Miguel X Reader - Tumblr Posts

Awn man, tiktok didn't like these drawings. JanitorAi is a scary place.

someone said "faking an orgasm with miguel is impossible"

so i said "nothing is impossible, baby gorilla" and wrote THIS

enjoy..?

+18; Miguel O'Hara × spider-girl!reader; memes, crack and a bit of smut; one phrase in Spanish; no uses of y/n

Your made up moan forces a low growl out of him. Right into your folds. Not like it was unpleasant or anything, but you were too distracted to notice it.

Now, why were you on your phone when Miguel O'Hara was eating you out like a gentleman?

Oh, that's because you agreed to meet up with your spider gang to watch a movie and you were already late, texting them "sorrys" and "brbacks".

Because Miguel is a feral beast and he pinned you to the wall when you were ready to head out, but you didn't mention that part.

A short "no" didn't cut it. A "i promised them" didn't work either. And since you're just unable to dismiss this man, you agreed because now he promised you to be quick.

Another lie you were facing currently, because it's been more than fifteen minutes during which you couldn't focus on his tongue circling your clit at all, because you were anxious.

Well, what can you say? The movie promised to be good, you kinda genuinely wanted to see it with your new friends.

But today promises seemed to be nothing but a lie well told.

"Oh, i'm cumming..." Jesus fucking Christ, that was so unrealistic you mentally smacked yourself in the face. Did Miguel also notice, or you just imagined that low rumble under the sheets? "Oh, wow, so good..."

How much more cringy can it get? You'd burst into laughter if you weren't texting into the groupchat right now.

Truth be told, it felt good. But Miguel always took his time with you, enjoying every whimper and moan rolling off your tongue, like it were angels singing. It was kinky, but not today. Today time is money, and in that case literally.

You let out another fake moan and slightly twitched your hips for a more plausible effect. Make 'em believe it feels good and they feel like champions afterwards. A motto that right now was useful.

Or wasn't it..?

Miguel's head poked out from under the sheets. A scowl on his face present.

"And what even was that?"

He snarled, showing off his fangs. A sight that usually made your heart rate speed up. Now? Only made you hum in thought.

"An orgasm?"

The silence was tangible as fuck now. O'Hara didn't even flinch when another fake smile appeared on your face.

Yeah, he called dibs on bullshit even before you opened your mouth, that's for sure.

"Miggy, i told you, i'm late!" You protested, lightly shaking your phone with an open groupchat. "Very sweet of you to show me this courtesy, but the guys are waiting for me in the theater!"

"You'll have to call it off." His hot breath on your skin makes you slightly shiver. "I'm not letting you go until i hear you pleading my name for more."

"In that case i'm not going anywhere at all!" You still pout, despite how sweet it feels when he presses a soft kiss to your inner thigh.

"That's why you'll call it off." Miguel hoarsely snickers in between your legs.

An eye roll from you doesn't change his mind at all.

"Miggy..." You start with a sly smile before flipping him off. "Vete a la mierda."

"I regret teaching you this." He sighs, pressing his cheek to your inner thigh.

"And i regret agreeing to this." You point with your free hand at O'Hara between your legs, which only makes him smirk.

And that's not his typical smug smirk at all. It's kind of predatory. Hot and dangerous? Yeah, that was it.

"You'll change your mind in just about now..." He hoarsely whispers before sinking his sharp canines into your sensitive flesh.

You loudly gasp, one hand already finding its way into his hair to tug on it desperately. As if that could ever make him stop.

Never in your whole relationship this worked, not even once. After a night well spent, you were always covered in those love bites, not just thigh wise.

And Miguel knew exactly what it did to you, how you can barely hold yourself just now, biting on your bottom lip so hard it draws blood. All that just to prevent a loud moan from escaping your mouth. And he seemed really intended to hear it, his two fingers slipping into you with ease as his thumb circled your now throbbing clit.

Jesus fucking Christ...

You mentally smacked yourself once again as your back arched in pleasure, a chocked moan finally finding its way out of you.

"Now that's much better, cariño." Miguel cooed before pressing another kiss to the love bite.

Were you fucked? Well, yeah, both literally and metaphorically.

Does it feel good? Absolutely, one hundred percent, big fat cock "yes".

However, there was a problem.

An open groupchat.

...

pavitr_loves_you:

guys, i'll go get popcorn! any requests?

gweaanda:

extra butter, please

kilometer_moralfull:

ooh!

i wanna try the blueberry one!

pavitr_loves_you:

got it 😉

capitalism_sucks:

pav wait up

i'll go with you

kilometer_moralfull:

anyone seen arachne?

capitalism_sucks:

nope

but i bet she got stuck in webs again

pavitr_loves_you:

🤔

gweaanda:

where is she at?

the movie starts soon

:arachnophobe is recording a voice message:

gweaanda:

finally!

what takes you so long?!

arachnophobe:

▶️---------0:02

kilometer_moralfull:

OMG

gweaanda:

...

sounds like someone is having fun already

capitalism_sucks:

it could be a metaphor

pavitr_loves_you:

what's in it? i can't listen yet, i'm paying up 😩

kilometer_moralfull:

PAVI DON'T !!!

HOBIE GET HIS PHONE RIGHT NOW

pavitr_loves_you:

already on it 👹

damn he got so many emojis

gweaanda:

yeah, anyways...

something tells me she's not coming

capitalism_sucks:

nah it sounds like she is

kilometer_moralfull:

PLEASE STOP ???

...

sorry not sorry..? ;)

(bit of "ew" moment?? I dunno how to name it, anyway warning for cringe and ew)

So i guess we all like Miguel's fangs.

Okay, noted. But i'd like to contribute to that kink a bit.

With some memes.

I suppose he's immune to his own venom. And i also suppose he can control the flow of it when he releases it. And that sometimes, when he loses it to strong emotions, his venom just spills out.

That being said, imagine a scenario where it's been weeks since you two have seen each other. Because he's a workaholic.

And so when the opportunity presents itself, you both are so touch starved, you just go right to pound town. Well, you were ABOUT TO.

Because Miguel just lost it. To lust, to emotions and to you pleading for him to hurry up and fuck you to oblivion.

And when he bit you to show you how ready he is, he accidentally poisoned you.

A beat.

You touch your neck. When you bring your hand closer to your face, the blood on your fingertips is a bit more runny and transparent that it should be.

You lift your gaze up to meet his own just to notice how Miguel is freaking out himself even more than you are.

Here i'll save us all time and finish my rambling by saying that it all ends well, because Miguel takes care of you and apologizes (way too much even). Not like you mind to be poisoned by him, but a warning next time would be great.

For my fellow MIGUEL O'HARA × FEM!READER lovers (forgive me father for this brain rot)

Anyways, MDNI --- NSFW headcanon below (one but juicy like Miggy's a-), swearing (obv) and (maybe, just maybe) self-projected kinks (we are all delulu for this man, let's face it)

☆☆☆

• first things first - let's all agree Miguel is a very passionate lover (and i don't mean he just fucks you roughly, he knows how to be gentle and rub you just the right way to make you see stars)

• he's a man who knows how to balance out his hunger for you, though sometimes he gets a bit carried away

• you just make his head spin in circles, he can't help himself

(and now's the time for that headcanon)

• he just LOVES to please you. Miguel eats you out like a true gentleman he is, and the best part is - it's just the thing that gets him off as well

• my guy can finish without even touching himself once - just hearing you plea and whimper as you squirm and roll your hips under him is enough for him to cream his pants

• you haven't gotten down from your high for what feels like hours (what orgasm was that, 7th? 8th? you stopped counting a long time ago)

• your wrists are stuck to the bedhead with Miguel's webs tightly wrapped around them, cutting off blood circulation almost completely yet you don't feel them get numb, your head too high in the clouds to notice

• your throbbing clit so overstimulated that every touch forces a series of choked moans out of you as you reach your peak yet again, rolling your eyes in pure ecstasy

• you do, however, notice Miguel's grip on your thighs tighten, nails digging deeper into your skin as a low growl rumbles in his throat and right into your folds, making you whimper his name breathlessly

• a moment of calm follows, as you both try to compose yourself - his forehead pressed to your inner thigh, his hot heavy breath tickling your skin; eyes closed shut, your juices dripping down his chin - the whole sight just so captivating it makes you whine

• Miguel glances up at you - eyes drowsy and pupils wide blown, like he genuinely was intoxicated - he is, but on YOU, and he makes it known, as the corners of his lips curl up into a grin and he bites your inner thigh teasingly

• that's enough for a familiar knot to form inside your core as another whiny moan of his name rolls off your tongue

• and that settles how the rest of the night is gonna play out

☆☆☆

(i feel like i need a shower after that... and jesus)

Im literally in love w this post😭❤

to a heart's content — 「 single father!miguel o'hara x reader 」

content warnings ; fem!reader, use of she/her pronouns, "mother"/"daughter"/"wife" used, parental death, mentions of child abandonment, not too much mention of him being spider-man

contains ; single father!miguel o'hara, boss!miguel o'hara, assistant!reader, hints of pining, just some good ol' fluff for everyone's current favorite dilf, angst w/ comfort, heavy need of editing prob, not beta read

notes ; purely self-indulgent to fuel my love of found family trope apologies

Single Father!Miguel O'Hara whose life revolves essentially around one person—his daughter—but to be one of the heads of America’s largest corporation and bearing the responsibility of keeping Nueva York safe and sound whilst simultaneously being a single father was not exactly something that Miguel O’Hara could juggle so easily. Hell, he’s even surprised that he’s made it so far without losing his absolute sanity considering he couldn’t even recall the last time he was able to rest properly without his attention being wavered to something or someone else.

Single Father!Miguel whose hands always filled to the brim with tasks and obligations. Miguel wished he was able to clone himself twice in order to have three Miguel O’Haras attending to each of his duties soundly, but alas, Alchemax and the matter of his mind can only do so much.

Single Father!Miguel whose ever so lucky to have you as his assistant to at least help with two out of three of them. You entered the picture around three years ago, when he had caught the eye of his superiors and had used his intelligence to their own advantage, disguising it as a promotion of sorts. You were given as some sort of gift to them as a way to help ease his workload and he truly couldn’t be more thankful for your existence—if he doesn’t necessarily show it most of the time from his stoic countenance he masks on 24/7. While not exactly a carbon copy of him, you, by far, come rather close, and Miguel will take whatever comes to him in this day and age.

Single Father!Miguel who notices that you're obedient and demure, though rather soft spoken and a little too apprehensive for his liking at times (he had noticed, before you became his assistant, that your coworkers would shovel their workload onto you and you’d accept with little complaint but evident hesitation; he wonders if it was the given similarities between you and him that made him choose you as his assistant). You dressed well, hung onto every word he said, and spoke out when properly needed. You were a good aid to have around—great, even.

Single Father!Miguel who trusts you as both his assistant and a human being enough to leave his precious daughter in your care knowing full well she would be in good hands. Sometimes Alchemax would work him overtime, sometimes his duties as Spider-Man would interfere. No matter what it was, it delayed him from seeing and attending to his daughter’s needs, and thus, he had asked you once in a while to pick up and babysit his daughter after your usual 9-5.

Single Father!Miguel who, at the beginning, once in a while asked you to pick his daughter up from school. Once in a while turned into occasionally. Occasionally turned into sometimes. Sometimes turned into constantly, and next thing Miguel knew, you were the one that his daughter and teachers would look out for during school pick up time. He didn’t expect that you would become his assistant even outside of work, but you did, and Miguel can’t exactly turn back time now. He’s labeled you as his child’s unofficial secondary caretaker—you’re even listed as an emergency contact.

Single Father!Miguel who thinks you’re too polite for your own good. Miguel had asked you once if this was a burden, being his assistant both in and out of Alchemax, and if it became too much that you were more than free to quit at any sudden time without consequence. You had merely replied that you understood the struggles of being a single parent and that he shouldn’t be ashamed of asking for help when it was needed. 

Single Father!Miguel who notices that Gabriella views you more than just her occasional babysitter. When he'd come home late at night, he was usually greeted by you two doing something together, whether it be doing math homework together, baking cookies, you reading aloud to her, or just simply talking, he'd always catch you and her almost... bonding.

Single Father!Miguel who often dwells on the memory of young Gabriella asking innocently why she doesn't have two parents like the rest of her classmates, why she only had one parent compared to everyone else after witnessing she was the odd one out during Family Day. Miguel didn't, and still doesn't, have the courage to tell her that her real mother had abandoned her to him, leaving Miguel in the dust. Miguel used her naivety to his advantage. He disguised it as her being unique compared to others, that some moms just came later in life; she just happened to be a late bloomer.

Single Father!Miguel who always thanks you for staying late tucking Gabriella into bed when he couldn't. You constantly tell him that it's truly no problem, but he insists on thanking you every time and ever so subtly increasing your paycheck. How could he not? Especially considering the fact you always, always whip him up extra dinner that was tucked away for him to eat during the late hours of night.

Single Father!Miguel who feels uneasy as he opens up a fridge to find the said pasta left by you one night in a glass tupperware container, staring at how neatly it’s been plated despite its standard container. He juts it into the microwave as he attempts to ignore how quiet and desolate the kitchen and the apartment is, how the humming of the microwave and the humdrum of the ceiling fan are the only noise that floats through. And when he quietly eats the pasta serving meant for one, he can’t help but gaze longingly at the empty seat across the dining table, where someone else should be seated with him sharing the same meal.

Single Father!Miguel who finally has the time to pick up his daughter after school for once in the school year, but forgot to tell you that you were able to take the rest of the day off. So you, him, Gabriella, and essentially everyone are surprised when both you and Miguel show up to pick Gabriella up after school. One of the teachers goes to gush about how she's excited to meet Gabriella's dad and what a beautiful family you all are, to which you and Miguel, evidently flustered, explain loosely your relationship to each other and how it's merely professional (to one curly-headed third grader, though, it's not—but she'd never tell you and her father that. At least not now.).

Single Father!Miguel who tags along to Gabriella's after school soccer practice for once and despite your protests about you not wanting to interfere "family time", Miguel and his daughter convince you to come watch her like you usually did on Wednesdays. He says he doesn't mind at all and if anything, could use your presence there to ease his nerves since he'd be a newcomer to the soccer parent group.

Single Father!Miguel who watches attentively to how you support Gabriella on the field from the sidelines. He wonders tenaciously if you've fallen into routine of this—from helping her get ready into her uniform to offering small suggestions that help her on the soccer field. He doesn't miss the way her eyes go towards you whenever she did something right and he especially catches onto the fact that she would gush in pure happiness from your approval when you would throw a thumbs up or a delighted nod.

Single Father!Miguel who merely blinks at the compliments given by the two friendly soccer mom next to him.

"Gabi does certainly look a lot like you, but she still has (Y/N)'s beauty and kindness, doesn't she?"

"Oh yes, I agree. Your wife is nothing less of lovely, you know, you're a very lucky man, Mr. O'Hara!"

He's so caught up in trying to process both their words and Gabriella's action on the field, that it doesn't register to him until a few moments later. Miguel attempts to butt in, saying that you're just his subordinate, but when a loud cheer from the other team erupts through, his words fail him.

Single Father!Miguel whose mind is still so stuck on what the soccer moms had said about you that he didn't even realize Gabriella had made the winning goal for today's practice match. Lying through his teeth when asked about if he saw it from her, he realizes that perhaps he should start viewing you in a different light rather than just his daughter's babysitter because the way that Gabriella looks at you with such elation when you congratulate her on her win pulls at his heartstrings ever so slightly.

Single Father!Miguel who contemplates over and over again if he should be doing this—inviting you to Gabriella's first game of the season—the two purchased tickets he held in his fist. You've entered his home a dozen of times, but this would be the first time in three years that he was outside of your own residence. He thinks he's too dressed up for the occasion, cladded in a white button up and black dress pants. A voice asks him if he's his daughter's boyfriend, and Miguel whips around to face an elderly man with a questioned look on his face.

Single Father!Miguel who realizes that it's your father standing in front of him, spare key in hand. He's quick to say no (to your father's disappointment), and introduces himself as your superior. Your father invites Miguel inside your apartment, telling him that you were out fetching groceries and jokingly mentions he uses this opportunity to sneakily fill your cabinets and fridge of food. Your father complains you're too independent for your own good, but he can't exactly blame you—you grew up that way.

Single Father!Miguel who learns that once in your life you were just like his daughter and that in one point in your father's life, he was just like Miguel. All details shared from him, he learns that your mother passed away early in your life due to cancer and ultimately left you and your father to fend for yourselves. Your father tells Miguel that you often had helped out even when you didn't need to—and it doesn't take long for Miguel to piece the pieces together. Why you barely complain about the extra workload, why your father said you're too autonomous, and why all those years ago you not only sympathized with Miguel, but understood his situation as you came from the same exact upbringing.

Single Father!Miguel who listens intently when your father quietly tells him that all he wants for you is to find a good man that would be able to take care of you properly because he believes he wasn't able to. Miguel is quick to reassure him, however, that he did a fantastic job raising a selfless, humble woman that grew to be compassionate and considerate of others' needs, that you were the hardest worker he had ever seen and that he shouldn't discredit himself. Your father goes to examine Miguel for a moment before letting out a loud, haughty laugh in your apartment and jokingly (not really) tells Miguel he hopes that you'll marry him one day, or at least someone like him.

Single Father!Miguel whose resolve dissipates when you walk into your apartment to find your boss and your father talking amongst each other. He sits silently and awkwardly as you complain to your father about dropping by without any warning before you ask him what was he doing here in the first place. Your father takes his leave, winking at Miguel with a glint in his eye, leaving you two in your apartment alone.

Single Father!Miguel who finally gathers up the courage to ask you if you'd like to attend Gabriella's soccer game with him. You interject with visible hesitation, telling him that it was implied that it was a family-only event and you'd hate to intrude onto something so intimate, but he's quick to reassure you that his daughter would love to have you there considering all the help you had given her during her practices—if anything, she would need you there for your support.

Single Father!Miguel who tells you that Gabriella had shown visible distress last night when Miguel told her that you might not be able to come due to your non-familial relationship with them. He almost begged you to come with them, as Gabriella had even threatened to quit soccer altogether if you weren't there to witness her first game. When you give in after moments of contemplation, Miguel truly couldn't believe his luck.

Single Father!Miguel who roots alongside you for Gabriella and her team, watching oh so closely just in case someone from the other team did a dirty trick on his precious daughter. He'd sometimes occasionally glance at you, only to see you completely zoned in and focused on Gabriella's playing like the rest of the parents, offering your support through compliments and encouragements that his daughter always caught and would visibly improve from. When she finally scores the winning goal per usual, she's quick to ignore the cheers coming from her teammates and parents to run off the field and not look for Miguel first, but for you.

"Did you see me?!" Gabriella exclaims excitedly as she flings her arms around your waist. "Did you see what I did?!"

"I did, yes," you laugh, attempting not to stumble over from the impact with visible glee and crouch down to her height. Pride written all over your face, you grin. "And I'm so incredibly proud of you."

"It's 'cause I did what you taught me," she declares. "I pointed first and then I shooted!" She uses hand gestures to reanimate her play on the field.

"Shot, Gabi," you correctly gently, your fingers going to automatically comb out the tangles out of her hair like you usually did after practices. "It does come handy, doesn't it?"

"Yeah!" Her eyes go to see Miguel, who doesn't stalk too far behind with open arms and the same proud look painted on his face. "Dad! Didja see me?! Didja see that I scored?!"

Miguel lets out a once-in-a-blue-moon chuckle and lifts his daughter into his arms, her arms wrapping around his neck in an affirming hug. "I saw very clearly, mi cariño, and I can't wait to brag about how my daughter scored the winning shot for her team," he compliments warmly.

Gabriella goes to point gleefully in your direction. "It was all because of Miss. (Y/N)," she declares, not knowing that her statement would make a rush of heat bloom onto your face.

"O-oh no... I only... w-well," you stammer out meekly, trying to find the right words. "I'm actually not too knowledgeable on soccer... I only repeated what I found online and—"

"Thank you," Miguel starts off fondly. "(Y/N), truly. Thank you."

You stare at him. "Mr. O'Hara..."

He sets Gabriella down for her to join her rejoicing teammate and pats the small of your back with a grateful look plastered on his face. You were so used to seeing the rather stoic and often tired side of Miguel O'Hara that you forgot he, too, was capable of smiling at times, so when you spotted the small of a grin on his lips that was for you specifically, you felt something in your chest jerk a little bit.

"If it weren't for you being here," he starts off quietly so only you can hear. "Gabi wouldn't have participated at all. She wanted you to come so she'd have enough courage to play because she was so used to you supporting her," Miguel glances at his daughter giggling about on the field. "So it was understandable that if her biggest supporter wasn't here to cheer her on, she wouldn't exactly do her best."

You blink slowly at him, digesting his words in order to truly savor them for all that they were. "I was just—"

"—doing your job?" Miguel finishes for you. He shakes his head. "Last time I remember, 'attending your boss's daughter's soccer games' wasn't on your job description," he says, earning a soft chuckle out of you despite his rather flat tone.

"I suppose so," you murmur with an evident warmth in your eyes, one that Miguel is sure Gabriella has seen numerous times and will continue to welcome as long as you're around.

So when after a dinner celebration at her favorite restaurant, after the star player is tucked into bed after a long day's work, Miguel takes it upon himself to do the what he thought was the impossible for him but possible for Gabriella.

"Stay safe out there," Miguel directs quietly as he helps you put on your coat again. "And again, thank you for today."

"It was my pleasure, Mr. O'Hara," you reply, "And I actually had fun today, so I can thank you for that."

He escorts you down the apartment complex to the lobby and begins to watch you leave, the words on his tongue tipping ever so slowly before they spill the moment you're about to exit through the doors.

"(Y/N)."

At the sound of your voice, you turn to him with a questioning look on your face. "... yes?"

Miguel opens and closes his mouth like a fish for a couple of seconds before blurting out, "Are you free tomorrow evening?"

He scans your face for a reaction before surprise paints itself on your moonlit features. "I-I suppose I am," you nod slowly. "May I ask why?"

"Gabi is having a sleepover at one of her teammate's house," Miguel coughs out and shoves his hands into his pockets to hide their fidgeting.

"Do you need me to drop her off...?" you ask, clearly puzzled.

"No, um," he clears his throat again. "I was... I was actually wondering if you'd... if you'd like to check out that new restaurant that opened up on Clark..."

Regret pools in his mouth the second it falls from his lips and he begins to internally conjure some sort of half-assed lie, perhaps saying something along the lines of the company wanted him to review it for a potential cater in the future or that a friend of his worked there, but when he sights your eyes softening with the same warmth from earlier, he lets you take the reigns on fate.

"I'd quite like that," you murmur, a modest smile on your lips.

a/n ; i told you i was going to give into temptation. wrote this on a plane with no wifi on the way here (thank god for offline editing!)

anyways, i'm trying to squeeze this bit out before my plane ride tmrw since i've been travelling for the past week and a half! i'll be returning home soon where i can finally write to my heart's content, phew! i just reallyyyyy wanted to write something for miguel adjdjfkfalwf but fear not! we shall be back to our regularly scheduled program soon!

as always, thank you for reading and likes+comments+reblogs are always appreciated and never unnoticed（╹◡╹）♡!

₊ ⊹ the price of the name.

synopsis: reader has had a hard life, and now she’s an orphan. but someone just as lonely comes into her life to take her under his wing.

warnings: angst. lots of hurt, very little comfort. miguel is a hardass who pushes people away. death.

platonic!miguel x daughter-like!reader. no seriously, reader is eighteen and young. this is found family, not romantic.

the intention is for this to be multi-part. how many parts? idk.

word count: 1.3k

pt i : fate

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 

being a spider person was always unfair. mercy from whatever divine being that controlled their universes was hard to come by.

you were no exception.

your father died early, shot by a man who ran with someone’s purse. you didn’t know him well, you were only three after all. but your mother fought hard to teach you about him, to make sure you remembered some semblance of him.

and all was well for a time. you went to school, made some friends, started working for some extra cash under the table.

you were reaching up into your attic when the sharp sting of a spider bite zinged up from your hand. you killed it with a slap, but nothing could stop the venom that now traveled through your veins.

the rest was history: you became your universes one and only spider woman, learning her trade as she went.

the cannon event hit later, and it was different from the others.

you had no uncle to find dead on the street.

but you did have a mother.

she was working the late shift at the hospital when a spouse of a dead patient burst through the doors and demanded to see a doctor. apparently, the man wanted revenge for the hospitals failure to save his wife, and he had come to instill justice.

your mother had raised her hands and tried to plead for him to stop, to calm down, to lower his gun.

the shot made your spider-senses go haywire, and you practically flew to the trauma center. the security guards had no idea what to do, so you just ran past them to find your mother bleeding on the cold white tile.

it took everything in you to remember that behind your mask, no one knew you were this woman’s daughter, and you’d have to respond carefully. you watched as the officers called the next of kin, and you were thankful that you had had the mind to put your phone on silent that day.

no one noticed the tears streaming from your eyes behind the suit. you swung back home as fast as you could, answering your phone when they called you again.

pretending to not know what was going on was the second worst thing you had to do that day. you had to fight from chocking on tears as you answered the call.

eighteen and orphaned, standing over your mothers open casket. a part of you thanked that you were older, because it meant that you didn’t have to go into foster care. but nothing could truly quell your grief.

and then the universe decided to send you a big middle finger in the shape of a Doc Oc right after the funeral ended.

you knew that you couldn’t keep going like this. no one should process grief this fast. but as the villain sent a tidal wave through the streets of new york city you relized that you didn’t exactly have a choice.

with great power comes great responsibility.

and saving these people was your responsibility, no matter what mental state you were in.

this Doc Oc looked to be from some other dimension. instead of mechanical tentacles like that of your Doc Oc, he had real ones, and he apparently threw actual octopi at people when he was pissed off.

it was no easy task, and at one point he had thrown you against the wall and knocked your head. as your vision swam, he picked you up with one of his suctioned limbs and squeezed.

it all happened so fast.

a flash of orange and yellow swirling at the edge of your vision. orange silk shooting into your captors face. and then someone shot forward and sliced the tentacle that held you.

you sank to the ground as you caught your breath, vaguely hearing someone say “Lyla, run a diagnostic. what’s the best way to take this guy down?”

as you wheezed, a large hand rested against your shoulder, and a soft voice greeted your ears.

“Sit tight, kid. I’ll handle this.”

you didn’t have time to argue when the hand vanished, and you peered up just in time to see a large spider-man in a blue suit throwing himself at the villain.

you stood as you caught your breath, rushing right back into battle to help the man that had saved you. the Doc Oc dragged you both to the bay, sinking down into the water. it was advantageous for him, being a water dwelling creature, and you and the man struggled. it took another spider, a woman on a motor cycle, showing up to help defeat him.

but it was you who dealt the final blow, wrapping the villains limbs to a nearby pier to keep him underwater. when the pair of new spider people got him all tied up and prepared to take away, you just…collapsed.

everything came down on you at once. your exhaustion, your sadness, your loneliness. everything.

you barely heard the spider woman murmur to the brash man across from her, and it was only when you felt a pair of strong arms wrap around you and pick you up that you snapped back to reality.

but just as quickly as you zeroed in on the feeling, your brain whispered sleep in your ear, and you passed out.

₊ ⊹

you woke to a strange bare bedroom and an odd watch that flickered with light on your wrist. noticing the glass of water on the bedside table, you chugged it, coughing when you got too eager.

“You’re awake!”

you screamed, a small voice coming from right beside your head unexpectedly. you turned to see a small woman illuminated in the light from your watch.

“no need to be afraid. i’m lyla.”

lyla. that rang a bell.

“where am i?” you asked as you noticed the clothes folded in the corner of the room. you cast a sideways glance at the projection, and lyla turned to give you the illusion of privacy.

“miguel will answer all your questions. i’ve alerted him of your new condition.”

you slipped on the black sweatpants and top gratefully, relishing the feeling of soft cotton against your skin. as your hands moved over your body, you quickly noticed various cuts and bruises.

that’s right, i passed out.

“where is this miguel?” you asked as you studied the watch, noticing the flickering ‘EARTH-928’ across the screen.

almost immediately, little glowing footsteps were projected from the watch, making you whip your hand away from your face.

“i guess that’s my answer?” you asked lyla, and the woman nodded.

you sighed, figuring you might as well follow them.

fantastic survival skills from the one and only spider-woman.

well, you thought, not the one and only.

₊ ⊹

the man before you seemed almost nothing like he was when you were fighting Doc Oc.

he seemed…infinitely tired. his shoulders hunched, head ducked down. you supposed that you were distracted during the fight.

but his expression revealed much more than his body language. he had deep eye bags, and his cheeks were sunken in a way that expressed not just natural bone structure but also a lack of eating and sleeping properly.

miguel looked drained.

you were still processing what he had told you, about the cannon and the ‘Spider-Society’ and the ‘Arachno-Humanoid Poly-Multiverse.’

you had actually openly scoffed at that one, and he looked dejected by your reaction.

“but i can’t just send you home now. i’m pretty sure jess would actually web me for all eternity if i did.” he was saying, rubbing his brow.

“so what exactly am i doing here, then?” you asked, curious but hesitant.

he turned his back to you, looking forlornly at his screens.

“i’m going to train you.”

“why?” came your response, surprised and uncertain. you may have only known miguel for less than an hour, but you could already tell that taking on a young apprentice wasn’t exactly in his character.

he didn’t turn to you. he just kept looking at a picture of a young girl on one of his screens.

“because you remind me of someone.” he said quietly. then he looked at you, and you were struck with the amount of guilt and suffering that lived in his eyes.

“and because you remind me of myself. and i can’t let you become like me.”

masterlists | part ii

Web of Shadow and Light (Part III)

Sequel to Webs of Fate

Miguel O'Hara x SpiderSun Reader

words: 5.2 K

warnings: secret pregnancy trope, swearing, angst, heartbreak, grumpy/sunshine

Part I Part II Part III

The Spider-HQ echo with an unsettling symphony - a child's piercing cries and the hushed whispers of concern from some of the multiverse's bravest Spider heroes. They stand clustered around the smallest yet most powerful disturbance they've ever encountered - a baby boy. His wails have been echoing through the HQ since Miguel left the room, leaving the baby and dozens of Spider-man behind. Each cry is a call for help that pulls at their hearts, demanding attention, challenging their patience.

After much deliberation and coaxing from the rest, Miguel gave his team an ultimatum - they have until dawn to find an alternative solution, before Gabriel has to be eliminated, before the universe collapses on itself. His voice was a cold whisper when he spoke, "Figure out another way by tomorrow morning, or..." Nobody dares to complete the sentence, not even Miguel, the unsaid words hanging heavily in the air. And with that Miguel was gone, and the baby immediately started wailing and hasn’t stopped since.

Now Gwen, with her brows knitted in worry, rocks the baby with desperate gentleness. Her blue eyes are bright with unshed tears, a look of sheer helplessness painting her usually confident face. Beside her Peter B. is attempting to cheer Gabriel up but his efforts as pointless as they are endearing. The usually funny and charming Peter B seems to be losing a battle of wits with a one-year-old. It would've been humorous, had the situation been any different.

The sight of the little baby boy weeping his heart out, oblivious to the chaos his presence is causing tugs at their hearts, binding them in a collective resolution - they must protect this child. The shadows and the light, entwined in this web they’ve all been thrown into. And the clock is ticking.

Hobie scoops up the little boy, cradling him close in an attempt to soothe his relentless tears. "See, the cow says muhhhhh," he coos. His tiny cries falter, curiosity momentarily replacing distress. He gazes at Hobie with wide eyes, intrigued by the cool looking man. "And the butterfly," Hobie pauses dramatically, "well, the butterfly don’t say nothin’." He continues his little game, while rocking the baby gently in his arms. "And the pig says-"

 Miles chimes in with an eager grin, "Oink, Oink."

"Nah, bruv," Hobie laughs. “The pig says, ‘You have the right to remain silent!’”

Gabriel’s face scrunches up, and the waterworks start again. Hobie chuckles, "Fair enough, little fella. Cops make me wanna cry too."

Meanwhile Jessica Drew, clad in her black and white Spider-Woman outfit, her dark locks cascading around her shoulders, is leaning against the doorframe, half entering the room, her eyebrows raised. "Well? I assume he didn’t stop crying?“

Beside her Peter B.  with his shaggy brown hair and five o’ clock beard just shakes his head. 

“This is nuts. Nothing, and I mean NOTHING is working.“ Gwen states.

In the background, the cries of baby Gabriel cotinue, little fists flailing as he continued his tantrum. Jessica, arching an eyebrow, comments, “He’s still going at it?”

Hobie Brown, just gives her a quick nod. “Oh yeah, the kid has got a set of lungs.”

Suddenly, Pavitr Prabhakar, yelps as a makeshift toy, made out of wood and spiderwebs, hit him square in the forehead. "Ow! And one hell of arm throw."

Methodically, Jessica starts running through a mental checklist. “Diaper?”

Peter B. Parker nods. “Clean.”

“Food?” Jessica glances at Miles who holds a baby food jar and a bent spoon.

Miles, in his black and red suit, shrugs. “Kept smacking the spoon out my hand.”

“Nap?” Jessica's questions further.

The entire room answer in unison, clearly frustrated “Literally the first thing we tried.”

Pavitr smirkes at them. “Jinx.” But his joke is short-lived as Gabriels screams become even louder.

Gwen, then takes charge, “Ok, we have to do something,” her eyes flicking around the room with determination. She points to Jess, “You have to talk to Miguel. You’ve been around him the longest, maybe you can get through to him.”

Jess looks hesitant but nods.

“And Peter,” Gwen turns to Peter B who’s still juggling items in his hands, to entertain the baby and stop his crying. “Get Mayday’s toys. Maybe the baby’s just bored.”

Peter gives a thumbs up. “You got it, boss.”

“And Pav, Hobie,” Gwen instructs, her voice steady. “You need to rally the other Spider-people. We need everyone on board to protect this little guy.”

“Margo, you’re with me, girl. We are  paying our old friend Lyla a little  surprise visit. Something’s a little fishy with her.” Margo nods eagerly. 

As everyone scatters into action, Miles stands there, looking slightly lost and raising his hands. "Hey, guys, you forgot about me! What am I supposed to do? How can I help?" he calls out to the rapidly moving group.

Pav whirls around and points at Miles, "You, take care of the little guy, newbie," he says, as Hobie thrusts the still crying baby into Miles' arms.

"Great," Miles grumbles, balancing Gabriel on his hip and looking down at the squirming bundle of tears.

 He starts to bounce up and down gently, trying to imitate what he's seen in movies. The baby continues to cry, unfazed by Miles' efforts.

“Alright buddy, let’s figure this out together. I can swing through New York, so how hard can babysitting be?” Miles whispers to the baby.

Hours drag on and Gabriel's relentless cries continue to echo through the HQ. Despite his earnest attempts, Miles, armed with only his spider powers and limited babysitting experience, is unsuccessful in calming the baby. He’s tried everything he can think of – makinf funny faces, telling funny stories in a soothing tone, gently swinging him back and forth with his web-slinging skills, and even humming a little tune (it was Humble by Kendrick Lamar, but the thought counts, right?). At one point, he even tried to entertain the baby by creating animals out of webbing, but that didn’t work either. The baby is relentless, and his cries only seem to get louder. 

In the meantime in Miguel’s office, the echoing cries penetrate through the walls. Migel is sitting behind his desk looking at some documents, while Jess stands in front of him.

“Please, Miguel, it’s a baby boy. How did you imagine doing this, huh?” Jess exclaims, her voice rising. “Did you plan to build some sort of machine to just vaporize him? Or did you think of strangling him with your own bare hands? I know you’re not a monster.” But Miguel's face remains stoic, his eyes never leaving the papers on his desk.

“And look,” Jess continues, pointing vaguely in the direction of where the baby’s cries are coming from, “this baby is already older, and nothing has collapsed yet. The universe is still here.”

“I can’t risk any more lives, Jess,”Miguel responds coldly, finally looking up at her.

“But what if there is another way? We haven’t even tried everything. We have brilliant minds here. Let’s...let’s figure something out that doesn’t involve.. that,” Jess pleads, her voice softening.

Miguel looks at her for a long moment but his expression remains unreadable. The cries of the baby continue to fill the air.

Jess then turns her gaze towards Lyla, , who is stationed nearby, her holographic interface flickering with data. “Lyla, what are the kid’s powers? Run a genetics test, a DNA test. We need something to work with.” 

Lyla’s synthetic voice answers in an eerily calm tone, "I have already processed the genetic information, Jessica. Thanks very much, genius. As per my findings, the child’s power attributes remain undefined. In regards to the DNA test..."

Lyla hesitates just a fraction of a second, but enough for Miguel to notice. It's an unexpected response from an AI that's programmed to be efficient and direct. A strange tingle rises within him but he pushes it aside, refocusing on the matter at hand.

“is inconclusive.” Jess squints at Lyla. “Inconclusive? What do you mean? Is he an anomaly or not?”

“He’s an anomaly, certainly. However, the DNA analysis is...complicated,” Lyla maintains her composed tone. “Complicated how?” Jess presses on. “Just...unfamiliar and intermingled genetic markers,” Lyla responds vaguely. “The child is an enigma.”

"Miguel, please" she continues, turning back to Miguel, clearly frustrated with Lyla's vague responses that are not helping her case. Her tone is still serious, "this isn't some variation of a monster, this is a baby."

For a moment, Miguel’s gaze flickers, his usual icy aura briefly wavering. "It doesn't matter," he finally grunts, closing his eyes as if to physically shut out the argument. Jessica's voice turns unexpectedly brittle. "I didn't join the Society to kill innocent kids."

Miguel clenches his jaw hard. "We do what we have to do for the greater good. No exceptions." Jessica takes a deep breath, her next words coming out almost in a whisper. "What if there was my Gerald or a version of your-" she begins, but is quickly cut off.

"DON’T. Don't even go there, Jessica" Miguel growls, his hand forming into a tight fist. "And why the hell is it still crying?"

Jessica's gaze softens slightly. "That child, that little boy, probably misses his parents. Parents who are going through hell right now, searching for their baby." Miguel's fist tightens further, a spark of something, maybe regret, guilt,  flashing in his eyes. Jessica presses on trying one last time to convince him. "He was found in 586, right? Maybe we can reconnect with Su-" 

"No," Miguel interrupts sharply, his voice a final command. “Until tomorrow morning, Jess,” he finally says in a low voice, putting an end to Jess’ outburst. “That’s all. You can leave now.” 

There’s a heavy silence, where the only sound is Gabriel’s distant crying.

Jessica looks at Miguel, her gaze piercing. "Think about what you’re doing, Miguel," she whispers and leaves the room, closing the door softly behind her.

In the heart of the HQ, Margo sifts through the labyrinth of Lyla's concealed data. She uncovers a file that captures her attention – the baby's DNA results. "There you are," she mutters to herself, an air of triumph in her voice. As she opens the file, her eyes widen in disbelief, "Oh no…“

"What is it, Margo?" Gwen asks making her way over to Margo.

Margo's voice trembles slightly. "So, while looking through the hidden data, I found the baby's... there was a parental match."

Gwen's heart skips a beat. “I knew something was was off with Lyla. Of course she knows more. Well, who are the little guy's parents?"

Margo hesitates, then blurts out, "Miguel and Sunny."

Gwen stops dead in her tracks, her mind reeling. "I'm sorry, can you repeat that?"

"The baby's mother is Sunny, and the father is Miguel," Margo reiterates, her voice steady.

Gwen eyes widen. "But... are you sure? I know Sunny's baby. I was there when baby Gabriel was born!“

"Yes, I'm sure. There were two parental matches for the baby in the spider DNA logs:Sun Spider and Spider-Man 2099. When was the last time you saw the baby, Gwen? Babies change quickly at that age." Margo confirms. 

"Miguel and Sunny? That's not possible... how have we never noticed that there's something going on between those two?" Gwen's mind whirls with confusion.

"Oh, I noticed," Margo's voice holds a hint of smugness, "The way he was sneaking into her room at night? And the way he looked at her every time she set foot in a room, like a lovesick puppy. It was adorable. Wait, nobody else noticed?"

Gwen splutters, taken aback, "What? No, I... well, he's all 'we need to sacrifice ourselves to protect the multiverse. No more traveling for fun'" she imitates Miguel's voice with a teasing lilt, then she adds, "And Sunnys is literally the personification of a warm embrace."

Gwen's mind whirls but she continues, “ Woah, okay lets focus on the important part. I mean, I knew something was wrong with Lyla, but why... why would she do that?"  

"There's more, Gwen," Margo says, her voice shaking slightly. "I found another thing in her data. It's... it's about how she's processing information."

Gwen frowns, "What do you mean?"

Margo takes a deep breath before explaining, "In simple terms, Lyla's been teaching herself new things. She's changing, growing beyond her original programming. Her code is self-evolving."

"And the data about the baby?" Gwen asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

Margo sighs, "She's been... twisting it, making the baby seem more dangerous than it actually is."

Gwen's mind reels with this new information, the world around her seeming to tilt. "But why?" she finally manages to ask. "Why would Lyla do this?"

"I don't know, Gwen," Margo admits. "But we need to find out and warn Miguel. And soon."

Meanwhile in Miguels office, the wailing becomes louder, almost as if piercing through the walls, trying to reach something, or someone. Miguel's face betrays his discomfort, as if the cries are tugging at his walls around his heart. There's a weight on his chest, something unidentifiable that makes it hard to breathe.

Suddenly Lyla’s holographic interface hums. She begins to show the outline various strategies for eliminating the child. Her voice, analtytic but almost cheerful, fills the room. “So, we could create a temporal displacement field, effectively erasing the child from existence. Or perhaps expose him to a slow-acting molecular destabilizer..." 

 "Based on the trial," she continues unfazed by Miguel’s lack of response. "the device should work as intended, wiping out any of its DNA and trace. Be like the anomaly never existed." There's a hint of satisfaction in her words.

Miguel, until now staring blankly at the wall, finally turns towards Lyla, his complexion pale and his eyes wide.

His insides twist painfully, the mere idea of bringing harm to this innocent child becoming now unbearable.

“Stop,” Miguel chokes out.

“Apologies, Miguel. We must consider all options for preserving the multiverse. You out of all people should know that,”Lyla retorts.

But something within Miguel snaps. His ice-cold distant facade crumbles. Rising abruptly, his chair clatters loudly onto the floor.

Without saying another word, he strides out of his office. “Miguel? Are you listening? Where are you going?” Lyla calls after him, but her words are unanswered in the empty room.

Walking down the hallway, Miguel slows down as he passes the room where the infant's cries come from. He pauses when he hears Miles' pleas inside.

“Little dude, if you stop crying promise I’ll get you some cool kicks. Maybe some baby Jordans? Please, please just stop crying,” Miles pleads, his voice sounding desperate and utterly exhausted.

After a moment hesitation, Miguel pushes open the door and steps into the room. His gaze, sterner than ever, as he takes in the scene: Miles looking near defeat, his energy spent trying to soothe the wailing child, his spider suit rumpled and hair disheveled.

"Enough," Miguel comms sharply.

Miles looks up from where he's been pacing with the baby, his eyes wide like he's just been caught stealing cookies from a jar. “You,” Miguel points at Miles, who is holding the still-crying baby. His voice booms with authority. “Put him down”

Miles, slightly dumbfounded, obeys and carefully lays the child down on his makeshift bed. “I need you to return to Earth 586. Get some of his belongings - toys, blankets, anything you can find," he orders, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"But Miguel--" Miles startsbut gets cut off immediately.

"Now," he says, his red eyes flashing dangerously. Miles opens the portal hastily and disspears to your universe.

The crying has subsided to whimpers, and Miguel finds himself kneeling next to the little one, who reaches out for him. As if on autopilot, Miguel’s hands scoop him up abruptly from the bed.

"Quiet, niño. "Miguel growls at him with a  low and threatening tone. "I could just... do it right now." His irritation gets the better of him, and he bares his fangs at the little one. This sight shocks Gabriel into silence for a moment, his big, teary eyes widening at the sight. 

But then, to Miguel's surprise, the baby breaks into a fit of giggles, the sound infectious and joyous.

Gabriel suddenly mimics Miguel, baring his own little teeth – two tiny milk teeth and the beginnings of baby fangs peeking from his gums, causing Miguel to stiffen in shock.

Caught off guard Miguel's hold slips and Gabriel lands back on the web-shaped bed with a bounce. The baby's laughter ends abruptly and is replaced once more with tears and cries.

Still in shock, Miguel stumbles back a step, but Gabriel's cries soon pull him back into the present. With a sigh, he picks up the little boy yet again andGabriel immediately snuggles into the crook of Miguel’s neck, his tiny arms winding tightly around his throat.  Miguel swallows hard, unsure of what to do next. 

Then, almost instinctively, he starts to hum a tune he thought he'd long forgotten. "Tú eres mi sol de la mañana, el sol que brilla..." His voice is barely audible, the words shaky. Gabriel's little body relaxes against him, a content sigh escaping his lips followed by a quiet yawn. He nuzzles closer to Miguel, his tiny breaths falling into sync with the rhythm of the song. "...alegra todo, mi corazón," Miguel coninues softly, his mind flooding with memories. He sees a bright, lively girl with the same curious eyes as the boy in his arms. 

"Daddy," Gabriella asks, her large eyes bright with curiosity as she looks up at him, "why do you call me your morning sun? I'm not yellow."

Miguel chuckles at her innocence, his fingers gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. He cradles her against his chest, looking into those eyes so full of wonder. "No, mija" he replies, his voice soft with affection "you're not yellow but you are my sunshine."

"But why?" She wrinkles her little nose, her childish curiosity making Miguel's heart fill up with love.

"Because, mijita," he begins, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple, "just like the sun, you light up my world. You chase away the darkness with your laughter and your love. You are warmth, you are joy, and just like the morning sun, you are a new beginning, a promise of a brighter day." 

Gabriella blinks up at him, her lips curving into a small, and she hides her smile in the crook of his neck. "I like that, Papi," she whispers, "Sing the song again, please?"

“brilla, conmigo, brilla que brilla, alegrandome esta cancion. Tu eres mi sol de la manana…“

Eyes closed, Miguel draws Gabriel unconsciously closer, his heart full, and for the first time he’s feeling a sense of contentment he hasn't experienced in years. 

The moment is shattered by the sound of a throat being cleared, pulling him abruptly out of his peaceful trance.

Peter B is standing in the doorway, arms loaded with various dolls. "Wow, he's finally asleep," he remarks, looking between Miguel and the now sleeping Gabriel with a relieved smile. "I was starting to think that was impossible." 

Without responding, or even sparing a glance in Peter's direction, Miguel turns away from the door and heads to the bed. He gently places the sleeping toddler down, pulling a small blanket over him. Once he's confident that Gabriel is settled, Miguel quietly leaves the room, his demeanor as frosty and aloof as ever, making no acknowledgment of Peter's presence. 

Peter B is quick on his feet, rushing after Miguel. "I brought him toys from Mayday," he blurts out. "She won't miss them. She's not too good at sharing, but I guess she won’t mind in this case."

Miguel continues his stride, not giving Peter so much as a backward glance. "Que maravilla," he mutters under his breath, his tone dripping with sarcasm. Ignoring the dismissal, Peter B. reaches out and places a hand on Miguel's arm, stopping him in his tracks. Miguel raises an eyebrow and glances back at him half-heartedly, clearly not interested in a conversation.

Peter takes a moment, his gaze intensifying. "Hey, boss," he begins, his voice shaky yet determined. "We can't let anything happen to this boy, right?" 

At Peter's words, Miguel closes his eyes and takes a deep, steadying breath.

Back on Earth 586, you're in the throes of a meltdown. Your little boy, Gabriel, is nowhere to be found. You've scoured the whole city of Nea Yorkey, every nook and cranny you can think of, but there's no trace of him anywhere. Desperation gnaws at your insides, and fury bubbles up, hot and fierce. Your mind is in turmoil, swirling with anger and fear, clouding your ability to think straight. One thing is crystal clear though: whoever dared to touch your child will pay dearly for their actions.

You're frantically trying to find a way to contact anyone from the Spider Society, while simultaneously considering every possible avenue to traverse the multiverse yourself. Alchemax - the multinational conglomerate known for its cutting-edge research and technological advancements - seems to be your only hope. As you're about to make your way there, a sound from Gabriel's room stops you in your tracks.

Your Spider senses, already on high alert due to the unexpected circumstances, seem to kick into overdrive. Every instinct within you screams that something is about to happen. Your heart pounds in your chest like a wild drum as you slowly approach the room.

Meanwhile, in Gabriel's room, Miles is having his own share of troubles. In his haste, he stumbles over a toy car that starts making an assortment of noises and brightly lit animations. "Ah, this stupid toy!" he curses under his breath.

A thought suddenly crosses his mind and he wonders aloud, "Wait, does he need a blanket?" Just as he's about to reach for a small bunny stuffed animal that lay discarded on the floor, an intense blast of sonic energy sweeps across the room.

Caught by surprise, Miles finds himself flung across the room, his back hitting the wall with a thud. Before he can even let out a gasp, a spider web shoots out, pinning him securely against the wall. There he hangs, suspended, his eyes wide with shock and confusion. His breath comes in shallow gasps as he attempts to comprehend what just happened. Well its safe to say he didn’t saw that coming.

Miles, still stuck against the wall, manages to blurt out, "Who are you?"

"Who am I?" you echo, incredulity lacing your tone. "You break into my son's room and ask me whoI am?"

Your mind races as Miles stammers, "Wait, your son's room? Wait, are you...are you a Spider-person aswell?"

Ignoring his question, you stride towards him, an aura of threat radiating off you. "Stop talking!" you command, "I ask the questions!" In your hand, a ball of solar energy forms, crackling with power and casting a glow across the room.

"Why are you here? Where is my son?" The words are more of a growl than a question, the motherly instincts in you sending waves of danger rippling across the room. "Your son is okay, please don't hurt me!" Miles pleads with a shaky fear laced voice.

Squirmy and visibly frightened, Miles stammers out his confession, "We-we took him...it was our mission... He's an anomaly...we needed to get him out of this universe, send him to his own, so it wouldn’t collapse and interfere with the multiverse...but he doesn't have one, and I'm so sorry..."

His voice dwindles to a murmur, words tumbling over one another in his haste. Amidst his ramblings, your icy inquiry slices through like a blade, "Who instructed you?"

A sharp wince contorts his face, betraying his fear. "Our boss..." he starts, his voice barely above a whisper, "Miguel... Miguel O'Hara."

The energy in your hand dissipates, leaving only shock in its place. It's almost too much to take in - the idea that Miguel, your Miguel, could have done something like this. "He's okay, we... we didn't know he was the son of a Spider-woman. I'm Miles Morales, by the way." he introduces himself, attempting to inject some normalcy into the situation.

"I'm Spider-Sun," you respond automatically, your voice sounding distant to your own ears.

"Wait … you?" Miles' eyes widen in recognition. "You're Sunny?" When you give a numb nod in response, he continues, "You look more like 'Stormy' if you ask me." Your gaze snaps to Miles, the intensity of your death glare immediately silencing his attempt at humour. "Sorry, sorry," he stammers, raising his hands in surrender. "I just...I've heard Gwen and Peter talk about you."

"They never stop talking about you," Miles continues, trying to regain his composure. "They always say you have such a radiant personality and how much they miss you. They take care of your son, don’t worry. Hes safe for now.” 

"What do you mean he's safe 'for now'?" you cut him off abruptly, your voice cold and hard. Miles gulps nervously before responding.

"Eh...we have until morning to find a solution for this...anomaly," he stammers. You interrupt him, seething with a fury that makes him cringe. "My son's name is Gabriel. He is not an 'anomaly'," you spit out the words like they are poison, hating the way they make your sweet little boy sound like some kind of mistake.

"Eh, yes, for Gabriel," Miles corrects hastily, "because, eh... if we don't find an alternative, they need to, eh...eliminate..." He trails off, speaking so quickly and softly that you almost don't catch his last word.

"ELIMINATE?????" You scream and for a split second, Miles is sure he sees your eyes blaze with a terrifying, luminating light. 

"We can stop them. We can talk to them and say it's your son," Miles says quickly, desperately hoping to calm you.

"I don't talk. Bring me to my son," you demand. Without wasting another moment, you order him to open the portal. "Y-yes, right away, Sunn... eh, Mrs. Sun, eh... Ma'am," he stammers, visibly trembling under your steely gaze.

 It takes him two shaky attempts before he manages to successfully open the portal, his hands still unsteady from the encounter.

Back at the headquarters, Peter chases after Miguel into his office. "Boss, all I'm saying is, what if Lyla is wrong?"

Miguel is pinching the bridge of his nose, a deep sigh escaping his lips. The weight of the situation is quickly becoming too overwhelming and he feels himself teetering dangerously close to his breaking point.

Just at that moment, Gwen, Pav, Margo and Hobie burst into the office, their faces set withdetermination. "Miguel, there’s something you need to know.  Please hear us out. Margo and I, we found something.Lyla is - ," Gwen starts but Miguel is quick to silence her with a raised hand.

Just as Miguel is about to speak, the lights flicker, casting an ominous glow throughout the room. Hobie looks around nervously. "Is that eh...normal?"

Peter quirks an eyebrow. "Did you forget to pay the electricity bill?" 

The lights flicker even more violently, plunging the room into a dance of shadow and light.

With a violent burst, the door is flung open, and a brilliant surge of light blinds everyone. You stand in the doorway, an ethereal aura glowing around you.

"O'Hara!" Your voice thunders through the room, heavy with wrath and revenge. As Miguel turns around to face the source of the sound, a massive, lightning-tinged sonar blast slams directly into his chest. He's pushed backward, knocked off balance before he can brace himself for the attack. He tries to recoverr, to shift into defense mode but he doesn't get the chance. You're relentless, a solar goddess in human form, hurtling blast after blast at him. Miguel has no time to regain his stance, each attack landing with more force than the last. 

Gwen makes to step forward, her instincts screaming at her to intervene, but Peter grabs her arm, pulling her back. "That's Sunny," he says, his voice a mixture of awe and concern. Hobie's eyes widen comically. He cocks his head, a smirk playing on his lips. "Our Sunny, eh? Blimey, I never knew she had it in her. That rebellious firecracker," he mutters, a distinct note of admiration creeping into his typically laid-back British drawl.

Miles bursts into the room, breathless and disheveled. He stumbles towards Gwen, his voice hurried and concerned, "I tried to stop her, but she was...she was furious. Woahhh, I've never seen Miguel get beaten like this before."

And he wasn't exaggerating. Miguel was fighting back, his fangs bared, his claws out and ready but he was no match for your rage-fueled attacks. You were right up in his face, delivering punch after punch at a brutal pace

"Where's my son, O’Hara? What have you done to him?" you demand, your voice cutting through the chaos like a blade.

At your words, Miguel's movements falter. His defense wavers, and he barely manages to gasp out, "Your son?" He doesn't dodge your next blow, doesn't attempt to shield himself or strike back. Instead, he allows you to continue.

Miguel is shocked. His reflexes kick in as he sees the next punch coming and he grabs your wrist, halting your next powerful punch aimed for his face. He locks eyes with you, his gaze holding an emotion you've never seen in him before. Is it fear? No, it's much deeper, more profound.

As he stares at you, your luminescent eyes gradually lose their fiery intensity, shifting back to their human form.

"I... I didn't know," Miguel stammers, his voice a trembling whisper. "Lo – lo siento. I – I didn’t know.”

His breaths are ragged, and you can see a war waging inside him.

"But...how?How didn’t I know?" His voice is choked, your wrist still securely in his grip. “Your son?” Miguel continues,his voice is barely above a whisper. His eyes search yours and all he sees is raw, untamed anger with an aching pain that pierces his soul.

“Yes, MY son!” your voice echoes through the room like a whip. “Did you think that you could just take him from me? That I wouldn't come for him?”

Miguel’s grip on your wrist loosens as he stumbles back. His heart feels like it’s about to explode as realization dawns on him. The dark curls, the small fangs the baby had bared at him –pieces of a puzzle start falling into place. His own blood runs cold.

“Where is he, Miguel? Where’s myGabriel?” your voice breaks as you say the name, and it feels like another punch to Miguel's gut.

“Gabr...” Miguel chokes. “No... no...”

His voice is barely audible, the air knocked out of him by the significance of the name. His knees buckle, and he falls on the floor. "NO."

“You, who I thought would protect any child, wanted to eliminate my – our – flesh and blood!” Tears, full of anger and hurt, stream down your face, but your voice doesn't waver one bit. 

Miguel, still on the floor, looks up at you with tear-streaked cheeks. “I didn’t know. I swear on my life, on Gabriella’s memory. I-I wanted to do the right thing. I- I never, -Lo siento.” 

There’s a moment of tense silence as you look down at the shattered man before you,the love of your life, the father of your child, who almost made the most horrifying, unforgivable mistake.

Just then, from another room, the faint sound of a baby's cries pierce through the heavy atmosphere. You abruptly yank your wrist out of his grasp and towards the door to leave.

Your heart clenches as you break into a run, following the pitiful cries. You don’t look back.

Miguel remains on his knees. He doenst follow you, he doesn’t dare to move, anchored by the crushing weight of what he's done, as the sounds of Gabriel's cries fade into the background.

"Gabriel," he whispers, the name escaping his lips like a vow. A promise of redemption. And with that single word, Miguel knows he'll move heaven and earth to protect his child.

Part 4 "Webs of Redemption" - coming soon

Hello, you wonderful souls! I want to say a big thank you for your patience and kind words about this series. I really appreciate each of your sweet comments and messages – they mean so much to me. Thank you all for the insightful ideas and suggestions you contributed for part 3. I've incorporated as many of your concepts as I could because they're simply brilliant. I'm eager to hear more of your thoughts, criticisms, and proposals for part 4. I also want to give a special thanks to Jess, @wolfjessedragon . Her inspiration and amazing ideas were the driving force behind Part 3, and I couldn't have written it without her! love you guys, keep being awesome!

no offense but miguel would bounce you on his cock burying himself in you while latching onto your tit like a starved man

➤ ⟣┄─ . ✧ ──ㅤ BIG BOOBIES 【 Miguel O'hara thirst 】 sub miguel. nsfw. reader has a dick. reader is kinda like a puppy soo... reader is whiney but so is miguel. sucking boobie nipples. grinding. miguel is tsundere confirmed by me!

"Can I suck your tits?"

"C'monnn Miguel.. jus' let me suck at your boobs.." You practically groan out, eyes now shut as your hands slowly crawl up Miguel's body— finally reaching their goal as they cup at his large chest.

MIGUEL'S struggling to maintain his stoic face at the thought of your inappropriate question. He feels his face flush as he stares at your expectant gaze, your bottom lip slightly pouted as your eyebrows furrow upwards.

"Your big, perky boobs.."

Still, he remains his usual poker face, just a slight fluster present across his cheeks. Miguel feels his strong (weak) resolve cave— with the way you're touching him and looking at him, how could he say no?

Miguel's cheeks darken at the feeling of you fondling his chest, and his already tight spider suit feels as if it's constricted around him even more—and the itch he feels to get it off is far too strong.

"Fine. If it will get you to stop nagging me all day.." He tries to sound bothered by the idea, as if he has better things to do, but both of you know that isn't true. If the way he almost too eagetly sits back down in his chair, legs spread so that you can stand in between them with a playful smirk on your face says anything.

Instead of taking Miguel's suit off normally, you ripped a large piece of his suit by his chest area— leaving it wide open for you while the rest of his suit was still intact. You don't miss the way he hisses your name, cursing you with his mother tongue as he snarls your way.

You quietly shush him, "Jus' get another one babe.." You're sure Miguel would've argued with you further, so you begin to kiss down his neck— fondling his chest as you do so. Your hips are flush against his as you slowly grind against him, both of you still clothed in your suits.

With your skillful tongue circling his nipple, and your hand playing with his other— Miguel can't help but let out quiet groans and whimpers.

"Mngh.." Miguel groans, biting his bottom lip at the feeling of your warm mouth engulfing his nipple— a stark contrast to the cold room.

Miguel can feel how hard you are underneath your suit, the imprint of your dick ever so visible, and he can't help the way his eyes turn dark at the sight of your bulge.

He tries to silence himself, embarrassed by how turned on he is by having his tits played with, but he can't find it in himself to hold back his sounds, especially with the way you're grinding your cock against him.

"Mm.. You're so soft Miguel.." You groan, lidded eyes staring up at Miguel as you continue to fondle his chest, leaving bite marks all over as you continue to grind your dick against his.

Miguel's letting out heavy breaths of air as he stares at you, wrapping his legs around your hips to meet your sensual thrusts. "Haaah.." His hand grips your hair, pushing you deeper into his chest as you continue sucking his nipple, his other one left pink and wet from being sucked previously.

"I knew you'd like me playing with your tits— ahh..— maybe next time I should fuck them, right?"

Miguel goes blank at your words and all the stimulation he received, his legs locking more tightly around your waist as he feels his thighs shake around you.

I need more bottom Miguel in my life. Like he's working all day and night there's no way he isn't tired when he comes back home to you, all whiney and that,, just wants someone to fuck him dumb while he drools n mewls. makin him forget all about the stress...... PLEASEE 😭😞😢😭 !!

➤ ⟣┄─ . ✧ ── LET'S GET FREAKY 【 Miguel O'hara thirst 】 sub bottom miguel. nsfw. reader has 2 dicks. (kinda snake) vemon! reader. miguel has a pussy. eating out miguel. reader is a bit silly.

Venom! Reader sneaks into spiderman headquarters and gets a bit silly.

Miguel's strong thighs are wrapped tightly 'round your head, your long tongue burried deep within his pussy as obscene wet sounds resonate within the small room you're in. Your hands are grasping at Miguel's ass, making sure he can't move away from the endless pleasure you're given him.

Miguel's moaning, hasn't stopped since you went down on him, and his gripping at your hair as you continue you tongue fuck him and circle his clit (the pros of having an alien tongue).

"Ahhh— ahh, fuck.. Fuck..!"

His breath is laboured, squeezing his thighs tighter around your head as he feels his legs spasm, and it doesn't help the fact that he could see a bulge forming, from your tongue alone. Anytime you laugh, the vibrations are sent right to his pussy— and he's sure he's seeing stars by now.

"Ahh.. Spider's are ssho yummy." You have a goofy grin on your face as you lift your head from in between Miguel's thighs, his cum splattered all over your face and mouth— as if someone had thrown a carton of milk your way. Miguel can't help but blush at the view of you covered in all his fluids, feeling his pussy constrict around nothing as you easily tower over him. Your dicks visible as you glide it up and down Miguel's pussy.

"It's like a slidee.." You slur, watching as both your cocks easily glide up and down Miguel's wet folds, now covered with your own, oozing black cum. Miguel furrows his brows, a blush still covering his cheeks as he hooks his legs around you.

".. Nng.. Jus' put it in already..!" He hisses, sharp teeth visible as he tries to grind on you for any friction. You tut at his behaviour, shaking your head mockingly as you grab hold of his hips— easily holding him down (something that stirs up Miguel's core even more).

"Gotta knock first." You giggle, holding Miguel down with one hand as you take one of your dicks with the other— knocking it against his clit as you imitate the sound "Knock, knock."

You're sure Miguel will find some way to kill you, so you quickly do the same with your other dick before he can have the chance to register what happened and complain.

"You—"

You push both of your dicks in, relishing at the wet sound that soon follows, and the way Miguel becomes all choked up— eyes rolled to the back of his head as you keep his thighs wide open, pushing them further towards his own body until his knees touch his shoulder.

"Spider's so flexible too.."

Miguel feels his mouth open, but no sound comes out as you start your brutal thrusts to his pussy, rendering him breathless for a few seconds. He moans and whimpers, muttering Spanish words underneath his breath as you continue to fuck him— never once taking your eyes off of his form. It's not long before Miguel cums for what feels like the 19th time— and ends up tired as he tires to lock his legs around your waist.

"Fuckin.. Hell.."

all my works r rushed and unedited but don't think with your brain but think with your dick 😞

maybe doing a part two but with hobie ☝ but then again idk british slang.

I MADE A FANFIC FOR MIGUEL O'HARA ON WATTPAD CALLED

It's number one on miguelo'hara hastag so yall dont really have to like copy and paste the funny font

RED WINE? ㅡ ✮

MY WATTPAD IS LEVISBUTTCHEECKS

miguel o’hara nsfw alphabet

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) not much of a cuddler, especially at first. more logical in the way he handles aftercare. “You want water?” “I got you a towel.” “Here’s a blanket so you don’t have to sleep on those sheets.” “Don’t stay up too late.” that kind go thing. once you’re asleep tho, he’ll definitely just stand there in the doorway watching you like a creep before leaving/sleeping somewhere else. once you’re closer, he’ll climb into bed with you only after cleaning you off and leaving a glass of water and aspirin by your bedside. If you put your head on his chest he might stiffen for a few minutes, but he certainly won’t pull away.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) miguel is going through alot so he hates most of his body tbh. he still thinks he isn’t strong enough to protect everyone, even after buffing up. if he had to choose, he’d probably say his shoulders and back—he feels like they’re strong, and he relies on those muscles a lot for climbing, etc. as for his s/o? he’s DEFINITELY a thigh guy. nuff said about that.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) so much cum…it’s just so backed up that it’s alot and it gets everywhere. not super sticky, more wet? and it kind of comes out continuously for a little bit/over and over until he’s done if that makes sense.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) he wants his ass played with, and definitely puts a few fingers in there sometimes whenever he gets the time to jerk off. he’s mean when he’s finger fucking himself, fast and rough, almost like he’s punishing himself. he likes the pain.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) not very experienced at all. this man has ptsd and is still grief stricken—any experience he may have had in the past he’s completely forgotten. he knows the mechanics of how everything is supposed to work, but his movements are instinctual, if that makes sense? he watches your movements closely, analyzes to see what feels good, and then just goes from there.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying) i can’t stress this enough—he needs to see your face. he wants to make sure what y’all are doing is okay. loves a good missionary moment. pretty much any variation of missionary is his favorite. mating press if he’s feeling fancy.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) definitely more serious, especially the first time y’all have sex. he’s worried about fucking up, about hurting you. as time goes on and the two of you get more comfortable, he’s okay with a little teasing, but there’s still this undercurrent of seriousness underneath it all.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) he’s completely smooth lmao. like waxed to the gods. he’s gotta be for the holographic nanobot suit, otherwise it would be weird. he’s very well groomed, but again, for practical/work purposes, not because he cares about what he looks like.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect) again, he’s romantic in a practical way. he’ll make sure there’s a pillow under your knees, he’ll switch positions to make sure you’re not getting tired, he’ll massage your jaw if its cramping up, etc. he doesn’t want you to be in any pain while being with him—he feels like he’s caused enough.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) the most depraved shit you’ve ever seen, because it happens so rarely. miguel only allows himself to jerk off when he’s at his absolute limit, and when he does it’s just a super fast, spit as lube, grunting into his pillow, face down ass up situation. after he cums into his hand (or on the sheets) he goes through his usual night routine feeling super ashamed.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) most of them have to do with surrendering control—being tied up, being blindfolded, pegging, and on the more extreme side—CBT. otherwise he likes biting/leaving marks on both parties, nipple play, “this cock/pussy is mine” type dirty talk, etc.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do) he is into the opposite of public sex lmao. he wants to be locked away in a bedroom somewhere late at night, farrr away from prying eyes. he likes the bed the best, but he’ll fuck on the floor or against a wall or on a dining room table if you want him to.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) intellectual banter. match him line for line, and throw his shit back at him. but not in a comic relief way—genuinely listen to what he’s saying and offer a counter argument. provide your own input and call him out on his shit. also—anticipating his needs. if he seems drained from work and you suggest pushing back your night on the town till next week, he’ll be sure to thank you in bed later.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) more advanced pain play. also you can try to call him daddy but he’ll probably just make fun of you.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) he doesn’t like receiving that much. the thought of you gagging and choking on his dick is is kind of unpleasant? like he doesn’t want you being “hurt” lmao. if you’re really enthusiastic about it and reassure him the whole way through then he’ll entertain you, but it’ll have to be foreplay/he likely won’t finish like that. however, he fucking loves giving, and mostly loves when you lead it. his skills are best showcased when you ride his face like a fucking rodeo with no regard for him and he just has to lie back and take it. like you could break his nose and he would just think about how sexy it was for weeks, that’s how hard he wants it

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) depends on his mood honestly. heavily dependent on how foreplay went—if things were hot and heavy/rough in the make out side then sex will likely be the same

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) not a fan. he’d rather build anticipation over hours, days even, and then spend a whole night unraveling each other. plus he needs time to get in the mood, and a quickie feels like too much pressure.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.) he’s willing to be more dominant if you want, but he would need reassurance you enjoyed it after. he likes for you two to experiment on his body first/for you to be dominant first before trying stuff on you.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?) as many as you want. once the dam is broken there’s no stopping it. several rounds for sure. he lasts almost too long, it’s like you have to remind him to cum.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or thems) he doesn’t use them on himself but he completely gets why you use them while masturbating. he’s interested in ropes, blindfolds, and strap ons, but that’s about it. he’s not silly enough to be “jealous” of a toy, he just doesn’t get why you need it when he can fuck you himself for as long as you want. if you want to use a vibrator or dildo he’ll just lie there eye level with it and watch you fuck it in and out of yourself lmao—panting hard, no blinking.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) fucking LOVES teasing—giving and receiving. the more he’s into you/gets to know you, the less he’ll be able to tease because he just wants to give you what you want. you can tease him relentlessly—both physically and verbally. he loves that shit, even if he pretends to hate it. he loves when you use him like a fuck toy and he has to ask you whether or not he can cum yet.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) not loud at first…in fact, he’s gritting his teeth so hard his jaw might lock from how hard he’s trying to keep the sounds in. if you tell him he has to moan for you tho…the man LOSES it. lots of GROANING and panting, especially groaning through his teeth. if he whimpers for you, he’s truly been fucked dumb

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) he’s kind of obsessed with the idea of you grinding yourself on any part of his body/using him to cum. chest grinding and then squirting/cumming all over his chest for the win.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) oh good god it’s ginormous. long, thick, tapered at the end, and cut. a heavy looking cock. drips with so much pre. a few small veins around the base, and a pretty pink head. definitely rests up against his navel when he’s hard. leans ever so slightly to the left.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) not very high, to be honest. he’s so busy that he doesn’t think of sex much. he gets the urge maybe once at the end of every work week? so y’all could fuck 4 times a month, but it’s more like a freakend where you go multiple rounds over 24 hours until you’re both fucking exhausted—and then no more sex for a week.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) have you seen his eye bags? he takes forever to fall asleep afterwards. he’s overthinking everything—if he fucked you too roughly (or not rough enough), the fact that you were limping a little on the way out of the bathroom/back to the bed—combined with all the responsibilities he forgot about crashing back into his mind after sex is done. he makes sure you’re asleep first before ruminating for a few hours until his stress finally knocks him out.

spreading my “miguel o hara is a subby mess” agenda because have you seen that sexually repressed, emotionally stunted man? he clearly just wants to get a handy while sucking on some titties/pecs

amaretto

Miguel/Reader | Explicit | Chapter 1/?

a/n: I brought this blog back from the dead to post this so I hope y’all enjoy. Gonna be a few chapters but not sure how many yet. Femdom reader, Bartender Miguel basically. Horny and angsty modern NYC AU, no powers. Bit of a slow burn (ish). Enjoy lol

***

The Basilica is, for all intents and purposes, a mediocre bar.

There’s a pothole steps away from the bar’s entrance that customers have to maneuver past in kitten heels and designer sneakers, and the embossed metal sign at the front of the door is almost completely covered in rust. It’s clearly an establishment that’s too pretentious to be a dive bar, but not exactly up to code enough to be an upscale cocktail bar either.

Recent attempts to rebrand the place as a hole-in-the-wall speakeasy have been successful, meaning that it’s now the common haunt for every art history graduate student, Bauhaus enthusiast, and unattainably gorgeous bisexual poet in lower Manhattan who’s willing to spend 17 dollars on a drink.

You stumble across the small chipped navy blue door after a brutal day at work. The patrons at the luxury handbag store you have the distinct displeasure of interacting with were particularly snippy today, and your pair of not-yet-broken-in oxfords feel more like a prison than a fashion statement at the moment. You need a drink to help forget the past ten hours ever happened just so you can do it all over again tomorrow. You’ve never heard of this place, but you don’t feel like getting on the subway just yet and looking for a bar that’s closer to home. This vaguely sketchy place will have to do.

The cozy interior of The Basicilia smells of cigar smoke and melting wax. Lit partially by candlelight, the brick walls and small antique cherrywood tables feel distant, yet homey. There are large gothic-style lanterns hanging from the low ceiling, and servers expertly move through the crowd carrying stainless steel trays full of thick-cut fries and bowls of green olives.

Despite the bar being relatively full, only one other person is sitting at the actual bar when you approach it—everyone else appears to be relegated to the various tables and benches strewn about the space, or hugging the walls holding glasses of craft beer.

With all of the fuss that sitting down on a stool, pulling off your winter coat, and hanging your things on a hook underneath the bar causes, it takes you a moment for you to see him.

But you do.

There’s a blur of movement in the corner of your vision as a tall man in a black button-down with rolled-up sleeves vaults over the bar wall and stalks over to the other end of the restaurant before knocking on a solid black door with the sole of his boot.

“Hey! You awake in there? They need help running food!” The man shouts, not waiting for a response before rushing back across the room and climbing back into the bar.

The sound draws a few eyes, but no one appears to be shocked—it seems to be a common occurrence here, judging by the way the person who appears to be the manager steps out of the previously kicked door looking bleary-eyed and sheepish, a pair of noise-canceling headphones around his neck and a set of keys jangling at his belt.

But your attention has been drawn elsewhere.

The man is tall enough to reach for a bottle of Belvedere vodka on the top shelf to hand to a nearby barback without straining. You notice his hands first—broad, veiny, with nails cut down to the bone. There’s a bandage wrapped around the middle finger on his left hand. A smattering of hair on his triceps, which are all muscle and sinew. And two tattoos—-a fang on his right bicep, and a bundle of marigolds on his left forearm. He leans onto the bar table to address you, his button-down snug around his chest.

Jesus fucking christ. If you had a drink you would certainly spill it.

“What are you getting,” he says—his voice raw from shouting, you assume—and his voice trends downward at the end of the sentence, as if he doesn’t want to ask you, as if it isn’t a question. You can’t even pretend to be offended—working in the service industry is a thankless task, and you know that well enough. But even you can admit that the level of tension in his jaw and the shuttered look in his eyes is disconcerting in a way that has to do with more than the fact that he presumably hates his job.

“A mojito, please,” you say, with less confidence than you’d normally have. You’re used to sitting at bars alone and making conversation with the bartenders, but tonight doesn’t seem to be going in that direction.

“A mojito?” The man repeats, and you know it’s the wrong choice somehow. Other than an almost imperceptible eye roll, he nods, turning his back to you to grab the right ingredients.

Still. It makes you curious.

“What’s wrong with a mojito?” you ask, watching the way his shoulders stiffen. It’s like his entire being is on constant guard, waiting for the other shoe to drop–you can see it in the way he turns back to look at you, his jaw set as he sets down a collins glass and starts picking damp mint sprigs out of a chilled metal container.

“First time here?” he says, and again, it isn’t a question. He places the mint leaves on a paper towel to dry before rubbing them on the rim of the collins glass and putting them in a separate pint glass.

“Yeah. What’s wrong with a mojito?” Normally you’d take your cue from the bartender and quit trying to make conversation, but something about him makes you want to poke and meddle, like touching a live wire with the tip of your finger.

“Nothing.”

“I won’t get offended. Is this one of those ‘what your drink of choice says about you’ things?” you probe, leaning onto the bar top. The other conversations seem to fade to a lull in the background of your mind, your sights set on tormented brown eyes and tense, broad shoulders.

“No.”

“Because that kind of seems like what this is—”

“No.”

“Then what is it? If you don’t mind me asking. I hope I’m not committing a major bar crime, or something.” He clearly minds, and the sigh he lets out is nothing short of torturous sounding, but he seems to indulge you anyway. You briefly register his hands reaching for various cups and bottles at an even tempo, his movements intentional as he makes your cocktail. He crushes mint and lime and sugar together with a blunt tool before opening a carafe of ice. A shiver runs through you, completely against your will, as you watch him work. You’ve always had a soft spot for competence.

“It’s more of a practical thing,” he explains, and you settle onto your stool, sensing a tangent incoming. “Mojitos aren’t complicated to make, but they take time. They have a lot of moving parts. And then once one person orders it, I get ten more people who saw me making it asking for it too, and I have to start the process over again. And then more people order it, and next thing you know I’m making mojitos for the rest of the night.”

“So when I ask for mojitos at other bars and they say they’re out of mint, are they lying?” you tease. He places your drink in front of you then, topping it off with a mint spring and a lime wedge at the rim of the glass.

“...Every bartender hates you,” he says in response, leaning in, and you give him a soft smile, sipping from the glass. It’s one of the best drinks you’ve ever had.

There isn’t an ounce of enjoyment to be seen in his eyes, or in the shadows of his face. But you swear you see a flicker of something there, like something that has long since lain dormant coming back to life—if only for a second–before it dissipates.

“What’s your name?” you ask, pushing your luck. Any spark that had once been lit is extinguished. He backs away, the lanterns from overhead casting shadows across his features that make him look like a stranger again. You silently curse yourself.

“I don’t do that,” he shakes his head, before venturing to the other end of the bar to help a seemingly new bartender whip up a martini. You wait patiently, watching the way his mouth moves and his hands gesture as he corrects the bartender on their…technique, or something. You have no idea. From afar, he looks equally as intimidating, if not more so. The lines of his body don’t indicate any kind of softness, and his shoulders are slightly hunched as if he’s ashamed of himself. You wonder if he does bicep curls in a concrete room for hours until he sweats out all of the vulnerability. Or maybe he runs from it, in the early morning, breath labored and lungs aching until his sneakers are worn out.

“You don’t do names?” you ask him as soon as he returns, and his time he doesn’t even pretend to hide his exasperation, rolling his eyes again before resting his elbows on the bar so that his face is inches away from yours. Your heart lurches. A quick glance around rewards you with a few of the patrons regarding you with a vague amount of interest—and concern.

“Listen. I’m not a therapy session bartender,” he says with enough disdain to cause your eyebrows to raise in surprise. “I like the theory of it. The drink making. That’s it. Talk to that guy,” he continues, gesturing to a fellow bartender with a man bun and gauges who’s currently chatting up the only other person sitting on the other end of the bar. “He’s chatty.”

This close-up, you can see the dark circles around his eyes, his slightly chapped lips. You get a brief urge to trace the wrinkles across his forehead with the pads of your fingertips, but you hold off, of course. The man seems like he’s too old for anyone. He’s lived a million lifetimes.

“I don’t want to talk to that guy,” you say, feeling emboldened. I want to talk to you. “No offense.”

Something in his expression flickers back to life once more, like a butterfly trying to fly without one of its wings.

“Miguel,” he says after a while, sounding pained. You tell him your name, and he gives no indication that he’s registered it.

“Do you wanna open a tab, or close it?” Miguel asks then, and his voice sounds weightier.

“...Keep it open.”

***

The bar is sweltering, but the cold, sour tang of the mojito keeps you cool as you watch Miguel make his way across the bar to help mix drinks for other patrons. You feel pinned to your stool somehow, like a bug under a microscope, even though Miguel doesn’t spare another glance in your direction. The music in here is alright, but not noteworthy. You wish you had someone to dance with.

The bartender with the man bun makes you another mojito before you can say otherwise, but it tastes different somehow. Too much mint maybe. Not enough bitterness. Miguel’s theory seems to be wrong; you scan the bar for other tall glasses with sprigs of bright green mint and find none. After brief consideration, you decide not to bother him any further by informing him of this fact.

The bar gets increasingly more crowded as the night goes on, and it becomes abundantly clear that Miguel isn’t going to check on you again. You want to believe it’s because he’s too busy, but you wonder if you made the wrong impression somehow. You wonder why you care. You hate that you do.

You settle your tab and gather your things before buttoning your coat and setting off into the night. Your two drinks have muddled your senses just so, but not enough to be completely disorienting. On the precipice of happy, maybe.

As you zip your coat up to your chin and walk down the sidewalk, you think about going home to your studio apartment and cuddling with your cat Cinnamon. You think about hopefully getting a few hours of sleep before the workday comes back around in the morning to swallow you whole once again. You think about the harsh line of Miguel’s jaw, about the fact that he’ll likely forget about you come morning.

“Every bartender hates me,” you repeat to yourself—a truly harrowing fact—before shaking your head and walking down the steps into the subway.

a/n: lmk if you enjoyed/if you wanna see more—mwah x

Atsv characters reaction to you calling them baby girl

A/n: Just silly little headcannons because this prompt has been living in my head rent free, also I’m adding Atsv to my writing list so feel to request headcannons. Pairing: Pavtri, Gwen, Hobie, and Miguel and Gn reader (Separately, Platonic or Romantic, just random bullshit I don’t know, headcannons )

Gwen: You’d just returned from an incredibly draining mission, your body ached with each tense step you took

But as soon as you saw Gwen leaned over one counter tops in dining hall you couldn’t help but feel a childish joy bubble up from in your chest

Wrapping your arms around her waist as you embraced her with a smile you whispered 

“How’s my baby girl doing today?”

And she fucking freezes, your what?

You had never called her anything like that before, she can’t help but feel a smile of confusion creep it’s way onto her face

“What, what did you just call me?” 

She asks with a smile 

She’s not mad at all, just confused as to what brought this on, but after you repeat it she shakes her head with a breathy laugh as she turns to hug you

She doesn’t really mind the nickname, I mean it’s not like she’s in love with it, but she finds your strange nature oddly endearing

Whenever you use it In front of others though, lord have mercy, she’ll do that thing where she freezes up and her eyes go wide as she tries to cover up what you were saying to her

Hobie and Pav tease the shit out of her

One time just to test the waters you used the name In front of Miguel, when I tell you she froze, I mean like a deer in headlights as she turned to you with the biggest glare she could offer

Miguel only scowls at the two of you as he rubbed his temple with a frustrated sigh

“Y/n, Gwen, at least try to keep this professional.”

She wouldn’t talk to you for two weeks after that

But once her anger had subsided she found herself getting used it too it

Pavtri:

You were in the kitchen, bent cookie recipe with furrowed brows as your eyes scanned the paragraph of instructions your eyes fell upon one particular ingredient 

Sugar

How could you have forgotten to buy some? With a groan you shifted your body to face Pavtri who had been laid out on the couch watching you work for the past hour of so, he looked over to you confused as to way you seemed so distressed 

“Hey, Baby girl?” 

You called out to him in only the sweetest tone, he couldn’t fight the smile that managed it’s way onto his now brightly grinning face

“Yes? My prissy pissy poo poo bear?”

At his ridiculous nickname, you couldn’t help but to burst out with a loud fit of laughter, as you clutched your stomach you turned back to Pav

“What, did you just call me?”

“What did you call me?” 

He shot back with a lopsided smile 

From then on anytime you used the nickname he only racked his brain for something ten times as ridiculous as what you had called him

You’ve compiled a list of all the weird shit he’s said

Anytime he does this you let out a soft snort and a quiet fit of giggles following this, and this only encourages Pav to keep going, he’s addicted to the sound of your laughter

But honestly he loves the nickname, the idea of him being yours and yours only, makes his heart flutter 

Hobie:

The idea had come to you a long time ago, you had to admit, that you found the idea of calling Hobie baby girl, was at least a little funny to you if not incredibly tempting 

With a shit eating grin crawling up onto your face, you’d found Hobie in his room, tweaking his electric guitar as he sat on his bed

His head shot up at he noticed your frimillar  figure slinking through his door, he offered you a lazy smirk as he placed his guitar to his right as he opened his arms for you

“How ya been doin’ love?”

He drew out, you felt your smile only widened as you returned his embrace 

“Not too well without my baby girl.”

You teased as you placed yourself onto his lap, kissing his cheek with a hum

“Damn Right.”

Just accepts it, baby, he’s whatever you want him to be 

Malewife, babygirl, you name it he’s yours 

He just loves you call him yours, and if you want he’ll call you the same 

Miguel:

It was a dare, it was a dare, fucking Peter B Parker would be the death of you

Miguel was right there, this was all you had to do before you could leave, this was it, it was only for a moment and then you were gone

Miguel sat alone in his office, his head propped up in one arm as his eyes tiredly drifted through the monitor screens, with signature pout plastered to his face 

With a deep breath, you turned and shot Peter one last glare as he smiled to you offering you a encouraging thumbs up as you stepped into

Miguel’s office, Miguel slowly turned his office chair as he looked to you with a bored look on his face

“Do you want something, Y/n.” 

He spat, he didn’t mean for it to sound so harsh but as he saw you wince slightly at his tone he couldn’t help but sigh, as he ran his hand through his messy hair

“What is it?”

He asked slightly softer than before, you drew in a deep breath as you approached him cupping his face with one hand as you kissed his other cheek

“Nothing much, just wanted to see my baby girl.”

You muttered against his skin

Miguel tensed up as soon as those words left your lips

“What the fuck did you just call me.”

At first you froze, you didn’t know if he was going to blow up, but much to your surprise

Miguel pushed you away as he quickly turned away letting out a string of irritated groans and growls as he held his face in his hands

He was so fucking glad you couldn’t see what an effect your words had on him, his face had glown bright red 

There was no way, he actually fucking liked that, this only caused him to growl louder which had you flinching 

“Get out!” 

He barked which had you scampering out of his office as fast as possible, he needed to cool of now, but he was definitely going to make it up to you later

————————————————————

Requests are open teehee

Mango's the sweetest smell

A/n: Sorry I've been gone forever I've been really busy this past couple of months!

Summary: Miguel's tired of you putting yourself in danger to see him

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara and Gn Reader (romantic, pre-relationship, Miguel being unable to properly express his feelings, a little bittersweet)

“You know you don’t have to put yourself in danger just to see me, right?”

The masked man grunted, slipping through your kitchen window almost with a shadow-like presence.

You jump slightly glancing to see the familiar brooding figure, but that's all he was, familiar.

The corners of your lips curved into an innocent smile as you placed the tattered cardboard box in your arms onto the cluttered kitchen counter, as you turned back to the large man,

crossing your arms as you leaned back against the counter. But it was just that, you were anything but innocent.

That's what Miguel hated.

“What's this now?”

you hummed, cautiously scanning the man in front of you, a softness in your eyes, that filled him with an anxiousness he couldn’t explain. 

Miguel only huffed at your feigned innocence, propping himself up against one of your well polished marble counters,

his eyes drifting across the various items, ranging from empty boxes of food, to pens, dishes, and bills, all mindlessly scattered along the counter tops, it all felt very, you, 

and the strong wiskful scent of mango and blossoms seemed to be rooted in the halls of your weary home, drawing him back to you time and again.

You crouched down, swiftly, opening the cabinet under the sink, only to result in an avalanche of discarded and forgotten items spilling out onto your wooden floor,

with a sigh you begin to collect the objects once again, scooping them into your arms and placing them back into the cabinet. 

A forgotten warmth nipped your cheeks as you noticed the hero on his knees beside you,

shoving the items back into the disarranged box of nonsense you swore you would organize one day. 

“You should really clean your house.” he breathed out 

You divert your attention from the rubble in front of you back to the vigilante squatted down, cleaning your mess,

you shot him an appreciative grin, and Miguel could swear he felt his heart stutter, he muttered soft curses under his breath as he averted his attention to the opened window, the breeze whistling through the crack.  

“Well how else will I see you in your busy schedule if not during ‘work hours’?”

You joked, as you roamed through the crammed cabinet space. Miguel let out a breathy groan as he turned his head back to you.

You could practically feel his scowl behind the mask, burning holes into the side of your head.

“You shouldn’t want to see me, it's dangerous.”

he shifted, his tone mellowed out at your fallen expression, his gaze fell back upon the crowded cityscape through the smudged glass of your window. 

“Maybe I like danger.”

the words floated from your lips effortlessly, a lazy sigh drew from his lips as his shoulders fell.

Yet he still couldn’t bring himself to met your gaze,  he felt rejection  wrapping its cold hands around his throat as he choked out his words

“I wish you didn’t.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

masterlist

smut is tagged with ☆

harry potter:

call of duty:

könig

first time w könig blurb ☆

sub! könig riding blurb ☆

simon ‘ghost’ riley

rough mission? give your bf some head! ☆

johnny ‘soap’ mactavish

john price

lust for life (professor price x student reader) ☆

alejandro vargas

alejandro vargas x thiccckkkk reader ☆

philip graves

oneshots + hcs

141 + könig react to you wearing thigh highs ☆

141 + könig, alejandro,n rudy with thick thighed s/o

141 + alejandro rudy konig graves with plus size s/o

house m.d:

dr gregory house

robert chase

your houses kid and he just wants to treat u good

james wilson

u just wanna have fun but james is mean :(

clear your mind ☆

allison cameron

house is spying on you, cute lovey dovey w my girl

spider-man atsv:

miguel o’hara

a jealous man ☆

riding miguel drabble ☆

brat ☆

hobie brown

music to his ears ☆

peter b. parker

miles morales

earth 42! miles x reader fluff

pavitr prabhakar

the outer banks:

rafe cameron

a jealous man

miguel o’hara x fem! reader

tags: talks of pregnancy, reader gets catcalled, lots of cum LMFAO, some spanish terms, very dirty

miguel o’hara is very possessive about what’s his. so when you’re out on a date and some rando decides to comment on how your ass looks in that little dress, miguel doesn’t take it lightly. after dealing with the no longer-apart-of-this-earth random, miguel the both of you into the car and not a work is spoken that whole car ride home. you knew miguel was a jealous man but god. the grip he had on your wrist as you entered your shared apartment was lethal. you could tell that as soon as he shut the door to your bedroom that it wasn’t gonna be pretty.

no words are exchanged as he begins to unbutton his dress pants and rip his shirt off. you try to smooth him a bit, placing a hand against his cheek.

“miguel, i’m okay. i’m all yours. forever.”

your words are nothing but background noise as he quite harshly sits you onto his thigh. he unzips your dress and pulls it over your head, making quick work to undo your bra aswell. the way he takes one of your breasts in his mouth so hastily makes you gasp. you quickly wrap your arms around his neck, keeping yourself steady on his muscular thigh. without even trying, you’re subconsciously grinding your pussy against him. slowly getting faster and faster. miguel takes notice to this and puts it to end quickly despite your whines.

“cariño, i wanna make you feel good tonight. make you understand who you belong to.” he whispers against your neck. a strong hold on your waist as he stands up and flips your back onto the bed. for a moment, he just stands there. his beautiful girl, all spread open right infront of him. your plush skin hot due to the intensity of the moment. when he snaps back to reality he quickly gets rid of the thong that had been keeping him from your entrance. miguel’s cock is leaking in his own boxers, which he takes off and slowly strokes himself.

“are you ready, my love?”.

you nod in response. he lines himself up with your pussy and enters you inch by inch. a slur of swears leaves his mouth as you suck him in greedily. once miguel bottoms out he does it all again. increasing the pace what seems like each second. skin on skin, he leans down and whispers into your ear.

“all mine. you belong with me. nobody else can make you feel this good.”

his words cause you to clench around his cock, earning a loud groan from him. your moans increase in volume each time he hits the most sensitive part of your walls. you can’t help but make deep scratches down his back, crying out how good he makes you feel. he nuzzles his face into your neck to get as close as possible to you. he hears your heartbeat, feels the blood warming up your body. he’s obsessed with you. the closeness seems to send you over the edge. you cum all over miguel’s length, whining when his excruciating pace doesn’t falter.

it takes no time for the overstimulation to take complete control of all your senses. tears begin to well up in the corner of your eyes. “miguel ‘ts too much please”, you beg for him to have some mercy and slow down. he doesn’t. he needs you to know exactly who you belong to. you squirm around as your body tries to comprehend whether the sensation is pain or pleasure. your cries begin to increase in volume as miguel gets rougher, nearing his own finish.

“tell me you want me to fill you up with my cum, tell me amor”. he commands you to beg for him. you’re too cockdrunk to even understand what he’s saying, so he repeats himself. grabbing your face this time.

“tell me what you want hermosa”. his eye contact is deep, you know he wants you to plead. you give him exactly what he wants.

“please miguel. fill m’ up with your cum please. i need you. i need to be filled with you” your face reddens with a hint of embarrassment, but you mean every word you said. you’d be lying if you didn’t think about how you looked with your tummy filled with one of his kids. what a cute family you two would create together.

he listens to your pleads and cums deep instead you. panting as if he’s just run a marathon. miguel’s hair is sticking to his face and sweat makes his features shine. he looks stunning. it’s safe to say he thinks the same about you. he admires your face contorting in pleasure and wish you two could stay like this forever. but you can’t. he carefully pulls out and the bed dips as he lay down next to you. a comfortable silences fills the room as you both come down from the moment. miguel however, has one thing to get off his chest.

“how would you like to be a mama?”

just some sexc miggy thoughts

miguel definitely goes watching you ride him. like his baby on top bouncing up and down on his cock? ya. especially when he fills you up a little too much and you start struggling to take him all. he thinks it’s so cute the way you work for it while still trying to make him feel good. inevitably you’ll become tired so miguel will take control, sitting up a little so he can engulf his body in yours and fuck into you mercilessly.

whimpering nonsense and tugging at his hair as if it that would stop him, but he’s far too focused on making you cum. if you bite down on his neck or shoulder while you’re like that, he might cum on the spot. of course he love your pretty whines, but the fact you’ll bite down onto him to shut yourself up gets him going. everything about you drives him insane.

brat

miguel o’hara x brat!reader blurb

tags: miguel lowkey being a brat tamer, being tied back a little

miguel was fed up. all day, you’d been testing him. whining about the smallest things, ignoring him when he’s talking, even interrupting him mid sentence. you knew he wasn’t able to do anything because he was working. usually he love to bring you in to the hq with you. but not today. as soon as you walked into the door to your shared apartment, you knew. you knew that whatever he had planned for you was gonna be hell. the gruffness in his voice when he demanded you to sit on the bed in your bedroom and wait for him to finish a few small chores.

you fiddled with the hem of your pants, slightly regretting your actions from earlier. but you kept your front and sat there, arms crossed, waiting for your punishment. you heard heavy steps close in and enter the bedroom. you looked up to see your boyfriend staring darkly down at you.

“face down, ass up.” he instructed. you refused to listen. instead, crossing your arms even farther whilst trying to read his mind. he didn’t have time to argue with you. he used his webs to tie your hands together, he quickly grabbed hold of you and took off your pants and shirts. you protested, telling him how this wasn’t fair.

“next time don’t be such a fuckin’ brat”. miguel then flipped you over just how he wanted you and began plowing into you. his size is something you’ll never get used to. you cried out, begging for him to give you a moment to adjust.

“i don’t care. next time don’t be such a needy whore.” his pace quickens and he leans down on you back, just barely brushing your ear. “ignoring me and not even listening to a god damn thing i say. las chicas malas merecen un mal castigo.”

you cried out as you came all over his throbbing cock. he still didn’t care. his pace staying the same, which sends you far over the border of overstimulation.

“miguel, please”, tears threatening to fall from your eyes. he responded to your cries by biting down on your shoulder. the pain made you clench around him even tighter. he scolded you for being such a naughty thing. it’s pathetic. his words do nothing but go straight to your already drooling pussy.

he felt himself getting close but still wanted to be punishing, so he pulled out and stroked his length until cumming all over your back. he said that only good girls get filled up, and you haven’t been good.

he undid his webs and let you loose. but he didn’t let you move until he got a hotel towel with hot water and wiped your back down with it. as he laid next to you on the bed you snuggled closer to him. miguel wrapped an arm snug around your waist to let you know he’s not letting go.

“miggy?”

“yes, hermosa?” he moved his head so he could see you.

“can i come to work with you again tomorrow”. you gave him the biggest puppy eyes ever.

“absolutely not.” he kissed behind your ear and rested his head on your shoulder.