💋Smooching Dante’s Cute Face Pls 💕😘

Hummingbird: Chapter Three

Miguel O'Hara x Reader

What if the Earth-1610 (Miles’s universe) version of Miguel’s wife was actually Miles’s AP Art teacher?

Masterlist

Warnings: Terrible science jargon

It was almost silly how quickly the world returned to normal.

Alchemax was splashed on every local newspaper, website, social media account, and TV channel for a solid week before complaints shifted to the neverending construction on the streets of New York. The subway somehow got tighter, packed bodies grumbling about the thirty minutes added to their commute after ten subway cars had fallen through a spot and landed in the Hudson river. 

But the events never faded away from your consciousness. The only way you could fall asleep was by leaving all the lights on. It racked up your electric bill like hell, but you couldn’t stand seeing the shadows creep along the wall as nighttime descended on the city - it reminded you too much of the Spot’s blank face and how he managed to stare into your soul without eyes.

Then there was the growing problem of your forgetfulness. You’d never been the best at keeping track of belongings - Mamá always blamed it on your creative brain - but now everything was being misplaced. The alarm clock would disappear from the nightstand and appear in the kitchen, your sock collection was dwindling every day and never making it into the dirty hamper, for Christ’s sake you still hadn’t found your favorite yellow sneakers and it was irritating you to hell and back. 

I’m losing my goddamn mind. You often found yourself thinking.

You threw yourself into work, staying in the classroom late to grade and lesson plan until the night crew got used to vacuuming around your feet. You took on extra projects at the Academy, signing up to run after-school detention and volunteering for props and set design for this year’s spring musical “The Addams Family.”

Anything to stay out of your apartment. Anything to keep you from being alone.

Three empty coffee cups mocked your bleary eyes as you sat hunched over the sewing machine after hours. Cheap black lace trailed off the table, slowly shortening as you incorporated the material into Morticia’s dress.

“Fuck!” You hissed in pain and stuck your thumb in your mouth, sucking away the blood from your fourth needle prick of the night. At this rate you’d have more holes punched into you than swiss cheese.

It was time to give up for tonight.

Before you could forget you slipped the stolen Brooklyn Visions Academy uniform from your bag and hid it in the bottom-most cubby in the storage room. The sleeping bag and pillow from your apartment were also stuffed there, ready for Miles to use whenever he needed an extra break from being a superhero. You suspected Gwen had also been sneaking by to visit Miles now that she had more freedom to explore the multiverse - hence the spare uniform.

“How’s he doing?” You’d asked Miles earlier that day. Miguel’s unspoken name had lingered on the tip of your tongue, forcing the color to rise into your cheeks. Luckily Miles knew exactly who you were talking about.

A knowing grin grew on his face, “Not too bad. He seems more on edge than usual, but I hear he’s working on his temper.” 

“He’s not body slamming any more teenagers?” 

“Not that I know of.”

“Good.” You paused, “If he gives you any more trouble, send him my way. I’ll give him a piece of my mind.” 

Miles saluted you, “You got it.”

You meant it as a joke… but you also wanted a reason to see him again.

You were just about to switch the light off in your classroom when a flash of yellow caught your eye. Tucked behind a stack of newsprint, the vine charcoal rubbing away on your fingers as you carefully lifted the papers, was your prized pair of yellow converse.

It was too late to think about how they’d ended up so far from home, so you tossed them in your bag, threw out the coffee cups, and saved your muddled mind the trouble of figuring it out tonight.

The midnight subway car was filled with the usual Friday-night suspects - overworked nurses, loners just killing time, drunk party goers covered in more glitter than a kindergartener’s Valentine’s day card, and you.

You didn’t miss Richard, not really. What you really missed was coming home to someone and the feeling of another body weighing down the right side of the bed. More recently you’d been imagining what it would be like to come home to Miguel.

You kicked off your shoes at the bottom of the landing, shuffling up the steps and pulling off your clothes as you went, modesty be damned. By the time you face planted on your bed, hair still damp from the shower, it was nearing 2am and Miguel still hadn’t left your mind. He’d planted himself in your thoughts like a spider too high up on a wall for you to squash and too large for you to ignore.

Mercifully you didn’t have to endure the pains of a schoolgirl crush for very long. Sleep dragged you under and you welcomed it as your mind finally went quiet.

You awoke with a start, suffocating under the heavy blankets that you’d buried yourself in last night. You’d been dreaming again about the collider. You’d been dreaming about Miguel - this time in a feverish haze that left your mind in a puddle on the floor. 

How was it possible that a stranger could occupy so much space in your mind? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that he’d held you like you were everything and then left without saying goodbye.

But you weren’t complete strangers…

“Aren’t you his wife?” 

Miles had asked the question so innocently and Miguel hadn’t said anything against it, so it must be true. Somewhere, in some other universe, you’d been married to one another. 

Are you thinking about me too? You wondered, opening your eyes in hopes of chasing the memory of him away.

…Maybe you were still dreaming, because the last time you checked you hadn’t fallen asleep under a tree in Central Park. And even if you had, you highly doubted you could have lugged your mattress and bed frame with you all the way from Brooklyn.

Oh por el amor de Dios.

The glorious thing about New York City is that everyone knew how to mind their own business. So when people saw a high school art teacher in Star Wars pjs leap for joy upon finding a $5 bill on the ground, they didn’t question it.

You were so ecstatic about saving yourself the two-and-a-half hour walk back to Brooklyn that you didn’t remember a highly important piece of information until after you hopped off the subway - you didn’t have your keys or your phone.

Joder. 

Your forehead knocked against the front door of your apartment building with an audible clunk.

“Por el amor de la mierda, ¿por qué mi vida es así?” You muttered under your breath. 

“Y/n?” Your landlord, Mrs. Fleming, pushed her tortoise-shell glasses higher up on her face, the thick lenses magnifying her eyes to bug-like proportions. “Oh it is you, my dear.” 

You groaned, color rushing into your cheeks as you turned around sheepishly. “Good morning, Mrs. Fleming.” 

The elderly woman gave you a once-over look, crocheting needles clicking together as she rummaged around in her bag for her keys, “The old walk of shame, I see.” 

“What?! Wait, no-this isn’t-I’m not-”

She patted you on the back before unlocking the door and holding it open for you, “I only use the turn of phrase because that’s what you young folks call it. Ain’t nothing shameful in it. It’s good of you to get out there. I never did like Richard much.”

You were at a loss for words.

Mrs. Fleming, sprightly as she was for her age, followed you up to your apartment with her extra set of keys jingling merrily in her hands.

“Now, you have a good rest of your weekend, dear.” She said once you’d been graciously let into your apartment, “And don’t forget your keys next time!” 

“Thanks Mrs. Fleming.” You said. Her amused chuckle echoed through the air as she shuffled off to her own apartment.

You sprawled out on the ground where your bed should have been, trying to even out your breathing as the reality of the morning’s events crashed down around you like a house of cards. 

This can’t be happening. ¿Qué diablos me pasa?

You rolled onto your stomach, repeatedly banging your face into a spare pillow to muffle the sound of your aggravated screams. 

The pillow accepted your frustration with little complaint until something in you just snapped. 

All at once the pillow disappeared from beneath you and then blinked into existence by the closet allowing your face to crash into the floor unprotected.

You grabbed at your burning nose, eyes swimming with tears of pain as you registered what had happened. 

“No… oh no.” 

>>>

The rain beat down irregularly, fluctuating back and forth from being barely a drizzle to a torrential downpour. 

You gripped an empty to-go cup in your hand, the tea you’d hoped would calm your nerves long gone. 

It took you three hours to make it here. First you kept teleporting your keys away every time you touched them, futilely chasing them around the apartment. Then you’d nearly gotten hit by a taxi and teleported yourself to the bathroom of a tea shop on the Upper West Side. Miraculously your powers had quieted after that, allowing you to get on the subway and here without incident.

A familiar figure made its way down the block, hood up to protect from the rain.

“Miles!” You leapt up from your seat, racing across the street to the annoyed honking of two taxis. 

“Miss Y/l/n? How’re you doing?” Miles narrowed his eyes in worry, seeing the way your fingers nervously pulled at a loose string from your sweater, “What happened to your face?” The flesh around your nose was red and tender, slowly transforming into a purple bruise.

“I’m sorry for bothering you like this, but I didn’t know where else to go.” You looked around carefully before lifting the cup in the palm of your hand.

You furrowed your brow in concentration, willing that same power within you to snap into place again.

“What’s supposed to-” 

“Just-just give me a minute.”

A minute passed, and nothing. Your heartbeat quickened as you grew more and more flustered.

“Miss Y/l/n are you sure you’re ok?” Skepticism and genuine concern laced his voice.

“I’m fine!” 

Snap!

The cup blinked out of existence like an old-school television that had been turned off. Miles saw it reappear over the park across the street and land on a dog walker’s head. The man in question looked up at the sky bewildered, like he expected to find God there.

Miles’s wide eyes met yours.

“Oh shit.” 

He pulled you into the empty alleyway behind his building, using his spider webs to straighten the trash cans that rolled around on the ground and clear out a space large enough for the two of you to comfortably stand side by side. 

He hung close to the street, Gwen’s face shimmering to life above his wrist as he spoke with his back turned to you.

“Hey, Gwen. I’ve got a situation.” He whispered into the watch.

You caught snippets of their conversation, shrinking in your coat as you tried to suppress the anxiety growing in your chest. If there was anything you’d learned about your powers it was that they tended to flare up with your emotions.

“Do you think we can trust him with this? I don’t want anything to happen to her… Yeah, yeah. No, I understand. I’ll bring her in. See you later.” 

Miles turned back to you, a strained smile on his face, “Sorry about that.”

“Miles, what’s going on?” “I got to bring you into Spidey HQ. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but Miguel might.” 

He unzipped his raincoat and hoodie, exposing the black and red spider-suit beneath and tugging on his mask. 

Your heart gave a flip at the mention of your husband’s name (could you even call him that?). Would he be happy to see you again? Would things be awkward between the two of you?

A familiar watch flashed on his wrist as he began pressing buttons on the orange holographic screen. You’d seen it happen before, a portal of wild glitching colors pulsing to life in front of you, but that didn’t make it any less impressive. Miles stepped into it, dragging you along with him like he was just passing through any regular doorway.

He swept his arm outward, smiling at the expression on your face.

“Welcome to Spidey HQ, Miss Y/l/n.”

Your jaw dropped as you passed through the portal - an actual portal - to Miguel’s dimension. 

Hundreds, no thousands, of Spider-People roamed the open air halls, some on two legs, some on four, some on wheels, and some just preferred to swing through the air on webs, catching and releasing the nimble strings with practiced grace from the walkways that crossed overhead like… well like a spider’s web. 

Miguel certainly hadn’t wasted the spider concept when it came to their headquarters.

“I didn’t know there was a universe composed entirely of Spider-Men…Spider-People?… Spider…” A cat hissed at your feet when you nearly stepped on its tail as you blindly followed Miles through the crowd, “Spider-Things?” 

“Sorry Spider-Cat!” Miles said as the feline grumbled, tail high in the air as it calmly leapt onto the wall and continued on its way as though gravity were only an inconvenience. 

“Actually, every world has only one Spider-Person, but the Alchemax explosion last year ended up opening holes into other universes. Miguel created this place as a hub for Spider-People while everyone tries to fix the anomalies.”

“Anomalies?”

“Yeah, beings that have accidentally gotten stuck in another world.”

“Oh… yeah that makes total sense..” Your words trailed off as a roaring laugh caught your attention, “Is that… is that a dinosaur?” 

You pointed at the group crowded around a cafeteria table howling with laughter. Burgers bounced on trays as the T-Rex doubled over to slap the table for dramatic effect.

“AY YO, REXA!” Miles shouted over your head, throwing his arms up wildly. 

Rexa exposed razor sharp teeth in a grin and waved one short arm towards you. You returned a meek wave in return. 

“That’s Rexa. She’s super funny. Just uh…” he covered his mouth before whispering in your ear, “Maybe don’t mention anything about her arms. She gets a little sensitive.”

“Oh…yeah, of course. No problem.” 

Miles continued to lead you through the building, periodically taking breaks for you to catch up as you kept your eyes trained on everything except the path he’d carved in front of you. At one point you simply disappeared from view, reappearing four stories up in a psychiatrist’s office.

A tweed-suited Spider-Man jumped in his seat, dropping the box of tissues he’d been preparing to throw to his client. 

“Oh! I… I’m so sorry.” You said, flustered at the sight of a sandy haired Peter Parker variant sobbing his eyes out into a spider plushie. You inched along the wall towards the door, “I’m just-I’m just going to make my way out.”

You closed the door as quietly as possible, turning around and coming face to face with Miles again. You jumped and snapped, this time landing on Rexa’s table, foot squishing her burger into roadkill.

You groaned and tilted your head up, watching Miles sail out the office window and swing his way down. 

This was going to take a while.

There was no shortage of Spiderpeople to steal your attention, but finally after a few (uninterrupted) turns down pristine white hallways and an elevator ride into the belly of Spidey HQ, it was just you and Miles again.

From his lair, Miguel traced your figure with his eyes. When you caught sight of the camera in the elevator, its red pupil narrowing in on you, you smiled sheepishly and waved. The small action made his stomach flip like a schoolboy who’d been given his first kiss. 

He needed to pull himself together before he saw you face to face again.

“I’m just saying, I think this is a good thing, Miguel.” Peter B. said, swinging up to the platform and wrapping an arm around Miguel’s broad shoulders. Mayday crawled out and onto the control board, pressing buttons haphazardly and closing half the screens. She clapped her hands in wonder and Miguel grumbled half-heartedly. 

Once she started walking, all bets were off. She’d be an absolute menace to Spider Society. Already she liked to treat Miguel like her personal playscape, crawling onto his shoulders and tugging at his brown curls. 

Her antics almost made him smile… almost.

“If she’s here then that can only mean something’s wrong.” Miguel said, keeping his eyes fixed on the screen and ignoring Mayday as she slumped over his back, slowly sliding down his chest and into his waiting arms with a dramatic sigh. 

You looked tired and nervous, fingers tugging at the strings of your raincoat. A purple bruise spread out from your nose, moving with the curve of your cheekbones. Had someone hurt you? 

Miguel’s blood began to boil.

“Or,” Peter bumped his hips against Miguel’s, “it could mean she wants to see you again.” 

“Stop that.” Miguel growled.

“Stop what?”

Stop giving me hope.

Miguel was about to bite back at Peter and wipe the mischievous grin on his face when the doors slid open. Miles’s voice rang through the empty space. 

“These are all those anomalies I was telling you about. Doc Oc, Rhino, Sandman, Mysterio. I don’t even want to know who that is.” 

“Why is it so dark in here?”

“Miguel likes to brood. I think he’s part vampire.” 

Miguel tossed Mayday into her father’s arms, swiftly turning around and busying himself at the control panel to distract from the pounding of his heart. A dozen screens flashed to life above the control board and Miguel concentrated on none of them.

Peter grinned like a madman. This was going great. 

“Miss Y/n!” He shouted out, throwing his hands in the air before hopping off the platform. Mayday squealed in delight and copied his actions. Miguel only cursed under his breath and rubbed his temples. Leave it to Peter to be the cause of 90% of his headaches.

“Looking good, teach!” 

“Ummm… thanks?” You responded as Mayday grabbed at you with chubby fingers. You didn’t have much choice but to hold her as Peter thrust her into your arms. Fear jolted through you like a lightning strike and you quickly handed her off to Miles, the poor girl frowning and continuing to make grabbing motions at you. The last thing you wanted was to make Mayday disappear from your arms.

Peter tipped his head to the side but for once made no comment. He continued to chat you up, pulling small smiles from your lips and ignoring the way you kept glancing at Miguel as his platform slowly lowered to the ground. 

He had his hands on his hips, bright red and blue Spider-suit cutting a striking silhouette against the dark background. 

If he’d noticed you walking into the room, he didn’t show it and you tried your best not to deflate at that realization. 

“Don’t worry. He just likes to make an entrance,” Miles whispered in your ear. And some entrance that was. He stepped off the platform, back tight and straight as he moved forward with measured, even footsteps. 

Miles took one step forward, angling his body in front of you with a weariness in his eyes. 

Miguel stopped, face betraying nothing as he looked you up and down once.

“I never thought I’d see you again.” The words would have sounded romantic coming from someone else’s lips, but from him they just sounded dry and clinical.

“Same here.” You said. The words came out breathlessly.

“What’s happened?”

His hand hovered in the air between you two before he swiftly dropped it to his side. He wanted to reach out and touch your face. He wanted to tilt your chin upwards so he could take a good look at the damage done to your nose and make sure you were ok. Perhaps if you’d been alone he would have allowed himself to do it, but as it was, they had company. 

“We need your help, Miguel.” Miles cut through the tension, “Something’s up with Miss Y/l/n. She’s got powers now - teleportation similar to the Spot’s.” 

His heart stuttered in his chest.

“Is that true?” he said, desperately looking to you for answers. The Spot’s powers had made him unstable in more ways than one and Miguel shivered to think about anything happening to you.

You nodded, “Things keep disappearing when I touch them. Sometimes I accidentally teleport to places when I’m frustrated. I didn’t realize what was going on until I woke up in Central Park last night.”

Miguel turned around, muttering under his breath as his mind raced a thousand steps ahead of him. 

Of all the people this could have happened to, it had to be you. He thought he’d done the right thing by leaving you alone, forcing himself not to portal to your dimension every night. His multiversal travels had taught him a thing or two about the ways things operated. Some figures, like Peter Parker’s Spider-Man were well represented across worlds. Some figures, like himself, were harder to come by. 

As for you? He only knew of three worlds where you existed - in one world, his actions had led to your death and the death of your daughter. In the second, Spot had murdered you in his quest to figure out Spider-Man’s identity. 

And in this one… 

Well he thought he’d been keeping you safe. 

Teleportation was a dangerous ability - unpredictable and difficult to control. Left unchecked you could find yourself in front of a car speeding down the highway or at the top of Mount Everest or in a different dimension altogether, constantly glitching as your molecules broke apa-

“Wait,” Miguel stiffened, back tightening as he swiveled around on his heels, “Where’s your watch?”

“My watch?” you glanced at your naked wrist, “I mean I usually just check my phone for the t-”

“No, your day pass watch. The thing that stabilizes you in this universe.” 

Miles’s eyes blew open. “Mierda. Sabía que había olvidado algo.”

“How long have you two been here?”

“Maybe two hours.” You guessed.

“And nothing’s happened?”

“Is something supposed to happen?” 

Even Peter B. looked concerned. Panic rose in your chest and you threatened to snap. Miguel reached out and grasped your wrist, palm sliding down until you felt the weight and warmth of his hand wrapped in yours. He led you to the med bay, Peter and Miles following closely behind.

The paper atop the padded examination table crinkled as you took a seat, watching Miguel’s broad shoulders flex and stretch as he dug an extra watch out from the back of a cabinet.

“Lyla, run a scan of Y/n.”

The woman flickered to life in front of him. “What’s the magic word?” She fluttered her eyelashes.

“Lyla.” He was in no mood for games today

“Ok, ok. Don’t be testy.” Lyla appeared in front of you, an orange scanner materializing in her hands that swept across your body with a cool touch. “Scan complete.” 

“Here you go,” Miguel felt some relief pour back into his body as he fastened the watch around your wrist, hand lingering against your pulse like he wanted further confirmation that you were alive and well.

“Hey, why does she get one of the fancy ones?” Miles protested. The watch, identical to the ones worn by Miguel, Peter, and Miles flashed its face at you. It was far too elaborate and expensive to be just a day pass.

Miguel ignored him, walking over to one of the monitors and skimming through the output data.

“It took six months for Miguel to give me one of those bad boys,” The paper crinkled again as Peter hopped onto the table beside you, whispering, “Looks like someone’s got a favorite,” and earning a glare from Miguel. 

Peter winked suggestively.

Miguel scowled.

Your cheeks turned a rosy red, your coat disappearing from around your shoulders and landing in a rumple at Miguel’s feet like the world’s worst suggestive gesture. Peter howled with laughter.

“No puedo creerlo.” Miguel whispered, his voice tinged with disbelief. “Lyla, am I looking at this right?”

“You sure are. Y/n’s DNA is perfectly stable. Not a trace of multiversal quantum poisoning to be found. And! Her radiation signature matches that of more than a thousand different universes. Bet you’ve never seen that before.”

“How is that even possible?”

“Hmmmm, let me think.” Lyla spun around in a digital office chair, waiting for her moment to break the dramatic pause. Miguel groaned - he would need to improve her code and tone down the dramatism. “Looks like packets of quantum energy from across the multiverse were released during the Alchemax hypercompact fusion explosion and merged with the only unaltered sentient lifeform in the vicinity.” 

“Dios mio.”

At the end of her explanation she bowed gracefully, arm and fur-lined coat sweeping off to the side.

“Did you get any of that?” Peter asked out of the corner of his mouth.

“Peter, I took forestry as my science gen ed in art school and barely passed so… no.”

“Uhhh, can you repeat it for the rest of the class?” Miles piped up. 

Lyla leaned forward, one hand on her hip and the other tipped her heart-shaped sunglasses onto her head. 

“Y/n absorbed energy from a ton of different universes so as far as the multiverse is concerned, she doesn’t register as an anomaly. No glitching. No dying outside of her universe without a watch. No predicted multiversal collapse.” Lyla smiled. “Predicted.”

You looked less than pleased. The last month had been filled to the brim with life-altering events from finding out Miles was a superhero, to getting kidnapped and nearly dying, to finding out your variant’s husband was an all-too-attractive, brooding Spider-Man. It was getting to be too much - you were a teacher for crying out loud! Maybe you’d have handled it better if you were a crime-fighting detective, or a fancy scientist, or a millionaire with access to the latest tech and weapons. Instead you were just… you.

“Can you fix it?” 

Miguel flinched at the look on your face. You were looking to him for help and for answers, but he couldn’t provide them in any satisfactory way. He’d never encountered anyone with your abilities. 

The confusion and fear that came with discovering your powers - that was a journey all Spider-People went through, and they usually went through it alone.

Miguel sighed, “There’s nothing to fix, Y/n.” He said the words with a softness no one had heard from him in years, perhaps ever, “This is who you are now.” 

“So I’m just going to be stuck like this forever?”

“Having powers isn’t so bad.” Peter chimed in with a small smile. “From time to time, it can actually be pretty awesome.”

You allowed a small, empty smile to grow on your lips. It was a smile Miguel was well acquainted with - the kind of smile that said I’m not fine, but I want you to believe that I am.

“I have some tests we could run.” Miguel offered up, “I can’t reverse what’s happened but maybe I can come up with something to help you control your powers, at least while you’re learning how to use them.” 

You nodded, the smile turning into something real, “I would like that. Thank you.” 

Peter was practically vibrating with excitement when he caught the look that passed between the two of you and the hint of hope on Miguel’s usually stony face. 

He clapped his hands down on Miles’s shoulders, “Well would you look at the time? I need to put Mayday down for her nap and grab some food. You’ll learn this soon enough, but being a superhero does burn the calories.” 

He hopped off the table, waltzing all the way to the door before he noticed that Miles was missing from his side. “Miles! Come join me.” 

“Actually, I was going to wait with-”

“Miles.” Peter coughed into his fist, bug eyes burning into Miles until he got the hint.

“Oh? Oh! Yeah, sorry Miss Y/l/n, I forgot I told Gwen I’d meet up with her.” 

You waved him off, “I’ll be fine, Miles. Thanks for everything.” 

“I’ll show her how to use the watch and send her home when we’re finished.” Miguel said, pulling on a lab coat that had been draped over his office chair. He rarely had time to work in the lab, more focused on his primary duty of maintaining the stability of the multiverse, but the familiar glide of the fabric over his skin did help to relax him. It reminded him of the old days when Spider-Man didn’t exist and the multiverse was just a fun theory tossed around at company lunches. 

A thin silence stretched between you two after Miles and Peter left, and you contented yourself with watching Miguel as he busily typed away at his monitor, labeled vials, and prepared the syringes. Every movement was practiced and controlled like he’d done this a million times before.

Miguel was screaming on the inside. You were close enough for his heightened senses to pick up on the honey lemon shampoo you used tinged with the woodsy scent of linseed oil. He was powerless under your gaze like an insect trapped under a microscope.

“I just need to collect some blood samples.” Miguel said, gently holding out his hand. You offered your arm up without complaint, distracting yourself from the pinch of the needle by reading the faded name tag printed on his lab coat.

You whistled low to break the tension, “Dr. O’Hara. That’s impressive. What kind of doctor are you?”

“I was a geneticist. Not the medical kind though. I worked in research at Alchemax.” 

“Is that how you got your spidey powers?”

He rolled his eyes, “They’re not spidey powers, they’re acrachno-humanoid genetic augmentations.” 

“Qué estúpido. Just call them spidey powers. You scientists just like to give things complicated names to feel superior.” The corner of Miguel’s lips quirked up every so slightly. The thrill of seeing any emotion on Miguel’s face lightened the feeling in your chest.

“Was it hard becoming Spider-Man?” You asked.

Miguel shrugged, wiping away the small bead of blood on your arm. “I had it easier than most. I was already looking into the possibility of combining human and arachnid DNA and I had the resources to study my powers.” Miguel paused. It had been a long time - too long - since he’d had a conversation like this with anyone. He could cast his mind back to talks with you his wife, but those had always been domestic in nature.

“The hardest part was not having anyone to talk to.” He said, finishing his thought.

“Sounds lonely.” You remarked, accepting the q-tip from him and swabbing the inside of your cheek. He collected the sample in a vial of greenish liquid and gave it a thorough shake, “Do you have people now that you talk to?”

“No.” His answer was short and to the point. 

You’d touched a sore spot and you decided to prod it. “Would you like someone to talk to?” 

Again, the corner of his lips twitched, “Are you offering?”

You copied his shrug from earlier, “Maybe.” 

He took a few more cheek swabs and then a strand of hair. His hand lingered by your cheek, frowning as he took in the bruise on your face. 

Now that you two were alone he dared to gently tilt your head to the side.

“You never told me what happened.” 

Your hands flew up to your face in embarrassment and Miguel saw the tips of your ears grow red. He liked it.

“I may or may not have teleported my pillow away right before smashing my face into the floor.” 

The breath left his lungs in a quiet chuckle. That sounded like something you’d do.

“But no one’s bothering you?”

“What? Oh no. No, it’s nothing like that.” 

He nodded, the tightness in his chest unraveling with that knowledge. He knew you weren’t his wife and he knew that you didn’t know him well enough yet, but that didn’t stop him from caring. The truth was he liked you from the moment you slapped his shoulder and cursed at him, and it wasn’t just because you looked like someone from his past.

“This will take some time to work through.” He tilted his head towards where the tabletop machines whirred and spun, “But if I’m right, I may be able to adjust your watch to stabilize you in a specific place, not just a specific universe. It’s not a permanent fix but you won’t be waking up in Central Park again anytime soon.” 

“That would be preferable.” 

You moved to take off the watch and hand it over to Miguel but he stopped you.

“Keep this one. In case anything happens you can contact me or the other Spider-People,” He said, walking her through the steps of using the watch, “Headquarters is always open so if anything happens, come here.” 

You nodded. With an encouraging look from Miguel you punched “Earth-1610” into the locator and then your home address. 

Just like last time the portal bloomed open beside you, scattering a few loose papers on the ground. Through the portal you caught a glimpse of your living room, citylights flashing outside your window.

“Come back next week. Until we have a better understanding of your powers it would be good for us to monitor you and check that you’re stable.” 

And it would be good for you to see her again. 

Miguel squashed the thought as soon as it popped into his brain in Peter’s voice. He really needed to stop spending so much time with him. 

You stepped through the portal and were embraced by the familiar smell of your apartment. It made you feel better about what was to come. You turned to smile at Miguel, his tired eyes lighting up ever so slightly.

“I’ll see you next week then.”

_________ Author's note: Here's the next chapter! Let me know what you guys think of the writing and where the story is going. I'm hoping to dive more deeply into Y/n x Miguel's relationship in the coming chapters so get ready for angst and fluff!

Taglist: @geraskier-thots @howabouticallyou @sweetheartlizzie07 @dont-mind-me27 @omg-edzia-stuff @sarcastically-defensive17 @trouble-sistar @saltyluminaryvoid @lunablue001 @sadslasher13 @yas-v @thel0v3hashira143 @trishuh8 @vague-flying-shape @tiana76 @dinuxia-bhm @mxtokko @devilsrose666 @natbratty @zettoaizawa-shusband @dorck26 @notasadgirlipromise @niyanispunk @thecraziestcrayon @athenxt @imnotyourbcbe @jannajuju @lunamoonbby @elle-19 @aces148 @sseleniaa @elaineiswithyou-blog @summerli-u @rattlethemskulls @sunseekerlove @bubbabobabubbles @loonalockley @aleombre @littlelilies @07-bilin @nerdalicios @insanely-creative-things @enby-rising @nataliahemsworth @coralineyouareinterribledanger @louderfortheback @damnzelsoul @enheduannasposts @bontensbabygirl @mynameiswilliamblake

been thinking about dante with an artist!reader who secretly draws him (he finds out anyways). like he knows they can draw but suddenly stumbles upon a whole different sketch book and sees beautiful drawings/doodles of him in either his human form or devil trigger even. I can imagine he’d be a lil’ emotional bc “never thought someone could see me this way” and then confronts the reader about it (its all cute and stuff*barffss*)

Dante had never once knew a day where you were without your sketchbooks, pens, pencils, a handful of colouring pencils and a incredible talent to bring whatever you drew to life. It didn't matter what it was that you were drawing becuase it always came out looking better then the actual thing; art was a massive part of your life with some of your favourite works were pinned to your walls, showcasing your range as well as your clutered desk filled with half finished sketches and images that you were using as references were strewn about the desk too.

So when you had asked him to grab something from your room, a sketchbook? pencils? that weird manakin that you use when drawing people? He couldn't remeber exactly what you wanted as it went in one ear and out the other. So he thought if he grabbed whatever his eyes landed on and pray that it was the one that you needed, however what his eyes first saw was your open sketchbook on your desk, and on the two page spread was sketches and drawings of him and his devil trigger form.

Dante's breath hitched in his throat as he felt himself move on it's own towards the open sketchbook on your desk to get a better look of the sketches, only to be left without without any air within his lungs as he saw how you saw him; dangerous but in the beautiful way possible with how you made the red within his coat stand out, or how you made gold mingle with the red of his devil trigger pratically glow in a heavenly light as his horns looked more like a halo then actual devil horns.

You even made his wings looked beautiful on their own with how you made them look as though they had collected all the colours in existence and selfishly hoarded them within his demonic looking wings!

You made him look ehtreal, like he wasn't a demon but instead an angel with a unique look that made him look demonic, and it was enough to have dante a little caught up in his feelings as he didn't exactly held a fondess towards his demonic heritage as it was only something that granted him more benifits for demon hunting and nothing more. Yet here you were making him wanting to appreciate this aspect of himslef when he goes through all of your sketches, only to find more of his devil trigger and himself whether it'd be him fast as sleep or eating pizza and strawberry sundaes; You made him look like a work of art only ever seen within a museum along with the other admired masterpieces.

Something he didn't think anyone would ever see him -especially his devil trigger form- in that particular light and you only proved him wrong by drawing him the way you saw him on the daily, and enough to draw him in bulk within the precious pages of you've sketchbook, something you've told him stuck with him about how you didn't draw anything you didn't view as beautiful or was worth showing it's hidden beauty.

So seeing him within your sketchbook only made Dante feel more honoured to be viewed as beautiful by you, to be the muse that you spent countless and tireless hours working on to perfection late into the night, to be something you wanted to display the truest beauty of by drawing him from the heart of an artist and the end result was something Dante couldn't have fathomed at all.

Further forgetting what he had came into your room orignally for, Dante rushed out the door and went down the stairs in a flash as thougg he was running out of time, capturing you within his arms as he burries his head within your neck and catching you by surpise. 'Jesus Dante, what's gotten into you.' you laughed as you heard him purr soflty in your ear, making you smile and begin to run your fingers through his hair gingerly. 'what's going on within that head of yours?' you add barely above a whisper as his arms tightened on your waist.

'I saw you're drawings of me.' was all he said, still in someway in disbelief that you could make someone like him look like something worth drawing, worth any aspect of portayal as anything other then some half demon that people stay clear of.

You stop caressing his hair upon hearing him say this, which only made him groan as he nudged his head further into your neck needily, huffing and pouting like an overgrown puppy dog that desperetly craves affection constantly. 'You did?' Dante hums. 'what did you think of them?' you asked, nervous now of what his thoughts and opinions on them were.

'i've never had someone draw me, or see me like you do.' Dante says. 'You know i've never liked my devil trigger, nor the fact that i'm half demon, but yet seeing your drawings of me have made me want to be kinder to myself and not be so harsh to a part od me that you view as beautiful.' He adds, kissing the side of your neck as you caresed his hair once more, making him purr once more as his eyes closed in content upon feeling safe.

'Silly Dante.' you cooed, kissing the side of his head, 'of course i see you as beautiful, always have and it doesn't matter what form you take because you'll always be my beautiful muse, devil trigger or my sweet toothed man,' you finished, wanting nothing the to make Dante see that he was all the man you ever seen him as no matter what, it was the least you could do in hopes of showing Dante that he was worth the time and effort you put into your drawings of him; You do it a hundred times over again if it meant getting squashed tightly against his chest as he purrs into your neck like an conent cat.

Dante pulls away to look you in the eye, mimicing your soft smile as he rests his forhead against yours, high off of your words as he wished he had met you earlier in his life but regareless he'd treasure you with his whole heart for as long as he can. 'Your too good to me sweetheart, far too good for me but i'm too selfish to let you go now, far too greedy to let anyone else be seen the way you see me.' he says, nudging his nose to yours.

'Then be selfish all you like becuase i'm not going anywhere, im content here in your arms as life with you is an adventure i wake up each morning eager to greet with open arms.' You tell him, pecking his lips soflty as another purr ripped from his throat. 'but please for the love of god don't leave pizza boxes laying about again or i'm cutting you off from having strawberry sundaes for a month.' you added with a pointed look as Dante pales, knowing this was bound to come to light no matter how much he kisses and cuddles you to death.

'Dully noted sweetheart, dully noted.' Dante said, hoping you wouldn't actually cut him off from his strawberry sundaes.

𝐑𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬. 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐚 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐀𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮…𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥, 𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐮𝐧𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐡𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐦, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐎'𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤!𝐜𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“Miguel! Ah!” You squealed, feeling the cold ocean water on your skin. “You got my hair wet! I'm gonna fucking kill you!l You giggled, splashing more water at him.

Miguel laid awake as the sun began to dawn over Nueva York. His eyes were red, watery, and sore, but he insisted on staying up, just to watch his home videos a bit longer.

His lips winced into a smile before jumping at the sound of his alarm. His growing smirk faded almost as soon as it came.

Miguel swiftly waved his hand, making all of his video tabs disappear in thin air, then sitting up.

“Morning Miguel!” A chipper voice greeted him.

He looked over, pretending to be annoyed at his AI companion.

“Oh…” You grimaced at his appearance. “You really need to get that insomnia checked out.” You commented

Insomnia was a lie Miguel made up so no one would ask questions as to what he was doing that made him so grouchy during the day. He also didn't want to break your code by confessing he was watching memories of the two of you together…well not you, but you, his wife.

“Today is gonna be a sunny day. Eighty two degrees with a windchill of eighty.” You spun and appeared in shorts and a tank top. “Don't forget your sunscreen O’Hara.”

“Don't need it.” He groaned getting out of bed.

“That's a myth! Us people of color still need our sunscreen Migs.”

His head snapped up from brushing his teeth. He quickly spit out his toothpaste and looked towards your floating algorithm. “What did you just call me?”

“Migs.”

Miguel stared with an indifferent face for a few moments. The way his nickname rolled off your tongue….It was almost as if-

“Don't call me that again okay?”

“Fine?” You stomped mid-air.

Miguel suited up and you began the morning sequence. Playing some soft music, starting the coffee machine, and lifting all the blinds in his apartment, switching on the TV, and opening up his closet.

Miguel walked over to the kitchen and made him a bagel, something quick and easy. He held the bagel in his mouth as he suited up in his spidey-suit for the day.

After a coffee break, his alarm started beeping. Once

“Great.” He muttered. “Y/n what's the problem?”

You appeared in front of him. “Anomaly detected on Earth-65.”

“Take me there.”

---

The building was destroyed…to say the least but Miguel and Jessica saved the day. They ended up inviting the spider of that earth to join the spider society, of course after a bit of convincing from you and Jessica.

Miguel walked into his headquarters and powered on his large device, where multiple screens popped up. Camera feeds in each universe, at least the ones that were hit spots for anomalie. He swiped through, checking to see if anything was out of order.

“You know it's unhealthy to stare at screens for long amounts of time…and that close.” You popped up.

Miguel looked at you annoyed. “Who summoned you?”

“Summon is a very…strong word. I can tell you're looking for something so i'm here to help.”

He scowled at you before sighing. “The Spot villain. I need to know more about him.”

“The Spot is-”

“No, No.” Miguel stopped you. “Do the explany thingy.”

You smiled softly and nodded. Soon, the room turned into a fake void, and you grew to full size. You spun and turned into a man with long hair and a beard.

“Don't-. Turn back.” Miguel demanded.

“Ugh you're no fun!” You turned back into your normal self and shrunk back to pixie size. Resting on his shouldersu, you waved your hand.

“Doctor Jonathan Ohnn worked for Alchemax on Earth-616.” You displayed the human, pre villain of course. “He worked closely with Doc Ock, but unfortunately became a laughing stock after…being hit with a bagel.”

“A bagel?” Miguel asked.

“And everything bagel with cream cheese.”

“No peppers?” Miguel said amused, referencing his own bagel go-to.”

“No peppers!” You exclaimed back. “Anyways, he HATES that kid Miles Morales, the one you were talking about.”

Miguel's face fell flat seeing the events replay in front of him. His eyes narrowed at the clumsy young boy, and he shook his head.

“Would you like for me to continue?”

“No.” Miguel turned back to his screen. “That's enough for tonight.”

You turned the room back to normal and pulled up a few screens of Miles Morales spidey-profile.

“Would you like me to elaborate on-”

The change in Miguel's face intensified seeing Miles again. “No! Cut it off!” He yelled.

You quickly did as told and crossed your arms.

“Migs, what is with you and that kid?”

Miguel took a few deep breaths in before turning to face you. “What did I say about that nickname?”

“Miguel- Okay listen. I know you're the boss and all but the mere mention of that kid sets you off. Why?”

Miguel didn't want to tell you that he envied Morales. Watching him from a distance and seeing him go home to his parents, his family. While he was stuck in a world without you-

“Shut down for tonight.” Miguel places his hand over his eyes.

“Miguel-”

“Lock the computer and shut down.”

You nodded and disappeared.

---

The internet is an endless void of searches, media, content, and texts. When Miguel allowed you in the computer during his free time you opted to watch youtube videos on stupid things like cats getting scared by cucumbers

When Miguel ordered you to lock the computer, it was like being a security guard for a museum. You only had access to personal files, which was far too complex for you to want to see anyway. So basically you chilled on the home screen until Miguel summoned you again.

You waited on the dark home screen, one of which was a spiderman logo. Groaning, you cursed yourself for angering your boss. Miguel was so emotional, and it drove you crazy at times.

Standing on the deskbar, you stomped, accidentally opening the already open tab of his files. And what came up shocked you.

Hundreds of videos and pictures of….you?

“What the hell?” You walked closer to a video of your face that was close in a camera. You put your hand on the play button and watched

“This is Y/n and…man.” Y/n turned the camera. “Miguel got us a room at the Ritz-Carlton for our honeymoon.”

You watched confused as you….but not you, showed the luxury hotel room.

“Here's a bottle of champagne and- oh! These fancy robes.” Y/n pushed the camera out to show that she was in a robe.

“Thank you so much baby.” Ricky smiled before turning the camera to Miguel, who was on the bed, in his robe reading….a book?

The video ended, and you quickly went scrolling through pictures. Going down a rabbit hole, you found pictures of your wedding, the trips you took, the two of you playing around in the spider suit…and some spicy moments between you two.

It all came to a halt when you came across an obituary. Your face was plastered on it, with a birth and death date.

---

The next morning you were more quiet, starting the morning sequence and watching Miguel prepare for the day.

“Miguel.”

“Hm?” He said looking down over the skyline of Nueva York from his window.

“We need to talk.”

You watched his body stiffen at your tone. He turned around and tilted his head. “About?”

You looked at your hands and shivered. “Who am I?”

“You're an AI, named Y/n.” He answered with a snarky tone.

“Who was I?”

He fell silent for a few moments. “A program.”

“That's not what I meant Miguel.” You waved your hand and multiple screens of your findings popped up. Miguel's eyes widened and his breathing stopped once he saw you everywhere at once.

“Y-you're….I-”

“I'm not just an AI am I?”

Miguel shook his head. You looked at him in disbelief as he pulled a screen in front of him, playing a video.

“You were my wife.” He stated at the video with loving eyes, “My beautiful, sweet wife…” He trailed off.

You looked at him with a sorry expression.

“On Earth-2099 you got sucked into a wormhole…one of my failed experiments.” He looked at his hands as if they were covered in blood. “I jumped through every dimension trying to find you and never did. Then I found a new dimension where you were just normal old Y/n.”

He looked over to you. “We were happy…for 6 months. Got married and everything.” He sighed deeply. “But I didn't know that if I attempted to call another dimension my home it would be destroyed I-...I fucked up a canon event…I think. You- You were never meant to marry me, not in that dimension.”

A body camera popped up in front of you two and it showed the demolition of your dimension, running while holding your hand. Y/n ran as fast as she could, but the next time Miguel turned around she was gone. He didn't even feel her disappear.

Miguel sat on the edge of the bed sobbing, holding his face as he cried. You'd never seen this before. Eyes red, nose runny Miguel. You could hear the pain in his voice, and it made you regret bringing this up to him.

“If I- If I- If I made you like this…kept you like this.” He motioned around your body. “You can't leave me.” He choked out. Miguel tried reaching for you but his hand went right through, which made him lean his head down and sob. “I can see you! I can get through the torture of every day if I can just see your face.”

“Oh Miguel-”

“Don't! I don't wanna hear it!” He yells.

You looked at him somberly before smiling softly.

“If it helps. I am programmed to absorb information and adapt. If you give me access to your files, I can accurately depict Y/n.”

Miguel stopped his crying and looked up at you. “You can do that? From just photos and pictures?

“Yes, social media and personal documents as well.”

“And you'll be the same? Just like her?”

“Like she never left.” You reassured.

Miguel quickly wiped his eyes and ran over to his laptop, opening it.

“Do it. Do it now.”

I really, really like the Devil May Cry stuff you're writing ^-^

And I was curious- if you're okay with it of course.

Romantic headcanons for Dante x fem!Reader where she spends the night for the first time at his place? Like they're already in a relationship, but his girl isn't ready for s*x

you had been in the best relationship of your life with Dante, it was goofy, silly, stupid but deep at the same time where you could comfortably admit to anything with Dante and he would respond in kind with comfort and reassurance.

so when he invited you over for the night, your mind went elswhere and had stayed there even as you stepped through the door, stiff and worried when night quickly approached faster then you liked.

was he going to expect sex in your first time staying over?

was it the priamary reason you were invited over? for sexy times?

if so would he be dissapointed if you were to admit that you weren't ready, if you were ever going to be ready for it, would he be ashamed? after all it seemed as though society deemed sex a pivitol part in keeping a relationship happy, demanding of it even if one was nowhere near ready for that vital step.

even if you may disagree with that mindset.

no this was your Dante you were talking about, the man who alsot tripped over his own two feet when asking you out, the very man who insits on sharing his sundaes with you whenever you were sad, cuddled up on his lap, embraced in his warmth.

the very same man who wore the silliest pyjama pants to bed all the time, ones covered in pizza slices, or ones covered in little cartoon strawberry icecreams with cute little faces that displayed a variety of emotions.

the very man who kisses your forhead whenever your worries got the best of you, claiming that his kisses could wash them away, and they did as did everything often did with Dante to be your comfort, your safe haven and friend as well as your handsome partner.

however the fear still remained, making you unable to relax at all, muscles tense asn your sense on high alert from any indication from Dante.

only to sense nothing as he smiles at you that sweet smile that shows off his sharp looking canines. Nothing out of the ordinary, not yet at least as you felt your tongue loosen the moment you step into his bedroom.

‘We’re not having sex are we?’

Dante’s brows are raised as a frown replaces his smile from moments prior and your mind became worse then it was before, filling your head with poison and venom that you almost didn’t hear him or feel him in your state of numbness.

Not until you felt his warm hands grace your shoulders, grounding you as you managed to urge your eyes to look into his own, seeing the concern within them as his calloused thumbs caressed. ‘What ever gave you that impression sweetheart?’ He asks softly as he guides you to sit at the edge of his bed as he knelt in front of you.

‘Isn’t that how it always leads to? Sex.’ You replied as you toyed with your hands, eyes once again averting his gaze as you found interest in picking at your fingers almost in a violent manner. ‘Something I am in no way ready for and am scared that will run you away because of it.’ You added.

Dante was quick to put a stop to your violent finger picking/scratching by intertwining his fingers with yours, kissing them as he tucks your hands close to his chest. ‘Not always, and that’s not why I brought you here because I realise that I can’t sleep at all without you,’ he laughs to himself, ‘kinda like how a kid can’t sleep without a stuffed toy for comfort, you are that comfort to me and I want you nowhere else but by my side.’ He continues as he reads the emotions upon your face, seeing that you were starting to relax and let your guard down to rest.

‘Really? Nothing else.’ You said barely above a whisper.

‘It’s the furthest thing from my mind sweetheart.’ Dante reassures. ‘We won’t do anything like that unless you’re ready and willing, to do so without taking in your own feelings is just a dick move. A relationship is between two people who love each other, some have a sex while others might not, it’s still a relationship regardless sweetness.’ He kisses your finger interlocked with his, smiling.

‘So if we never have sex, that’s fine by me becuase I’m not going anywhere without you, you’re my person and I’d rather keep what we have then ever throw it away over something stupid as sex.’ He then moves from kneeling to sit next to you, letting go of your hands for a moment before reconnecting them, and letting you rest your head upon his shoulder as he gingerly placed his atop of yours, though not before kissing it.

‘We’re just going to share a bed and cuddle and fall asleep together and wake up together too just to be lazy about wanting to leave bed.’ He whispers and you couldn’t help but laugh at how true that might be, before feeling a little silly in being overly cautious about the reasoning for Dante wanting you here

yet you were also glad that he had cleared any and all misconceptions within you as now all you wanted to do was cuddle up to him, sleep and be very begrudging in getting up the next day, just like he promised.

twenty three.

You hated Katsuki Bakugo. And he hated you back. Ever since you both butted heads back in highschool it'd been a constant back and forth between you both. It's only when you graduate and slowly drift apart from eachother - that you can finally breathe. Until you're back into his line of sight and working alongside him - courtesy of his lovely PR team. And then your PR teams decide that it'd be best for both of your reputations - that you both start a fake relationship. And it sounded stupid but now it's kinda working? So maybe it's just best that you play along...

♡ rivals to lovers / fake dating

♡ cw / tw : alcohol, cussing, suggestiveness, g/n reader, will include written parts

♡ currently in progress

كاتسوكي - baby's only twenty three. - باكوغو

⠀ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏  ͏ ͏ ͏ ⠀⠀( 23 - Chase Atlantic )

Meet the cast !

-> Bakusquad

-> Dekusquad

── ACT ONE.

Chapter 01.

Chapter 02.

Chapter 03.

Chapter 04.

Chapter 05.

── ACT TWO.

tba.

── ACT THREE.

tba.

taglist [OPEN] : @luvseraphh - @tlissablr - @havemyheartt - @smelliottle - @sakurayashiro - @peachesvault - @qyuin - @kaidostwin - @wonubby - @moochiwoochi - @coldnightshark - @kalulakunundrum - @sexylexy12

© HTTPS-BAKUGO. Do not steal, copy or use any of my work for AI. Legal action will take place if caught.

⊹₊⋆˚｡⋆ 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎

“when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.” -harry burns, when harry met sally (1989)

⤷ teacher!izuku x pro-hero!reader

⤷ loosely based off the proposal scene in “about time” aka one of my fav romcoms ever, kind of spoilers for mha ending but not really??? no warnings just soft izuku fluff :)

normally, after a patrol runs as long and late as this one, you can’t form a single thought other than crawling into bed and sleeping for the next century. 

your tired body aches as you unlock the door, shuffling down the hall and discarding your hero costume in a trail on the floor as you go. 

you’re nearly asleep by the time you get to the bedroom, but the sight that awaits you makes your heart squeeze with joy. 

izuku is there, sprawled out on the bed like he is every night. the comforter is half-fallen off him to expose his beautiful muscular back, he’s clutching onto a pillow (your pillow actually), and his pajama pants are riding up one leg. it’s no different from any other night, but for a reason you can’t quite place you are absolutely overcome with love for him. 

“psst, izu,” you whisper through a smile, padding over to the bed. 

“izuku, wake up,” you whisper, giving him a gentle shake as you perch on the bed next to him. he’s snoring like a banshee, the sound nearly shaking the headboard. you can feel its reverb  in his entire body. he’s utterly unresponsive, the poor thing. teaching is not for the weak. 

you shake him some more, until he finally shows some sign of life. he makes a sleepy noise, eyes still shut as he reaches out for you with limp hands. 

“come to bed,” he moans, voice taking on that adorable whiny tone you love so much. 

“in a minute,” you murmur, sweeping his green bangs away from his face as his arms wind around your waist. “i gotta ask you something, ‘kay?”

“baby,” he starts, patient as a saint even when his voice is heavy with sleep. “not that i don’t love you and want to spend every second with you, but i’ve gotta be in up in, like, three hours.”

“its important,” you insist, “like, really, really important.”

“can’t it be important in the morning?”

“izuku, will you marry me?”

that wakes him right up. 

he stares up at you with those big, green eyes. “are you serious?”

“one hundred percent. i know it’s late and everything, but i was just thinking about it and of course you don’t have to answer right now but i—“

“yes.”

“izu, i—”

“yes.”

“you don’t have—”

“i want to marry you! there’s nothing i’ve ever wanted more than this, i promise.” he says it in a rush of breath, pushing himself up into a sitting position. “c’mere.”

he’s beaming as he pulls you in, strong arms wrapped tightly around you. he presses kiss after kiss to your cheeks as you laugh softly, squeezing him as tight as you can. 

“are you sure?”

“‘course i am. there’s no one else i’d rather partner with in this life.”

“just this life?” you tease, squeezing his cheeks between your palms. izuku’s eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles at you. 

“in every life, honey.”

Hi! I saw that your Miguel requests were open so I was wondering if it was possible to do a mig x f!reader where the reader is a civilian who's a photographer? She's always catching Miguel in action as Spiderman, not so much action shots but more movement inclined artwork. She goes to alchemax to take a professional portrait of their head biologist, Miguel, unaware that he's her not so friendly neighborhood spiderman and he's aware of her work.

Picture Perfect | Miguel O'Hara x Fem!Reader

Words: 4.8k

Warnings: None, i would say! Reader is a photographer and Miguel is kinda grumpy, but that's about it!

A/N: Aaaa my first request! I'm so excited! I actually finished a book about a photographer the other day, so it was super interesting to write this. Unfortunately, I don't know much about photography itself. I have a camera, but I'm no pro! Nevertheless, I tried to do my best! I hope this is to your liking!!

I'm also trying something new with my themes haha, goodbye to that big red header in between paragraphs! </3

To say Spiderman was majestic was an understatement.

The way he swinged around the city, effortlessly spinning and turning and moving as if he was one with the air – it was breathtaking. Not only did he seem amazing at what he did, he always seemed to look great doing it.

And it was a cold, hard truth that the camera loved him.

Particularly, yours.

Being Nueva York’s most famous photographer hadn’t been an easy feat to achieve. Your job had consisted of carrying cameras and tripods and objects for many years until you finally managed to publish your own work; work that had gotten you recognised and plastered in every big magazine’s cover.

Now, instead of begging and pleading for work, the work came to you. Your rep would text you and call you at the weirdest hours, claiming to have found your next great gig.

But no matter how amazing, how well-paying, how dynamic these gigs were, nothing truly compared to photographing Spiderman in action. You had some amazing shots of him – fighting villains, saving your city, and some of him just being.

Those were your most prized possessions, the shots of him overlooking the city, as if monitoring it from above. He was Nueva York’s guardian angel, and your photos captured it perfectly.

One day, you’d been photographing a famous singer who requested your services (and your services only) at the top of the highest building in Nueva York. Once you were done, the singer thanked you profusely, everyone packed, and you were left alone to overlook the place you called home.

And that’s when you saw him.

You weren’t sure if it was just a coincidence. But from all the buildings Spiderman could’ve landed on to watch Nueva York, he had landed on top of the one in front of you.

It felt almost rude to stare. He hadn’t noticed your presence yet, and as much as your conscience tried to bite at you, telling you it was rude to just take his picture without asking for permission, the other part of your brain that yelled This is your job! won, and you found yourself bringing your beloved camera to your face.

Right when you were about to snap a picture, he turned to you.

Shivers ran down your spine.

I’m screwed, you thought, repeatedly. I’m screwed. I’m screwed. I’m screwed.

You waited for any kind of reaction from his part but got none.

Surely, he must see me. He’s Spiderman. He has to know I’m here.

Oh.

Maybe he did.

Maybe he was doing it on purpose.

Was this his way of giving you consent?

You brought the camera to your face once again and waited. He kept staring at you, and then simply turned away from you, gazing at the city.

A wave of excitement rushed through your bones, lighting the tips of your fingers ablaze.

You smiled and took his picture.

And another.

And another.

Those shots had earned you the cover of the Bugle Diario’s newest edition, and even an interview on the news, where two smiling anchors questioned you about your passion for photography, and the amazing images of Spiderman.

Sometimes you wondered why no one else seemed to get pictures like yours. Other photographers had tried, but their shots were void of passion, were bland. The masked hero would be too blurry, or perhaps facing the other way. There were times when you even humoured the possibility of him doing it on purpose – turning his face away because he refused to be photographed by someone other than you.

It gave you butterflies, this silly little thought of yours. Needless to say, though, whenever you found yourself considering it, you’d chastise yourself over it immediately. Why would he even do that? He’s a super-hero. He has no time to pick a favourite photographer. I’m just lucky, is all. And yet, you wished it was something more than just luck.

“Have you opened them yet?” Your rep asked excitedly over the phone.

The new shots of Spiderman had just arrived. You’d taken them last week, and the prints had just arrived. Excited was an understatement. You were dying to see how these looked.

“’m doing it now, give me a sec,” You responded, voice laced in enthusiasm. With a pair of scissors, you were able to make quick work of the cardboard box and dug into the contents inside.

And what you saw took your breath away.

Your (quite possibly) best work so far.

The first shot was of Spiderman on his back, body completely bent as he threw a web at (seemingly) your camera’s direction. You could see it clearly – the shape of his body, twisted in the middle of the air, the light that illuminated his figure, even the material of his webs were easy to make out if you looked closely enough. It was dynamic, the way his body contorted easily to aid him in whatever task he did. To the average person, it might even be painful, but it seemed such a natural thing for him to do, a natural pose for him to be in. A remarkable pose for a remarkable superhero.

“Holy shit…” You mumbled, to what your rep could only laugh in amusement.

“Keep going!” She encouraged, “You haven’t even seen the best one yet!”

So you kept looking through the picture, each better than the last one.

There was one of him with his back turned to you, body contorted as he webbed a building. His broad back was visible, as well as his muscular arms. You particularly remember almost getting hit by a flying car when you tried to snap that picture – it had been very well worth it. The building behind him provided the best background, since it allowed the viewer to realise how far up he was.

“[Y/N], this is great stuff. Have you seen them all?”

“No, just give me a second!” Just like your rep, you were unable to contain your enthusiasm. Each picture had so much personality to it, so much care and effort. This was not only your job,  but also your passion, and it clearly showed.

“You need to see the last one, it’s amazing. Remember that day when – “ The disembodied voice on the other line kept talking, but you weren’t listening anymore. You’d reached the very last picture, and your breath had been stolen.

Spiderman stood right in front of you, hanging upside down by a web. His legs were crossed, his figure somewhat relaxed as he looked down. It seemed almost… playful. It had been snowing that day – small clusters of snowflakes fell around his figure, its pale colour contrasting against the deep blue and violent red of his suit. The sun threatened to peek out from behind his arm, creating a magnificent scene.

The otherwise chaotic moment seemed to be frozen, as Spiderman elegantly crossed his legs at the ankles, balancing casually in mid-air. The details of his suit were easy to spot, thanks to the fantastic lighting and the proximity of the photo. With this shot, you had managed to capture the essence of a hero caught between earth and sky, somewhat relaxed, but also ready to jump into action at any given moment.

Your rep must’ve noticed your silence because her voice got, somehow, even higher.

“You’ve seen it, haven’t you? It’s glorious, I tell you! Honey, this is your best work so far, congratulations. How you manage to get these sorts of pictures is beyond me, you have a gift.”

A gift. It wasn’t the first time you were told you had a natural talent, a gift for photography, but for the first time in ages, you were able to accept the compliment with no complaints.

“This… this is…” Words did not seem enough to express the wonder you felt towards the glorious work in front of you.

“Want some even better news?” You eagerly giggled a “uh-uh” and let the woman on the phone do the talking, “The Bugle Diario is doing a segment on Alchemax. You know, the company. They’re focusing specifically on the head biologist, a man called Miguel O’Hara. Apparently, he’s had some breakthrough discovery on DNA studies – you know me, I’m not very inclined towards science, but the point is, they want you to take his portrait!”

Alchemax was a big company. Hell, it was probably the biggest company in the city. You couldn’t quite figure out how this news were even better than the prints you’d just received, but were happy, nevertheless. A gig was a gig was a gig, and you liked portraits. Sure, this Miguel man might not be as interesting a subject as Spiderman, but it was Alchemax! It was still the opportunity of a lifetime, and there was no way you’d miss it.

“Count me in!”

Alchemax was huge.

Not only did the outside building appear enormous from the outside, but it also seemed to expand and grow once you walked inside.

All sorts of employees cover the building from head to toe – men clad in professional suits, women wearing white lab coats and safety glasses, teenagers carrying stacks of papers and boxes everywhere. You didn’t expect the megacorporation to be so… mega.

A kind receptionist took you to the floor where you were supposed to meet Miguel O’Hara, and while you two waited in the elevator, was sure to tell you how much she admired your work. You smiled and thanked her politely, before you arrived at your floor and waited.

The woman asked you to wait for a few seconds while she fetched the man you were supposed to photograph, and you did so, taking the space around you in.

It was… dark, to say the least.

Not to say that was a bad thing – you’d taken pictures at night, with barely any light other than the moon’s, but some indoor illumination would be nice. People in white coats ran around the floor, shouting words you understood, but couldn’t string in a sentence together. Talks about molecules, DNA, photosynthesis, splicing? filled the whole area, and you admired how focused every scientist seemed to be.

There were machines you could only imagine the purpose of everywhere, some large and scary, some so small, the workers carried them in their hands. Vials of strange, coloured liquids filled glass cabinets, which were occasionally opened and closed right away by working scientists. It smelled of sterilisation and focus. This was where the magic happened, you thought.

“Excuse me?” Suddenly, a rich, deep voice pulled you from your thoughts. You turned around, and holy shit –

“Are you [Y/N]? I’m Miguel O’Hara.”

You stared at Miguel for what seemed like an eternity.

Were biologists supposed to be this handsome?

He was positively charming.

He could best be described as big. Very big. This man was tall – incredibly so – with large shoulders and muscular arms nearly hidden by the lab coat he has on, but you can’t help noticing. You could tell by his piercing gaze and sculpted frame that his presence commanded attention. In fact, everyone around you stopped to stare at man for a few seconds, before hurriedly returning to their tasks. He must be a strict boss.

He narrowed his eyes (were they red?) and crossed his arms in front of his chest, eyeing you up and down with a look you couldn’t decipher, but had your cheeks and ears heat up just by its intensity. And yet, you were unable to form a coherent sentence, still staring at this man, whose cheekbones were so sharp, you were afraid they’d cut you anything they touched. Upon a closer inspection, you realised that the planes of his face looked extremely tired. When was the last time he’d slept?

By the state of the floor and the workers in it, you figured long, long ago.

“Is that how you do it?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Do what?” You managed to blurt out, holding onto your equipment tightly.

“Take pictures. Is that how you do it? With your eyes?”

If it was supposed to be a joke, you didn’t get it. From the way he said it, you figured it was more of a sarcastic statement. Of course. You were standing in the middle of his laboratory, shamelessly eyeing him up and down and wasting his time.

“N-No. My apologies, I…” You struggled to find the right words. They never came, so you shook your head and tried offering him your politest smile. “Yes, I’m [Y/N]. I’m here to take your portrait.”

Miguel eyed you up and down once again. You looked away, flustered. Could his gaze be any more intimidating?

“Is that all your equipment? Are you alone?” He asked you.

“Yeah, this is it.” You weren’t carrying much, just your usual stuff. A tripod, some lenses, a small reflector, and a light stand. Your beloved camera was inside it’s back, safely secured around your neck. Other photographers lectured you on not using nearly enough equipment as they would, but you prided yourself on your ability to use natural light and shadows to your advantage without a lot of instruments. “Are you busy? I mean, I was told to come now, but…”

“No, it’s fine. Where do you want me?”

Preferably on my bed, on top of me, while I hold onto those large shoulders and –

You chastised yourself for even having such thoughts. Not even the male models and actors that were photographed by you elicited such a response.

Control yourself.

“Oh, um… Do you have a lab of your own? I would like to take your picture in your element if you know what I mean.” Was the reply you gave him instead of the nasty thoughts you had conjured.

The scientist nodded and urged you to follow him.

You walked by his employees, all focused on experimenting with liquids, materials, concoctions you’d never seen before in your life.

With just a few words, Miguel had cleared what you assumed was the lab he worked on. Just like the rest of the floor, it was shrouded in in shadows. You wondered how anyone managed to work in here. Rows of instruments stood sentinel; their surfaces being bathed by the small amounts of natural flasks.

Things like vials and flasks decorated with labels of multiple colours stood on top of shelves, a reminder of the countless experiments this man and his team had conducted. He wasn’t Alchemax’s head biologist for no reason.

While you figured out the best place for him to sit, Miguel eyed you curiously.

You.

He knew you, of course.

You were the pretty photographer he’d seen capturing his fights and patrols and endeavours around Nueva York. He’d seen you risk your health countless of times, putting your own safety at risk just for a picture of him.

Miguel had to say he was flattered.

And not to mention your work always came out great. In fact, he had some of your best pictures safely tucked inside an envelop on his bedroom nightstand. A silent reminder that no matter where he went, you were sure to follow. And he liked it when you followed him.

That night when he was looking over his city and caught you staring, his enhanced vision had allowed him to get a proper look at you. At the natural sparkle of your eyes and how they widened when you two locked gazes. At the plush skin of your lips that parted when he looked at you. He could see you clearly, your gentle figure and graceful movements. So he looked away, allowing you to take his portrait.

It was the best thing he’d ever done.

“I think this would be a nice spot.” You told him, pointing to a nearby bench. “Would you please sit here?”

He happily obliged, sitting down and facing you. You looked even more beautiful up close, brows furrowing ever-so-softly in confusion as you worked your way around him, probably to figure how to best accommodate his hulking figure.

“Do you mind…?” You gave him a careful looking, pointing towards the vials and flasks and instruments cluttering the bench.

“Not at all. Just don’t break anything.”

He didn’t mean to sound as menacing he did – but Miguel was a professional, and he knew you would understand how to be careful around his objects. After all, your profession also demanded it.

You nodded and carefully got to work.

You took him in.

He was still massive, even when sitting down.

Careful as to not break anything, you sorted the objects around, arranging them in the best way possible as not to hide Miguel.

“So, tell me., Miguel,” Conversation was the easiest way to put your subjects at ease. Usually, conversation about their craft. “Did you always know you wanted to be a scientist?”

“Is this what you to do get your clients to relax?” Miguel inquired in a rather challenging tone.

“Yes.” You refused to look up, intent on making the ambient look as natural as possible without drawing the attention away from your subject. Once you were satisfied with the result, you removed your camera from its bag and pointed it at Miguel. “This is just a test shot.” And snapped a picture with the flash on.

He seemed to flinch at the bright light, and made a sound closest to a hiss, covering his face with his hands.

“Mierda – can’t you turn that off?” He grumbled.

“Sure. Can I turn on the light?”

“Absolutely not.”

You stared at him in confusion. So, he didn’t want you to turn the lights on, but you also weren’t allowed to use your camera’s flash? Who did this guy think he was?

“I’m sensitive to light – please, don’t point that at me.” This time when he spoke, his voice was softer, almost as if he regretted hissing at you – which in truth, he did.

“I can’t use my flash and I can’t turn on the lights. Am I supposed to photograph you in total darkness?

“You’re the photographer. Figure it out.”

There was a hint of what you thought was a smirk creeping up on his lips, and what you surely imagined to be a very long canine poking out, but you brushed it away as just the light (or the lack of thereof) playing tricks on you.

But he was right, you were the photographer.

You walked over to the window and closed the blinds until the natural light was almost gone.

You were a professional, and a damn good one at that, and you wouldn’t let something as basic as darkness ruin your shoot. Low light photography was a thing. You looked around, scanning your surroundings.

Miguel watched you as you walked around the lab, tinkering with vials, observing the light the windows provided, setting up the tripod in a billion different places. He had to say, he was impressed. You were every bit as competent as you appeared. The beauty was just a bonus.

“Am I giving you too much trouble?” He asked, somewhat concerned. He worried this whole shenanigan was going to give you too much work, but on the other hand, he’d seen you in action. Watched as you dodged stones and ran through cars to get the perfect photo, observed as you contorted yourself into the weirdest poses just to make your photos more dynamic. Miguel knew you could do this, he had witnessed it first hand over and over again.

“Not really, no. I like a challenge.” He grinned smugly at your response. You cross your arms, investigating the room once more. Surely a biologist’s lab had to be more interesting that that, right?

That’s when it came into view.

A huge machine, something straight out of a science fiction movie, as tall as the ceiling. You didn’t know how to describe it – there were cables all around it and a screen surrounded by keys. Definitely the kind of machine you would never approach, in fear of messing it up. Although it was turned off, the lights on its side were glowing bright red and blue, granting the lab a peculiar atmosphere.

What in the world could this possibly do?

“That’s a DNA splicing machine.” Miguel told you, almost as if reading your thoughts.

“Is this part of your research?” You were fascinated by the machine before you. How come you hadn’t noticed when you first walked in? It was creepy, surreal, but also mysterious and intriguing. All traits you could also assign to the man in the room with you.

He nodded and walked up to it, giving the structure a few pats.

“Unfortunately, I cannot tell you much about it. It’s Alchemax protocol. But it is part of my research, and I’m extremely proud of it.”

It was the first time Miguel had opened up about his job, and you decided to pry a bit more. You had an overall idea of what you wanted to do, now all you needed was a subject as ease, willing to relax.

“Don’t worry, I understand. It must be rewarding to know your work has helped so many people.” You smile and nudge him towards the machine. “Wait here.”

Miguel did as you were told, standing next to the enormous machine as you made your way to each window and closed the binders completely. What were you up to now? He decided to keep speaking anyway. This was your job, and you were doing your best. If he couldn’t talk to you as Spiderman, the least he could do was help you out right now. And the way to do that was to talk.

“Indeed. My research has advanced the realms of science and medicine in a truly remarkable way. I am quite proud of the progress I have made.” Miguel leaned into his machine absentmindedly, its red and blue glow illuminating his figure.

How ironic.

“And while I feel a great satisfaction in my work, I’ve also made some rather grave errors in the past.” Miguel doesn’t know why he’s telling you this. He doesn’t know you; he knows there’s a pretty woman who takes his pictures, but that’s about it. Should he be confiding in you? Would you even care?

“Errors?” You returned to his side, setting up your tripod a few feet away from him and toying with its angles. This man was huge – how were you going to fit him inside the frame of your camera?

“When I first started out at Alchemax, I was young and inexperienced. I graduated from Alchemax’s School for Gifted Youngsters and had big aspirations.” He took a big sigh, shaking his head. His dark locks fell in front of his forehead, and he was just about to adjust them, when you took a step towards him and caught his wrist just before he did.

“Don’t – just let me try something.” Miguel considered this, and mumbled a soft “alright” before you adjusted his hair slightly, tugging a rebellious strand right in front of his eyes. There wasn’t much light already, so hiding his face wasn’t ideal – but you had something in mind. “Surely, those aspirations paid out.” You decided to continue talking. It wasn’t even to get him to relax anymore, you were invested in his story, and wondered what could possibly haunt this mountain of a man.

“Only after a few years. Once I started working here, it wasn’t long before I found myself in over my head. I bit more than I could chew, and it caused me problems.” Miguel crossed his arms once more and stared into the distance. There was something laced in his gaze. Longing? Hurt? Regret?

“I’m sure you learned from them.” You angled your camera towards his face again. You’d been snapping pictures of him this whole time, though you weren’t quite sure if he had noticed it. Your camera was very silent, a feature that came in handy when you did not want to be disturbed or interrupted. Or when you did not want a scene to be ruined. “Look at me,” You mumbled, and he faced you again.

You snapped another picture.

“Still. It’s hard to live with the knowledge that you’ve done something so terrible.” You wondered what could possibly be so terrible for him to speak of it like this. One thing at the time.

“C’mere,” Miguel felt your hand on his arm, and he was suddenly being coaxed into a different position. You tilted his head towards the glass, his whole face now covered in red and blue light, forcing him to look away. It looked magnificent up close, beautiful yet harsh eyes looking at you, its irises of a colour you hadn’t figured out yet.

Your gaze trailed down over from his eyes to his strong nose and rested on his full lips. You wondered how they would feel on you – Focus! You came here to work, so work. Do not fantasize about your photo subject.

But it was so hard.

Unbeknownst to you, Miguel was having the exact same thoughts.

He wondered how you’d feel on his arms. Would you cling to him? He wondered how you’d look under him, caged under his arms and legs. Now that he wasn’t in imminent danger, Miguel allowed himself to look at you all he wanted.

Was it just you, or was the room hotter?

Quickly, you scurried away, returning to your camera.

“I’m sure all of the good things you’ve done in the name of science have made up for those past mistakes.” You tell him, snapping a few more shots. He looked majestic. The camera certainly loved him; no matter the angle, he always looked good.

“You think so?” Miguel fixated his gaze on yours once again, and precisely on that moment, you snapped a picture.

Oh.

Oh.

You looked at your camera’s screen and smiled.

Now this was a photograph worthy of a cover.

You looked at the man in front of you, smile still gracing your lips.

“I do.”

You examined the pictures you’d taken. They all looked great – save for that very last photo.

That one looked incredible. Magnificent.

“I think we’re done here!” You chirped, turning it off and putting it away.

Miguel raised an eyebrow.

“Already?”

“Mhm! I got it. Believe me, these look incredible.” He kept staring at you while you packed your things, unsure of what to say. He was aware he might have come across as rude or cold, but that’s just who he was. And truth be told, he was enjoying this. The company. Your company. Being able to finally share his burdens – even if for a few seconds, and not entirely. It was nice.

He followed you, suddenly appearing nervous.

“So, I usually send my subjects a copy of their prints. I know the Bugle’s my client, but I think you’re entitled to a few copies, don’t you?” There was that dazzling smile once again. Fuck. Miguel ought to make you smile more often – you’re a vision.

“I do,” he said, before shrugging. “You know… You could give me those in person.”

You stopped dead in your tracks, his words eliciting a mix of shock, surprise, and eagerness within you.

“In person?”

“In person. Maybe over some coffee?” He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly self-conscious. What if you said no? Miguel didn’t know you. What if you had a boyfriend? What if you weren’t interested in men? What if he had just made a big fool of himself?

He expected anything. For you to laugh, to walk away, to slap him.

He didn’t expect you to turn away from him, a flustered look adorning your features.

This was the part where you let him down slowly, where you told him you didn’t date your subjects, where –

“Coffee sounds great. I would love some coffee.” And then you quickly retrieved something from your bag – was that a piece of paper? Bending over a nearby bench, you grabbed a pen and scribbled something on it before handing it to him. “That’s my number. Not my rep’s – mine. You can… You can call me if you want to.”

Miguel smiled for the first time in the entire afternoon. And if his chiselled, stoic face was gorgeous, you had no way to describe his smile. It looked so natural, like it suited him. Like he should be always smiling. “I will.” He spoke gently.

A few weeks later, Miguel opened the door to his house to find a big envelope box addressed to him.

After taking it inside and swiftly opening it with his talons, he was met with a pastel coloured post-it that read “Thought you deserved the first edition” and a doddle of a small heart for a signature.

Carefully placing the note on his table, he removed the contents from the envelope.

It was an edition of the Bugle Diario, with his photo plastered on the cover. Specifically, the last one you took, the one you’d gushed about over a cup of coffee and a small cake.

The Mind of the Master: In-depth Interview with Alchemax’s Head Biologist Miguel O’Hara.

Miguel smiled.

His favourite photographer had done it once again.

A/N: I hope you liked it! I really did try my best! :) I'm not quite sure how I feel about this layout, but I like experimenting!

Have an amazing day everyone! <3

Morning talk with SingleDad! Miguel O´Hara

This is the next part of the series of SingleDad Miguel, hope you like it. I appreciate every comments

It is well known that Miguel has terrible sleep hygiene. He lasts whole days without sleeping and when he has the opportunity to do so, he does so in an uncomfortable chair in his laboratory. He doesn't always manage to get home to have a well-deserved rest, many times he is caught up in things at work or finds himself in some dimension dealing with some anomaly and not to mention possible time changes between dimensions.

They are the worst.

But for Miguel the most difficult thing is to see how little by little he is losing his daughter, he is not always in the best conditions to take care of Gabriela and that is something that little by little kills him inside. Despite the fact that Gaby has made it clear in multiple times that she doesn't mind that her dad can't always be there for her as long as you're present.

For Miguel and Gabriela your arrival was more than a blessing, many would think that they are exaggerating but it is the truth, Miguel felt that he was failing as a father and he felt that he should do more for his daughter, he knew that he had to ask for help but O'Hara was a proud man.

"Of course I can take care of my daughter, have a stable job, protect my city and why not, also safeguard the multiverse and go to my daughter's training sessions on weekends."

Everyone could see how the world was coming down on Miguel, except him.

After you met him at that party, you began to hang out and when you realized the big problem he had, you offered to help him a little, you didn't have superpowers and you weren't a genius, but for Miguel you always had the power to make him feel better about himself and you always managed to keep Gaby happy, and, if Gabriela was happy he was too.

So when Gabriela found out that you would live with them, she was so happy that she kept telling you what their weekends would be like and how they would spend time together non-stop.

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Today was one of those rare days when Miguel could spend the weekend at home with his little family. The night before, he had promised Gaby that he would take her to school next day. Today is the other day and Miguel had fallen asleep making Gaby late for school.

Those mornings were chaotic but without a doubt you would never change them.

After Miguel memorized all the commands and instructions that you left in the refrigerator, he took Gaby and put her in the car, starting the car in record time.

During the journey to school they were silent, probably both were still half asleep, neither of them managed to comb their hair. Miguel was the first to break the silence.

"So... how do you feel with her at home? you are happy?" Miguel asked as he leaned his head towards his daughter waiting for an answer without stopping to see the road.

"I really like having her around, also, her food is very tasty. More than yours." Gabriela said between laughs. She liked to tease his dad from time to time. He took food very seriously, it was his way of showing his affection when words did not allow it.

"More than mine..." Miguel repeats in a low voice "Okay, it doesn't bother me. I didn't want to cook anymore anyway." And the drama begins. "It's not like cooking is our favorite thing to do together. No, not at all."

"Just kidding, I like your food, but you have to admit that mom's food is good. You always fall asleep on the couch after eating what she makes" Gaby had the biggest smile he had ever seen.

"Mom? Since when did you call her mom? What am I missing?" Miguel stopped the car at the red light, turning to see his daughter.

Gaby's cheeks were a little red. "Well... I started calling her that after it slipped out by mistake at one of my soccer practices. She said it was fine as long as you and I felt comfortable."

"Mom huh? And what do you think about that? Would you like her to be your mom?" Miguel's tone was definitely serious.

"Yes" Gaby didn't hesitate for a second to answer, it's as if she had already had this conversation in her head over and over again and in none of them would she have said no. Every time she thought about it, you always showed up, at her training sessions, at her school events, God, even she had already thought about how her first mothers day would be with you there at her festival.

"I think she's good for you Pa and if she's good for you and makes you happy, so am I." At that moment Gaby was speaking from the bottom of her heart. "Besides, you're getting old, you're lucky she noticed you" And there it was, the usual Gaby was back, bothering her father in the most affectionate way possible, in the only way a daughter like her and a father like him could show their affection.

"First of all, how dare you. Second I'M NOT OLD, it's the stress. What makes you think I'm old." Miguel kept driving as soon as the light turned green. On the other hand, Gabriela was laughing. "Well, the other day I heard you tell mom that your back and knees were starting to hurt. That's for old people"

"For the sake of my health, I'm going to ignore the fact that my precious daughter called me old. What I mean is that if I ask her to marry me, would you be okay with that?"

"Definitely, if life had given me to choose who my mother would be from the beginning, I would choose her, in this and in all universes. If one day you two separate -I hope not- I would choose to go with her. I think that that makes it clear what I think."

Miguel remained silent for a while, getting closer and closer to the school entrance. "Well, I think the decision has been made" Miguel said as he accelerated.

"You just passed the school entrance" Gaby was confused "Where are we going?"

"To the mall" Miguel just shrugged his shoulders as if it were something obvious

"For what?" Gaby only saw how her school was moving away from her sight

"To buy an engagement ring"

"That's good because I was going to tell you that I forgot my backpack at home"

"AY GABRIELA!"

May I have... Dante being a affectionate..towards reader.. 🥺

Most of the demon shit mentioned in here is made up by me because why not.

It doesn't take alot for Dante to be affectionate, he's so full of it that the slip of his arm over your shoulder was just as common as his lips pepper kisses across your cheek, jaw and neck; all the while he easily bats off your feeble attempts to put ditance between the two of you, laughing as he kept you within his strong embrace.

You could simply be exisiting and Dante would find the need to smother you in an abundance of affection, some even resulted in him leaving bite marks upon your skin, some even bleeding a little from his sharp canines digging in a little too deeply to be comfortable nor pleasant for the recipient; ie you as you scold him about it while he smiled deviously, proud of his handiwork.

'i don't see the problem with the biting.' Dante said defensively as you look at the bitemarks within the bathroom mirrior, glaring at him through it.

'sure you don't becuase you don't have to explain to Vergil about how much of a fucking menace his twin is when it comes to my neck.' You winced as you touched one of the bitemarks, mentally making preperations on how you could cleverly cover them up from prying eyes of friends and strangers alike, not that you mind him escenically marking you but certainly not when Vergil was walking the hallways with a knowing look in his icy eyes.

'Hes a smart cookie Vergil,' Dante replies carelessly as he crosses the room to hold you from behind, 'He's aware of the demonic nature that resides within us as well as human, so it's not hard dor him to put two and two together before walking the other way with a face of disgust.' He adds as he resting his head on your shoulder as his smile seems to widen upon seeing your unamused stare.

'How insightful of you, had i not know your brother personally i would've thanked you for that vital bit of infomation, but i do so i don't.' You said sarcastically, trying to show no reaction when Dante buries his head into your neck as he laughs, nosing the bite marks there as though maping them out, before soflty kissing them as if that would heal them.

You found that whenever Dante got affectionate like this you melted like butter within his arms, getting weak in the knees whenever his lips pressed to any part of you, his strong hands holding up on their own as you try to reciprocate his kisses with your own. only for Dante to pull away with a pout that you were certain matched yours, as he says; 'Let me love you sweetheart.'

'isn't it selfish of me to just let you love on me without loving on you aswell?' you asked, not liking leaving Dante out of the wamrth of a kiss, the tender but protectiveness of a hug, or even the serene feeling of having your hand atop of his chest as you felt his heart beneath your palm as though it too was trying to kiss you in some way.

To you Dante was the epiphony of warmth, of strength and protection with every touch he's had seered into your skin and your memories. Yet he was also soft, sweet as the strawberries you could taste upon his tongue from all the sunadaes hes eaten before, it was an addictive taste that you could never get enough of even if you tried, for he would always pull you back in with that stupid smile of his and silly quips that he would make that never failed to have a guilty smile creep upon your lips.

Dante smiles as he kisses your forhead. 'it's not selfish at all when i want to smother you in affection for being too goddamn perfect everyday for the rest of my life.' He admits to you softly, thumbs caressing your wasit. 'since you don't want to be selfish, i'll be selfish for the both of us.' was the last thing he said as his lips descended on yours and you complied to his wishes with no hesitation to speak of. He was your weakness and no one knew this better then the man who was still fruitless in his attempt to kiss away his sore bitemarks.

'im trying to help you here but it seems as though you don't want it at all.' He pouts against your shoulder- his grip on your waist tightning a little- as you wordlessly raised a haid to run through his messy strands of white hair upon his head on instict, making him let out a deep purr like sound that indicated his inner demon's fondness of you coming through however it could.

Speaking of his demoic side, his demon form was only best described as Dante on steroids in terms of affection, something you would've enjoyed had he not run hotter then a thousand furances, neverless towering overyou with it's great height, something that made you feel a multitude of ways as your face was smushed into his hard armoured chest of rough skin. This was not to mention how the ruby red demon was somehow three times more protective over you then Dante was, something Vergil has said in passing was that whatever he or his twin felt in human form, it was twice or sometimes three times more potent in their demon form.

'you often hinder then help.' you say but lift one of his hands to kiss the back of it before resting it back onto your waist. 'Yet each time i try to be annoyed with you and your bites, you come up to me with that puppy dog look, smother me in affection and suddently the words i forgive you leave my lips.' you finished as you looked at the mirror, seeing the fondess and love within your reflections eyes, forever fascinated of how effortless you fit with one another; as though you were two piece mades for each other by the gods above, just as you should be.

Dante moved his head from your neck, smirking to himself when he felt your hand attmept to guide his head back to your neck, not liking the sudden dissapearence of his warmth and wanting to be selfish in keeping him as close as you did now. 'so do you?' he asks.

you furrow your brows. 'do i what?'

'forgive me..and my bitemarks.' Dante says as he presses a kiss to the side of your head, his eyes never once leaving yours through the mirror, shinning like two diamonds or better yet sapphires in the artificial light.

You shrug. 'i don't know, do i?'

Dante groans as he kisses both your cheeks, your jaw and neck much like he always did whenever he knew he was in trouble and wanted to get out of i quckly as possibly. 'Come on! forgive me! pretty please sweetheart,' he kisses the corner of your lip once, twice, three times, 'pretty please with a strawberry sundae ontop.'

You couldn't help but smile at the mention of the sweet treat that you often joked had stole his heart long before you did, something that Dante would take seriously as he often told you that while he loves the sweet treat, you were the truest love in his life and every other life he lives afterwards. 'yes i forgive you, my silly half demon man.' You muttered just loudly enough for the both of you to hear as you then pressed a kiss to his cheek. 'I'll always forgive you.' you add while placing a kiss to his lips, solidifying your words as truth as you felt Dante smile against your lips, huming in content as he holds you tighter within your small but quaint bathroom.

"𝓦𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓶𝓮?"

💫𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈: (DMC5) Dante x Gender-neutral reader

💫𝒮𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: Dante can't help but feel a little insecure when his body is losing itself at his old age

💫𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Fluff, 1k word count & Spelling Mistakes

💫𝒩𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈: I had to make another one

💫𝒟𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒 “𝒮𝑜𝓃 𝒪𝒻 𝒟𝒶𝓇𝓀 𝒦𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒮𝓅𝒶𝓇𝒹𝒶”

Every day with you felt like a dream—waking up to you, while ignoring the countless calls ringing downstairs, eating with you. At the same time, you complain about his everlasting diet (boasts about having good skin even now), 

hanging out with you, when he should be doing work and adulting so that the devil may cry office does lose its power again since he can’t take on any job that doesn’t interest—he’s got standards he tells you, he’s not some easy man who’ll take any job that comes his way, it’s an insult that you would think that way about him.

At the beginning of the night, he takes off his boot, coat thrown somewhere that can keep it from falling from the floor—it ends up falling onto the floor anyway, in the middle of the night—The way you’d sigh and elbow him for hogging the blankets, the way he’d pull you closer anyway, muttering something about "have some chivalry" as if he were some kind of sleeping beauty.

You spent as long as you can remember with him in this cycle, going through many phases together. 

.

Now that he gets older, he can't help but get nostalgic. Back in the day, back when he was majestic (and still is), he looked like he was meant to be in Baywatch—and it isn’t his insane ego talking for him (it is). He remembered how you used to swoon over him (his words, not yours), watching with a look in your eyes that made your pupils look like hearts.

Which, in your interpretation, you don’t exactly remember you being as desperate and love-struck as he claims, though you did have a habit of lingering a little too long—but in your defence, that’s because you were worried about him. And he certainly won’t admit that he was projecting how he used to act onto you.

Ah. Those were the days he misses at times, yet somehow, you look even more attractive now than you did back then—something he’d say out loud, of course. (more differently and obnoxiously of saying it, "Guess my good looks finally rubbed off on you."). Even now, he still acts like the love-struck teenager he was back then.

But one of the few downsides of getting older was that he was prone to gaining a bit of weight, his body had the abs…just a little weight added onto (those pizzas were beginning to catch up with him in his 40s), staring at the mirror for a little. He usually would pout and try to get some reassurance from you, which you always gave. 

But today, he just felt strangely insecure over it, more than usual, so he finds himself not mentioning it to you.

He stands there a little longer than usual, fingers pressing against the slight softness where hard edges used to be. The mirror doesn’t lie—but then again, neither does time. He scowls at his reflection, as if sheer force of will could carve the years away.

“What are you doing?” 

You already knew what he was doing, but still had the courtesy to ask him, raising an eyebrow as you came out of the shower freshly clean and the smell of the body wash you use still radiating off.

Walking past Dante was in front of the full-length mirror—sitting on the edge of the bed as you take some lotion to put on your skin.

Dante huffs, crossing his arms as he finally tears his gaze away from the mirror. "Just admiring the view," he says, flashing you that same roguish grin that’s charmed you for decades—though now, the look in his eyes is similar to whenever he gets nightmares and he tries to persuade you otherwise.

Setting the lotion aside, you stand and cross the short distance between you, your fingers brushing his arm before sliding down to intertwine with his.  

"Admiring the view, huh?" you murmur, tilting your head. "Funny, because I was just thinking the same thing." Your other hand is going to cup his stubble cheek.

His smirk softens at your touch, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. He leans into your palm, the roughness of his stubble pricks against your skin like tiny dull needles.  

"Cheesy," he mutters, but there's no bite to it—just that quiet, rare fondness he reserves only for you. His fingers tighten around yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles in a slow, absent rhythm. 

“Takes one to know one.”

You press a kiss to his jaw, right where the stubble is the softest, and feel the way his breath hitches—just slightly, just enough for you to notice.  

Dante exhales through his nose, turning his head to catch your lips properly, his free hand coming up to tangle in your damp hair. He can't help but bring his lips pressed tightly against your lips.

His stubble scrapes against your skin, and it’s rough; you can’t help the small sigh that escapes you. Dante swallows it greedily, his other hand sliding down to grip your waist, fingers pressing into the dip of your spine like the desperate maiden he is.

Your free hand goes to the little space between you and traces the slight softness where his abs used to be more defined. 

Dante tenses for just a second—that split-second hesitation that betrays him more than any words could. But then your fingers spread wide, pressing possessively against the warm skin of his stomach, and something in his posture shifts. 

"Still feels the same," you murmur against his lips, dragging your hand up to feel the solid muscle beneath. 

His hands can’t help but be influenced by your own when his hand goes under the waistband of your clothing.

"You," you murmur against his mouth, "are still my favorite view."

Dante barely gives you a second to breathe before he’s kissing you harder, rough and desperate, his hands sliding under your clothes like he can’t get close enough.

"You’re gonna kill me one day," he mutters, pulling your hand off his cheek, grinning as he presses his face right in your neck—the hairs pricking your neck nicely.

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