened, of a heavy weight vaulting inside and landing on the hardwood floor with a soft thud.

“Perfect timing,” said Jessica, and a film of goosebumps trailed over your skin.

For a long, agonizing few moments, you all stood perfectly still, waiting for Miguel to appear from the bedroom. The only sound was the television still playing the news and the soft cooing of the baby against Peter’s chest as she continued devouring cookies.

Feeling your heart racing in your chest, listening to it thunder and roll in your ears, you took a breath and called, “Mig?”

His reply came from the bedroom just a moment later. “It’s just me.”

“Yeah.” You turned a wary gaze to the strangers standing in your kitchen, wringing your hands, now. “Could - could you come here, please? Now?”

He must have sensed the slight waver in your voice, maybe he smelled your nerves in the air - he seemed to have been fine tuned into your senses now - because at once, the bedroom door opened and his careful, mindful footsteps tread down the hall. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him enter the room still in his suit, his hair mussed from having just deactivated his mask. When he laid eyes on the intruders cornering you in the kitchen, he stopped solidly in his tracks.

“There’s the man of the hour,” said Hobie, then lay back entirely across the counter to grin at your boyfriend upside down. “Fancy catchin’ you here, ain’t it?”

Miguel stared hard at the teenager, his chest rising and caving in an uneven pattern and fists clenched at his sides. “Get down,” he ordered in a low, frightening voice that told you at once - these were not his friends. “Now.”

“Miguel,” said Jessica as she crossed the kitchen to meet him. “We seriously need to talk about this.”

“About what?” he snapped.

She pulled an expression that screamed this was not the first time they had talked about this. One hand resting on her swollen belly, she raised the other to gesture around your apartment. It threw your heart out of tandem. “About this. What are you doing, O’Hara? This - this is insane. I don’t know what kind of screw came loose in that brain of yours, but you’ve completely lost it.”

You had no idea what they were talking about. For a moment, you thought she was speaking about your relationship with Miguel. Then a moment became seconds. What was happening? Who were these people and what business did they have interfering with your lives?

Miguel stared daggers into the woman, but she only returned them with equal heat. He took a breath in through his nose as if he were going to say something, then quickly, with intent, turned his eyes to yours.

Understanding at once, you squeezed past Peter, who was now letting his daughter dig through the bag of cookies, and tread carefully past Miguel. You were practically able to feel the fury radiating off of him in waves. “I’ll give you all some privacy,” you said softly, tiptoeing back into the living room. You took up your previous space beside the couch and resumed folding the laundry, but your mind was still back in the kitchen. What the fuck was going on?

Your eyes were trained on the news, but your ears - and attention - were straining to hear the conversation being whisper-shouted just in the next room.

“You’re out of your damn mind, Miguel!” Jessica said. “Purposely changing canon events? Redirecting this dimension so it wraps around your little fucking finger? What’s going on?”

“This is different,” Miguel hissed, and you knew at that moment that he was distraught, because he was letting his fangs get in the way of his speech. He hardly ever let that happen. “I’m balancing the canon events. This dimension is still stable.”

You recognized Hobie’s voice, thick and heavy with his accent. “Really?” he said, and you heard the electric twang of his guitar being fiddled with. “What’cha call that glitch in Brooklyn, then?”

“Why exactly are you here, Brown?”

“Don’t know. Wanted to see fur fly, I’spose.”

“We’re here to take you back to HQ, Miguel,” said Jessica in that stern, commanding voice that she had used with you. “You’re tearing this reality apart at the seams. You know what happens if you do.”

Trying to listen in further, you took a step toward the kitchen, placing a hand on a shelf beside an empty vase.

“You have no power over me, Drew,” Miguel snarled. “In fact, I’d say you’re far out of line.”

“If I am, you can’t even see the damn line anymore, you pompous ass.” She exhaled a breath, likely trying to calm herself. “You’re the one who preaches to the others how dangerous altering canon events are. Why are you doing this?”

“Oh, I think we know why,” Peter piped up then, but his voice was light, teasing, even. Trying not to sound hostile, trying not to invoke those powerful claws and fangs. His daughter cooed and babbled.

There came a moment of long, palpable silence. But your attention was then drawn to the television, to a breaking news coverage.

Jessica exhaled. “You can’t save them, Miguel,” she said in a voice that almost wasn’t there. “Either of them. You’re damning them by staying here.”

“Enough,” came Miguel’s deathly quiet whisper.

“You’re killing them,” she snarled then, and the baby’s nonsense silenced. “Both of them; that little girl, that poor woman, you are literally tearing them apart from the inside out.”

“ENOUGH!”

Your hand slipped and knocked over the vase, sending it to shatter into pieces on the floor. The conversation in the kitchen ceased, but you did not notice any of it. Your eyes were glued to the screen, lips open and heart stopped in your chest and world falling apart at the seams.

From the kitchen, Miguel said your name. He - along with the strangers - stepped into the living room. You felt a hand on your arm, and it sent pinpricks like fire racing through your skin. They all followed your gaze to the television, where a reporter was listening to an earpiece.

“That’s right,” she said to the camera. “We’ve just confirmed that the remains of the body found by authorities just two hours ago are, in fact, from renowned Alchemax geneticist Miguel O’Hara. Reports are saying he allegedly died from a gunshot wound inflicted by a second party. The body was found hidden in an abandoned warehouse set for demolition to clear room for -”

The silence in the apartment was so tense, so thick, you could have sliced it with a butcher knife.

And that was exactly what you intended to do.

That hand on your arm had tightened its grip. Slowly, because you were afraid if you went too fast you’d faint, you turned your head to look at Miguel. Not Miguel. Not Miguel O’Hara. Because Miguel O’Hara was dead. This was not him. An imposter. A twin, maybe. But nevertheless, an imposter.

This was not Miguel. This was a stranger - and you had fallen in love with him.

Holding your arm, the man was already staring at you. Those eyes that you had come to love, had gazed into while he held you, while he fucked you, were trained on yours with a certain kind of glaze you could not decipher. The strangers were all watching the pair of you, waiting, unsure of just what was about to happen.

The man said your name in that way you loved. Now it made you sick. “Hey,” he said, turning you to face him. He raised his wrist and shot out a web that clicked the television off. “Hey, baby, don’t listen to that. I was - I was called about this earlier today. There was a mix up with the names.”

You could not hear him. You only heard the blood rushing through your ears, only felt the icy cold that had replaced your veins. Slowly, placing one foot in front of the other, you padded past the man. Past the strangers. Into the kitchen - where you silently unsheathed a butcher knife from the block on the counter.

You felt his presence behind you, like a ghost, like a shadow; like the stranger he was, following you. That’s what he had been doing all this time. Following you, stalking you. Pretending to be someone you would trust. Oh, fuck; had he taken Gabriella after her real father was killed? Had he been manipulating her this entire time?

He said your name again, touched your waist. And you struck.

With a cry that came from somewhere deep in your throat, filled with all the shock and rage and confusion and anger you had within you, you spun around and slashed the knife at the man. His senses must have gone into overdrive, because he jumped back, then shot out a web to stick your hand - and the knife - to the countertop.

“Miguel!” cried Peter as the others crowded in after him.

You released a scream at the four of them, trying desperately to pull the webbing off your hand. “Leave me alone!” you shrieked up at the man watching you with wide, frantic eyes. “Get out! Get away from me!”

“Hey, hey, baby, you have to listen to me.” The man grabbed your other fist when you tried to swing it at him, pinning you down against the sink. When you screamed again, he clapped a hand over your mouth. “Listen to me, baby. You remember what I told you that day at Alchemax? About twin dimensions and realities?”

Jessica took a step forward. “Miguel, enough,” she said, but her words fell on deaf ears.

“It’s true,” he said to you, bringing his face close to yours, despite how much you tried to pull away. “I’m not from this dimension. Mine, my home - it was destroyed. This reality’s Miguel, he was a done case, but I stepped in, you understand me? I couldn’t let Bri be an orphan, I couldn’t -” He stared at you, his heavy breath fanning over your face, his eyes wide and desperate. “I couldn’t let you go, don’t you see that?” He shook his head slightly. “I’m still Miguel. I’m still your Mig. I’m still yours.”

Then his mouth was on yours, his hands holding either side of your head in a grasp that felt as though it were bruising your scalp. He tasted just like you remembered, just how you liked, just like how you loved. And for a moment, for a stupid, foolish moment, you were kissing him back. Because he was still your Miguel. He wasn’t from here, from your reality, but dammit, he was still yours.

But your body acted upon its own accord, shoved your mind and your logic out the window. Because you’d gotten your hand free of the webbing. Letting go of the knife, you shoved him backward, ducked under his arm, and ran for the front door. He yelled your name, roared it, but you were quicker than him. You slammed the door open, swung around, and threw it shut, then dashed down the stairs of your apartment building.

Your lips still tasted like him.

When you burst into the fresh air, you looked around for only a moment before taking off running again. You’d left everything behind - your phone, your wallet, everything - but you couldn’t stop running. Couldn’t stop running from the man who had - from what he’d said - taken the place of a dead man, played father to a child that was not his, loved you like it was actually meant to be.

You knew now that Lyla the AI had not been defective. You knew now that you were supposed to be dead by now, strangled to death by your ex boyfriend. You knew now why Miguel was late that first day picking up Gabriella. You understood everything.

Through the tears you realized were spilling down your cheeks, you managed to look a few feet ahead of you and skidded to a stop, nearly crashing into the people in front of you. A crowd of onlookers from every street on an intersection were watching, filming, screaming, as a skyscraper glitched and warped in on itself, folding and twisting as if it were on a television screen and the signal was going out.

Then, across the street, a car began to glitch. It skidded through a red light, plowed into another vehicle crossing the intersection.

A few blocks down, there came an explosion that rocked the entire street. People screamed and ducked.

Oh, fuck. It was happening - like Jessica had said. Your reality was tearing apart.

Because of Miguel.

You began to back up with the crowd as, around you, your universe was tearing apart at the seams. But then from behind, there came more screams and shrieks of panic, a symphony of chaos and pure, unbridled panic. You turned to face the street, and your heart turned to frozen, petrified ice within the confines of your chest.

The villains Spiderman - Miguel - had been putting behind bars this past month had broken free; Doctor Octopus, Kraven, the Vulture… they had all escaped, now joined together as they approached the small mass of people you stood with on the corner. Leading them was a figure you did not recognize; purple and black costume and tactical gear, mask of pure violet with electric eyes that shone like the glinting tips of the claws on their hands.

The figure entered the crowd, which parted like a sea for him, swarming in every direction possible. You backed yourself up against the front of the building you stood beside, feeling horrified, panicked tears spilling down your face as the person stopped just inches away. With one clawed hand, they reached up to gently wipe away a drop cascading down to your chin; you felt the blade of the claw nick you, and the tear was replaced with a sliver of blood.

“Please don’t cry,” said the person - said the man - behind the mask. “Not here.” You couldn’t help the warbled, strained cry that escaped your throat when he brought his head closer to yours, so that his mouth was leveled with your ear. “What’s the matter, babe? Don’t recognize the Prowler?”

Babe.

Suddenly, in that moment, you didn’t care that Miguel had lied to you. You didn’t care that he was from another dimension, that the fates had destined you to be apart. You didn’t care about any of that. You just wanted to be in his arms, shielded from this awful world falling apart at the edges by those sinewy arms and that red, chilling gaze.

You wanted Miguel because when the Prowler’s mask dematerialized and he pulled his head back, you knew the face staring back at you.

Ferris gave a wide, unnatural, sickening smirk as he watched realization dawn in your eyes. That smile curled even further when it was replaced with fear. “Take it easy, babe,” he said, his lips just inches from yours. “There’s a lot of work to be done to be getting this worked up just yet.”

Behind him, Doctor Octopus leveled his shades as one of his long, winding, mechanical arms unfurled from beneath him. Clasped by the back of her jacket with the sharp, glinting claw was Gabriella O’Hara, curled into herself as she sobbed loudly and hung onto the metal for her life.

Leaning in closer yet, Ferris shot out a clawed hand and wrapped his palm around the column of your neck. His fingers fit perfectly around the bruises just beginning to fade there; like puzzle pieces, because no matter how hard you tried to shape or bend or destroy the shape, there would only ever be one correct fit. “Let’s take a walk,” he said. “You’re going to help us catch a spider.”

tags: @mooomeadows @twentysomethingwereyote @screamforyani @fangirlreice7 @axdjelx @ornamentalnecromancy @faust-pda @ilikethemoon28 @mrm-pachypoda @wadafrick @natthernandez @bakgoktski @soupsexsunsalutationsss @roxannarichie @lovagirlxxx @soggyeyeballsss @yoyoyoyoyo55555 @sophipet @quaintii @lavnderluv @cookiezxx @euphorica @its-a-polyglot @nicalysm @maxi-ride @exzidss @crappwr0m @femme-is-dead @bitch-onthemoon @hier—soir @takayomi @kirke-is-my-name @d1lf-loverrr @might-be-a-rat @brooks-lin @maki-z @bookfreakk @act1839 @dollscircus @sleepingaway @anxietybutterfly @bioticboot @mxkn @freeingrebels @digitalcreature404 @aimee777 @hunnaye @blahbahed @cyanide-mustard @impettywhenyouare @mental-illness-is-my-friend @bobfood @jenniferdixon05207 @moonchild-cupcake @venomous-ko @marvelouslovely-barnes @syarblu @fruitcupsworld @soooooyesbutactually-no @hopefulcandywitch @elwyn7 @oh-theseus @thepanwiccan @takayomi @dreamingofbucky @yuuuumii @p1nkliquor @scammer-get-scammed @mlishe

#miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara smut #miguel spiderman #miguel o’hara x reader #atsv miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara atsv #spiderman across the spiderverse #spider man: across the spider verse #atsv #atsv x reader #atsv miguel #miguel atsv

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chillqu33n · 2 months

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Hollow Knight Cellbit e Roier. Foi um longo tempo fazendo este desenho. Isto também pertence a um au do mesmo conteúdo, chamado Spider's web (HK au) criado por mim e @/R_sunblade no twitter.

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#roier fanart #qsmp roier #roier #roier qsmp #cellbit #cellbit fanart #cellbit qsmp #qsmp cellbit #guapoduo fanart #guapoduo #spiderbit #spiderbit fanart #guapoduo au #spiderbit au #Spider and Moth couple 👀

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scribespirare · 11 months

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Do you think you could write an a/b/o for omega Miles babysitting Mayday at HQ, and tsundere alpha Miguel doesn't know how to cope? The way you write these two is just *chef's kiss*

Nonnie i could kiss you for this request i love it so so much. i kinda...went a little nuts with it lmao. first its sappy then it gets sad and it ends very horny. its 2k long ajdfkdj;a. i think im gonna write the sex scene later and post it as a full fic.

There are very few things that can stop Miguel O'Hara in his tracks these days. He's been there, seen it all, got the goddamned spider suit to prove it. Surprising him is nigh impossible and he likes it that way.

For some reason, Miles Morales seems to be at the top of the list of things that can get to him though.

Miles, with his big dark eyes and his sneer and his inability to listen to common sense or reason. The Omega superhero who defies every stereotype about his gender. Who smells absolutely amazing and is stunning in action, lithe body built perfectly for his acrobatics.

Miles, who is currently sitting in HQ's control room with Mayday in his lap, his face bright and smiling as she babbles at him. He's got her little hands in each of his own, lifting them one after the other as she stamps her feet.

"I know!" he says in response to her babbling, attention completely on the little girl. "It's crazy, right? Tell me more about it."

Mayday obliges, her babbling raising in both pitch and tempo like she really is going on a diatribe of some kind. She seems to be enjoying having a captive audience and isn't going to let it go to waste.

It's...well, Miguel really and truly has been stopped in his tracks. It's the first Omegean thing he's ever seen from Miles. Normally he's so contrarian and difficult, not to mention eager to jump into danger and equally as capable of actually handling it. You'd think he was an Alpha the way he behaves, small, lithe form be damned.

Seeing him like this, soft and sweet and smiling, his scent bright and nearly floral, is...doing things to Miguel. Bringing up feelings and urges that he's known were there, but which he'd been successfully keeping under lock and key.

Miles suddenly seems to become aware of Miguel's presence, and he looks up. His smile fades a little but it's a smile all the same, and Miguel's pretty sure Miles hasn't smiled at him since...well, everything. It looks good on him.

"Hey, wasn't sure when you were going to be back. Peter asked me to babysit for him though and I figured hanging out here would be better than taking her home with me. Not sure how I would explain that one to my folks."

The idea of someone mistakenly thinking Mayday is Miles’, that the Omega has a child, has been mated and more, makes Miguel’s nostrils flare. He clamps down ruthlessly on the reaction, knowing that if he doesn’t his interest will undoubtedly be noticeable in his scent.

“Just keep it down,” are the words that come off of Miguel’s tongue. They’re better than Do you want a child? or You’d make a good mother or, even worse, I could give you one of your own, if you want.

Miles’ smile turns into a frown and then an unhappy twist. He clicks his tongue, says, “Whatever, man,” and goes back to Mayday. He’s speaking quietly to her now but Miguel can pick up his own name and big meany and assh- wait I can’t say that to you.

Miguel just heads for his central computers, waking them up and logging into the system to check on how everything is running today. But he can’t help the way he watches Miles’ and Mayday’s reflections on the screen. He can’t pick up many details like this but he can still smell them. Happy, pleased Omega, and the young, innocent scent of a child unpresented. Of babe and mother.

Christ, Miguel is going to hell for this.

It’s been about an hour of Miguel pretending to work but actually getting very little done, when Miles speaks up. “Hey, Miguel, you know stuff about kids, right?”

Miguel’s shoulders hunch and he breathes out slowly. Of course he does. He turns, glaring back at Miles. Mayday has been dragging him around the room with her crawling and right now they’re both hanging upside down from the ceiling, Miles sitting cross legged and her on his shoulders.

“Yes,” Miguel says sharply.

Miles’ mouth twists, but for once it doesn’t seem like it’s directed at Miguel. “Sorry, that was kinda insensitive, huh? I was just curious, ya know, about parenthood and all.”

Another bolt of longing shoots through Miguel. It’s part arousal, part wistfulness for his lost family.

You could start again, part of him says. Children. A mate. It’s not too late for you. He’s right there.

“What do you want to know about it?”

Miles shrugs, which causes Mayday to wobble dangerously and laugh delightedly about it. “Just, is it good? Like, hanging out with Mayday is great, but I can’t imagine having one of my own.”

You don’t have to imagine, Miguel thinks, but says, “It’s different, when they’re yours.”

“How so?”

Miguel sighs and holds out his arms to Mayday. Even though she’s halfway across the room she immediately lets out an excited shriek and climbs her way down a protesting Miles’ body. It takes only a minute before she’s dropping into Miguel’s arms and then crawling all over him.

“Kids are work and energy,” Miguel explains. “When they’re someone else’s, you’re happy to give them back after a certain point. When they’re yours, even when you’re annoyed or upset with them, you still know it’s all worth it. You can’t imagine a life without them.”

“Oh,” says Miles. He watches quietly for a moment as Mayday continues her excited quest to make Miguel look as ridiculous as possible, before he too crawls across the ceiling and drops down. Sadly it’s not into Miguel’s arms like Mayday had.

Gingerly, Miles’ takes the little girl back, and she goes willingly enough. “Sorry if that was like, rude or anything. And don’t kill me for saying this but you sound like you make a really good Alpha, mate wise.”

Miles is halfway across the room again before Miguel can reply, like he really is expecting retaliation. Miguel just shakes his head and pretends to go back to his work.

I am a good Alpha he thinks. I could show you. We could have a whole litter of kids. You’d love it. And then inevitably Miguel’s thoughts turn lascivious. He ends up losing himself to a daydream about exactly how he wants to breed Miles (facing each other, his fangs buried in Miles’ throat, Miles’ flexible, coltish legs wrapped around his hips, heels digging in to coax Miguel into fucking him harder) while watching the Omega’s reflection.

He doesn’t come up for air until Peter makes his appearance. The man gives Miguel a quizzical look but is distracted quickly enough by his daughter. He sticks around long enough that Miguel does actually get some work done, and when his voice finally fades away Miguel figures he’s alone.

That is, until Miles clears his throat directly behind him.

Miguel doesn’t jump, but it’s a near thing. He turns and looks down at the Omega in annoyance, raising one eyebrow in a silent question.

Miles looks shifty, transferring his weight from one foot to the other like he’s thinking about running, but he’s got that mulish jut to his chin and a hard glint in his eyes that Miguel recognizes at the stubborn streak that’s lead them into more fights than he’d like to admit.

Is regularly wanting to throttle a teenage Omega better or worse than wanting to fuck him?

“Spit it out, kid,” Miguel eventually snaps.

Miles juts his chin out even further. “I’m not stupid,” he says, which, well he’s just inviting a scathing retort with that. Miguel’s expression must convey this because Miles rallies and goes on quickly, not giving the Alpha a chance to cut in. “I’m not! I saw how you were looking at me today, with Mayday. And then your scent…you were looking at me through the reflection on the computer screen.”

Miguel stiffens all over because fuck. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he grinds out.

“The hell you don’t! Even Peter smelled it. You’re into me, you smell like you want to jump me.”

There’s one of two ways Miguel can play this; deny it till his dying breath, or agree and pretend it doesn’t matter. His panicked brain picks the latter, because Miles isn’t stupid, and he’s tenacious as hell. He’ll hound Miguel until Miguel gives him an answer the Omega is satisfied with.

“So?” Miguel says.

That makes Miles pause, his eyes flicking back and forth between Miguel’s. He clearly isn’t seeing what he wants to though, brow knitting in confusion. “What do you mean ‘so’? So, you’re horny as hell for me.”

“You’re an Omega and I’m an Alpha,” Miguel explains slowly, like he’s speaking to a child. “It’s biology.” Which of course just ruffles Miles’ feathers and makes him puff up even more.

“That’s bullshit. You’ve never smelled like that before around me,” Miles insists.

Miguel is butting up against almost the exact same decision from before. Does he own up, or does he keep denying it means anything?

With a faint snarl of annoyance at having been put in this situation to begin with, Miguel says, “Most Alphas seeing an unbonded Omega with a young child are going to be affected.” The word horny will absolutely not be crossing his lips. “It sparks an instinct in us.”

Miles narrows his eyes, a faint smirk curling at his mouth. He thinks he’s won. “A breeding instinct,” he accuses.

Miguel turns his gaze skyward, giving a quick prayer to whichever poor saint is watching over him today to give him patience. “Yes, Miles. A breeding instinct.”

“I knew it!”

“Congratulations,” Miguel says dryly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Now will you go away so I can do some work in peace?”

And there’s the chin jut again. Stubborn ass Omega. “I’m not done with you yet.”

The corner of Miguel’s lip twitches of up into an involuntarily snarl. “Well I’m done with you, malcriado. Vete.”

“No. I want to know if this was a one off,” Miles demands. “’Cause like, sure seeing an Omega with a kid might work for you, but my theory is that you’re already into me and it just pushed you over the edge. You’re too uptight to let your scent go wild like that unless you’re like, close to losing it.”

How the hell is this kid so damn perceptive? Clearly Miguel’s going to need to work on his defenses if Miles is reading him like a damn book. He sighs and rubs at the bridge of his nose with two fingers, trying to figure out how to get out of this.

Well, he’s dug this fucking grave. Time to lie in it.

“Fine, Miles,” he says wearily, dropping his hand and making direct eye contact with the Omega. “Yes, I have more than a passing interest in you as a mate. Seeing you with Mayday made me think about having children with you myself. Are we done with this line of questioning now? Are you finally satisfied?”

Miles smiles slowly, then wrinkles his nose. “Having children with me, huh? That’s an incredibly boring way to talk about breeding. Why so family friendly? Just say you wanna fuck me. And no, by the way, I’m not satisfied yet. You gotta make good on all that before I let it drop.”

Silence reigns as Miguel’s brain just churns through the words, understanding them individually but failing to grasp the big picture.

“Not, like, immediately though!” Miles rushes to add, oblivious to Miguel’s plight. “I’m not ready for kids yet, not to mention my parents would kill me. But we could, you know, practice?” He looks stupidly hopeful, staring up at Miguel with that little smile on his lips, rocking forward on the balls of his feet.

“You…want me to breed you,” Miguel says slowly.

Miles snorts and rolls his eyes. “Well, practice breeding me. But yeah, that’s what I just said didn’t I? Get with it, old man, we’re wasting daylight here.”

Miguel’s never been one to follow orders. But how’s an Alpha supposed to resist?

#asks #requests #flowerfang #a/b/o #suggestive #probably more than just suggestive ngl

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