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dixons-sunshine · 21 days ago

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Carbon Copy | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: With the small Halloween event you and Michonne had been planning right around the corner, your son asked you about it. After a small discussion, your son quickly revealed what—or rather, who—he wanted to be for Halloween, and you just knew that it would make Daryl beyond happy.

Genre: Fluff.

Era: Alexandria, set post the bridge.

Warnings: None.

Word count: 2.7k.

A/N: Based on this idea by @bambidixon. I hope I did your idea justice! Also, go check out @dixonsstinkysock’s take on this idea! It’s absolutely amazing. You can find it on their page, under the title “Twins”. Anyways, as always, I hope y’all enjoy this! And happy (early) Halloween!

“Mama, what’s Halloween?”

The sound of your little boy’s innocent question made you stop with the story you were busy reading to him. You looked up from the book and to your son, Jasper, looking into the eyes that mirrored Daryl’s so beautifully. In fact, your son was practically a carbon copy of the man you loved so dearly. Sometimes you wondered if he had inherited any of your physical traits at all, if they would show up as he aged. Although, if they did not, you would not be mad. Jasper had inherited quite a bit—in fact, a whole lot—of your personality traits. That would be more than enough.

“Halloween?” you asked rhetorically, although Jasper still nodded his head in confirmation at your question. “Halloween was a night in the old world where kids would dress up like their favourite person, play make-believe, and go trick-or-treating around to different houses where adults would hand out all sorts of candy.”

“Candy?” Jasper asked in delight, his eyes sparkling at the mere mention at the prospect of something sweet.

You chuckled and nodded. “Yes, candy,” you confirmed, leaning forward to tickle Jasper’s stomach. The boy shrieked with laughter, making you laugh fondly. “Why do you ask, Baby? The story didn’t even mention Halloween.”

Jasper shrugged his little shoulders, his face adorably serious. “Judith said Auntie Michonne is planning Halloween. Judith said all our friends will enjoy it.”

Oh. That. You had almost forgotten about the plans you all had been making regarding the holiday that played a pivotal part in all of your childhoods. As the leaves turned yellow, orange and brown, and the heat transitioned into a more tolerable chill, it felt only fitting to implement the first Halloween into the new world, to have the children of the new generation experience a night of fun make-believe, and candy never hurt.

The sound of Jasper’s voice snapped you from your thoughts. “Mama, can I go trick-treat?”

“Trick-or-treat,” you corrected him with a soft smile. You leaned forward to press a soft, tender kiss to his forehead. “Yeah, Baby. You can go trick-or-treating. What do you want to dress up as?”

Jasper shrugged. “I don’t know.”

You hummed in acknowledgement. You closed the book in your lap and placed it down on the nightstand, before giving your son your full attention again. “You know, when I was your age, I dressed up as my favourite superhero.”

“Really?” Jasper asked, his eyes sparkling as a smile spread over his face.

“Yeah,” you confirmed with a loving smile. “So why don’t you dress up like your favourite superhero? You like Spider-Man, don’t you? Or maybe The Hulk?”

Jasper shook his head at your suggestions. “No,” he said quietly. “They’re not my favourite superheroes.”

“No? Okay,” you voiced in surprise. Jasper absolutely loved Spider-Man, so his denial at your suggestion to dress him up like the infamous Peter Parker surprised you. “Who’s your favourite hero then, Ducky?”

He giggled at the nickname—a nickname you had given to him due to his love of ducks—before adapting a serious look. “I like Spider-Man, but he’s not as cool as Daddy.”

That admission instantly put a smile on your face. You knew exactly where this conversation was going to go. “So Daddy’s your favourite superhero, huh?”

Jasper nodded with an eager smile. “Yeah! Daddy is strong, and brave, and kind, and strong! He’s not even afraid of the dark, or spiders! He’s the bestest superhero ever!”

“He is, isn’t he?” you agreed. “So you wanna be Daddy for Halloween?” When Jasper nodded eagerly, your smile widened, if that was even possible. “Okay, then. I’ll see what I can do for you.”

“Can I get a bow, too? And a bike?”

“Crossbow. And yeah, I’m sure I can get you one, and I’ll see what I can do about the bike. But then you have to be good and let me finish our story so that we’re both ready to go to bed, okay?”

“Okay!” Jasper agreed, nuzzling himself back into his pillows and adjusting the covers around him. However, before he completely settled down, his soft voice spoke up again. “Promise that Mama won’t tell Daddy? I wanna surprise him.”

You smiled softly. “I promise,” you replied, before picking up the book again and continuing to read the story. In seemingly no time at all, Jasper’s eyes began drooping, until he was fast asleep, his prior excitement having worn him out more than the actual story had. Once you were absolutely certain that he was out cold, you placed the book down and pressed one final kiss to your son’s forehead, before getting up from the bed and leaving his room.

You smiled at Daryl as you stepped into your shared bedroom. The man in question was spread out on your bed, his arms resting behind his head as he glanced from the television—a luxury you would never take for granted ever again—to you, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Wow. Ya actually got him down for the night?” Daryl mused aloud. “Ya were takin’ so long, I figured he was gon’ have ya in there all night.”

You laughed lightly and flopped down on the bed, nuzzling yourself into his chest and sighing in contentment when his arms wrapped around you. “Jasper and I got to talking for a little while before he settled down for the night.”

“Yeah? What about?” Daryl inquired. He nuzzled his face into your hair, deeply inhaling your clean scent.

“Halloween. Michonne and I have been planning a small Halloween thing for the kids. Jasper and I were discussing what he wanted to be for Halloween.”

“Y’all come to a conclusion?” When you nodded, Daryl continued. “What’s he gon’ be?”

“More like who, and I can’t say. I promised him that I’d keep it a secret,” you told him, a knowing smile on your face.

Daryl groaned playfully. “C’mon, seriously? M’sure that he’d want his ol’ man to know.”

“He wants me to keep it a secret,” you repeated, although you conceded to give him a little bit of insight, because you were absolutely certain that he would get it wrong. “But I can give you a clue, and if you figure it out, you have to make sure to act surprised when you see him in his costume, okay?” When Daryl nodded, you continued. “He wants to dress up like his favourite superhero.”

Daryl hummed. “So he wants to be Spider-Man. Ain’t too sure why that’s s’posed to be a secret, but alright. I’ll make sure to act surprised on Halloween.”

You simply smiled. Good, he did not know. You still had the element of surprise on your side. You were absolutely certain that Daryl would love your son’s outfit, and you knew he would feel so happy to know he was his son’s biggest inspiration, his biggest idol.

Now all you had to do was gather everything needed to duplicate Daryl’s look, but that could not be that difficult, could it?

You could not have been more wrong. It could indeed be that difficult. Two weeks to gather everything needed for Jasper’s costume, and you nearly failed. You and Michonne—who was on her own search for costumes for Judith and RJ—had been scouring every clothing- and toy store for miles, and you had nearly shot point blank each time.

You had eventually found a toy crossbow after nearly a week of searching. However, the clothing had been a completely different story. Jasper, thankfully, owned various jeans that could be modified to look similar to Daryl’s, and you could cut the sleeves off of one of his shirts if push came to shove, but you were completely stumped on the vest for the longest time. It appeared as if though vests for children in the old world had not been a big priority, because you only managed to find a vest that was way too small for Jasper’s frame. You had nearly given up on your search, and had already been planning the apology you would have to give to your son, when Michonne had announced that she had found something. The vest was slightly too big, but with some quick sewing magic, you would be able to fix that problem in no time.

You were not able to find a bike, but Jasper had not been upset about that, too enthralled by the prospect of having his own crossbow, so you had thankfully been able to get out of that one without any fuss.

The tricky part to the whole secrecy ordeal of your son’s costume was keeping Daryl from seeing you modify Jasper’s clothes. You had to resort to sneaking out of bed late into the night when Daryl was out cold and locking yourself in the bathroom with everything needed to complete the look. You had luckily secured the colours needed to paint the signature wings onto the vest, and you had been able to sew a patch onto the small jeans to make it look like the jeans Daryl almost always wore, and you had cut the sleeves off of one of Jasper’s button up shirts, all while keeping Daryl out of the loop on your plans.

It was difficult, but it would all be worth it in the end.

When the day arrived, Daryl had been instructed to wait in the living room by your son. The archer had sent you an amused look, but had complied with his son’s request nonetheless. Jasper had dragged you into his room, and had excitedly asked to see the costume, and the reaction you got was something you would not forget anytime soon. Your son was so happy, and had it not been for the fact that he was excited to show his dad that he was like him, he would have clung to you for hours, so tight he was hugging you.

“Baby, I know you’re excited, but you gotta keep still, okay? I don’t wanna accidentally hurt you.”

Jasper giggled boyishly, but he heeded your warning. “Sorry, Mama,” he apologized halfheartedly.

You chuckled fondly at him. “I know you are, Ducky.” You applied the last bit of the red makeup to his cheek, before pulling back and admiring your handy work with a smile. “And you’re done!”

Jasper gasped and hurried up from the bed to go look at himself in the mirror. He touched the light red mark on his face gingerly, the mark representing the one Daryl sported on his own cheek. You had not done too bad of a job recreating that, if you had to say so yourself.

“Yay! Thank you, Mama!” Jasper thanked you, rushing towards you to give you a tight hug.

You hugged him back instantly. “You’re so welcome, Baby.” You pulled back and grabbed the toy crossbow from the bed, showing it to him. He took it from you eagerly, making you laugh. “You ready to go show your dad?”

Jasper nodded, and grabbed your hand in his smaller one. Together, the two of you walked from his room, down the stairs and into the living room, where Daryl was busying himself by playing with Dog. However, Daryl looked up when he heard your footsteps.

Daryl was about to say something, but his words got caught in his throat. His eyes widened as he took in Jasper’s appearance, a small smile forming on his face. A lump formed in his throat, but he swallowed it away. He would not ruin this moment with his emotions.

“Wow,” he mumbled in complete awe. He got up from the couch and crouched down in front of Jasper, his smile widening into something more soft, more tender. “S’this yer Halloween costume, lil’ man?”

Jasper giggled and nodded. “I’m you!” he replied in excitement, twirling around to show off his full costume.

Daryl smiled at the sight of the wings painted onto the vest, as well as the meticulously torn places in the gray leather, closely resembling those on his own vest. Not even to mention how spot-on the jeans looked as well. The costume overall was just amazing. And even the scar on his face was spot-on.

If Jasper looked like his mini me before, it certainly did not compare to how much of a carbon copy of Daryl he was at that moment.

“Yeah, yer me,” Daryl replied with a smile. “We’re one in the same now, buddy.” He reached forward and ruffled Jasper’s hair, successfully eliciting a laugh from him, making Daryl chuckle as well.

“Do you like it, Daddy?” Jasper asked, his eyes sparkling as he looked up at Daryl. “Mama even got me a crossbow like you!”

Daryl nodded. “I love it, lil’ man. I love it so much.” He reached forward and bundled Jasper into his arms, picking him up. He pressed a soft kiss to Jasper’s forehead. “How ‘bout we go trick-or-treatin’, yeah? Then we can show everyone our costumes.”

Jasper laughed. “You’re not wearing a costume, Daddy.”

Daryl let out a gasp of feigned offense, but could not help the laugh he let out. “We’re matchin’. Seems like a costume to me.” Daryl finally shifted his attention back to you, and he could see the love clear as day on your face. Love for him, love for Jasper, and love for your life.

You stepped forward, a small pillowcase in your hand. “You two ready to go get some much deserved treats?”

Daryl nodded, and looked back at Jasper. “Whatcha say, buddy? Ready for some candy?”

“Yeah! Let’s go!” Jasper exclaimed. He wiggled himself from Daryl’s embrace, before rushing towards the door.

Daryl chuckled and extended his hand towards you, lacing his fingers through yours. “I thought ya said he was gon’ be Spider-Man.”

“No, I said that he was gonna go as his favourite superhero,” you corrected him. When Daryl looked at you in confusion, you laughed lightly and nudged his shoulder with yours as the two of you walked out of your home, making sure to keep Jasper in your sights. “Dar, you are his favourite superhero. He told me so himself.”

A smile spread across Daryl’s face. That admission made his heart swell. He knew that Jasper loved him, but he never knew he saw him like that. It made him so happy to know that he had not been failing as a father, that Jasper would rather dress up like him for Halloween than Spider-Man, a superhero he had been obsessing over since he had been introduced to him.

“I can’t believe ya managed to keep this a secret from me,” Daryl changed the subject, knowing that if he dwelled on what you had said, he would start crying, no doubt.

You shrugged nonchalantly. “Eh. A few late nights while you were asleep seemed to do the trick.” You laughed lightly at his look of disbelief. “I’m happy you like it, though. Jasper has been so excited about this since that night in his room.”

“I love it. Almost as much as I love the two’a ya,” he murmured. The two of you walked up one of the driveways, watching as Jasper eagerly knocked on the door. “Thank you. This was a real nice surprise.”

“Of course, Dar. Of course,” you told him. However, before you could say anything else, Jasper’s voice called out from the door of the person’s home, where the kind old lady of the community was standing, with a bowl of candy in her hands.

“Mama, Daddy, quick! I need the bag for the candy!”

You and Daryl shared a chuckle, before hurrying up the driveway and to your son. Together, the three of you went house to house, passing several kids and parents on the way, although you were not concerned about that. Your only concern was how happy you were in that moment, basking in something you had thought was lost to the world before; Halloween with the people you loved.

And if you noticed that Daryl silently placed more candy into Jasper’s pillowcase—candy he had found on a run, specifically for the occasion—when you all got home later that night, and how he whispered to Jasper to ‘not tell Mama’, you did not say anything. You would let it slide this one time, too delighted to care much about it.

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raguiras · 5 months ago

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Join "Ramshackle Isn't on Fire (Yet)"!

Hosted by @raguiras.

SHARING IS APPRECIATED! ♡

OUR BLOG: @riofy-ramshackle

In this timeline, there isn't one Yuu — no, there are MANY, and as a result, things never get boring at Ramshackle...

Applications open!

All about my Twisted Wonderland fan project under the cut!

First off, who am I?

I'm Mionn, a TWST-obsessed artist who recently started posting art here and is planning to make a ton of Twisted Wonderland content in the future.

Said content is going to include a fair share of comics and OC content, which is why I came up with this project.

I also have a meme blog, @twistedmionn, and a blog devoted to my Deuce x Allen ship, @spade-of-storms.

I love hosting projects, and I hope this will be enjoyable for everyone who decides to join!

What is the purpose of the project?

connecting with others in the fandom & making friends

sharing your own OCs and discovering the ones of other members

fun shenanigans with canons & OCs

developing OC relationships

I'm planning to make short comics based on this project, so your OC will occasionally appear in them!

there's going to be a Tumblr blog where I reblog content involving the OCs participating in the project (= serves as a "library" for the OCs)

What exactly is going to be done?

I'm going to make occasional short comics involving the OCs from the project, and they might also make cameos in my usual art.

Outside of that, this project is meant for making friends with fellow OC havers or strengthening already existing friendships! You can also build relationships between your OCs and the ones made by other members.

Additionally, we're going to have a Discord server that allows members to freely ramble about TWST and our OCs. If you don't have Discord, that's totally fine as well!

How do I join? What do I have to do?

It's easy! Send me a DM asking me to join the project and submit all the OCs you want to be a part of it. We will work on further important details then!

Who can join?

Anyone who isn't a proshipper/racist/anti-LGBTQ+.

If I join, do I have to draw/write/do anything for this project?

Unless you want to, not at all! It's meant to be a fun project, not a duty.

Does this project involve roleplay?

No! However, we will have an optional roleplay channel in the Discord server.

Do I need Discord to join the project?

It's preferred, but not necessary in the slightest!

Is there anything monetary about this project?

Nope! It's entirely for shits and giggles.

Can I submit Yuu/Ramshackle OCs only?

While the project is going to focus on the Yuus/Ramshackle students, all types of OCs (except for fandorm ones) are welcome!

How many of my OCs can be included?

As many as you want to.

Is there anything else of note? What's the plot?

Since there are going to be multiple Yuus, Ramshackle doesn't have an official prefect in this project.

None of the Yuus presently know why they're in TWST or what their purpose is.

Are there going to be ships canon to this project?

Yes, and they're actually fairly relevant!

Unless the owners of two OCs decide on making a poly ship, only one OC x canon ship is allowed per canon character.

For the sake of fairness, please submit one OC x canon ship only (maybe your Yumeship/the one that matters the most to you).

OC x OC ships are allowed!

OC x faculty ships are allowed as long as the OC is of age!

OC x side character ships are allowed, too.

Official OC x canon list

Riddle x Grace (@/cyn-write)

Ace x Ashi (@/ashipiko)

Deuce x Allen (@/raguiras / me)

Trey x Haru (@/vanrouge13)

Cater x Vizzie (@/symphonicmetal101)

Leona x Yuuta (@/bunnwich)

Ruggie x Ivy (@/cherrytreegrove)

Jack x Kiyuu (@/skriblee-ksk)

Azul x Taru (@/taruruchi)

Floyd x Yuhua (@/distant-velleity)

Jade x Celes (@/celestelunia)

Kalim x Spider (@/driedupeyeballs)

Jamil x Yulla (@/grimmxelor)

Vil x Bram (@/valy-gc)

Rook x Soleil (@/nyx-of-night)

Epel x Yuuma (@/ollieeyy)

Idia x Yume (@/comingyourlugubriousness)

Malleus x Reina (@/inkblot-mirror)

Silver x Yuukuro (@/beneathsakurashade)

Sebek x Thea (@/althea-and-alcestris)

Lilia x Via (@/galacticstationsblog)

Crowley x Tammy (@/miss-atena)

Crewel x Ezra (@/boopshoops)

Trein x

Sam x

Vargas x

Neige x Beiyuu (@/silksatinbonnet)

Rollo x Beto

Che'nya x Rem

Fellow x Polaris (@/nerdazzler)

Is there a deadline for submitting OCs? Can I join even weeks after the project starts?

You can join anytime or, if you're already a member, add new OCs! There is no deadline.

Can I leave the project?

I'd be sad to see you leave, but it's entirely your choice!

♤♡◇♧♤♡◇♧♤♡◇♧♤♡◇♧♤♡◇♧♤♡◇♧

OCs in the project

We currently have 100+ OCs made by more than 70 creators in the project. They include Yuus, NRC students, faculty, and even some friends from RSA! Join in on the fun and include your own OCs in the project. (✿◕‿◕)

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #twst art #twst fanart #twisted wonderland fanart #yuu twst #yuu twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland yuu #twst yuu #twst mc #twst oc #oc twisted wonderland #twst fan event #twst fandom #twst original character

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angelkiyo · 4 months ago

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modern au high school hcs for my fav haikyuu boys based on my high school experiences + romance hcs <3

[miya osamu, sakusa kiyoomi, oikawa torū, iwaizumi haijime]

a/n- part one + my asks are open bc i do not know what to write but im down for mostly anything tbh so ASK AWAY PLS

miya osamu

he has a similar gpa to his brother [gpa at a 2.5 😔]

is in culinary club and the president

since atsumu is a drake glazer, osamu makes sure to bring up kendrick everytime he hears a drake song

he had a field day when “not like us” mv dropped

even though his brother and him are opposites in a way, that hasn’t stopped osamu from being submitted on ‘inarizaki.bops’

he was most likely talking to a teacher

private insta with 300 followers

doesn’t give a fuck abt p.e and would be enjoying basketball if they weren’t able to play volleyball

osamu would probably also have a very casual way of dressing — stussy and abrocrombie fiend

steals from his brother’s nike collection while owning several pairs adidas gazelles and new balances himself

as for with his s/o, he would be more of a soft launch guy and would post stories of you two holding hands or the two of you in a mirror pic

he would def be holding your hand in the halls and having his arm around you

imagine peter k lara jean moment

your friends would find him to be a green flag

the two of you would use study hall to not study at all but use his little crock pot thing he got from tiktok shop and make food

would try to be nara smith one day and fail miserably

very much would wear ‘aqua de gio’ bc i said so (n would find atsumu’s cologne to be too strong)

dates would include: cooking at his place and eating your masterpieces while watching movies (esp spider-man bc he seems the type)

artists he would listen to: kendrick lamar, joey bada$$, childish gambino, doja cat

sakusa kiyoomi

annoyingly smart (3.6 gpa) and would probably get a 4/5 avg on his ap tests

if he wasn’t on volleyball, he seems the type to be in academic decathlon or science olympiad

would be keeping to himself but if he were to play a sport, it would be smt like lacrosse or tennis

he’s rich. like RICH RICH. (he goes to itachiyama with three siblings or smt)

so he’d wear like club monaco, j. crew, or like ralph lauren

would have a specific rotation of shoes that would be asics or new balance in white

insta would be like 700 followers and 32 following

for him and his s/o, he’d be like osamu and would be very much soft launch you

even though he hates crowds, he would very much like to go out with you shopping (in a shopping center that has nobody/barely anyone)

kiyoomi may be presenting himself as a cold and calculating and he can be, but he’s a soft to ppl he’s close with

him and komori would use brain rot language ironically (I just see that lemme elaborate) after komori would use brain rot language unironically

he would use it with you once “by accident”

he kept hearing komori say it and said it subconsciously

and then never again after the second hand embarrassment he got

“on skibidi…?”

you still bring it up to this day (he blames komori)

dates would include movie nights and making pillow forts

artists he would listen to: sza, 21 savage, kanye west, playboi carti

oikawa torū

would be a note taking fiend and be an honors/ap student with a 3.4

he would be on a ‘bop’ page for volleyball in general

great king? nah great bop

instead of being a wyll warrior, he’d be one of the mfks on insta that would slide up with a 😍 then ghost you after dm-ing

another dior sauvage user and on some days, versace eros…

caught up in the central cee madz drama

also obsessed with watching nara smith (me too)

he’s team ice spice

would be very persistent in taking 0.5s

though because of this, he purposely fluffs up his bangs and hair for him to not fall victim to 0.5s

if he didn’t play volleyball, he would play badminton/tennis

would be a SLUTTTT for pinterest clean boy fits

very clean boy core with his lululemon mens shit and would be shopping at alo + urban outfitters

also ralph lauren teddy bear sweaters n golden gooses

his insta user would be smt like “theyenvy_.toruuu” or basic like his full name and he would have more than 3k followers

THOUGH HE WOULD BE MAKING THOSE SHARED POSTS W YOU.

his finsta would be very full of you and spams of volleyball

nle choppa slut me out 2 glazer

dates would include: self care day at either one of your places while watching baddies or real housewives +shopping

artists he would listen to: laufey, cigarettes after sex, olivia rodrigo, megan thee stallion, nle choppa

iwaizumi hajime

he went to uci so he has his shit tgt (nhs and 3.9 type shit w aps)

though, he would definitely be apart of debate club and a lacrosse person if he didn’t do volleyball

shops at psycho bunny or hollister. the occasional lululemon shirt bc oikawa put him on

would wear yeezys and supreme, i fear

i can see him being into watching the “who tf did I marry” series

massive gym bro

would have his finsta tracking his gains

his fyp would also probably be workouts and those “baby don’t hurt me” meme tiktoks (idk how to explain)

would be the winner of senior assassin

he would def shoot oikawa first

type of person to wear ‘obession’ by calvin klein mixed with axe body spray

as for insta, he would def have a good 1k

would post you to the cutest songs ever and collab on posts

HARD LAUNCH TYPA GUY

yall would have like a specific song that would make him be like “this is our songgg”

in his head

most likely a tyler song

aka ‘sweet/i thought you wanted to dance’

he’d be the okokok to your lalalala

dates would include: him just spoiling you and dinner dates

artists he would listen to: tyler the creator, metro boomin, 21 savage, kendrick lamar, j. cole

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mandosaur · 1 year ago

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New Rules (Miguel O'Hara / Reader)

Fandom: Across the Spider-Verse

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara / Reader

Word Count: 11,320

Estimated Reading Time: 40:58

Summary:

“No.”

Her voice is firm and she jabs a finger at your chest.

“Do not do that. Hit ignore. Block him. Toss the thing at the wall. Do not answer.”

Lyla calls again and sends an alert that Miguel is trying to contact you.

“Hit ignore! Don’t do it!” Gia reaches out for your watch.

You stand abruptly. It’s a stupid, stupid choice. You know it is. Gia is right, you should just chuck the thing in a garbage bag.

But you still fish your phone out of Gia’s purse and toss some cash at the bar.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize.

Your on and off again friends with benefits arrangement with Miguel comes to a close, but you just can’t seem to let him go.

Loosely based off “New Rules” by Dua Lipa.

“One: Don't pick up the phone You know he's only callin' 'cause he's drunk and alone Two: Don't let him in You'll have to kick him out again Three: Don't be his friend You know you're gonna wake up in his bed in the morning And if you're under him, you ain't gettin' over him.” “New Rules” by Dua Lipa.

—————

The outfit you’ve picked out for yourself tonight looks great. It’s a red little number that’s been in your closet for ages aching to be worn. You weren’t sure when you bought it how it would look like on you, but it makes you feel great when you catch a sight of yourself in the mirror. You look attractive, hot, and it steels some of your resolve as you head down to where you and your friend agreed to meet.

If you were being honest, you’ve really needed a confidence boost these past few days. The heart ache nestled deep in your chest wouldn’t go away and simply touring New York looking for villains of the week to fight wasn’t cutting it.

A sigh leaves your lips as you find yourself in a bar downtown. Gia, your roommate, has selected a bar for you both to have dinner at. It’s relatively quiet tonight with only a handful of people, yet it still offers plenty of distraction. You may not have been enthusiastic about going out, but you can appreciate having something else to put your mind to.

Although you can’t tell Gia the truth about your recent stint with heartbreak, she knows the details. She knows you had a little fling going on with a guy who checked all your boxes but just wasn’t willing to commit. He’d take you into his bed then leave before the sun rose. It was a never ending push and pull.

Gia didn’t understand why you couldn’t just block the guy and be done with it. She had already chastised you for your “lack of self control” and “frustrating addiction” to pain.

Of course, she didn’t know Miguel.

Miguel. The man who had come into your universe and invited you into his elite little Spider-Man task force to hunt for anomalies. The man who seemed to understand what loss was better than anyone and made you feel seen. Perhaps the only person who knew you better than you.

Gia didn’t get the song and dance you had around him because she didn’t know what it was like to exist as a masked vigilante losing everyone around you. She didn’t know how lonely it was or how sometimes you couldn’t tell who was under the mask. Or if there even was a part of you left that wasn’t just tied to your responsibilities as a hero.

Miguel was the only one who got you. The two of you had clicked like puzzle pieces after meeting. He favored you over the others and had moments where he seemed like he loved you back. Being with him was like finally finding a piece of yourself that you hadn’t realized was missing.

When the two of you had started sleeping together, you had been hopeful. Perhaps the little arrangement between you both would lead to something new. Hell, there had been plenty of moments where he had seemed softer outside of the bedroom and quite a few times you’d catch him staring with a look of affection-

But then everything would go wrong. The moment the two of you got close outside of a biblical sense, he’d pull back. Close you out and end things with you. You’d go days without speaking to each other feeling miserable and heart broken only to be suddenly called back by him.

He’d pull you back in like a magnet and sleep with you over and over again until the next time you ventured too close and he shoved you aside once more.

It was a very painful back and forth, yet you couldn’t find it in you to end things permanently. Not when he took up a large part of your heart, and not when he was your boss of all things.

Currently, you were on the outs again. He’d called it off a few days ago after a bad mission. He’d come back to HQ in a horrible mood and everyone else had suffered for it. When you’d walked up to his office to check in on him, he had snapped at you to leave. His words had been harsh and cold. He had ordered you to stop acting like his girlfriend, constantly checking in and taking care of him like a child, and reminded you that nothing existed between you other than two adults satisfying some urges.

His words had been a blow to your heart and you had left HQ suppressing tears. Gwen and Hobie had watched you go with sympathy, and Jess had mercifully delayed your missions for a while to give you time to recover. Either that or Miguel had ordered her to keep you away from him.

So, naturally, your best friend had suggested you go out for some drinks. Gia didn’t know about your alter ego or quite who Miguel was, but she knew enough to declare him undeserving of you and promised you’d find someone else.

You look up briefly when Gia arrives. She looks stunning in the neon dress she’s wearing and has done her hair in an elaborate style. There’s a happy grin on her face as she slides in the booth opposite of you and you envy her joy.

She calls your name and hugs you over the table.

“You look hot today!” She remarks.

You offer her your best smile which isn’t much. Already, you can feel some of your earlier apprehension return. You have no energy to be out and about with people. Tonight would have been so much better had you been able to curl up in bed with a box of tissues and some ice cream.

“Meet any cute people?” Gia asks. She rummages through the fries you’ve ordered while scanning the bar.

There’s a group of guys in one corner who eye her with appreciation. You think you catch one looking at you too, but you turn away uninterested. The guy seems handsome, but his eyes aren’t red and he doesn’t have two sets of fangs. He’s not the one you desperately want.

“I’m not feeling too social today,” you admit. You twirl your straw wrapper pensively.

Gia gives you a look with a deadpan expression. You know what she’s thinking. She finds it frustrating you can’t just let Miguel go. She doesn’t get why you’re so hung up on him.

But you are. You genuinely have fallen for him in your time working together. He’s showed you parts of him he’s never showed others. He’s told you about Gaby and how he raised her as a single father in her dimension for months before losing her. He’s told you about how he got his powers and the doubts that come with it. He’s shared his canon events with you and opened up to you about the stress he’s in with holding up the entire multiverse.

He’s let you in where he’s shut others out. You know he feels something for you, are sure of it deep in your bones, but he’s just not willing to admit it to himself. That’s what makes it all so frustrating. Loving someone who doesn’t love you back is torture, but loving someone who does yet won’t allow it for themselves is a death sentence.

Gia sighs and the sound rouses you out of your thoughts. She pinches the bridge of her nose and closes her eyes tightly.

“You have really got to get back out there, babe. He’s not the only man in the world. He’s not adding to your life,” she shakes her head.

You look down at your hands.

“You know I can’t,” you murmur.

A part of you wishes you could. If you could flick a switch and let him go, you’d do it. You’d be better off forgetting all about him. It would save you so much heart ache, but your feelings run deep. He’s captured you completely, tangled you up in his web, and you can’t let him go.

Gia thrusts a hand out at you with a look of impatience. She wiggles her fingers and waits expectantly.

“Gia-“

“Ah, ah, you know the drill. Phone.”

You give her a glare but pass your phone over. Gia has insisted on confiscating it since your last break up. She doesn’t want you to be tempted to call Miguel. Of course, your watch is the only real way to connect with him because of the differences in universes, but you’re certainly not going to tell her that.

Instead, you purse your lips when she slides your phone into her purse and watch as she leans forward. She has a gleam in her eye when she surveys the bar. She’s watching every person carefully trying to assess who’s worth your time.

Eventually, she zeroes in on the guy from before. He’s broken off with his friends and is now sitting alone at the bar. Nursing a glass of something amber, he catches Gia’s eye as he throws another look your way.

You don’t even have time to react before Gia is yanking you up by your hand. She’s pitching you forward before you can even blink. You half wonder if she’s the one with superpowers and not you when you suddenly find yourself in front of the guy.

Gia waves the bartender forward and not so subtly shoves you towards the guy. You catch yourself on his chair with a hiss of her name.

“You alright?” The stranger blinks up at you in surprise.

“I am so sorry,” you hold your hands up, “My friend is drunk-“

Gia swoops in and tosses an arm around your shoulder. She has the same mischievous grin she wore back in college every time she had some idea terrible she was cooking up. It’s gotten you into some trouble before and scares you now.

“Hey, you look like you could use some company. My friend here just left her asshole ex. Why don’t you two catch up while I get us some drinks?” She pats your shoulder and is gone in a whirlwind of energy.

You could melt into the floor out of humiliation.

“OhgodGia,” you groan. You don’t even want to look at the stranger out of sheer embarrassment.

The stranger coughs lightly in surprise before offering you a smile. He blinks in Gia’s wake before offering his hand.

“Oh wow,” he remarks with his own blush, “Well that was subtle. But, please, sit. I-My name is Tyler.”

Knowing that Gia will kill you if you don’t at least try, you slide into the stool next to him slowly. Maybe if you entertain him for a few minutes you can satisfy Gia and convince her to take you home. Then you can proceed to strangle her in a dark alleyway away from witnesses for putting you in this situation.

“I am really sorry about her-again. She means well she’s just a lot,” you run a hand down your face and introduce yourself with your name.

The stranger, Tyler, seems friendly at least. He grins easily at you with his own embarrassment. You can tell Gia has put him on the spot too. At least the two of you have that in common.

“Well, at least she broke the ice for me. I saw you a while ago and thought you were really pretty. My own friends were teasing me too,” he offers.

You wave down the bartender and place an order. You definitely won’t get through Hurricane Gia without a drink.

“So, a break up?” Tyler offers a sympathetic smile, “Been there. I just broke up with my fiancée a few months ago. I think I spent an entire month living off of frozen pizza rolls and watching terrible documentaries just to take the edge off. I definitely know how awful it feels.”

His words put you at ease some. You swirl the ice around your glass.

“Breakup is maybe not the right word. We weren’t really together. I wanted more and he didn’t.”

It hurts to say it out loud. It sounds so pathetic when you put it that way, but you can’t help it. The truth is a brutal knife to the ribs.

Tyler makes a noise of sympathy.

“Well, he didn’t know what he missed out on. It’s his loss,” he lifts his glass to you.

You glance away and see Gia staring from your old table. She mouths for you to keep going. You flip her off when Tyler turns around.

“I’m really sorry about my friend. She’s determined that the way to get over heartache is to find someone else. I’m not really interested in that,” you admit. Better to lay your cards out now.

Tyler leans in like he’s about to tell you a secret.

“Don’t worry, I’m not either. My friends dragged me here tonight too. The one in the gray suit is getting married next month and wanted a chill night out. I’m not here to meet someone. It’s too soon, but maybe we can be friends? Breakup buddies and all that.”

He offers you his cellphone and asks for your number. You bite your lip but decide to take the plunge. Why not? It’s not like you owe any loyalty to anyone.

Once you’ve exchanged information, Tyler’s friends call him over. They’ve decided to move on to another bar across town. Tyler has no choice but to go.

He gets up and gives you a friendly wave.

“Don’t be a stranger,” he turns around then hesitates and turns back to you, “And, for the record, that ex of yours is an idiot. I wouldn’t have let someone like you go.”

Once he’s gone and you’re feeling bashful again, Gia slides into the seat he just occupied. She’s munching on fries like she didn’t just humiliate you. You aim a hard kick to her shin and feel better when she shrieks.

“Never do that to me again,” you warn.

She doesn’t promise you that. Instead, she presses you for info on Tyler.

“You two going on a date soon?” She urges.

“He just got out of a breakup too. He’s not interested either. I’m not going out with anyone.”

Gia sighs.

“Look, the important thing is that you let this mystery guy of yours go. This on and off thing is for high schoolers who haven’t developed their prefrontal cortex and have zero impulse control. You’re an adult. I don’t want to see you so broken up about him. You need to get him out of your system.”

You look away.

It sounds easy, you admit, but forgetting Miguel isn’t an option. He invaded your senses. You remember what it’s like to be held and kissed by him every time you try and push him aside. You remember the way he laughs when you manage to crack through his walls, the way he smiles when he thinks you aren’t looking, and the way his voice gets softer when you call. Even if he’s been yelling at someone moments before, his voice always gets soft when you appear.

He loves you. You know it. He probably knows it. Everyone in the agency knows it. It’s just that he’s not willing to take that final plunge.

Before you can say anything more, your watch begins to glow. Lyla is trying to patch a call through.

Gia doesn’t know much about your watch, but she knows enough to guess you’re being called. She narrows her eyes at you when she sees the way your body tenses.

“No.”

Her voice is firm and she jabs a finger at your chest.

“Do not do that. Hit ignore. Block him. Toss the thing at the wall. Do not answer.”

Lyla calls again and sends an alert that Miguel is trying to contact you.

“Hit ignore! Don’t do it!” Gia reaches out for your watch.

You stand abruptly. It’s a stupid, stupid choice. You know it is. Gia is right, you should just chuck the thing in a garbage bag.

But you still fish your phone out of Gia’s purse and toss some cash at the bar.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize.

The look Gia gives you is murderous. She puts her head in her hands like she’s fed up with you. In her place, you’d probably be fed up too.

Still, you slip out the bar and hit your watch. A little projection of Lyla appears as you duck into a secluded area.

“Lyla?” You tilt your head.

Lyla hums, “Miguel wants you at his office. Says he hasn’t seen you in a while. Poor Miggy is worried for you. You don’t usually spend so much time away from HQ.”

She patches a portal for you. You look around to make sure you aren’t being watched then slide in. Gia will definitely tear you a new one for this tomorrow, but can’t resist the urge not to go back to him.

———————————————

Miguel is standing by his computer when you arrive. He’s reading some reports when you pop in. His eyes glance at you as you emerge and his eyes widen.

You’re still in your outfit from the bar. It’s a little ego boost to see the way his eyes scan you from inch to inch. If nothing else, you can find comfort in the fact that you still have the power to drive him crazy.

“You called?” You voice.

HQ is empty this time of night. Most people are either back in their own universe or staying in some of the dorms on the other side of the building. For now, it’s just you and Miguel.

Some anticipation builds in your stomach. This is how a lot of your late night meetings have started.

Miguel straightens up from his chair. You don’t miss the way he swallows when he sees you.

“Did I interrupt something?”

You can’t be sure but maybe there’s just the hint of an edge to his voice. He sounds a little miffed, like he’s jealous. It’s a nice change from his usual aloofness with you.

“I went out for drinks,” you admit, “What is it?”

It’s been days since you’ve last seen him and you missed him. It’s so easy to miss him. He has a hold on you that you can’t possibly escape from. He’s magnetic without trying, has a good heart even if he hides it behind a facade of anger and coldness, and he cares about people. He’s a good person. You’ve glimpsed it all and have fallen hard. Being without him hurts more than any broken bone or injury.

Miguel hesitates when he looks at you. You take stock of him.

He has dark circles under his eyes and looks stressed. A part of you hopes it’s because your last argument has also been keeping him up. If you aren’t the only one hurting, you think it’ll make you feel better. Then again, there’s a mountain of paperwork on his desk and his computer has a ton of messages unread. Maybe it’s less you and more the job itself that has kept him up.

“Jess said you needed a few days off because you weren’t feeling well. I just wanted to make sure you were healthy,” he turns away from you, “Yet I’m sure you are. If you can go around drinking, you can go on a mission.”

A prickle of irritation fills you.

“Did you just call me here because of that? This could have been an email.”

You hope your face doesn’t show the disappointment you feel. For a second, you had been expecting him to have changed. To have admitted he was wrong and hadn’t treated you fairly. Then again, this was Miguel. Miguel wasn’t exactly known for being sentimental or emotional.

“What else is there?” He doesn’t even turn around before he’s at his computer, “I’m assigning you a case this week. Your little vacation is over. You’re dismissed.”

Indignation fills you. You shake your head firmly.

“Come on, Miguel. Give me a little more than that. I haven’t seen you in days and all you do is assign me more work? That’s it?”

You step forward towards him.

He turns around and glares. His eyes flash with a warning.

“That’s it. Go.”

He’s got the voice he uses for the other recruits. The one you’ve heard him scold Hobie and Peter B. in plenty of times. It’s not one he tends to use on you, and you bristle.

“Why did you call me here? Lyla wouldn’t open a portal for me if it was just for work.”

Miguel’s jaw is clenched.

“Well she did that without me asking. I didn’t want you here.”

His words are a blow to the stomach, and your anger grows. You jab a finger at him and glare.

“You’re not even going to apologize? You insult me days ago then want to be professional again without apologizing-“

“Why would I apologize?” His own anger is rising, “I meant what I said. You knew what this was when we started. I’m not sorry you forgot.”

A huff leaves your lips. You shake your head and take another step forward.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re annoying.”

You meet each other half way. His face is clouded with anger. You can feel your heart race in your chest from you own rage.

“I can’t believe you won’t admit that you want more between us.”

“And I can’t believe you’re testing my self control showing up here in this dress and pointing a finger at me,” he retorts. His eyes go down to your lips. You can sense what he’s about to do.

You lean in first and he devours you. The kiss is full of fire and anger. You’re both pent up and stressed. It burns and consumes you in a way you’ve been longing.

Anger fuels you and you take his hair in your hand giving it a firm tug earning a hiss from him. He picks you up and sets you on a nearby desk. The files scatter on the ground. Neither of you notice.

“You’re not going to apologize?” You hiss it between breaths.

He makes a sound at the back of his throat, “I’ve got nothing to apologize for. My intentions were always clear.”

His mouth goes for your throat. Your rebuke is lost as his hands begin to inch under your dress. The words he’s spitting out at you hurt, but his fingers soothe the sting when he explores your body.

This is a mistake. Gia is right. You should shove him off you and walk away. You’ll never get over him if you’re still sleeping with him, yet you can’t seem to do that. Your body amidst the haze of ecstasy won’t allow it.

Instead, you close your eyes and give in. You let him fuck you in his office all while telling yourself you’ll deal with the fallout in the morning. You don’t think of the consequences or how much this will hurt when the sun rises-

And it does.

It hurts like hell when you blink awake after dozing off in his chair and find him gone in the morning. He’s left for the day and a note near you is the only thing he leaves behind. You read it then throw it into the waste bin with tears running down your face.

In his messy scrawl he’s written, THIS CHANGES NOTHING.

———————————————

Gia has her arms crossed when you return to your shared apartment. She knows where you’ve been. She can see it in the bites he’s left along your neck and shoulders. The walk of shame you just took burns.

“You slept with him, huh?” Her eyes are narrowed in annoyance.

You sign and bury your head in your hands. She isn’t done with you yet. Her judgement feels thick against your skin.

“And he left again, huh? Right after he got what he wanted.”

The question makes you cry. You burst into tears feeling regret and heartbreak. Gia sighs and her gaze softens. She wraps her arms around you and holds you close.

What’s worse is that the pain of his rejection doesn’t hold a candle to the pain of missing him. It’s illogical and pathetic, but you and Gia both know this won’t be the last time you make this same mistake.

And it isn’t.

Days later, he appears at your doorstep and you welcome him into your bed again.

———————————————

Days after that encounter, you open the door to find Miguel bleeding in the hallway. He has a large gash across his side that looks painful. He stumbles inside before you can even react.

“Miguel?”

You close the door behind you as he hisses in pain.

“I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come, but I need a first aid kit,” he groans.

You’re grateful Gia isn’t here. You don’t think you could explain why Miguel is bleeding in his spider suit. That or why you let your ex back inside again.

Deciding to shelve your personal feelings, you hurry him over to the kitchen and set him down on a chair. There’s a first aid kit under the sink. You’ve used it plenty of times before when you come back from fighting crime.

Miguel is strong and puts on a brave face as you go about patching him up. The gash at his side is the worst one, but his knuckles are also bleeding and there’s a tiny cut on the side of his chin that looks painful too. It doesn’t look like he’ll need stitches, but it does look bad.

“What happened?” You look up at him.

“Anomaly. I took it down, but it got me on the side. I didn’t even think before coming here. I’m sorry.”

He looks away as you work. You wish you could tell what thoughts are running through his mind. Your own are consumed with the fact that he’s here.

HQ was just a click of the watch away. Lyla could have called him to the medics there and gotten him help. Why had he showed up at your place? You haven’t spoken since the night at his office.

The memory of it stings and you purse your lips.

This is probably a mistake. The second mistake you’ve made this week. Things won’t end well if you don’t develop a sense of self control, but you’re not sure you want to let go. Despite everything, there’s still a little nag of hope that’s rooted itself deep into your heart. You don’t want to give up.

“You weren’t at HQ these past few days either,” Miguel speaks up. He suppresses a wince when you finish his side. The skin there is already starting to heal over. A testament to his powers.

The bruises on his knuckles look worse than they are. It takes just a bit of treatment to get them to start healing too. Soon, the cuts are just dark bruises.

“I did my mission. I let Hobie do the report for me,” you explain.

The mission he had assigned you on had been easy. You and Hobie had taken the anomaly down without question. It was just another villain of the week. At the end, Hobie had offered to go back to HQ without you to check in with Jess and Miguel. You had fled back to your universe certain that you couldn’t face people there just yet.

A muscle on his jaw works as he tightens it, “You don’t have to avoid me. I’m sorry for what happened earlier.”

His words make you ache. You hate feeling this way. Always dancing around the truth but never able to fully face it.

The final cut he has is on his chin. You have to look at his face to tend to it. His eyes are trained on you and the depths there take your breath away.

There’s trepidation and nervousness there along with something else. It’s soft and meek like he’s trying to shield it. You think it’s a cross between longing and affection.

He does love you too. You believe it strongly. He just doesn’t want to admit it. Miguel is the kind of man who can face hordes of villains and never falter, but ask him to open up and share his feelings and he panics. He can’t even be honest with himself.

Your fingers trace the planes of his face as you apply a thin layer of ointment on the cut.

“I thought that’s what you wanted,” you whisper. It always seemed like he wanted you as far away from himself as possible. You had agreed to give him that even if it slowly killed you, “Why did you come here tonight? Really?”

Lyla wouldn’t have sent him to you if he hadn’t asked. For all of her teasing of him, she is mostly obedient. She would know not to send him where he doesn’t want to. The fact that he came to your door means a part of him did.

Why? Why tell you to keep your distance then show up at your home anyway? Could there also be a part of him that finds you just as impossible to be away from? Or are you clinging to him and seeing what isn’t there?

A faint trace of color has spread through his face. You blink. Without realizing it, your fingers have been stroking his chin. It’s such a habit that you never even noticed it.

An apology forms on your lips and you drop you hand before he intercepts it. He takes your hand in his and stares down at it. The muscle in his jaw works again.

“I wanted to see you. Hobie said you had been injured on your mission. I nearly came here then and there,” he admits. It’s a quiet breath into the night like he can’t believe he’s admitting it. Your heart picks up.

The injury in question had been a simple broken rib. Your powers come with accelerated healing. By the time you had noticed it, it had already started repairing itself. Hobie and Miguel both know this, yet he had been worried. A part of you dares to hope again.

And then you remember the way he had left you in his office. The note that had broken your heart. The way he took and never gave anything back. An ugly feeling twists in the pit of your stomach.

“I really don’t know why you’re doing this to me,” you breathe out.

It hurts to be led on. It hurts to be discarded. Maybe Gia is right. Maybe you should just let go. Resign from the agency and ignore the thought of him forever.

You pull your hand free and turn around. His eyes follow you as you begin to pack your first aid kit.

When he calls your name, his voice is soft and hesitant. It fills you with a yearning that aches.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he admits, “We just can’t-“

“We can’t? Or you can’t?”

Miguel is brave but there is one fear he can never face. He’s lost so much already and is afraid of losing more. That’s why he keeps people at an arm’s reach. No one is allowed into his heart because he’s lost everyone thus far. His own daughter, or at least in another universe, had disappeared in his arms. He won’t let anyone else in.

A rational part of you knows it. You know he’s pushing you away because he’s scared. He doesn’t want to lose you to the danger of your jobs or the universe that keeps you apart-

But doesn’t he see that he’s losing you anyway? That pushing you away is slowly killing your worse than a villain ever could?

By the time you turn around to look at him, you are surprised to find him right behind you. His hands slot around your waist and he presses his forehead to yours. It’s an affectionate gesture he doesn’t do often. Perhaps the adrenaline from the fight he just came back from is still coursing through his veins and making him more vulnerable.

Your name falls out of his lips like a prayer. You barely have time to react before he’s kissing you.

This kiss is different from the one at HQ. It’s full of fear and adrenaline. He kisses you like he isn’t sure if he’ll ever be able to do it again. Maybe you should never let him do it again.

It’s addicting. You cling to him like he’ll disappear if you don’t. Surely he will disappear if you don’t. It feels like home when the two of you touch. You’re two halves of a whole never truly feeling satisfied if you aren’t together.

Life would be so much easier if he just admitted he loved you too. If he took a chance on you both. It would save you so much heartache.

It’s a really bad idea to do this tonight, you think. You haven’t discussed anything. You haven’t come to an agreement or settled out your feelings. The two of you are merely working on instinct.

But that doesn’t stop you from leading him to your bed. His injuries don’t stop him from sleeping with you. The darkness of the night offers some cover for what you’re doing. Some way to hide from the emotions you are trying so hard to evoke and he so hard to restrain.

It’s a long night for you both. By the time you’re done, you’re exhausted and he has to go back to his world. You don’t say anything as he turns to dress. Sleep is slowly creeping up along with the smallest whisper in your head that chides you for doing this again. Falling back into his web without measuring the consequence.

Before he leaves, he kisses your forehead. It’s a soft piece of affection he’s never done before after sex. If you weren’t so tired and sleep weren’t already dragging your eyelids shut, you would have asked him to stay.

Still, before he leaves, you swear you hear him whisper an “I love you” into your skin. You can never be truly sure of it. Perhaps it was a dream your subconscious did to ease your heartbreak, but you want to believe it’s true anyway.

It isn’t until the next morning that you wake up alone again and hate yourself for putting yourself through this once more.

———————————————

Avoiding HQ isn’t doing you any favors. There’s a mountain of work with your name on it that you haven’t done in a while. Jess has been patient thus far, but you hate to add more stress to her plate.

You’re an adult. You can do professional. Even if your ex is the leader of the agency, you know you can keep calm and work.

So days after your last encounter, you ask Lyla for a portal and set off for HQ. Gwen nods at you as you pass by and you detect a hint or worry on her face. You offer her a weak smile in turn and hurry to your desk.

Paperwork is tedious. You’ve always hated to write mission reports, but it keeps your mind occupied. You breeze through five entire files before your fingers begin to cramp.

The sun in Miguel’s universe is starting to set by the time you finally give up. The workload has eased some, but you’re stuck on one particular file. The document needs some information that Miguel has in his computer. Lyla doesn’t respond when you call her, likely helping out with another mission some other team has been sent on, so you have no choice but to go to his office.

A pit of anxiety forms in your stomach. You dread walking up the stairs to where his office is. It’s been days since you last made the mistake of letting him in, and you’re not eager to see him again. Still, you can’t just shirk your duties because you’re heartbroken.

So you make yourself a promise not to sleep with him this time and go up the stairs. You tell yourself you won’t let him back in for once. That you’ll cut him off cold turkey and be out of his hair before he can even react. Maybe if you copy the document fast, you can get out before he even has a chance to speak-

But then the sound of voices reaches your ear. You can make out Miguel’s voice and someone else’s. Peter B.? It seems the two are talking in his office.

It’s wrong of you to listen in, you know it, and you almost go back down the stairs deciding to come back tomorrow-

But then Peter B. says your name and you freeze. For a moment, you panic that maybe they know you’re here. Maybe one of them has detected you with their senses or maybe Miguel has smelled you. However, it later becomes apparent they’re just talking about you.

Curiosity burns and you hesitate. It’s wrong, an invasion of their privacy, but you can’t help yourself. If they’re discussing you without your presence, you think you’re owed some rights to hear what they’re saying.

So you inch back to the door and listen in making sure to keep yourself discrete.

Peter B. sounds serious for once. It’s uncharacteristic for him. He’s talking to Miguel and you can hear something in his voice like he’s upset.

“-ow long are you going to keep doing this? You’re both miserable.”

He’s scolding Miguel. His words sound both sympathetic and exasperated. He reminds you so much of Gia that you almost roll your eyes.

“This isn’t your business,” Miguel’s voice is a growl. You recognize the dark tone he uses. It’s a tone he’s used on you before in arguments. He uses it when you pry too close and he gets frightened.

“I’m your friend,” Peter B. argues back, “I’m just looking out for you.”

There’s the scrape of a chair like he’s flung himself into a seat. You can practically imagine them both sitting across from each other. Miguel skulking and trying to ignore him while he talks while Peter B. chastises him.

Since they’ve met, Peter B. has called himself Miguel’s friend. Miguel denies it vehemently and claims not to have friends, yet he doesn’t kick him out when he intrudes. He always seems to let him talk or lets him bring Mayday to work. It’s likely that, like your situation, Miguel does think of Peter as a friend even if he would never admit it.

“We are not friends. You should go home,” Miguel bites back.

Peter makes a sound like he’s shaking his head. You hear him sigh and the chair creaks as he shifts his weight.

“Look, I get it. I do. I was divorced once, but come on, Miguel. This isn’t healthy. You keep torturing yourself with this over and over again. When will you just admit the truth to yourself?” His voice sounds tired.

Miguel is silent. You wish he weren’t. You’d love to hear what he’s thinking.

Peter continues.

“You sleep with her, you ask Lyla to check in with her, you watch her on your screens, you send her out on the least dangerous missions, and you panic when she gets hurt. Why can’t you just admit you’re in love with her and let her in. We all deserve a chance to be happy, right?”

You manage to bite back the gasp that rises up your throat.

There. Peter has said it out loud. The one thing you’ve never said out loud or Miguel.

There’s a very tense silence that follows. Miguel refuses to budge. You can practically imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose the way he does when he’s upset.

Frustration fills you. You wish he’d say something. Anything. Finally admit the truth to someone even if it isn’t to you. Or at least admit the truth to himself.

You know he loves you. Everyone around you knows too. Jess, Hobie, Gwen, Pav, Peter, Ben…Everyone knows. It’s just getting him to say it out loud and do something about it that’s the hard part.

A hand slams on something. You almost jump. It seems Miguel has taken his frustration out on a monitor. You can hear the static chirping as the screen splits in half.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he hisses it out at Peter, “She’s just a colleague.”

Peter doesn’t give up. You hear his chair scrape as he stands.

“You don’t do everything you’re doing for a colleague. Look, I lost Mary Jane too once. She left me and I was miserable. I would have never have found happiness again or gotten Mayday if I hadn’t just let go of my fear. Someone once told me it’s all just a leap of faith.”

A leap of faith. You think you like that expression.

Miguel doesn’t.

“I’m not afraid and our situations aren’t comparable. Your wife was from your universe. You belonged to the same world. She didn’t have powers that made her risk her life daily. She wasn’t always in danger. You know our line of work. You know why I can’t.”

You hear him begin to pace. He’s going for his stage system. If he ascends up, he’ll brood forever and Peter’s efforts will be for naught. You hope he manages to stop him before that happens.

He does. You can hear when Peter clicks off the elevator’s button and when Miguel growls out a warning for him to quit.

“You are afraid, and that’s okay. You just can’t let fear destroy you. I was afraid to have Mayday and look at me! I love being a dad. You should let her in. Let yourself be happy. You’ve already lost enough.”

You think to Miguel’s daughter. The way he had broken when he had lost her. You think of his canon events and the people he’s watched die. It makes sense that he’s so terrified about letting you in. You get it.

However, Peter is right. Fear shouldn’t control him. You’re afraid too about loving someone in your line of work, but you’ve decided to be brave. In a world where you could die any moment, isn’t it better to die having have experienced a great love? Doesn’t the reward outweigh the pain?

Miguel mutters a string of Spanish. He’s irritated and beginning to shut down. Any moment now he’ll close himself up. You just hope Peter’s words were enough to get him to think.

Your hopes, however, are shattered when he next speaks.

“I’ll end things with her then. Happy? Set her free. She doesn’t deserve being strung along-“

“Miguel, that’s not what-“

Peter’s words are cut off as the elevator is turned back on. Your eyes burn with tears and anger floods you.

Stupid, stupid man. Too stubborn and cowardly for his own good.

“Don’t do this, Miguel, come on!” Peter practically begs him as the elevator begins to make its ascent up, “It’s not just you you’re hurting.”

“I’m going to end things once and for all. You’re right. This isn’t fair.”

Miguel’s words are final and the elevator clangs as he reaches the top. Moments later, you hear Peter drop into his chair out of frustration. That’s your key to leave.

You storm off HQ and call on Lyla. This time she answers. Whatever playful retort was on her tongue earlier dies away when she sees your tears.

You don’t give her a chance to ask what’s wrong. Instead, you demand a portal back to your world.

Emerging back into your apartment, you storm over to your cellphone. Gia was right, you think, you do need to get him out of your system. So you scroll until you find the text from Tyler all those nights ago at the bar and you send him a message inviting him over.

If Miguel wants to call things off, then you’re way ahead of him.

———————————————

Tyler is a great guy. He shows up at your apartment with some take out and doesn’t pry when he sees your poor attempt at concealing your pain. He’s entirely platonic and friendly when you invite him in.

He knows this isn’t anything more than a distraction. You two are break up buddies. There’s no romance or lust between either of you, so there’s no nervousness or tension when you sit down to eat.

Gia has left for the night pleased that you’ve finally taken her advice. You don’t have the strength in you to clarify that it isn’t like that and she doesn’t have to leave your apartment to give you privacy.

“Hope you like Chinese,” Tyler holds up some takeout boxes.

“Love it,” you reply. You try to sound upbeat and positive, but it falls flat. Tyler gives you a look of concern but doesn’t comment. He’s willing to give you space.

The two of you plop down on the couch and you let him choose a channel. He opts for a shitty B film with monsters. The acting is so poor that you find yourself snorting.

Tyler makes you laugh too. He makes it a game to spot plot holes and inconsistencies. The one who finds the most will get to pick dessert.

He’s good company. When you find yourself starting to think too long on what happened, he makes a joke to get your attention back. Perhaps if you hadn’t fallen in love with Miguel, maybe the two of you could have been something. In another universe, maybe you do end up with Tyler.

Still, in this universe, your heart is still broken.

At some point, you win and you decide on a key lime pie in the fridge. Tyler brings out some wine and you settle down into the kitchen table.

“I didn’t want to pry, but are you feeling better?” He looks at you over the rim of his glass.

“Better than this afternoon,” you admit. It’s not completely a lie.

You needed this. Being able to spend time with a friend is a good distraction. Tyler is a good guy. He doesn’t pry anymore after that question.

Instead, the two of you talk about anything and everything. You feel at ease. He makes you laugh and smile quite a few times. By the time midnight comes around, you’re surprised that you lost track of time.

He stands up and decides to call a ride-share. You tell him not too. It’s too dangerous for him to be out at night. You offer him your bed and insist when he protests. You’ll take Gia’s bed. She always takes yours when she has family over at your apartment. You know she won’t have a problem if you take hers for a night.

The two of you go to bed in your own rooms. You find your thoughts drifting towards Miguel, but you shut them down. You really don’t want to think of him now. Not when he’s decided that he’s going to end things once and for all.

At some point you drift off to sleep. You don’t wake up until the next morning when someone knocks on your door.

Your room door is still shut, Tyler is sleeping in. You don’t even think before opening the door convinced that it’s Gia coming back. However, the person standing in the hallway makes you freeze.

It’s Miguel, not Gia, who stands there. He’s wearing civilian clothing and looks miserable. There’s exhaustion on every plane if his face like he hasn’t slept a wink thinking. You hesitate.

“Miguel?”

He hangs back taking you in. You must look like a mess in your pajamas. If you weren’t still half asleep, maybe you’d be embarrassed.

“Can I come in?” He calls your name softly and adds a ‘please’ when you don’t move an inch for the longest time.

You glance at your room door hoping Tyler is still asleep when you let him in.

The last time Miguel was here, you two slept together. It feels maddening to have him so close again.

“What do you need? Lyla didn’t call me.”

You try to keep your voice even, steady. It’s an attempt to hide the turmoil inside you. Miguel hesitates when he sees the two wine glasses on the table. You had left them out yesterday. Still, he opts not to ask about it.

“I wanted to talk to you,” Miguel admits, “I haven’t been fair.”

You remember his conversation with Peter. Is he here to end things once and for all? You wrap you arms around yourself to keep you steady.

“I’m sorry,” Miguel murmurs, “For everything. You didn’t deserve it. I took advantage.”

“You didn’t do anything I didn’t want to do,” you shake your head, “It’s not taking advantage if you were honest from the beginning. I just got my hopes up.”

The words feel bitter in your tongue. You look down at the floor.

“But I wasn’t honest,” Miguel admits. It’s a quiet whisper that makes you look up. He looks like he’s struggling. He’s never been good at vocalizing his feelings or talking things out. This is a major effort for him, “I lied. I wasn’t being honest.”

He takes a step towards you and you stare blankly at him. You don’t want to get your hopes up.

He calls your name again. A plea.

“I wasn’t honest when I told you I didn’t want anything between us. I was being a coward. Peter B. poked his nose where he didn’t belong and talked some sense into me. Jess chewed me out too last night. They both made me realize how terrible I’ve been.”

So Jess had talked to him too. It was probably after you had left. Having been on the receiving end of her scolding before, you can imagine it was a harsh awakening for him. It must have been if he’s deviated from his initial plan with Peter.

You wait patiently as he gathers his thoughts. This is a huge effort for him, and you know it doesn’t come easy. Some hope rises in your chest.

“The truth is, I’ve been lying to the both of us for a long time. I-it isn’t just sex, alright? It was never just sex.”

He takes a step closer. You watch him closely. His eyes are open to you now. You can see the emotions there. The affection, the heartbreak, the yearning, the fear, the love. It makes your breath hitch.

“Miguel-“

He cuts you off gently. His hand goes for your cheek. He hesitates just briefly, his fear wanting him to bolt, but he fights it back. When his skin touches yours, a little spark has you both feeling dizzy.

“The truth is, I do want more. I’ve wanted more since you walked into HQ to begin with. I kept pushing you away because I was scared. I know you probably don’t want anything to do with me, I wouldn’t blame you if you told me to leave, but I want you to know the truth. I don’t want you to think it was something you did or that you were never good enough.”

Silence reigns between you both. Emotion chokes your words. He leans in briefly.

“I want this,” he breathes out, “You terrify me, this scares me, and I hate feeling this sense of panic, but I can’t stand it anymore. I don’t like seeing you cry or pushing you away.”

“I-“

The words die in your throat. You think about how you want to tell him that you love him, that you want this with him too, and that you’ve been waiting for this moment. This dream of yours has finally come true and you feel like you can finally breathe again. You want to pour everything you feel into your words so that he can understand everything you’ve gone through. You just don’t know how.

To his credit, he waits patiently. His eyes are warm when he looks at you. It’s the type of look he’s only given you before when he thought you weren’t paying attention. Your heart races in your chest.

Just when you think you’ve found the right words to respond-

The door opens behind you. A half asleep Tyler stumbles out still unaware of his surroundings.

The world stops.

You see the moment Miguel turns his head and spots him. He realizes he’s coming out of your room. Slowly, you see everything start to fall apart.

You want to beg him to listen, explain to him that it isn’t like this, and tell him that nothing happened. Yet he’s already moving away from you. His eyes cycle between betrayal, jealousy, heartbreak, and fury before he closes himself off. He takes a step back and an entire chasm opens up between the two of you. Whatever progres you two had just made is now gone.

Tyler blanches when he spots Miguel. You see the wheels churn in his head and he realizes what happened. What he’s just done unintentionally. The last of the sleep disappears from his system and is replaced by shock.

“Oh god, sorry,” Tyler blanks.

For a moment, you think you see Miguel tense. He’s like a coil waiting to spring. You suspect he’s getting ready to launch himself at Tyler. You take a step between them to try and stop him and try to explain-

It’s too late. Miguel reins in his self control and doesn’t strike. Instead, he straightens himself out and turns away.

“I didn’t realize you had company,” his voice is a deadpan growl much more terrifying than anything you’ve ever heard before. You move before you can think. Your hand snags his sleeve to try and explain what just happened-

He firmly tugs himself free of your grasp. His voice is cold, detached, and guarded when he answers back.

“Don’t worry, I’ll let you two get back to it. This was a mistake I won’t make again.”

He storms out of your apartment with his entire body practically seething with anger. You try and follow only to see him disappear in the middle of the hallway. Lyla closes the portal before you can follow.

Tyler is incredibly apologetic when he leaves. He feels terrible he’s ruined things for you. You half heartedly tell him it’s not his fault. It’s all yours, really.

By the time he’s gone, you feel like someone has taken your heart and crushed it in the palm of their hand. You crawl back into Gia’s bed and sob until your head begins to pound. Everything feels ruined.

———————————————

Gia finds you there sometime in the morning. She smiles and opens her mouth to tease you about your date when she catches sight of your face. Immediately she pales and rushes forward.

“What’s wrong? Did Tyler hurt you?” Her hands come around you and she holds you tightly.

You shake your head.

“Then what happened? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she fusses over your tears. Her eyes are wide with surprise. You reckon you’re giving her a terrible fright.

In between sobs, the story pours out of you.

You tell her everything. How Miguel had come to tell you that he wanted a romantic relationship between you, how you had been about to tell him that you loved him too, and how Tyler had given him the wrong idea.

You’re practically shaking by the time you’re done. Gia presses her lips together and holds you closer.

Your heart has never broken quite like this before. It’s in millions of tiny pieces. You don’t think you’ll ever be able to pick them back up. Not with what happened.

Gia holds you until you’re done crying. She’s pensive as she stares out the window. Finally, she sighs.

“Call him.”

It’s such a deviation from her old advice that you blink at her. It pains her to say it out loud. She looks like she bit into a lemon when she does, but she powers through.

“Look, this guy got the wrong idea, right? Go see him and explain things. Don’t let him get away. It sounds like he genuinely cares for you.”

You wipe away at a tear on your cheek and glance at her.

“You hate him,” you mumble. Gia helps you clean up your face. Her hands are gentle.

“I hated him because I thought he was just a booty call leading you on. It sounds like he does love you back. You shouldn’t let him go after a misunderstanding, right? At least explain what happened to him and go from there,” she bites her cheek, “If you’ve been fighting for him all this time, what’s one more battle? Give it one last try.”

Her advice seems so simple. You sniff until some of your tears finally dry. Your head is pounding but it’s nothing compared to the agony that is in your chest.

Gia helps you dress and gives you breakfast. She wishes you well. When this is all over, whether it ends in tragedy or success, you’ll have to thank her. She’s put up with so much on your behalf.

You tell her you’re going to his apartment. Trepidation fills you as you round a corner. You call up Lyla on your watch.

When she greets you, her face is downtrodden. You miss her cheery and teasing personality.

“It’s not a good idea for you to head over there right now,” Lyla hesitates, “He’s in a mood. He’s been smashing things and throwing stuff in his office all morning.”

You wince wracked with guilt. You hurt him. Sure he probably deserved it after how badly he’s hurt you, but you still never meant to do that to him.

“Lyla, please let me in,” you beg.

Lyla looks away.

“He told me he didn’t want you anywhere near HQ for a few weeks. You’ve been put on leave.”

Panic grips you. You need to speak with him. You hold the watch up and beg.

“Lyla, please. Please let me make things right. He’s got the wrong idea.”

It takes some more begging. Lyla looks torn. She doesn’t want to anger Miguel further after this morning, but she also doesn’t want him to hurt himself on a misunderstanding. Finally, she wilts and opens a portal. You jump in before you have a chance to second guess yourself.

———————————————

Lyla had understated the sight of Miguel’s office. It’s a complete war zone. His monitors are smashed on the ground, his desk is half way across the room, and there’s broken glass everywhere. He’s destroyed everything in his wake. You wince as you step over broken wood and metal.

Jess has opened the door for you. She tells you to leave immediately if things get messy. Miguel really doesn’t want to see you right now. Lyla will be on standby ready to send you home or anywhere else if you ask her to.

You wave them both away as you search for Miguel. His elevator is on the ground which means he has to be somewhere on this floor.

After a while, you find him. He’s staring out the window and his entire back is rigid. He senses you before you have a chance to speak.

“Get out.”

It’s a harsh bark of an order that makes you wince. You stay rooted to the spot.

“Miguel-“

“Lyla, get her out.”

He taps on his watch and Lyla appears. She looks between the two of you before shaking her head.

“No can do. Jess has me working a different mission. Sorry, Miggy. Guess you’ll have to talk things out like adults.”

She winks out before Miguel can press her again. You hear the sound of anger he makes as she disappears. He still doesn’t turn around to look at you.

“I came to speak to you,” you hear yourself say. You’re surprised your voice sounds so calm. You certainly don’t feel okay. Your ears are roaring and your heart is going a million miles a minute.

“I don’t want to hear it. See yourself out.”

This time he does turn. His face is completely devoid of expression and he moves away from you.

You spin around to follow.

“What you saw isn’t what it looks like. Tyler and I are just friends.”

Miguel huffs something that sounds like a laugh. It sends shivers down your spine. He says Tyler’s name under his breath like a curse.

“It doesn’t matter,” he waves you away, “You and I are just coworkers. Nothing more.”

His words ache but you don’t let them land. You know the truth. He’s told you it just a few hours ago.

“Miguel, stop,” you come up behind him. He’s completely tense when you grab his hand to stop him.

“Enough,” he says your name with a warning, “Go home. There’s nothing more to say.”

You don’t budge. There’s a terrible voice inside your head that tells you that letting him go now would be a mistake. That if you don’t clarify things, you’ll lose him forever.

You try again.

“Nothing happened between us. I only care about you. Please look at me,” you plea. You try to sidestep him to put yourself in his direct field of vision.

He turns around.

“It wouldn’t matter if it had, you owe me no loyalty. We were never together,” he argues back. It sounds like he’s trying to convince himself of that. Perhaps he’s been turning those words over in his head all morning.

You won’t let him leave. He needs to know the truth. If he decides afterwords that he still doesn’t want you, fine. You’ll give up and resign from the agency. You’ll go back to your old life and force yourself to let him go, but he needs to know the truth at the very least.

“Nothing happened at all. We slept in separate beds. There is no one else but you,” you move forward, “I was going to tell you then that I do want you. That I’ve always wanted you.”

He still won’t look at you. You manage to stand in front of him and force him to see you. You want him to look and see the sincerity in your gaze. The love you hold for him burns bright when you meet his eyes.

Some of the tension from his body leaves. He sees that you mean every word. That if Tyler hadn’t interrupted, you would have told him you loved him then and there.

But he’s still afraid. He’s warring with himself over what to do. His instincts tell him to push you aside like he’s been doing. To save himself further pain by cutting you off once and for all. Another part of him is crying out for him not to. The part of himself he had bared for you this morning wants him to give in. To hear you out and be honest with himself.

You hope that other part of himself wins. You need that part of himself to win.

“Please believe me,” you whisper, “It’s only ever been you.”

His eyes close as your hands trace his face. You have to stand up on your tippy toes to reach him.

After a long pause, he sighs.

“Do you know how much it killed me to see him? To imagine him touching you? I almost killed him. The worst part was that I knew it was all my fault. That you owed me nothing and it wouldn’t have mattered if you had decided to move on because I pushed you away.”

“Do you know how much it killed me to be pushed away?” You murmur. It’s not a rebuke or retort. There’s no poison or malice behind your words, you just want him to understand that you’ve both been hurting.

He winces anyway. His eyes trace every inch of your face as if looking for something. You aren’t sure what he’s searching for, but you do know there’s more you haven’t said.

“I want to be with you. I’ve been fighting for you since the beginning. If you don’t want me, then tell me. Tell me once and for all, so that I can move on because I’ve been suffocating these past few days,” you slowly withdraw from him to give him space, “I love you, Miguel. But I can’t keep doing this. You’re breaking me.”

Silence descends in the room. Your heart beats wildly in your chest.

There. The ball is in his court now. He can either accept or reject you. Either way, this game between you will be over.

He’s quiet for so long that you suspect he’s made his choice. You try not to show how heartbroken you are when you take a step back. You’re about to apologize for wasting his time when he surges forward.

You don’t have time to react before he’s picking you up. His mouth crashes against yours and his kiss steals your breath away. He pours everything in it. His heartbreak, his longing, his love of you. It’s so powerful that you feel your self start to melt. You respond in kind kissing him back just as fiercely.

He holds you to him as if afraid that you’ll disappear if he lets you go. You two meet again and again. In between breaths, he pants your name. It isn’t until both of your mouths are bruised that you manage to come up for air.

He leans into you almost immediately after, kissing your throat and murmuring against your skin.

“I want you. I’ve wanted you since the beginning. I’m sorry,” he kisses your mouth gently in another apology, “I don’t deserve this.”

You cut him off before his thoughts can spiral again.

“I love you,” you repeat. His eyes close like he can barely believe it so you say it again. When he opens his eyes, you see the love for you in them. You’ve always known he loved you. Now, you finally have a confirmation.

“I love you too,” he responds. It takes your breath away. You’ve been waiting for a really long time to hear those words.

The next time you kiss, it’s less frenzied. This time, you both know you have time to pace things out. You’ll have all the time you need from now on. You’re both done pushing each other away and breaking your hearts.

His heart is racing against you and you feel your own beat against your ribcage. Still, you press forward. Declarations of love spill forth between heated kisses and nips. You’re drowning in each other.

For the first time in ages, things slowly start to fall into place. The darkness looming over you is gone replaced by a beautiful sunlight. You feel yourself smile into the kiss and he kisses you more softly as a result.

The two of you will have to talk at length more in the future. You’ll have to discuss what you being in an official relationship will mean in terms of your jobs and your different universes, but that’s all a problem for tomorrow. For now, you’re both content to be with each other and to celebrate the fact that you are now together.

The road ahead will not be easy. Nothing in life ever is. Yet you know you can both weather it if you fight for each other the way you’ve been fighting each other. There’s nothing the two of you can’t survive if you work hard.

Together.

#miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #across the spiderverse #miguel ohara x y/n

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bits-and-babs · 1 year ago

Text

𝐀𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐘𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐒 – 𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐎'𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀

↳ summary: miguel has an issue with the performance and comfortability of his suit. he feels he's found a suitable solution– but he can't tell you.

↳ pairing: pervy!miguel o'hara x f!reader

↳ content: 18+ MDNI. SMUT. pervy!miguel, sneaking into your home, panty stealing, miguel wears your panties, (m) masturbation, masturbating in your panties, a little dirty talk, imagines p in v sex with reader.

miguel masterlist ୨୧ main masterlist ୨୧ join taglist ୨୧ ask

Disgust coats Miguel's tongue in a kind of rancid film, his lashes fluttering closed as he tries to breathe through the turbulence of the unhinged thoughts that bounce in his skull. Of all the ideas he'd contemplated to make the suit a little easier to wear, this was by far the most demented.

The delicate, silky midnight fabric of your high-cut thong had sprung to mind late at night, sleep ebbing at the edges of his consciousness and poisoning his ethics. He'd noticed them the last time he saw you, the elasticated straps that framed your hips peeking over the denim waistband of your jeans when you bent over to collect some papers from his office floor. It's as though the image had imprinted itself on his brain's grey, swirling surface and seared into his retinas.

Friends, Miguel he had to remind himself consistently. You were his friend. Friends don't steal other friends' panties.

Frankly, this ridiculous plot had all come about thanks to the absurd skin-tight suit Miguel consistently afflicted himself with. His excuse for invading your privacy was aerodynamics. The smoother the outline of the suit, the quicker he'd swing from his webbing... Or so he told himself. It was a perfectly reasonable excuse, as far as his bias was concerned.

The temptation was intolerable. Of course, getting a thong was easy enough– Miguel could buy them from the mall with the excuse of wanting to see an imaginary girlfriend in them or order them online if it embarrassed him too much. But the debauched notion of wearing your panties, the kind you wore and smelt like you, drove him crazier than he could ever admit.

He hadn't been able to stave off the desire for very long. Some forty-eight hours later, Miguel found himself snatching the object of desire from your laundry basket, blanketed by the pitch blackness of the dead of night. Driven by this repulsive need, he'd retreated to his office almost as swiftly as he had entered your home, careful to conceal evidence of his presence. All items had been placed back neatly while Miguel scoured for your thong, and he'd pulled your bedroom window back to its original position, open just a crack.

Thoughts of your silhouette, framed only by the panties in his hand and their matching bra, had carried Miguel home. He'd been rock hard by the time he'd stumbled back into the office, practically ripping the lycra-like material from his body to slip the panties on.

So here he stood, spider-suit a crimson and midnight blue pool at his feet, naked in the mirror beside the panties that barely stretched across his ample hips. His thick, muscular thighs looked even wider when paired with the dainty lingerie and the dark trail of hair that sparsely scattered his lower abdomen looked far prettier when decorated like this.

Miguel's eyes slid over the silky fabric against his smooth, tanned skin. The silk canvas barely contained the base of his cock and his balls, straining over the ample flesh he'd managed to stuff into the already limited, thin cloth. The scalloped straps of the thongs dug into his hips, little diamonte hearts encrusted by the base of the chords– he hadn't noticed them until now, his cheeks warming as he studied them in the mirror.

The sheer mass of Miguel's frame was far too large for the undergarment, the elasticated waistband stretched across the shaft of his cock, so it rested against his stomach, erect. The ruddy tip of his swollen head leaked creamy pre-cum against his abdomen at the consistent pressure, throbbing weakly when Miguel passed his eyes over it.

"Hng-" he huffed a breath through his nostrils, the sound almost a wheeze. Fuck, he could smell you on them, the musky scent of your sex. Miguel can't contain the monster, his palm tracing over the outline of his cock. The fabric is stretched so thin against his dick that he can see it twitch, the engorged vein that extends across the arch of him evident in his reflection.

"D-Dios-" Miguel moans softly, watching precum drip from his swollen tip onto the dark fabric of your underwear. Running his thumb over the head of his cock, Miguel smears his spend over the velvety skin and watches the muscles of his abdomen spasm with the intense pleasure that spidered across his nerves.

"Oh fuck, pretty baby," he whispers, tracing the crescents arches of his nails over his clothed length, babbling to himself as he relishes your scent, imagining tasting you. "Want your pretty pussy on my face..."

Miguel's hand quickly grasps the mirror's frame, his knees threatening to collapse beneath the weight of his bliss. He's drooling precum now, steady dribbles leaking down into the elasticated waistband and trailing across his knuckles. Fuck fuck fuck– would you be as tight as your panties felt on him? Would you squeeze him like this?

Pushing his thumb beneath the seam of your thong, Miguel lifts the waist of the lingerie upwards. Shuddering breaths heaved from his ribcage, bracing as he lets the stretchy band slip from his digit.

It snaps back onto his pulsing cock with a 'crack', the stinging sensation from the impact rocking down the length of his spine as Miguel rubbed the flat of his palm across the flushed head. His jaw falls loose, vermillion irises rolling back into his skull.

"Hhah- fuuuckkk– gonna cum-" he choked out into the emptiness of his office, quickly snapping the fabric onto his length again. "Gonna fuckin' cum–"

Miguel's eyelids flutter, almost missing the lurch of his dick. Cum spurts from the tip, splattering across the reflective surface of the mirror, painting ribbons of creamy white across his bronzed skin. It seeps into the midnight blue of your panties, darker blotches oozing into the silk as he rocks his hips into his touch.

When his exceptional vision finally rights itself, Miguel notes the tearstains that streak down his cheeks, wetness clinging to the ebony eyelashes that frame his dilated pupils. He heaves a shuddering exhale, letting out a hoarse scoff at the rakish vision of himself, smeared in cum and wearing his friend's panties.

Despite the fizzling arousal that singed the edges of his nervous system, Miguel's mind continued to develop images of you. Forever unsatiated, it conjures the depiction of you sprawled across your bed with your cum stained panties balled up and stuffed in your mouth. Your jaw aching, eyebrows stitched together as Miguel's ludicrously thick cock sinks into your tight pussy. Would you tear up, back arching as you attempt to rock your hips further onto him despite the stretch?

Flopping into his desk chair, Miguel covers his eyes with his palm and feels his ravenous cock twitch under the soiled fabric once again. He was pretty confident he'd never return this thong now...

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sealedterror · 5 months ago

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Stellaron Hunters and Astral Express Parallels

So, I've noticed that the Stellaron Hunters are basically a darker, murdery, and morally grey parallel version of the more heroic Astral Express, with every member mirroring another from the other group. Two sides of the same coin, if you will. First thing I'd like to point out, both factions don't really follow any current aeon. They "follow" (very loose term here) the missing-in action Akivili and the "Destiny" that Elio forsees. Both factions also are deeply involved with Stellarons(we encounter a stellaron on every planet, the Stellaron Hunters hunt them. Obviously) Here's some similarities I've thought of between the members and some theories based off each other: !!SPOILERS AHEAD!!

Dan Heng and Blade:

Both from Xianzhou,

Immortal in some way(Blade's self-regenerating and Dan Heng's reincarnations)

Same gender

Dan heng's five star form enhances his basic attack, like Blade, who I BET was ALSO a four star before the mara and Jing Liu incident

Similar age? Don't really know exact timeline between them

Both feature flowers in their gameplay(lotus flowers and spider lilies)

Himeko and Kafka:

Both intelligent women

The pseudo-moms of their faction.

I might be pulling out of my ass here, but I'd like to point out that both of them use both a ranged weapon(Himeko's laser and Kafka's gun) and also a melee weapon(Kafka's katana and Himeko's grator).

Since they are each others parallel, I'd like to make the assumption that since Himeko was the first one to join the Astral Express, that Kafka was the first one to join Elio. It just fits with the known info we have and clears up any ambiguity, but you don't have to strictly adhere by it lol.

Pom Pom and Elio

"Animals" yeah right

The being who leads their group in the direction wanted(conducter, scriptwriter, best destiny, best path to blaze)

You assume they are the cute mascot at first, but then there is something...exceptional about them, that you can't quite pin down.

Both are sentient and can presumably talk(Elio might just write to communicate, how would that work though? Toe beans? Meow to text? Lmao)

Wait....with synestheia beacons that's actually very possible. Oh god

March 7th and Silver Wolf(HEAR ME OUT)

The trendy, youthful girl of the group

....Use of technology?

yeah i got nothing BUTBUTBUT

March 7th's mysterious pasttttt. Like, the similarities between Danheng and Blade weren't revealed until his five star form was revealed and I'm making the theory that when March 7th's mysterious past is revealed, the similarities between her and Silver Wolf will appear!!!!

So Silver Wolf is from Punklord, is extremely accomplished and powerful, chaotic neutral with a sense of wanderlust. I don't know much about her(don't have her character/character story) so I can't say much more, but what I do know seems pretty plausible for March's former self.

It supports my theory that March 7th's five star form will be Nihility. Imbibiter Lunae was Destruction, like Blade. The memokeeper in March's quest said her past would "only bring her pain". How nihilistic is that? Either way, I'm definitely pulling xD

Stelle/Caleus and Firefly/Sam(the best for last ;)

So this is the one that really cemented this theory into my mind. So far, you might have noticed that every member's mirror image is the same gender(with the exception of Catlio and PomPom, I'll talk about it in the comments). But Trailblazer has TWO genders/personas. You know who ALSO has two genders/personas?FIREFLY/SAMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Some theory and more similarities between them

They both are the explosive power powerhouse of their group(Stellaron and Sam's firepower)

Both pretty smart(dubious) and funny(hilarious, the both of them)

They both eat questionable things...Trailblazer's trash consumables and Firefly's woodchip Oak Cake(seriously, read the description, do they have iron stomachs or something??)

...So they might have iron stomachs.

Both were presumably artificially made. We know Firefly/Sam is(born to fight in a war) and the Trailblazer is a vessel of a Stellaron. There has to be some funky, wonky, genetic/biological makeup for that.

Welt Yang and no one lmao

Lonely ass old man, no ship?(making the no bitches face)

Anyway, I presume he doesn't have any parallel bc he's from another universe. I don't know much cause I haven't played Honkai Impact. Something about a comic and "herscherr"? Idrk but. I suppose Luocha could join the Stellaron Hunters. That would be crazy as hell and if it happens I CALLED IT, but it probably won't. Probably.

There is also the theory Sunday joined the Stellaron Hunters. It's honestly really interesting and if that's true.....Welt Yang and Sunday don't have any similarities so that's tossed out the window. So, that only leaves the possibilty that we will have a mirrored someone of Sunday joining the Astral Express in the future. That would be INSANE but fun as hell like, can you imagine?

On another, slightly less speculative note, I'd like to point out that the five stars of the Astral Express have the same paths as the Stellaron Hunters. DHIL and Blade, are both Destruction. The Trailblazer started off as Destruction and Firefly/Sam is Destruction. As I theorized above, March 7th's five star form is likely Nihility, just like Silver Wolf. Except for Himeko and Kafka. Hmmmm

It is also my theory that Kafka was supposed to be Erudition, like Himeko, but the Stellaron Disaster on her homeplanet altered her path to Nihility. We know how smart Kafka is and we've seen paths change, Dan Heng changed to Hunt after doing away his vidyadhara features, and we have switched paths multiple times now. But we know we and Dan Heng can switch between paths anytime. I think Kafka's case is different, in that she can't switch and the Stellaron permanently altered her, removing her fear and switching her Path.

So this concludes my rant, are you convinced yet ;)? It's really interesting that the two factions mirror each other so deeply. I am getting the message that, whatever our fates are, they are deeply intertwined.

Thanks a bunch for reading this far and please, let me know what you think! May the Trailblaze be with you....or something lol

Edit: AAAAAA, Firefly's pool cutscene!!! She said, and I quote "The Astral Express and the Stellaron Hunters are like light and shadow. We walk on different paths, intertwined, moving forward and growing together...Maybe the end is predestined, but, it is not today."

Idgaf, I'm taking this as confirmation!! My theories are becoming true!!!!! *high pitched squealing* Show me more, Honkai Star Rail!!!!

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currentfandomkick · 6 months ago

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Danny gets a (brief) break. As a treat before Shenanigans Ensue. Masterpost Here

Danny ran his hand through his hair, checking his neck in the mirror.

No gils. Eyes fine. He’s good.

He hopes.

Its late, but he needs to patrol. At least his parents agreed to meet with Mr.Lancer about changing his success plan to include online learning.

He went ghost and tried, really tried, to patrol.

But once he went Phantom he just. Short-circuited?

He managed to check in on the usuals and thankfully there were no regulars tonight after a cursory lap.

But something tugged him and he followed. He ended up at the aquarium, and the second he touched a tank he was small again.

Swimming was… calming. The momma shark found him again and her calf helped nudge him into his hideyhole.

He watched and slept.

He should be scared. But he just. Isn’t.

For the first time since the portal, he felt at peace.

—

Skulker hates his current realization.

While stalking his prey, he was stuck with an unfortunate realization: the whelp was ill. A soul sickness rather than core based, but no good in either case.

And instead of going to his ghost parent or a medical professional, his prey continued to panic.

He needed to seek the aide of the boy’s questionably intelligent ghost parent and convince them to get the whelp to one of the Infinite Realm’s hospitals.

He wasnt quite sure the whelp grasped how bad it was a soul to regress to a prior form. The cursed technomancer should have clued him in, but he’s well aware of his prey’s weak points. Obliviousness chiefly among them.

… he wondered if he should bring a fruit basket to Sampson to convince her he means her chosen son no lasting harm. It’s not his fault the whelp won’t take a simple trophy skinning with grace and remain in his haunt until the regeneration was over. It’s a rite of passage!

Masterpost here

Tags: @skulld3mort-1fan @theizzyof3malec3 @brattysleepyreader @sebas-nights @elidaweirdotaku0520 @bianca-hooks123 @the-autistic-spider @laurcad123

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dcxdp #mer!danny #reincarnated danny #topo is a menace #danny phantom #skulker

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the-kr8tor · 5 months ago

Note

HIIII KATY I HAVE A REQUESTTTT 🦅🦅🦅🦅

basically hobeebee and reader having a shower together for the first time (NOT IN AN NSFW WAY 😰) but he finds out r likes to having her shower like burning, like scalding hot and he’s like goes to pop into the shower with he and as soon as he’s touching the water he’s just like “??!!,!,?,? OW??” (not like that exactly but yk what im talking abt 😭) and she’s just like “what’s wrong 🧍?????”

SORRY I THOUGHT THIS IDEA WAS SILLY ILY TYYTYY

-🪼

As someone who takes really hot showers this was a blast lmaoo thank you for requesting! ❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, CW suggestive, FLUFF.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

“Can I pop in real quick?” Hobie knocks on your bathroom door, voice muffled, tone a tad apprehensive.

“Yeah, I'm decent!” You yell above the rushing of water, the tiled walls and floors are all misty and from your recent shower. Hair still wet, the strands clinging to your face, you watch yourself in the foggy mirror as Hobie lets out a laugh on the other side. “What’s so funny?”

“You're decent, innit? What are you, eighty?” You hear his muffled laughter once again, you can't help but snicker and shake your head. “‘sides, I've already seen everything, love.” you feel hotter than the shower.

“Why'd you ask then?”

“It's called bein’ polite.” You can practically see his smirk from his tone. With a creak, the door opens and out pops his handsome head. Hand shielding his eyes but his fingers are splayed over, clearly peeking. He grins from ear to ear at the sight of your pink frilly bathrobe. “I was thinkin’ of using that, you beat me to it.”

“I have a spare if you want.” You bite your lip to stifle your giggle at his antics. “Since when were you ever polite?” Turning around to face him, Hobie enters inside. The small bathroom doesn't provide enough space for the two of you. But Hobie doesn't seem to mind as he shimmies himself in between the cold walls and you, who's trapped between his bare chest and the sink.

Face scrunched up at the humidity, Hobie leans as far as the space can provide for you to move away, yet, you don't. He has no idea how but his heart jumps at the thought and the closeness. Just like it did last night. “I didn't know you had a sauna in here.”

“I like my showers running hot.” You take the lead, hand reaching up to wipe sweat off his neck, thumb brushing along gently as he shivers slightly. You don't mention his reaction, he's safe from teasing, for now at least. “The question is, can you take the heat, Hobie?”

He scoffs dramatically, pinky wiping away a leftover toothpaste on the corner of your lips. “Can I handle the heat? ‘course I can, I was born in it.”

You giggle, “let's see it then.”

“Y’know you can just tell me that you want a striptease instead of raggin’ me on.” Hobie leaves your side, eyes glued to your own as he enters the shower. His fingers run along the hem of his pajama pants, your heart thunders in your chest. But Hobie being Hobie, he shuts the frosted glass sliding door before you could see. His roaring laughter echoes around the bathroom, you roll your eyes, bested by the best once again. “Got you didn't I?” He could barely finish his sentence with his laughter breaking through his words.

Tossing the pajama pants at you, you catch it mid air like some fan at a rock concert. “No you didn't. Wasn't even waiting for it.” A lie that he did not believe one bit based on his deep chortle.

The faucet squeaks, ancient pipes rumbling to life. “Yes, you were—!” Once the water hits his skin, Hobie jumps away with a loud high pitched shriek. A stark contrast from his laughter a while ago. “Motherfuck—! What are you a hellhound? This is pure lava, love!” A string of curses, you see his silhouette cling to the walls further away from the searing heat.

It's your turn to laugh, “I'm sorry, I thought you can handle the heat!”

The sliding door opens quickly, steam blocking his form. “Come here, you little—!” With a lightning quick grab around your waist, he yanks you inside the shower.

#request done #hobie brown x reader #spider punk x reader #the kr8tor's creations #hobie x reader #hobie brown x fem!reader #hobie brown x you #spider punk x fem!reader #spider punk x you #atsv imagine #atsv fanfic #atsv x reader #atsv hobie #atsv fanfiction #hobie fanfic #hobie fluff #x reader #fanfic #🪼 anon

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blurredcolour · 7 months ago

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The Only Truth... | Part Two

The Only Truth I Know Is You Masterlist

John "Bucky" Egan x POW Flight Nurse!Female Reader

Once rested, Bucky proves to be a rather difficult patient, but it's nothing you can't handle. Once he's discharged, however, the man still finds a way to remain close, even when he's no longer the one in need of medical care.

Warnings: Language, Angst, Nightmares, Detailed Description of Death by Gunshot Wound, Blood, Gore, Reader Scars, Hospital Setting, POW Camp Setting, SS Officers, Mental Health Struggles, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Rating - 18+ ONLY.

Author’s Note: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 5001

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

April 12, 1945

The light of dawn began to filter in through the murky windows of the hospital and with Bucky once again sleeping deeply, but now with all apprehension about his ability to wake again lifted, you began to carefully shuffle about the space and take care of some duties you had neglected for the last twenty hours. Emptying a few bed pans for those too weak to move, you scrubbed them clean in the meagre washroom before beginning to work on bandage changes, blinking futilely at the bleariness in your eyes. You had made it through two patients when the doors to the hospital were unlocked and Major Chalmers filtered in with Captain Menzies, another British medical officer, clearly just released from their combine.

It had taken several weeks for you to realize that the man introduced to you as ‘Mingies’ was the same as the man whose name was written as Menzies on the charts and not some other doctor who worked mysterious hours. Both men waited for you to finish treating the rather ghastly thigh wound inflicted by one of the ubiquitous German Shepherds – miraculously still not showing signs of infection – before you washed your hands and delivered your report on Major Egan.

“Very good, Nurse. Why don’t you go rest for the morning, we’ll see you around 1300 hours.” Chalmers replied.

Exhaling with a grateful nod, you excused yourself down the hall to your ‘accommodations.’ The former exam room had been stripped of all medical equipment to leave a cot, a small wooden cubby for your meagre collection of belongings, a tiny table for you to eat your solitary meals and write your correspondence, and a rickety washstand with a chipped enamel basin and mirror split with a spider’s web of fractures hammered directly into wall above it. With no interest in anything but sleep, you sat on the cot with a heavy sigh. You pulled the six remaining pins from your hair, having misplaced four throughout the last several months and still not having your confiscated effects returned to you, and kicked off your boots before laying down to sleep for a few hours.

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

The next time Bucky awoke, you were nowhere to be seen. He was plunged back into a world of dull, gritty, pungent masculinity and he was admittedly bereft. The pain in his back seemed all the more acute in your absence, and though there was again a serving of broth, it was tepid at best. Perhaps he could have withstood the continuation of a grim life all painted in the same grey palette, but to have that disrupted by your presence and then have that light and color taken away? It was even worse than not having had it to begin with.

It made him all the more sullen and combative when the British doctor Chalmers informed him that he would have to remain in hospital as a patient another night rather than being permitted to find the rest of the 100th and bunk with them.

“I’m perfectly fine Doc, all rested up, can walk, talk, and piss all on my own. I don’t need to be here a minute longer – the rest of these fellas are way sicker than me.”

The surgeon narrowed his eyes in response, clearly not appreciating his directions being questioned, but Bucky had had more than his fill of taking other people’s orders. He just wanted to get the hell out of here and back to people he knew.

“One night, Major Egan, that’s all I’m asking. The only bunks for new arrivals are in tents, if you’re lucky. In here you’re warm, dry, and have a bed that’ll feel nicer on those ribs – which are going to take four to six weeks to heal, might I add.”

Bucky was about to open his mouth to reiterate his protests when his eyes caught sight of you appearing from down the hallway, coming to standing behind Chalmers with your arms crossed and a stern look on your face. It was so utterly reminiscent of one he had received from his mother on countless occasions that he was momentarily unable to speak before clearing his throat to concede to the doctor’s request.

“Good.” Was his diplomatic reply before he turned to see you there. “Ah, Nurse, welcome back. In some irony of the universe, we’ve actually received a Red Cross shipment of supplies. Would you kindly catalogue the contents the goons have left for us and add it to our stock?”

Bucky did not miss the exasperation in your expression – it certainly did seem like a cruel joke for supplies to arrive with the end of the war surely weeks away.

“Certainly, sir.” You replied before looking to the large and very much opened and rifled-through box up against the wall essentially opposite to his cot.

Settling onto his stomach, he draped his arms across his pillow, nestling his chin atop his forearms to watch you work. “Don’t get a lot of supplies around here, do ya, angelfish?”

As you glanced toward him, he noticed you had changed your clothes, into equally threadbare ones but fresh ones all the same, and had tidied your hair. He would have taken you to a dance in Times Square looking like that. In a heartbeat.

“No, we most certainly do not, Major.” You shook your head and made a soft noise of triumph as you managed to fish out the packing list – something to compare the remaining contents to, he supposed. “Might mean we got more rations too though, corned beef and liver pate to eat desperately before they go bad.” You gave him a wry smile which he returned.

So the Germans here liked to punch holes in the cans, too. Good to know. Bucky watched as you retrieved a pencil from the central desk and began to unearth boxes of gauze and ointments and all manner of things he was only vaguely familiar with. He drowsily studied your profile, lips tugging fondly at the way you stuck your tongue out slightly in concentration, trapping it between your teeth and grunting in dismay when something you obviously were hoping for was not there. Hovering on the border between sleeping and waking, he jumped slightly as you gently nudged his shoulder, holding out two pills and his mug filled with fresh water.

“Aspirin.” You whispered and he raised an eyebrow before plucking them from your soft palm, tossing the pills into his mouth and chasing them down with a slug of cold water.

“You’re a goddess, angelfish.” He murmured, laying down his heavy head as you moved to tuck him in again.

Your soft laugh in response made him smile drowsily. “No Bucky, just a nurse. Now stop fighting it and go to sleep.”

He was yanked back into consciousness by the sound of your voice some time later, tone flat and impatient.

“Just let me finish changing his bandage, please.”

“Nein, it is lights out and you are going back to your room now schwester.” The rude, clipped reply of the SS guard had Bucky forcing himself up off his cot, gritting his teeth against the screams of protest in his frighteningly unstable ribcage.

His eyes flashed around the room before they landed on the uniformed man grabbing your elbow to usher you from the bedside of a patient and down the hall. Bucky stumbled to his feet, peering around the corner after you to watch the man shove you into the room on the left before pulling the door shut and snapping a padlock into place. Bucky narrowed his eyes, moving over to the patient you had been forced to abandon, supplies still on top of his blanket.

“I’m no nurse but I can give it a shot?” He muttered to the fellow who gave him a small shrug in return. “I’ll be back when the coast is clear, then.”

Bucky slid back into his own cot, watching the guard stomp his way out of the building before slamming the last set of doors shut, the lock snicking into place behind him before the lights all went out. Blinking against the darkness to force his eyes to adjust more quickly, he made his way down the hall, feeling his way along the rough-hewn wood of the wall and over to your door before knocking softly.

“Angelfish? You alright in there?”

“Bucky?” Came your muffled answer shortly after the sound of your footsteps approached.

“Damn they lock you up like in here like some kind of fairytale princess.”

There was a soft snort and Bucky could not help the smirk that pulled from him. “Anything I should know before I try and finish that guy’s arm?”

There was a pause before you cleared your throat and responded with, “no it’s pretty straight forward but…but if it smells anything like cheese would you mind letting me know?”

“Cheese…” He replied slowly.

“The smell of infection, Bucky.” You sounded amused and he wished more than anything he could take in your facial expression then.

“Got it. I was born in Wisconsin, raised for this.”

“And then you’re going to immediately put yourself in your cot and rest, Bucky.” You said firmly.

“You got it angelfish. You, too.”

“Night, Bucky.”

Gathering his courage and putting on a mask of cool, level-headedness, he returned to his fellow patient’s bedside, removing the old bandage and bowing his head to take a deep whiff. Thankfully, for everyone’s sake, there was definitely nothing cheese-like about it. He then bumbled about in the dark of the room, applying perhaps the ugliest bandage known to man, but a bandage nonetheless, and returned to his cot as instructed.

It was not easy to drag the blanket up over his body from behind, especially with the newly aggravated soreness from his careless activities, but Bucky managed to settle down and fall into an uneasy sleep, exhaustion still dwelling deep in his bones and sucking him under. It did not take long, however, for his dreams to be haunted once more by images of deadly accurate shots burrowing their way between Buck’s shoulder blades on the other side of that wall. Of his friend’s blond head falling into the mud just shy of the treeline, just shy of freedom. Waking with a start, he glared around the dark, unfamiliar room and looked to the floor, frowning as you were not there for him to hold onto this time.

He had not fully woken the night before, but he had sensed enough of your calming presence to return to a deeper plane of sleep. To chase away the darker voices that threatened to fill his mind. Leveraging himself to a seated position, he grabbed his blanket and shuffled his way down the hall once again in search of your soothing influence, even if there was the interfering barrier of a door. Bucky’s descent to the ground was less than graceful, his ribs protesting fiercely and as he settled on the floorboards, he was filled with a sudden doubt in his ability to rise from this position. But then he heard your voice.

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

When Bucky had not immediately bustled back down the hall with tales of an arm wound stinking of ripe cheese, you had relaxed somewhat into your nightly routine, stripping to your long underwear for a proper night’s sleep…that did not really present itself. It was honestly not that surprising given the way you had pushed the boundaries of night and day, your body really was not sure what to make of it. You were just on the cusp of finally falling asleep when there was a commotion outside your room, the door rattling in its frame, the padlock jostling slightly.

Hearing a slightly familiar grunt, you sat up. “Bucky?” You called you softly.

“M’fine, angelfish, just sleeping out here.”

Your eyes widened and you practically leapt from the bed, crossing the room in record time. “Are you really ok? Sleeping…. on the floor?!”

“Yeah, I’m fine, just needed company.” He muttered from below and you slid down to lay on the floor, peering through the gap at the bottom of the door with one eye.

It was surely flush with the floor when the building was initially built, but as the hospital settled into the ground, about an inch-and-a-half had opened up below the door, allowing you to glimpse his face not far from yours.

“You had plenty of company in your comfortable cot, Bucky.” You whispered and the eye you could see flashed open, face turning to meet yours through the gap.

“Not yours, angelfish.”

“I don’t suppose I’m going to be able to convince you to go back to bed? No idea how the hell you’re going to get off this floor anyway…” You sighed, cheek pressed tightly against the floorboards to see as much of him as possible.

“I’m down for the count, I’d say.” He huffed with a poor show of playfulness.

Frowning, you looked over the visible portion of his face slowly. “You have another bad dream?”

He grunted noncommittally and averted his gaze, essentially confirming your suspicion. Sliding from your spot on the floor, you fetched your blanket and pillow before laying them down to rejoin him. “I get ‘em too. Stuck on that crashing plane and I can’t get off. Or the chute won’t open. Or I can’t…” your throat clenched, and you swallowed to clear it. “Can’t get my flight jacket off and I just burn up.” Your voice refused to come out any louder than an exhale, but you still managed to speak the last few words.

His eye slowly met yours once more though the thin opening halfway through your confessions and his brow furrowed. “Flight nurse?”

“I was, yeah. Just a kriegie nurse now, I guess.” You laughed wryly, trying to find a comfortable position on the uneven floor, the nail heads poking up into your shoulder.

There was a long pause as he seemed to weigh the pros and cons of unburdening himself to you before exhaling slowly. “I sent my best friend to his death. Least that’s what my dreams tell me. He didn’t want to run, I convinced him and then…well they almost caught him until I distracted them…”

“And got the shit kicked out of you.” You sighed, slipping into your ways of foul language on the edge of sleep, in the dark of your room.

Thankfully, by the twitch of his lips, he did not seem terribly put out by it.

“Basically.” He heaved a great sigh and you nodded, sliding your fingers under the door, as far as your knuckles would allow.

“No matter what happened, Bucky, he’s not in a place like this anymore. And that is a mercy.”

“Hmmm.” He hummed, unconvinced and you swallowed.

“What kind of man is he?” You lined up for another approach.

“Smart, too damn smart of any of this – built a radio out of a list of random junk I collected for him. He’s got the sweetest girl back home who writes him like clockwork. They were gonna get married if he got back. Was gonna be his best man.”

Taking a deep breath to summon your façade of brave optimism once again, for his sake, you nodded firmly. “When he gets home, you will be his best man.”

He looked to you hopefully, slowly sliding his fingertips to brush against yours beneath the coarse wooden bottom of the door. “Yeah?” He breathed.

“Yeah, Bucky. Yeah.” You nodded again, offering a smile, hoping it somewhat reached your eyes. “Now. Let’s try and get you some sleep.”

“Didn’t hear anything ‘bout you in that statement, angelfish.” He murmured sleepily and you hummed with drowsy laughter.

“I’m just about there, but not until you give in first.”

After a few beats of silence, you cracked your eye to check on him, pressing your lips together to smother your laugh as you caught him quickly squeezing his eye shut. It was not long, however, until his breathing evened and deepened, his mind at last surrendering to the sleep his body desperately needed. Swallowing tightly, heart throbbing slightly at the way his face softened, and the way his fingertips remained pressed stubbornly against yours as tightly as the door would allow, you tucked the pillow under your head, sliding your eyes shut to try and get some rest as well.

Despite the wildly uncomfortable position, you somehow managed to remain asleep until the next morning when Bucky began to shuffle and shift, soft noises of discomfort escaping him as he tried to find his way back to his feet.

“Roll onto your good side.” You coached through your drowsy state, and he stilled a moment before appearing to obey. “Bend your knees, then push up to sitting.”

There were still some grunts, but fewer overall, and the whole endeavour sounded a lot less like a fish flopping against the door.

“Then use the handle to pull yourself up with your good hand.” Holding your breath you waited until you saw two sock feet, firmly planted and steady on the floor, before rising on your side of the door. “Well done.”

“Still have a bit more time to sleep, angelfish.” He rumbled and you bit your lip fondly at his sleep-roughened voice.

“You, too.” You replied, pressing your forehead against the rustic wood, listening to his footsteps retreat down the hall until only silence remained.

You managed a few more hours’ sleep before the morning guard unlocked the door, delivering your morning pitcher of frigid water for your facsimile of a bath with a sliver of soap and rough wash cloth. Enjoying a breakfast of crackers and margarine, you reported for duty just as Chalmers was discharging Bucky, finding it suddenly difficult to meet his eyes in the light of day – the entire encounter in the dark feeling too intimate to recall in such a crowded, public space.

“Take care, Major Egan.” You smiled friendlily and followed Menzies out to the tent to assist with the removal of a set of sutures.

“You got it, Nurse.” He replied, the marked absence of the quirky nickname born of his inability to speak the day of his arrival halting your steps as you involuntarily glanced back over your shoulder to make sure he was really all right.

A grin slowly unfurled across his face, lighting up his exhausted features before he shot you a playful wink. You swallowed roughly as the day suddenly felt altogether too warm for your oversized sweater.

“Made ya look, angelfish.” He teased and you pressed your lips together desperately trying to smother your responding grin, conceding the fact that he had indeed made you look with a nod, before hurrying after Menzies when he barked your name from further into the canvas extension of the hospital.

Bucky’s discharge, unlike every other patient before him, did not mean that he dissolved into the general population of the camp. Somehow, he still managed to find reasons to make an appearance, dropping off bits of scrap wood to burn that he and his friends had collected to make the time pass faster, or arranging a crew of his men to deliver the hospital’s broth allotment to alleviate that burden from Chalmers and Menzies. He always appeared to be obeying his discharge orders and not hauling anything himself, at least when he arrived with his deliveries. Whether he was behaving out of sight was another question entirely.

Not only was the assistance greatly appreciated, but you found yourself looking forward to his visits as a break from the monotony of grim tasks of which your work consisted. Somehow, despite his worn-down spirit, he still managed to leave you feeling notably lifted by the time he was inevitably shooed out for getting underfoot or distracting you a little too long. Chalmers and Menzies were patient – indulgent even – but even they had their limits.

Four relatively peaceful days passed under this new routine, with no new arrivals in camp but, sadly, a few of the weaker patients in the hospital giving up the fight, until the sound of shots rang out mid-morning on the 18th. A great clamor arose among the patients indoors and the general population beyond the canvas walls of the tent, before a group of prisoners were rushing inside, Bucky at the fore, with an injured prisoner strung across their collective shoulders.

“Lay him here.” You gestured quickly to the cot you had been stripping after the death of its occupant sometime in the night, having succumb to infection and lack of food.

You did not miss the wince that crossed Bucky’s face as he maneuvered the injured man – no more than a boy, really – to lay where you had instructed. At the sight of a deep red stain, rapidly growing in circumference on the boy’s side, your eyes shot wide, and you looked to Bucky sharply.

“Find me Chalmers and Menzies immediately.” You stressed the need for expediency before turning back to begin rapidly pulling at the boy’s clothes, trying to locate the source of all that blood.

The shocking white expanse of his belly finally exposed, you found the gaping wound left by a large calibre round near his belly button, casting about frantically for your basket of fresh bandages to press against it, desperately trying to staunch the flow. What you would not give for a packet or six of sulfa right then. The pressure you put on his tender abdomen drew a yowl of pain from the boy and you frowned up at him sympathetically.

“I know, son, I know. We’re going to get this all fixed up alright?”

“Can’t b, b, believe they shot me! I just…just wanted to see the flowers poking through the fence and they just…Fucking war’s almost over anyway…” He was beginning to shiver uncontrollably, a sure sign of shock and you glanced towards the hospital doors, relieved to see Chalmers and Menzies rushing out to help.

“I’ll bet those flowers were beautiful.” You gulped as the bandage in your hand was rapidly soaked through and grabbed a few more to wipe the area clean, trying to permit the surgeons to inspect the wound itself.

No sooner would you swipe away the rapidly welling crimson fluid, than the hollow below his ribs, carved out by months of hunger, would accumulate a fresh pool of blood. There were noises of dismay before the pair of surgeons rolled the boy to check for an exit wound. They shared a dark look as there was none to be found, shaking their heads at one another. Your patient erupted into a panic, thrashing about, kicking you squarely in the thigh and knocking you back into Bucky, who thankfully stopped your rapid descent toward the muddy floor.

“I don’t wanna die! I don’t wanna die!”

“Nurse! Hold him!” Menzies barked and began to fish around in the boy’s wound to see if he could find the bullet.

Shrieking filled the tent as you lunged forward to press down on his shoulders, trying your best to soothe him even as his shirt grew damp with his own blood, transferring to the fabric from your fingers. He was stronger than he looked, the panic only amplifying what little strength he had left, and you sent a grateful nod to Bucky as his much broader palms took over pinning the boy’s shoulders while you collected his flailing hands between yours.

“Easy now, easy. Docs are going get you right as rain, just hold still now.”

“I’m gonna die and there’s not gonna be a heaven and there’s gonna be nothing!” The boy’s wild eyes wheeled on you, fairly punching you in the gut, and you shifted his wrists to grip in one hand against your chest while the other stroked at his hair tenderly with the other.

“Come now – you’re going to be alright. Besides, I’ve met the Pope. You think they’d keep that man in his fancy house and fancy clothes for nothing?”

His lips were growing a frightening shade of white from the blood loss, the rest of him the unsettling grey pallor of imminent death, but he seemed greatly calmed by your papal revelations. His hands shifted to grip at yours and his brow furrowed earnestly, the only movements of his body now were the echoes of the desperate attempts of the surgeons below.

“I want my momma. Tell my momma that I…tell my momma…” He trailed off into a whisper, the light slowly dimming from his eyes until there was nothing, his hands going limp, and he was gone.

Swallowing brutally, you carefully shifted your fingers to his throat, checking for a pulse and turning to Chalmers and Menzies when you found none. A simple shake of your head was all it took to communicate that you had lost the boy. Chalmers let out deep, aggrieved sigh while Menzies threw down a blood-soaked bandage with a wet slap and stormed back into the hospital. Gently setting the boy’s lifeless hands across his chest, you straightened slowly, feeling Bucky eyeing you from the other side of the cot.

Something ugly was welling up inside you, desperately trying to claw its way out, and you took a step back.

“Angelfish?” Bucky’s voice was low and cautious.

Your only response was to shake your head violently before stepping clear of the end of the cot, then breaking into a run. Following in the footsteps of Menzies, the words of the Army Nurse Corps pledge rang through your mind, the words you had sworn to serve by as a Nurse.

‘I shall approach him cheerfully at all times, under any conditions I may find…I shall appear fearless in the presence of danger and quiet the fears of others to the best of my ability.’

Reaching the end of the hallway, you stared at the door to your quarters and nearly choked on the idea of facing that stuffy, windowless room. You needed air. Needed to breathe. Turning sharply to the left, you continued along past the utility room and out the backdoor into the small courtyard between the hospital and the barbed wire fence that separated the Russian side of the camp.

‘…I will remember that, upon my disposition and spirit, will in large measure depend the morale of my patients.’

The flight nurse’s creed came flooding back to you next as you sought refuge between the back of the hospital and the bowed lines of laundry, stained sheets and bandages hung in the weak April sun to dry. What a different person you had been when you had spoken those damn words at your graduation from Flight Nurse Training.

Taking short, sharp gulps of air, each inhale was used to forcefully shove down the scream that was bubbling perilously in your throat. You paced to-and-fro, bloody hands planted on your hips. Surely you looked nothing short of mad when Bucky rounded the corner of the building, using that aggravatingly soft voice again as he spoke your name, making your head snap towards him.

“You’re not supposed to be back here.” You choked out, turning from him, fixing to flee once more.

“Too bad.” He ground out as he continued coming closer, clearly intent on comforting you, but if he got too near, you were terrified you were going to shatter entirely.

“Patients aren’t supposed to see me like this.” You could barely speak, hiccoughing and shuddering breaths intersplicing your words awkwardly as your grip on your emotions began to slip through your bloody fingers.

“Not here as a patient.” He muttered and slid his arms around you, pulling you close and you buried your face into his chest to let out a wail of agony – for the man who died in front of your eyes, for the horrid situation you found yourself in.

Somehow, you managed to maintain the wherewithal not to grab at him with your filthy hands, arms sticking straight out behind him awkwardly as you squeezed his sides with your elbows, knees threatening to give out as you found yourself not having to be the strong one for the first time in quite a long time. Bucky’s grip only tightened on you, fingers curling into your shirt to hold you up patiently as you cried yourself hoarse against him. Eventually there were no more tears to cry, the self-pity and grief you had stored up over the past few months running dry. Pulling back slightly, you wiped at your face with your sleeves, accidentally exposing a portion of the angrily scarred flesh on your left forearm.

Not missing the way his eyes flicked to it immediately, you sharply pulled your cuffs down and straightened fully. “You should get out of here before some goon puts a hole in you…”

It was supposed to be a joke, but your voice wobbled threateningly in abhorrence at the thought of losing someone else today, and Bucky promptly pulled you close again.

“Easy angelfish, not gonna get myself shot now. Not after you went through all the trouble of bringing me back.”

Sniffling affectionately against him, you pulled back to meet his eyes. “Thank you, Bucky.” You patted his chest fondly. “But please don’t go around carrying any more people with those broken ribs.” You gave him a stern look, finding it difficult to deliver as he smirked with a soft laugh in return.

With a soft sigh, you moved to return inside and assist with the clean up.

“Bucky?” You stopped and turned back to him suddenly.

“Yeah, angelfish?” He glanced over his shoulder, halfway to the other side of the building.

“What’s your first name?”

He raised an eyebrow. “John.”

Nodding slowly, you swallowed tightly. “Thank you, John.” You repeated firmly before pulling open the door and heading inside to the utility room to fill a bucket with some water to rinse out the bloody cot.

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

Read Part Three

The Only Truth I Know Is You Masterlist

Tag list: @gretagerwigsmuse, @luminouslywriting, @softspeirs, @sunny747, @storysimp, @slowsweetlove, @httpsmoon, @buckysegan, @justheretoreadthxxs, @precious-little-scoundrel

#john egan x reader #bucky egan x reader #major john egan x reader #john egan x you #john egan fic #john egan imagine #john egan #mota fanfic #masters of the air fanfiction

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