#atsv reader insert

[baiabay]

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˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚

🕸️ You are Y/N Hardy, also known as the Black Cat... But noone knew that. Unsolved, undetected, unstoppable. Notorious for stealing multitudes of notable, expensive works, all without leaving a hint pointing to who's behind the mask.

Being the Black Cat was an easy side-gig...until Spider-man showed up.

status: incomplete (currently writing)

˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

[phyrestartr]

The Intern | Miguel O'hara x M!Reader

#NSFW, Age Gap (mid 20s and mid 30s), reader's a homewrecker, Miguel's a cheater, mentions of toxic marriage, male!reader, bussy loading, porn with feelings, Miguel's a bit of a dickhead, top Miguel (for now), bottom reader (for now)

Note: I can't write anything without making it into a series lol I'm writing another part right now leave me alone!!!

-- The Intern --

[ How it Started: 1/2 ] [2/2]

Miguel didn't take interns. He hated them, actually; the way they'd needle him with too many annoying questions, the times they tried flexing their unimpressive knowledge of genetics, the way they'd fail to flirt and catch his eye–all of it ticked him off, made him snap and snuff out their bright, curious flames. He didn't mean to. He didn't want to make future scientists lose steam. But he had a limit, and these day, it was hit way too fucking often.

That didn't change when the tours came through. Actually, between his wife pushing his buttons and the young, bright-eyed scientists eyeing him over, everything just pissed him off more, shortened the limit exponentially. 

And he saw you there, listening to someone with a better temper talk. You didn't look all too impressed. You were maybe a little bored, actually. Your eyes swept across the room in wide arcs, looking for something interesting to land on. That was a feeling Miguel could relate to all too well. 

But your eyes eventually landed on him, somehow. You pursed your lips slowly, like it'd make too much noise otherwise, while your cheeks lifted in amusement. You glanced back to the speaker and back to Miguel, eyebrows gesturing too perfectly: get a load of this guy, eh? 

Miguel's expressionless mask slipped for a moment, and he twitched a smirk. He shook his head and looked back to his work. 

He did, however, glance at you on your way out. You didn't look back at him. 

–

He and Dana agreed to separate. It'd be a momentary thing, a way to work out the kinks in their marriage without more random accusations and hurtful words being thrown at each other on the daily. Miguel didn't want that. He didn't want Gabi to be subject to it, most of all. 

The separation calmed things down quite a bit, down to the point where Miguel wondered why they were arguing so much in the first place; until Dana did a very Dana thing and decided, for some reason, she couldn't take care of Gabi by herself while they were separated. Probably a ploy to get them back together under the same roof. Probably a scheme to manipulate the situation. 

But Miguel could play hardball, too. 

He'd pick Gabi up every day after school, and take her to the lab, but sequestered off in the cafeteria where a security guard was always present. She'd get to snack, she'd do her homework, and Miguel could work knowing she was safe. Not ideal, and maybe a little lonely for her, but easy. 

Checking up on her was another good excuse to walk away from his work, too. And one of the times he passed by, in desperate need of a cup of coffee and boost from his little girl's warm smile, he saw someone sitting with her. 

He watched for a moment as he stirred his coffee. Then, he realized it was you, that random intern from the tour a few months back. You were sat across from her, munching on whatever your late lunch was, and nodding emphatically to whatever his little girl was going on about. Her arms gestured wide and her giggle resonated brightly in the room, drawing some annoyed glances and cooing comments, but you didn't miss a beat, matching her laughter and big gestures. It was nice. 

Miguel's shoulders relaxed a little for once. 

He saw you there more days than not. And the days you weren't there, he often spied Gabi looking around, no doubt wondering where you were. It hurt his heart a bit to see her pout, truth be told, and he started to realize he should probably get to know you if you were inadvertently babysitting his kid. 

So, the next time he found you there, he walked over. 

You were beside her this time, both hunched over her usual tablet full of homework. You were the one gesturing wildly this time, talking too much with your hands as you explained fractions and common denominations and the sort in a way that truly only kids could tolerate and understand. Miguel had to put an end to it if he wanted to talk with you. 

"So, for this one, the little bitch on the bottom is–" 

"Sorry, 'little bitch'?" Miguel interjected, smirking when you jumped and Gabi gasped in delight. "Don't think that's proper terminology. Just a hunch." 

"Daddy!" Gabi called, happily turning in her seat to hug her father. Miguel's mean smile softened into something kinder and gentler.

"Hey, mija. Doing your homework, huh?" He asked as he brushed back his girl's hair. "He's not giving you all the answers, is he?" 

You balked before interrupting yourself. "Woah, hey, no, no, no, I'm makin' her do the stuff 'n the things, don’t worry 'bout it." Woah. Okay. That was a heavy Nueva York accent. Not what Miguel expected. 

"Yeah! I'm doing all the work! Mr.(Name)'s just helping when I get stuck 'n stuff!" Gabi's brows knitted together in concern. "Don't get mad at him!" 

"Yeah, don't get mad at me, Doc–she’s a smart kid, she don’t even need me to do this stuff for her, y’know?” 

“Well, I already knew that.” Miguel smirked as you huffed. He sat down on the other side of Gabriella and peered across her tablet at you. “You’re an intern, right? You were at the–”

“The tour, yeah.” You nodded a bit and propped your elbow up on the table before resting your cheek against your palm to watch Gabi solve her equations. “Saw you, too. You looked pretty pissed.”

“Intern day isn’t my favourite day,” Miguel offered with an unbothered shrug. 

“Yeah, I figured. You looked like you wanted to light ‘em on fire." 

"I could've, but then I'd be out a free part-time babysitter."

You laughed lightly, and Miguel caught the charming dip of dimples light up your face. "Oh, so that's how it is, huh? Guess I ain't mad at that. Gabi's a good kid, reminds me of my niece." 

Miguel raised his brows a bit. A niece. "Huh. Guess that explains a lot." 

"Dunno what you mean by that, but I'm gonna hope it's a good thing." 

Miguel smiled a bit. "It's a good thing." 

You smiled, too, though a bit more smug and proud. "Yeah? Good." You glanced up at the clock on the wall and sighed, the cute tilt to your lips suddenly vanishing. 

Gabi caught on and sent a powerful pout your way. "Already?" 

"Yeah, sorry, chica. Gotta get back to work." You stood up and offered your hand to Miguel. "Didn't introduce myself. I'm (Name)." 

Hm. Miguel liked how that sounded. 

"Miguel. Miguel O'hara." But you probably already knew that, though you had the decency not to point it out. 

"Nice to meetcha, Doc." 

You shook his hand and ruffled up Gabi's hair before seeing yourself out, a sudden haste in your scrambling steps as you checked the time again. Hah. You must've been late for something. 

"He's nice," Gabi said. Miguel's eyes fell back to her. 

"You think so?" He's not bad-looking, either. "You're okay with him? You feel safe?" 

"Ah-huh, ah-huh. He's not mean." Her big brown eyes sparkled up at Miguel, then. "I like 'im! Are you gonna be friends with him?" 

Miguel glanced back your way, surprised to see you standing by the elevators and glancing back at him. You looked away when you got caught, but turned back again with a little wave, like you’d realized turning away looked awkward and suspicious and had to rectify it. 

A light smirk tugged at Miguel’s lips. “Yeah, maybe.”

–

It started with chatting at lunch. Then, it turned into light touches on the shoulder and your thieving hands plucking whatever sort of drink or snack Miguel held in tired hands. And then, well, it just got worse. 

Miguel growled into your ear as he held you pinned against the wall, his hips slamming up against yours, driving himself deep into your core. To your credit, you held your voice well, only letting the slightest peeps and squeaks out when the older man happened to hit your soft spot in his wild momentum. It’s not that it would’ve mattered, though; the Halloween party’s music blared too loudly in the cafeteria for anyone to hear you getting fucked braindead in Miguel’s office. 

“Mmmmnnn–Doc, wait, wait, ow, ow, ow–” Your thighs constricted around his waist in a panic as you hissed and dug your blunt nails into his massive shoulders. 

Miguel paused his cruel tempo and finally took a second to breathe. “I–what? You okay?” He asked, brushing some of your messy hair from your face. The corner of his mouth quirked with amusement as he was reminded of the dried fake blood trailing down your mouth, and the glue-on fangs you had set to your canines. You looked quite cute as a fucked-out vampire intern, he had to admit. 

You nodded weakly as you panted. “Y-Yeah, ‘m good, you’re good.” You tilted your head back and bonked it on the wall behind you, no doubt influenced by the alcohol in your veins. “This wall sucks. Hurts my back.” 

Ah. Miguel probably shouldn’t care. This was just a fling, some stress-relief from his frustrating marriage.

But he was too weak, apparently. “Tch. Picky,” Miguel scolded into your ear before pulling you off the wall. 

“Picky?” You repeated, clinging to him desperately. 

“Incredibly picky.” He walked a few steps, carrying you with his cock still buried deep inside of you, and rested you on his pristine desk instead. “Better?” 

You sighed and pulled your shirt down more while you both got situated. “Yuh-huh.” You looked at him with that infuriating, lazy smile and wriggled your hips against him. “Continue.” 

Miguel’s eye twitched. He couldn’t help but feel like he was accidentally subservient to you for that split second. He was supposed to be in control, not you. 

“Smug brat,” Miguel scoffed before hoisting your legs over his shoulders and pistoning into you cruelly. 

His core ached with want as you arched beautifully off his desk, and through the buzz of booze, he admired you; your own heavy cock wept against your stomach as your diaphragm stuttered with each needy dive into your messy heat. Your face flushed a captivating crimson while your eyes fluttered and shone with unspent tears clinging to your lash line. Then, your stupid costume teeth bit into your lower lip as your voice started to break free from its restraints and pushed by your bobbing Adam’s apple, letting new whimpers and clipped moans fill his office. 

“Doc,” you whined, screwing your eyes closed and fisting your hand around your length. “Doc–” 

Oh. Oh no. You were cute. Really cute in the way you started letting out bubbling praise and babbled wants, in the way your free hand clawed at his arm to just touch him and hold him while your high threatened to push you off the edge and into that endless spiral. Miguel hadn’t felt this wanted in a long, long time. He hadn’t been showered in praise, told how good he was, given someone’s full attention for even longer. 

He couldn’t remember the first time he came first, either. 

Because he did, with his teeth clenching, his thrusts breaking down into something erratic and out of tempo, he spilled inside of you. Electricity pulsed through every synapse of his nerves, bringing a wash of cool, prickling energy to his palms and curling fingers as he gripped on you harder, tighter, jamming himself inside of you with a reckless abandon. 

“D-Did you–?” You asked. Miguel caught your gaze, and another gush emptied out of him–your eyes, wide and doe-like in surprised amazement, were too captivating, too endearing. And when you realized that, yes, you’d made him cum first, you were quick to reach the same peak. 

Miguel was the one to moan this time. Your body clenched down around him in desperation to hold him still while your own white-hot bliss ripped through you. Pearly strands of white roped across your trembling hand and your stomach, one after the other, until there was nothing left to give. But with a sharp slap to your ass, Miguel found there was just a little more you could both give. 

“Good boy,” Miguel mumbled, voice thick and full where it trilled. He gave you another good spank. “Good boy.” 

Miguel slowed his hips gradually, slowly catching his breath in tandem with your wild panting as the afterglow stayed where the too-hot sear faded. His nerves relaxed with his body. His mind soon followed suit, too, which was a problem and a relief; a problem because he didn’t feel a shred of guilt, but relief in the realization of how simple this exchange was. Just sex. With someone he could tolerate.

“Shit,” you breathed. You glanced down at the mess you’d become, and grimaced. “C-Can a good boy get a, uh, a tissue or, like, five?” 

Miguel rolled his eyes. He popped open one of the drawers to his desk and pulled out a tissue box and set it beside you before, like the bastard he was, he pulled out of you without warning and watched your hole clench around nothing before glossy whiteness oozed out of you. He ignored your sharp complaints in favour of enjoying the show and meanly stuffing his cum back into you before, for a third time, giving you a slap on the rear like you were a good ol’ used truck. 

Miguel snatched the first tissue to clean himself up and tossed it away, tucking himself back into his pants and straightening his clothes out like nothing happened, before turning and walking away. 

“Hey, wh–seriously?!” You cried (or whined, or complained) at his back. 

Miguel smirked to himself before calling over his shoulder, “Make sure you clean my desk up, too. I’ll get you kicked out of the program if it’s not in perfect condition tomorrow morning.” 

But he almost crumbled under your sweet, cooing pleas for him to come back, to stay a little longer, but thankfully, a whirlwind of petty insults were thrown at his back when he reached the door. And he found the strength to keep going, to subject you to his little game. 

A cruel game of torturing his favourite intern.

[ctrlzirl]

I need someone to explain to me WHY y/n picks outfits like we are playing EPISODE and RAN OUT OF GEMS!?!!?

[olmstier]

Those things are *ancient* to him

[thatrandomidiot182]

Venomous Things

Spider! Varient/Venom! Reader × Batfam × ITSV

platonic pairings (subject to change). neglectful/abusive Batfam.

Series Trigger Warnings: death, gore, suicidal thoughts + actions, grief, child neglect, verbal abuse, underage substance abuse. To be updated...

Hispanic! Reader. GN! Reader (subject to change). Reader suffers from ptsd, paranoia, survivors guilt, and imposter syndrome.

Inspired by: @xan-izme, @cherrrydragon, @rizzanon, @jscrawls, @kenyummy, @acid-ixx, @brawberryz, @gotham-daydreams, @cosmosluckycharms, @l0s3rd0wnt0wn, @onceinamillionposter and others who all have batfam content that I absolutely lovveeee <3

Divider by: @sister-lucifer

You thought your life could only get better after leaving the manor and swapping your suit for civvies (for good).

Apparently, it doesn't matter what you do because you'll end up going down the same path as all the rest of them in the end.

Character Introductions – 1. 2. 3.

Prologue.

Ch. 1 – Bitter Reunions, Sweet Coffee

》 A familiar face appears to disrupt your newfound peace and drag you back to the past.

Ch. 2 – (We Only See Each Other at) Weddings and Funerals

》 Paying respects to the man who made Gotham feel like home proves to be harder than you thought.

Ch. 3 – Blood Ties and Past Lives

》 Who knew all it would take to bond with your little brother was another death in the family.

Ch. 4 – Old Favors

》 Just as things begin to settle, an old friend makes a problematic reappearance.

Ch. 5 – Infinite Universes, Infinite Possibilities.

》 You knew going back to HQ wouldn't end good. You just didn't think it'd end so badly.

Ch. 6 – Voices

》 Between the new voice added to your collection of hallucinations and the increasing reminders of your past, you're beginning to think you're losing your mind...

tbc...

[pillarofsnow]

Miguel silently seethed as he watched the live feed on the orange hologram in his lab. His talons slicing through his desk as he gripped at it mercilessly.

He watched as you sobbed in the the living room of the shared home you had with his variant. He watched as his variant had walked out the door and your life, too engrossed in his projects at Alchemax than his marriage and potential family.

And that enraged him.

This variant could have had everything Miguel could have ever wanted.

A normal life.

A beautiful wife.

A family.

…���.Gabriella

And he threw it all away.

Miguel let out a low growl from his throat as he looked away from the screen. He was tempted to shut the live feed off, no longer being able to watch you suffer due to a stupid decision on his variants part. He hated seeing you sit alone in a big house that is a reminder of broken promises and dreams. He silently prayed to any entity for either that variant’s downfall or wake up call.

However, that thought was cut short when he heard you softly whimper in pain. His eyes snapped up to the screen as he watched you swipe something off your hand before quickly grabbing a glass cup and trapping the culprit inside. Miguel zoomed in on the screen to see two small puncture wounds on your hand before switching to what was in the glass.

Oh.

Oh.

Maybe fate wasn’t as cruel as he thought. Maybe this could be his second chance.

He’ll show you how you should be treated when the time comes…..until then he’ll patiently wait.

He has to welcome the new Spider-Woman after all.

[vivwritescrappythings]

only a little crazy

miguel o'hara x f!reader

You get hurt working at the Spider-Society and your grumpy boss decides to come check on you.

a/n: thank you for such a fun request! writing Miguel has been a good stretch for my brain. Thinking about turning this into a series so let me know how y'all like it :)

tw: fem reader, reader is shorter than Miguel (everyone is), Miguel's perspective, potentially poorly written Spanish, broken bones, canon typical violence, not proofread, Miguel may be poorly written

word count: 4.8k

masterlist

--

Despite Miguel’s many attempts to assign rules and procedures to the Spider-Society, only a few had ever stuck: no messing with canon events and civilians weren’t allowed to go beyond the lobby. He couldn’t even remember how many times he’d yelled at Peter B. Parker about letting Mary Jane go wherever she wanted.

Everyone else listened well enough.

That is, until you came into Miguel’s life like a plague.

You were nothing more than a thorn in his side: the only civilian with nearly full access to the facility. He would have never hired someone who hacked into their whole system because they were bored one day, but Margo insisted that you were one of the best she’d ever seen. You had since apologized—you cited your curiosity about the large building’s purpose and had taken matters into your own hands to figure out what went on inside the society. 

In comparison to you, Peter B. Parker and Mary Jane were a cakewalk. 

It didn’t help that you were so goddamn chipper all the time. You always greeted Miguel with a bright smile and polite questions about his day, as though you had no idea just how insufferable he found you.

“Hey Miguel,” you said from behind your computer, the monitor illuminating you in tones of blue and pink. You clicked something before leaning your weight onto one elbow to look around the screen at him. “Margo left me in charge today, just so you know.”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 

“LYLA would be in charge before I picked you,” he said, not bothering to look up from his reports. You laughed like it was a joke. Everything was a joke to you.

“Mhm,” you hummed, typing something. Miguel couldn’t help but notice the way you poked your tongue out while you concentrated, your brows furrowed. He paused, waiting for you to continue as he watched you just over the edge of the monitor. Working with you for almost a year now had taught him that you rarely were so succinct with your words.

Then you spun the monitor around, a flurry of motion as you leaned over the table to point at something on the screen. “There’s a lot of weird activity on Earth-325,” you said, tapping the screen over the amalgamation of yellow and orange. “If I had to guess, I’d say it was an anomaly, but you’re the expert on that.”

He didn’t miss the way you looked up at him expectantly, like a puppy waiting for a treat or a pat on the head for doing a trick right.

Miguel rolled his eyes as he grabbed the screen. He could feel his face contorting into a scowl as activity lit the monitor up. Another terrible part of dealing with you—you had a knack for always being right. It drove him crazy.

“I’ll get a team together,” he said, noting your pleased smile with a subtle roll of his eyes.

He was already flicking through screens on his tablet, sending Jessica the information. A portal opened in front of him, colors and shapes swirling together in a view that would’ve been awe-inspiring if he hadn’t seen it a million times.

“LYLA’s in charge,” Miguel said just before jumping into the portal. Your immediate groan of dismay followed by LYLA’s cheer made his lip twitch into a smile. 

—

His ears were ringing. 

It was still hard to wrap his head around what happened, the Spider-Society having devolved into chaos faster than he could have stopped it.

The anomaly they caught had broken loose–he blamed Peter B. Parker for being so distracted with Mayday. He could hear the distant shouts of Spider-People springing into action in the distance as he pulled himself out of a pile of freshly displaced rubble. The wide cap of his shoulder ached, not even his accelerated healing was able to chase away the sting of rebar nearly ripping through the fabric of his suit.

A clear trail of destruction followed the Venom variant, ribbons of torn webs hanging from every surface and the furniture tossed wildly across the room. Chunks of the walls were crushed into debris where bodies had crashed through them in the fight.

He picked up his pace, sprinting through Spider-Society like a force of nature. Sometimes he noticed how different he was from the others: preferring not to swing around on his webs and needing his claws to really climb anything. Not to mention he didn’t have the same irritating sense of humor that seemed to permeate every variant of Spider-Man.

A stream of shouts from the direction of the Go Home Machine made him redirect, propelling himself up the wall in a mass of sinew and muscle. Pushing himself like this felt good, the demand of a fight on his body was one of the few things that made Miguel actually feel alive.

It was a mess when he got there, girders collapsed from the ceiling and the majority of computers and desks were half-crushed. 

“Hey Miguel, I hope you have a decent insurance policy on this place,” Peter B. quipped as he approached. Miguel just rolled his eyes beneath his mask, watching the rest of the Spiders web the Venom variant enough that the Go Home Machine actually had time to work. Normally anomalies were kept around for at least a while to figure out how they broke into a different universe, but he didn’t disagree with the change of plans.

Mierda. What a fucking mess. 

He let the mask over his face flicker away as he surveyed the damage. It was enough to give him a headache, the feeling radiating from his temple and over his skull.

Peter was still running his mouth, some idiotic joke about how many Spider-People does it take to change a lightbulb spilling from his lips. Miguel could feel his temple throbbing, red seeping into his eyes as he felt a rebuke building in his chest.

“Are you a—“

“Oi, was Bug here today?” Hobie interrupted, the genuine concern in his tone giving Miguel pause.

Hobie was the first to call you Bug—something about ‘if they were all Spiders than you were a bug’—and it stuck. Miguel wasn’t sure if anyone called you by your name anymore.

“Yeah,” Miguel said, trying to find a sign of you in the undulating groups of blue and red and black suits. Too many blank stares met his gaze, anxiety making itself apparent in a cold sweat down his spine.

“LYLA?” It was more of a yell than he meant it to be. She could scan the room faster than he could take it apart.

“On it,” she answered in the same beat, yellow cones of light scanning various corners of the room. He had a hard time breathing, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Every empty scan ticked up his nerves, his jaw clenching so hard he wondered if it could crack.

It was hard not to spiral. He should have come up to protect you the moment the Venom got out. You were just a civilian, a human. How could he have been so irresponsible as to leave you on your own?

“Got something!” LYLA chirped, waving wildly to catch his attention.

Rushing to the pile of rubble was second nature, Hobie quickly falling into step to help. The sound of his own heart pounding was louder than the rubble they scrabbled through, pieces of concrete and duct piping falling away like they were made of paper beneath his hands.

“Dios mio,” Miguel sighed. You were caught beneath a girder, your leg twisted grotesquely beneath the metal. By some miracle you weren't crushed by the debris, just unconscious. You looked like a wounded baby bird, your chest rising and falling with each breath. Scrapes marred your skin, dark bruises blooming beneath the surface.

But you were alive, and mostly whole. His fingers twitched at his side as he just stared at you.

“Take her to the infirmary and then home,” Miguel said to Hobie, suddenly feeling the need to get as far away from you as breath returned to his body. He was nauseous, almost staggering under the weight of relief he had never expected to feel. 

He stepped back, head tilting up toward the ceiling for a moment as he took a breath. The girder slammed on the ground when Hobie moved it off you, lifting you with care.

Miguel nearly stepped in to take you out of Hobie’s arms. He had to physically turn away from you to resist it, surveying the extent of the damage. Thankfully no other anomalies managed to escape their confinement, most of the damage was just superficial. 

The sound of Hobie’s boots on the floor kept him composed, helped him time his breaths. He was still partially convinced that he would rip Peter B. apart if given the chance.

But instead he was just quiet, toeing a broken piece of a computer monitor on the floor. The weight of every eye in the room was on him, his skin crawling beneath his suit. He sighed, picking his head up to look at them.

“Well, start getting everything back together,” he said, voice loud enough to be an order. 

It wasn’t what everyone expected, any other day he would have at least lectured Peter B. about paying attention. No one moved, their blinking almost audible in the silence.

“Ay chingado,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “No one has anything to do? Start cleaning up!”

—

He found himself hanging on to every scrap of information about how you were doing. It had only been a week, but any mention of you in the hall or in meetings piqued his interest. It was becoming obvious that he was distracted, his thoughts preoccupied with you… if you were alright.

What did it matter to him if you were alright? You’d been nothing but a grade A pain in his ass from the moment you set foot in his life. 

But he realized he was putting together mental lists of exciting moments of his day just to tell you when you asked, he had been for months. He kept accidentally buying extra empanadas because you usually stole one from him. His step would falter at your desk, part of him expecting you to be there.

“So are you going to go visit Bug?” LYLA asked, catching Miguel off guard as she floated in front of his eyes, laying on her stomach with her feet kicking in the air.

He huffed, waving her away with a hand as he blinked at whatever he’d been trying to read on the computer monitor… just the home screen, apparently. The blue default photo mocked him before he turned away from the monitors altogether.

“Why would I do that?” Miguel asked, a feeble attempt to act casual. 

Once the idea was introduced, he couldn’t get it out of his head. He imagined himself in your space, tried to picture what your things would be like. Chaotic, no doubt. But comfortable. Colorful, certainly. He couldn’t imagine you living in a pristine beige apartment.

“Miguel, the worst part about having an AI personal assistant is that I see everything you do. Everything,” she said, walking up and down his arm. She looked up at him over her shoulder. “So don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about, okay?”

He kept a straight face for a few beats, crossing his arms over his chest. But LYLA was right, if anyone would know it was her.

“I need to be here,” he said, scrubbing his hand over his face. Normally he preferred to be at the Spider-Society, the distraction of work far better than his reality. But it suddenly became a chore.

LYLA huffed, rolling her eyes behind the heart-shaped glasses. Sometimes Miguel wondered why he programmed her to be so sassy. “You don’t need to actually be here,” she said, folding her arms and tapping her foot in mid air as she floated in front of him. “Jessica and I will call you if anything crazy happens.”

Handing over the reins for the day was an intriguing idea. He could let the stress go, even just until tomorrow, let someone else handle it. 

The bubble of hope rising in his chest was immediately popped by a sharp lance of anxiety. What if something happened? What if his absence got someone killed? Or worse, a universe destroyed?

LYLA must have noticed his expression shift, he could hear her sigh.

“If you don’t go, I’ll call Bug and tell her that you’ve been making googly eyes at her desk for the past week and have had to throw away like six empanadas that you bought for her,” LYLA said calmly, issuing her final threat.

“No me chingues,” Miguel hissed, his irritation on his face as he rolled his eyes. But his stomach was flipping, nerves he hadn’t felt since he was a teenager suddenly coming to life. “Fine, I’m going.”

LYLA looked pleased, blinking out of existence in front of him to appear at his computer monitors. She shifted through screens quickly, the colors flashing over her as she did. “I’ve already got the word out, so everyone knows not to bother you unless they are in dire need of assistance.”

“Great,” he breathed, getting a ping from LYLA with your address. She really spared no moment. 

“If anything happens–”

“Don’t worry! We’ll call,” LYLA interrupting him, assuring him as she waved him off. 

He sighed, still partially in disbelief that he let her strongarm him into this as he left the Spider-Society.

–

He would’ve guessed they paid you enough to have a better apartment. The underbelly of the city wasn’t somewhere he pictured you, the rest of Nueva York blocking you from the sun and the highway just outside your windows. There was a huge purple neon sign just outside your terrace–a remnant of the old New York that looked barely touched.

It hadn’t taken him long to find your building and even less time to find your apartment, the door to the terrace was left unlocked. He’d have to have a talk with you about that when you were feeling better.

The inside of your apartment was as he expected, a disorganized riot of color and trinkets and mementos that made the space so tooth-achingly cozy. He felt out of place, even in the simple civilian clothes he changed into. It was weird wearing them rather than his spidersuit, the soft fabric of the sweatpants and tee shirt had become unfamiliar.

You weren’t in the room he stood in, your bed, a couch and dining table shoved into a space smaller than his cubicle when he worked at Alchemax. He could see that you’d set up camp on your bed, pill bottles and dirty dishes piling up on your nightstand and the bed unmade. The TV was still playing some movie that had come out a few years ago, the remote tossed amongst your sheets.

He would have to clean up around here, the chaos already making him feel unmoored.

There was no time left for him to snoop, the sound of the sink in the bathroom reminding him why he was even in your apartment in the first place. The bathroom door swung open, the grumbles of you maneuvering with your crutches catching his attention.

You had a 3D-printed cast up to your mid-thigh, loose pajama pants stretched over the honeycombed plastic. He’d never seen you look so casual, an oversized, ratty shirt marked with stains and small holes covering your torso, your skin free of makeup and your hair unstyled. It took him a moment to realize he preferred you that way, a lump forming in his throat.

He was too caught up in his evaluation of you to note the way you stiffened when you realized there was another body in the room. Your eyes widened.

“What the fuck!” you shouted, your voice bringing Miguel back to reality just in time to catch the black stuffed bear flying at his face without dropping the bag of groceries he held in one hand. A throw pillow followed, bouncing harmlessly off his chest and falling to the rug.

Your mouth had dropped open, a crutch clattering to the ground as you pressed your hand to your heart. He could hear the rapid thrum of it beneath your ribs, a hummingbird caught in a cage.

“You were going to defend yourself from a burglar with a pillow and a teddy bear?” Miguel asked, looking down at the well-loved toy. One of the button eyes was missing entirely, just black bits of thread sticking out of the fabric. A red heart was stitched haphazardly into its chest.

Your mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. He swore he could almost hear your thoughts buffering. “You can’t just break into my apartment, Miguel! What if I was naked?”

He made an incredulous noise, something between a laugh and a sigh. Of course that’s what you would be worried about. “Well, you’re not naked,” he said, taking another step into the room. He slipped his shoes off and left them near the terrace door–force of habit from his childhood.

“I could’ve been!” you insisted, awkwardly navigating to your bed. Miguel watched with his hear in his throat, wanting to step in and carry you rather than watch you shuffle around.

He shook his head, stepping around your small coffee table. “What are you doing up, anyways?” he asked, taking over stacking pillows to prop your leg up, adding the throw pillow you threw at him to the pile. “The doctor said it would take twelve weeks for you to bear weight on it again.”

You clicked your tongue against the back of your teeth, letting him help you get situated in your bed. “Well the doctor didn’t give me a bedpan and a private chef, so I’m hobbling,” you informed him, looking up at Miguel with a bored expression. “But, what are you doing here, Miguel? Hobie and Peter B. have been checking on me.”

He looked around your studio apartment, taking in the disarray before focusing on you again. Your toenails were painted the same shade of navy that Hobie’s were. He sat down on the end of your bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight.

“Yeah well, considering the state of your apartment, it seems like you need me here more than you think,” he said. 

You snorted, a grin that made his stomach turn finding its way to your face. “Aw Miggy,” there was a teasing lilt to your tone, “are you a secret softie? If I didn’t know better, I’d guess you were worried about me.”

He let out a soft breath instead of a laugh, standing abruptly so you couldn’t see the blush on his cheeks. God, he felt like a bumbling idiot around you. He gathered dirty dishes to do something with his hands, sequestering them to the sink. 

“LYLA was asking about you,” he said, head bent over the sink as he started to clean. The water was warm enough to turn his hands red, the blue dish soap lathering quickly as he methodically washed each plate and set it in the rack to dry. They were charmingly mismatched, a few chipped at the edges.

“Oh, she was?” you asked, but your amused tone told Miguel that you weren’t exactly convinced. 

He nodded anyway. “She rearranged my whole day and made me come out to check on you,” he said, not entirely lying. 

The way you hummed felt like a warm finger running down each notch of his spine, a pleasant shiver radiating out to his fingertips and toes. “Well I guess I’ll have to thank her, sending the most neurotic person I know will at least get me a tidy apartment. Shocker that Peter B. and Hobie never offered to clean.”

The silence that lapsed between you was surprisingly comfortable. He made himself useful by performing menial tasks like collecting the trash and taking it out to the bins, sweeping the floors and throwing a load of clothes in the wash.

“Miguel O’Hara, Spider-Man by night, maid by day,” you murmured, sipping the ice water he’d gotten you. He watched the condensation coat your fingers, dripping to the bedspread. “Do you wear the little outfit, too? With the ruffles and the feather duster?”

“How many painkillers do they have you on?” he asked, picking up one of the little orange bottles on your nightstand. “You’re more irritating than usual.”

There was a hint of a smile, giving him away as he set the pills back where he got them from. 

You rolled your eyes at him, lounging back against the pillows he’d fluffed for you. “I must be incredibly irritating for you to want to spend your day off cleaning my apartment and making me soup,” you teased, one eyebrow lifting. He felt like he’d been caught, some color finding its way to his face as he turned away.

A pot of caldo de pollo was simmering on the stove, he had decided to bring the ingredients with him on a whim. He used to make it for Gabriella when she was feeling sick, he’d filled his basket before he even realized what he was doing, originally he was just going to get you soup from a can.

Your apartment was in a way better state than when he arrived: the small space cleaned and orderly, the smell of cleaning solution and the soup permeating the air. He felt better about it, his nerves soothed for the most part.

“Don’t mention it to anyone,” he said, fixing you with his gaze. “I don’t want anyone to think I’m getting complacent.”

You laughed, nodding. “Don’t worry, Miggy, your secret is safe with me,” you said, pantomiming zipping your lips shut and locking them with a key. He snorted, taking a step back from your bed to stir the pot on the stove.

The only sound for a few moments was a sitcom playing on the television and the caldo simmering. Miguel had sorted through your cabinet of mismatched tupperware to find a few containers. He packed it away in the fridge for you to eat later, you’d already finished a full bowl of it by the time he cleaned the rest of the dishes.

He rubbed his hands on his pants as he glanced around awkwardly. Until then it had been easy to distract himself with tasks, to pretend that he wasn’t there just to see you. Now the truth was staring him in the face, your content sigh warming him from the inside out as you settled back into your bed.

“Well, I guess I should be going,” Miguel said, taking a step toward the sliding door from which he came originally. 

Your brow furrowed as you sat up straighter, wincing a bit as you jostled your injured leg. “Already?” you asked, glancing at the clock on the stove–it was the early evening. If he was above ground the sun would still be out. “You just got to the part where we like… hang out.” 

He pretended not to notice the sheepish lilt to your voice. 

His eyebrows lifted, a chuckle getting caught in his throat. “You want to hang out?” Miguel asked, sounding incredulous. Such an innocuous request felt odd. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone asked to spend time with him. 

“Oh c’mon,” you huffed, your head tilting to one side. “It’s so lonely being cooped up in this apartment all day, and you hardly even talked to me.”

You pouted, your bottom lip jutting out and your eyes going wide like a puppy’s. It was enough to make him go still. He found himself considering it, settling in your cozy apartment and watching a movie with you. 

“Just one movie and then you’re free to go,” you offered, your request too hopeful for him to refuse. 

He sighed, his shoulders relaxing as he agreed. 

The TV was tilted to face your bed, making it hard to view from the couch even as he sat at the very edge of it. You had an orange lamp on your bedside table, the glow of it casting a glare across the screen that obscured the cheesy teen movie you put on.

He could feel you glancing at him on occasion, the two of you almost playing tag with your wandering eyes. Every time he tried to catch your gaze you were watching the movie. 

“What are you doing?” he finally asked, leaning to one side in an attempt to see around the glare on the screen. 

“You should just come sit on the bed, you can’t even see the screen.” You sounded sincere. But, you did just take another dose of painkillers. He wouldn’t be surprised if they were clouding your judgment.

There was plenty of space next to you. He could sit next to you.

It would be more comfortable at least.

“You’re crazy, you know,” Miguel said, picking himself up off the couch. LYLA would never let him live this down if she found out about it. 

Your mattress was so soft, squishing beneath him as he settled against the headboard next to you. It was like he was sixteen again, his palms clammy and his mouth dry as he tried to avoid looking at you like you were the sun. 

Had he always been this nervous around you?

You nudged him with your elbow, interrupting the horrible spiral of his thoughts. “Thanks for going through all the trouble,” you murmured, your voice soft and sincere. “I know I get on your nerves… I guess it’s just really nice that you came.” 

“Tch, you don’t get on my nerves,” he denied immediately, his eyes flickering away from yours.

He fought supervillians, stared down guns, and watched whole universes collapse. But he couldn’t quite look at you.

You laughed, yawning into your hand as you leaned even further back into the pillows. “Don’t lie,” you said with a smile, your eyes crinkling charmingly at the edges. “I know I drive you crazy, Miggy.”

It was his turn to snort, watching you out of the corner of your eye as you relaxed next to him. “Only a little,” he murmured, a genuine smile on his face.

You didn’t answer, just giggling as you yawned again. The movie you picked was horrible, the jokes painfully cheesy and outdated, but you laughed at them anyways. He found himself holding his breath after each one so he could hear your sleepy chuckle better, trying to memorize the sound of it. 

It was near the end of the movie that he heard your heartbeat slow, your cheek falling against his shoulder as your breaths evened out. Miguel stiffened for a moment, looking down to see your eyelids fluttering and your lips parted as you dreamed. 

The movie ran into the credits, autoplay putting on something he had never even heard of before. He didn’t bother reaching for the remote, scared he would wake you up by reaching across you to your nightstand. 

He let his head rest against the crown of yours, his eyelids starting to drift shut as the noise of the television faded to the background. Calmness washed over him, the tension he carried with him sloughing off his shoulders. It had been way too long since he relaxed like this.

The sound of his watch beeping startled him out of his half-sleep, a lance of panic going through him. 

LYLA formed into a hologram above the surface of it, orange and yellow beams of light fleshing her out as she stood with her arms crossed over her chest and all of her weight on one leg. “Jess and I haven’t heard from you all day, we were starting to worry that you died or som–” 

Her eyes widened behind her rose glasses, her hands clasping together in front of her. “No way! Jessica, you were right! You have to come see them cuddled together!” she shouted to Jessica. Miguel cringed, worried you’d wake from the commotion.

You didn’t seem to notice, your breathing steady.

“Cállate,” Miguel hissed, turning the volume down. “Is there even a problem?”

LYLA thought about it for a moment, tapping her finger against her chin before she shook her head no.

He rolled his eyes. Of course there wasn’t a problem. 

“Don’t bother me until tomorrow,” he said, turning off the call before she could answer. He yawned, rubbing his eyes with his hand as he let himself slump against you. 

He yawned again, finally drifting off to the rhythm of your soft breaths.

[messylustt]

݁   𓂃 ៸៸៸ maybe more? — miguel o’hara + reader: you make a decision that miguel isn’t too pleased about. miguel doesn’t like this ‘someone’.

contents : includes fluff :(( bit of angst (ends well). mentions of cheating (not miguel or reader) — pls let’s just ignore the comic miguel (coz he may or may not have cheated) and focus on movie miguel. thank you. wc 1.4k.

pt one pt two pt three

you walked alone, head muffled. you've found taking one step in front of the other helps focus those muffled voices. maybe then you could make sense of them. maybe then your heart wouldn't feel so heavy.

so, toe after toe you ventured around HQ, humming a soft tune to focus on your breath rather than the voices you found you couldn't make out. but then there was a clearer one, a deeper one, getting your attention.

you look up to see miguel eyeing you and your distracted self. you smile. "miguel, hey."

miguel's eyes dart. ever since the news of your hug had circled the spider society every spider-person had made their own assumption. lovers? close friends? related?—that was a strange and short lived one to circulate. but people could just not fathom how miguel would ever want to hug anyone. you being a family member seemed more plausible at the time.

but now everyone has circled back to potential lovers. but you have someone. had someone... you aren't too sure. because the reminded tug at your heartstrings earns your smile to slightly drop. miguel notices. his inspection of you turning more detailed. "you don't look annoyingly happy." he states monotonously.

you focus your gaze and push away your heart, placing that smile you always seemed to bear back on. "what? you mean how you don't look everyday?" you tilt your head.

to outsiders you would seem normal, fine, happy. but to miguel you seemed far from it. to miguel you seemed troubled, not yourself. and it sets an uncomfortable feeling low in his stomach. he didn't like not seeing you as your bright, bubbly self. Because slowly you had become his rock, his comfort of sorts. and if you weren't stable, how could he ever be?

he steps closer, tapping your chin to raise it up, as you had begun to get distracted in the slightly shiny floor. you meet his gaze, forcing that smile back on. but Miguel places two clawed fingers against your cheeks, drawing that smile down. "don't smile unless you mean it." he muttered.

you were quite surprised by how intensively he had begun to take note of you. you had caught him always eyeing you in briefings, or in the cafeteria (if you can call it that). it now kinda makes sense the whole assumption of 'lovers'. but you weren't. and you personally didn't think you'd ever be. miguel wasn't the type.

you step backwards, away from his close hold, and miguel has the urge to pull you back, his hand slightly moving with you to hold your wrist. "are you free?" he asks quietly. and now you could spot the slight bags under his eyes, proving his need for "comfort".

but you had been thinking. though it's been nice, and you haven't minded it. miguel's hands have begun to drift more permanently around you. the hugs had become to feel far more intimate. you have someone...had someone...someone who you still liked, and someone who you hoped still liked you.

that's where the confusion settled, and the tug of your heart. you couldn't carry on this...whatever this thing was with miguel. it wasn't right. because your feelings had began to not feel right. you have/had someone.

you take your hand away from his hold and miguel's eyes narrow, quickly darting up to your face again. you place that forced smile back on and miguel's lips twitch in a snarl. He didn't want you to be fake around him.

"i'm sorry...not this time...I'm...busy." you space the words out far too randomly and of course miguel takes notice.

"this time?"

you gulp. "and maybe next time."

miguel grinds his teeth. "and the time after that?" he speaks a fraction harsher.

"...and the time after that." you confirm, looking away from his gaze, because you did feel bad. but it wasn't right being that alone and intimate when you have…had—god, just whatever this 'someone' was, point blank you felt it was wrong.

you stand straighter, finally meeting his gaze. and you almost flinch. not because of an expected hardness, but because of a soft...desperation? That couldn't be right... miguel didn't need your hugs like he does air...no.

yes. miguel has been forced to realise that himself. he does need your hugs, he craves them. and in all honesty he hadn't had the chance to think of himself without them. but here you stand, telling him 'that's it'.

"that's it, then?" he asks slowly.

you slowly nod. "i am sorry. but I know for a fact that peter is a great hugger. plus his pink dressing gown makes everything fluffy—“

miguel cuts you off. "peter? you really think i want a hug from him?"

you shrug. "as i said: great hugger."

miguel opens his mouth then pauses. "how do you know that?"

"uh...well, cause I've hugged him before?" you lightly chuckle.

maybe miguel had also noticed the 'intimacy' that had grown between your hugs. because now his chest is aching with a form of...jealousy? over peter? and not in the way a lover feels jealous necessarily. but in the way he wanted your hugs for himself.

yes, that made him selfish, and probably unreasonable. but he liked the thought of something so special as a hug from you being something for him. and now you were saying no, and offering peter up as a substitute? no one could substitute you. no one.

so, miguel began to shake his head. "do you really think that peter's hug could suffice for yours?" he narrowed his eyes, seeing if you truly believed that.

you again shrug. "it's just a hug, isn't it?" because if it was something more than you were right to stop this. miguel's jaw clenched. it was supposed to be, wasn't it? a bit of relief.

maybe that relief has turned into an addiction? maybe the term 'a simple hug' has turned into so much more? all miguel knew was that he didn't want to stop this. he didn't want to not be able to have your body pressed against his.

a voice suddenly calls your name, making you spin. your heart thumps, seeing that 'someone' walk up. a 'peter' spider-man variant. generic, so you chose to call him by his middle name, 'jessy'. named after his childhood dog.

"jessy..." your smile was the brightest miguel thinks he's ever seen. and that seems to only dampen his already soured mood. "finished a mission?" you eye his heaving chest.

jessy nods, looping his arms around your waist and giving your cheek a kiss. miguel almost flinched at the visual, his gaze getting caught up in jessy's hand. it's placement somewhere miguel had used quite often. but then miguel looks back to Jessy's face. and then back to your bright smile.

you two couldn't be...because that would mean...jessy had cheated.

miguel remembers passing by a room, moans and whimpers piercing the otherwise silence. miguel had pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering in annoyance. he banged on the door, not daring to look in. "this is communal space...you know that right?" he growled out, as he heard the moans quiten, as voices muttered together. "get out of the office." and then he left, but not before his gaze caught the sight of jessy's face and the girl that certainly wasn't you.

miguel would probably have reacted differently if he'd seen you there, pressed against jessy like that.

miguel now hardens his gaze on jessy, because then he leant forward and pecked your lips, making miguel's claws cut skin. your bright smile showed that you were oblivious to jessy's "secret" doings. but that's why your heart tugged so hard. you knew. those muffled voices were your subconscious trying to drown out thoughts of reason.

things like 'you deserve better', 'don't let him kiss you'...'end it'. all those sensible thoughts getting shoved into a basin of water, left to drown and die. you hated to admit to yourself that someone had cheated on you. it made more prominent thoughts circle the top of the water, free from harm. 'am I not good enough?', 'did I do something wrong?'...'it's probably my fault'.

miguel speaks your name, making you shift your gaze to him. "a mission. you're needed." he says, beginning to walk away. a mission? but you follow anyway, waving jessy goodbye as you slipped into miguel's office.

"sorry, i didn't know i had one today. i would've been more prepared—"

"jessy..." miguel is turning back to you, brows furrowed as he thinks of how to word this. "how long?"

your brows furrow a moment, before the lines smooth. "...a decent while. why?"

miguel grinds his teeth. "there isn't...really anyway to put this..."

you lightly chuckle, trying to ease the settling tension. "you...okay?"

no. he wasn't. because you had said to 'stop this'. but now wasn't the time... "i caught..." god, this was a lot harder to say then he had initially thought.

but when he had said that you had begun to clock on. it's not a surprise someone else had seen them. they were being rather loud. your smile had begun to fade as you muttered. "i...i know..."

miguel immediately looks up at this. "what?..."

you lick your lips, avoiding eye contact. "i appreciate you trying to tell me. that must have been annoying to hold." you lightly chuckle. but this time its void of any happiness. "but just...can you please forget you saw anything?"

you finally meet his gaze, fiddling with your fingers, as you try not to produce a sad expression. but miguel catches it. he always does. his chest is beginning to heave. because jessy cheated on you, of all people. and you knew about it. and you still let him touch and kiss you.

miguel wasn't having any of it.

he stalked forward, making you slightly stumble back. "i'm sorry...did i catch that wrong? you knew? you fucking knew, and you let him..." he's breathing hard, and you don't know why he's so worked up.

"it's...complicated, alright?" you say. "and if that's all, i think i'll go." you move to turn but miguel is grabbing you back, forcing you close to him, because he was pissed.

"you let him touch you...kiss you. after he touched and kissed someone else?" miguel's words are harsh and they bite at your heart.

your face has actually fallen to a scowl. "i again appreciate the concern, or whatever. but you have no place to say that."

you'd hugged a few times. that's it. miguel isn't blind to that fact. but he can't be blind to the one that is making him want to tear jessy to shreds. "maybe it's not. but i'm making it my place. because you aren't doing anything about it. you can't just let him touch you after—“

"he's touched someone else. yeah, i got it, miguel." you try to get out of his tight grip again, but to no avail. "miguel." you say harsher. because all this talk about jessy feeling up someone else is making your heart crack wide open, leaving tears to well in your eyes. you didn't want to cry.

crying would mean that the basin full of water would drain, leaving you to the dead carcasses of your reasonable thoughts. you don't think you could face yourself after seeing that.

"let. go." you say slowly, willing the frog in your throat to just hop away. miguel's grip only tightens, because he's noticing your glistening eyes, he's noticing your crumbling stature. and in all honesty he wants to catch you. this time be the one to comfort you.

so, he brings you closer, lifting your arms to wrap around his neck, as he engulfs your waist in a hug. and that's when you finally break, tears spilling as your hiccuped sniffles meet miguel's ears, only making him hold you tighter.

you were crying into his neck, that basin now draining as you tightened your hold around miguel like a lifeline. after a while miguel had begun whispering things in your ear, as you took note of the empty basin full of your dead reasonable thoughts. "you deserve so much better...he doesn't deserve any bit of you...por favor."

you had never heard miguel sounding so sincere...so vulnerable, even though you were the one crying. then his lips were grazing your ear, drawing you even closer if possible. "don't let him kiss you...don't let him...touch you..." and then as his hands had begun to find solace under your split suit by your hips, rubbing your warm skin, he whispered "...end it".

he had spoken all those dead thoughts of yours. given his own voice in turn for your faulty subconscious. he wanted you to listen to him, seeing your hesitance in leaving ejssy. through sniffles you say "i don't know...if i can..."

"why not?" miguel's tone had entirely softened, your breathing—even though shaky—still your breathing against his neck, calming him.

"i...don't know." you finally say. because you didn't. maybe in truth you felt you couldn't get much better. you didn't want to lose someone that had been so prominent in your life. and miguel seemed to read between the lines, or maybe you head said that out loud?

"you can get anyone...cariño...really anyone." miguel muttered, open mouth dragging close to your ear. "and i..." he drifts off, making you lean your head away, brushing your tear stained cheeks as you met his gaze. miguel tightened his hold around your waist, scared you were going to step farther away, and so he rushed the rest out. "i can be more prominent."

you stare at him, eyes widening a fraction. miguel licks his lips. "can...i be more prominent?"

your mouth is opening and closing. "prominent?" you ask, feeling stupid.

miguel actually feels nervous as he stares down at your slight red eyes and nose, his hand moving up to brush more tears away. "or be just...more."

"more?"

"mhm." miguel hums, the air feeling calmer. your muffled voices now gone in replace for miguel's. "please end it."

you gulp. miguel hasn't stopped caressing your face and waist, not until you agreed. maybe not even after that. "por favor...please."

then you found yourself nodding, and miguel doesn't think he's ever felt so...happy. In a very long time at least. and then he was drawing you back in, this time with his breath tickling your neck, his lips actually drawing in an almost kiss. "gracias, mi cariño....gracias.”

you had always liked his hugs. maybe they had brought you comfort too. maybe they give you more solace then you think you needed. and as miguel actually began to lift you, placing you on his desk, he found a new position, with your legs widened around his hips, his hands circled around your waist, his head in your neck, and the faint brush of his lips that you could quite possibly call a kiss.

more. this provided you two with more.

© messylustt.tumblr please don’t steal, copy or translate my work onto other platforms.

[k-nayee]

Cursed in the Spider-Verse JJK x Spider-Verse ii

wc: 3.7k a/n: lol, once again a part-two series became part three.

Jujutsu Kaisen x Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse

Traveler M.List

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ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

The doors to the Jujutsu High teachers’ lounge slammed open so hard they bounced back with a loud bang.

Nanami's brow rose in irritation from his seat at the table with the daily newspaper in hand while Yaga paused in his knitting, his fingers halting over the newest cursed doll he had been conjuring up.

Even Gojo, who was laying sideways on the couch with a cup of bubble tea, tilted his head curiously at the sudden intrusion.

Itadori stumbled in first, his breaths ragged, his face pale as his wide eyes darted around the room. Megumi followed close behind, his shoulders stiff with tension.

The previous warmth that filled the lounge stilled instantly.

"Heyyy!" Gojo's sing-song voice was the first to break the silence. "Look at you two! Did ____ beat you up in training or something?” His usual playful tone carried a smirk as he added, “Don’t tell me my favorite kouhai is out there gloating while you come running to cry like sore losers.”

At the mention of your name Itadori froze mid-wheeze, his eyes going wide. He opened his mouth but no words came out.

Gojo’s smirk faded instantly, the playful edge in his tone faltering. "What happened?"

Nanami set down his papers with deliberate care as his narrowed gaze looked between the boys. Yaga had leaned back in his chair at this point, his usual firm expression growing darker as he took in the sight of them.

Itadori ran a shaky hand through his hair. "She...she's—"

“Move, move, move! Let me through!”

Nobara stormed in, dragging a thoroughly exasperated Maki behind her. The spectacled teen's hair was slightly mussed, her usually neat uniform wrinkled as she scowled.

“The fact I let you to drag me along this shit...” Maki muttered darkly, her voice laced with irritation.

“Yeah yeah whatever. You'd do anything for ____,” Nobara replied dismissively, her arms loaded with shopping bags.

Seconds later Panda and Inumaki followed them also carrying an array of bags. Panda, grinning like a child, sported a fuzzy white sweater that seemed just a size too small.

Meanwhile Inumaki had a pair of sleek sunglasses perched on his nose making him look unbothered and far too cool for the chaos he’d walked into.

“Yo! We’re back!” Panda announced proudly, holding up his bags. “Check it out—look at this sweater! So stylish right?”

“Salmon,” Inumaki added with a nod of approval, adjusting his sunglasses.

Nobara ignored them, her sharp eyes scanning the room until she landed on Megumi and Itadori. Her brow furrowed immediately.

“Speaking of ____, where's my favorite partner-in-crime?” she asked as she dropped the bags unceremoniously to the floor. “I found the cutest top and sweaters for her—she's gonna love it!”

Itadori flinched again, his face twisting into an expression of pure guilt. The silence that followed her question was deafening.

Nobara’s playful tone vanished in an instant. “Where is she?” she demanded, her voice sharp.

Megumi took a deep breath in attempt to keep his voice low and controlled. “The mission we were sent on...The Grade 2—”

“Grade 2?!” Itadori interrupted, his voice rising as his frustration boiled over. “It was not a Grade 2! That thing was way above our level—”

Thunk!

Nobara slammed her fist down on Itadori’s head making him stumble forward. “Shut up and let him finish idiot!”

Itadori groaned rubbing the back of his head. “Fine fine…”

The argument sparked a chain reaction.

“What kind of curse was it?” Maki asked sharply.

“Why didn't you call for backup?” Panda chimed in a scolding way.

“Salmon roe,” Inumaki added pointedly.

“Shut the hell up. All of you!”

The voice was gruff and mocking, its origin unmistakable as everyone turned their attention to Itadori’s cheek.

Sukuna’s mouth curled into a wicked grin, his crimson eye gleaming with malice.

“Finally,” he sneered, “I thought I was going to have to listen to you brats cry all night. The little broad? Yeah, she got sucked into a portal by a curse way out of your league.” He chuckled darkly, his voice dripping with derision. “Not that it matters. She’s probably dead by now.”

The room froze.

For a second no one moved. The weight of Sukuna’s words hanging in the air like a guillotine un—

“WHAT?!” The uncharacteristic outburst came from Inumaki, his usual restraint shattered in an instant.

"Dead?!" Nobara wailed, her arms flailing dramatically as she dropped her shopping bag. "Are you serious?! She’s not—she can’t be—”

“Shut up!” Maki’s voice cut through the chaos as she slammed a hand down on the table, her sharp glare pinning Sukuna in place. “What the hell do you mean ‘out of our league’?”

“Exactly what I said four-eyes,” Sukuna sneered, his gaze flicking lazily to her before settling back on the panicked group.

“Enough.”

The single word came from Yaga whose firm tone silenced the room instantly. His expression remained unreadable, but those who truly knew him noticed the subtle tightening of his jaw.

Megumi took a deep breath. “The curse...”

All eyes returned to ravenette. He looked down for a moment to collect his thoughts before raising his gaze once again.

“It wasn’t like anything we’ve fought before—much stronger than we anticipated," he began. "It could manipulate dimensions. The curse called itself Masato."

Nanami, who had remained silent up to this point, straightened slightly. "Masato? That name sounds familiar..."

"It wasn't normal," Megumi continued, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. "It opened a portal right under her. We tried to stop it, but…” His voice trailed off as his composure wavered.

“She was gone,” Itadori finished weakly, voice barely above a whisper.

Gojo’s posture was unusually still. Even with his eyes covered, his displeasure was clear to see.

"Sukuna."

The atmosphere was cold, tense as Gojo turned his head toward Itadori—or more specifically toward the grinning mouth on his cheek. “You seem to know more than you’re letting on. Care to share with the class?”

Sukuna's mouth curled into a mockingly thoughtful smirk. "Maybe I do....maybe I don't."

The tension in the room grew so thick it was almost suffocating.

“Oh come one…” Gojo’s voice was light, though the edge in his tone was unmistakable. "This is the child of the Principle of Tokyo's Jujutsu High we're talking about! You’re really gonna tear this poor man’s family apart like that?”

Gojo tilted his head slightly toward Yaga who remained stone-faced. But the slight clenching of his hands as they rested on the desk betrayed the concern he wasn’t voicing

Sukuna’s grin widened. “Child huh? Could’ve sworn she was adopted.”

The air shifted.

Gojo took a step closer,his tone dropping to a dangerous calm. "Sukuna," he repeated the King of Curses name.

Sukuna chuckled tauntingly. "Or what? You’ll fight me? That's cute."

Gojo’s expression didn’t change, but a faint hum of cursed energy crackled in the air around him.

“If you know anything about how to get her back you’ll tell us,” he said, his voice colder now. There was no room for argument in his voice—it was an order.

The room felt frozen, it felt almost too tense to even breathe as the two powerhouses sized each other up.

For a moment Sukuna simply stared at Gojo, the grin never faltering. Then he let out a sinister laugh. "Fine fine. I'll tell you something...for a price."

"A price?" Gojo's gaze darkened, and a faint hum of cursed energy crackled in the air around him.

Sukuna's grin widened. "Nothing in this world is free Satoru. You want her back? It’s gonna cost you. And trust me…” His voice dropped, almost a purr. “The price won’t be cheap.”

════════════════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════════════════

The cool night air nipped at your skin as you climbed in through Miles’ window, his hand firmly on the small of your back to help steady you.

He moved quickly, already crouching inside his dimly lit room as he pressed a finger to his lips.

“Shh!” he whispered barely above a breath. “Just a heads-up, my parents are not only super light sleepers, but also not cool with the whole sneaking-a-girl-through-my-window thing. So y’know, the whole interdimensional-traveler-from-an-anime-universe thing would probably make their heads explode.”

You shot him an unimpressed look, brushing the dust off your uniform as you landed softly on his carpet. “Noted,” you whispered back dryly as your eyes began to scan the room.

A small lone lamp in the corner casted a soft yellow glow over the space, illuminating the walls lines with posters of graffiti art, vibrant sketches, and a few music icons you vaguely recognized.

A cluttered desk sat in another corner, covered in half-filled sketchbooks, cans of spray paint, and what looked like a half-finished design he’d been working on.

The bed, unmade and covered in a navy-blue blanket, sat beneath a few shelves stacked with books, comics, and what looked like action figures.

Messy yes, but in a way that felt...lived in.

Miles scratched the back of his neck once he caught your staring, his lips twitching into a bashful smile.

“Uh yeah. Welcome to Casa Morales,” he gestures dramatically as he moved further into the room. “Not exactly Jujutsu High, but it’s home.”

You ignore his attempt at humor. Your body was still tense from the events of earlier, your mind racing to figure out where you were, what was going on, and—most importantly—who this boy was.

He offered you a small smile and gestured toward his bed. “You can sit here if you want.”

You didn’t move, choosing to stay near the window. “I’m fine standing. Just start talking.”

Miles blinked. “Right. Yeah. Okay, but first…” He reached up, tugging at the edge of his suit mask. And as the mask slipped off, you found yourself momentarily caught off guard once again.

The dim light in the room hit him differently.

His skin glowed warmly under the soft glow of the lamp and his honey-colored eyes sparkled with a kind of youthful energy that was hard to ignore. His hair was cut in a clean fade, the tight dark curls on top so fluffy and healthy it almost felt unfair.

He looked…boyish. Young. He couldn’t have been much older than you—sixteen at most.

And yet there was something about him that made you pause.

You realized you were staring, snapping yourself out of it, straightening and forcing your expression back into its usual guarded state.

“Stop stalling,” you fold your arms. “You still haven’t explained how you know everything about me.”

His smile turned sheepish.

“Fair point. Anyway, uh—come here!” He practically bounced toward the bookshelf above his bed.

You move over to his desk to lean against. “Alright Morales,” you said, quirking an eyebrow. “Let’s hear it.”

Miles didn’t answer right away. Instead he squinted his eyes, scanning the shelves with a focused expression before letting out a triumphant, “Aha!”

Pulling out a comic book, he holds it up like it was a trophy.

“This,” he said, his voice brimming with excitement. “This is how.”

You tilt your head as you step closer to get a better look. Edges slightly worn from use, the glossy cover of the comic stared back at you causing your breath to hitch.

It was you.

The artwork was stunning as it captured you mid-action. Your figure stood in the center of the page, fiercely staring down the viewer with a vague smirk tugging at your lips.

Your hands were outstretched with cursed energy crackling around you as the world behind you was frozen solid—time itself locked under your control.

The title in bold letters read: Jujutsu Kaisen Gaiden: The Path of ____

“…What the hell is this?” you muttered, reaching out to take the book from him.

“That’s you,” Miles said proudly, grinning ear to ear. “The Jujutsu Kaisen manga is huge here. Like...huge. This issue is a special one—a sort of in-between-arcs, and it’s one of my favorites. I mean look at you! You look so badass.”

You hesitated before flipping it open, the pages feeling oddly heavy in your hands. The first panel was a memory—a scene you could never forget.

It was the day Yaga—Masamichi—took you in. You couldn’t have been older than seven, your small hands clutching a scarf too big for your neck as he knelt in front of you, his face kind but serious.

Your chest tightened as you stared at the page. You flipped to the next panel, your stomach twisting as you saw more memories.

The years you spent with Megumi flashed by—how he would summoning his shikigami for fun before you had mastered your freezing techniques, how you both used to hide under the school steps when you wanted to skip chores.

Another page.

The moment you met Yuji for the first time, your staff swinging toward him as he dodged at the last second. You remembered the way he grinned at you as though he hadn’t been intimidated in the slightest.

The panels flowed like a movie reel, showing moments you had long thought belonged to you alone:

Late nights spent sneaking extra snacks from the school kitchen with Megumi. A quiet moment in the garden where you sat with Yuji, his head tilted toward the sky as he talked about his grandpa’s last words.

Things that had happened in private. Moments you’d only shared with your closest friends.

It was all there...everything was there.

“This...this isn’t possible,” you whispered, your fingers trembling as you turned the pages. “How did you do all this?”

Miles was quiet for a moment as he shifted on his feet. “It wasn't me,” he said cautiously. “It was an manga artist, his name is Gege Akutami. I told you—you’re a character in my world. People read about you.”

You stared at him then down at the book in your hands. It was too much. It was all too much.

But then you reached the final pages of comic and your heart sank. The fight with Masato—the curse that had dragged you into this mess—was laid out in shocking detail.

You could see every strike, every movement, every moment you had shared with Yuji and Megumi as the three of you fought....

And then the panel of you falling into the portal.

Your hand was outstretched, reaching for Yuji and Megumi as they desperately reached back. The expression on your face—fear, determination, and sadness—was captured so vividly it made your stomach turn.

“That’s…that’s where it ends,” Miles said softly, pointing to the panel. “No one knows what happens after that. Been a huge cliffhanger for months actually.”

You slammed the comic shut, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath.

“This is insane,” you muttered, your voice shaking. “How does your world know all of this? How can I be—” You stopped yourself, unable to even say the word.

“A character?” Miles offered gently. “I know it’s a lot. Believe me, I’d freak out too if I were in your shoes.”

You turned away as you clutch the book tightly. The fight, the portal, the look on Yuji and Megumi’s faces as you disappeared—it was all burned into your memory.

And now seeing it again, drawn on a comic page for strangers to consume as entertainment...

Before you could spiral too far, Miles grabbed your wrist and tugged you toward his desk.

“Hey hey—don’t get all gloomy on me now,” he said, his voice light and reassuring. “Let me show you something cool!”

You let him pull you along, your curiosity overriding the heaviness in your chest. He sits you down at his desk-chair and quickly wakes up his computer.

The screen flickered to life and he began typing furiously, pulling up tabs faster than you could process.

“Alright...check this out,” he said, spinning the monitor toward you.

You were met with endless fan art—your face in every style imaginable, from detailed realism to exaggerated chibi drawings.

One image showed you standing shoulder to shoulder with Megumi and Yuji, snowflakes falling around the three of you, while another depicted you mid-fight, your staff raised high and ice shards surrounding you like a storm.

“People love you,” Miles babbled as he scrolled through the images. “Look at this one—oh and this! And there are fan polls too. Like, tons of them. Who’s stronger, you or Gojo? Who’s your best ship? People even debate your favorite food. It’s wild!”

“Ship?” you echoed, leaning closer.

“Yeah, like who you’re supposed to end up with romantically.”

Your brain short-circuited for a moment, but before you could demand clarification, something on the screen caught your eye.

You point at the screen. “What’s that one?”

“Oh that’s a fan theory about your technique,” Miles explained, clicking on the post. “People think you’re gonna unlock some next-level time-freezing ability soon. They call it Chrono Dominion. Sounds pretty sick right?”

You could only blink. “I don’t even know what that is.”

Miles laughed. “Yeah well fans go crazy with theories. Oh and here’s your wiki page!” He clicked on another tab, revealing a detailed biography filled with stats, trivia, and even a popularity ranking.

You squinted at the screen, your voice flat. “Why does it say my favorite food is taiyaki? That’s not true.”

Miles grinned sheepishly. “Uh…artistic license?”

As he scrolled, a tab briefly flashed across the screen. Your caught glimpse of it made your brows furrow—Rule 34: ____ [NSFW], it blinked innocently among the others.

“Wait—what was that?” you asked, leaning forward and clicking.

Miles froze, his entire body stiffening as an array of pictures appear. “Nothing! It’s nothing!” he nearly shrieks, quickly closing the tab with a flustered expression.

Your eyes narrowed. “Was that…? Was that...hentai?!”

“No! No no no!” Miles said as he waves his hands frantically. His face flushed as he laughed nervously. “I mean not on purpose! It’s—it’s the internet! Stuff like that just happens! I wasn’t even looking at it—”

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” You can feel your face heat up as you turn away horrified. “What are you, some kind of perv?”

“I’m not a pervert!” he exclaimed, practically falling out in desperation to defend himself. “I swear it wasn’t me—it was the algorithm!”

“Yeah the algorithm,” You mutter as you glare at him.

Desperate to change the subject Miles suddenly blurts out, “So! Anyway about the love triangle!”

“Love triangle?” Your glare softened slightly, replaced by confusion. “What love triangle?”

“You know,” he said, brightening. “The big Jujutsu Kaisen love triangle!”

You tilted your head, still not understanding. “You mean...between Gojo, Geto, and Shoko?”

Miles paused, looking at you like you’d just sprouted another head. “What? No, I’m not talking about—”

“I knew it!” you interrupted, your entire demeanor shifting in an instant. Your eyes lit up, sparkling with excitement as you leaned forward. “Me and Nobara totally have theories about them! Like, okay, listen—”

“Wait hold on—” Miles tries to cut in, “That’s not—”

“We’ve been piecing it together forever right?” you said, your excitement spilling over as you launched into full gossip mode. “The way Gojo and Geto used to look at each other? Please, there’s no way that was just friendship. And Shoko totally knows—she’s in on whatever they had going on. Like c'mon it's sooo obvious.”

Miles opened his mouth to object again but you weren’t done.

“Seriously,” your tone grew more animated. “There’s no way it was just a friendship. I mean, Nobara and I have been compiling clues for months. And then there was this one time Shoko made this offhand comment about how they used to share—”

“Whoa whoa whoa!” Miles finally interrupted, holding up his hands to stop your tirade. “First of all there is no Shoko in their relationship.”

You paused, blinking. “Wait...really?”

“Of course,” Miles said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Everyone knows Geto and Gojo are the OTP of the century—GGs for life. Nobody can come between that.”

“Oh...” Your shoulders slumped slightly, a pout forming on your lips. “So...you weren’t talking about them?”

“Nope,” He pops the p. “I was talking about the real love triangle.”

You frowned. “What real love triangle?”

Leaning casually against his desk, honey-colored eyes sparkled with mischief. “You know—the one between you, Itadori, and Megumi.”

The words hit you like a slap to the face. “Huh?”

“Yeah,” Miles continues nonchalantly. “It’s a huge deal in the fandom. Like one of the biggest debates in the entire series.”

Your jaw drops. “Wait hold on! What?! No no no! They’re my best friends! That’s it!”

Miles shrugged, clearly amused by your reaction. “Hey that’s how it starts. You spend all your time together, fighting side by side, sharing moments—all that good stuff. People can’t help but see the tension.”

“What tension?!” you demanded, your voice rising slightly.

“Exactly!” He snapped his fingers. “That’s what makes it so great. It’s subtle! It’s all in the looks and little moments. You don’t even realize it’s happening, but the fans? Oh they see it. The angst, the chemistry, the possibilities.”

You backed away, shaking your head as your mind spiraled into chaos. “When would there even be time for tension? Between fighting curses and almost dying, there’s no room for—” You cut yourself off with a groan.

Miles, utterly unbothered, grinned wider. “I mean you’ve got to admit you three are pretty iconic. A girl stuck between two dudes who are both crazy loyal to her? People eat that stuff up. Ultimate poly ship.”

Your jaw dropped. “Poly—what?! We're friends! That’s all! No one’s stuck between anyone!”

Miles raises an eyebrow like he didn’t believe you for a second. “You can be friends and still have romantic tension. That’s like half of anime.”

You pressed your hands to your temples. “Love? No. No way. It’s not like that. It’s never been like that!”

Miles just leaned against his desk as he continue to watch your internal meltdown. “Man I wish I could take a picture of this reaction. You’re so in denial. The fandom would eat this up.”

You glared at him, pointing your staff in his direction. “Say one more thing and I’ll destroy your stupid laptop.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Okay okay. But seriously though...you’ve got a lot of fans rooting for you. It’s kind of cool don’t you think?”

You groaned at his words. “I can’t believe this.”

Slumping into the desk chair, your head bury into your hands. “This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Miles smirked. “Worse than being sucked into another dimension?”

“…Okay, second worst.”

[dangerousstrawberryshark]

These men make me feral 😩 ghostface Miguel and Peter…

Need someone to make a gn reader fic of this. (Thirsty for men rn.)

[greensagephase]

For Better or Worse - Part One

Pairings: Miguel O'Hara x Female!Reader Summary: Your siblings are marrying in two weeks and as the best man and maid of honor, Miguel and you are dragged to the dance lessons for moral support despite disliking each other. There, you're forced to pretend to be a couple. Word Count: 3k Warnings: slightly suggestive comments from the dance instructor, so MDNI; reader speaks and understands Spanish; unnamed sister for reader; reader and Miguel are grumpy with each other, so don't expect any smooching, but there's tension, hehe A/N: this was supposed to be a simple thought based on a movie scene (vid below the cut) that turned into something longer (a blessing and a curse). Thank you for reading! Masterlist

Source: The Wedding Date (2005)

Your little sister, or not so little since she’s all grown up, found love and is now getting married to Gabriel O’Hara. You’re elated about them marrying, truly. Ever since your sister met Gabriel, you could tell they were made for each other. They’re both so sweet and kind, sometimes they remind you of Jane Bennet and Mr. Bingley from Pride and Prejudice, too good for their own good.

They’re truly made for each other and you have to admit, Gabriel squeezed his way into your heart fairly quickly with how great he treats your sister, so it didn’t take long before you started to see him as part of the family.

But of course, a rose comes with its thorns. Or, in your case, your sister’s now fiancé, comes with a brother.

Miguel O’Hara.

You cannot stand the man.

And he cannot stand you.

That’s the one thing you have in common, the mutual dislike.

You finally met him and Gabriel’s parents when the relationship between your siblings became serious. You expected to like Gabriel’s family, and you did, everyone except Miguel. The two of you simply didn’t click. It was dislike at first sight.

Of course, you try to be polite to each other for the sake of your siblings, but when they’re not in sight, keeping an eye on either of you, your dislike is shown through scowls and narrowed eyes.

You try to stay clear from each other as much as possible, something that has become harder to do as your siblings’ relationship has turned more and more serious.

And now, the proximity will be unavoidable. Gabriel popped the question a year ago and that’s how you find yourself parked outside a dance studio, two weeks before the big day.

With you being your sister’s maid of honor and Miguel the groom’s best man, that means you’ve both been in each other’s presence more than usual to support the couple as they’ve gone through the wedding planning.

And that includes the freaking dance lessons.

As soon as everyone arrives, all four of you enter the building. Of course, Miguel and you avoid each other as you both quickly scan the place before your gazes find your siblings’ sheepish smiles towards the two of you. The sight immediately makes Miguel and you tense.

Those sheepish smiles are no good, you both know that too well. Those are the smiles of younger siblings about to ask something from you. Something neither of you are probably going to like.

“So… we asked you to come along today for moral support,” you sister starts, fidgeting with her hands.

“Because we really do need it but there’s another reason…” Gabriel adds, trailing off.

“What is it, Gabriel?” Miguel asks, his tone low with a hint of impatience.

“So… the instructor is a well known one in the community. They’re really good at what they do! It’s why we wanted to get lessons from her, but she had a tight schedule and it was looking like we almost didn’t get a spot. She said she’d only do it if we brought along another couple, unmarried if possible, but one that might potentially marry in the future. You know, as a way to get more business in the future…” Gabriel replies, offering a nervous smile.

“So, Gabri and I figured that…” your sister trails off.

Both Gabriel and your sister stare at you and Miguel, with hope in their eyes as their little plan sinks in.

“No way,” you say immediately, declining anything related to Miguel.

“Aw, please. It’s just a dance lesson. Just for today! Two hours at the most,” your sister tries.

“No.”

“You guys just need to act nice with each other, that’s all. Easy,” Gabriel says, shrugging as if he’s never ran into someone he didn’t like, which might actually be true. “I mean - we’re family now. Not officially, yet,” Gabriel adds giving his future wife a smile that shows pure love. “Very soon, just two more weeks and finally.”

Miguel and you watch, your siblings forgetting for about five seconds about death glares they’re receiving as of right now.

Yes, they’re really too good for their own good. Or, maybe they’re just using their younger sibling privilege and the fact that they’re in love to get their older siblings to give in.

At last, Gabriel turns again as if he just now realizes - or feels - the glares.

“We’re basically family now. You’re going to see each other more often, unless you plan on not attending any family gatherings from here on now, or making some rotating schedule on who gets to go when. It’s just a dance practice, please,” Gabriel pleads, trying to reason with you.

“Gabriel, no,” Miguel says annoyed, exasperated that he and your sister would even think about this considering the fact that neither he nor you like each other.

“Please, if you don’t, she might cancel the session, or charge us double, or something.”

“She can’t do that,” you say. “Can she?”

“Please,” Gabriel and your sister say in unison, something they do a lot, which kind of annoys you sometimes, to be honest.

“It’s not like we’re asking you to kiss. Just - act like a couple,” you sister says. “Please, just for today.”

Miguel and you are both about to tell your siblings why this is inadequate, but you only manage to open your mouths before a woman comes in with a too cheerful smile on her face, stopping you from proceeding. Her presence in the room suddenly shuts all debating, leaving no room for Miguel and you to reiterate that neither of you wish to do this.

“Wonderful! Two couples. My name is Lyla,” she says turning to Miguel and you. “I’m your dance instructor. Let’s not waste any time, yes? The wedding is in two weeks! We need to start working immediately. Everybody, on the floor, please. Let’s go, you two as well, don’t be shy now.” Lyla walks over, immediately pushing Miguel and you forward. “You can be shy in each other’s arms, let’s go.”

You briefly wonder how this woman has so much strength to push the two of you into the floor but that’s quickly forgotten as she continues to speak.

“There. Ah - I see our engaged couple is ready to go,” she comments, making Miguel and you turn to find your siblings already in position, ready to dance. “Let me get these two going, they’re sooooo shy,” Lyla comments with a soft smirk, motioning to Miguel and you.

You both scowl when you hear your siblings laugh, something that cuts their laughter short and turn away.

“Sir, you need to place your hand right here. On your woman’s waist, come on, I’m sure you’ve held her before,” Lyla instructs, grabbing his wrist and placing it on your waist, making it so that Miguel’s hand grips you. Unused to his touch, you squirm when you feel Miguel’s warm hand on you. You try backing away but Lyla only pushes you forward, into Miguel’s touch.

“My, you two are really shy,” she says as she takes your hand and places it on Miguel’s shoulder, allowing you to feel his broad muscles beneath his top. “You need to learn to embrace each other. It’s intimacy.” She pushes you both together now, forcing Miguel to take more steps towards you. Again, you question how much strength Lyla has to move you like straw dolls, especially a man like Miguel. Maybe you’re both so dumbfounded by this situation, your bodies are just doing as she says, pushing you into this abnormal situation. The only sense of normalcy comes from the glares Miguel and you are shooting at each other. “Dancing is like - making love, I’m sure you two know what I’m talking about,” Lyla says before her eyebrows shoot up, thinking of something. “Unless you’re waiting for marriage then… that’s a tough one, but I think you might have an idea of what I mean.” At that, Lyla grins at the two of you.

Miguel and you silently groan at the thought of you two making love, meanwhile Gabriel and your sister are laughing in the back. You turn and give them a glare, same from Miguel, shutting them up.

“I can see you’re both tense. There’s so much - so much tension between you,” Lyla says, hand on her chin as if contemplating something deeply. “It’s that kind of tension only found in the bedroom, you know? Hm… Alright, you’’l be the leader. That means you lead the dance, sir,” she says patting Miguel’s arm.

You turn at that because why does he get to lead you?

“Why does he lead?” you ask, eyebrow raised.

“Uhh - okay, I see it now,” Lyla says with a smile, as if everything makes sense now. “That’s why there’s so much tension. You’re both - very dominant. I suppose you’re both - you switch, right? You’re switches?”

“What?” Miguel says with knitted eyebrows and a slightly opened mouth due to the shock because there’s no way this lady just asked that, right?

“Excuse me?” you manage to say, equally appalled.

“You take turns,” Lyla explains. “On who is dominant In the bedroom. The question is who will be the dominant one on the dance floor.”

You turn to look at Miguel, brows knitted. Not only are you being forced to pretend to be his partner but now you’re apparently “switches” and fighting for who dominates who. It’s stupid, you know that, but this has turned into a competition of sorts, and there’s no way you’re letting Miguel O’Hara lead you, even if it’s pretend.

“I assure you, it’ll be me. Just like how it is in the bedroom,” you state which earns you a squeeze from Miguel’s hand on your waist.

“We both know that’s not the case, amor [love],” Miguel replies through gritted teeth.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Lyla pipes in between you, amused. “I love your energy, though. Alright, time to dance!”

You exhale heavily. Just why did your sister have to drag you into this? Oh right, you’re her maid of honor and the man with his hand on your waist right now is the best man.

You’re stuck in this situation now, whether you like it or not. So, Miguel and you stand like two stiff boards against each other, meanwhile your younger siblings are in another dimension of rainbows and love. They already forgot about their older siblings since they got away with their little plan.

You sigh again and turn to face Miguel, standing in front of each other, like two statues. As the minutes have ticked by with Lyla’s talk about intimacy and dominance, your fingers are now interlaced, though neither of you have noticed yet.

“Just dance, guys. I want to see what I’m working with here,” Lyla says, hands on her hips as she watches the scene in front of her, music playing in the background now.

Stiffly, Miguel and you begin to move, taking steps side by side for a good minute or so before you look up at him. Staring at hm, you notice he seems… tense. Despite yourself, you can’t help but poke fun at him.

“¿Qué pasa, Miguel? ¿Tienes dos pies izquierdos? [What's up, Miguel? You have two left feet?]” You ask mockingly, which earns yourself a half scowl because Lyla is watching you.

Miguel grips your fingers and waist as you continue to dance. You still have a soft smirk on your face, satisfied with Miguel’s annoyance when suddenly, you’re tripping over his foot. Your breath hitches as you feel yourself falling but before that happens, you feel Miguel’s wrapped arm around your waist tighten, catching you. To further annoy you, he expertly uses his other hand and maneuvers you so that your back is leaning on his arm now, with you looking up at him as he leans down. For about three or four seconds, his dark eyes bore into yours before he spins you back to face him correctly.

Annoyed, you return the gesture and slam your foot on his, causing him to grimace in pain. Holding your hand, he pushes you back with a scowl before pulling you back harshly.

“Para tu información, princesa, sé bailar [for your information, little princess, I know how to dance],” he murmurs, staring down at you.

“Hm, I wonder where from? You never dance at parties.”

“And you do? All you do is sit at the table like you’re too good to accept any man’s offer for a dance,” Miguel replies as you move across the dance floor.

Somewhere, your siblings are already receiving help from Lyla, who’s instructing them on proper hand placement.

“And you? You stand around with the other men, talking about God knows what.”

“Women, of course,” Miguel sarcastically replies as he spins you around before bringing you back to him. “We talk about the women dancing and the ones who don’t, either because they’re too shy to dance, or just snobs, como tu… comprenderas [like you... understand, comprehend].”

You scoff. “Is that them, or your personal opinion of me?” you ask, pulling back from him, hands still joined.

Miguel snickers and pulls you back, your chest slamming right into his. You scowl in response. “Quiero decirte algo [I want to tell you something].” He spins you around again. “We are going to make this work.”

“Make what work?”

“This,” Miguel says as he pulls you back in. He stares at you while you keep dancing. “I’m not going to miss out on my brother’s life. Gabriel and I are close, always have been. I have no intentions of stepping out and missing out on his life, him building a life with your sister.” He turns you around, pressing your back to his chest, his arms crossed over your body, as if keeping you locked in them to ensure you’ll listen clearly. “I’m going to be there, at every family gathering. If they have children, you better bet I’m going to be there at every birthday party, or soccer game. So, I want you to know that right now. We’re either going to make this work, or you’ll be missing out, because I’m not stepping out.”

You scoff again, and to his great annoyance and astonishment, free yourself from his arms to face him once more. You place a hand on his chest, leading him back.

“I have no intentions of missing out, O’Hara. Don’t even think about it. Being part of my sister’s life heavily outweighs the annoyance of seeing your unpleasant face.”

Miguel scoffs and wraps his large hand around your wrist before he pulls you forward, your faces mere inches from each other.

“Unpleasant face? You must be blind, princesita [little princess]. Maybe I ought to take you somewhere to get those pretty eyes checked if that’s how you see my face,” he murmurs, staring right into your eyes.

You snort and pull back. “You’re not everyone’s cup of tea, O’Hara, but I digress. I’m going to be part of my sister’s life, too. So, get used to it.”

Miguel smirks, pulling you right back against his chest. “For better or worse, we'll tolerate each other. For them,” he murmurs, staring right into your eyes.

“For them,” you agree, meeting his gaze.

For the first time, you really look into his eyes. You’ve never been quite this close to the man, not enough to appreciate their color - a deep brown with a slight maroon undertone. You see the gentle wrinkles under his eyes and forehead, probably from his job as the CEO from some company you've never bothered to learn the name of. A quick peek at his slightly parted mouth allows you to really notice the plump lips. You’ve never noticed it before, but one side of his upper lip is higher than the other, adding to the full lips. You even manage to notice a crooked tooth at the front of his teeth, something that makes you pause internally for some reason.

In a society worried all about looks, Miguel hasn't had that fixed. You glance back into Miguel's eyes but his are somewhere else, somewhere around your mouth. You don’t have enough time to question why his eyes are there though.

His eyes meet yours again, his throat showing a visible gulp as the image of your lips flashes in his head. Staring at your eyes, he once again takes notice of your eye color and the way your eyelashes frame your eyes, something he’s noticed before.

“That!”

Miguel and you instantly pull away, releasing each other. Lyla quickly approaches you, smiling.

“That's the look I was hoping for,” she says. “A look of pure passion, tension, sexiness… love” she says, giddily. “That’s the way to dance! Oh, I have no doubt you two will know exactly how to dance when your wedding date comes. I have seen enough. Take five while I revisit my initial plan, our engaged couple needs a little more help than you two,” Lyla says giving you both a wink. “There’s a lot of love there but they can’t dance to save their lives, unlike you two. If you want to take a seat and just talk, you lovebirds.” Lyla nods and heads off to your siblings, immediately laying out what needs work.

Miguel and you stand side by side, watching in silence for a few seconds before Miguel breaks the silence.

“I need to make - a work call. I’ll be outside while they get finished,” he says, pulling out his cell phone.

“Sure, you go and do that,” you reply, staring at the other three people, not sparing Miguel a glance.

He faces you, watching you for a few seconds as if expecting you to say anything else, or maybe waiting for you to face him, but you never do.

“Great,” he mutters before he walks away. A few seconds later you hear the studio’s door close.

You sigh heavily. You didn’t even know you were holding your breath. He’s so annoying, so - You do a little head shake, clearing your mind. You’ve both agreed to tolerate each other for the sake of your siblings - to be part of their lives.

“For better or worse,” you murmur to yourself.

⋅ ♡ ─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ── ♡ ⋅ Next Part

A/N: Leaving it open-ended because this was only supposed to be a blurb and then I kept going! Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed this!! <33

Edit: This became a short fic 💀

Alondra❤️

[baiabay]

🇳​​🇴​ ​🇷​​🇴​​🇱​​🇪​ ​🇲​​🇴​​🇩​​🇪​​🇱​​🇿​ || ​🇦​​🇳​ ​🇦​​🇹​​🇸​​🇻​ ​🇽​ ​🇧​​🇱​​🇦​​🇨​​🇰​ ​🇨​​🇦​​🇹​ ​ 🇷​​🇪​​🇦​​🇩​​🇪​​🇷​ -​🇮​​🇳​​🇸​​🇪​​🇷​​🇹​

Chapter Seven: Prophecies, Fulfilled.

<<<<previous chapter ||

this story is also on ao3, wattpad, and quotev under the same name ! <33

˚₊𓆩༺🕷🐈‍⬛༻𓆪₊˚

Behind you, a series of metallic tinkering sounded out;

Clink-Crack!

Followed by a brief snap echoing down the hall you walked through.

Behind you, Hobie threw out a taunt;

“Bet this doesn’t even do anything.”

Followed by a retort Miles hissed out, echoing down the hall you walked through.

“Maybe it did, before you ripped it out of a wall.”

Besides you, Gwen rolled her eyes. Slowing your pace, you threw a look over your shoulder towards the bickering duo. Meeting your gaze was Hobie, who continued his incessant picking at anything shiny he could find. At your core, you itched to do the same. But after Felicia’s cryptic message, you’d figured you should tread carefully. Hobie quickened his pace, now sauntering beside you. “You if anyone should get it, eh?”

Raising an eyebrow, you replied. “I don’t know what you mean?” “All this?” He gestured out vaguely. “Total propaganda, distractin’ you from the truth.”

Clink-Crack!

The tinkering of metal, followed by a snap. You paused to catch a small, shiny disk Hobie flicked in your direction. You caught it, feeling its weight in your palms. Inspecting it closer, you recognized it as one of the many pins you eyed on Hobies’ vest earlier. It was silver. Thick, and plated with a pearl-esque shine. Almost instinctively, you found yourself stuffing it into one of your suit’s many pockets.

Hobie snickered at your actions, continuing his saunter down the hall. “You remind me of The Cat from my place, y’know.”

It was now your turn to laugh, continuing your walk beside him. “I’m still not used to the idea that there are more of…me out there.”

“He’s not as lost as you are, though.”

“…Sorry?”

“Don’t think you even know who you are. Do you even know what you’re doing out here?”

“Of course, I know who I am,” The Cat and The Spider, thief and hero. It can’t change. It won’t change. You found yourself mentally repeating this mantra once again.

“ -and it’s not like I wanted to get sucked down here like the rest of you.“

“Bet your setup is nice, big house and all? The Black Cats I know‘ve got huge–“

“Not really.” You interrupted, a frown beginning to tug down your lips as you remembered the cats you left at home. God, I miss them.

“It’s a bloody shame then,”

“Why?”

“Don’t think you’re ready for any of this.”

Frustration now creeping up your spine, you huffed. “You’re not making any sense.” You quickened your pace, opting to walk ahead of Hobie. Hobie matched your stride, continuing his nonsensical rant.

“Listen to me, bruv. Thought the whole point of bein’ Black Cat was your independence— bein’ your own boss, you don’t need any of this!”

“Then why are you here?” Miles piped in. “Looking out for my drummer is all.” Hobie quipped back.

“I know I don’t need any of this, you don’t have to remind me of my role.” You hissed, defensiveness bubbling in your gut. “Have you forgotten I never meant to come out here?” You gestured vaguely at the air.

“Guys!” Gwen interrupted, sensing the growing tension in the air. “Come on.”

“Alright, squashed.” Hobie raised his hands in mock defeat. In your ear, he murmured, “Just don’t enlist ‘till you know what war you’re fighting.”

‘I won’t,’ you wanted to murmur back, but all that left your lips was a sharp sigh followed by an unconvincing nod back.

A heavy pit settled in your stomach. ————————————

After what felt like forever, you finally made it. Your body thrummed with a dangerous concoction of nerves, adrenaline, and fear. The four of you had reached the entrance of Miguel O’hara’s office? Workspace? The design of HQ never failed to confuse you.

Gwen and Miles threw each other a look before continuing into the room. Hobie opted to hang back near the entrance and you’d chosen to join him. Apparently, the panic that ran through your veins was not at all internal, as you began to feel your steps slow to a halt, your feet now glued to the ground. Above the group, a buff masculine figure loomed ontop of a suspended platform. Somehow, Miles managed to look upon the figure with a smile on his face and a skip in his step.

You found your gaze fixed and unwavering on the back of the man who stood before you. Felicia’s warnings bounced off the walls of your skull. ‘They’re not gonna like you in here.’ ‘They’ll make you ‘Go Home’ as soon as he finds out who you are.’

Beside you, Hobbies eyes lingered on your form. You shot him a glance, brows furrowing in the direction of his fidgeting hands. Once again, metallic tinkering reached your ears. His painted fingers worked on…something. Before you bothered to ask, Gwen's voice rang out.

“Miguel O’Hara, meet Miles Morales,”

“Hey!¿Qué tal, tío?...I speak Spanish…Te trajé una empanada-”

The looming muscular frame perched above finally pivoted to face towards you. You found yourself with no opportunity to sneak a glance at his face, as Miguel’s eyes were narrowed, and locked on yours. To your left, Hobie’s eyes flicked between the two of you.

“Que maravilla.”

He looked tired. Tired and angry. Despite the dark gaze Miguel shot in your direction, you found yourself somewhat paralyzed, unable to look away. His hair was brown and brushed back. And if you squinted just right, you could swear there was a small grey streak. Under his eyes rested heavy creases. His eyelids drooped, framed under eyebrows which seemed to be permanently creased in the middle of his forehead. Frown lines encompassed downturned lips, which only accentuated further as he spoke.

You couldn’t tell what it was, but something was off. Was it the way his suit seemed to mimic the artificial gleam of a hologram? Maybe it was the way each fingertip on his suit ended in a razor-sharp point, or how his broad and athletic frame didn’t quite match up with his hallowed-out, thin face shape. Maybe it was the way his eyes seemed to glow…

Next thing you know, a trash can was flying in your direction. Thanks to his sense, Miles had managed to evade it in time, letting it zip past him - headed straight for your face. Before you could even think about flinching, Hobie swiped the garbage can, as well as the discarded empanada within it, before any impact could be made. In your daze, you hadn’t recognized that Miguel had diverted his gaze away from yours to frustratedly banter with the duo in front of you.

“He’s worried about Spot- I’ll worry about Spot!”

“What did I do?”

“Miguel! It’s not his fault-” “Fault? Hold up-”

“YOU BLEW ANOTHER HOLE IN THE MULTIVERSE!”

“He doesn’t know any better!”

“But you did, Gwen. And you –”

Miguel’s attention once again was redirected towards you. Now impossibly more pissed off than before, his shoulders squared as he pointed his gaze in your direction. You watched Miguel take two steps closer to the edge of the platform. Hobbies eyes burn holes into the side of your face.

“– how did you even get here?”

Your head whipped around frantically, as if who Miguel was speaking to somehow was anyone else in the room but you. Poking a finger into your own chest, you finally spoke.

“I– me? I just followed Miles…”

Miles interjected, a suited hand flying to his chest.

“Now that was my fault. I led Cat with me after we watched Gwen go–”

“We both know that isn’t true, Miles,” you stepped further into the room, now meeting the pair where they stood under Mighel’s perch. “I followed you because I wanted to. This isn’t your fault, I mean, if anything it’s mine–”

“It’s both of your faults.” Miguel grumbled, interrupting the accountability competition you and Miles had started. Raising his voice, Miguel continued.

“It’s bad enough that you’re messing around in other realities doing whatever you think is helping the Spot situation–”

“Can someone explain what was so wrong with what I did?” Miles asked a nonexistent crowd, exasperatedly.

“–do any of you understand the implications for the canon–”

You had no idea what anyone was talking about, and it was clear Miles didn’t either. Your confusion and fear began to slowly morph inside you, transforming into frustration, bubbling deep in your core. Leaning towards Gwen, you whispered.

“Gwen, what’s going on–”

Gwen’s chin dipped, her eyes avoiding yours. “I’m sorry, I don’t–”

Scoffing, you interrupted her. “I know you know what he’s talking about–”

“–HAVING A BLACK CAT INVOLVED IN THS?”

Miguel’s voice boomed, bouncing off the walls of his office. Miles and Gwen flinched alongside you, all three of you now tensed to oblivion. Miguel heaved in front of you, shoulders squared and forehead crinkled in a way that to you, looked as if he was (barely) holding himself back from blowing up.

You could swear, his eyes were glowing.

Voice lowered slightly, Miguel continued.

“This isn’t a part of your storyline. An interruption of this scale would destroy your reality if not hundreds…”

This wasn’t making any sense. Storyline? Canon? A corner of your brain became convinced that this Miguel guy was a drunkard. But the way Gwen squirmed in place made you hesitant to dismiss the gravity of Miguel’s nonsensical rant.

Before anyone could ask any more questions, a teasing voice rang out somewhere in the office.

“Miguel! Go easy on the kid…”

Familiar. This voice is familiar to you.

“...he had a terrible teacher. He had no chance.”

Your body buzzed with adrenaline, limbs ready to fight or flee at any moment.

Why am I reacting like this?

A figure swung into your peripheral, and immediately bile began to rise in your throat. Your mind flashed back to that day- the headlines forever burned into the front of your mind…

THIS JUST IN: CAT BURGLAR WALTER HARDY PRESUMED DEAD AT SCENE AFTER HEIST-BUST BY SPIDERMAN

Spiderman. Peter.

“Peter!” Miles chirped beside you, rushing over to envelop him in a hug.

You stumbled back, shaking silently. You felt a tightness in your chest, your breaths growing heavy. To yourself, you mumbled.

“That fucker’s supposed to be dead.”

As you looked at the now bantering trio, you felt a warmth press itself into your shoulder. Hobie, now beside you, hunched over to mumble back.

“Told’ya you weren’t ready.”

“No- you don’t understand,” Swatting his hand off your shoulder you replied, voice now raised and lined with bitterness. “–he’s dead. I remember that day– I remember it like it was yesterday, Hobie. He’s dead, I–”

“Listen, mate,” Hobie interjected. “Pay attention. That’s not your guy.”

Hobie was…right? But no, the similarities were too uncanny. The Peter that stood before you wasn’t how you remembered. You remember him as blonde, clean-shaven, more lean, and …childless. But you couldn’t shake that feeling inside you that that was him. That voice, that laugh, whose eyes– those were the same.

“... I guess you brought a friend with you?” Peter’s stubbled face was now focused on you. You watched as his eyes widened as he took in your likeness, as if he too, realized who you were. “...Felicia?”

Before you could realize what you were doing, your hand swiftly moved to pull your whip from its holster. Your arm drew back, and your legs pumped under you, lunging your form toward the bathrobe-wearing hero.

The spider-senses of everyone in the room must’ve gone off at the same time at your actions, as Hobie, Miles, Gwen, Peter, and even Mayday flinched at your sudden movements.

A sharp crack sound from your whip echoed throughout the room. But no impact was made. You found yourself bound by glowing reddish-orange webbing before any further attacks could be made on your end. “Fuck– let me at him–” You grunted, teeth-baring, as you wriggled in your restraints.

In front of you, Peter held a cooing Mayday close to his chest. Despite your attempt to pounce on him, his eyes held a deep sadness, a bleakness that normally you wouldn’t see from a stranger. You thought back to Hobie’s comment earlier.

“You remind me of The Cat from my place, y’know.”

You ceased in your struggling, now occupied with the thought that this Peter that stood before you had his own version of…well…you he had a history with.

“You brought Black Cat with you?” Peter continued, speaking to Miles but eyes still trained in your form. “They’re bad luck, y’know kid.” He half-joked, a smirk dancing on his lips but never meeting his eyes. They still remained sad. Apologetic, almost. You couldn’t handle it. Remember what he did to Dad.

He doesn’t deserve to feel sorry.

“God– LET ME GO!” You resumed your struggle, opting to pull at the webs that held you. Connected to the end of each luminous string, Miguel’s clenched hand remained unmoving, a testament to the stark difference in strength between the two of you.

“...Miguel, that’s enough.” Gwen spoke up, eyes meeting him in a silent challenge. After a beat, the webs retracted. You rubbed at your wrists, hissing at the raw marks you knew those restraints had left under your skin. Miles rushed to your side. Lifting his chin, Miguel spoke again, no hint of remorse in his tone.

“Miles. You two disrupted a canon event.”

“Canon event?” You croaked out.

“Wait, what’re you upset about?” Miles asked defensively, “We saved those people–”

“–and that’s the problem.” Miguel interrupted. Hovering around his shoulder, the holographic avatar you recognize from earlier re-materialized. Lyla, he called it. After barking some orders at her, any present light in the room disappeared, shrouding you all in darkness. Before you had any time to adjust to the lack of lighting, a giant projection of a web-like map appeared in front of you.

“What’s this?” Miles asked, stepping slowly towards the glowing diagram.

“This is all of us,” Miguel replied. “Every confirmed spider. All of our lives woven together, in a beautiful web of life and destiny.”

“The Spider-Verse.”

[phyrestartr]

The Intern [2] | Miguel O'hara x M!Reader

#NSFW, Age Gap (mid 20s and mid 30s), reader's a homewrecker, Miguel's a cheater, mentions of toxic marriage, male!reader, bussy loading, porn with feelings, Miguel's a bit of a dickhead, top Miguel (for now), bottom reader (for now), blowjob, reader gets lectured and likes it, reader has daddy issues

Note: heheheheh

-- The Intern --

[ How it Started: 1/2 ] [2/2]

Miguel had to admit, he was surprised–he didn’t expect you to carry on like nothing happened.

Most people he’d fucked around with in the past, be it in school or during his tenacious dating life, would stomp their feet and quit whatever club, sport, or job they’d joined just to get close to Miguel, just to get a shot with him. He couldn’t blame them. He saw himself as a pretty good-looking guy, a smart man, one that took care of himself and could turn on the charm without even trying; he got what he wanted more often than not, and that included the people who threw themselves at him. He always wondered why they thought they’d somehow cement themselves into his life after just one night. 

But then there was you. You, who still sat with Gabi when you had the time. You, who still helped her with her homework, who still listened to her long-winded rants about whatever movie she obsessed over that week, who still got the shy little thing to talk and smile and laugh. It made something weird and thick weigh down Miguel’s chest, like molasses found a way to suffocate him from the outside. Maybe you didn’t deserve to be fucked and forgotten like the rest. 

And he found you there, still, on a day where Gabi was busy with a playdate at the Parker’s household. Maybe this was the best chance he’d get to talk to you again. 

“Alone, huh?” Miguel asked before sitting across from you, a cup of coffee warming his hands. “Kinda sad.”

You sighed and looked out the window, filled to the brim with drama. “You’re tellin’ me. I got abandoned by a kid. This is worse than bein’ stood up, let me tell ya.” 

Yikes. Was what Miguel did the same as standing you up? He wasn’t sure. He didn’t want to think about it too much. 

"Right, right." Miguel cleared his throat and leaned in a little. "About the other night–" 

"What?" You asked, looking a little too dumb for your internship spot suddenly. 

"Halloween." Miguel looked at you meaningfully and your lips pursed slowly, just like the day he first saw you. Miguel gave a tight-lipped smile. 

You leaned back in your seat and crossed your arms. "I, uh, dunno if this is the right place to talk about that. Dunno if there is a right place to talk about that, if 'm bein' honest." 

"Let's talk in my office," Miguel said, not offering room for argument or questions as he stood and started walking. 

"Wh–now?" 

"Yes, now." 

–

Well, you were supposed to be talking, not blowing him under the desk. Thank god the department heads got their own private spaces. 

One of Miguel's big hands fisted in your hair, holding back your soft locks so he could get a good look at your face as it twisted in concentration. You took him too easily for how big he was, each languid dip of your head welcoming him down your tight, hot throat until–until–

"Mierda–" Miguel pushed your head down to his base, forcing your nose flush up against his well-trimmed hair and blushing skin. You groaned and gagged as he bucked into your mouth and unloaded thick, sticky strands of cum down your throat. You swallowed around him, doing your best to take it all down. 

A harsh bite from you had Miguel letting go and leaning back in his seat. He panted and rubbed his face, but his eyes snapped back to you as you took your time getting off of him. He expected you to pull off and make a mess while you snapped and scolded him, but you went slowly, not rushing. 

Your tongue worked him through the aftershocks, rubbing under his length and thoughtfully tracing the thick veins and sensitive muscle still pulsing from your pampering. Miguel's fingers carded through your hair again as he watched you work; your hand slipped up and gripped his base once enough was out of your mouth to hold. You ran your tongue around him once, twice, thrice, before sucking on that thick, darkened head for much longer than necessary. Maybe you just wanted to be thorough. Maybe you just couldn't get enough of him. 

"Gonna get me worked up again, 'f you keep doing shit like that," Miguel warned, something of an excited laugh fluttering through this soft panting. 

You took a second to swallow (Oh, God, you were torturing him) before wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. "Do you want me to get you all worked up again, Doc?" 

That pesky hand around his shaft tightened before stroking him firmly and fully. Miguel sighed and melted into his chair. He could probably let you pamper him for hours, if his sex drive were to be trusted. Maybe he could–

"Kidding," you said with a mean wink. You kissed the tip of his cock before letting go and parking your ass on his desk. "So. About Halloween?" 

Miguel blinked away the whiplash and scrambled to tuck himself away. "I, uh–yeah. Halloween." He nodded to himself in thought, definitely remembering what he wanted to discuss. 

You stared at him, so expectant, before leaning in and resting your elbows on your knees. "N'awe, did I suck the brain cells right outta your pretty head, Doc?" You fake pouted, and Miguel scowled. 

And he blushed. Just a little. "I just–I was just–y'know what? Maybe you deserved it."

"Pft. I deserved what?" You asked, leaning back onto your palms then. “Bein’ hit then quit?” 

Miguel frowned. His brows drew together and his jaw set uncomfortably while he looked away. It seemed to make you a little uncomfortable by the way you moved to reach toward him before deciding against it. Your hand combed through your hair instead and you sighed, surrendering. 

“Look, I–if I seriously expected the royal treatment from a guy totin’ a wedding band on his pretty lil’ finger, I’d be a shockin’ moron, alright?" You sighed and rubbed your face with both hands. "I mean--it's just s'pposed to be sex, man. Sex ain't complicated like that." 

Miguel narrowed his eyes at you. "I’m–what are you–sex is complicated." His palms landed on your thighs as he leaned in. “You don’t actually think–”

"Sex is busting and moving on with life,” You interrupted sharply. You grew tense for a moment, but forced a relaxed laugh. “I'm kinda surprised you didn't get me fired, if I'm being real."  

The realization hit Miguel fast and hard, knocking the goddamn wind out of his stupid lungs--you were the type of guy left in the dust, the sort that shit heads like Miguel hit and quit, fucked and forgot. The sorry dregs of an exciting sex life filled with names he didn't care about and some he couldn't bother to remember. But Miguel knew your name. But did that even matter to you?

"But, uh…I should get goin', so. Yeah. Good talk." You made your move to shuffle off the desk, but Miguel's hands on your thighs didn't budge. "Oy, I gotta go, old man. You hard of hearing already? Should I call the nursing home or–" 

"Santa Muerte, do you ever stop talking?" Miguel sighed and shook his head. "I haven't said my piece yet, kid." 

You pursed your lips, probably holding back some cursed joke about giving him a blowie, and nodded. "Okay. Say your piece." 

"I will. And you're gonna shut up while I talk, got it?" 

"Got it." 

"Good." Miguel took a deep breath to calm the storm in his chest. "First of all, you've got the wrong idea about sex. It matters. Even if you're just sleeping around, it's because you're looking for that connection. It's a good thing. A beautiful thing. So, I don't want to hear you say all this shit about sex not mattering. Especially when you're talking about sex with me." He looked you up and down, and the fond feeling curled up his chest stretched and lazed like a cat sunbathing. "Got it?" 

You nodded, a vibrant dusting of red saturating your skin. That doe-eyed look was back on your face, just like the first time you'd hooked up with him in his office. He really did adore it. He maybe kinda adored you. 

"Good." He fidgeted with your slacks, pulling on the crisp material with busy fingers as he thought about sentence structure and syntax and connotation and–and– 

Just say it, Miguel. "I shouldn't have left you on Halloween." 

You laughed shyly. "I--what?" He watched you rub your cheek like you were trying to rid yourself of the scarlet blush staining your skin. Miguel had to admit, your reactions were doing wonders for his ego. 

"I said," He started, leaning in a little, lowering his voice. "I shouldn't have left you on Halloween." After a pause, a beat to get you to say something, he continued, "I'm sorry, alright? It's not happening again." 

Another laugh (more like a giggle) bubbled out of you, just as nervous and shy as the last. Your hands fussed with your hair and your tie, your lab coat and your cuffs, until your nerves calmed a bit, the slow circles rubbed into your thighs helping to ease you down from hysteria. It was embarrassing. You were embarrassed. But you were happy.

"Y-yeah, alright. Cool. Neat." You coughed. "Awesome. Uh, I just–you–I have to–" and you leaned down, almost tumbling off the desk, and kissed him. 

Miguel hummed deep in his chest–a heartfelt welcome to your needs and wants. His chair shifted slightly as you haphazardly slipped off the desk and into his lap, expertly never breaking the kiss, and getting comfortable; your arms looped around his shoulders, your hands fisted and carded through his hair, your thighs rested on either side of his slim waist. 

“You’re shockin’ hot when you’re bein’ nice t’ me,” you mumbled against his lips, maybe a bit into his mouth. “But in that, y’know, authoritative dad kinda way.” Your breath stuttered when a mischievous hand slipped into your slacks and cupped your toned ass with a firm squeeze. 

Miguel smirked. “Daddy issues, huh?” Your small scoff and the firm tug of his hair answered him. His smirk warped into a grin. “Want me to scold you more, huh? You get off on that?” 

“You keep talkin’ shit and I’m calling you papi in public, dickhead,” you mumbled as you fumbled with the zipper of his pants. You paused though, and looked up in thought. “But you could help me with my taxes. That’d be really sexy of you.” 

Miguel blinked stupidly for a moment before chuckling and shaking his head. “Why am I not surprised you’re shit at taxes?” God, you were cute. 

“Hey, hey, I’m not shit at them, I just hate them.” You shrugged before very casually slipping his hard-on out of his pants and giving it a few preparatory strokes. “Could use some tips.”

“Or an accountant,” Miguel offered. It was your turn to blink dumbly. “You think I handle my own money? I pay someone to do it.” 

“Huh. You’re seriously in a different tax bracket.” You squeaked when Miguel somehow managed to rip down your slacks down to your mid-thigh. “Hey–” 

“I’ll buy you a new pair.” He helped the pants off of you while you half-stood to get the damn things off, letting them hang off one leg in your haste to get the party started. “And I’ll get my accountant to take care of your taxes.” 

That had you beaming. “I think we’re entering sugar daddy territory, Doc.” You grinned between the sweet kisses you dotted along his jawline. Miguel felt the barest scraping of teeth against his skin, and his cock swelled more. What he wouldn’t give to let you bite and marr him as you wanted. 

But he couldn’t, not with Dana’s skeptical eyes and Gabi’s naive glances watching him from every angle. 

“It’s our little secret,” Miguel whispered with a kiss left against your cheek. 

Your lips found his again, letting your  impish smile sear his skin with sanguine intent, like a contract signed with the devil. 

Miguel would do anything to keep extending that contract. 

[mindless-existence1]

Dating Miles Morales headcannons

Summery: Literally what the title says, this is aged up Miles but if you are a teen who simps for him you can imagine him at his normal age just don't be weird about it. This is a gender neutral read and reader isnt a spiderperson. Enjoy!

REQUESTS OPEN PLS SEND!

Masterlist Link

☆Sooooo nervous about dating. The only "experience" he's had is his crush on Gwen so literally nothing.

☆He's worried about hurting you accidentally since he's not used to his spider strength. (You help him get over that fear tho)

☆Speaking of spiderman, it gives him sooooooo much anxiety about whether he should tell you or not.

☆You find out accidentally when he gets injured during a fight and is too hurt to take care of it himself so he goes to your house instead plus he just wanted to see his partner

☆He knocks on your window a few times before you go over and answer it. He takes off his mask quick so you know it's him.

☆After scolding him for being so careless you bandage him up.

☆You guys do have a serious talk about it tho the next day.

☆He calls you really cute pet names because he literally thinks you are an angel incarnate

☆If you don't already know Spanish he tries teaching you how. Even if you are having trouble learning he will get excited that you're trying and at least learning a few words.

☆His parents love you, he was worried about them being embarrassing and oh believe me they were.

☆You guys meet over dinner that Rio makes for you all. After an awkward beginning you guys really start to bond.

☆After that you and his parents tag team tease him and he hates loves it because he knows it means you are feeling at home.

☆He introduces you to the other spider people and you hit it off with all of them (let's pretend atsv was full of sunshine and rainbows and miles got a watch and everything is fine).

☆You, Miles, Gwen, Pavitr, and Hobie all hang out in one of your dimensions and do random stuff together

☆You guys text all the time and just send random nonsense throughout the day. Even when he's spidermaning

☆He loves to take you on dates throughout the city but sometimes cuddling together snd watching a movie is just as amazing.

☆You guys share headphones when sitting next to each other (wired headphones) or just Bluetooth ones if you are doing your own thing in the same room.

☆Draws you alllllll the time. Imagine instead of Gwen being who he draws all the time it's you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for reading!

[thatrandomidiot182]

Blood Ties and Past Lives

Chapter Warnings. mentions of death/murder, vulgar language, childhood trauma, mild paranoia. dialogue heavy!!

As strong as you like to pride yourself on being, you end up breaking down before you can even open your front door.

The day's events, and the emotional turmoil that you've pushed down throughout have finally caught up to you in the dim hallway of your apartment complex, just feet away from the privacy of your living room.

You struggle to jam your key into the lock. Shaking hands and teary eyes make it hard to find the precision you normally have, and eventually you give up. Frustrated, defeated and tired, you release a loud sob as you fall to the floor.

Collapsing on the worn down welcome mat that your landlord gifted you when you first moved in, you slump against the apartment door, trembling hands losing their grip on your keys as you sob.

Your forehead knocks against the cool wood as you do your best to stay quiet, alternating between pursing your lips and holding your breath to muffle your whimpers and heaves. Your hands clutch your shoulders as they shudder, grip tightening the longer you sit there. Your face feels uncomfortably warm and sticky and you eventually get sent into a coughing fit as you choke on your spit, beginning to hyperventilate as you can't seem to catch your breath and the tears just don't stop–

Someone's behind you.

You swing around at the sudden weight on your shoulder, scrambling back into the wall as you all but bear your teeth at the stranger in front of you.

The stranger is quick to raise his hands in a display of innocence, "Easy there tiger, just trying to be a good samaritan..." his voice is soft, pretty brown eyes wide as he takes in your defensive stance.

You're too caught up in the wave of emotions that have overwhelmed you to bother being ashamed at the way you only cried harder at his concern.

The man begins to panic, voice wavering as his hands flail around hesitantly. He slowly crouches next to you, reaching out to place a hand on your knee, "Hey, heyyyy, it's okay– It-It's okay."

You can't even muster a laugh at his stuttering.

"Can you tell me your name? I-Uh, I'm Marcus– Marcus Watts, but everyone calls me MJ so... Just– Call me MJ." He cringes as he stumbles over his words and his awkwardness has your tears gradually slowing as you become distracted by his clamoring.

"I'm your uh... I'm your new neighbor!" He smiles, crooked and wobbly as he sneaks a peak at the number above your head.

You let out a strangled whine at the information, burying your head in your knees in shame.

What a great first impression.

MJ grows frantic at the sound, clumsily moving to sit more comfortably next to you as he gently lays a hand across your shoulders, pulling you to his side as he rubs his fingers soothingly across your muscle.

"I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I'm so-I'm sorry–" He gently hushes your panicked apologies, tucking your head under his chin. "Don't apologize... Don't apologize, you have nothing to be sorry for. We all have those days." His voice is smooth, not too high or low, but with a comforting roughness that has your heart thrumming in your chest.

"No! No, I sh- I can't be– you don't have to–" he's quick to shut down your sentence, hand curling around your bicep reassuredly as he leans his head back into the wall, throat bobbing against your cheek as he speaks, "I know. But what kind of guy would I be if I let my pretty neighbor sit outside crying."

You laugh at the sentiment, a wet, sad little chuckle that has you cringing afterwards.

MJ's chest rumbles and your cheeks flush as you realize that he's laughing, "Ahhh there you are! I was wondering if I was ever going to hear anything other than sad puppy noises from you."

You let out an embarrassed scoff against his neck, "Sad puppy noises? What??" Your voice is scratchy and almost unintelligible but he somehow understands.

MJ laughs again, much to your offense, and the sound has you unintentionally relaxing further into his hold, "Yeah, you sound like a sad puppy when you cry. It's kinda cute." You pull away from his neck with a frown, squinting at him suspiciously.

"Cute? You're not a weird, creepy sadist are you?"

"Wha-No! NO!" You purse your lips to hide the smile that encases your face at his flustered shout, watching in amusement as his face becomes a similar shade as his hair.

MJ huffs dramatically, "Is this what I get for being a good person? Get called a creep?"

You snort, leaning your head back against the wall as he pulls his hand back to his side, "This is Gotham, you're lucky that I'm a good person, who's thankful..." You smile bashfully, "Really, thank you. For... all of this. I-I promise I'm not always this... uh– dramatic." You wince, thumbing your palm nervously.

MJ offers a small smile, "No problem! Like I said, we all have those days..." He pauses, and you watch anxiously as his face scrunches hesitantly, "Do you... Do you want to talk about it?"

You ponder his offer for a good minute, letting the ambiance of the apartments wash over you.

The sirens in the distance.

The muffled shouts of the single mom at the end of the hallway.

The faint accented voice in your ear encouraging you to open up–

"My tata– My grandfather died... today was his funeral." Your voice is weak and squeaky, but somehow, you don't feel embarrassed by it.

"Oh." It's obvious that your revelation caught him off guard, "I'm sorry."

His empathy is foreign to you, and the entire experience has you thinking that you're dreaming.

After all, he has no reason to be here. Sitting on the grimy floor of your apartment building with his mess of a neighbor who he's never met before. Consoling and empathizing with them as if it was a moment between friends and not someone he just stumbled across.

Yet he is.

And it simultaneously has your heart fluttering with warmth and stomach twisting with paranoia.

Because, why?

Why is he here?

What does he want?

Is this all a ploy? A plot against you?

What if he's with them?

The concept of a stranger being so kind, is just inconceivable. Not just because it's Gotham, and not even because everyone knows the rule of 'stranger danger,' but more so because of the fact that his kindness is aimed towards you.

You haven't done anything to deserve it, so why?

Why is the compassion and concern this complete stranger has offered you in the ten minutes you've known him more than you've gotten from Bruce and his kids in three years?

The realization has your brain stumped between laughing and crying again.

Yet, despite your inner anxieties, your body is completely at ease in his presence.

Instead of being tense and guarded like you should have been, you were completely lax in his embrace.

Oddly enough, despite never having met before, you feel a comfortability around him that you've never felt before. Almost as if you've known him your entire life.

Every molecule of your being is screaming at you to get closer and bury yourself in his warmth once again, as if he himself could singlehandedly free you of your burdens. Your nerves are soothed to a point you haven't felt in years and the voices in your head are finally quiet.

MJ's appearance in your life is as sudden and perplexing as it is welcome.

And once your tears have finally stopped and the single mom down the hall begins yelling at her kids, you realize it's all too good to be true.

You don't deserve such luxuries, not anymore.

So, with a newfound resolve, you offer him one last smile as you rise to finally head into your apartment.

"Thank you, and again, I'm sorry."

It seems like that's the only thing you're able to say anymore.

Your body instantly alerts you to the sound of your living room window being opened.

It's half past midnight, two days after your mortifying first encounter with MJ and you're curled up in bed with a novel and a glass of wine your boss gifted you after you asked for a week off to mourn.

Having been so engrossed in the novel you were reading, you had failed to notice the creaking of your fire escape until your sixth sense suddenly spiked at the clamoring of the rusty latch being opened in the next room.

"What the fuck?" Your concerned whisper breaks the silent ambiance of your room as you hesitantly rise from your bed, tossing your book aside gently. You quickly grab your phone off the nightstand before quietly swinging your bedroom door open, pausing to make sure the intruder stayed unaware of your movements.

Clutching the device to your side, you slowly begin to make your way out into the hall. Years of practice making your steps undetectable as your socked feet lightly ghost along the wooden flooring, carefully avoiding the spots you know would creak and groan.

You focus your hearing on the living room just in time to hear as a body makes its way onto the same floor with a faint thud. A sound so quiet, it immediately had you on guard, with the lack of stomping and clattering alerting you to the fact that this wasn't an ordinary burglar in your apartment.

No, whoever this person is, is light on their feet, meticulously careful in their actions as the window creaking is kept muffled as it's closed and... locked?

The click of the lock has you tense as you peek around the corner of the hallway, your mind runs through a million different possibilities...

A ghost?

An assassin?

Did they finally find you?

Maybe it's one of the capes?

Did Felix somehow manage to track you down?

You raise your hand defensively, fully prepared to web anything that poses a threat as you finally lay eyes on the person–

"Damian?" Your shock is inherently obvious as you murmur the boy's name in confusion, dropping your hand down to your side at the familiar face that greets you.

His head whips towards you, eyes narrowing in his typical glare as his body straightens to his usual posture. "So, you are awake."

You gawk at his confidence, expecting anything but the comfortable ease he exudes as he stalks closer. As if he hadn't just broken into your apartment in the middle of the night. "What the hell are you–"

He's quick to cut you off, whether it's because he knew you were gonna lose your shit or because whatever he needed to say was that important was up for debate.

"You're wrong."

Your brow furrows as you still find yourself reeling in confusion at his sudden appearance, "Wha–I–"

"It was my fault." His voice is hard, eyes trained on the wood beneath your feet as he stands across from you, an arms width away yet closer than he'd ever willingly been before...

"What are you talking about?" You scoff, arms crossing defensively as you eye him suspiciously.

"I disobeyed father." He clenches his fists, "I was stupid and reckless and I got caught and now he's dead." His breath stutters for just a moment, "Alfred's dead because I failed." His face falls, previous bravado of arrogant nonchalance gone as his words settle in your chest.

You purse your lips thoughtfully, face falling as you realize the intent behind his visit. "Damian it's not–"

"I'm Robin."

He meets your eyes heavily as you pause in shock at his sudden revelation. The haunting green hue encapsulates your vision as you stare at him in wide-eyed disbelief.

Of course, you've already known that he was Robin for a while now. In fact, it had only taken you a few weeks of living in the manor to put the pieces together and figure out about all of your family's little nighttime personas. You weren't top of your class for nothing after all, but to hear him admit it so openly– to you of all people– has taken you completely off guard.

You allow yourself a moment of confusion before letting out a sigh, offering a small, awkward smile as your gaze softens, "I know."

He's visibly taken aback by your answer, eyes narrowing as he scoffs, "What do you mean you know?"

You smirk, rolling your eyes lightheartedly as you walk past him to sit on your couch, "Please, I'm not an idiot. I know about all of you."

He crosses his arms, glaring down at you after following to stand before you, "How?"

"Its simple pattern recognition, really." You shrug, counting off your reasoning with your fingers, "You guys were never home at night, always had suspicious bruises and cuts... You never seemed shocked about the stories in the news, never hesitated to suddenly become 'busy' when they'd broadcast an Arkham breakout... Always had somewhere to be or something to do besides lounge around like normal rich people..." You trail off, eyeing him warily as he becomes visibly agitated as you continue.

"You think you're clever because you figured it out? Drake found out fathers identity when he was thirteen, and a stranger. You're not special for catching on after two years in close proximity." His words are venomous and it grants you a sick sense of relief to finally see him behaving the way you'd expected. "Besides, you've never had definitive proof. If I hadn't wanted you to know, you would have lived with baseless assumptions and a foolish, inflated ego." His face resets to that haughty smugness he's known for as he scrunches his nose down at you.

You bristle defensively at his words, glaring back as you scoff, officially done with his sudden hot and cold attitude, "Why are you even here, Damian?" You toss your hands up frustratedly, "Why bother telling me all of this, if you're gonna be mad about me knowing? Seriously, did you come here just to mock me? Why are–"

"Because you don't understand!" He snaps. "Because you need to understand!" His lips curve into a vicious scowl, voice rising in anger as he stalks closer to your seated figure, "It doesn't make sense!"

His voice cracks, "Why!? Why are you the only one who doesn't blame me?!" Your face falls as you watch his eyes well with tears, "Why are you– the one person I've hurt more than anyone else– the only person who understands... Why aren't you angry at me?" His bottom lip quivers and it takes everything in you to stop yourself from pulling him into your arms.

You opt to offer a half-hearted shrug, awkwardly snorting out a small laugh, as you rise from the couch, "Oh, trust me, I am." You pause, placing a hesitant hand on his shoulder, watching as he shrinks under your touch, "Just not for this." You huff, "I'm angry at you because you stabbed me, sure." You shrug, releasing a tense sigh as you avert your gaze to the wall behind him, "But it'd be wrong of me to blame you when I was the one who had the chance to stop Bane and didn't."

Damian's face snaps towards yours, eyes widening as he chokes out a confused, "What?"

You take a breath, squeezing your eyes closed as you speak resolutely, "I was The Spider– The uh– hero, from New York..." You trail off awkwardly, avoiding his befuddled stare with a sigh, "Long story short, shit happened, and I'm done playing hero so..."

"You–" You don't give him the chance to question your sudden confession, gently guiding him to sit next to you on the sofa as you quickly continue.

"The night Alfred died–" You hesitate, swallowing the lump in your throat nervously, "I saw Bane downtown." You let the information settle in the air, watching Damian's reaction carefully as he does the same.

"He... He was monologuing to the rogues, going on and on about something stupid, I can't remember, but he was completely off-guard. Like, totally relaxed. As if he was in his own bed and not in the middle of a crowd of psycho serial killers." Your eyes glaze over as you recall the scene.

"I was walking through an alley, one of the usual shortcuts I take on my way home from work, near the Batburger on tenth... I reach the end and he's just... there, I mean, h–he was right there. Right there!" Your fists shake from their clenched position on your lap, "and I had a chance– I had the chance, the opportunity to end it all." You scowl, "All the torment... All the chaos... All the pain..." You bring your fists up to your face, hiding your frustrated tears behind your palms as you berate yourself, "All I had to do was swing a web and pull and it'd be over..." You laugh humorlessly, "But I didn't. I didn't and Bane went on to kill Alfred that same damn night..."

You grit your teeth, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill as you continue, "I was selfish." Your voice cracks, "I was stupid. Instead of doing the world a favor and putting that piece of shit down, I walked away. Told myself it wasn't my problem– That it wasn't my job to fight the bad guys, to be the hero. Not anymore– I–" You stop yourself, weary of where you were steering the conversation as Damian looms silently beside you.

It's quiet for a second, the only sound being the movement of your hands wiping your tears away from your face as the two of you sit with the weight of your words.

"He wouldn't have wanted that." Damian's voice is softer, but still carries an edge to it that has you wilting at the implications.

"Yeah, why's that?" You barely manage to whisper the words as your throat closes in on itself.

"He always spoke so highly of you." Damian smiles ruefully, "Anytime he mentioned your name it would be followed by praise..." He rolls his eyes with a scowl, "He always said you'd be the one to make something of yourself. To be great..." He sighs, closing his eyes as his face scrunches, almost as if the act of trying to console you pained him.

"He wouldn't want you going down the path of a killer."

The sentence sparks a sharp bark of laughter out of you.

...Little did he know, you already have.

"Trust me–" He pauses, and you watch patiently as he tenses, eyes darting to your face nervously before gluing themselves to your ratty carpet. "–Killing someone, even a murderer, even someone like Bane... It doesn't give you the relief you'd expect." His voice is low, solemn and honest as he speaks and it has you huffing in exasperation.

"You sound experienced..."

He doesn't respond as quickly as you expect, and you can't help but eye him curiously as he moves to sit beside you.

"I am." He inhales deeply, hands folding together on his lap and you can hear his heart thrumming nervously.

"My name is Damian Thomas Al Ghul–Wayne." Your brow furrows in confusion, "I'm the son of Bruce Wayne and Talia Al Gul..." The name is unfamiliar, and it has a pit forming in your gut as he continues, "Grandson of R'as Al Ghul and the Demon Heir of the League of Assassins." His eyes are empty, voice carefully steady and flat as he recites the information as if reading off of a script.

"Since the day of my birth, I was raised to be a weapon. I was–I was handed a sword before I could even walk, taught to eliminate threats before I was able to eat solid foods..." Your heart sinks, "I was made to be the perfect assassin. The perfect heir... and I was." He sighs, "The first time I killed a man, I was eight. My grandfather ordered the execution of a traitor among the league, and saw it as the perfect opportunity to test me." The image sends a wave of nausea rolling through your stomach. Picturing an eight-year old Damian standing before a corpse, bloodied hands and trembling lip as he withheld tears– "I didn't think anything of it. I simply completed the duty I was given... It's how I viewed every mission that came after. A duty. An honor entrusted to me by my grandfather... I wanted to make him proud, for him and Mother to see that I was worthy of my title, of my blood..."

He smiles ruefully, "Then I met father. He brought me to Gotham... to the Manor, and... to Alfred." You offer a reassuring smile, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I was forced to... acclimate to everything so quickly. One minute I was an assassin, and the next, I was being told to never kill anyone again! I was only ten years old, and everyone expected me to just... ignore everything I was previously taught. To abandon my upbringing– abandon my mother– and become a hero... so I did. I-I turned my back on the league, I've forsaken my blood and reshaped myself into a Robin deserving of fighting beside Batman... but it doesn't matter what I do, they all still think of me as a murderer." He hangs his head in shame, and you find yourself sharing the sentiment as you reflect on how you treated him while you lived in the manor.

If you had known any of this then, maybe you guys would have been friends...

He laughs, a cold and humorless sound that has you cringing in remorse, "Ever since I left the league, it feels like I've been under constant surveillance. Like father and Grayson are just waiting for me to screw up. Like at any little inconvenience I'll just turn and kill someone..." his bottom lip trembles, and you rub his shoulder comfortingly as he proceeds to let out a shaky sigh,

"What I'm saying is that the mark of a killer is something that will never leave you, no matter how hard you try... so... don't ever regret walking away... no matter the consequences."

It's quiet once he finishes his speech, the two of you sitting side by side as you wallow in the somber atmosphere.

Your fingers twitch nervously, canines digging into your bottom lip as you breathe through the wave of emotions that crashed over you after Damian's confession.

Confusion, empathy, grief, anger, sorrow...

It all forces you to come to a whole new understanding of the boy sitting next you.

You're honestly just completely taken off guard by everything. This was by far the longest conversation you'd ever had, and it has you reeling. The fact that Damian even appeared before you– willingly– was already jarring, and the way he spoke– open, honest... vulnerable, is so uncharacteristic that it's unnerving.... It all has you contemplating, why?

What changed?

Did Alfred's death really cause such a reaction?

Perhaps Alfred's words of praise were enough to convince Damian that you weren't the villain he had assumed?

Maybe Alfred asked him to reconcile with you while he was alive and now that he's gone Damian feels an obligation to fulfill the elders wish?

You don't know, and you don't think you'll ever know the true reason why Damian decided to approach you tonight, but you'll be damned if you let the opportunity slip through your fingers...

As much as you like to pretend that you're fine on your own... you're lonely.

You miss your family.

You miss the comfort and the love, the loyalty and acceptance. The warmth of your mother's embrace– of your tias singing and grandparents cooking. You miss your cousins and their inside jokes and stupid nicknames that always picked at your worst insecurities. The birthdays and weddings that went on till sunrise, where you'd be lulled to sleep on a plastic white chair by drunken chattering and laughter. The peace that came with waking up in the arms of your step-dad as he spoke his goodbyes. You miss the joy of having someone love you unconditionally, of someone always being there for you, without expecting anything in return...

and Damian may be your last chance at having even a fraction of that again, which is why you're meeting him in the middle.

You close your eyes resolutely, tilting your head back against the couch as you come out of your thoughts, releasing a deep sigh as you begin to speak, "I was twelve when I was bitten by a radioactive spider that escaped containment from my step-dad's lab." Damian's head snaps towards you at the sudden breach of silence, eying you curiously as you adjust your posture to slump back into the cushions more comfortably.

"It was two years after he and my mom were murdered, and we were finally allowed access to clear out his personal items after the lawsuit cleared... That stupid little bug slipped out of the plastic tube, crawled into my sock and bit me right on my achilles!" You scowl, "The pain was excruciating. It felt like fire was flooding through my veins, burning me from the inside out…” You grimace, “I'll never forget the fear on my Tias face when she came into the room and found me on the floor. She thought I was having a seizure... The pain had me convulsing so bad that she had to pin me down to stop me from ripping chunks out of myself.” You smile weakly, “I've never screamed like that in my entire life, I couldn't speak for two weeks afterwards..." You shiver at the memory, beginning to pick idly at a loose thread in the couch cushion.

"I remember waking up in my bed, confused as hell... I honestly thought it was a dream– Well, at least until I accidentally webbed my blanket to myself." You snort, lips quirking into a cringe as you recall the meltdown you had after being unable to disentangle yourself from your nanas rose cobija.

"I was so confused and scared when my powers began to develop. I was terrified the first time I managed to walk on my ceiling!” You grin, “but, I was also an impressionable kid with a sense of justice too big for their tiny body who just got superpowers, so, it's safe to say that it didn't take me very long to put on the suit.” You laugh, "I say suit, but that's just me being generous. It was really just a ski mask with lab goggles and my step-dads old varsity hoodie." You scoff, "I looked so bad, I'm glad the media didn't get any pictures of me until I had a legit suit… Who knows what kind of memes would exist if they had!” Your smile dwindles at the lack of response from Damian, turning to meet his unimpressed gaze with a sad smile, “I also had absolutely no training. No martial arts classes, no self-defense knowledge whatsoever– and I didn't even know how to properly control my powers…” You sigh, “You can imagine how that went.”

 Damian winces and you shake your head remorsefully, “Sure, I had a rough start, but when it came down to it, I was a stubborn kid with a bleeding heart who wanted to keep others from the same fate as my mom.” Damian shifts next to you, gaze glued to your face as you continue, “So, every night when my Tia went off to work, I'd sneak out and… do my thing.” Your nose scrunches at your wording, a small laugh slipping out at the awkward phrasing, “I got my ass kicked more times that I can count, almost died on multiple occasions… but I always got back up because there was always someone else to save. Always a bad guy to stop.” You frown.

“It was easy, for the first couple of weeks. Small things, like rescuing cats from trees, stopping pickpockets, webbing some car thieves and roughing up perverts who bothered women on the sidewalks... but then it got real. The threats got bigger, and it got harder to hide what I was doing from those who knew me best.” Your eyes flutter as you blink back tears, “Gwen figured me out within my first couple of weeks as Spider.” A wet laugh sneaks past your lips as you recall her pout, “She was so mad that I didn't tell her. She insisted on designing my suit! She– She even took a fashion class just to make it for me…” You smile, “It didn't come out great, obviously, but… I-It meant so much to me to have her support. I was so scared that she’d be afraid of me, that-that If I told anyone they’d think I was a freak-or-or sell me to the government or something…” You laugh, “But she didn’t, she-she didn’t do any of that she just… she supported me, and she loved me… despite everything that came with being a hero. Throughout all the broken bones and split lips, after all the breakdowns and close-calls. She was there, she was always there… and it got her killed.” Your gaze drifts down to your fingers, nailbeds now swollen and raw from your unintentional picking.

You choke on a whimper, composure slowly slipping as your mind flashes back to the night of her death, “She-She wasn't supposed to be there that night, but she was worried about me… She always worried.” You roll your jaw as you grit out the details, blurry images of rain and smoke flood your brain as you relive it all, “The Green Goblin bombed Oscorp during one of our fights. He was trying to kill me and she got caught in the crossfire…” Damian's gaze was pitying and it sparks a burning wave of nausea to churn in your stomach as your jaw clenches, “The worst part is that it wasn't even the bomb that killed her, it was the shrapnel.” He winces as you laugh angrily, “Her death wasn't quick, and it sure as hell wasn't painless.” You scowl, “She was alive for ten minutes after the explosion. Ten minutes that she spent in agonizing pain, with a piece of metal impaled in her spine! Ten minutes that I spent trying to keep her alive as she bled out in my arms!” Your chest heaves, breath stuttering as your heart thrums in your veins.

Damian's quiet as he watches you overcome your frustration. Soft green eyes never leaving your face as you whimper, “She was only fourteen… She hadn't even started high school.”

You swallow as you gather yourself, wiping away the tears as you rush to continue, “He’s the same man who killed my Tia…” Damian’s eyes widen, “He rigged the bridge to explode, right at the time she was on her way home from work” You eye your peeling wallpaper disinterestedly as you speak, “I tried to save her, but coincidentally there was also a school bus that was falling…” Your jaw clenches as you grip your biceps, desperate for a sense of comfort as you remember her defeated eyes, “I couldn't choose. I tried to stall for as long as possible to figure something out…” You force out a shuddering breath, ”I felt my shoulders dislocate. I felt as all the muscles in my arms were slowly ripped apart over and over as my healing factor struggled to keep up and I panicked… Eventually, I ran out of time, and she chose for me.” You feel the warmth of Damian's arm against your own as your body trembles, “I never even got the chance to tell her, but the look in her eyes as she cut the web told me that she already knew. She had always known, which is why she did what she did.”

You groan, “I was so angry. So blinded by rage, I couldn't even think, I didn't want to think... so I didn't. I just did what I do best... I fought.” You swallow thickly, “I went after the goblin, with no care for myself, no regard for what was gonna happen, I just wanted revenge. Justice.” You can’t help but laugh at the irony, “We fought for two hours before we eventually nosedived into the river. His hovercraft self-destructed on impact, and as far as the rest of the world's concerned, Spider died on that bridge, saving the people of New York like they always had.” You smirk condescendingly, “Good old Spidey got a hero's farewell, and I was finally free to be a normal kid…”

“A normal kid, who lost everyone because they wanted to play hero.” You scowl, “Even going back to a normal life was impossible, because as you said, the mark of a killer can't be erased, and my recklessness and selfish desire for vengeance came back to haunt me.”

Your teeth bear a sharp grin, lacking any humor or comfort as you choke out, “When the man under the mask turned out to be my best friend's father.”

"Let's watch a movie!" was your desperate attempt to lighten the atmosphere after spending close to four hours trading childhood stories of valor and trauma with your younger brother.

It took you another half hour to convince him of the idea and yet another hour to settle on a movie you both found interesting enough.

Halfway through Revenge of the Sith, Damian turns to you, "I... apologize for stabbing you."

You laugh, "It's okay, you're not the first person to try and murder me, and given the circumstances, you don't have the worst reason either."

His confused stare goes ignored as you turn back to the screen of your laptop, tapping his arm excitedly as the orange and red light draws your attention, "Shh! Here comes the best part!"

I HATE YOU!!

You were my brother Anakin! I loved you...

You find yourself quietly mouthing along with Obi-Wan as you drape your throw blanket over Damian's sleeping form.

Taking a step back, your lips quirk in a small smile at the sight of the lanky teenager squished onto your couch, covered by a faded orange blanket with white bunnies sprawled along the fabric like polka dots.

After all the confessions and revelations the night held, it was comforting to see him look like a kid for once.

"Damian! Where have you been, we've been worried sick–" You roll your eyes, cutting Dick off with an overexaggerated sigh, "Not Damian, but he is fine!"

It silent for a moment before he responds, voice clipped and gruff as he questions, "Wha– Who is this!? Why do you have Damian's phone?!"

"Why, it's only your favorite sibling, of course!" You chirp, teeth bared in a sickly sweet smile that matches the over heightened pitch in your voice that has Damian glaring at you from across the room.

Dick stutters out your name nervously and you nod, "Yes, it's me. So, Damian broke into my apartment last night–"

"He what!?" You nearly throw your phone halfway across the room in your haste to draw it away from your ear at his screeching.

"–aaaand we managed not to kill each other! He's fine, just needs a ride home."

The line is silent, and you smirk at the thought of Dick’s terrified face.

"I-I'll be right there."

You and Damian exchange matching grins at the panic in Dicks voice after he hangs up.

"He really has no faith in us, does he?"

Damian scoffs, "Absolutely none, I'm almost offended."

You smirk, "Says the one who pulled a whole ass katana on me the last time we were alone together!"

Damian simply averts his gaze, hiding his shit-eating grin with his mug.

You shake your head with a small laugh.

In the span of one night, you've managed to reconcile and bond with Damian at an astonishing rate.

It's shocking, but as you watch his nose scrunch at the taste of your cheap instant coffee, you find yourself discarding any ill will. After all, he's starting to grow on you.

Taglist <3: @onceinamillionposter @jscrawls @bat1212 , @1abi , @cosmosluckycharms , @homeless-clown , @awawage , @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @zomqiez , @wishesofficial , @itsberrydreemurstuff

If you saw me accidentally post this before it was finished... no you didn't.

THANK YOU ALL FOR THE SUPPORT!! I'M SO HYPED FOR THE FUTURE OF THIS SERIES OMFG...

I know this is tagged as a Venom! Reader, and this is now three chapters with no Venom, so I wanted to quickly address that! Basically, he's not really going to make an appearance until the second arc, about two or three chapters from now. That's because this first arc is mainly world building and setting up the relationships and plot for the second arc which will have more action and spidey shenanigans. Sorry if that's not what you wanted to hear, but it's just the way the story is going rn.

N E WAYZZZ THANK YOU FOR READING HOPE YOU ENJOYEDD <3

[narcissistshandler]

request:

reader jokingly puts a bell on miguel o’hara since he approaches so quietly he tends to startle you and the other spiders. he tolerates it because the humor improves work morale

little did he know that the bell will be jingling all night as you fuck him mercilessly

𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗦𝗜𝗟𝗩𝗘𝗥 𝗕𝗘𝗟𝗟

✧ 𝖯𝖠𝖨𝖱𝖨𝖭𝖦 male reader x miguel o'hara

✧ 𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖭𝖨𝖭𝖦𝖲 top!amab! reader, bottom! miguel, public blowjob, anal sex, saliva used as a lubricant, consensual suffocation, breath play, implied reader being a spider. minors dni.

✧ 𝖠/𝖭 my archive of editable images of miguel is over, accept this random edit then. I used a lot of words that I don't know very well, so please let me know if I've used something wrong

It was hard to hear anything but the unbearable jingling of the silver bell reverberating through his sensitive hearing; the little ball of iron inside the round shape swayed with fairy clinks where it was attached to the leather strap that tightened around his neck. A joke, had been how Miguel interpreted the unusual gift you said laughing that it was to know when he approached. A lame joke, but still, he let you close the noisy choker around his neck and accepted the kiss you pressed against his lips pursed in annoyance.

During the day, when the spiders shared laughter and a fun that Miguel didn't understand at the gift you gave him, Miguel hadn't paid attention to how the choker tightened his neck, how it accompanied the rise and fall of his throat ─ that he only noticed when you had him on his knees in a blind spot inside the Spider Society tower, and at the risk of being overheard by all nosy and curious spiders, pressed your cock deep into his tight throat until Miguel gasped and struggled for breath, bell rattling violently. The choker felt like your hands squeezing his neck.

After that, the ringing of the silver bell brought a faraway look that no one understood to his face, no one but you. He was remembering that moment, remembering your cock straining his mouth and the sounds you made each time his fangs grazed your cock, the danger of the act that was enough to make you both come, quickly. He found himself unable to get rid of the accessory.

And Miguel was aware of your eyes fixed on his neck as he spoke. Hypnotized. And he would be lying if he said he didn't know what was coming next.

The bell sounded like a drum as you smacked him against the front door of the apartment before Miguel could even close it. You demanded his attention, ravaging his mouth with symbolic violence and sweet urgency, tearing the civilian clothes Miguel wore until they were mere scraps of rags lying on the floor. All this so you could get your hands on his bare skin, map out the scars, the muscles firm and strong and his cock already eagerly hard for you.

You always seemed to want him so badly that it never ceased to amaze him.

You grabbed his bare thighs and lifted him into the air, pressing his back against the rickety door. As if he weighed nothing. Your strength would always surprise you, not because there wasn't someone stronger than Miguel or unable to take him down with pure physical strength, but because you never used your strength to hurt him, you treated him as something fragile and that should be taken care of.

And when the hurried stretching of his hole left him panting and clinging to you, silently begging for more through his grunts and moans and gasps, you kissed him and using only saliva to facilitate penetration, you slid your cock inside him.

The slide knocked the breath out of Miguel's lungs, the friction undiminished by the makeshift lubrication leaving him feeling every delicious inch of your cock opening in his flesh, demanding space.

Lips against his, even though you weren't kissing anymore and the hand that wasn't holding him high, closing around his neck just inches away from the choker, you started fucking him hard against the door. The bell reverberated with a loud bang, swaying along with your movements in and out of his ass and that was all Miguel could concentrate on: the stretching, the burning still there, the sound of the damn bell.

Miguel's eyes rolled back, tears streaming down his flushed cheeks and he searched for air, desperately gasped for oxygen ─ and you didn't have to look at his face to know it, the divine image of open mouth and spittle running down his chin; you could feel his throat rippling under your grip, heartbeat fluttering beneath your fingers. The leather strap there, close to your hand, seemed to become tighter, reflecting the pressure imposed by your fingers.

Miguel was shaking now, talons drawing blood from your shoulders, legs gripping around your waist, unable to move, unable to get away from the deep thrusts he could feel in his stomach or the bell that deafened his senses. He couldn't breathe.

White filled his vision and Miguel gasped as the oxygen suddenly handed back to him, the thud of his head hitting the door a distant sound. Maybe he came, maybe he passed out for a few seconds in your arms, but it didn't matter, he knew you were far from done with him.