#spiderman fics
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A New Beginning || Miguel O'hara
Pairing: Miguel O'hara x F!reader
Summary: You tell Miguel that you're ready to have a child with him.
Tags: SMUT, NOT BETA READ, breeding kink, unprotected sex, big dick Miguel, creampie, vaginal fingering, brief blowjob scene, soft sex that turned rough later on, Miguel kinda whimpered lol.
Period is gone and came the asexual lil shit who can't write smut anymore lmaooo. I have two other plots just waiting to be finished (something about being paralyzed by his venom and needy sex after a death scare) but aaaaaaaaaaa. This is so shit, I apologize lmao.
mi vida - my life || cariño - honey || mi cielo- my sky (correct me on this please)
“I think I’m ready.”
Miguel didn’t respond for the longest time, focused on frying the vegetables. Clearing your throat you tried again.
“Miguel? I think I’m ready.”
“For what exactly? What trouble are you brewing up again?”
Sensing his dedication towards completing his task, you grew doubtful of your decision of dropping the news to him.
Miguel, always tuned in to your moods even without seeing you, immediately turned off the stove and turned to face you with crossed arms at your prolonged silence.
“Alright, what is it?”
Now seeing the permanent frown in his face, you wondered if he’s even as ready as you are. Being the leader of the inter-dimensional spider society and a chronic over-worker, you could see him putting his job first as the protector of spider people since he sometimes does it with you.
But you’ve seen how his eyes lingered a little too long on Mayday and Peter B whenever they visited. You’ve seen him replay clips of a future that doesn’t belong to him and watched him mourn over a child that never existed in this universe.
Having a kid with both of your features…
It doesn't seem like that bad of an idea.
“I’m just… thinking about kids you know?”
The twitch in his eyebrow betrayed his uninterested expression. “Oh? What about them?”
“I think I’m ready for one.”
Tensed silence immediately filled the room, locking your throat close as you waited for a change in his stance with bated breath. You saw the surprise flash in his eyes but he made no move to indicate his interest in the subject.
If it wasn’t for Mayday, you wouldn’t have thought about bringing a child into a world where she'd have parents from two separate dimensions, both superhuman and known as saviors of the world. Not to mention, while being an active crime fighter in your own universes which is not an ideal occupation for a pregnant woman.
Even then, you had your IUD removed a few days ago when you returned to your world for a visit and only today did you guys had the time to bond.
As you linger in the silence, regret starts to crawl up your throat. Maybe it's a stupid decision after all...
His sigh sliced through the thick atmosphere before his voice did. “Are you sure?”
Miguel, no matter how unsure his voice sounded, had a hungry look in his eyes.
“I’ve been thinking about it for so long and... I think I’m ready now.”
You swear you could hear the clock from the living room tick beside you as you wait in anticipation.
tik!
tok!
tik!
tok!
tik!
Miguel reached behind to remove his apron, crumpling them like a paper ball and tossing them to the side before crossing the distance between the two of you with one large step, hands surging to cup your cheeks to pull you in for a deep kiss.
You melted in the soft plushies of his lips, hands rising to tangle themselves into his hair.
His hands wandered down to your rear, tapping it rapidly and you jumped up to wrap your legs around his waist before proceeding to walk blindly to the bedroom, relying solely on muscle memory.
Miguel’s lips melded with yours smoothly with years of experience, his taste familiar in your tongue. Your fingers combed through his hair, tugging him closer as the door opened behind you.
It didn't take long before you hit the softness of your bed. His body dwarfs yours in every way and the realization never fails to send jolts of pleasure down your spine.
There's greed and desperation in Miguel's hands as he tore through your shirt and bra, freeing your breasts that pebbled with goosebumps from the cold air. Despite the hunger and rush in his movements, his touch is the softest it has been in a long, long time since the needy sex from months ago after a death scare.
His fingers found your stiff nubs and pinched them, sending sparks crawling over your body, stirring your nerve endings awake. Miguel's lips parts from yours to pepper kisses down your skin, leaving warmth in its wake.
You quickly made work of his top, pushing it over his head before he latched onto your skin once more like a bloodsucker.
"You're so pretty, mi cielo." He groaned, kneading your mounds together. "I lose my mind just thinking about your tits growing full with milk for our kid."
You couldn't suppress the shudder racking your body at the mention of having your own child, together. A low moan left your lips and Miguel's hand wandered lower to tug on the bands of your shorts and underwear.
"You don't mind this one, yeah?"
"Rip it off."
He didn't need to hear it twice, the sound of fabrics tearing off into two echoed in the room and plant both your legs on either side of him, leaving you bare for him to see. Sitting back on his heels, he admired his work as he caressed your inner thighs with small circles, a promise of what to come.
"As much as I want to eat you up, I want to see you falling apart my dick more."
You nod feverishly, sighing as deft fingers found your clit to roll in tight circles, occasionally scooping down to spread your wetness around your folds. Heat explodes from your abdomen, spreading across your body as pleasure slowly ricochets inside you.
His finger enters you, curling up to caress the spongy part of your walls and you moan. Miguel spared no time adding another digit inside you, picking up a fast pace and your body arched, hips twisting to follow his ministrations.
But before the pressure in your abdomen builds up, he pulls away to your distaste.
"Fuck…" You whined.
"Stop whining and get on top of me. I wanna see you bounce."
He slipped off of his pants and boxers, tossing it to the side before switching positions with you. You reached down to his hardened length, pumping him leisurely while he ran his calloused hands up and down the meat of your thighs.
You eyed the clear pre-cum erupting from his tip with every pump with fascination. Miguel's hands tensed on your thighs as a warning yet you bent down to lick off it off. A salty taste explodes in your mouth and Miguel grunts, nails digging into your flesh.
"Mi vida..."
"You're such a mood killer." You said, earning yourself a pinch in your thigh and you giggled.
You positioned his intimidatingly huge dick directly under you and with a deep breath, you let the tip sink into you. It's barely in and you're struggling with his girth stretching you wide open. Seeing the struggle in your face, Miguel rubbed circles on your hips.
"You can do it, baby. You know you can take me in."
With the slight pushing from Miguel, you eased him in with a mewl. He feels deeper and fuller this way and you gasped at him, nudging more of him inside.
"Fuck..! You're so deep..! I c-can't—"
"You can and you will. I'll make sure you do."
"P-please... Ah!"
Surrendering your control to him momentarily, he gladly took up the mantle. Your mind grew fuzzy at how full he makes you feel and it pleased Miguel to no end to see you drunk on his cock. Reaching up to your neck, he pulls you down for a dizzying kiss.
You whimpered into his mouth as he gained some speed, nudging the roof of your uterus, keeping your mouth hang ajar, spouting gibberish and noises of absolute ecstasy. His hands roamed your body with the greed of an explorer in a new land yet tender as if handling a feather whilst you tugged hard on his locks.
"You feel so tight around me. God, you feel heavenly." He grunts as he drives himself in your heat.
Your body grew feverish as your heart grew fuller from the softness of his touches and kisses. The knots in your abdomen twisted tighter, your impending climax arriving a little early.
"I-I'm close…"
"Give it to me, come all over my dick. I want it all."
Picking up speed, you cried onto his shoulders as he plummets into you hard. Your hips grew erratic as you followed the intensity of his thrusts, his hands grabbing the globes of your ass to guide your heat onto his.
"Come for me, cariño."
Your whimpered whispers of his name filled the room as you tip closer to the edge.
The knots in your abdomen unfurl and you come, trembling on top of him with a shout. He grunts as the tightness brought by your end, hugged his girth firmly. His hot pants fanned your ears as your climax encouraged him closer, the sound of his pleasure sent sparks throughout your body and swells your chest with pride.
"Take all of me, baby. You want it yeah? Want me to fill you up real bad? Want me to breed and knock you up?"
"Yes yes yes…! I want it please please please!"
Miguel protectively wrapped his arms around you as he came, exploding and painting your insides white with a deep groan. His arms only tightened around you, forbidding you from leaving.
Flipping you both, he sits up to stare at where you both connected with lust clouded eyes. Pulling out, you groaned at the feeling of his seed pulse out of you and Miguel clicked his tongue.
"You're wasting them."
Scooping them up, he plunged them into you and your thighs twitched from the intrusion. You let your eye close as your soul slowly settles back into your body, exhaustion weighing your eyelids shut.
The sound of wet squelch of his fluids mixed with yours burned your cheeks and you forced yourself to focus on the feeling of his fingers plunging his seed back in, pleasurable albeit a little painful.
Miguel halts, only to bring your legs up to your shoulders, stirring you awake from your momentary rest to meet the wicked gleam in his dilated eyes as he pinned your thighs down and loomed over you.
"Don't even think of sleeping tonight or tomorrow. We haven't even started."
#miguel o'hara smut#miguel o'hara imagine#miguel o'hara x reader one shot#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara#spiderman fics#spiderman smut#marvel fics#marvel smut
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pregnancy scare | smau
michelle jones x afab! reader (established relationship)
summary: you're "pregnant," but mj is there to support you and your bodily autonomy every step of the way.
notes: pregnancy + abortions and all that, allusions to sex, one swear, VERY subtle insinuation of homophobia (it can be interpreted as such or not), mj trying so hard to understand the poor girl is just confused, mj Badass Mode™ activated
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
marvel masterlist | main masterlist
taglist: (comment to be added!)
@bambamwolf87 @yourallihave @im-a-slut-for-fluff
#mj x reader#michelle jones x reader#mj x you#michelle jones x you#mj fluff#mj spiderman#mj queer#mj x y/n#michelle jones x y/n#queer x reader fics#spiderman fics#crackfic#peter parker crackfic#spiderman crackfic#spiderman smau
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In the Scheme of the Multiverse
Characters: Maribel (OFC), Tom, Andrew & Tobey!Spidermans, MJ, Ned, Strange
Summary: Three Peter Parkers are united to help cure their enemies to save one world. Maribel Jenavid, a Multiverse expert, aids them in their quest despite growing weaker as the multiverse cracks. In the process, she learns about her other doppelgangers, more specifically Peter 3's best friend "Mar" who inexplicably cut ties with him. Maribel then reveals the secret her doppelganger kept that could change Peter's entire perspective.
taglist: @ocappreciationtag @arrthurpendragon @anotherunreadblog @maaaaarveeeeel @stareyedplanet @foxesandmagic
Maribel’s Masterlist
If you’d like to be a part of this OC’s work/edits, let me know!
Continues in Part 2
A/N: In which I screw the itty details of the plot to fit my story :)
Part 1
Stuck in a different world was something Peter never thought he would have to deal with. Although, the mere idea that the multiverse was real was beyond exhilarating — it was perhaps the first time in a long time that he felt that kind of emotion. All he could do for the moment was stick to the shadows until he found someone who could help him.
And then he stepped out of the shadows and suddenly there were mobs of people, some angry — some trying to help him out? — trying to grab him on the street. Peter had no idea what to do except to literally swing out of there…and then someone grabbed his arm…and someone else grabbed his other arm. The crowd was going to swallow him in the middle of the street.
"HEY!" He managed to hear in the midst of all the chaos.
The mob of people froze in their tracks when a blinding light zapped on the side. All they saw were the remnants of some kind of white portal closing in on itself. At the same time, another portal opened up right behind them. Peter jumped with the foreign touch of hands on his shoulders.
"You're coming with me!" He heard before the light consumed his vision.
Next thing he knew, he was in an alleyway, stumbling away from the pair of hands.
"It's alright, I'm a friend," the voice, now clearly a woman, told him as he came to a stop.
He breathed hard, in and out, and stared at the woman through his mask. She herself wore one — a deep blue and white super suit — as well. Her long black hair cascaded over her chest and even behind the mask, he could see bright blue eyes curiously watching him back.
She raised her hands in front of her. "Friend," she repeated.
"Did you — was that light —" Peter spun around trying to catch sight of the white light he saw a minute ago. "Where'd it go!? Who the — was that you!?" He finally faced the woman again.
The woman nodded slowly. "I get it, multiverse conundrum is confusing and scary for those who are dragged into it. You happened to land in the one universe where Spiderman is basically a fugitive of the law."
"Not as crazy as you think," Peter had to say, "I'm more stuck on the fact that there's a multiverse and…" He paused for a second and gazed at the woman again, "You know about it. You know I'm not from here?"
"Mhm," the woman nodded.
"How?"
"Well, for starters, I actually know Spiderman from this world. And you —" she pointed at him, "—are a couple inches too tall. Plus, your suit's all wrong."
"Hey!" Peter's hands flung to his chest as he checked out his suit.
"And crossing the multiverse is sort of what I do," the woman finished off with a bang.
Peter dropped his arms on his sides, mouth gaping open behind his mask. "What? You cross worlds?"
The woman nodded. "Aha, my neat little trick if you'd like to give it a name. I felt the disturbance as soon as the others started coming in."
"Others?"
"Others." The woman looked up at the dark night sky. "Sorry it took me so long to find you. I've been trying to track you guys but I think Peter's pretty much gathered them all. There's too many for me to individually single out."
"You still sort of saved me," Peter had to give the woman her credit. "With your…multiverse powers…?"
The woman chuckled lightly. "Take it in, I know it's hard. You deserve 5 minutes of processing."
But of course those 5 minutes were interrupted when an orange portal swirled opened into existence. Peter straightened up immediately, ready for the fight that time. The woman, however, turned around calmly.
"Oh, that makes sense," she remarked.
Peter did a double take at her, finally noticing that she was not frightened nor alarmed by the portal. "What does?"
"The Sorcerers are getting involved now," she mumbled and started moving towards the portals, "This is their mess."
"Peter! Peter!" Someone called from the other end of the portal.
The woman came to a stop, once again tilting her head.
"Peter, c'mon!"
"Are they calling…me?" Peter pointed at himself, suddenly placing all of his trust on the woman in front of him.
"Yes…and no…" the woman said slowly.
"Bel-bel!?"
The woman let out a breathy laugh. "How did these idiots get a hold of that!?"
Peter felt the entire atmosphere change all of a sudden. The woman continued to walk forwards, more casual now and gestured to him to follow her.
"Maribel! Thank God!" MJ ran up to the woman as soon as she crossed through the portal and threw her arms around the woman for a hug. "Thank God you found him!"
"Again — yes and no…" 'Maribel' said slowly and prompted MJ to let her go.
Ned was still holding the portal open when Peter crossed through. Like everyone else, Ned knew that was not his best friend.
"Maribel…" MJ stepped back to stand with Ned, her eyes locked on the Spiderman-suited man who was not Spiderman.
Peter, meanwhile, was preoccupied with the little that he heard. "Maribel?"
"And there goes secret identities," Maribel said with a light sigh. She pulled her mask off from her face and revealed herself.
Out of shock, Peter did the same thing and yanked his mask off. His eyes were wide to the brim. "Maribel?" This had to be dumb luck.
Maribel raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm getting the sense that you know me."
Peter nodded slowly.
"Well we don't know him! Who is he!?" MJ exclaimed, her brow furrowing at Peter. "Who are you!?"
"I'm Peter Parker," the young man introduced himself, although his gaze seemed permanently stuck on Maribel.
"No, you're not," MJ shook her head fervently.
"Oh, yes he is," Maribel said, coming by the girl's side and resting a hand on her shoulder. "Because just like everyone else, Peter — our Peter — has doppelgangers."
"I thought doppelganger were supposed to be look the same…" Ned remarked.
"Sometimes they do, sometimes they don't," Maribel shrugged, "There are versions of ourselves in every world — sometimes even in the opposite sex. It's a whole complicated mess you don't need to worry about. What I need to know is what the hell have you been up to?" She turned on the two teenagers with a motherly disapproving stare. "Aren't you idiots weeks from graduation?"
"W-well, yeah, but…things happened…" Ned said, bringing his hands in front of himself. "Bad things…"
"Peter had Dr. Strange try doing a spell that would make everyone forget that he was spiderman but it sort of went wrong and it started pulling people from other worlds who knew Peter Parker instead," MJ said in one long, rushed ramble.
Maribel brought her hand to her forehead and rubbed it. "You are idiots. And I'm sorry —" she suddenly exclaimed, "—but Strange went for this idea!? Where the hell is he right now!? Why isn't he fixing it!?"
MJ exchanged looks with Ned, both clearing agreeing not to answer.
Maribel raised an eyebrow at the pair. "What?" She demanded, her voice hard.
"It's just…" MJ fiddled her fingers together, "Peter sort of left him…in another location…possibly Siberia? I don't know."
Maribel gaped. "What!?"
"But it's okay because now you're here!" MJ once again threw her arms around Maribel. "And you can cross worlds and use your powers to help fix this! Please fix this!"
"Wait a minute!" Peter finally called, waving his hands above his head. He claimed everyone's attention. "What the hell are you talking about!? Maribel — please just answer me."
"And where'd you find this guy?" Ned asked Maribel and jerked a thumb at Peter.
Maribel sighed as she detached herself from MJ's grip. "I found him on the streets escaping the mob of people who now hate Spiderman. I'm getting senses everywhere right now. My radar's going haywire." She turned towards Peter, offering the confused man a soft smile. "You know me, right?"
Peter nodded silently. It was exceptionally fascinating Maribel looked exactly the same as the version that he knew. The suit and the powers were quite literally out of this world but everything else about her was the same. It was comforting…in the midst of all the chaos.
"My name's Maribel Jenavid," she walked up to Peter and held a hand out, "And I promise you that in this world, we can be friends too. You can trust me."
"But can we trust him?" MJ said defensively.
"Yes," Peter said, offended at the insinuation. "I am Peter Parker!"
"He is," Maribel said calmly, "Just not from here and given the recent events that happened — yes, I've seen the news —" MJ and Ned shut down very quickly, "—I don't think we have time to argue about this. Trust me, I'm the multiverse expert."
"How?" Peter found himself asking. He kept looking at Maribel from head to toe, trying to make sense of it all.
Maribel shrugged. "Always been like that. Born with it."
Peter raised an eyebrow at her. "Born with it?" Maribel nodded and just as he was about to ask more things, Maribel turned to the teens.
"We need to find Peter now," she told them, "In his state, he can do some damage."
MJ and Ned agreed and started explaining to Maribel that had been their plan all along and that they had instead brought a different Peter to them. Maribel understood the mechanics of sorcery was not at all on Ned's resume but motivated him to try again. He was, after all, Peter's best friend. So, he did try again.
And he somehow brought in another Peter Parker, this one slightly older than the Peter with Maribel.
"Oh dear Lord," Maribel slapped a hand over her forehead.
MJ looked ready to murder Ned. "DUDE!"
"I'm trying!" Ned said helplessly.
"MJ?" The third Peter gazed at Maribel profusely, seeming fascinated.
"MJ?" The Peter that had come with Maribel stared in confusion.
Maribel flipped her head between the two Peters, bemused herself. "Maribel Jenavid," she told the confused Peter, "Maribel — M — Jenavid — J. MJ," she smiled, "Michelle Jones over here," she gestured towards MJ, "saw that little tidbit. She sees things that others don't. We're the two MJs."
MJ raised her hand in the peace gesture.
Maribel then looked over at the third Peter. "But how did you know that?"
Third Peter's eyebrows raised as his lips curved into a wide, knowing smile. "You're MJ," he said simply like that would answer the question completely.
Maribel deadpanned the man, figuring that was all she was going to get out of him for the moment. "Anyways," she said sharply, eyes flickering to the group, "We still need to find the other Peter. Can we please do that now?"
Everyone agreed and started discussing what places this earth's Peter would go to. With two more Peters on the clock, they were able to deduce a spot that could potentially lead to the last Peter.
Maribel paved the way with a portal, once again exhibiting her powers. They found Peter on the rooftop of his high school, mourning (in the worst way possible) his aunt's death. They were only barely able to convince their Peter not to send every multiverse guest back to their own world.
They headed downstairs where they picked up on the previous plans to finish curing the other guests. Maribel had no idea about the plans and yet wasn't surprised the teens had come up with it in the first place. Their hearts were always in the right places, no matter how messy the circumstances got.
Maribel was all set to help with whatever she could, though she confessed she had no real knowledge about scientific cures. She instead set out to help the younger ones and with that left the school lab for a few minutes. She returned with a first aid kit for the youngest Peter and with MJ's help, she patched him up as best as she could.
"You'll be okay but you need to stop moving so much," Maribel chuckled as Peter winced each time they touched his skin. Granted he was overly hurt this time but there was a limit and he was crossing it.
"Thanks, Mar," Peter mumbled.
Maribel gently hooked her finger under his chin and tilted his head up. "That's nurse Mar to you, mister." She happened to look up and noticed the other Peters looking at them. She bared a small smile at them and motioned MJ to take over. She figured they needed to talk anyway.
Maribel walked a little a while away when she felt her stomach flip. The echoes of it spread throughout her body, making it harder to reach the windows in the room. She gazed up at the sky and wondered where the cracks were coming from this time, and who was coming out of them. She wrapped an arm around her stomach, focusing on her breathing until she could feel normal again.
"Mar?"
Maribel glanced over her shoulder. The Peter she'd found was approaching her cautiously.
"I-I mean Maribel…yeah…" He said with a hitched breath, "Yeah…" He stuck his hands inside the white lab coat he'd taken from the cabinet. It was way better than parading around in his suit. "Are you okay? You seem a little…off…?"
Maribel nodded and unwrapped her arm from her waist. "I'm, um, well…I'm connected to the multiverse and its stability. Right now, it's cracking in places so when it cracks…I feel them. And there's multiple cracks right now."
Peter's eyebrows shot up. "Oh my God — it's hurting you!?" Should she be the one getting patched up!?
Maribel let out a quiet chuckle. "I'm okay, just…just like a light cold, you know?"
"But the logic is, the more trouble the multiverse is in, the more trouble you're in," Peter said, "And it's like you said, there's multiple cracks right now."
Maribel still dismissed the matter with a wave of her hand. "Why not instead tell me how you know me, hm? I'm always curious to know what my doppelgangers are like. Are we friends?"
Peter lowered his head instantly. "Um…sort of…"
"Sort of?"
"Well, it's complicated…" Peter sighed, "Mar — Maribel — and I…we used to be friends…"
Maribel paused and turned to face Peter. Suddenly she wasn't very eager about her other self. "What do you mean? Are we not — we're not friends?"
Peter sighed and shook his head. "No."
"But…but why?" Maribel glanced over at her Peter, unable to believe there was a version of her who decided not to be friends with him anymore.
Peter gave a long shrug of his shoulders, still looking pretty hurt over the fact. His lips pursed together while he thought about the question he never really found an answer to. "Dunno," he ultimately said, "I mean, we were close friends. We had a group — me, her, our friend Gwen Stacy and Harry Osborn and we were all good." Peter stopped for a second to gauge Maribel's reaction at the new names. She was all blank. Peter should have figured and because he hadn't, he looked between Maribel and his counterpart with his friends. "Okay, how do you know them?" He asked helplessly. "No offense but you're older than them? What, you tutor them?"
Maribel smiled sadly. "It's a long story. We-we fought on the same side…then aliens happened and-and time travel and…suddenly, the people Peter looked up to died. The remaining adults either died or they're just somewhere else and I have no idea what Dr. Strange is doing right now so…so I guess I just sort of saw myself as the only remaining adult in their lives," Maribel gazed at her young friends, her smile fading away, "They're still so young and…" she shrugged, "I couldn't turn my head away. Plus, I'm sort of a teacher so this is like an extension of my job."
Peter nodded. He respected Maribel about ten times more now. It seemed like the kind of thing she would do.
"What about you?" Maribel surprised him with the sudden question. "What-what happened between us? Did we get into a fight?"
Peter had to shrug again, and sadly. "No, no, there was…there was never any argument, no fighting. One day she just…stopped hanging out with us. First it was excuses that she couldn't meet with us or suddenly she had last minute changes. Then, she just stopped answering our calls and our texts. At school she would sit far away from us, go in the opposite direction." Peter had missed Maribel's strange gaze the more he thought about those moments. The pain in his heart still felt pretty raw. "In retrospect I could have done more but then I became, you know, Spiderman and I had new things to handle and deal with. I-I lost my uncle, and-and then we lost Gwen. Harry and I couldn't cope and Mar, she just — she just slipped through the cracks." Peter's eyes watered up real fast, the emotions taking him over in record time that it concerned Maribel for a second. "I should have paid more attention to her but I — there was so much going on and…now it's too late. Me being Spiderman is what killed one of my friends. I think Mar is just better being away from me."
Maribel could only wonder what that must have been like, going through one loss after that other. For this Peter, it was obvious that the hurt was still like it had just happened yesterday.
"I don't believe that," she said calmly, her lips spreading into a soft smile, "Because you seem like the type who would do anything to protect their friends. I don't know what the other me is like but I want to believe that we have something in common."
"Yeah?"
Maribel nodded. "It's that we would do anything to protect the people we care about too. Do you know where my family is right now?"
"Um, no…"
"They're far away from me because I would rather they think that I ran away than have them know what I do." Maribel raised her hands, allowing her energy to swirl around her fingers. "And do you know when I left them and my friends?"
Peter felt a dread start up in his stomach. "When?" He swallowed hard.
Maribel knew that he knew what was coming. Her smile curved down sadly. "When I was in high school. Senior year."
Peter actually felt the air leave his lungs. He stared long and hard at Maribel as if begging her to say that it wasn't true, that he hadn't missed that too. But Maribel — his Maribel — had stopped talking to him so suddenly. Whenever he managed to find a moment with her, she was so nervous — almost terrified — and she never touched him. Her hands were always behind her back, in her pockets, or her arms were crossed super tightly. Had he really been that engulfed with his own issues that he had missed the fact one of his best friends had developed powers?
Maribel could only watch so much of Peter falling deep into thoughts, no doubt of self guilt. "You couldn't have known," she said simply, "I am an exceptional liar. Duped everyone."
"Not me," said Peter, his voice short of breaking, "She wasn't supposed to dupe me."
"Don't take it personal," Maribel said, "If she was like me, then her powers must have been explosive. They were disastrous, Peter. She just wanted to keep you safe."
Peter would argue the hell out of that if he hadn't done the same thing. Spiderman was the reason Gwen died and even before that, he had thought it was just a safer idea to keep Maribel away. She got to live her life without interruptions, unlike Gwen and Harry who constantly had to stop what they were doing to help him deal with Spiderman stuff.
Maribel didn't know what else to say at this point. Her doppelganger had done exactly what she did on this earth and, like her, there were probably no regrets.
"Are you okay?" She asked quietly, knowing her question beyond stupid. It just gave her the excuse to keep talking to him.
Peter gave her a weak nod. "Yeah…" He mumbled. He walked away from her without so much of a glance in her direction. Somehow, it still sort of hurt Maribel. Her doppelganger made the call and she was paying for it.
~ 0 ~
A half hour had passed since the group got started on the series of cures. Maribel had left the lab a while ago, muttering something about a water cup. And as much distance as she had put between them, it didn't do anything for the Peter she had spoken with.
He couldn't get it out of his head that Mar had lied to him — had lied to everyone. She had cut off ties with everyone around her, and no doubt with her own family. If Peter remembered correctly, last time he heard, as soon as they graduated high school she had moved out of her parents' home and gotten a casual job somewhere in the city. He was guilty of never even trying to talk to her after graduation; Gwen and Harry did once but neither had been successful. Maribel turned both away.
All of those thoughts slowed his work down significantly. Each time Peter caught himself, he reprimanded himself and vowed to pick up his pace…only to repeat the cycle again.
"You okay?"
Peter realized he'd been staring way too much at the beakers in front of him then looked up to see the eldest of the doppelgangers smiling gently at him.
"Sorry," Peter shifted in his stool, straightening his body up to continue working.
Older Peter rested a hand on his shoulder. "What exactly did MJ tell you? Changed your whole atmosphere…"
"MJ?" Peter's head turned to the teenage MJ still sitting beside her boyfriend at the table ahead of them.
"No, the other one. Maribel," older Peter corrected himself, his smile turning into a chuckle, "Sorry, I'm not used to calling her that."
Peter's face scrunched and he finally turned his body to face the other Peter. "Wait a minute, how do you know her?"
Older Peter's smile was wide like a child facing a shelf of candy. "We go way back," he replied, "MJ — Maribel — and I were friends in high school."
A sourness took over Peter's face as he remembered what Maribel told him. "She didn't cut you out of her life then?"
Older Peter raised an eyebrow at his younger doppelganger. "What?"
Peter looked away. "Mar used to be one of my best friends too…and then one day she wasn't. Now I find out that she has these super powers and that she felt the need to distance herself from me and from the rest of our friends." With the silence that had fallen between them, Peter glanced at his doppelganger to see the latter not as shocked as one would have thought. It took very little for Peter to realize the doppelganger wasn't surprised because he already knew. "Did she—"
"I didn't let her," older Peter said quietly, "And that's not to say that you did something wrong. MJ was just different."
"How?" Peter asked warily.
"Looking at this doppelganger—" older Peter made a gesture to the open doorway," —this MJ has far stronger powers than my MJ. Her powers weren't as developed — they aren't. Most she can do is teleport. Things were different, easier, but it still took some work. Now we're finally somewhere good." The way he smiled led Peter to wonder just how "good" that place was.
In the end, Peter shook his head and turned back to his work on the table. "Doesn't matter. Haven't seen her in a long time now."
"I wouldn't give up," older Peter said, "Because if she's still alive, then she's still in your reach. Fair game."
"Fair game," Peter mumbled to himself with a light chuckle. He supposed that was right in some way.
"Maribel!" Ned exclaimed when the woman appeared under the doorway.
"What?" she sipped from a scratched up blue water cup. Even some of the stickers covering the entire thing were old and missing parts.
"You seriously went looking for that thing?" The youngest Peter looked at her strangely.
"Shut up," Maribel pointed at him then took another sip, "Mr. Lopez confiscated it from me for one stupid inappropriate sticker."
"So?" Youngest Peter shrugged. "He confiscates things from everyone here."
Maribel's face was entirely flat. "I'm a volunteer," she reminded sharply. "I'm—oh!" Her legs buckled and only barely managed to sustain herself against the door hinges.
"Maribel!" The group of teenagers dashed over to her, leaving the other Peters to stare bewilderedly
"I'm fine, I'm fine," Maribel assured them but she hadn't even felt when MJ took her water cup right out of her hand. "It's the multiverse — it's getting worse…"
Peter and Ned helped her walk to the closest stool and sat her down. MJ put the water cup on the table behind them.
"What's she talking about?" Oldest Peter asked, coming around the tables towards the group.
"Maribel's connected to the multiverse," youngest Peter explained, gaze fixated on the woman who was regulating her own breathing. "Each time there's a crack, she feels it." The guilt inside him was getting bigger and bigger. He wished he could take back everything that was happening. Everyone else was paying for his mistakes.
"I will be fine," Maribel insisted, reaching over for her water cup, "I'm just a little tired. How are the cures coming along?"
"We're almost done," youngest Peter said, "And then we're going to fix everything, okay?" He rested a hand on Maribel's shoulder. "You're going to be okay, Maribel, I swear."
Maribel nodded, smiling gently at him. "I know that, silly."
"And after this, we're all going to buy you big bouquets of sunflowers," youngest Peter rallied his friends to agree with him, which they did with the same comedic fervent nods.
Maribel laughed. Sunflowers were her favorite flowers. "Yeah, alright. Let's get back to work now."
There was nothing else to do except for that. Time was still running, after all.
~ 0 ~
"They're going to crucify you for using that place as the point of your fight," Maribel told the youngest Peter when he told the group where they would lure the misfits. "The Statue of Liberty is still being renovated."
Peter knew she had a point but he couldn't stop to think of another place just to avoid some more bad press. "It has to be there."
Maribel shook her head and walked to the table where her water cup stood, slightly wobbly on her feet.
"Hey Peter, here's your web cartridges," Ned stopped beside Peter with the cartridges.
"Oh, thanks, man," Peter said, taking the cartridges excitedly.
The oldest Peter looked at the cartridge curiously. "What's that for?"
"Uh, it's my web fluid. It's for my web shooters…" the youngest Peter answered slowly, growing confused, "Why?"
Instead of verbally answering, the oldest Peter fired a web out of his wrist. The shock of it racing past Maribel scared her into dropping her water cup.
"HEY!" She cried.
"Sorry MJ…" The oldest Peter made a face, quickly bringing his hands behind his back.
"That came out of you!?" Ned's mouth dropped open, as well as everyone else's.
"Yeah. You can't do that, huh?"
"No," went both Peter's collectively.
"Peter!" Maribel exclaimed, earning all three doppelgangers' 'what?' in return. She groaned. "I'm not doing this. Peter 1!" She pointed at the youngest Peter then moved her finger towards the eldest doppelganger. "Peter 2!" Her finger then moved to the last Peter. "And Peter 3! There! Got it?"
"Wait, why is he Peter 1?" asked the eldest doppelganger.
"Because he's the Peter of this world. You're the oldest, so you're 2 and then that just leaves number 3 for you," Maribel said, smiling awkwardly at Peter 3.
Out of everything that was wrong with the world, Peter 3 thought this was by far the lowest on his problem scale. "Fine, whatever," he shrugged.
Maribel silently sighed to herself. He had yet to direct a word to her since their conversation. She thought this would be a source of an argument. "Anyways, I was just going to ask for a refill on my water." She brought the group's attention to the water on the floor in front of her, her water cup on the side.
"Sorry…" Peter 2 felt the need to say again.
Maribel afforded him a small smile. "I'll survive."
"Anyway," Peter 1 said sharply, "we're getting sidetracked. Look, this is where we're gonna do this, okay? It's isolated, so no one should get hurt. We draw them there with the box, it's the one thing they all want. All we have to do is figure out how we're gonna get there."
"I can literally teleport," Maribel said with a hand raised in the air.
"Nu-uh," Peter 1 shook his head.
"What?"
"You're connected to the multiverse and you're feeling every crack in it. You're getting weaker," Peter 1 said, side glancing at MJ and Ned. They nodded, encouraging him to keep going. "You're not going to use your powers. I don't want you getting hurt."
"What?" Maribel frowned.
"He's right," MJ said, "You should stay out of it with us."
Maribel rolled her eyes. "Then how else do you propose we get there?"
"Oh, we can portal there!" Ned said suddenly, having thought about it at that moment.
"No! You barely know how to use that!"
"Wait, what?" Peter 1 looked between Maribel and Ned.
"I'm magic now," Ned said excitedly.
"No, he's not," Maribel said at the same time MJ agreed with Ned.
"Yeah, no, no. He's right. He can!"
"No—"
"Yeah, we saw him," Peter 2 nodded.
"Yeah. He is," Peter 3 also chimed in.
Maribel groaned. "That's not magic — that was dumb luck! And you two—" she pointed at Peter 1 and Ned, "—better hope Dr. Strange doesn't portal you to frikin Antarctica!"
Peter 1 understood nothing except that his best friend suddenly had magic powers.
"I can do it," Ned insisted, turning to Leter 1, "And I promise you...I won't turn into a supervillain and try to kill you."
Peter 3 reached over to pat Ned on the back, nodding in approval.
Peter 1 was so utterly lost. "O-kay...thank... you? Um...alright. Here goes nothing. What's that thing you always say?" He glanced at MJ. "If you expect disappointment…"
"No, no, no…" MJ shook her head, "We gotta kick some ass."
"Cure. Cure some ass," Peter 2 corrected.
Ned grinned. "Cure that ass!"
"This is insane!" Maribel huffed as the decision to keep her out of the fight was finalized.
#ocfairygodmother#fd: mcu#mcu#marvel#avengers#spiderman#peter parker fics#peter parker imagines#tom holland!spiderman#andrew garfield!spiderman x reader#tobey maguire!spiderman#spiderman fics#spiderman imagines#oc: maribel jenavid
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Can you write a college roommate head cannon for miguel O’Hara ( 18+ f!reader)
ik you asked for HCs but I have no self control... my bad, anon!
College Roommate!Miguel O'Hara Headcanons
(AO3 Mirror), Main Masterlist
pairing: College Roommate!Miguel O'Hara x f!reader
summary: Miguel is your roommate. And he’s hot. That’s it, that’s the tweet.
warnings: 18+ as fuuuck. F-receiving oral, using toys, masturbation, voyeurism (-ish), grinding, praise, service dom (idk?) Miguel, recreational drug use (reader and Miggy smoke a blunt). Minors DNI
a/n: I am a firm believer that modern day Miguel listens to 90s rnb, back when men were men: unabashedly, unashamedly down so fucking bad for their partners. he just gives me those vibes!!
edit: I'm writing a full fic for this! Rigor Mortis, college au fic, read here.
wc: 6k
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'm thinking you become roommates but he's your last choice.
Very last minute: you have a big falling out with your now ex-boyfriend, and the plans for flatsharing next semester goes right out the window.
So all the good places are taken, and you're going apartment-hunting, but everywhere's either too expensive, too dirty, or there's a predatory clause hidden in the lease: shitty landlords and blaring red flags in 9pt Times New Roman.
When you stumble upon Miguel O'Hara; a student in private accomodation who, lucky you, is in need of a roommate; it feels like a godsend.
Rent is affordable and he's nice enough; refusing to grunt more than a few words to you, but is clean, organised, and from what you can tell, is barely in the apartment.
You sign onto the lease, desperately, hoping you've just been lucky and trying not to look a gift horse in the mouth.
You give a thousand mile stare at the blank document in front of you. A bullshit paper due in exactly 12 hours. Yes, you left it until the final stretch, and yes, it's 10k words. Very doable. You're not fucked. Nope.
You blame it on the banging from next door. Paper thin walls; obscene noises. Cries of Yes Miguel and Just like that, daddy have been plaguing you for almost an hour. His stamina must be superhuman, the way the woman in his bed has been howling. Howling may seem extreme, but she sounds like a dying cat: cock drunk and babbling over Miguel O'Hara?
Your new roommate had been nice enough. Quiet, unassuming, and seemed more than absorbed in his schoolwork. So you didn't expect him to unashamedly fuck the girl he's been tutoring for the past week. It all clicks. The "perfect roommate" turned out to have one teeny tiny little flaw: loud, obnoxious sex, well into the early hours of the morning.
On autopilot, you're clicking through tabs on your bed. Perhaps you're a prude, but the sex noises are abrasive, excessive, to the point of parody. Persistent, Miguel's low voice reverberates in the walls of your bedroom; making heat pool at the base of your stomach.
"You want it, hermosa? Tell me…. such a pretty girl… like that?" It's muffled, but his voice is unmistakable. Low, greedy, heavy with want. God, the last time someone's spoken to you like that was…
You shake your head free of cobwebs. No. You're not rewarding him. You can't . Your roommate is shameless, and inconsiderate, and really fucking annoying .
The smacking noises increase, coupled with banging on his side of the wall. Resolute, your face hardens. From where you perch on your bed, you slam the wall with the side of your fist.
"O'Hara! Keep it the fuck down!"
~~~
He's a biochem major, up to his ass in assignments and he still has time for societies, internships and tutoring.
The only times he'd be in the apartment really was an impromptu session, and you didn't notice at first, but it became more obvious as the semester went on.
As a so-called tutor, he only seemed to pick the prettiest girls - they would twirl their hair on your kitchen counter and bat their pretty lashes at him when they didn't understand. Favours for a couple of friends, is his only response when you ask.
It felt like you'd open the door to a new girl every week and you are baffled. Donned in makeup and short skirts, they'd waddle in asking for Miggy, or drop off half-finished assignments whilst craning their head through, trying to catch a glimpse of him.
The absurdity would make you laugh if it wasn't affecting your sleep.
Not that he's not absolutely gorgeous, but he's so quiet you would never have thought he had it in him: to have a revolving door of women lining up to lay underneath him.
This time, her name is Sarah: pretty little thing in Miguel's Advanced Math class. She perches on a stool, wearing a tight dress that is wholly not appropriate for a tutoring session. She's one of his regulars, if you can call it that, and has been failing for at least 2 semesters. You flash her a smile as you pad through the kitchen, searching the cupboards for a snack. God, she is gorgeous; dolled up for another long session with Miguel, no doubt.
"Where's he gone?" She asks politely.
You shrug. "I couldn't tell you, sorry."
"It's okay… I'm just a bit stuck." You almost snort and catch yourself. For some reason, you didn't think they actually did any work, merely a pretense for the… cardio later on in the day.
You glance at her sheet of paper, scribbles in purple pen with large swathes crossed out. Leaning over, you scan the page.
"Right here." You point and she follows with a manicured finger. "You fucked up with this integral and I think… yeah, I think that messes with the whole thing."
Her eyes light up as she follows you, explaining with a piece of cookie hanging out of your mouth. She's definitely smart, just a few little mistakes here and there that you're happy to point out. Thanking you fervently, she rushes to correct it.
"Ah, it's no problem. I get mixed up with it too." You smile and notice Miguel by the doorway, watching with a strange look in his face. You roll your eyes as you walk past. What a fucking weirdo.
"Thought I was the tutor?" He croons.
You raise an eyebrow, voice low as Sarah is engrossed in her work. "...I don't want to fuck her, Miggy , if that's what you're worried about."
A little cruelly you push past him, shoulders clashing against one another. Is he smiling ? For now, you blame your perpetual tiredness when you think you catch the hint of a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
~~~
You're a light sleeper, and it all makes for a tired, delirious combo. You sleepwalk through the day, scramble to finish assignments and whilst it's not all O'Hara's fault, you can't help but blame him for a lot of it.
After you successfully get through one long week, you decide to celebrate. That means a couple hours of mindless hedonism: your favourite movie, greasy food…. and your trusty dildo. Not at the same time, of course.
Miguel's not home, and he's not tearing down the walls with some other girl, for once, so you decide to treat yourself.
You've been going through a dry patch, and you'd hate to admit it, but he does sound good through the thin drywall.
It was a joke gift; given to you by a friend for your birthday. An obnoxiously purple dildo with a suction cup at its base. Aptly named Hugh, due to its - ahem - large stature. Standing tall at 7 or 8 inches, far bigger or thicker than any partner you've taken in the past. Sitting around a small diner booth with your friends and opening the bag to reveal him, had been quite the experience, for sure.
It wasn't your fault you had gone through a dry spell in the past few months. With work, with school, with relationship issues, you hadn't had the time or energy to sleep around. Not that you were desperate for drunk, lackluster sex, followed by an awkward dance of ubers and shitty coffee in the morning. Like many, you preferred to do it yourself.
Laptop open, you ease yourself onto the toy, already slick with lube. Prepping yourself with your fingers had been quite the task, tabs open to something on a lewd website. It's cheesy, but you didn't really like the bright lights and plastic of usual porn. The moans felt too fake, the sex devoid of any real passion. So you found a couple of independent creators; couples, mostly; carnal fucking with fervour only borne from real love . It's embarrassing to admit it, but your favourite parts are the little kisses and touches in between, or light laughter after a rough session. As if to say: it's okay and I'm still here.
On your screen now is a longtime favourite video, a broad man bullying his fat cock into his partner. You can't help but think he looks like Miguel, not as pretty but tan with strapping shoulders, and large hands that wrap around the neck of the girl in the video.
" F-Fuck," You breathe, sinking down onto your toy. You bet Miguel's palm on your throat would be deliciously rough, and you imagine how he'd fuck the brat out of you like the man on your screen.
What hadn't occurred to you, however, was that the thin walls went both ways. Whilst you were quieter than many of the girls Miguel brought home, you were fairly shameless with the moans and curses that fell from your lips. Headphones on, you were blissfully unaware that Miguel had slipped into the apartment some time ago. The slap of your thighs to the floor, the desperate whine as you roll your hips over the toy - he can hear it all.
Miguel has a conscience, so he does feel some amount of shame when he slips a hand down his trousers and presses an ear to your shared wall. He closes his eyes and bites down lusty groans, fisting his cock to your pretty noises. Noises he's been wanting to hear from you for months, now, imagining it was you underneath him instead of his usual partners.
He times it just right, squeezing around his tip in time with the steady slap just beyond the wall. Are you fucking yourself? On your knees, hands flat on the floor, churning up your insides with a toy… or maybe ass up, dildo attached to something…? He almost cums with that mental image, wondering what you'd look like on your knees for him. Is the dildo as big as him? He knows you, knows you'd want it to hurt - for his cock to stretch out your pretty pussy when he cums deep inside you.
All things he thinks about with a hand around his cock, and he's already close. But he wants to cum with you, listening intently for the signs.
" Fuck," Your voice comes out muffled, but it makes him buck up into his fist all the same. " Need it… oh God, I-"
He speeds up, wondering what it would be like to have your thighs shake underneath him, what it would take to have you babbling and begging for more. How would he break you? Maybe on his cock, where he'd watch you squirm as you take his length. Or on your knees, choking around him and licking up his cum. Or, God, thighs wrapped around his head, riding out your high with his mouth sealed on your clit, crying for him slow down, for him to-
" H-Harder, Miguel, please."
He releases, sudden and intense, spilling white ropes into his boxers.
" Fuck, Miguel…"
He fucks his fist through it, overstimulated from the way you say his name. It feels like the only way it should be said; spilling from your mouth, haphazard and desperate. Like honey, like treacle; sweet things he didn't know he had the capacity for. He lets that feeling wash over him, panting, bringing his forehead to rest on cool wall.
~~~
He's hot. He's smart. He's a whore.
A total blindspot for you, and no matter how much you can't stand him; you still find yourself stealing glances whenever he's home.
And he does seem to be home a lot more, often choosing to study on the dining table rather than his room. It's like he does it on purpose, using the warmer weather as an excuse to wear tiny tank tops and loose gray sweats - showing off the muscles of his broad back and arms perfectly.
Funnily enough, when he's not around those girls, he's bearable - seems to have grown a couple of brain cells in those short few days between sessions.
You laugh and joke, sometimes, and he surprises you by suggesting a movie one quiet night.
He offers you his sweater to snuggle into, you eat your weight in greasy takeout, and your roommate seems like an actually decent guy??
You had fallen into an easy routine: O'Hara leaves a flask of coffee for you to snatch up in the morning, hair damp from the shower and all, and you meet him with netflix and instant noodles in the evening. A push and pull that works in the little space - much smoother than your rocky beginnings.
After a truly shitty day, you come home to a quiet apartment. Almost sleeping through an exam, forgetting lunch, missing the bus home, and having to trek back through pouring rain in a thin coat. Everything that could go wrong, did, and you are left with the pieces. You trudge through the living room into the kitchen, the wet squelch of socks on laminate floor haunting every step. Shedding your limp outerwear, you lay the contents of your backpack onto the kitchen counter: clumps of loose paper, the damp leftovers of a textbook, bleeding ink. Your main concern, however, is your laptop slick with rain water.
With baited breath, you put it on the slab, and press the power button. A click, a stuttering whir, and the screen flickers on. Then, just as strained, it putters off. Dead. Completely dead. Your legs almost give out, and you lean on the counter to steady yourself. Half of your life was there; including the final project that would make up a good chunk of your grade. It takes you everything not to collapse onto the floor right then and there.
"How was it?" You hear the click of a door and Miguel calls out from the hallway.
You wince."...F-Fine?"
You hear footsteps, as he gets closer. "Are you asking or telling me?"
You clear your throat, desperately trying to keep your voice steady. "Fine. It was fine. I'm just… it was fine."
Back still turned, you fumble around with the wet contents of your bag, hoping he doesn't notice.
"Long day?" He says warmly, head poking into the kitchen. Haphazardly, you spare him a glance from behind your shoulder. He's dressed in a sweater that fits snug around his chest, rolled up to expose his forearms, and loose sweats. In his hands, he drinks from a cheesy mug - your mug, donning a stupid pun. He looks warm. Cosy. Domestic. For some, reason it makes your heart sink even further.
Long day? "Something like that." You manage to squeeze out. There's a pregnant pause as he comes closer. Rummaging blindly through a cupboard, you try to hide behind its door. If he sees you like this, now, you don't know if you'll be able to hold it together.
You close the door, and all of a sudden he's there, mug in hand.
" Fuck, man- " It makes you jump, as he squints and takes a sip of his coffee.
"You look… wet."
"That's because it rained, Miguel." Snapping at him, your tone is biting. You're tired, stressed and in desperate need of a cry, but he is unrelenting in his gaze.
"Are you ok?" He asks, unfazed.
There's a lump in your throat and all you can do is nod with a tight expression. His eyes flicker towards the counter and you shuffle, trying to cover up the mess. And then you watch it happen; initial confusion, a flash of realisation, and then worry; all in the space of a couple seconds.
Gently, he pulls you aside to inspect the damage. "Mierda. This is pretty bad. You sure you're ok?"
He's got a hand on your arm now, The dam breaks and you crumple into tears in the kitchen floor. Of course, he comes with you, rubbing your back as you blubber through the details.
" Nothing's going right for me… and I've got my final project on there… I'm barely keeping up as it is…" All he does is nod, face tight with something you can't quite name. It must seem pathetic to him, you think, shamelessly crying on the kitchen floor, complaining to your poor roommate. He can't leave you like this, because he's a decent person - but internally, he must think you're going crazy.
It helps, having him there: a steady presence by your side. Slowly but surely, your tears subside.
"You could've asked me to pick you up." He hands you some tissues off the counter, and watches as you mop up the tears. "I would've come, if you called."
"I didn't… I didn't think we were…" You search for the right word.
"...friends?" He offers, with a small smile. "You think I let just anyone steal my sweaters?"
"First of all," It makes you laugh, despite yourself. "You offered. And second, I've seen what you do with your friends, and I don't know if I have the energy for it."
"Ouch." Bashful, he rubs his chest like it aches. He sits a little close to you, knocking your shoulders with his own. "I know this girl who's crazy good with computers. I could ask her to take a look, if you'd like? Might not be able to save it but maybe we could recover the files?"
"...I'd like that, to be honest."
"Muy bien ." He leaps to his feet, palm stretched towards you to help you up. "I'll run you a warm bath or something. You're creating a puddle and it's going to ruin my floor."
"Our floor, asshole. I pay rent here, too."
~~~
You find that you enjoy being around him, and he feels the same.
You can't help but compare him to your shitty ex who you were planning to move in with: and even with his quirks, Miguel is better in every way.
There is harmony in your household, for a while, and you almost look forward to coming home to him after class. Almost.
It doesn't last long, because of course it doesn't. You'd thought you'd come to a tentative ceasefire, able to casually rib and joke with each other - takeout and B-roll movies aside. He leaves you leftovers from food he makes, you turn down your music when he's studying, and he even woke you up the other day when you had slept through your alarm.
Beyond the wall, his music is loud: a playlist you recognise as the one he puts on to (unsuccessfully) mask the noise of his usual late night adventures. Cheesy love ballads, heady RnB that leaks into your own room. You'd rather die than admit his taste in music isn't horrible, but it usually means a long, long night for everyone around. With finals around the corner, there's no way you can let this stand.
What kind of person does that? Lull you into a false sense of security with Snakes on a Plane and pepperoni pizza?
Absorbed in your own work, you hadn't even realised he had someone over; let alone was gearing up for obnoxious sex. You'd bang on the wall, but you feel like you guys are past that: crossed a threshold of intimacy that means you can shout at him up close and personal.
So you stomp over to the hallway, banging at the door to his room. In the short trip there, you've worked yourself into a frenzy. How many times have you told him to keep it down? That it was rude and inconsiderate to flaunt his sex life in your face; to fuck other women so loud you were practically involved? There was something about the little smile he would give you afterwards, when you catch him shepherding his latest out the door in the morning - like he gets off on it, enjoys it, when you react. Even when you think you're over it, he still manages to drive you absolutely crazy.
“Miguel? Open the fuck up!"
You're still fuming when the door opens with a click, and Miguel appears in the sliver of the doorway. He opens it so that his frame is half swallowed by the door, top half peeking through with a lazy hand in his hair. And of his top half, he's bare from the waist up, black band of his boxers sitting low on his v-line and loose sweats.
All the wind is knocked from your sails, and you lose your train of thought.
"Yeah?"
"I…" You clear your throat. "I don't care who you fuck, but when I'm doing work-"
"-I'm not." He chuckles. "There's no one here, hermosa. Just me. And you, I guess…"
There's something about the way he says it, lazily, as if it's his first time saying those words - wrapping his tongue around your name to see how it fits. If it fits, how it tastes. His relaxed posture, the way his hair falls…
"You're high." Your brow shoots up. "... you're high!"
With a finger pressed to his lips, he grabs your hand and pulls you into his room, eyes darting around the hallway.
"Shhh! You can't-" Now, he gets close, whispering like he's saying something he shouldn't. "You can't tell anyone. "
"I won't." You breathe. His face is serious at first, and then you're both giggling. You've never seen him so carefree, and it's nice to see Miguel walking around without the weight of the world on his shoulders.
He's still holding your hand, pressed close, and you see him drag his eyes up and down your figure. "You want do something you'll regret…?"
"...I've got a 9am, tomorrow, I really-"
"-shouldn't?" He finishes, dragging his hand up your bare arm, pupils blown. He gets up to your shoulders, tucking your hair behind your ear. It's sinful, the way his touch is gentle but gaze heavy - violent in the way he practically eyefucks you. You feel bare, in little sleep shorts and a t-shirt.
He steps back, lounging on his bed, and makes for a half finished blunt by the adjacent window sill. Sighing, you sit by him, sinking into the mattress. He pats you closer, dangerously close, and you comply. One arm curled by your waist, the other brings the blunt up close and you wrap your lips around it. When Miguel brings a lighter to the blunt, you lean into it, knuckles brushing your lips.
You take a drag, long, heavy, eyes closed. And when they open, you're met with his own. Maybe it's the weed, maybe it's the heady atmosphere, but you swear his eyes are low and deep with lust.
"Good girl." He rumbles, cupping your chin and tracing a thumb to your lips. He separates, bringin the blunt to his own lips before leaning back to pass it to you. As quick as he gets close, he pulls away; leaning back into the expanse of his large bed. And he looks good, head drawn back and the curve of his tan arm drawn upwards. Tufts of hair from his chest, the trail that leads down suggestively - and without inhibition, you basically drool over him. God, there it is. You feel it kick in and let it wash over you.
His music, long forgotten, blends into your downy haze. You want to sit in his lap, rest your head on his chest. You get it now: if this is the view all those women he tutors get to have, then you finally understand.
"Come closer, hermosa ." You barely register the nickname, only focused on the way he says it, the delicious way it rolls off of his tongue. You nod, and shuffle closer. His siren song sounds sweeter, somehow, up close.
You pass the blunt between you both, and watch it dwindle to the last dregs. Lying down next to him, he clutches your hand and takes the butt between his fingers, letting its flames die as you watch. You giggle and his gaze softens.
"I didn't expect this from you." You look up to see an upside-down Miguel, hiding a smile.
"Expect what?" He drags himself downwards, to rest his head by your side.
"All…" You gesture vaguely. "This. Don't even think I've been in your room for this long, before."
His room looks exactly how you'd expect it: tidy and modest, a row of trophies neatly lined up on a shelf, a telescope pointing out towards a window. There are posters by his bed; science related, mostly. You tilt your head in the direction of one of them.
"Is this what they see?" You mumble to no one in particular.
He manages to catch it, sluggish in his response. "...Is this what who sees?"
"All the girls you fuck." It tumbles your of your mouth, before you can help it.
He tilts his head too, looking at the poster and you watch the sharp lines of his jaw besides you. Even at this angle, he's so pretty.
"Huh. I guess they do."
"It's not very romantic, is it?" You blink, oblivious. Your question is met with a noncommittal shrug. "What was her name last time? Cassie, Clara-something…"
"Katie." He hums.
"Katie." Ignoring the twinge of disappointment at his quick response, you hope it's the weed and not jealousy that made you pretend to forget her name.
You sit up on your haunches, tracing the valleys and mountains of his bare chest with a leisurely finger. You try not to notice the way he shivers at your touch.
"I could hear everything. Every, 'Yes daddy'," You feign a moan by curling your lips into an O-shape. You bring your other hand to your hair, head tilted back with exaggerated movement. "And 'right there, Miggy, right fuckin' there' ."
Technically, you're making fun of him and laughing, expecting him to follow. But he doesn't, head back and eyes boring into you - only bringing a hand to press yours at his chest.
"Thin walls, Miguel." You clear your throat, sensing a shift in the atmosphere. Too far, probably. "Sorry, shit. I didn't mean-"
"I hear you too." He says softly. "I heard you, the other day."
Head filled with cotton, it takes a moment for his words to really click. So he elaborates, lacing his fingers with your own.
"Fucking yourself, hermosa ." He says it lazily, like the vulgarity of the act doesn't register.
Your eyes widen in horror. How much exactly did he hear?
"...and I heard you say my name."
"It was…. i-it wasn't like that-" Fuck. You can't think straight as it is: and his voice is low and silky, rubbing circles on your hand close to his chest. Even now, he oozes confidence, the steady thump-thump of his heart giving away nothing.
"Hmmm? Then what is it like?" You blink at him, unable to answer. "You're a hypocrite. You complain about all these women I supposedly fuck, but then-"
He pulls you closer, so that your lips almost touch his. "-you lock yourself in your room, touching yourself and thinking about your poor roommate. What am I meant to do with you?"
A pause, and in your daze, you can't breathe. For all your theatrics, it's too easy for him - to prod and tease, and for you to chase after him. You move to kiss him, but he grabs your chin at the last second. "Not quite. I want to hear you say it."
"Fuck- " You crumple, hiding your head in the crook of his shoulder. Even in your haze, the nerves bubble up from the base of your stomach. "Fuck me, please , Miguel."
He places a hand on your thigh, leading you to straddle his middle, other hand wrapped around your waist. He grinds your lower half into his, leaning up to bring your lips together.
He tastes sweet, greedily lapping up your moans in the clash. You're not thinking, not really, lost in the heat of his body, desperate and eager when you kiss. To contrast, Miguel cups your chin, pulling you away for air whenever you sink too deep. Somehow, he still manages to look smug, taunting you with a flash of his little fangs whenever you separate. If you weren't feeling the effects of that blunt, you may have had the means to be embarrassed at how much you want him - needily grinding against him and pawing at his chest.
It's too slow, too leisurely, like a punishment; and he refuses to give you what he knows you want. Your whines betray you when he finally slips a hand down your shorts.
"¿Paciencia, hmm?" He grabs a handful of your ass, clothed cock catching on your clit. It rips another moan from you, which he happily swallows with another kiss. "Patience, princesa."
You hump against one another like teenagers, your hands planted by his head for purchase. Hips moving of their own accord, you chase the relief Miguel provides: with his hands kneading your ass, length catching at your clit, and teeth nipping at your bare neck.
He licks a stripe up your collarbone, soothing the blossoming hickeys with a hum.
Fuck, how can he be so casual ? You don't know if it's the weed or something else, but he is in his element, hand dipping down your back to graze at your pussy from behind. He hisses when he realises how wet you are, swiping his fingers down your slit and taking them out to pop them in his mouth.
Now, flushed and face hot with embarrassment, you look up at him with big doe eyes. It makes Miguel feel guilty for stopping you so close to your climax. Beautiful : lower lip hooked under your teeth, plump and swollen and kissable. He'll make up for it later: a promise he whispers into skin.
"You're soaked." He cups your cheek to press a kiss to your forehead, and all you can do is whine. His gaze dips down, to the swell of your tits in that thin shirt..
"What did you think about when you touched yourself?" It's soft, said in the warm press of your bodies; hook-shaped and hazy and you fit like you were made for one another. The thought lingers, plants a dangerous seed that makes you forget that the man underneath you is your roommate : unrepentant whore, Miguel O'Hara.
"You." You've seen it first hand, he eats hearts for breakfast; and yours is on a platter for him to devour.
He laughs, deep and rumbling, hands resting on your waist. "I know that, baby. You don't have fantasies? Fuck yourself to the thought of someone touchin' you just right?"
Not just someone, him, you think. Your voice dies in your throat at the way he looks at you. "Just… n-nothing really-"
He hums, grinding your hips onto his. "Speechless, I can't believe it. Is this what I need to do to get some fucking peace around here?"
You roll your eyes, "Don't be a dick, Miguel. When I shout, it's because you deserve it."
"...there it is." Eyes shining, his face stretches into a shit-eating grin. Wide, unabashed, unambiguous. "You back with the living, sweetheart?"
It makes you laugh, even though you hate to give him the satisfaction.
"What do you want?" He kneads your thigh and pleasure pools at the base of your stomach.
You mumble something begrudgingly.
"Hmm? Can't hear you, baby."
Louder, now. "...want to sit on your face, Miguel."
Lowly, he groans, shaking his head. "Mierda… of course you do."
Expertly, he helps you take your shorts off, dragging the thin material down your thighs. You clambers upwards, wrapping them around his shoulders, watching intently as he kneads the soft skin. It's tentative, at first, and you place your hands on the headboard to perch just above his mouth.
He licks, diving in with the flat of his tongue: a long upwards stroke that ends with him sucking your clit. Moaning, your hips jump and he chases your pretty pussy up, large palms pushing you back down. He concentrates on your bundle of nerves, lips around your clit like a man on a mission.
And, God, does it feel good; he watches and learns from your every movement, committing your body to memory. His moans vibrate deliciously, tension building at that spot faster than your mind can register it. Then, you clench around nothing, gushing into his mouth whilst he eases you through it. The noises he makes are obscene; one leg off the bed and a hand snaked under his boxers. He's getting off on it; watching you crumple and sob around his tongue.
And when you begin to move off, thighs sore, he doesn't relent, sealing his mouth on your pretty little hole.
"Miguel.. fuck-" After your first orgasm, it surprises you when he continues, tongue fucking you with fervour. He presses you close, impossibly close, and your body fights against his ministrations. Heat, everywhere, and it's too much. The haze of the blunt begins to wear off and you are left with biting clarity. You want more of him, deeper; drunk off of just his tongue.
You card your hands in his hair, and he moans: deep and wanton, with his eyes fluttering shut. He wants to look, to watch you when you cum on his tongue for a second time. Back arched, the curve of your tits peeking through a tiny top, fucking yourself on his face. He wants it hard , wants you to take control and use him to get off.
"Right there, fuck… "
Like you can hear his thoughts, you press yourself down harder, riding the deep ridge of his nose for relief. Miguel complies and leans into it. He eats you out like a man starved and the carnality of it all brings you to a second peak. You cum once again, legs wrapped tight around his face. Head back, he laps it up readily.
You separate with a wet pop, and Miguel looks blissful : fucked out and panting, wiping the slick off of his face with a forearm. Exhausted, you lean back onto the mattress beside him.
"That was…" He searches for the right word, and it's your turn to finish for him.
"... good. " Scarily good. So good you won't be able to see him around the apartment without remembering what he looks like trapped between your thighs.
Gently, he turns to cup your cheek and bring your lips to his. It starts off sweet and deepens rapidly, making that thread at the pit of your stomach tighten, again. He grabs your thigh, bringing it closer, and you feel his length poking your stomach. Fuck.
"You haven't…?" Your hand makes for his trousers, and he stops you. "I want to, Miguel. Want you to feel good too."
His head sinks into your shoulder. "I know, baby, I know. Not like this. Not yet."
You nod, still wrapped up in his arms. You haven't even fucked, and it feels more intimate than it should.
"You've got a 9am tomorrow." He smiles with a hand underneath his head.
"I've got a 9am tomorrow," You repeat, sighing. "...and my life is falling apart. I'm failing half of my classes as it is."
He turns to you, lazily.
"I could tutor you, if you'd like."
…
"That's not fucking funny, Miguel."
_
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Miguel taglist: @d1lf-loverrr, @afro-hispwriter @ilovemiguelohara @weedxgirlx420 @ladydovahkiin180 @aaliyuh3 @sweetanimebakery @vvitcxen @rosecoloredlenses708 @daikondal @magikmina @impettywhenyouare @alonelygirlsuicidenote @plushyplants @javi0ca @rheeves @starrfruit @nikirikii @marsbars09 @foxglove-grove @mimooyi @crosshairclown @dead-by-light @kynamitedessert @naarra @wanderlustingcastaway @sagejin @cookielovesbook-akie @tangerineloverrr @gobblegluckgluckgod @wolfiepirate @jxxey3 @ebrysteria @elliemm @manchuria @youngghostpeachslime @weasleybuns @ilovemuppets @vauriz @bonbyon @aimno256 @ancientbeing10 @tvije @venus1224idkpleaze @neteyamsbulletwound @chickenjefferson-blog @maki-z @jasjasthings
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edit: the full fic xx
#i am very very close to making this a full fic#(implying that this isn't alr basically a full fic lmfao)#miguel o hara x reader#miguel o'hara x reader#across the spiderverse#kat_writes😼#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara smut#miguel o'hara headcanons#spiderman 2099 masterlist#spiderman 2099 x reader
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Going without a bra in your spider suit because you only need to report to Miguel and then your changing so why bother? Completely forgetting that you have your nipples pierced, meaning Miguel can see the barbells and your nipples through the skin tight suit. He’s going feral: both because of the image of them and that someone else would have had to see your naked breasts in order to pierce them.
you were pierced where? — miguel o’hara ( nsfw ). oml—hfndkkkdkkem.
miguel was busy, staying distracted with the nearing mission as he listened to lyla. but the moment you walked in, all suited up and ready, his hard gaze and body simultaneously tensed and widened. because what were wearing? your spider suit, yes. but it was what was poking through that caught miguel’s attention. his eyes grew fixated on your tits as you walked in alone, and oblivious. he quickly waved lyla away, jumping down and stepping closer to you.
“what are you wearing? or should I say…what aren’t you wearing?” miguel speaks slowly, and lowly. you glance down at yourself. he’s seeming to really focus in on the fact that your nipples look pierced — the metal bars poking through. you had chosen not to wear anything under your suit today. it was only going to be you and miguel. you glance back up at him. “what? it’s just you this mission.” you say, thinking it’s about the ‘no bra’ situation. but miguel isn’t focusing on the fact that anyone else could see you, because someone else has seen you.
he steps much closer, his gaze hardening again. “when did you get them pierced?” he asks, his teeth grinding. you look down again. “oh…” you drift off. “a few days ago.”
“a few days ago?” miguel reiterates harshly. “and you…what? didn’t think to tell me?”
“well i was gonna tell you. i am telling you. right now.” you smile, and miguel’s lips twitch in a snarl. “no no, you can’t just decide that.”
“what do you mean — ” but your words are dying off because miguel is now breathing over you. his towering position actually making you gulp. “who did it?” he asks.
and his almost calm tone is making your breathing increase. “uh…someone who does piercings…” you say, eyeing him. “look, miguel, it’s not that big of a de — ”
“who. did. them?” miguel interrupts, his red eyes nearly making you flinch. “i didn’t catch his name.” you mutter, moving to bypass miguel. “now, don’t we have a mission — ”
miguel’s hand is now tightly wrapped around your upper arm, halting your movement. “his?” he asks slowly, as you move to step away again, only earning miguel to yank you back into his chest, as he grabs your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “a guy pierced them?” he double checks the fact that is making his claws itch to sink into something. “a professional did.” you point out, grabbing his wrist to remove his hold.
when he doesn’t shift you instead decide to quickly lean up to place a quick kiss on his lips as a small distraction. that gives you a moment of looseness in his wrist, for you to take his hand away, but then miguel is slipping his hand to the back of your neck, drawing you back in for a more heated kiss. his lips drawing you even closer as he nearly snarls past your teeth, tongues clashing.
but then you’re drawing back and miguel has the urge to sink his fangs into your bottom lip, because why were you moving away?“miguel, we’re working.” you quietly say, darting your gaze around as if you’d see gaping spider-people. but miguel is leading you back, the empty office exactly that. empty. his hands are now purchased around your waist, pulling your lower body against his.
“are you sure you can’t give me a name?” miguel has started placing sloppy kisses along your jaw, as your back hits the wall. “hm?” he’d ruin the guy who touched you. he needed something to sink his claws into with all this pent up jealousy. “i told you…i didn’t catch it…it’s not like we grew close — ”
“but that’s exactly what you were.” miguel interrupts, grabbing part of your neck and jaw again as his breath hits your slightly parted lips. “…close. he was especially close. touching you.” his fangs are now visible with how much he spat the words. “that’s what they do, miguel.” you try to console.
“he stayed professional — ” he keeps cutting you off, mouth now up close and open against your own. “but they’re mine, cariño…mine to touch, mine to play with…” his clawed hand moved to trace over your spider suit covered nipples, feeling the metal bar, as you flinch a fraction.
“aw…” he coos. “they feel hard, cariño…” then he’s leaning towards your ear. “were they hard for him?” you shake your head. but miguel persists. “of course they were. i know how sensitive you can be. and by someone touching them, you would have started to feel…hot…down here…” he runs two claws down your stomach and over your pussy, making your hips shift.
“…isn’t that right?” your breathing is shallow, as he goes to rub experimentally through your suit, his lips now re-attaching to your skin, drawing the edge of your suit down to lick at your neck, making your pulse quicken. “next time you want help involving things like this…” his claw dragged back across your nipples. “…you’ll come to me.” he grabs your chin again, forcing you to agree. “won’t you?”
you quickly nod, your tongue darting out to lick your lips. miguel’s lips finally curve up in a smile. “but since he got to see you all flushed and turned on…i get to see you writhing and spread open under me…that’s sounds about right, doesn’t it?…yeah.” miguel moves your head in a nod, before his hand is dropping back to your throbbing pussy. “there’s a good girl…”
© messylustt.tumblr please don’t steal, copy or translate my work onto other platforms.
#. ( spidey mark )#the miguel effect#glitter dose#miguel fucking o’hara#miguel spiderman#miguel o’hara x y/n#miguel o’hara#miguel spiderverse#miguel o’hara smut#miguel o’hara fic#miguel x you#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o'hara#miguel o’hara across the spider verse#atsv miguel#miguel o’hara one shot#miguel x reader#miguel o’hara x you#atsv#atsv x you#atsv smut#atsv blurb#miguel brainrot#across the spider verse#spiderman 2099#18+#smut
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mío | baby-fever!miguel o'hara x wifey!reader
❛ pairing | miguel o'hara x wifey!reader, starved prequel
❛ type | oneshot, explicit
❛ summary | after watching mayday, miguel develops a bad case of baby fever, longing for a family of his own.
❛ tags | explicit, miguel has baby fever, babysitting, talk of family planning and contraception, f!reader, breeding, pregnancy kink, much fluff, some angst, starved!reader, miguel being frustrated and cute, clean that kitchen, one stereotype of latina women, Spanish is not translated, best friend!peter, self edited.
❛ request fulfilled | could you possibly write an imagine in which Miguel and his wife take care of mayday? + multiple requests for more starved reader/miguel.
❛ sy's notes | written to fulfill some requests. i do have another daddy miguel blurb to fulfill, but my future works should be nice and angsty.
Peter has it out for him.
It’s the only logical reason why he’d do this shit to him.
Miguel stood in his dark room in a pair of scratchy jeans, dragging a belt loop to loop when he heard the door to his room draw open. A resonant schwap, schwap, schwap.
“Mi reina?” Miguel cocked his eyebrow up, extending his claws.
“¿Sí?” you called back from the bathroom, the distant scent of his favorite perfume wafting into the air. Miguel threw a look to the bathroom, reaching for the bedroom door. It burst open before he could open it.
“Hi, Miguel! Where’s your wife?”
Peter dragged his feet into the room, whirling around with a sloppily put-together backpack that leaked diapers onto the floor. An exasperated breath left his lips, dripping in the way he looked at Peter.
Unfortunately, his little wife liked Peter a bit too much for his taste.
“I should have known.” Miguel ran his hand through his hair, strands of mocha brown flyaways wisping along his tawny forehead. “Why are you here?”
His normally disheveled appearance was a little more disheveled. It wasn’t his appearance that bothered him but how it reached his eyes. Shocked, confused, tired. Peter pat his deltoid, awkward laughter choking in his throat. It bubbled on the edge of an overwhelmed sob.
“Well, you see, your wife said she’d watch Mayday because I have a date, and I haven’t had a date in a really, really long time. Like, a really long time—”
“Is Peter here?”
His head snapped to your bathroom where you came out, threading a golden hoop earring. You probably already knew the fight that was heading your way-- but for your part, you couldn’t be bothered to care any less.
“Got it, you need this date.” Miguel cut Peter off, standing behind you with his massive arms crossed. “¿Por qué no me dijiste?”
“¡Mi nena! Muévete Miguel,” you giggled, shoving your way past Miguel to Peter’s child carrier, sneaking your hands underneath her little armpits and whirling her around. She cackled, a glittering warmth to her mischievous eyes. You came to a stop, settling Mayday against your chest, nuzzling your foreheads together in some secret pact that the two of you shared.
Oh no, no, no, no. Not this. It hits him at once.
The sight of his wife— beautiful and cuddly with a very young baby in her arms. The only sight more beautiful was at the altar on his wedding day, your shy smile behind a sheer veil. It had been a long time, too long, since he had someone to call him father. He can still picture her glimmering eyes, the way she looked at him in nothing short of admiration, looking past the things that he’d done to see him and only him. Glimpsing at Mayday, remembering Gabriella’s soft, small face, it took him a moment to snap free.
He's so fucked.
“You would have said no, amado mío.”
You’re a natural at this, scooting by both men to set Mayday on the bed. Your tiny fingers spiraled out from her belly to change her diaper. Peter jittered uncomfortably, looking as though he wanted to jump in himself. You cleaned her, replacing the dirty diaper with a clean one. “We’re going to a market with Tío Miguel--”
“Don’t bring me into this.”
“Are you sure it's okay? I’ll be back at five, it's just a few hours, really--”
“¡Vete! A ratty house robe and a dirty spider suit aren’t sexy. Look at mi Miggy,” now you’re just buttering him up. He shifts his weight from one leg to the other, inspecting the ground. “Wear something nice.”
They’re sexy to her, he might have murmured. Not on a date, you bopped him. Mayday’s bright eyes tracked the space between you and Peter before you broke away to wash your hands. Peter’s clammy hands cupped Mayday’s sweet face, littering at least a dozen sickly daddy kisses over her tiny face. But Miguel what if--
“Adiós, Peter!” You returned to force Peter out of your room. Miguel peered at Mayday whose head snapped to the side, cheek against her fiery hair as the door clicked shut. He braced himself for the shrill that would inevitably come with her realization that her daddy was gone. She whined, grabbing her toes and tipping nearly off the side of the bed. Miguel begrudgingly hovered at her feet, blocking her from rolling off the bed. He could do this, he told himself, he could resist those giant baby eyes staring up at him.
He didn't need a baby, he didn't.
He blames Peter for having such a good baby.
She doesn’t ask for much other than requiring chest-to-chest contact with Miguel. It’s not that he doesn’t want to hold her, he finds himself aggravated by how much he likes to be around her. In a market full of things to look at food trinkets such as necklaces, body scrubs, and empanadas, it’s all her. Miguel props her up with an arm just under her bum, her tiny finger peeking curiously into his fangs. He snapped his teeth playfully at her, a nip, nip, nip, missing playfully every time. It rips ping a toothy grin across her face.
“No biting Miguelito,” you called out, sliding your fingers in a teasing ring around his muscled back to chest. You leaned up on your tippy toes, placing a small little kiss on his lips. You ran off to go get her a pineapple whip after her tiny fist yanked your hair over and over again. You relented, staring at what she was cooing at. Sweets-- obviously, sweets. All the little ones loved sweets.
“She likes it.”
“Ya sé,” you said, “But we don’t need anyone noticing you’ve grown fangs.”
“Tch,” he clicks his teeth in protest. She does too, throwing you a mean look for interrupting her fun. You plucked up a bit of the whip on your spoon, cutting through her displeasure through the power of sugar.
"There's a lot of people here, Miggy, let's go to the park." You point toward the park, pointing away from the mounds of fresh produce and locally sourced goods toward a healthy patch of green grass. Miguel is glad-- he’s sick of being stared at for his huge frame. Despite the ring on his finger, people still seem to try their luck. He couldn't be more disinterested.
You lay a picnic blanket as Miguel holds Mayday's treat. Mayday sprawls across his chest, trying to take just one more bite-- then another-- Miguel looks down, chin level, eyebrow raised. She offers a bit on her tiny index finger to Miguel. A peace offering. “She’s not going to wait.”
“Give her to me.” You kicked off your sandals on the edge of the blanket, dropping your things on another corner. You pluck Mayday from Miguel’s arms and set her down on the blanket in a way that is too easy. As though you wouldn’t have much of a learning curve in becoming a mother. No, no— you never mentioned anything about kids. Did you even want kids? He couldn't bring his heart to ask, to hope again.
“I didn’t know you were so experienced with kids.”
“Mami had six,” you noted, plopping down with the whip by Mayday’s side. She sat with a small slant, reaching out toward the sweet treat again with those chunky, adorable hands. You brought her into your lap, at last relenting. “When you’re the oldest, you have to learn a little something to help out. Can you imagine-- being pregnant six times? Ay no.”
“How many times do you want to be pregnant?” he blurts out. Usually timed and precise, the question causes him to pinch his brow as he sits beside you. “Si quieres,”
Your other hand comes on top of his and shifts it away from his face.
“As many as will make you happy.”
Shock. He chews on that response, his eyes glued to Mayday lapping at the last spoon of sweets you are willing to give her. She falls into a fit of complaints, a conniving look at the sweets, just as you lift her onto your shoulder.
"I never thought about it."
"No more, your papa won't forgive me if I bring you home all sugared up," you tsked your tongue at her. You patted along her back in small, tight circles until her angry huffs faded away. He reaches for the baby bag, slipping free a soft yellow blanket with white spiders strewn across the front. Miguel slides the blanket on top of Mayday’s small body, her groggy eyes sliding closed.
The more he watches you with Mayday, holding her so close, swaying as you held her, the deeper this ache burrowed in his chest. You would look beautiful all swollen with his child. Never mind Mayday or Peter, he can nearly see it, feel it under his fingers, the feeling of your taut belly under his skin, or the kick of tiny feet against his palm.
“We’ll see, Miggy.”
We’ll see-- the answer seems too noncommittal, too distant to be a satisfactory answer. With Mayday sound asleep, you settle her between your plush thighs. She expelled bursts of energy that milked her energy dry.
A little old woman passed by, her cane pierced soft grass as she moved closer with a bag of tomatoes and green beans. Her face, aged by time, pulls into a wide smile. He doesn't like her smile.
“You two are doing a great job. How old is she?”
You blink, looking up into the woman’s cool blue eyes, her dark hair peppered with thick grey and white strands. You tuck Mayday in her soft blanket, sparing the woman a kind smile that Miguel doesn’t quite have the patience for.
“Oh, oh. Thank you-- um, a couple of months,” you recount, perhaps thinking of Peter’s anxious pacing or his delighted shouts about becoming a father.
“Adopting is a great option. Back in the day, my husband was a bodybuilder too. Had a low sperm count don’t you know. Steroids shrink things. Oh, but these days you can do all sorts of things like IV--”
A what-- Miguel’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull at the suggestion. Was this old bitch’s suggestion that he couldn’t do it-- couldn’t get you pregnant? He could easily do that. If he wanted you pregnant, you would be shocking pregnant. He’d be damned if some old woman put it in your mind that he couldn’t.
“We’re babysitting for a friend,” he blurts out. “I have--” had, “a daughter.”
“Oh, do you? I’m sorry. I thought-- well, it doesn’t matter what I thought, have a good day."
She’s saying that, but it comes out slanted. You don’t bother correcting Miguel, not on this. Rather, your hand inched toward his, picking up on the energy that was pluming from his body in waves. Irritation-- annoyance-- the little old lady hobbles off. You’re in your mind well enough to bid her goodbye. But you know better than to say anything more, slumping your cheek on Miguel’s firm chest. It makes the ache of Gabriella's memory a little more bearable.
Low sperm count his ass.
It bothers him long after Mayday is gone. Peter, for his part, looks refreshed. He supposes that’s what happens with a full day of opportunity to empty your balls after weeks of no relief. It bothers him long after you come back from the kitchen, his favorite dark red slip plastered to your perfect body. It would look beautiful, full of his children— he just knows it.
“I may have hijacked the kitchen a little bit,” you teased, the waft of warm chicken and brewed spices filled his nose. He had no appetite. “But I made you some pollo guisado.”
“Hm,” he grunts into a pillow. “Later.”
Beside the bed, he has a bowl of brightly colored condoms. With your sensitivity to birth control, it is the best option available. It wasn’t, however, something he was ever happy about. He should be able to feel your body. Not once had he felt your body pure and unadulterated, warm and perfect for him. He was your husband. He wanted that moment— to fill you up just once, watch his cum dribble out of your cunt. It would be perfect. You set the food away, bowl and spoon clinking together.
“Miguel.”
Forget your warm body. This room is too quiet. It is almost stifling in its silence. Mayday’s sweet huffs, the memory of Gabriella’s laughter. A proper home full of a child's giggles. He’s going crazy-- he has to be-- this isn’t normal. This isn’t Miguel.
“Mi vida, don’t pout,” you reach out, rolling your fingers through his long brown hair. Your fingers tease along his scalp, turning around his ear. Your fingers tickle his lobe, your voice cemented in a concern that he wanted nothing more but to fix if it were anything other than this. “Miggy. Miggy, what is wrong? You look sad.”
“I’m not sad,” he says with a whine on his pillow. How silly he must look with his broad arms wound around the body pillow, squeezing its fluff for life. If he said the words well enough, you might believe them.
“I know you are,” you nudge the pillow loose. He takes you instead, the air thickening with the closeness. You fed off the tension, sliding your leg over the sheet that covers his naked hip. “Tell me why.”
He turns his hands over your thighs, traveling past your hips to ghost along your belly.
“Sí, Miggy?”
“I need…” he trailed off, finding the words nearly impossible to admit. They grow into a ball and cement in his throat, present but stubborn. Rather than break the words free, he swallows a bolus of desire and frustration. “It’s nothing. Let it go.”
The issue was— you loved him enough to let it do so.
Miguel doesn’t want to press the issue. He knows you. All you want is Miguel’s happiness. Sometimes, he worries it is at the price of your own. The distance he places between you and him is intolerable. It bothers him every time he finds you babysitting Mayday.
Today, while Peter goes on a small date, you and Mayday make his favorite empanadas. She’s covered in a dusting of flour from head to toe. Peter would have fun with that.
“Miggy you’re back?” you called as Mayday’s chubby hands shot out, nearly plopping off the counter if not for Miguel’s quick reflexes, setting her back in place.
“Empanadas?” he settles the words in a small kiss to your lips. You glance at him over your shoulder.
“It's... it's Gabi's birthday, isn't it?"
You’re too good for him. Despite the day coming and going, no one else notices his grief today. Not even Peter who came in alongside him, reading the room, and snatching up Mayday off the countertop. He’s babbling something, a thank you, see you later— you kiss Mayday with only the sweetness a mother could know.
“Peter! Mayday made these for you,” you reach out to a box of uncooked empanadas. “Take them home!”
Her first empanadas— the delight is palpable. Peter may have snapped a photo, or ten, of his little flour girl on the way out, empanadas in hand. Then there’s silence. Miguel returns the nearly forgotten bundle of empanada dough and filling to the fridge in the space of unspoken tension. Miguel dips down to your neck, caramelized perfume warm on your neck. His lips trace the warm pulse of your neck.
“Mami,” his voice mesmeric, warm like the filling you used to make him happy when no one else could. Your doting attention, even in the face of real issues like work and babies, was always on him.
"Sí, mi vida?"
His hands coast around your waist, using his strength to gently turn you around. It isn’t important right now. What is important is how he lifts you up onto the floury surface, purring his need into your slight ear. “I want a baby.”
“¿Qué?”
“Una niña,” Miguel leans his fingers along your collarbone.
“Oh, Miggy.” You puff the words. They come out almost wounded. You know him so well, the vulnerability of the words causing him to look down. Your warm palms cradle his cheeks, forcing him to look into your eyes. “You miss being a father, don't you?”
You’re not stupid. Neither is he. He thought he could wait— watch Mayday grow up and not feel this sundering longing. As though he could stomach never feeling a child in his arms again. The ghosts of the past that came with Mayday’s longing haunt him day by day.
You devour his insecurity, winding your legs around his waist and forcing him forward. He stumbles into your embrace, as though he were not a man who could decimate villains and spiders alike. When he was here, in your arms, he barely felt like the weapon of a man that he is.
“Miguel. Speak to me.”
“You’re right,” he can’t lie— can’t hide the longing that comes with the thought of his own child on his chest. Not Mayday, no matter how many times she cuddled up to his chest. At the end of the day, she would never be his. You drew your lip into your mouth, nipping it fat and red, a bob in your head. His heart beats faster, strumming as though it would break free from his chest. Whatever it is you’re thinking he’s not sure. Only that it’s been so long.
“I just want to make you happy, will this make you happy?” you nearly whisper, knowing that there’s no one but him to hear the words. It’s what he wants for you, too. As he stands there, coursing his fingers along your thighs and hiking your dress up your hips, he can’t help but feel the foggy discomfort of forcing you into parenthood before you were ready.
“It will.”
As well as it could. It would never erase Gabriella-- and, in the vulnerability of begging his wife for another child, came the guilt. Not only the guilt of failing to be a proper father or to protect her but moving on without her in his life to a beautiful family she would have loved. The feelings surge in his chest, a well of uncomfortable emotions in his eyes, threatening to fall.
“Miguel,” you’re whispering, your fingers cutting across his sharp cheekbones. You cup his face, drawing your lips together in a commanding kiss. You never liked being ignored or forgotten. He’s not sure how he could now, with your tongue flicking between his lips, begging him to come back with a sugary sweet whine. “Stay with me, Miguel.”
“I am,” he says, gripping either side of the counter by your hips. He feels your eyes on him, soft and careful, pressuring him to meet your gaze. He searches for an inkling of an answer in your gaze. "¿Qué piensas?"
“We can try,” you bite your lip, sliding it free between your teeth. “If you don’t have a low sperm count,” you tease. “Maybe it’ll take.”
“¡Por dios!” He throws a curse to the side as if he believed in such a being, throwing a look back at you. “You don’t actually believe that vieja.”
“Ay Miggy, of course not.” His lips work into a budding smile. You leaned up against his stubbly jaw, setting soft kisses there. Your lipstick stains his neck, dragging down to his prominent adam’s apple. He looks down at you with heady eyes, tracing the way you suckled a mark on his throat. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like them a little more when others noticed them, little marks of possession. Miguel’s fingers come up to the straps of your dress, easing them over and down your slight shoulders. You pull back, words forming puff against his neck.
“Not right here,” you inhale a soft breath. “Someone could come in.”
Miguel eases his finger over the small bud of your breast, rolling his thumb along the silken skin, His hand comes up, encompassing your neck and shoving you back into the cabinets. It isn’t comfortable, not by far. He works the nub to its peak before turning his attention to the other. His mouth covers your breast, fangs grazing your nub as he suckled and tugged gently. Miggy, you pull him back up, stripped of your touch. Your hand slide across Miguel’s chest, tracing the taut muscles of his chest.
“Who would come in?”
“Peter,” you answer.
It’s always Peter. He supposes that you wouldn’t want your friend to see you here, cunt stuffed with Miguel on the very same counter you earlier made him empanadas on. Miguel snatched the dress that fell along your hips laxly, utilizing it to yank you off the counter. You fell forward into Miguel, a heavy wall of muscle, your lips failing to form anything of use. You looked at him, cheeks flush and eyes doting, he’s the only one you see.
“The balcony, then.”
“Dianche, Miguel! Do you want all of Nueva York to see me?”
“Maybe.”
No, but see Miguel breeding you? Undoubtedly yes.
He couldn’t simply choose the bed, that would be too easy. Miguel set a kiss on your forehead, soft and scratchy with his stubble. You return it by dragging him down for another kiss, a wave of warmth coming over him as you force your hips back onto him, rolling your hips against his, teasing him. Miguel doesn’t appreciate the tease and gently pushes on your hips, motioning you to face the counter.
“Bend over.”
"Can't we go to my room?" you complain but comply all the same. Miguel’s palm ghosts your spine, dragging his fingers smoothly over the middle of your back and past the dress that gathered around your hips, He strips you of the little cover the dress gave, eager to have you bare and rid of the thin clothing that served as a veil from prying eyes. Miguel can cover you from the prying eyes of others if necessary. Not that he cared if others saw him fucking-- he’s all the more eager to have you all to himself, here and now.
“No panties,” he notes, his warm hands on your inner thighs. “It’s almost like you knew.”
“I might have,” you return, spreading your legs obediently for him. He palms your vulva, your hips shifting down over his hand. Sticky and wet, he wonders if his need to breed you has rubbed off on you too. His fingers shift, sliding over your soft hole. “Apúrate Miguel, you’re so slow.”
“Can’t you be be good for once.”
You were always bossy. He likes it, most the time, being led around by what his pretty little wife wants. Today he wants to take his time, curving his broad fingers into your glistening cunt. Your wetness drips over his knuckles, fingers teasing the velvety soft walls he has never felt without a condom. A pleasured cry wracks in your chest, turning your head over your shoulder to watch Miguel’s fingers stretching you out. No matter how much your walls gave under his fingers, you would still ache when he penetrated you. It was the favourite part, the rich pull of his dick into your hole, bottoming out as best he could in your stomach. He soothes your complaints by grazing his other hand against your perky clitoral hood, finding the soft nub there for relief. You settle your arms on the floured surface.
“I never-- ah-- am,” you threw back.
Miguel slipped his fingers free, cupping your cunt with his palm for a teasing slap. You want to be good-- it’s just so hard, your cunt pulsing in the abswnce of his touch. He drags his sodden fingers to your lips, glazing them in taste of your lubricant. You suckle your tongue around his thick digits, savoring your own taste, his soft grunt of approval spurring you on. You feel like such a good girl with his fingers crooked in your mouth.
“Are you ready?” Miguel stands fully upright, dragging your hips to his. He’s hard as the counter you were pathetically clinging onto. His hipbones ground into your plush ass, dick pulsing in his immediate ache to feel your cunt. He backs up, fiddling with something at the waist. You don’t need to ask to know that it was his big cock grinding between your cheeks, smearing fluid over your slit.
“No condom?”
“No condom,” he affirms. You bow your head, nodding gently over the countertop. The head of his cock drove into your wetness, pushing past bundles of nerves. It’s impossibly different without the bag over his dick. It’s been so long. His world blinks out, savoring the feeling like he was an inexperienced teenager again.
“Carajo, you’re so good,” he finds himself cursing, leaning over your back.
“Now he says I’m good."
“Shh,” Miguel clips with a mean nip at your nape, lining it with soft kisses, encouraging you on to take him. Warm and wet, Miguel can only describe the slide into your cunt as untethered delight. Released from the bondage of his usual condom, he’s a mess against your soaked cunt, gripping you for a semblance of stability.
I just want to make you happy. For all your needy complaints and little quips, he knows you do. Otherwise he wouldn’t be here, with your hands cupped on top of his, squeezing for more closeness. Miguel laces your fingers together in a needy weave, drawing back to stroke his cock right back into your wet body. You lead one of his hands between your legs, urging him on to stroke your clit. Your walls clamp down on him, teasing out bursts of pleasure with how deeply he was buried. Miguel’s lips part into a whine of his name, skin slapping against skin. He sets a kiss in the crook of your neck, breath nearly unbearable.
“Mami,” he gasps, the word coming out between his unstable thrusts. Your eyes shut hard, sparks of pleasure winding and building in your core. “Give me a baby.”
“Sí papi,” you heave, “I”m trying to.”
Miguel knows what you like-- and you like him desperate. His voice so low and rich that you gush around his swollen length, falling apart below him. He catches your body from dropping in an instant, his thighs shaking as he works you through the fibers of gentle pleasure. Hot pressure builds low in his stomach.
“Qué bella eres. I’m going to finish, fill you and knock you up,” he whispers, drawing himself free and admiring the hazy space of pleasure and reality. Miguel turns you back to face him. You think you may complain-- you didn’t cum, or something of the sort. He shifts you to sit on the counter, spreading your vulva for inspection. Miguel spat on your cunt, rolling his fingers over the swollen folds to spread you apart. He slipped into the space between your shaking legs. You felt him thrust into your body hard and sharp. Your hands reached out, dragging Miguel’s shoulders forward, clinging onto his body.
It comes all at once, Miguel’s stuttering thrust forward, a deep groan filling the kitchen, his hand clasped onto your thigh so hard you know he’ll bruise it. You catch his moan in a kiss he doesn’t reciprocate, buried so deep in your body that all he can think to do is to force you to take all of it. He shakes himself free of the web of pleasure that he’s enveloped in, looking at you past the thin rivulets of sweat you wiped away with your loving thumbs.
“I think there are better positions for baby making,” you lean in, kissing him gently. He returns the kiss this time, eyes light of the strain and stress of the last few days. “Like… not this.”
Miguel pulls back, his soft cock slipping free from your warm entrance. Miguel watches as his seed dribbles from your hole, grunting in acknowledgement. He swipes your mixed fluids and rolls it between his fingers.
“I’m open to suggestions.”
He loves his wife. More than anything. What he doesn’t love is how Peter seems to know that you’re trying for a baby.
The thing about having a woman from his same cultura was this: you loved to talk with your best friend. Who, just so happened to be Peter. He doesn’t even have to say anything, just staring at him with a quirk on his lip and a terrible glitter in his eye after he’s resolved another meeting.
“Hey, Miguel.”
“Don’t start.”
He’s crowded with work at his desk-- he has no time for Mayday’s curious little eyes to glitter at him, Peter to be doing that shit he did when he wanted to be helpful. He offered his hands up, shrugging.
“I’m just saying! I’m a man, you’re a man,” he mumbles, inching a little closer and closer. “If you want a baby--”
“Let me guess. She told you.”
“Mayday could use a spider buddy,” he held Mayday up, out of her carrier. Miguel glanced down at her wild hair, exhaling air out of his nose with a little huff. “Sooner than later?”
“I’ve done it before,” Miguel throws back. “I know how to knock up my own wife, Peter. I don’t need help.”
Peter is offering help as if Miguel hadn’t tasted the changes in your body when he ate you out. Never mind that he saw you nauseated this morning, too sick to handle a call that Miguel promptly answered. He knew his seed had stuck-- you wouldn’t feel so miserable otherwise. It doesn’t matter, he’d answer them all if it meant another little one in his arms at the end of it all. Just so long as you and the baby were safe.
“Are you sure? I know--”
“I’m damn sure.” Miguel turned around, his head in his hand. “I’ve had enough of you. Why don’t you do something useful? Bring her something for her morning sickness.”
“Oh,” realization fell over Peter like a hammer, looking down to Mayday who looked right back up to her father. For all that Peter knew about his love life, he was shocked that you hadn’t told him how awful the smell of breakfast meat made you feel. His hand fell away, a film of pride slipping from his practiced features when Peter spoke. “But... She’s already pregnant?”
He leers. Peter scuttles away.
Privacy is important to Miguel. You knew the damn rule. No telling Peter about the inner workings of your bedroom. For that, you were going to fucking get it. You likely knew you were going to get it-- even if you were likely already pregnant.
He can’t wait.
#miguel o'hara x you#miguel ohara x reader#miguel o'hara oneshot#miguel x reader#miguel ohara oneshot#miguel o'hara/reader#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara x y/n#miguel o'hara imagine#atsv miguel imagine#atsv imagine#atsv x you#atsv x reader#atsv imagines#across the spiderverse fic#spiderman 2099 x reader#spiderman 2099 x you#spiderman imagines#miguel o'hara smut#miguel ohara smut#spiderman 2099 smut
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Honey-Sweet
Description: You're far too sweet for him. He's determined not to ruin you, despite the fact that he seems to ruin everything, and everything about you just seems to make his fantasies worse. But one night can change everything, apparently, when Miguel finally sees how completely not sweet you can be.
Tags: Miguel O'Hara x Reader, afab!fem!reader, hoooh boy a lotta smut okay, oral (m and f recieving), unprotected piv (pls oh pls wrap it up irl fuck them kids), riding, doggy, missionary, some fluff bc i'm not completely deranged, light degradation (w/c: 2.1K)
A/N: oh lord the Miguel brainrot is REAL folks okay this is fucking crazy. I WANT THIS MAN TO **** ** **** * ****** ******* okay he has me fuckin frothing at the DAMN MOUTH actin like a DAMN DOG okay so please enjoy a bit of a miguel smutfest
You’re too fucking sweet for him. That’s what he tells himself. Miguel O’Hara doesn’t do sweet.
You’re fucking sweet with the way you bring cookies in for the other Spiders that accompany you on missions. You’re sweet in how you brought in a ridiculous hand-made baby blanket for Mayday when Peter first brought her in, emblazoned with his Spider-Man logo to wrap her up tight in. You’d kissed the baby on the head, whispering tiny sweet nothings into her bright red hair, and Miguel had had to hide the emergence of his fangs at the sight of it.
You’re too sweet, too kind for him. You organize little movie nights at the office, you make him stay a little longer on missions so you can see the tourist spots from different universes. And the way you look at him, all wide-eyed and bright and smiling… it does things to him.
It makes him want to bring you flowers, kiss you on the cheek. It makes him want to plan fucking candle-lit dinners and bake cupcakes with you. All sweet, too sweet.
But, because he apparently can’t stop himself, you also want to make him do decidedly not sweet things. Like grab at your tits through your suit, pinching your nipples until your knees go weak and you whimper his name in your gorgeous little voice. Like force you down on your knees, fucking his cock into your hot mouth while tears leak down your cheeks. Like tying you up with his webs, eating your pretty cunt out while you struggle against them, whining that “it’s too much, too much Miguel.” Like fucking you deep, so fucking deep on his cock, making you squeeze around him while you scream for him, beg for him to fill you up with cum. He thinks about watching it leak out of your achy pussy, dripping down your thighs.
But you’re so goddamn sweet, too gorgeous and lovely, and he can’t ruin you, he can’t.
So when you finally wear him down, finally get him to go to coffee with you, he tries to be just as sweet as you. You hold his fucking hand, you kiss him on the cheek. You smile into his mouth as his lips meet yours in front of your apartment door. Miguel swears that his heart will pop with how much it swells when you’re near him.
He brings you flowers, walks you to your door, brings you lunch while you’re filing post-mission paperwork. And God, it’s beautiful. It’s fantastic and bright and so wonderfully domestic that Miguel wonders if he’s died, gone to some heaven he doesn’t deserve. He’s determined to revel in the domesticity of this… thing he’s created with you, his disgusting fantasies be damned.
He doesn’t like to think about how he has to fuck his hand after he drops you off at your house, his lips still burning with the touch of your soft, soft kiss. He thinks about how your lips would look stretched around his dick.
He’s content. He’s happy. For the first time in so fucking long, he’s happy. And he’ll happily tug on his dick by himself for the rest of damn time if it means that he gets to revel in your soft, pretty, wonderful sweetness for a little bit longer. He will not ruin you.
But.
As he kisses you softly in front of your apartment, the both of you still suited up from your latest mission, you tug him closer. You pull him down into your hungry mouth, and you lick into him like you’re starving for it. He can’t help how he growls at the feeling of it, his big hands coming to clutch at your hips. God, you’re pretty, fucking addicting with the way your tongue tangles with his and how you whimper when his hands cup your ass, tugging you up just that extra inch.
“Take me to bed, Miguel,” you gasp between feverish kisses, and fuck, he’s gone.
He hauls you into his arms, and his knees almost go weak at the way you wrap your thighs tightly around his middle, the way you lick into his mouth all over again.
And Miguel has spent so much time in his head, thinking, no, knowing that you’re sweeter than goddamn pie. It’s in every fucking breath you take, every moment he spends with you.
But that night, as he lays you onto the bed, gently, gently like you deserve, he learns that you’re not as sweet as he thinks you are.
Not at all.
Not with the way you roll him over with your strength, begging for him to disengage his suit, looking at him like you want to devour him as it dissolves around him, leaving him bare to your gaze. You graze a reverent hand up his chest as he heaves under you, whispering, “God, can’t believe I’ve waited this long to have you like this. You’re so pretty, Miguel.”
Pretty. Pretty? He can’t be the pretty one, no, not when you’re unzipping your own suit, and he can see everything. Every inch of supple, soft skin. Your nipples, hard and peaked and begging for his touch. Your pretty, pretty pussy; he can see how you’re practically dripping, the wetness between your legs glistening in the soft lamplight.
And you’re not sweet, not sweet at all, when you nip and suck little marks down his chest and abs, grinning up at him like a damn siren when he gasps at your touch. Fuck, you’re the opposite of everything he thought when you take his cock into your mouth, bobbing deeper, deeper until you just can’t anymore, jacking the rest of his cock while you kiss and lick and suck at him.
You grab his hand with your free one, and pull it into your hair. You pull up from his cock, and Christ, there’s a line of your spit that connects you to his throbbing tip, and Miguel thinks that he might die.
“Fuck my face, baby?” you rasp, and yes, that’s it, Miguel is going to fucking die here. But he can’t refuse you, with those gorgeous eyes gazing up at him, the tip of his cock on your tongue.
It’s not sweet, not at all, when he forces your head down on his cock, pressing himself deep into your pretty little mouth. And you moan like you love it, just taking it as he thrusts roughly into your mouth. Your spit runs down his shaft, your little whimpers and the way you choke when the tip jams into the back of your throat all echoing in his ears.
He can’t hear himself, but God, you can. You relish the way he growls every time he pushes you down deep, telling you that, “You’re such a good girl, hermosa. Mierda, mi nena perfecta.” Your pussy throbs.
He isn’t soft, isn’t gentle like he told himself to be when he pulls you off his cock. You gasp for air, and Miguel groans as he pulls you up by your hair, dragging your spit-slick lips to his mouth. He can taste himself on your lips, all sticky and hot and puffy.
You whine against his mouth, murmuring little pleas of “fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” into him, and his cock twitches, red and aching desperately for your touch.
“Have to make sure you’re ready,” he mumbles, even though he aches, even though his claws threaten to show.
“Nononono,” you whine, and then you sit back, hovering over his cock, fucking monstrous compared to the tiny opening of your dripping pussy, and press down.
Fuck, it’s like heaven inside you, all perfect and wet and hot, and you whine, muttering that, “It’s so fucking big, God, stretches me so perfect, so fucking perfect, so much bigger than I could have dreamed-“
“Nena,” he interrupts you with a hoarse groan of his own, “gotta stop, ‘s gonna, gonna hurt you, oh fuck-“
And you grin at him again, filthy and raunchy and not sweet at all, as you say “I fucking want it to hurt, Miguel. Wanna feel you in the morning, wanna feel you all the time.” And you press yourself the rest of the way down his thick cock, gasping for air, your hips twitching like they can’t decide whether to run away from the sensation or seek it.
“Fuck, wanna feel you all the time,” you murmur and Miguel can’t decide whether you’re actually talking to him or not. “Want you to fuck me so hard I can’t breathe, fill me up so fucking perfect, God, oh my God, ‘m so fucking full,” you roll your hips forward in desperate little circles, a weak attempt at getting him deeper. An endless stream of “fuck me, fuck me, please please please,” starts to leave your lips again, and you sound so desperate, so needy, that Miguel can’t help but roll you over, pinning you underneath him, and fucking his cock so hard and so deep into you that you dig your fingers into his back and sob.
He does what you ask that night. He fucks you and fucks you and fucks you, until tears leak from your eyes and your bed is soaked with a mixture of yours and his cum. And God, you scream for him, begging him for more, deeper, harder.
The slick sounds of your bodies meeting over and over must be heard all over the building, but Miguel can’t bring himself to care, not when he’s able to fuck you like this, disgusting and filthy.
How could a sweet, lovely, soft thing like you love this so much?
From that night on, it seems that all bets are off. From that night on, it seems that you make it a mission to show him exactly how not sweet you are.
Fuck, there’s no sweetness to you when you hump your hips into his face the next morning, practically smothering him in your pussy as you squeal and tangle your fingers in his hair. He digs his fingers so hard into your thighs that he’s sure they’ll bruise, and licks up your juices. Your pussy is honey-sweet on his tongue.
You’re not soft when you ride him into the mattress, throwing yourself down onto his cock and moaning as you stretch yourself out. You drag your nails down his chest as you bounce desperately in his lap, and Miguel kind of hopes you draw blood.
There isn’t an ounce of innocence when you sink down on your knees under his desk when he’s in a goddamn meeting, pulling his cock out and sucking at him until his claws shoot out and leave splintering holes in his desk. He has to hide his fangs from the video camera when you choke.
When he finally, finally cuts the meeting short, feeding the other Spider-Men some bullshit excuse about a new anomaly, he presses your head to the base of his cock and shoots his cum down your throat. He means it as a punishment, but when he pulls you off his cock, and sees you with your eyes all glassy and smiling lazily, he can’t help but bend you over the desk and finger fuck you until you cry and scream and beg for him to fuck you with his cock.
You are so far from sweet when he fucks you on the floor after a mission, tensions run too taut and adrenaline racing through your veins. You throw your ass back onto him with every thrust into your sloppy cunt, moaning as he growls, “Such a fucking slut, can’t get enough of this cock, huh? My sweet, sweet girl, what would the rest of the Spiders say if they knew what a fucking whore you are for me?”
And when you choke on your spit around your screams, he leans down to whisper that, “I know, cariño, I know. I'm gonna take care of you,” before he shoves your face down into the carpet and mounts you, shoving his fat cock down into you again and again and again.
Miguel is positive that he’s died and gone to heaven.
It’s not to say that you’re not the same, sweet girl who brings cookies to the office and holds his hand. No, you’re the same, perfect, sweet girl, only that you let him thank you for the cookies by eating you out on the kitchen floor. You hold his hand while you jerk his cock and swallow his moans with your kiss.
You’re just the right kind of sweet for him.
#yeah so#i wrote this in a TRANCE#want this man to throw me around like a ragdoll#can you tell that im ovulating#miguel o'hara x you#miguel o'hara smut#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara#spiderman 2099 x reader#spiderman 2099 x you#across the spiderverse fic#miguel ohara x you#miguel ohara x reader
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thinking of miguel kneeling on the floor as he eats you out:
(18+ mdni, fem!reader)
☆ had this idea last night and just HAD to write about it
- filthy drabble below cut -
miguel would kneel on the ground between your thighs with his face buried in your cunt, his tongue laid flat over your pretty pussy, lapping your folds as he gazes up into your lust-filled eyes. there's no other person he'd kneel for than you, no one else he'd worship or cherish.
his large hands would be firm as they rested upon your hips, keeping you sturdy as he worked over you with the point of his tongue, caressing your sweet cunt in the way he knew you needed. you’d look down at him with puffy swollen lips, an eager glimmer in your eye as you watched him eat you out, studying the way his mouth moved so effortlessly over you. his gluttonous groans would hum against your folds as his hands graze down to your ass. his fingers would squeeze and knead into the soft doughy flesh of your cheeks as he pushed your cunt further into his face.
he’d hike your leg over his shoulder, holding your thighs and waist to balance you- keeping you stable as he laps over you, muffling into your pussy about how good you taste.
your pretty desperate little cries into the air would only egg him on more, and your grip on his roots would tighten. your breathing would grow strained and strangled, and it would all feed into his ego. he loved to make you feel good, but he loved it even more when he could see just how good he made you feel.
he'd nuzzle his face further into you, gripping your hips and thighs tighter when he felt your leg shake, holding you balanced to stop your body giving up from under you.
he’d barely part from you, whispering softly against your clit with a devilish look in his eye. "cum on my tongue, cariño. I want to taste you on my lips."
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
#miguel o’hara#atsv miguel#miguel o’hara smut#miguel o’hara imagine#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel ohara#miguel ohara x reader#miguel spiderverse#miguel o’hara fic#spiderman across the spiderverse#miguel o’hara fanfiction#miguel o’hara x fem!reader
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CARBON COPY | Miguel O'Hara
☆ premise: trying to find miles morales in earth-42, he encounters you. or at least, a version of you.
☆ pairing: miguel o'hara x fem!alt universe!reader
☆ warnings: across the spiderverse spoilers, pregnant!reader, clueless!reader, angst, hurt no comfort, miguel's pov, some swearing
☆ a/n: oh my god. across the spiderverse is literally a masterpiece. into the spiderverse already is, but the spiderverse team said, "we can do better." they didn't have to, but they did.
"Do you really think this is a good idea?" Jessica asked through the commlink. "This is risky, even by your standards."
"It doesn't matter. The quicker we find Miles, the quicker we get out of here." Miguel muttered into his earpiece as he walked through the busy streets of Earth-42's New York.
"Yes, but blending in? For all we know, a version of us exists here."
"Which is why you need to stop talking and start looking, Jess." Miguel hissed a little too loud, earning looks from a few passerbys. He winced. Jessica had a point. If a version of them did exist in this universe, it would be best not to bring attention to themselves.
"Miguel!"
And... that was now thrown out of the window. Cursing under his breath, he turned around reluctantly to face the person who called him—only to find that it was you.
His eyes widened, and his lips parted at the sight of you. Never in a million years did he expect to see her again. But here you were, the absolute spitting image of her. Your clothes were exactly the same things she would wear, your hair and makeup done the same way.
Finding different versions of people in different universes was not uncommon. There's literally a society uniting the different universes' own Spider-people, for God's sake. But Miguel didn't expect this. He didn't expect a carbon copy of his dead wife on a universe where Spider-Man did not exist.
He should've said he wasn't Miguel, that you were mistaking him for someone else. Hell, he shouldn't have stopped and turned around in the first place. He didn't know what came over him, but in a second, he had his arms wrapped around your body.
"Miguel, hon, are you okay?" You asked, your voice laced with surprise and concern. You had no clue that the man who was hugging you was not your husband. At least, not your husband in this universe.
Miguel grunted in response, his ability to string words together to form a sentence rendered broken by your presence. He squeezed you tighter. He couldn't believe he was holding you in his arms.
You weren't the same woman he fell in love with. He knows this. But he couldn't help himself. You looked exactly like her. Felt exactly like her. Sounded exactly like her. Shit, you even smelled like her.
"Damn it, Miguel, keep it together! She's not your wife!"
Hearing Jess' voice snapped Miguel out of his stupor. Remembering his mission, why he was there in the first place, he pulled away from you. He didn't want to. He wanted to hold you longer. But he knew that if he did, he wouldn't have been able to stop.
"Honey, what's wrong?" You asked, cupping his face in your hands. God, how he missed feeling the warmth of your palms. "You're acting weird."
"I'm fine, sweetheart." He gave you a small smile, his hands wrapping around yours and his lips pressing a kiss on each of your wrists. "I just missed you, that's all."
You laughed. "What are you talking about? You saw me this morning."
Miguel could only chuckle in an attempt to hide his sadness. What was only hours for you was months for him. "Right. I did."
"Are you sure you're okay, though?" You asked again, eyebrows furrowing and the corners of your lips downturned.
"Don't worry about it, darling. I am."
He wasn't. But you didn't need to know that. You didn't need to know that in another universe, the two of you were married. You didn't need to know that you had a daughter together. You didn't need to know that he loved you and your daughter more than life itself, only for him to lose you both.
"Listen, I have to go. I'm having lunch with a friend. But I'll see you later at Doctor Nguyen's, okay?" You placed your hands on your stomach, a smile forming on your face. "I can't wait to see her again."
Miguel swallowed the lump in his throat before forcing himself to smile. Only now he noticed the bump on your stomach, carrying a different Miguel's Gabriella. "Yeah, me too."
With a kiss goodbye on his cheek, you walked away, blissfully unaware that he was not your Miguel. He watched as you disappeared around the corner, knowing it was the first and last time he was ever going to see you again.
But that didn't matter. He'll find Miles. He'll make sure the canon isn't destroyed. He'll make sure another version of himself wouldn't have to suffer the loss of his family the same way he did. He'll make sure you and your kid were safe.
#˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ doll's fics#miguel ohara#miguel o'hara#spider-man#spiderman#across the spiderverse#across the spiderverse spoilers#miguel ohara x reader#miguel o'hara x reader#spiderman x reader#spider-man x reader#spiderman 2099#spider-man 2099#spiderman 2099 x reader#spider-man 2099 x reader#oscar isaac#oscar isaac x reader
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Peaches and Cream || Miguel O'hara
Pairing: Miguel O'hara x f!reader
Summary: There's a stark difference with how your husband and Miguel treats you, starting with how rough the latter can be.
Tags: SMUT, NOT BETA READ, unprotected sex, rough sex, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, spanking, pussy slapping (once), fluff (?), jealous!Miguel, Miguel has a big dick.
Words: 2.2k
I got distracted from writing domestic Miguel after he replaced the dad!Miguel after he got shot. This is shit, my apologies I'll do better and add more flavor next time, promiseee. Title is from the song I was listening to the whole time by Noah Davis.
I don't know how to navigate tumblr as a second blog but thank you to all your comments, reblogs and likes, it really does motivate me to write more and better stuff. Also thank you to two blogs for putting me in their recommendations! I made it guys :''DD!!
cariño - honey || mi vida - my life || mi amor - my love || hermosa - beautiful || pobrecita - poor thing (correct me on this one please) || calladita - quietly (thank you sm @eminenceplant for this)
There's a stark difference between your husband and the man hovering above you like a predator about to pounce.
Your husband's hands were soft and loving as it caressed and wandered your body as he peppered kisses down from your neck and to your inner thigh. All of his gestures are a sweet concoction of loving and adoration.
Whilst Miguel's touch was desperate, territorial as he clawed down your flesh, human nails digging into your thighs and breasts as he left a trail of purple bruises around your neck, collarbones before stopping to nip at your hip bone. Everything he does is animalistic, deprived and hungry as if he hasn't eaten for centuries.
His red eyes were clouded with dark lust, glinted with something carnal, even feral, in the dark that got your spine tingling with anticipation.
To see and feel his perpetual desperation for your skin, your scent and desire for your touch had your pride piercing the heavens. To be wanted as he does like you're the air he breathes is dizzying and you can't help but want more.
It's exhilarating, addicting even.
It hasn't been long since you found yourself in love with another version of your husband, yet you grew to crave more of him as seconds ticked by.
Miguel's muscled arms curled around your thighs, forcing them open before pulling you flush to his face with a surprising strength. A pleased sigh escaped your lips as his hot breath fans over your pubic bone, hand falling to knot onto his hair and tugging him closer.
You soon realised why he paused on top of your mound as he inhaled you in, immediately your cheeks flamed.
"You smell heavenly, baby. So wet for me as well, makes me want to taste you."
You bite your bottom lip, nodding urgently as you tug him closer and he clicks his tongue.
"Hermosa, I need your words."
"Please darling? I'll be nice I swear, eat me out please."
Miguel doesn't need to be told twice, dipping his tongue onto your dripping folds. Your back arched at the sensation, after months of no intimacy following the change in your husband, your arousal lit your nerve endings ablaze.
His left hand that was digging into your flesh then reached to splay itself onto your abdomen, pinning you to the mattress as his tongue flicked your clit with a firm pace.
With every flicker of his appendage, hot pleasure rockets into your stomach, body growing feverish as pressure builds up inside your abdomen.
As if sensing your orgasm from the hitch of your breath alone, his right arm unwinds from your thigh to trail down to your fluttering entrance, caressing the rim so sweetly it hurts.
"Miguel please."
He ignored you, focusing on suckling on your clit with a reawakened fervor. You tugged onto his hair, hard enough for it to hurt, for him to listen to your pleas yet he only grunted, sending ample vibrations to quake your bones.
"Beg for it nicely, cariño. I want to hear you beg for me."
"I want your fingers in me, please! Miguel, baby, I want to feel you in me, please."
He groaned, it rumbled in his chest before sending shockwaves down your spine. Then he shoved two of his thick fingers inside you and you jerked. The burn of being breached got your blood buzzing as it mixed with the pleasure his tongue gave you.
If your husband was gentle with his fingers, inserting them one by one with utmost care, Miguel is everything he stands against.
His fingers immediately found a punishing pace, plunging in and out of you whilst curling up to touch the spongy spot in your walls. Encouraged by his digits, his tongue grew frantic as it sucked and flicked your clit rapidly, driving you closer and closer to your precipice. You opened your mouth to scream but it was caught short by his other hand clamping over your lips.
"Calladita, you're going to wake Gabriella up."
Miguel's gaze burns your face as he brings you pleasure atop pleasure with every thrust and lick .
To see your eyes roll back and your chest rise as you arch, the greedy monster claws at his neck, wanting for more reactions.
Bet her husband had also made her this way...
An ugly head reared out of the back of his brain, whispering taunts into his ears and reaching around with its rotten hands to blind his eyes.
With the bitter realization, his fingers pistoned in and out of you with a punishing pace, the heel of his palm slamming into your engorged clit as a pathetic wet squelch echoed in the room. The sudden change in pace got you writhing, your mewls muffled by his hand.
"So fucking wet for me, hermosa. Tell me, do you get this turned on for your husband?"
You didn't respond and that seemed to anger him, pulling his fingers out and cutting off the intoxicating thrum of heat in your veins and you whined, displeased. Hearing this, he brought his hand down for a firm slap onto your clit.
"Fuck…"
"You don't get to react, mi amor."
He sat up, pushing down his sweatpants along with his boxers and his erection stands, slapping against his stomach. Your eyes immediately caught the dribbles of pre-cum pulsing out of his tip and your tongue grew heavy, hand reaching out to grab onto his dick.
Miguel, in more ways than one, is bigger than your husband. Your hand barely closed up around his length and dread loomed over you. He's about to ruin you, mind and body, with this dick.
Fuck, will this fit in me?
"You're so big."
He chuckled darkly, fingers pinching your chin. "No, your husband's just lacking, hermosa."
You should've been angered by his comment but you couldn't find it in yourself to reprimand him for it. Instead, you find yourself flustered at his confidence.
"On your knees."
As if hypnotized, you followed despite the disappointment rumbling inside you for not being able to pleasure him.
You pushed yourself off of the mattress to turn but he was quicker, ever the impatient man that he is, his large hand splayed between your shoulder blades and pinned you to the cushion, forcing you to present your ass up at him.
"Darling? I really don't think it'll fit."
A resonating slap echoed in the room as he swatted your ass and you whimpered, body lurching away before strong arms dragged you back under him.
"You can and you will. I will make sure of it."
His cockhead poked your entrance and a thrill slithered down your spine. You looked down to your pussy, watching with rapt attention as he dragged himself up and down your folds.
The sight of his disheveled self with his head thrown back and mouth agape to let out groans made you shiver. How could someone look so attractive?
Miguel soon pushed in, the head of his dick immediately lodging into your small hole, stretching you wide as he slowly inserted more of his inches. The sting it brought got you gasping and grabbing tight onto the sheets, already feeling full to the brim with barely half of him in.
"Fuck, you're so tight for me. Pobrecita… your husband must've never fucked you wide open before."
Just when you thought it was done, he continued to push more of him. Your head grows light, pleasure shocking all your nerve endings awake from your legs and to the tip of your toes.
He didn't even let you rest, already pulling back and you almost shot up to grab him, scared he'd leave you hanging but Miguel left his cockhead in before thrusting all of his inches back in with one fluid motion and your mouth fell agape.
"Fuck…! Miguel please!"
"What a greedy girl. Don't worry baby, I'll treat you well tonight."
If his slow thrust already had your mind fuzzy from the pain of the stretch and pleasure, his callous and frenzied pace got you praying as he released shockwaves after shockwaves of bliss to shatter your bones and down to your trembling legs.
You barely had the mind to bite onto the sheet to muffle your cry as he drove manically behind you.
Seeing this, Miguel grew displeased. Despite knowing the reason for your actions, he wanted to hear how well he fucks you. It was childish trying to outdo someone he'd never encounter again but his pride is bruised.
That fucker got the chance to devour and have you pliant and panting under him for decades while he withered back in his lab trying to get rid of his unwanted addiction.
The bastard has ingrained himself into your body for years and he can't have that.
There should only be one man you should think about at night and be reminded of when you sit to feel the soreness rendering your lower body boneless.
"I'm gonna install noise suppressors in our room tomorrow then you'd be free to scream my name whenever you like, mi vida. You know how I love it when you cry for me."
You didn't say anything but instead nodded frantically. Fire licked every inch of your skin as the familiar tightness in your abdomen appeared, lightning shooting up your spine with every savage thrusts.
There was nothing else you could think of, focused on reaching your deserved nirvana and desperately shaking your hips to meet his thrust. Seeing how fucked and blissed out you were, Miguel groaned before swatting the globes of your ass, pulling a mewl from you.
"Look at you, so cock drunk for me. So beautiful… It makes me wanna tease you a little."
Feeling your orgasm being torn away as he slows, you whine and reach back to grab his hips, forcing him to piston in and out of you with a mewl. Miguel watched you with heavy lidded eyes, he has never seen such a sinful yet delicious sight until now.
If there was a scene he could ingrain into the back of his eyelids, this would be it.
You, so desperate for a release and trying to chase it when he refused to. Eyes glazed with tears of frustration as you gave up trying to control his hips and bucked your hips like a madwoman into his dick.
There's no such thing as guilt when he got to witness you in such a vulnerable state, only gratefulness.
"Mi cielo, please! Move, I want to come so bad please…!"
He had a different plan for the evening but if you begged so sweetly like that, there's nothing he wouldn't give you.
A house, a new ring with the biggest gemstone you love, the world, the universe or something as simple as a climax becomes acquirable if you want them so badly, he'd give it all to you.
"Anything for you, cariño."
Despite the callousness of his touch driven with wanderlust and desperation to the point of passionate worshiping, Miguel differs from your husband by being love-starved and his brimming confidence in pleasing you a hundred ways before tomorrow without breaking a sweat.
A welcomed and fresh change nonetheless, the difference only led you to fall deeper in love with him.
He drove his dick back into you with a fresh yet ravenous pace, pulling back till his cockhead remains before plunging all of himself in. Miguel's nails dug deep into your flesh enough to make you fear for a permanent dent in them.
Your skin flared as the coil in your stomach reawakened, tightening further and further with every thrust. The warmth is maddening yet deliciously addictive as it lashes out, wrapping around your swelling heart.
"Let me come please? I want it please…! Ah!"
He leant down while his hand reached down to roll your clit in tight eights, decreasing his pace yet hitting deeper as he swept the hair behind your ear before tugging it hard.
"Give it to me, mi vida. I want it all, come around me."
With his proximity and whispered command, there was nothing else you could do but burst.
Ecstasy easily drowns you as it floods your senses, white hot pleasure exploding behind your eyelids as you screamed into the sheets. Your orgasm rippled through you, shimmying under your skin and turning your limbs useless as they grew light.
There's nothing else you could call what you were feeling except 'heavenly'.
With the constant pulse of your velvet walls clamping down on him, Miguel soon followed with a deep resonating groan to his annoyance, painting your insides white with his liquid arousal.
It was a wonder he lasted this long after having only his hands to entertain him for years in the laboratory and spider hub. Nonetheless, he has his life to spend with you, years where he could discover and evoke your deepest desires.
Placing gentle kisses on your shoulders, he grinned. "Te amo cariño."
"I love you more…" You mumbled back, exhaustion weighing your eyelids. You barely picked up his clicking tongue before he spoke up, sounding determined as if it was set in stone.
"No sleeping, mi vida. We're not done yet, I have months to make up, no?"
#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara imagine#miguel o'hara smut#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara x reader one shot#marvel fics#marvel smut#spiderman smut#spiderman fics#astv miguel#astv fanfic
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hobie meeting rio: oh im so happy to meet you mrs.morales. mm, is that pasta? it smells bloody amazing.
hobie meeting jeff: hi jeff. stares directly into his eyes, slightly squinting
#punkflower#miles morales#hobie brown#rio morales#jefferson davis#spiderman itsv#spiderman atsv#into the spider verse#across the spiderverse#spiderverse#miles gets his hopes up SO high with rio and hes SO happy showing hobie to his dad thinking he'll be nice and then that.#he almost fucking dies#putting this into a fic btw
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Webs of Fate - Miguel O'Hara (Part II)
Sequel to Web of Secrets
Miguel O'Hara x SpiderSun Reader
words: 5.2K
warnings: secret pregnancy trope, swearing, angst, heartbreak, grumpy/sunshine, smut, time jumps, not really comic accurate (canon events), semi public piv, 18+
Part I Part II Part III Part IV
You are all back at the Spider-Verse Headquarters and the atmosphere is tense. Everyone is still high on adrenaline from the mission. You’re nursing a deep gash on your arm but your spirit is far from broken.
Miguel, however, seems to be on the verge of an explosion.
“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT OUT THERE SPIDER SUN?” he bursts out, his voice echoing through the HQ.
You're taken aback. “What do you mean?”
“That reckless behavior! You could have been killed!” he roars. “Why didn’t you retreat when you were injured?!”
“Because there were lives at stake! I can handle myself, Miguel!” you shout back.
“You think this is a game?! You think being part of this team is just for kicks?” Miguel’s face is red, his voice strained.
“Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare question my dedication!” you yell, your own anger now matching his.
The team is watching, shifting uncomfortably. Gwen looks at Jess, who shakes her head. The room is thick with tension.
Alright, if you are being honest with yourself, your recent actions in the field could definitely be classified as reckless. Perhaps even bordering on idiotic - not that you’d ever confess that in front of Miguel. You didn’t know where your mind went. Wait, no, scratch that. You knew precisely where your thoughts were, every mission since you discovered your pregnancy has been like this; your spider senses dulled, focus scattered to the wind, and reflexes that would’ve made a sloth proud.
And then there was this mission – your first one in quite a while alongside Miguel. He was bound to notice.
So you were fighting an Electro variant from an alternate universe, alongside Jess, Gwen, Ben and Miguel. The electric villain was throwing bolts of energy left and right and everyone was giving their all. You noticed a civilian trapped under some debris. You made a beeline for them, not thinking about anything else.
As you lifted the debris, an energy bolt flew straight for you. Usually, your Spider-Senses would have alerted you but not today. It hit you square in the back and sent you flying.
You hit a wall but ignored the pain as you scrambled back to your feet. A sharp ache spread across your arm but you gritted your teeth and kept fighting.
Miguel yelled, “What the hell are you doing?! Fall back!”
But you didn’t, you kept pushing forward.
He landed next to you, his eyes filled with anger and something else, maybe a hint of worry. He grabbed your waist to pull you back. But as another energy bolt was coming your way, you shoved him out of the path, taking the hit for the second time. So yeah, you could say that this mission wasn't exactly the shining star in your superhero career.
“ESTÚPIDA! So damn stupid. I won’t fucking watch someone throw their life away recklessly!” Miguel was now yelling loudly in oyur face for everyone in the HQ to hear.
“Oh, please. What’s it to you? Since when do you care, Miguel?!” you shout back, finally having enough of his insufferable attitude. “All this time, you’ve treated me like I’m dispensable. Like I don't matter! Well, guess what? I can fight, I can make decisions, and I don’t need you to approve them!”
“Don’t!” Miguel's voice cracks, and for a brief second, there’s a look of hurt on his face that surprises you. But his rage quickly replaces it. “I cannot do this anymore with you, ¿me entiendes?” he yells.
The room falls silent. Everyone’s gazes dart between you and Miguel. You can feel Gwen’s worried eyes on you, and Ben Riley. looks like he wants to intervene, but this moment is too charged.
You take a deep breath, tears welling up. “I can't do this anymore either,” you whisper.
“What?” Miguel's voice is barely audible.
“I can't keep fighting for a team where I’m not respected or trusted. Where you treat me constantly like a liability, like I am worth nothing to you,” you say, your voice steadier now.
“You don’t know what you are saying,” Miguel says, his tone slightly softening.
You turn around, your eyes welling up once again and open a portal to your universe. “I do, I quit” you say, your voice breaking.
You reach into your pocket and pull out your transdimensional gizmo, the small device that every Spider-person uses to travel across the multiverse. It's an intricate piece of technology, a blend of science and magic that fits in the palm of your hand.
You toss the device on the table in front of Miguel. It skids across the surface before coming to a stop right in front of him. He looks from the gizmo to you, his expression unreadable.
"Take it. We don’t need it anymore." You say defiantly, meeting his gaze.
Everyone knows the implication of you returning the gizmo. Without it, you're effectively stranded in your universe, unable to return to the society. This isn't a decision made lightly, it's a point of no return.
As you step through the portal, you glance back one last time. You see Miguel’s face, contorted in pain, but he doesn’t move, he doesn’t speak and he doesn't stop you.
Your heart is breaking, but you can’t stay here. Not when it’s this painful.
You turn away and head toward the portal room, with one hand lightly grazing your tummy. Gwen calls your name, but you don’t stop.
In the dim light of the room, the world seems to fade away as you lie there with Miguel on top of you. You are under him, breathless, your fingers running through his hair. His body pins you down in a tender, electrifying way, and you can feel the rhythm of his heart beating against yours.
His fangs graze the curve of your neck lightly, eliciting a shiver that runs through you. In response, he nuzzles into you, his breath warm against your skin.
"Ever think about what we're doing?" he asks in a whisper that vibrates against your neck.
"Constantly," you respond, your fingers tracing the curve of his broad shoulders, "but I don’t regret it, not a moment.”
He lifts his head, his red orbs searching yours. “Neither do I,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper. His hand reaches up to trace the contour of your face.
"You know," you whisper, your hands continuing caressing his back, "I always wondered what it was like in your universe, in your time."
He shifts a little, propping himself up on one elbow as he looks down at you. His eyes, usually as unreadable, now seem to crack open; emotions swirl within them like stars.
"It was great, you know," his voice is gentle, each word enveloping you. "No, more than that – it was perfect," he corrects himself. His eyes never leave yours as he continues, "I had my Gabriella. Ah, you would have adored her." His voice softens to a mere whisper as if speaking her name too loudly might shatter the memory. "She was this incredible burst of life just like you. My own little sunshine. I didn’t know my heart could hold so much until she came into my life."
"The way she would throw her head back and laugh, it was like music. Her tiny hands – so soft and gentle. I remember how one of them always found mine, and the world felt... right." He continued, "I was never alone, never empty." He swallows hard, as if trying to keep the flood of emotions from washing over him.
You cup his cheek gently, smiling up at him. "You don't have to be alone, you know?"
He lets out a dry chuckle. “Sometimes it feels like there's no other option. It’s my fate."
“What scares you the most, Miguel?” you suddenly ask, your voice barely above a whisper.
He hesitates. “To lose myself… to forget what it means to care for someone,” he finally confesses.
“You won’t,” you assure him, your thumb stroking his cheek. “Not if you don’t let yourself.”
“¿y tú?” His voice is husky. “What’s your biggest fear?”
“To be forgotten,” you whisper.
He lowers himself and presses his forehead against yours. “Imposible,” he breathes. “You’re the sun. No one forgets the sun.” He pulls you closer, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, his arms tighten around you, pulling you closer until the world outside disappears.
Suddenly, his wrist console beeps, yanking him back to the present. "O’Hara, are you okay?" Lyla's voice echoes in the room, breaking the silence. He blinks, his gaze focusing on the holographic screen displaying the mission details in front of him. "Yeah, Lyla," he responds, his voice a bit hoarse. "Just remembered something," he murmurs, and refocuses on the screen before him.
Amidst the sea of codes and numbers, Miguel finds himself struggling to focus. His thoughts still are consumed by you, and a heavy realization crashes down upon him like a tidal wave - he’s lost you forever.
He always knew that this was how it was meant to be. This was the only logical conclusion, the inevitable outcome that he had tried so hard to deny. He was aware of the potential repercussions, the cosmic imbalance that could be brought about by your intertwining fates.
Lyla had warned him multiple times, cautioned him against letting you close. But how could he have possibly resisted you? You, who shone brighter than the sun, who captured the hearts of everyone around with your aura and your kind soul. Your beauty was unparalleled, and your laughter had the power to fill a room, casting away shadows. He was a moth drawn to your flame, hopelessly captivated from the very first day he met you.
But you were never meant to be his story, not the path his life was meant to tread. You belonged to another world, another universe.
"You're thinking about her, aren't you?" Lyla breaks the silence with her smooth, computerized voice. “No,” he interrupts her sharply, his voice a little too forceful.
But Lyla isn't easily deterred. "You know it was dangerous from the beginning, Miguel," Lyla continues. "Engaging with her like that...it could have caused irreparable damage to the multiverse."
"I know," he replies curtly.
Unyielding, Lyla continues, "This was never supposed to be a canon event. Her universe is not meant to mix with yours. It's fortunate that she left when she did. The damage could've been—"
“I KNOW!” Miguel suddenly erupts, his voice thundering through the room. He screams, his frustration boiling over, "¡Ya lo sé, Lyla! ¡Basta ya!" ("I already know, Lyla! Enough already!") With a loud grunt, he sweeps his arm across his desk, sending his keyboard, mug, and various other items crashing to the ground.
There is a deafening silence as Miguel breathes heavily, his chest heaving. His eyes are wide, his face is flushed and his fangs are bared. He never loses control, not like this.
Lyla, for once, remains silent.
3 months later…
Back in Nea Yorkey, Earth 586 , you are perched on the rooftop, absentmindedly rubbing your stomach. Time has passed since you left Nueva York and Miguel, but your feelings for him are still a tangled mess. Damn these pesky pregnancy hormones.
For once, it’s pretty calm out there. No honking horns in traffic jams or the usual buzz of people everywhere. It’s like the city hit the pause button and honestly, it’s kind of nice. The streetlights are like tiny fairy lights all over, and the tall buildings around you feel like they’re keeping you company.
The cool breeze brushes against your face, and you can't help but be lost in your thoughts. Thoughts of him. The relentless flood of emotions is almost too much to handle.
The flashback hits you hard, placing you right back in Miguel's office late one evening. Your legs were wrapped around his waist, your backside planted firmly on his desk amidst strewn cables and metallic pieces and half-empty coffee mugs.
"Miguel, someone will catch us," you had warned, your breath hitching as he nipped at your skin, his hands deftly moving to undo your skintight suit. His hair was a little longer then, the ends tickling your forehead as he kissed you.
He had just chuckled, the sound deep and throaty, making your heart flutter. "They know better than to disturb me," he'd responded confidently, his lips trailing fiery kisses along your jawline.
Usually, Miguel was cautious about showing any sign of affection when others might be around, even if 'around' meant anywhere in the sprawling headquarters of the Spider Society. Yet, that night, he seemed to throw caution to the wind.
In his enclosed office, late into the evening, he let his guard down - a rarity. His lips were insistent against your skin, his touch setting you alight. You remember how the soft glow of the desk lamp had caught in his eyes, making them appear even more mesmerizing.
As he was holding your ass up steady and pounding into you, in a pace and fervor you never experienced before, you hear his communicator ring vibrating. You instinctively attempt to pull away, assuming he would answer the call, but he holds you tighter, his lips never leaving your skin.
His free hand pulls up a holographic screen,which flickered to life above the desk, revealing a slightly pixelated image of Jess. You panic for a moment, worried that she might see you in this intimate moment with Miguel, but he just shook his head slightly, reassuring you that she can't. He must have filtered the video feed on his end.
“Yes, Jess?” Miguel’s voice was steady, but his breath ghosted your neck in short spurts. He continued with his action, his thrusts a little slower but deep, nevertheless. You clamp your teeth down onto Miguel's shoulder in a desperate attempt to stifle the moans escaping your throat, your senses overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. You can barely contain yourself. Miguel's soft, amused chuckle vibrate through you as he wraps his arms around you protectively. Asshole.
“We’ve got an anomaly on Earth-4067, seems like a temporal rift,” Jess's voice came through the hologram.
“Have you tried the Q-particle stabilizer?” Miguel asks, his voice so casual it's almost disarming. His eyes meet yours, a playful glint in them.
“Yeah, but it didn’t work. The rift is actually growing,” Jess responds, the worry in her voice increasing. “What do you think we should do?”
“Alright, I want you to reconfigure the dimensional frequency to match the rift. Then patch the satellite feed through the Alchemax algorithm, reverse the temporal frequency by 4.7 hertz and use the resonance pulse to stabilize the rift,” Miguel articulates with authority as he continues to pick up his pace. You’re close to the edge, with the euphoria threatening to make you cry out. The sheer pleasure is now tinged with a faint edge of pain, and a wave of panic crashes over you. The thought of Jess possibly hearing you is nerve-wracking, and you’re now fighting to suppress your screams.
Your breathing becomes erratic as you whisper in a hoarse, needy voice, “Miguel, ‘m close."
"I know, mami. Come for me," he whispers back, his voice filled with a playful mischief that seems to defy the gravity of the situation. His hot breath against your ear sends shivers down your spine and the wave of pleasure crushes down on you.
“Miguel, are you sure about this? I mean, if something goes wrong…” Jess hesitates.
“I’m sure, Jess.” Thrust. “Do.” Another hard thrust. “it.” Miguel’s voice turns forceful.
“Okay, I trust you. But... are you alright? You sound kinda breathless,” Jess's suspicion returns.
“Oh, just...uh...running some diagnostics. It’s a bit stuffy in here,” Miguel replies with a smirk on his face, his fingers now gently brushing against your bare heated skin.
The rooftop is silent again, and you're still rubbing your belly, where the life you and Miguel created is growing. A bittersweet tear rolls down your cheek as you wish, not for the first time, that things could have been different.
You don’t know how long you are sitting there, taking in the city scene. But it was getting dark, when a familiar figure swings onto the rooftop. It's Gwen, carrying a small package in her hand. “Gwen? What brings you to Nea Yorkey?”
She walks up to you with a soft smile, "Do I need a reason to visit my favourite Spider-Ma? I've got something for you."
You raise an eyebrow as she hands you the package. As you unwrap it, you find a tiny Spider-Man hat, similar to the one Mayday usually wears. And to your surprise, there’s a tiny anarchy pin, attached to it.
"From the group," she says softly. She adds, pointing at the pin, "This bit here, that’s from Hobie." Of course it is.
You’re moved to tears as you hug the hat close. It's a simple gift, yet it means so much. You feel a lump in your throat, and Gwen steps forward, wrapping you in a warm, comforting hug.
"I...I miss all of you so much," you manage to whisper, your voice choked with emotion.
"We miss you too," Gwen replies, her voice equally soft.
You pull back, wiping your eyes. Gwen tries to lighten the mood, "So, any guesses on the gender? I bet it’s a boy."
You shrug, a small smile tugging at your lips, "I don't care what it's going to be. I just want them to be healthy."
Gwen grins, "Just remember, if it is a boy and he turns out to be a handful, you owe me a soda."
You both sit on the edge of the rooftop in a comfortable silence, legs swinging over the city, the conversation turns more serious.
"So," you venture, "how are things back at the Spider Society?"
Gwen’s expression turns contemplative. "It's been... strange since you left," she admits.
"Strange how?" you prod.
"Well, you know how Miguel was always a little on the, uh, grumpy side?" she says, making a grimace.
"You mean being a brooding fortress of doom and gloom?" you quip, and Gwen chuckles.
"Yeah, that. Well, he's gotten worse since you left. Like, way worse," Gwen's face turns somber as she continues. "He’s even more closed off than before. His temper’s shorter, he barely communicates, and he's been pushing everyone away. Miguel’s basically got everyone on lockdown. No unauthorized visits between universes. There’s this... I don’t know... this cloud hanging over him, you know?”
Your heart tightens as you take in her words. You had no idea that your departure had such an impact on him, or anyone for that matter.
“He doesn’t talk about it, but I think he misses you,” Gwen adds, looking directly into your eyes.
You are torn. Part of you wants to be angry at Miguel for how things went down, but another part aches for him.
Gwen nudges you. "Maybe he needs his sunshine back," she says with a gentle smile.
You sit in silence for a moment, the weight of Gwen’s words sinking in. “Don’t be silly. I was never his sunshine.”
4 months later…
Beneath the pale glow of hospital lights, pain and joy mingle in the delivery room. The grip you have on the sheets gets tighter as you push to usher your baby into the world. Your hair is sticking to your forehead, your breath comes in heaving gasps, exhaustion painting dark circles under your eyes.
Meanwhile, unbeknownst to you, a portal flickers to life outside your window, and Gwen, Peter B., and Hobie emerge.
“Make way! The party has arrived!” Peter B. exclaims loudly.
“I don’t believe in parties.” Hobie says as he struts in, clad in his Spider suit with a leather jacket over it, pins and patches proudly displayed.
Gwen knocks at your door. The midwife, busy with you in the labor, answers.
“Uh, who are you?” the midwife asks, slightly agitated.
“We’re friends of hers,” Peter gestures towards you, “is it a good time?”
You hear their voices, but you cant muster up a response all you can do is scream and push.
“Blimey, I didn’t think it’d be like somethin’ outta Alien! You alright there, love?” Hobie’s eyes go wide, as he enters the room.
You can't help but laugh through the pain, "Oh, just peachy, thanks for asking."
Gwen steps forward, immediately grabbing your hand, her voice soothing, “Hey, you’re doing great. Is there anything we can do?”
“You could get Hobie out of here,” you jest, rolling your eyes, but your smile betrays your appreciation. Another loud scream follows.
“You got this, luv!” Hobie shouts. “Just imagine the bloody contractions as guitar riffs! You’re about to release the raddest album in history!”
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you hear the cries of your newborn baby.
“Congratulations, it's a boy!” the nurse announces, handing the baby to to you.
You can’t help but laugh. Gwen steps closer to the bed and takes a peek at the baby. Her eyes light up. “Told you, it’s a boy. He’s absolutely beautiful,” she whispers.
Hobie chimes in. “Alright, let’s get a proper look at the little bloke!” He leans in, and his face softens. "Oh, look at 'im!" Hobie exclaims in his thick British accent, peering at him. "Little blighter's a spitting image of 'is mum, ain't he?” No. You see it then, the dark eyes with a hint of red glow echo the intensity of his father's gaze, the dark chocolate hair and the sun kissed complexion. He looked undeniably just like Miguel. You cant help yourself but fall immediately in love with your and Miguel’s little boy.
As they prepare to leave, Gwen, Peter B., and Hobie each take turns holding Gabriel and whispering well-wishes to him.
“I can’t thank you guys enough for being here,” you say, wiping away a tear.
Peter’s mask is off and he’s beaming. "We couldn't miss this for the multiverse!"
Gwen follows suit, "Yeah! Plus, Hobie wouldn't let us hear the end of it if we didn’t."
“We’re family,” Peter says firmly. “Across universes and timelines. We’re always here for each other.”
With that, the trio put on their masks and with another whoosh, they're gone.
1 year later...
One year has passed like a whirlwind. You've established a balance in your life. By day, you are a doting mother, and your world revolves around a little ball of energy named Gabriel. His laugh is the music that fuels your day, and his tiny hands holding yours make everything seem alright.
At night, though, you become someone else. Clad in a white suit adorned with golden sun patterns, you swing through the skyscrapers of Nea Yorkey as the Sun Spider. Your heart swells with pride, knowing that you’re keeping the streets and your little boy safe.
Your neighbor, Melissa, sometimes babysits Gabriel. She is a cheerful, quirky 19-year-old neighbor who dreams of becoming an Instagram influencer. You trust her (her career choice not so much) and, most importantly, Gabriel adores her.
Up until today, you believed that he hadn't inherited any powers. However, today was the first time he climbed up a wall and spun a web, without the aid of a web-slinger. It was the first time you witnessed him display such powers, and naturally, you were impressed. However, you also realized that being a mom would now involve dealing with a whole new set of challenges and responsibilities, making everyday life more exhausting than before. But you are up for the challenge;
Meanwhile, in the Spider Society’s HQ in Nueva York, Lyla’s holographic screen blinks red as she detects an anomaly in Earth 586 - your universe. She reports it to Miguel, who is still his grumpy self, seemingly even more irritable with each day passing.
“There’s a presence in Earth 586 that does not belong,” Lyla reports in her emotionless tone.
Miguel, sitting at his desk, sighs deeply. “Assemble the team. Pavitr, Lego Spider-Man, and... let’s bring in the newbie, Miles.”
Minutes later, the trio is briefed about the anomaly – a two-year-old child. They are to extract the child and bring it back.
Back in your universe, you're facing off against a notorious villain – The Shocker, who is on a rampage downtown. His high-frequency shock waves shake the very foundations of the buildings around you.
“Not tonight, Shocker,” you quip as you dodge a blast. “I’ve got a bedtime story to read!”
You're agile and sharp, but you can’t wait to get back home to Gabriel.
In your apartment, Melissa is on the couch, engrossed in her phone. She doesn't notice Pavitr slyly slipping into Gabriel's room. He can’t help but feel conflicted, seeing the innocent child asleep.
“This is the target?” Pavitr speaks in a hushed tone into his communicator. His voice is laced with doubt.
“Yes, proceed,” responds Miguel firmly.
Pavitr gently picks up Gabriel, cradling him in his arms. “Sorry, little guy,” he whispers and slips out.
Outside, they gather near the portal. Miles, who is visibly excited to be on his first mission, can sense the tension among the group.
“That was… too easy,” Pavitr murmurs, still holding the sleeping child.
Through the swirling portal, they make their way back to Nueva York.
Meanwhile, you web up The Shocker and leave him hanging for the police.
Back in the Spider Society's HQ in Nueva York, the team stands in a specialized containment room with the toddler still peacefully sleeping nestled in a makeshift bed of spider-web, completely oblivious to the attention he's attracting. One by one, members of the Spider Society trickle into the room, drawn by curiosity and concern.
Miles, who is new to the Spider Society, looks at the child with confusion. "I don't get it, what's so dangerous about a kid?" he asks.
Pavitr looks conflicted, “We have to determine where he came from and why he is considered an anomaly.”
Lego Spider-Man remains silent, trying to analyze the situation. He finally speaks up. "We should be cautious. Just because it's a child doesn't mean it's not potentially hazardous to the multiverse."
Miguel enters the room, his face cold and emotionless. He glances at the sleeping child, then at his team. “It doesn’t matter what it is. Anomalies threaten the balance of the multiverse. Every anomaly has to be returned to its home universe. That’s the rule.” he says sternly.
"But he's not an anomaly, boss," Jess adds, gazing fondly at the child. "He's a little boy."
Miguel’s gaze is unwavering, ignoring Jess. “Lyla? Whats the status?”
Lyla's holographic form flickers into the room. "This entity possesses unknown powers," she declares, her voice ringing out with clinical detachment. "And according to my scans, it doesn't belong to any known universe. Therefore, it cannot be returned. It must be... eliminated."
Miles' eyes widen. “Wait, you mean…?” he can’t bring himself to finish the sentence.
Pavitr steps forward, his fists clenched. “We can’t just... There must be another way.”
Back in your universe, you swing closer to your apartment, but your spider-sense starts are tingling with a ferocity you’ve never experienced before. Your heart races, and you quicken your pace. Bursting through the window, you find Melissa still sitting on the couch, scrolling through her phone.
"Where is he? Where’s Gabriel?!" you shout, panic straining your voice.
Melissa's eyes go wide as she looks up from her phone. "What? He's in his room, sleeping," she says, but her voice falters when she sees the terror on your face.
You rush into Gabriel's room and find the crib empty. Your knees buckle, and a guttural scream escapes your lips. The room spins as you run back to the living room, grabbing Melissa by the shoulders.
"Did anyone come in? Did you see anything?!" you practically scream at her.
“I... I didn’t see anyone. I swear!” Melissa's voice shakes.
Your heart feels like it's tearing apart. You look around the room, desperate for any clue. You need to find your son, and something deep within you tells you that the Spider Society is where you need to go. You have to find a way to travel through the multiverse without a gizmo and the time is ticking. You have to find your son.
Back in the HQ in the midst of the tension-filled room, Gwen stands up, "Miguel, you can't be serious," she pleads, disbelief resonating in her voice. "We can't just... kill a baby.”
Miguel's eyes narrow. "Sometimes tough decisions have to be made for the greater good.”
Just then, little Gabriel wakes up. His big eyes wander curiously around the room, and he starts to make happy babbling sounds. Unfazed by his surroundings, he looks at each of the Spider-People with fascination.
As Peter B. is about to reach down to pick Gabriel up, the toddler crawls quickly over to Miguel. His little face lights up with the purest of smiles and he reaches his tiny arms towards Miguel as if trying to give him a hug.
The room seems to collectively hold its breath. Even Miguel seems taken aback.
Pavitr can't help it, “He seems to have taken a liking to you, boss.”
Gwen smiles, her eyes watering up. “See? Even this innocent soul can sense there’s still good in you.”
Tiny fingers grip at the fabric of Miguel's suit, baby Gabriel coos and giggles as he clambers up the towering figure. Planting tiny baby kisses on any part of Miguel he can reach, the toddler's joyous laughter rings in the silent room. "Vete, Vete." Miguel mutters. And despite Miguel's cold exterior, Gabriel is unphased, drawn to him as though an invisible bond exists between them.
Miguel looks frustrated and uncomfortable with the baby's affection. He awkwardly picks Gabriel up at arm’s length. But the little one is relentless, trying to cuddle into Miguel’s chest.
Annoyed, Miguel places Gabriel into a containment field made of energy beams, to keep him in place. The baby, though restrained, is still reaching out to Miguel with his tiny hands, cooing.
The room goes quiet again, and Gwen speaks, her voice soft.
“Look at him, Miguel. Please. You can’t tell me that this doesn’t affect you in any way.”
Miguel's face is tense, his jaw clenched. His eyes dart between Gwen and Gabriel. All eyes are directed towards Miguel. The room feels like it’s waiting for something to shatter.
“We do what needs to be done, no exceptions.”
Part III "Web of Shadow and Light"
a/n: Honestly, I can't begin to express how much your support and kind messages mean to me. I literally started crying when I saw how much love this story received. It means the world to me. Truly, thank you. I'd love to hear your thoughts, and if someone could give me a heads-up on whether the tag list functioned properly, that would be great. Also, apologies for any inconsistencies or logical errors regarding the multiverse or canon theory. I watched the movie but I'm not 100% sure of that's how it works.
Once again, I really do appreciate each and everyone of you. Please, don’t forget to take good care of yourselves and stay hydrated! ILYSM
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In the Scheme of the Multiverse - Pt. 2
· Part 1 ·
Characters: Maribel (OFC), Tom, Andrew & Tobey!Spidermans, MJ, Ned, Strange
Summary: Three Peter Parkers are united to help cure their enemies to save one world. Maribel Jenavid, a Multiverse expert, aids them in their quest despite growing weaker as the multiverse cracks. In the process, she learns about her other doppelgangers, more specifically Peter 3’s best friend “Mar” who inexplicably cut ties with him. Maribel then reveals the secret her doppelganger kept that could change Peter’s entire perspective.
taglist: @ocappreciationtag @arrthurpendragon @anotherunreadblog @maaaaarveeeeel @stareyedplanet @foxesandmagic
Maribel’s Masterlist
If you’d like to be a part of this OC’s work/edits, let me know!
Part 2
Maribel couldn't take it. She really couldn't. Sitting around with MJ and Ned in the lab waiting for the other Peters to handle the misfits just wasn't on Maribel's to-do list. When they least expected it, Maribel teleported out of the lab…but she didn't teleport into the scaffolding either. She had other plans to finally put a stop to the nonsense.
"Where the hell did she go!?" MJ helplessly looked around the lab and even peered out the portal into the scaffolding. Maribel wasn't in sight.
They soon grew distracted when Ned discovered that he couldn't close the portal he opened up. They had the Machina de Kadavus in their possession so the portal needed to be closed immediately. It wasn't happening…
And soon their mistake was noticed by one misfit and were forced into a run out of the portal onto the scaffolding. Ned managed to open up a few more portals to evade getting struck but none of them were shut again.
With one last effort, Ned tried opening up one more portal only for someone else to create one right behind them. As he and MJ whirled around, they saw Dr. Strange emerging from the newly created portal.
"Uh-oh," Ned's eyes widened to the brim. MJ gripped the box in her hands tighter.
"Where is he!?" Strange all but yelled in the teenagers' faces.
"Don't yell please…" Maribel came out of the portal after him, looking worse for wear.
MJ lowered the box in her hands, her eyes widening like Ned's but not out of shock. "Oh my God, Maribel, what happened to you?"
Maribel was white as a ghost. MJ swore she could hear the woman's raggedy breathing from her spot.
"What do you think happened to her!?" Strange snapped. He was beyond furious as it was and now they wanted to play dumb about things? "The Multiverse is cracking!" He took the Sling Ring from Ned, along with the box. "Dying! Which means so is she!"
"Am…not…" Maribel's intentions to sound strong were sadly put on hold when her two words made her gasp for air.
Strange took no pity for the situation. He had one thing to do and he was going to do it. "See!?"
"Don't listen to him," Maribel waved the man off, "I went to find him—"
"And in opening so many other portals—"
"Shut up, Strange," Maribel sighed. She leaned against the rail and wrapped an arm around her stomach. "I brought you back to help…"
"And I am." Strange motioned to the box now in his possession.
"Wait, wait, wait!" MJ begged him.
"Before you do anything, Mister... Doctor Strange, sir, well... Peter's plan is working," Ned said, frantically flapping an arm to his right.
"What plan?" Strange said, frowning.
"He's curing them."
Strange followed Ned's gesture and saw the last of a green smoke clearing a little below where they stood. They had just cured Dr. Connors.
"Well, I'll be damned…" Strange said, taking a moment to look at the sight. Suddenly, his head flipped in Ned's direction. "Were you opening portals?"
"Yes…" Ned said slowly, "Yes, sir, I did."
"Help them," Maribel said to Strange, leaning her head back for a second, "That's why you're here."
"No," Strange snapped, "I am not here for any of you. I'm not a babysitter — that's your self-proclaimed job!"
Peter 1 dropped in beside them, yanking off his mask. "Strange, wait, we're so close—!"
"Skip it! I've been dangling over the Grand Canyon for twelve hours!" Strange exclaimed.
"I know, I know, I, uh, um, uh…" Peter certainly had no argument against that point. It was another of his mistakes.
Peter 2 and 3 soon joined them, both easily getting the gist that Strange wasn't exactly the invited guest to their battle either.
Peter 3 then took notice of Maribel's appearance and almost forgot about Strange altogether. "Mar…what's wrong—"
"Strange, you need to help them," Maribel told the other man again, swallowing hard. She didn't want to alert anyone but she really felt like she would collapse soon. "That's why I found you."
"Look, I am really impressed that you've managed to give them all a second chance, kid," Strange said, looking directly at Peter 1, "But this has to end, now. She—" he jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards Maribel, "—is a firsthand visual of what's happening to the Multiverse right now. It's dying, Peter."
"I-I know that—"
"No, you really don't," Strange cut Peter 1 off, his voice sharp, "Because I swear if there's one more crack, or if she uses her powers one more time, it's game over."
"Don't listen to h-im," Maribel said, her voice unintentionally cracking. She cleared her throat but even that had grown weaker. "I'll be okay."
"Quit lying," Strange reprimanded her, "This needs to—"
Peter 2 stiffened all of a sudden. There was a brief second where his body felt the familiar tingle he long ago felt the first moment he showed up. He turned around, his face full of dread as the Green Goblin's voice called from somewhere unknown.
"Can the Spider-Man come out to play?"
Suddenly, the Green Goblin swooped in on his glider with a swarm of pumpkin bombs behind him. Dr. Octopus stepped in to crush various of the bombs but it still was not enough. The Green Goblin stole the box right out of Strange's hands. One last attempt of Dr. Octopus had his tentacle catch the last bit of the infamous glider.
Strange acted fast with a makeshift whip and snatched the box from the Green Goblin. Instead of fighting for the box, the Green goblin spun his glider and crushed the tentacle keeping him in place then flew off.
"That was too easy…" Maribel mumbled just before all three Peters felt their spider-senses go off.
There was another pumpkin bomb lodged on the box.
"STRANGE, NO!" Peter 1 lunged towards Strange but it was too late. The bomb went off and pushed everyone away from the spot. Ned slipped over the scaffolding and managed to latch onto a rivet. MJ and Maribel both fell from the scaffold along with the debris around them.
Seeing Peter 1 go after MJ, Maribel summoned all her willpower to produce another portal for herself. In one of her lucky streaks, she managed to do it and fell right into it. The same portal opened up somewhere else on the scaffold but much too far from the floor to land comfortably. She fell hard on her back and head, letting out a strained gasp. At the same time, she heard a sharp cry in the air.
"NO!"
Maribel felt so tired; she couldn't move anymore. She hoped whoever had cried was okay because then she wouldn't have to fight her own body to lift herself up.
Somewhere else, Strange had gotten the box back and did what he had to. He raised in the air to start the spell only since too much time had passed since it was cast, it was far harder to keep it restrained.
"Where's Ned!? Where's Maribel!?" MJ cried from the ground beside Peter 3. They both looked up and saw Ned still hanging from the rivet but Maribel was nowhere in sight.
Suddenly, a wave of energy blasted from above. It rocked the ground, and quite possibly the whole city. Ned fell from the rivet with energy but thankfully the cloak of levitation came to his aid. It helped it land safely on the ground.
"Ned!" MJ ran up to him, throwing her arms around him.
"I'm okay! I'm good! I'm good!" Ned exclaimed, soon feeling the cloak unlatch from his body and fly back up to Strange. "Thank you, Mister Cape, sir."
The half finished shield could no longer sustain itself under the energy. It crashed down on the scaffolding, absolutely destroying what was left of it. In the midst of it, Peter 2 was able to help Dr. Connors off the scaffold before it hit the ground. The shield fell to the ground and rolled onto the surface of the Liberty Island, stopping on the water. Up above, the sky was literally ripping apart as interdimensional portals opened up for more uninvited guests to crossover. Even as he tried sealing them, more kept opening up — the numbers made it impossible to beat them all.
"MJ! NED!" Peter 1 cried for his friends.
MJ jumped into action trying to find her Peter. "Peter!?"
"MJ!" Peter found them first and hugged them both. "Are you okay!?"
"Yeah, yeah," MJ nodded, "But Maribel — she-she was falling too. Where is she!? We can't — we can't find her!" Even now, MJ frantically searched the immediate area for their friend.
Peter looked around as well, his stomach churning all over again. Too much debris had fallen, covering most of the ground around them.
"I'll find her!" Peter 3 said in a rushed manner as he dashed past them towards the debris. It didn't take much thinking to realize what had probably happened.
Peter 1, MJ and Ned were right behind them when Peter skidded to a stop, letting the others go ahead of him. His senses were going off again. The Green Goblin was getting up from where he landed. He couldn't let that maniac get even an inch away from there.
No one else noticed when Peter 1 ran in the opposite direction. Between the others, along with Peter 2 who had come to help, they pulled off any and every debris in their way.
"Hey, wait!" Ned exclaimed suddenly. "Help me! Help me!" He pushed a chunk of debris with all his might.
Peter 2 and 3 used their webs to yank it right off the ground. Underneath was an unconscious Maribel.
"Oh my God!" MJ beat all three men to Maribel and landed on her knees beside the older woman. "Maribel!? Maribel!?" She gently shook Maribel, repeating her name over and over to no avail.
"Let me see!" Peter 3 practically yanked MJ back to see Maribel for himself. "Maribel!?" He patted her cheek gently then cradled her head. "Mar? Mar, hey?" She wouldn't move nor wake up. "Mar!"
Maribel's head lulled instead.
Peter 2 bent down and pressed two fingers on the side of Maribel's neck. He looked at the others solemnly.
"N-o," MJ's voice cracked, her eyes filling with tears. "Don't…"
"The energy…" Ned looked up at the sky. The cracks were getting wider, the silhouettes of uninvited guests becoming more and more clear. "If she was connected to the multiverse…"
"Mar! Mar!" Peter 3 exclaimed, holding Maribel's body to his. It couldn't be happening again.
"Oh my God, what do we do?" Ned helplessly looked over at MJ. The latter had tears streaming down her face. "Maribel — she's…" Ned couldn't even finish the sentence.
Peter 2 rose up to his feet, straightening his entire body up and looked at the teens. "There's nothing we can do," he said quietly, his jaw clenched tight. The sight was unbearable; he missed home so much.
"Where's Peter?" MJ sniffed. "He should — we can't leave her…"
Peter 2 looked beyond MJ and Ned and saw exactly what was going on behind their backs. "We have to go!" He said urgently.
Knowing Peter 2 was talking now to him, Peter 3 looked up at his counterpart, his own face stained with tears. Peter 2 nodded up ahead. The sight was also unbearable and so familiar. They couldn't let that happened either. Maribel from this world had helped them reach their youngest doppelganger and even though she was gone, they would make sure that Peter 1 got out okay from this. As hard as it was, Peter 3 tore himself away from Maribel, entrusting her body to MJ and Ned, and followed his older doppelganger away.
~ 0 ~
Although it was a hard fight, and a close one, the Green Goblin received the last of the cures and thus finished Peter 1's task. Now all that was left was to deal with the never ending cracks in the sky and the uninvited guests…as well as the heartbreaking news.
Peter 1 could only gaze over his fallen friend's body. Maribel paid the price of his endeavors, just like his aunt May. He would fix what was left no matter what, even if the price was everyone forgetting him in the process. Dr. Strange made it very clear that even though he could potentially cast another spell to make everyone forget Peter Parker, it would not bring back Maribel. The multiverse had weakened exponentially and once cracked, it could never be put back together the way it was before.
Peter would still take it. Because in the end, he would at least be making the world safer which was what Maribel always urged him to do. Even if it was just one person he could save, he should do it.
And so when he left Strange to perform the spell that would make everyone forget who Peter Parker was, Peter 1 returned to his two doppelgangers to explain the situation. "You're going to go home now," he told them, "Thank you. I just wanted... I wanna tell you that... I really don't know how to say this, like…"
"Peter," Peter 3 tried to intervene.
"I want you to know that I…"
"You know. It's what we do," Peter 2' smile was strained on account of the stab wound on his back, but nonetheless a genuine one.
"About Maribel…" Peter 1's entire (beaten) face fell grim, "I don't…I never meant…"
"We know," Peter 3 nodded at him, his eyes shining with new tears. "Do me a favor and tell her family about everything that she did."
"Her family?" Peter 1 blinked. It only occurred to him now that Maribel had never mentioned her family before. As far as he knew, Maribel ran alone and was merely an honorary Avenger.
"They didn't know about anything. You gotta tell 'em what happened, what she did for us…tell them, please," Peter 3 urged frantically, "They have to know!"
"Yeah, yeah!" Peter 1 nodded fervently. "I will! But hey, you're going to go home and you're going to find your Maribel and…and you're going to make sure she's okay, alright man?"
Surprised etched across Peter 3's face. "What?"
"He's right," Peter 2 said. He would have shrugged if it didn't hurt his back. "Always keep your wife safe."
"What?" Peter 1 and 3 looked at their oldest doppelganger with the same wide eyed face.
Peter 2 just smiled lightly. He'd been waiting to drop that one and was more than satisfied with their stupefied reactions.
"I…I gotta go…" Peter 1 said slowly, the shock of such a news was hard to process when so many things were about to happen. "But, um, thank you…again…seriously." He hugged them both tightly. "Thank you!" He pulled away from them. "I, um, I guess I'll see you."
"Keep safe," Peter 2 and 3 offered their youngest doppelganger a smile.
"Find her family," Peter 3 reiterated, "Please."
"I will," Peter 1 promised.
Now all that was left was to say his goodbyes.
~ 0 ~
Maribel Jenavid
June 7, 1994 - June 24, 2024
Teacher. Mentor.
Multiverse Hero.
Peter 1 had no idea how to manage these kinds of visits. With everyone's minds altered, he couldn't attend his own aunt's funerals, much less Maribel's. He had to resign to come afterwards, so he did. He placed a bright sunflower in front of the gravestone — Maribel's favorite kind of flower.
Strange had been right. Even with the multiverse set back into place, it hadn't been enough to bring Maribel back. Once something was broken, it could never be what it was before.
Aunt May was gone, Maribel was gone, and no one else in the world remembered him. He felt alone and yet a strange feeling of liberty now that he could go as he pleased. His only lament was that his family was practically gone.
"I'm sorry, Maribel," Peter sighed. There was nothing else he could say to her now. What was done was done. He did at least get to Maribel's family — as Spiderman — to explain what Maribel had been up to. She would at least have them visiting her every now and then. There was no reason that both of them should be alone.
Peter could take his solitude so long as everyone else was okay. He just hoped the same extended to his doppelgangers in their respective worlds.
~ 0 ~
It took Peter 3 a while to get a handle on himself and the circumstances that led him back home. He presumed that he and Peter 2 had been allowed to remember what happened with the multiverse because they were already Peter Parker, but now Peter wasn't sure if that was a gift or a curse. Remembering meant that, yes, now he knew there were other doppelgangers of his…but it also meant he remembered that somewhere else, Maribel Jenavid had died. She was dead and buried somewhere, never to see daylight again.
He couldn't take it.
He told Harry Osborn, his only remaining friend in his world. It was a lot to take in but it did help having someone to vent to.
"I don't know, seeing Mar — that Maribel — and learning why our Mar did what she did…it makes me feel stupid," Peter said with a heavy sigh. He leaned back in his seat, meeting Harry's gaze across the table. "What?"
Harry was smiling knowingly. "I never bought the 'she just hates us' bit you started."
Peter rolled his eyes. "What else was I supposed to think?"
Harry shrugged. "Dunno. So, what are you going to do now? You are going to finally face her, right?"
The mere idea had Peter straightening in his chair in a second, eyes blinking fast. "I mean…" He had promised that he would go find Maribel. He sighed. "I mean, yeah…I guess…just don't know how to start…or what to say to her."
Harry had an answer to one of Peter's troubles. "You can figure out what to tell her on the way. She works in a diner in the Bronx. Think she gets off at seven today."
"How the hell do you know her schedule?" Peter said warily.
"Just because Mar doesn't want to talk to us doesn't mean I won't make sure she's okay," Harry said, "And I always make sure my friends are okay, even from a distance."
Peter could only look at Harry for so long before the guilt started again. He really did take the "distancing" very seriously and now he regretted everything.
~ 0 ~
It took him a few more days after that conversation to work up the courage to find the diner. He arrived at 6:45 pm, fifteen minutes before her shift was supposed to end. He pulled the door open and walked right in, albeit with a cautious step. His eyes raked over the diner and found there weren't many people. It was a random Wednesday night after all.
He went up to the counter where a dark haired woman was chit chatting with the cook on the other side. When the cook saw Peter come up, he pointed the woman to him. She turned around with a professional waitress smile that dropped dead the moment she met Peter.
Peter gulped.
Maribel Jenavid lived.
Her long dark hair was tied up in a high ponytail, a few strands framing her face. Her dark eyes were wide, her lips pursed.
She was alive.
Peter wanted to hug her so badly, it was a miracle his feet were remained grounded. "Hey…" His greeting was raspy at best.
Maribel visibly swallowed hard. "Hi," she responded in a quiet voice. "So…you finally came…" She wasn't surprised in the least, Peter noted. "I know Harry keeps tabs on me — the price of being ex-friends with a rich person, right?" Maribel grabbed a notepad and a pen from underneath the counter. "What can I get you?"
"No, I'm…I'm not here to order," Peter said quietly, "Just want to talk to you."
Maribel waved her pen between her fingers. "I'm working," her voice turned sharp all of a sudden.
"Your shift ends in 15," Peter startled her with his knowledge, but she pushed it away almost immediately.
"Well, I don't want to talk to you," she declared, "In case you didn't get the memo in high school, I'm not interested in being friends anymore." She grabbed her notepad and moved around the counter.
"Yeah, I know that's a lie," Peter turned after her, watching her make way towards the tables. "I know why you did those things in high school. Why you pushed me, Gwen and Harry away…"
Maribel scoffed. "Please." She slipped her notepad inside her apron's pocket and stuck her pen in her ponytail. She stopped by a dirty table to collect the dishes. "Honestly, Peter, the simple truth was that I realized we had nothing in common. You, Gwen and Harry were all brilliant and I was just the local spanish geek. I cut ties for myself."
"Maybe," Peter nodded, "Or maybe you did it thinking you were going to keep us safe."
"Safe?" Maribel laughed softly. "Okay, sure. Safe from what, exactly?" She carried her stack of dirty dishes back to the counter to dump in the sink.
"From your powers," Peter said flatly and watched as Maribel almost dropped the last of the dirty dishes on the ground.
"The hell are you talking about?" Maribel gently placed the dish in the sink, much too gently. She was buying time before she had to face Peter.
"You know what I'm talking about," Peter said calmly, "Those powers you're hiding — the ones you thought you had to hide from us. From me."
"I don't have any powers," Maribel said, turning halfway around, "If I did, do you think I'd be working as a waitress?"
"Having powers doesn't mean you need to have a specific job," Peter said, smiling knowingly, "But it does mean you have to watch yourself. You shouldn't have to watch yourself on your own. We were your friends. We would have helped you out, we would have had your back, Mar."
The usage of her old nickname did have some effect on Maribel. She sucked in a breath and quickly grabbed a random rag left behind. She started wiping the counter. "I have no idea what you're talking about," she reiterated.
"Mar, please," Peter begged her to stop for a moment. His hand came over hers on the counter, freezing her. "You have no idea what I've been through lately." He lowered himself to try and catch Maribel's gaze. "I don't know what to do except that I really need you right now." He finally caught her eyes and revealed his desperate teary-eyed face.
Maribel pursed her lips. Oh, she could never say no to him. "I'll see you at seven," she mumbled and pulled her hand out from under his.
Peter swallowed the lump in his throat as he nodded. He stepped back from the counter and watched Maribel go back to work. He would wait for her outside the diner.
When Maribel finally did come out, she was dressed in a long coat to hide her uniform. The way she looked at Peter on the street made him believe she had hoped — even for a moment — that he wouldn't be there when she got out. That hurt.
"I have to get home," she told him warningly. "I don't like being out at night."
"I can walk you there," Peter immediately volunteered and watched Maribel struggle whether or not to accept his offer. She didn't want him to know where she lived. "Halfway," he compromised.
Maribel finally nodded and the two started walking together.
"Is Harry going to jump out any moment now?" she asked a few steps in.
"No," Peter shook his head, "It's just me."
"Well, what do you need?"
"Um…sort of complicated to explain…but I guess I can start with what I already told you. I know about your powers, Mar."
Maribel side glanced Peter with a flat expression. "There are no powers, Peter. I already told you that."
"Except I know that's not true," Peter said, his nose scrunching.
"Well I don't know who is feeding you those lies because it's not true. I'm just Maribel."
"With powers," Peter nodded.
"Peter."
"I know it, okay?" Peter stopped walking, leaving Maribel to walk a few steps ahead. "And if you would just admit it then I can tell you that I want to help you."
Maribel let out a sour chuckle as she turned around to him. "I don't need anyone's help, Peter. And I certainly don't know who is telling you that I do."
"So you want to be alone then?"
"Yes!"
"No, you don't," Peter shook his head, shrugging slowly, "Because I've been there, and being alone when you're hurting doesn't do you any well."
"Is this because of Gwen?" Maribel's brow furrowed. "Because rest assured I have dealt with my grief alone and I will continue to do it on my own, thank you so much." She turned around again and started walking.
"I met one of your doppelgangers!" Peter blurted, forcing Maribel to come to another stop. "I got trapped in a different universe and your doppelganger saved me. She told me everything about your powers, about you. That's how I know, because of her."
Maribel slowly turned back, staring at Peter oddly. "What?"
Peter sighed. "It's true, I swear."
"I think you finally watched too many sci-fi movies," Maribel said, licking her lips nervously, "Because none of this is true."
"It is," Peter insisted, nodding, "I would never lie to you. But you want to know why I got sent to a different world?"
"You didn't—"
"Because I'm Peter Parker — Spiderman."
"—get…" Maribel's mouth fell open. "Que!?"
Peter ducked his head. This was not how he intended the conversation to go but here they were now. "It's true…"
Maribel was speechless. She eventually had to close her mouth just to be able to swallow. What the fuck!? She couldn't fit those pieces together no matter how much she thought about it.
Peter Parker — Spiderman!? Maribel shook her head.
"I know everything, Mar," Peter insisted, taking the steps he needed to come up to her. He rested a hand on her shoulder. "I know about your powers and how scared you were. You didn't want to hurt us, you didn't want to hurt anyone. You were brave enough to put distance between us and I'm grateful but you don't need to do that anymore."
Maribel didn't say anything. She met Peter's gaze silently.
Peter let out a heavy sigh. "Mar, please. You have no idea what I…what I saw…"
"You keep saying that," Maribel said quietly, "What happened?"
"Your doppelganger…she died. She, um, she helped us and then she died. And I had to leave her in that world." Fresh tears rolled down Peter's face.
Maribel's eyes widened in a second. "My doppelganger died?" Peter nodded. "Oh my God…"
Peter couldn't help it. He pulled Maribel into his arms for a tight hug. He did have to leave the other Maribel but he wouldn't leave his Mar this time.
Maribel was taken aback by the action. It was true that she'd been on her own for a long time now, and she definitely didn't have friends who hugged her anymore…and she always did like Peter's hugs. He was so tall and so warm — how could anyone resist? Slowly, her arms came up around Peter. She let herself relish the moment before the emotions got to her. Before she knew it, tears blurred her vision.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"No—"
"I didn't know what else to do. My powers are tremendous and explosive and I didn't want them to explode around you, around Harry or Gwen—"
"It's alright," Peter rubbed her back comfortingly.
"—and my family. I'm sorry, Peter, I'm so sorry," Maribel sniffed. "I wanted you guys to be safe."
"I know," Peter nodded, "Trust me, I know. I let you go because I wanted you to be safe too. Safe away from Spiderman."
Maribel drew away to look up at him. "I can't believe it. You're Spiderman?"
"Yeah…"
"Oh my God," Maribel stepped back from Peter, "This is so insane. The world is that small, huh?"
"Yeah, I guess so," Peter chuckled. "But listen, you don't have to be so far from us anymore. Let me help you, please."
"I got a good handle on my powers now," Maribel nodded, "I just…I don't use them so often because, well," she shrugged, "there's no need."
No sooner had she said that when the ground started shaking underneath them.
"Peter…?" Maribel looked around and saw everyone else on the block clinging for dear life, confused out of their minds.
Peter had no idea what was going on either. He looked up at the sky and saw a crack beginning to open up. Oh God no. His stomach twisted. "No, no, that can't be right…"
"What isn't?" Maribel followed his gaze up to the sky to see the same crack. "Oh por dios," she gasped. "Don't tell me…"
"You've seen those?" Peter looked down at Maribel.
"Dreams," Maribel whispered, "I-I had this nightmare that I was in New York and…and there were all these cracks in the sky…"
Peter did a double take at her. She couldn't be talking about…no. That was impossible.
The crack in the sky opened impossibly wide and suddenly a long leg plunged through, crashing down on the road. People screamed wildly as another leg came through. There were odd markings on the legs and when the creature — who resembled a demon from a horror story — came through, it revealed a body full of the same markings.
"Runes," Maribel drew in a sharp breath. "I-I saw those too in my dreams. Peter, what did you—"
Peter didn't think twice and shot a web up, latching onto a building. He reached for Maribel and pulled her body flush against his.
"What are you — AH!" Maribel cried as they raced up.
The creature went after them. It would end up chasing them throughout the blocks of the city, narrowly missing them.
"What the hell is that thing!?" Peter couldn't finish answering the question each time they got a moment to breathe in hiding.
"I-I think it's that multiverse thing you were talking about," Maribel pressed her back against the wall, "How ironic that the day you come and find me and start talking about doppelgangers and other worlds is the day that some demonic creature comes after us!"
Peter would have loved to argue that point but the truth was right there. It was uncanny which only led him to believe that maybe whatever problems Peter 1 had in his world weren't quite done with this world.
"PETER!" Maribel screamed when she saw the creature up above them.
"Gotta go!" Peter exclaimed and shot more webs to flee with her.
"Where are we going!?" Maribel cried as they literally flung from one building to the next.
"Well, um, off to see some worlds, you know…" Peter gulped.
"WHAT!? Put me down right now!"
Peter did put her down on the next rooftop they landed on. Maribel pushed all of her hair back which had come undone with all the web flinging.
"Remember when I said I had a good handle on my powers!?"
"Yeah…" Peter nodded slowly.
"Well I lied!" Maribel yelled. "I don't know diddly squat about my powers in a fight! I don't do the 'fighting' and I definitely don't do it against a stupid creature!"
"And yet that creature really seems to want you, explosive powers and all," Peter jerked a thumb behind him.
"It's chasing both of us, let me remind you!" Maribel groaned then looked up at the sky. "What the hell is happening?"
"I don't know," Peter said honestly, "But I think I know who can help us. We're just going to have to do some long distance traveling…"
Maribel looked at him. "What do you mean?"
"Mar," Peter grabbed her by the shoulders, "You're going to have to teleport us."
"Teleport us? Teleport us where?"
"To another world."
"Excuse me? I'm not—"
"Mar!" Peter gently shook Maribel. "Listen to me, okay? I saw you die because of these cracks and bad people, alright? I will not see you go through that too. Trust me, please. We have to do this. I'm not losing you again."
Maribel hated the way he used those big eyes of his, all full of emotion and pleading and— goddammit. "Okay," she gave in, "How the hell do we get to another world?"
Peter smiled. "Through you. We'll do it together, okay? Just trust me."
Maribel nodded. "I do." Even with all the time that had passed since she last saw Peter, she still felt like they were still those close friends they used to be. They could go back to bantering about the best movies or the best restaurant in town or just tease each other about something stupid and it could work. Things were always just so easy between them and she missed that the moment she stopped talking to him.
If she didn't end up dying, she would not let Peter go again.
A/N: Sue me but I thought it would be a cool place to end it here lmao. Loved Spiderman, love Multiverse of Madness — why the hell not combine them?
#ocfairygodmother#marvelocsdaily#fd: mcu#mcu#fd: tasm#spiderman#spiderman fics#mcu fics#andrew garfield!spiderman#marvel#mcu imagines#marvel fics#marvel imagines#tasm fics#tasm imagines#spiderman imagines#spiderman x oc fics#oc: maribel jenavid#fic: in the scheme of the multiverse
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Miguel O’Hara x reader - Come to bed
Warnings: fem reader, smut, nsfw, AFAB language, piv sex, overstimulation, and a slightly annoyed Miguel. You and Miguel are also married btw.
Basically, sleepy Miguel fucks you because you wouldn’t come to bed and let him sleep. Fluffy at first, then turns smutty.
Miguel walked into the kitchen, immediately squinting his eyes and bringing his hand up to block the glaring lights of the kitchen as he grumbled. “¿Amor? Dios mios…”
Your husband was always a sight to behold, in all of his forms- but the sweet domesticity of this one must be one of the best. The way he stood before you in nothing but his boxers- how his voice was still deep and gravely from waking up- the way he rubbed the sleep from his bleary eyes- it was perfect.
Miguel shuffled his feet, coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest and resting his chin on top of your head as he mumbled his complaints. “What are you doing up? Love, It’s 2 AM. Why are all the lights on?”
“I was hungry…” You murmur, looking down at the plate of mix-matched leftovers you had scrounged from the fridge.
“Yes, pretty. I can see, but why does warming up leftovers require you to turn on every light in the house.” Miguel said, poking fun at you as his fingers crept under the hem of your shirt, caressing the soft skin of your stomach as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.
You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face at Miguel’s teasing. “Go back to bed, Miguel. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Miguel, however, did not go back to bed. He instead followed you around, sitting down with you on the couch and holding you tightly against him
“You’re like a lost puppy, Miguel. Can you not sleep without me there?” You tease, looking back and smirking at Miguel.
Miguel, for his part, looks practically asleep behind you- his eyes half closed as he rests his head on your shoulder, mumbling barely intelligible words into the crook of your neck. “‘m not a puppy. ‘m a wolf… a big, bad, scary, and protective wolf.”
The (frankly, adorable) sight is enough to send a pang of guilt through your chest from keeping your poor, exhausted husband awake- so you do your best to quickly eat the food you’ve made for yourself.
Once you’ve finished, you had to wake Miguel up, but once he was awake, he was immediately herding you back towards the bedroom. With one hand on your back, gently pushing you forward through the hall, and the other rubbing at his tired eyes.
You couldn’t help but giggle at his incessant nudges. “Hey! Miguel! I gotta go pee first!”
“Nu-uh. Nothing else. Back to bed.”
“Miguel!!” You laughed, ducking under his arm and running into the bathroom, locking the door behind you.
You went to the bathroom as fast as you could, but not fast enough for Miguel, who stood outside the door whining the entire time.
“¡Por favor! ¡Date prisa, amor!”
When you finished and unlocked the door, you found a rather pitiful looking Miguel on the other side- who immediately scooped you up in his arms and carried you to your bedroom despite the light hearted protest you mounted against him.
“Miguel!! I gotta brush my teeth before I go back to bed! I just ate!!” You say, grinning as you squirmed in his arms and managed to slip away. Only for a strong arm to wrap around your waist and pull you back, hoisting you up in the air and over Miguel’s shoulder.
“That’s it. You’re coming to bed right now. No ifs, ands, or buts. Except your butt, in bed.”
You couldn’t deny the shiver Miguel’s words sent through you. This poor man- your dear husband- who was so clearly exhausted and wanted nothing more than to lay down with his wife and go back to sleep. However... there was a threat in those words. One that you were itching to press him on.
“But- Miguel!” You whined, only to be cut off by a harsh slap to your ass and a startled yelp escaping you.
“I said, no buts.” Miguel growled, tossing you onto the bed and climbing on top of you.
You couldn’t help the burning need quickly growing inside of you, because Miguel looked practically primal above you. With his messy, sleep-tousled hair- the way his voice was still just as deep and scratchy as when he first got up- how perfect he looked above you, in nothing but his boxers as he pinned you down on the bed.
Miguel yanked down your pajama bottoms and underwear, eliciting a surprised yelp from you at the sudden rush of cold air. “You always decide to be a brat at the worst times. You couldn’t just listen tonight and come to bed one of the five times I told you. No, you had to keep running around and doing whatever the hell else you felt like doing. And now, you're going to stay in this bed, whether you like it or not.”
The sudden press of Miguel’s large, warm, and calloused thumb against your hole was enough to make you clench around nothing , pressing your hips down to try and get some of that thumb inside of you. Only for Miguel yo scoff and pull his hand away.
“No. Don’t move. You’re going to be a good girl and sit there and take it. I stayed up with you for the past half hour, waiting patiently for you. So now, it’s your turn. You're gonna lay right here and take exactly what I give you, got it?”
You quickly nodded your head, desperate enough for his touch that you’d probably agree to just about anything.
Miguel growled, pressing the tip of his cock against your hole and just barely pressing it in- rubbing it against your lips as he spoke to you. “You’re so wet for me already, you don’t even need any prep, do you?”
Your cunt tensed around nothing as his cock slid over your hole, nearly making you start to beg for him to just put it in already- only for him to push his entire length in as soon as you opened your mouth to speak- resulting in a loud moan falling from your lips as he bottomed out.
Miguel smiled to himself, looking at you with a clear air of pride at how loud he just made you moan for him. “You seem much more docile now that I have you all stretched out on my cock, pretty lady.” He comments, pulling out slowly, only to thrust back in and begin to fuck into you, quickly establishing a brutal pace.
“Is this the only way I can get some sleep around here? Do I have to fuck all the energy out of you? Hm?” Miguel asks as yet another embarrassing moan falls from your lips at his words.
Moans fell freely from your mouth as the lewd sounds of sex filled the room. With Miguel’s pace, it wasn’t long before you felt your orgasm start to build.
You cry out, reaching a hand down to hold Miguel’s. “Miguel! Miggy! Miggy I’m close! ’m gonna cum!”
“Good.” Miguel growls, intertwining your’s and his fingers and pressing your hand against the pillow. “Cum for me, love.”
all you can do is nod dumbly as your orgasm washes over you- Miguel reaching down to play with your clit as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm.
As you came down from your high, you realized Miguel was still fucking into you- the pleasure from just seconds ago quickly turning into painful overstimulation.
“I-it’s too much!! T-too much!” You whined, desperately trying to squirm off of Miguel’s cock, only for him to smile and take your other hand, intertwining your fingers and pinning both hands down- holding you in place as he fucked you harder on his cock.
“Remember what I said? Take what I give you?” Miguel said, smirking and fucking into you with new intensity as he held you in place. “Well it’s a two way street. You always have to take what I give you. Whether it’s not enough, or too much. I don’t care. You’re. Going. To. Take it.” Miguel punctuated each of his final words with deep, powerful thrusts. Leaving you nothing but an overstimulated mess beneath him, whining as his hips stuttered and you felt his cum fill you up.
Miguel didn’t pull out, still hovering over you as he panted and caught his breath.
After a moment, he scooped you up in his arms and rolled both of you onto your sides, holding you tightly against his chest and kissing your forehead as he murmured sweet praises into your ear.
“You’re so pretty for me. So good to me too. You feel so good, you know that? You’re so warm- so soft and perfect for me. You’re always perfect for me, love.”
You nodded sleepily, happily curled up in Miguel’s strong arms- his cock and cum warming you from the inside out, and the thick comforter that Miguel pulls up encasing you and him in a warm cocoon of shared body heat. You couldn’t help but press closer to Miguel’s chest, your eyes slipping shut as you relaxed in his embrace.
In the end, Miguel finally got what he wanted- laying in bed, warm and cozy under the covers, holding his wife against his chest as he fell asleep. Although, there would be a bit of a mess in the morning to deal with.
#miguel x reader#miguel o'hara#miguel spiderverse#smut#atsv miguel#miguel spiderman#miguel smut#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel ohara#miguel x y/n#miguel o’hara smut#miguel x you#across the spiderverse#atsv smut#miguel o’hara fic#miguel o’hara x y/n#miguel o’hara x you#miguel o’hara fanfiction#fluff#then smut#miguel ohara fluff#miguel o’hara fluff#fem!reader#fem reader#miguel o’hara x fem!reader
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Ok I absolutely love the way you write-
Imagine you decide to go back to school but like online classes and Miguel would have you cock warming him. And immediately after you hit that ‘end zoom’ or ‘leave classroom video’ he’s absolutely plowing into you like a animal in heat-
distracted in class — miguel o’hara ( nsfw ). i cant do this anymore — thank you so much, my loveee.
your lips are pressed tightly together, as you pretend to nod along to what the teacher is saying. something about the economy? you aren’t sure because all you can focus on is miguel’s cock buried deep inside you. your breathing is stuttering as you try not to move your hips. god, you just wanted to move. either up and down or completely off. because cock warming him like this was too much for your poor brain to train into the lesson on your computer.
you were on miguel’s thighs, the angle of the computer cutting him off, so all appeared innocent. miguel’s mouth was twitching in a snarl to move, because god did he want to just fuck you silly. your warm little hole kept clenching around him, making his grip on your hips tighten to the point of claw marks. “come on…cariño…let me move…i need to fucking move.” his low desperate tone was right by your ear.
“i — i have to focus.” you blink a few times too many, praying the teacher won’t ask you a question. “i cant…dios…i cant.” miguel’s hips had begun to try and move up into you. but with your weight atop of him you managed to not reciprocate. “i need to fuck you.” then finally you can see the lesson wrapping up, as other collage students dropped off the line. and as your hand shifted to tap the ‘end call’ button, miguel’s grip tightened.
“stay fucking still now...” miguel growled out as he thrusted up into your dripping cunt, making a small mewl escape you.
“yeah…that’s it…gonna fuck this pretty little hole that you’ve kept me from feeling…sliding up and down my cock—carajo.” his thrusts are animalistic and feverish, as groans leave him, his hands spreading your thighs further apart as his claws dig into your flesh. his hips movements are making you slightly bounce up and down on his dick.
“you have no idea what that just did to me…” his words are harsh, as he kept you at his mercy. “hours…of being in your pussy and I couldn’t even move…that’s not gonna happen again.” obscene sounds are filling the room, as your hips meet his — still on his lap. his teeth are by your ear as he nips at the skin. “no…next time if I want to be inside you — moving — i will be…and I don’t care if you need to focus, cariño…you just gotta be good and let me move you along my cock…”
“it’s study…i…i have to pay attention.” you manage as your legs shake. “that’s okay…” he coos. “you can be my dumb little slut…actually I’d like that…” he’s breathing harder as his cock twitches. “you can stay my dumb little pet, whose pretty head is filled with me and only me as you let me feel this hole for as long…as I please.”
© messylustt.tumblr please don’t steal, copy or translate my work onto other platforms.
#. ( spidey mark )#the miguel effect#glitter dose#miguel fucking o’hara#miguel spiderverse#miguel spiderman#miguel o’hara#miguel o’hara x you#miguel o’hara fic#miguel x you#miguel o’hara across the spider verse#miguel o’hara x y/n#atsv miguel#miguel o’hara one shot#miguel x reader#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o'hara#miguel o’hara smut#miguel o’hara blurb#atsv#atsv x reader#atsv smut#18+#smut
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CATCH ME IF YOU CAN, SPIDER
⸻ 🕷️‧₊˚ ⋅ spiderman!gojo satoru x black cat!reader obsessed with the hunt more than the prey, you love making satoru chase you. maybe one day you’ll let him catch you…
TAGS. robbery, theft, chase scene, sexual tension, teasing, dirty talk, flirting, eventual rough smut, slight stalking, use of petnames (cat, kitty, etc), unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, switchy!gojo, switchy!reader, WC: 3,670
gojo has never met anyone as reckless as you.
it was always in your nature to be so cunning, playful, and whimsical just to get what you want. but there was much more about you that he’ll forever admire; your intelligence, proficiency, skills, and agility as his partner alongside. you used to work together professionally, taking down criminals and carrying out missions while also having an intimate relationship together.
but aside your flirtatious, provocative side that gojo also had a thing for, you were still a criminal deep down.
he strongly believed that he could have a positive influence on you and not live the rest of your life as a thief. but your criminal instincts always got the best of you; you valued your independence and desires more than anything, enjoying your luxurious life of crime as a relentless and manipulative burglar. when gojo caught you stealing from the criminals you both fought, everything had to end that day from such betrayal. your mistrust and moral ambiguity was too much for him to handle as spiderman.
as the years gone by of working alone and saving the city millions of times now, you still come and go across gojo’s mind. you were nowhere to be found and unable to track no matter how hard he looked. as badly as he misses you alongside with him, he just couldn’t handle the conflicting loyalties, trust issues, and moral differences between you two. but there was no doubt that he still has love for you deep down… he’d often wonder what were to happen if you were to ever cross paths again.
“there’s been suspicious activity going down at the art museums and large bank corporations in tokyo and shibuya. many valuable art pieces have gone missing along with over 70 million yen robbed in just a blink of an eye…”
it was currently 12:07am in tokyo. gojo made his way inside the tokyo national museum while it was closed, checking if every art piece were still intact including the security protocols. he knew he wasn’t really supposed to be sneaking inside here, but he’s dedicated on catching this thief, even if it’ll piss the police off for stealing their job (like he always dowes) and taking care of things in his own way. but that’s how gojo rolls— technically considered as a vigilante, he’ll always be a menace to some people in the city, even the ones in authority. if only he wasn’t so whimsical and cocky about being better than the cops at doing their jobs sometimes…
as gojo was scanning the museum, nothing seemed out of place. even his spidey-sense couldn’t recognize any kind of movement, danger, or threat nearby. the showcase room with tokyo’s national treasures all looked perfectly fine— but it wasn’t until he passed by the katana displays.
a tiny black cat figure was sitting on the silk drape where the 10th-century crescent moon blade was supposed to be. though he was alert that an artifact was already missing, he couldn’t help but wonder what kind of trick this was. but when a click from the black cat went off, a demure voice recording started playing.
“hey, spider. been thinking about you a lot lately. it’s just boring living alone in this new house… maybe some new decorations wouldn’t hurt. like the crescent moon katana, one the five swords under heaven. i think it’d look lovely on my shelves, don’t you think?”
your voice heightened every nerve of his body as if his inhibitions were tossed out the window. his head darted at every corner of the showcase room, looking for cameras or even a sign of you lurking in the shadows. every thought of his was consumed by flashbacks of you; your scent that drives him crazy, your touch that drives him wild, your flirtatious side that gojo just couldn’t get enough of… all of your memories flooded right back into his head.
“black cat,” gojo marveled, suddenly coming back to his senses after realizing you were alive this whole time. “i should’ve known— 70 million yen in just one night? i didn’t think there’d be anyone that skilled to pull that off better than you can. still been a bad kitty, haven’t you?”
“aw. are you flirting with me already? seems like you missed me,” you teased through the speaker on the black cat toy.
“you ghosted me for months and here i find you again; catching you stealing art or starting your own heist,” he exasperated. “what’s it gonna take for you to actually stop stealing art?”
you couldn’t help but admire gojo through the security cameras; he still looked as good as the last time you left him. “you already know me, spider. my morals aren’t ever aligned with yours. now, you gonna get out of there and catch me or wait until the security system gets triggered?”
suddenly, the alarm went off right after you already made your escape out of the museum. cursing under his suit, gojo had to find a way out and avoid the red flashing lights and cameras. from the window, he can see you swinging with your grappling hook out from the museum and into the city.
“quick! check everything,” a man’s voice echoed down the hall when a rush of dozen security guards scurried into the showcase room.
gojo had to immediately attach onto the ceiling and hide in plain sight, looking for any nearby exits as quick as he could before you could get away this time. when he found a sunroof window that can be pushed open, he made his way out and started swinging towards the direction you were going.
it didn’t even take long for him to find you; he knew exactly what you were doing; making your way through the cityscape and pretending that he wasn’t following right behind you from a distance. you really wanted to get caught. or maybe you were luring him right where you wanted him to be…
“oh, you’re still with me!” you pretend to act shocked as you looked behind your shoulder, hauling yourself onto a crane and staying higher above him. you wanted to keep him at a distance where he can’t reach you, but he can follow you until you reached your hideout.
gojo grunted, remembering the fact that you can swing a little faster than him. “i can go all night if that’s what it takes!” he shouts.
“all night with me? is that a promise, satoru?”
“you naughty girl. still trying to flatter your way out of this?”
“oh, but you love when i do that!”
the two of you kept swinging through the city, through the streets, and even underground where all the train stations were busy. as exhausted as he was, he was still dedicated to reach you. maybe even capture you and pin you down with his webs for running away from him. as you swung through a darkened alleyway, gojo managed to draw closer and was preparing to shoot a web to temporarily stop you. but at the end of the alleyway, you suddenly disappeared. he landed on a window with a loud thud and panted heavily, looking everywhere for you.
“damnit,” he cursed under his breath. “where’d she go?”
as gojo crawled across the building’s windows and was about to haul himself over onto the rooftop, he peaked over and instantly recognized your shoes. you were heading through the doors of the building that appeared to be the balcony of a fancy penthouse, looking behind your shoulder with a smirk on your face before heading inside.
you were a naughty, yet clever girl in gojo’s eyes.
as quiet and sneaky he could be, he landed on the balcony and swung on top of your penthouse’s windows to not be seen. gojo had a sense that you knew he was watching— but then again, this is exactly you wanted. purposely discarding what you stole from today’s heist, you knew there was something else that you desired besides all that money and fancy artifacts you stole. you feigned oblivious about gojo literally stalking you. it made you want to spice things up a bit…
you whirled around to face your body mirror and slowly zipped down your latex black suit. slowly stripping down for him, as if you were throwing a little show— even the neighbors across the building could also enjoy. but you took pleasure and thrill from teasing gojo like this, always from a distance where it’ll tempt him to draw closer to you. he loved how coy you tried to play for him. maybe he wanted to get you back and give you the attention you were wanting. as he crawled on your large windows and made his way on the rooftop, he entered through your open sunroof window and landed in the middle of your living room with a loud thud.
but as he scanned the inside of your penthouse, you were gone. nowhere to be found in the last place he saw you. of course, you were wildly unpredictable to him. always pulling your own tricks and surprising him off guard. it wasn’t until it was too late before his spidey-sense could warn him that you were attacking him from his peripheral vision— before he could pull a move and defend himself from you jump attacking him, you grab his arm and flip him over on his back, straddling him as he grunted in pain.
“woah. breaking and entering now, spider?” you huffed as you hovered your masked face above his. “i don’t think it’s fair that i get in trouble for it but you don’t.”
“trouble?” gojo scoffed. “you’ve caused enough trouble for me tonight, sweetheart. i played your little game and chased you down the whole city. and now i finally caught you just like you wanted me to.”
your lips curl into a smirk as your gloved hand slowly caresses his chest. your suit wasn’t even zipped down all the way, only revealing more of your cleavage that gojo definitely couldn’t take his eyes off of.
“technically you didn’t catch me. i caught you— stalking me through my windows and watching me undress myself? maybe i’m not the only naughty one here…”
“oh, please. what exactly did you gain from stealing and making me chase you all the way to your penthouse? ‘cause i know exactly what you’re doing right now…”
the tone in gojo’s voice falls from stern to sultry, feeling your heartbeat grow rapid in just a fleeting moment. there was this unexplainable affect that gojo had on you when you two were together. he’d evoke such strong sensations that you never knew you were capable of feeling, like tempting you to go straight and become a hero like him to fight alongside with. as a thief and wanted criminal, it’s palpable that good boys like gojo satoru were your type… you may have loved him, but you couldn’t love anything more than the hunt and the luxury.
your faces were just mere inches away from each other; you still memorize his prominent features that you adorned like how you memorized dozens of safe codes. but as gojo fixates his gaze onto you underneath his mask, you have eroded his senses once again, the way your dark mystery drizzles into his skin. he couldn’t fight nor deny how effortlessly you beguile him, wrapping him in some sort of spell. he fumbled several missions in the past just to kiss your pretty face, to sneak away on rooftops and get down to business from how crazy you make him, and developing serious romantic feelings for you that he was willing to make you more than just his girlfriend and partner— if only you had not betrayed him…
“don’t you miss this, satoru?” you cooed to his ear as your hand makes its way to the neckline of his mask. he can feel the way your fingers slipped underneath, gently caressing his neck and wanting to lift it just to reveal lips.
gojo would be lying if he said he didn’t. hot flashbacks of all the times you two made love and fucked each other hard in the past started running through his mind it was impossible to evade. he missed you deeply; he could never fight off the irresistible effect you have on him.
“you brought me all the way here for a reason. might as well make the most of it, right?”
suddenly, gojo pushes your body off his and hovered above you now, snatching his mask off and tossing it away in urgency as he kisses you. he can feel the way your lips stretch into a smile as you kiss back, immediately wrapping your legs around him and running your fingers through his snow-white hair. your body falls weak from his knee pressing between your legs, remembering your ultimate weakness.
gojo’s mouth made its way from your lips to the side of your neck, holding back from kissing your collarbone to get one good look at you one more time. his ultimate weakness was your luscious, expensive scent— whatever perfume you had was like a strong pheromone to him, sending his mind into a haze. but he still managed to remain in control, no matter how dominant you tried to act towards him.
“if you’re gonna strip for me, why didn’t you finish, hm? you wanted me rip your suit off for you or what?”
“do it, spider. i dare you,” you taunt, subtly biting your lip.
gojo chuckled, shaking his head in response to not giving you what you want. “nah… i don’t think i should ruin it. do what you did earlier and strip for me while i watch you.”
even if you wanted to act all defiant and bratty towards him and not give him what he wants, there was a part of you that wanted to throw a little show for him. gojo sat down on your sofa with his arms propped on the back cushions, slightly manspreading. you always knew how truly perverted he was underneath that “hero” facade he has for the public, which is why you fell for him.
as you stood in front of him with a smirk, you slowly pulled down the zipper to your suit. gojo watched in silent amusement watching the sleeves fall from your shoulders, slowly revealing your tits and your laced thong, all the way until your black leather suit pools around your ankles.
“‘atta girl,” he says, shifting himself on the sofa from how uncomfortable his boner was under his spider suit. “not so hard following directions, am i right?”
“following directions is not the only thing hard for me right now…” your gaze lands on his crotch, prompting you to get on your knees and crawl right between his open legs, making him nervous. “poor spider. looks like there’s something else that needs to be taken care of.”
now you were back in control of gojo, who had to hide his face flushing red from your hands caressing his inner thighs. you looked so fucking sexy to him, even when you’re teasing him on your knees right in your penthouse living room with the police probably on the search for both of you right now. he lets you pull down the lower seam of his suit as he slips off the top part and discards everything on your floor, finally taking in his heavenly body and strong physique that you admired for the longest. it felt like old times, with both of you half-naked and craving deep intimacy one last time.
“i really did miss you, cat,” gojo murmured, peering deep into your eyes.
you get up off your knees and straddled him, feeling his soft hands glide down your bare back and caressing your waist. “i missed you too, satoru.”
he lets out a sigh when he feels the wet spot on your panties subtly rub on his aching cock poking through his briefs. “if i make you come multiple times tonight… will you promise to be a good girl and stop stealing?”
“is that another way of telling me you want to fuck my brains out right now?” you teased, subtly grinding your hips on him. “fine, i’ll oblige. you did promise to go all night with me.”
and as the night went on, gojo really fulfilled his promise of fucking you multiple rounds, multiple positions, and multiple orgasms. hell, you lost count that it was probably way more than him. it astounded you that he was lasting this long with you compared to when you two were together; always this sweet, shy, and submissive boy for you that couldn’t last two rounds because of how you were always in control. sure, after he was bitten by the radioactive spider that gives him his strength and super powers, he was still sensitive and more prone to orgasms because of his heightened senses. but now that time has passed and you haven’t seen each other in a long time, it seems that his stamina has increased dramatically.
your orgasms were way more intensified that you lost all coherence from how mindblowing gojo kept fucking into you much further and faster, wrapping his large hand around your throat from behind and slightly choking you. never have you been so turned on you couldn’t see straight.
“you can take it all, cockslut,” he huffed in your ear. “just can’t stop coming all over my cock, eh? you miss when i turn you into my dumb little whore?”
you tried to reply, but your words slurred and your thoughts were mush. all you could do was moan pathetically as lust speared through you from his words. your head grew so hazy with intensity that the world around you started spinning. you looked like you were in a daze, your face all glossy and sweaty from him fucking your throat so roughly and coming all over your face earlier.
gojo chuckles, harshly slapping your ass and pulling your hips back and forth on his cock. you could hear his animalistic groans and growls filling your ears from how fucking good you felt clenching around him. “i need to hear you say yes. c’mon, kitty. be an obedient slut for me.”
“y— yes, satoru,” you whined, almost squirming in his grasp when he started playing with your clit from behind. “i like— i like being your dumb… little whore…”
gojo can feel his orgasm building inside you as well that he had the urge to pin your head down on the cushions while roughly slapping his hips onto your ass. he loved the way your ass was rippling with every harsh thrust and every harsh slap.
“fuck, cat. i’m gonna come inside your cunt if you keep throbbing on me like that,” he grunted. “will you promise to stop stealing from now on? i’ll give you one more orgasm if you promise for me…”
your back was arched all the way as your moans were muffled by your cushions. you couldn’t stop drooling either that it left a few marks. “i— i promise…! please, please come with me, satoru. come inside me again, i need it…”
the way you kept begging and became so feral had gojo immediately lose himself, shooting hot, sticky white strings of cum into your womb. your cunt couldn’t stop flexing and tightening all over his cock as if you were trying to push him out from such an intense orgasm. sweat was trickling down the both of your skins, bodies flashing hotter than ever as you both collapsed on your cool sofa. gojo laid down on top of you, feeling the rapid beating of his heart and hearing him catching his breath. he looked so adorable that you ran your fingers through his hair, wanting nothing but to indulge in this sweet, intimate moment of cuddling just like old times.
“do you really mean it?” he suddenly murmurs.
“…mean what?”
“you promise you won’t ever steal again?” gojo hovered above you, his expression so profound as he peered deeply into your eyes, like there really was a chance of hope and redemption for you. that was all he ever really wanted; for you to be his partner alongside again, to make you a hero again and utilize your talents for helping people other than yourself.
but then again, you were unpredictable to the spider. there was nothing you loved more than the chase.
“hm. and what if i break that promise?” you smirked. “what are you gonna do if i steal again?”
“then… i’ll just have to tie you up next time and teach you a lesson,” he mirrored your smirk. “but i bet you’d love that, so… maybe i’d have to turn you in, then.”
“i’m kidding satoru. i don’t ever break promises,” you confide, softly caressing his face. “i promise to be by your side and not steal. we can be together just like old times… but only one condition.”
“…which is?”
“spend the nights with me here, satoru,” you whispered fondly. “i don’t wanna be alone every night again.”
gojo planted sweet kisses on your forehead, on both sides of your face, and on your lips, slowly turning into a passionate make-out session. “if that’s what it takes for you to never steal again… i’ll stay with you. promise.”
it was a shame, though. how gullible that spiderman, gojo satoru, could be sometimes. because that following morning when gojo was still sound asleep on your bed, you had to take your leave before the police arrived right at your location where all the missing stuff were hiding. you left a kiss mark on the side of his face with black lipstick and another black cat toy right beside him. as quiet and sneaky you could be, you escaped through your sunroof with a smirk on your face, not looking back on gojo who was soon to be framed for stealing.
ALL WORKS BELONG TO VILSOO © 2024. do not steal, plagiarize, translate, or repost/share any of my works on any social media where minors have access.
#gojo satoru#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x you#gojo x reader#gojo x you#gojo satoru smut#gojo satoru fic#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen smut#spiderman!gojo satoru#black cat!reader#spiderman fic#black cat spiderman
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