#spider man 2099 meets spider man

[pandadrake]

Unforeseen side effect of the hostage shirt.

Thought about what would happen if the “get along” shirt situation continued and figured that Miguel would probably just go back to work with Miles stuck to him.

Part 1 This is Part 2 Part 3

[caleb-crow]

Oh no. These two assholes again except that there's more canon content of them which means there's actually other people out there on this hellhole of a ship with me.

[scandals-r-us]

You know how it is with sandia

[milimeters-morales]

Miguel: do not underestimate the lengths people will go just to piss you off

Miles, who’s gotten adopted by a random family in 2099 so he has official papers proving his existence just so he can frame Miguel for murder by faking his own death: cmon i thought it was funny

Gabriel, who adopted him under a different persona and testified against Miguel in court: i thought so too

[m1dnyt3-w0lf]

Chapter 4: A Flash of Blue and Red

Word count: 4,369

Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3

Jess hovered at the doorway with a skeptical look on her face. It took everything in me not to just push her out and close the door in her face so I could start my plan. Patience was a talent I did not carry.

“Are you sure you don't want to try other jobs? I mean, it's still light out.” She asks for the millionth time.

“I'm sure. Besides, my nerves are already worked up as it is with the applications I did. I'd rather not work myself sick with anxiety, you know?” I insist. Finally, Jess relented. She sighed and offered an apologetic smile.

“You're right. Sorry if I was overwhelming you, I just wanna help.” She says with a sigh.

“No worries, I appreciate it, really.” I reassure her with a smile. A silence drops between us. I awkwardly sway from one foot to the other. “So…”

“Oh, right, silly me.” Jess chuckles. “I'll see you when I see you then.”

“Bye.” I give another smile and a wave. Hopefully, not too soon.

She gives another wave and starts walking down the hall towards the elevator. I close the door and let out a sigh and drop my shoulders. Dealing with people was exhausting. I needed to wait for her to leave the complex and then the radius completely before I could even think about going to the nearby shops. I figured thirty minutes was a good limit. Just gotta figure out how to kill thirty minutes. Doom scrolling on my phone was tempting, especially since I haven't received any of my boxes yet.

I managed to unlock my phone and hover my thumb over an app until my mind cruelly reminded me I had dishes to wash. I groaned, dreading the act. I debated leaving the dishes for a while before deciding on doing them. Maybe this'll earn me some roommate brownie points or something.

I looked at the mess Miguel left from cooking. He said he would wash the dishes when he came back from work. I clicked my tongue a couple of times and tapped my fingers on the counter, thinking. Fuck it, I can't handle a messy kitchen. I get the pans submersed in water while I start the rest of the dishes. It took a hot minute but I got them all done. I huff and check the time.

Perfect. An hour had passed, which meant Jess would be long gone. I hurry to dry my hands and grab my things before rushing out the door. If I move fast enough, I should be done by late afternoon. My body buzzed with excitement as I walked out of the building and followed the trail on my phone.

"Sorry. Excuse me. Pardon me." I muttered in a polite tone as I dodged and weaved through the crowded sidewalk. I was, for once, thankful for my tiny stature. I checked my phone several times to make sure I was staying on track. I knew I was prone to getting lost, so any way I could prevent that was greatly welcomed. Last thing I needed was to call Miguel to come rescue me.

"Thank you so much for your time." I thank the sandwich shop owner who returned my polite smile.

"Thank you for applying!" She gave me a wave as I exited the shop. I stepped to the side of the door as I took out my phone to see what was next in my route. I had applied to three jobs, four now, and decided on one more application before calling it quits and heading home. I made excellent time as it was still mid-afternoon.

I settled for the nearby bakery and headed in the direction the route took me. The sidewalk wasn't as crowded in this part, which I was thankful for. I hummed along to my music as I took a turn and walked down the length before taking another turn. I come to a sudden halt, seeing a wall in front of me.

"What the—" I take out my phone to look at the route. I had taken my turn much too early. I turned around to head back the way I came, eyes still on my screen as I double-checked my mistake.

“Wrong turn, Miss?” A man’s voice called out to me. I looked up with a look of surprise. The man in front of me looked like an average Caucasian man.

“Oh, uh, yeah.” I answer simply as I move to the side to walk past the man. He followed my move, making me stop.

“Where are you headed? Do you have the location on your phone? Let me see, I can take you there.” He says with a smile. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Something about his smile felt off.

“Oh, no, I’m good. It’s nearby. I just need to backtrack a bit.” I answer, trying to sidestep again. Again, he followed. My heart began to thunder in my chest.

“Come on, just let me see your phone so you don’t make another wrong turn.” He insists, stepping closer. Shit, shit, shit, shit. I fake a smile and chuckle a bit nervously as I stand my ground.

“No, it’s fine, really!” I insist as I pocket my phone, his eyes watching my movement closely. Attempting to phone Miguel or the police was impossible at this point. My only hope was to somehow escape to the sidewalk. I glance behind him at the thought, only to see said sidewalk empty. Wow, what happened to “the city that never sleeps”? My eyes focus back on the man, taken aback to see him closer than before and forcing me to take a couple of steps back to keep the distance between us.

“Listen, Miss, just hand over the phone, and you can get on your merry way.” He says, never dropping his smile that seemed to get creepier and creepier as the interaction progressed. He continues to advance, and I continue to back away. His advances eventually push me back behind the corner, out of sight of the sidewalk. Now, I was really in trouble. I could feel my fear slowly overwhelm my body and kick in my fight or flight. My eyes dart around for both an escape and a weapon, but nothing proved suitable or even chance-worthy. My surroundings were nothing but garbage bags and soggy cardboard. I look back at the man, his smile sinister.

“H-hey, man, I’m just trying to pass by.” I try to reason, my confident tone betrayed by my stutter.

“And you will, after you give me that phone.” He says nonchalantly. My back meets the wall.

“Listen, we can be buddies, right?”

“Of course we can. And buddies give their buddies their phone.” He grins. “And their wallets.”

Great, now he wants my wallet, too. I think bitterly.

“Not always…”

“Sometimes they do. This is one of those times.” He replies, now only a few feet away.

“Look, you don’t have to do this.”

“What if I want to?”

“Well, uh, ya see—” My words die in my throat and get replaced with a scream when he launches himself and roughly grabs my arms, pinning me against the wall.

Then he was screaming.

His hands were torn away from me as his scream got further away. My eyes widened as I watched him just suddenly launch backward away from me. I was left to gape at him in silence. Another man dropped down from above, then slowly stood. His hulking figure faced the first man, giving a beautiful view of all of his back muscles. I couldn't help the slow trail of my eyes down his back.

Holy shit, that's an ass. I thought as I stared. The man turned his head over his shoulder to look at me. I snapped my eyes up to his face, or rather “face” since he was wearing a mask, as my cheeks bloomed red. He turned back forward, but the perpetrator had already run away.

My heart hammered in my chest as I watched the man turn to me. Even with a few paces between us, he still easily cleared over me. I gulp, never in a million years thinking this would happen to me.

“Spider-man.” I whisper softly. The giant man clad in blue and red narrowed his eyes, at least, I think they're his eyes, at me. He started to advance, and I backed up instinctively only to bang my head against the wall behind me. I hiss and rub at the spot, cursing myself for forgetting about it. I looked up at Spider-man and gasped. He was already right in front of me with his hands on his waist. I, once again, couldn't help my wandering eyes. Why did he look so good?!

“You need to be more careful.” He said. I blink and look back up at him.

“Come again?” I asked, not having heard him. His eyes narrowed more as he sighed.

“I said, ‘be more careful.’ You could've gotten seriously hurt if I wasn't there to save you.” He scolded. His voice sounded distorted as if he had a crappy mic. It wasn't too hard to understand, but it sure made things a little harder to hear.

“Oh, uh, yeah, I know. I just had a…bad stroke of luck.” I say with a nervous chuckle. His hands lifted off his hips to instead be crossed across his chest. My eyes looked at the movement before quickly looking away.

“Right.” He sounded unconvinced. “I'm taking you home.”

“What? No, wait, I still have a couple more places to apply to!” I tried to argue. Suddenly, his face was directly in front of mine.

“Home. Now.” He growled out, the sound coming out deeper than intended…I think.

“Okay.” I squeaked out. He stood again and lent me his hand. I looked at it for a moment.

"It's a hand. You're supposed to take it." He tells me. My cheeks color in embarrassment.

"Yeah, I know that." I place my hand in his. He gives me a quick tug, and I yelp as I'm lifted clean off the ground and into his strong arms. His arms find a home around my waist while my arms are quick to find a home wrapped around his neck. I feel my cheeks flush.

"A warning would've been nice." I huff at him. He only responds in a chuckle. He shifts his hold on me, freeing one arm while the other holds me against him. The touch sends a shiver down my spine. I huff again, mostly out of embarrassment.

“You might want to hold on.” He tells me. I look at him with confusion.

“Wait, why?”

“I warned you.” I open my mouth to respond, but my words quickly die into a scream when he shoots out a laser-like web and propels us up into the air. I wrap my limbs around him like a koala and squeeze tightly. There’s a moment of weightlessness where I felt like I was floating. If it weren’t for Spider-man’s hold on me, I probably would’ve floated away.

Then came the dive.

I pressed myself against my supposed hero as a scream came tearing out of my throat. Fear coursed through me as my fight or flight kicked in once again at the sudden sense of plummeting towards earth. My eyes had screwed shut long ago, and, frankly, that probably made the feeling worse. Almost as soon as it began, the rise shot us back up into the air. I gasped, feeling like the air was being rushed out of me. Then, the weightless feeling. The fall. Rinse and repeat. I screamed myself hoarse and to the point of tears. I was practically crying from the experience. The masked man carrying me at least had some courtesy to stop on a rooftop and allow me a break.

“You’re shaking.” He comments casually. Oh gee, I wonder why I could possibly be shaking. Couldn't possibly be because I was just launched through the air against my will.

“Shut up.” I whisper weakly instead. He helped me down, keeping a firm but gentle hand on my arm to keep me balanced. My legs shook from the fright and the sudden need to hold my own weight. I took several, shuddering, deep breaths as I attempted to brush my windblown hair back into something presentable again. “You swing like you’ve never had a passenger before.”

“My passengers are usually escaping death,” he replies. I shut my mouth immediately. I probably sounded like an ungrateful Karen with the way I was complaining. I've seen all the videos of Spider-man saving people. All of them in some kind of life-ending trouble that made him need to sweep them away as quickly as possible.

“Right, sorry.” I mutter sincerely. I shifted uncomfortably. “What I meant to say was thank you for saving my life.” He tilts his head a bit at me. It was impossible to see what he was thinking with his face covered. Not even his body language was giving anything away.

“You’re welcome.” He says. I nod and clear my throat.

“Ready to go again?” He asked. I nodded.

“Yeah.” I let him pick me up again, my cheeks once again flaring up in the usual red hue. I turn my face away from him and look out into the city beyond. I didn't recognize anything around me. Then again, I didn't make a regular habit hanging out on rooftops. I furrow my brows as a realization hits me. I turn my head to look at the side of his face. “Wait, I haven't told you where I lived yet.”

I feel his entire body freeze and stiffen, his muscles turning rock solid under my hands. The act only made me blush more, but I did my best to ignore it. I watched him keep his gaze away from mine, waiting for a response.

“I…no, you didn’t.” he responded simply. I nervously tap my fingers along his back, feeling the muscles ripple slightly under my touch.

“Is this a bad time to tell you I don’t actually know the address?” He snapped his head towards me, our noses touching from the sudden turn. I yelp and move my head back to allow some space between us.

“What?!” If I wasn't held securely against him, I would’ve jumped.

“I just moved here, and I'm not the best with directions.” I mutter. He groaned and used his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“¿Que la chingada, que voy hacer contigo?” He muttered to himself. I blinked. Spider-man spoke Spanish? I couldn’t recall any news article or post talking about him speaking Spanish. I squirreled this information away for later.

“I know the name of the apartments, though!” I try to reassure. The “eyes” of his mask narrow at me.

“Tell me.”

“Tempest Apartments.” I tell him. He nods.

“I know where that is. Hold on.” Immediately, I held onto him tighter. He headed to the edge and jumped off. I had to bite the inside of my cheek so I wouldn't scream again. I felt bad that I might've blown out his eardrum with my screaming earlier. However, the suppressed screams turned into tears that squeezed out and slid down my face. I tightened my hold as much as I could in an effort to feel some type of safe while hundreds of feet in the air. Whimpers left my mouth each time we fell in the swing. It might've been my delirious mind, but I swore I felt his arm tighten its hold on me. It felt oddly comforting, weirdly enough.

We made it to our destination after what felt like hours. He helped me down like before. I couldn't deny how a powerful being like him being gentle fascinated me. I've seen clips of him bending metal like bread, and yet, here he was holding me like a porcelain doll. I felt my body come alive at the thought. My mind also went haywire with story ideas I could be writing for weeks.

“Miss?” I blink my focus back on Spider-man.

“Oh, sorry, what was that?” I ask. He sighs.

“I was telling you to get into the basket.” he motions to the webbing on the ground. I look at it in confusion.

“Wait what?”

“I’m going to send you down into the alley over here. Then you can go into the apartments safely.” He explained in an annoyed manner. I wince a bit at his tone.

“Why couldn't you just land me in front of the apartment or something? You’re Spider-man, aren't you?”

“I’m also a wanted vigilante, or did you forget?” He retorted. I open my mouth to speak but quickly close it.

“Right, sorry.” I looked at the basket of webs. I eyed it suspiciously. “Is it going to hurt?”

“They look like lasers, but they dont feel like them.” He reassures me.

“Can it support me?”

He looked from me to the webs and back to me. “I swing on these webs. Why wouldn’t they support you?”

Can’t argue with that logic. I thought. I chewed my lip and shifted from one foot to the other.

“You…you’re not going to drop me, right?” I looked up to where I guessed his gaze was. I saw his body visibly shift. He no longer seemed intimidating or superhero-esque. He had shifted into something more human, I guess? For lack of a better way to describe it. He moved closer and gently held my arms. He pulled himself closer to me, crouching slightly to meet my face with his. My eyes widened at the gesture, feeling completely seen for a moment.

“I didn’t drop you while swinging, right?” He asked me. It wasn't condescending or sarcastic. It was a genuine question. I shake my head in response, eyes still on him. “Exactly. Can you trust me not to drop you now as well?”

“Yeah, I can trust you.” I say finally with a slow breath. He nods and moves away, his hands slowly sliding off my arms. The action left a tingling feeling in its wake. I take another slow breath. I walk over to the basket of webs. He helped me step in and sit me down onto the webbing, shifting me a bit so my weight was properly dispersed. He then created a sort of pulley system with his hands and pulled on the web to pull me off the ground. I yelped a bit as everything shifted. I desperately clung onto the webbing around me. It felt silky to the touch but clung to my skin like syrup. It was a very odd texture.

“You okay?” He asked, to which I responded with a quick nod. He gave a small nod back and moved me closer to the edge. I cautiously looked down and gulped. We were several stories high, and I wanted nothing more than for this moment to end.

“I'm going to start lowering you down.” His words sent a shock of panic through me.

“Wait!”

“What’s wrong?” He immediately asks. I take a slow breath to calm my nerves.

“N-nothing, I’m ready.”

“Are you sure?” I nod at his question.

“Just hurry up before I psych myself out.” So he starts lowering me down. I started to look down, but he called my attention.

“Hey, hey, no. Look at me.” I looked up at him immediately. “That’s it. Keep your eyes on me.”

I suck in a breath and swear I feel my heartbeat stall a moment. My eyes are glued to him, and only him, the rest of the world fades. I didn't want to disappoint Spider-man. Slowly, he gets further and further away from me as the sounds of the nearby street become louder and louder.

“You're doing so good,” he calls down. “Tell me how you're feeling right now.”

“I’m doing fine.” I called back up. The urge to look down to see how much longer I had to go ran through me.

“Good, good. Say, are you new to this side of New York?” My mind immediately lost the thought.

“What?”

“Are you new to this side of New York?” He repeated.

“Oh, uh, yeah, you could say that.”

“Explains why you don't know your way around.”

“Yeah, well…” I let my words trail off.

“You should be more careful, maybe get someone to show you around.”

“That's what my roommate says.”

“Your roommate is a smart guy.”

“I never said he was a guy.” I squint my eyes up at him, no longer to see any defining features other than his figure. I felt my butt hit the ground, a yelp escaping my throat. The web goes slack enough for me to crawl out with ease. I stand and brush at my pants before looking up at Spider-man.

Except he was gone.

I blink in surprise. Where did he go? And how did he run off so fast? I swear my eyes were not away for long. I furrowed my brows as I scanned where he was standing. My eyes latched onto the abandoned web and trailed down to the limp basket at my feet. I hum a bit. No one was going to believe me that I was saved by Spider-man.

“Not without evidence.” I take out my phone and snap several pictures and take a video. I lift the web basket and spin it around. I expected the web to have some weight to it, but it didn't. It was just as weightless as a normal web. It gave off a dim, red glow that I was sure glowed like a neon sign at night. It was a wonder how he’s eluded anyone with these as his transportation.

A car honked, making me jump and snap out of my thoughts. I looked toward the street. I needed to get home. I dropped the webs and hurried onto the sidewalk, making a speedy trip into the complex and up to the apartment. My mind was reeling with the events, ripping apart every bit of the interaction. I enter the apartment with my head very far away.

So far away, in fact, I didn't even notice Miguel on the couch.

“How was job hunting?” He asks, his voice dangerously calm. I freeze on my walk to my room. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, and a cold sweat began to develop. I slowly turned to Miguel, who had shifted his head enough to just barely look at me from the corner of his eye. He sat with his arms crossed and a frown on his lips. Talk about a disappointed dad pose.

“Uh, it was good! I applied to a lot of places, and Jess even showed me a couple of other places to apply to.” I say with a smile, appearing nonchalant. Maybe if I played it cool, he wouldn't suspect a thing.

“That so?”

“Mhm! And it's been a long day, I think I’m go-”

“Sit down with me first.” Shit.

“What was that?” I hoped I heard wrong.

“I said ‘sit down with me.’” Nope, I didn't hear wrong. I chew the inside of my cheek as I walk over and sit on the opposite end of the couch. I can feel my nerves start to creep up on me. Miguel kept his eyes on me like a hawk as I sat. I gulp and clasp my hands together.

“So, uh, what's up?”

“How many jobs did you apply to?”

“Uh, I actually didn't keep count.” Which was true.

“And you just got home with Jess from applying?” I saw the trap from a mile away. Jess probably told him when she dropped me off. I sigh.

“No.” I mumble. There was a thick silence following my response.

“I told you, you can't go out on your own.” He says after a bit, effectively breaking the silence. He sounded disappointed.

“Miguel, I'm a grown woman! You can't just have someone babysit me every time I want to go out!” I argue immediately, hating my loss of independence.

“Until you know your way through these streets, I will!” He argued. “This isn't Hollywood! New Yorkers can smell a newcomer from a mile away!”

“I know that-”

“No, I don't think you do. Otherwise, you wouldn't have pulled this stunt!”

“I just walked out!”

“You were reckless!”

“I can take care of myself!”

“No, you can't!”

“How stupid do you think I am?!”

“Stupid enough to pull this stunt, clearly!” Silence befell us, our glares rivalring the other’s. I felt tears start to prick my eyes and was forced to look away. He was right. I could've gotten hurt, or worse, if Spider-man wasn't there to save me. I let out a shuddering sigh, accepting defeat.

“I won't go out alone again.” I mumbled. I could practically see the tension melt away.

“I know it seems unfair, but this is for your safety.” I hear him say behind me. “Can you look at me, please?”

I turn to look at him with a soft huff. He looked sympathetic.

“I’m sorry for calling you stupid, I'm just worried about your safety. I’m glad you got home safe, though.” I debated on telling him about my encounter with Spider-man.

“Thank you.” I say, deciding it was probably best to make him think nothing bad happened. All that worry can’t be good on his cholesterol or something. He stared me down for a moment before relenting.

“I’m going to wash those dishes, and we can order in for dinner. Get a chance to get to know each other better.” He says. He starts to get up before I stop him.

“Oh, actually, I washed your dishes for you.” He looks at me.

“You did?”

“Mhm.” I reply with a nod.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” I say. The energy between us once again feels chill. He sits back down.

“How do you feel about Chinese?” He asks, grabbing his phone out of his pocket. I smile.

“Sounds good.”

Translations

Ch 5

Tags: @crocs-blogs @madschiavelique @arithestrawberry @eveandtheturtles @obi-mom-kenobi @thelaundrybitch @symmetricalkazekage @raphsmuneca @tojishugetiddies @kazunewolfwood-blog

[blaisenova]

the consequences of enjoying someone's company

Xina Kwan had always been able to make Miguel smile even when no one else could. Maybe a little bit TOO well...

or:

Miguel O'Hara visits with his ex-girlfriend turned friend, Xina Kwan, until, like always, things don't go quite as planned, and Miguel has to explain some rather strange truths about himself, such as why Xina could see fangs when he smiled.

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the world needs more xina and miguel content, and i am all too happy to supply it.

xinamiguel lovers, this one is for you!! they're not explicitly stated to be together, so it can be read as either platonic or romantic, but it is entirely possible to read some of what happens as romantic tension. THIS IS CANON COMPLIANT, OKAY?? WE CAN'T KEEP PRETENDING THAT THEY DIDN'T STILL KINDA LOVE EACH OTHER EVEN AFTER THEY BROKE UP IN THE COMICS. dana lovers, beware of dana slander. i'd say i'm sorry but it would be a lie. we stan xina here.

also, an extra bonus for those of you who just want to see miguel be a guy for once. oh yeah, that's right, in this ao3 fanfiction i offer you a miguel o'hara that ISN'T just angry all the time. you wanna see this man have a good time? you wanna see him interact with someone without being an asshole the entire time??? you wanna see how this man acts when he's not under the pressure of holding together the entire multiverse??????? WELL HERE HE IS. comic accurate miguel. come get y'all juice.

gentle reminder that i also take requests if any of you have an idea itching at the back of your brain but don't wanna write it XD

content is below the cut because it is LONG. ao3 link is in the reblogs as always. please enjoy!! <3

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It would be impossible to overstate just how much Xina Kwan meant to Miguel O’Hara.

The two had known each other from the time they were young children, back when it had felt like it was them two against the world – and, really, the sentiment wasn’t too far off considering how desperately Kron Stone had wanted to make their lives living hell, up until he decided they didn’t deserve their lives at all – and to say that they were close would be an understatement. So close, in fact, that once they’d matured from intelligent youth to genius adults (and Miguel, from an arrogant child to an even more arrogant adult), the two had gotten together.

Then, of course, Miguel had ruined it by being his selfish, self-absorbed self; though, in the moment, he hadn’t thought it was a mistake to leave Xina for Dana. There’d been a part of him that regretted hurting Xina the way he had, but Dana was a gorgeous, loving woman who never thought him any less than perfect, and Xina… Xina hadn’t let him be content in being the bastard that he was. At the time, he hadn’t liked that about her.

Now, after it was already too late and Miguel had ruined things with Dana, too, he could see how stupid he was for choosing what was easy over what was best. Just another failure to chalk up to the heroic Spider-Man.

It was true that Dana loved him, and it was even true that he loved her back, but it had taken a lot of suffering and bullshit to realise that loving someone wasn’t necessarily enough for them to be good for you. He probably should have known that already, considering the state of his own family, but that would have required any level of self-reflection, and that was still a rather new skill for him, all things considered.

What he knew now, though, was that Xina had never apologised to Miguel’s dad on his behalf, claiming that he didn’t mean his vitriol when he did. Xina had never tried to love George O’Hara when they both knew he didn’t deserve it, and she certainly hadn’t tried to convince Miguel to love him, too. Dana believed that he’d cried at his father’s funeral because he genuinely felt sorrow, and Miguel hadn’t had the heart to tell her otherwise. Somehow, even after everything, she still didn’t seem to understand that some people didn’t deserve love or pity, and that, even if George somehow did, Miguel would never have deigned to give it to him. Though, there was also a part of him that found himself wondering how she hadn’t seemed to get that he didn’t deserve it either.

Complicated and distressing feelings aside, there were simply things that Dana let Miguel get away with that she shouldn’t – like being arrogant, and “pompous” (or so Xina had said, at least, and, frankly, Miguel was starting to believe her), and uncaring towards the world that so desperately needed to be cared for – and there were things she wouldn’t let go that she should – like his relationship with his father, and his mother, and Gabriel, as if she hadn’t hurt him, too; as if she didn’t use the fact that Gabriel used to love her to keep him from being angry with her.

If honesty was what you were looking for – something Miguel had never been very good at, especially when it came to the difficult truths about himself – he would say that, despite his initial regret over his hasty break up with Dana on the day that he found out about his biological father and the truth of his… condition, it was a bit of a relief. They had been in love, but that wasn’t enough. Miguel had adored her, but she’d made him a worse person and he’d hurt her in kind, and, while he might not have cared about that fact before, he did now.

Running from the difficult confrontations and hiding in easy love that allowed him to fester in his grief was a choice he’d made back when he’d cheated on Xina, but he could see now that it was a poor one.

And, really, if honesty was what you were looking for – which, really, was asking a lot of Miguel – he would say that he missed Xina. Maybe not necessarily in a romantic sense (though, he couldn’t quite be sure), but it didn’t really matter, when it came down to it.

There was a reason that Miguel had insisted so fervently that LYLA be fixed. Sure, maybe it was, in part, due to her comforting familiarity in a time that was, undeniably, full of the terrifying unfamiliar, but it was also because LYLA was a product of Xina; she was a constant reminder of the person that Miguel had cared for so much and, frankly, still did. He hadn’t wanted to let that go, and maybe that should have told him something even before things ended with Dana, but Miguel had never been very good at facing difficult feelings. That’s why Dana had been so addicting, and why he’d wronged Xina when he shouldn’t have.

Xina had always been a bigger person than he had, though, and, somehow, she’d found it in herself to forgive him for what he’d done. If Miguel still wasn’t so afraid of what voicing his relief and appreciation might cause, he’d thank her. Maybe one day.

For now, though, the two could be friends as they once were; or, at least, something close to it. It was a nice change of pace, to be able to talk to someone that didn’t want something from him, one way or another. Though, admittedly, that was likely, in part, due to the fact that Xina’s expectations of him were still depressingly low.

It hurt a bit, but Miguel was aware that he’d more than earned it.

For now, mercifully, the difficult conversations could wait, and Miguel could pretend to be nothing more than Miguel O’Hara: bastard of a man that was doing his damndest to become less of one; not Spider-Man and whatever being him meant.

Or, at least, that was what he’d thought. He’d never really been that fortunate.

“Miguel O’Hara,” Xina exclaimed with faux fury, a hand placed firmly on her hip and a brow quirked upward as she attempted to bite back her smile behind a snarl. Her other hand laid casually on the door handle, and Miguel could already see all sorts of twencen junk just a few feet inside her home. “And just what, pray tell, are you doing here?”

“Xina Kwan,” Miguel returned, matching her energy as he, too, placed his hands on his hips and scowled. “I should ask you the same thing.”

Losing the fight against her amusement, Xina desperately tried to obscure her laugh with a scoff. “I remember you being smarter,” she mused. “I live here, as a matter of fact.”

As if the notion was news to him, Miguel’s eyes widened, and he straightened up, making a show of looking around the doorstep and peeking past her shoulder into the house before he raised his brows. “Well, sure enough,” he hummed. “Fancy that. May I come in?”

Sighing, Xina allowed a smile to slip onto her face, and she pushed the door aside, gesturing half-heartedly. “Yes, I suppose, but don’t touch anything. I don’t know what you’re contaminated with.”

“Charming, as always, Xina,” Miguel hummed as he entered. He fixed her with his own smile, and, like usual, took care to ensure that his fangs remained concealed. “I was going to say you were a better doorman than that robot of yours, but now I’m not so sure.”

“What’s wrong with Jack?” The words were accompanied by the sharp slam of a door, and Miguel couldn’t help but to smirk as he turned to see the annoyance on her face.

“He still calls me ‘Miguel the creep,’” he hummed, idly picking up some sort of blocky looking plastic brick with buttons on the side and some sort of antennae coming out of the top. 

Immediately, Xina smacked his hand, and Miguel hissed at the feeling but placed the object back on the table nonetheless. “Does he?” she asked, eyes wide as if she genuinely didn’t know. Which was shocking bullshit. “That’s so strange. I wonder who taught him that.”

“I have a few ideas,” Miguel murmured, rubbing his hand with a pointed look.

“Well, now, let’s not get accusatory.” Xina straightened the item he’d moved, brushing it off gently. She paused, examined the object once more, then moved it slightly to the left before nodding affirmatively.

All the while, Miguel could only watch in muted fascination. “What is that thing?”

“Some twencen tech!” she immediately chirped, eager as always to talk about her number one favourite hobby. “It’s called a ‘walkie-talkie.’”

Miguel’s head cocked to the side, a brow raising. “A whatie-what?”

“A ‘walkie-talkie,’” Xina repeated slowly, grabbing his ear and pulling it to her lips as she spoke, much to Miguel’s chagrin. He batted her away, though couldn’t quite squash down a smile. “It’s basically what they used before holo-messages. I just wish I had another one so I could use it for something besides collecting dust. They only work with a pair,” she huffed.

Again, Miguel picked up the object, taking care in his movement, and, this time, Xina let him. He turned the walkie-talkie curiously in his hands, impressed by its weight when it supposedly had such a simple function. He’d never really understood her obsession with the twentieth century. From what he’d read, things really weren’t all that much better than they were now. He’d been working on a goober – though LYLA liked to call it a gizmo, mostly to spite him, he’s sure – to potentially see for himself in another universe, if he didn’t, y’know… die in the process.

That was later Miguel’s issue, though, and a worthy risk if he might be able to bring Xina a matching machine to complete her set. He didn’t get her obsession, but he didn’t have to. It was important to her, and that’s what was important to him.

Almost inaudible in his concentrated confusion, he mumbled, “Qué extraño…”

“What was that?”

“I said ‘super cool.’”

With another huff, Xina took the artefact from his hands once more, placing it back down onto the table. “Yeah, alright, you liar.”

Despite the practised angry tone, Miguel could see the way her lips quirked up in a smile, and he couldn’t help but snicker a bit. She’d always known him too well to believe nice lies. It was part of the reason why Miguel used to be so afraid of her, though the admission was something he still hadn’t quite come to terms with. Afraid was a strong word, but it was also an accurate one. Miguel was afraid to be seen for what he was, because he was even more afraid that he was something not worth seeing. Xina had never seemed to agree with that sentiment, though.

“Okay, maybe I don’t get it,” he admitted, hands on his hips once more.

“Of course you don’t,” Xina returned, cruel teasing words accompanied by a sweet smile. “I was always much smarter than you.”

“Har, har,” he said sarcastically. “Very funny.”

“Who said I was joking?” Then, before Miguel could respond, “how are you and… Diana, was it?”

“Dana.”

“Yeah, that one,” she said, snappily enough that it was clear that she’d actually known the answer all along, which Miguel was well aware of, considering how LYLA had returned to him with intricately coded insults specifically in Dana’s name. “You haven’t talked about her in a while. Did you two finally break up?”

Without missing a beat, Miguel fixed her with a sarcastic smile. “Yes, actually! Thanks so much for asking.”

Despite the nature of the question, his answer seemed to genuinely catch Xina off guard, her eyes going wide and mouth falling open. Her eyes searched his face as her brows furrowed, a mixture of guilt and some kind of indecipherable relief shining in her gaze as the gears turned in her mind and grasped for a response. It was almost amusing to see Xina so stumped when, normally, she was so quick on the draw. There were very few times that Miguel had seen her well and truly left without words, though, unfortunately, the twinge of bitterness and healthy dose of grief made it difficult to enjoy to its fullest.

“Congratulations,” she blurted, then immediately cringed at herself, a hand coming up to her forehead with an audible smack, and, admittedly, Miguel’s eyes widened a considerable degree, too. “Wait, fuck-” she backtracked. “That’s not what I meant at all. I’m sorry, Mig-”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Miguel hastily interrupted, pushing down hurt and hiding it behind a quirked brow. “What did you just say?”

Shrinking in on herself, Xina cringed again. “Congratulations?”

“No, no, not that,” he said, and a hand waved her off almost dismissively. “The other thing.”

“I’m… sorry?” she tried again, brows furrowed in confusion. Her arms, which she’d wrapped tightly around her shoulders, loosened their grip, though the tension didn’t leave her.

Miguel shook his head with another wave of his hand. “Not that either. The f-word.”

Eyes narrowing, Xina tilted her head forward. “Fuck?”

A short, breathless laugh fell from his mouth. “Oh, my god,” he nearly whispered, his eyes wide behind his sunglasses. “What are you, a millennial?”

“Wha-” Again, Xina’s eyes went wide, and her hands fell from her shoulders completely. “Miguel, are you kidding? That’s what you’re upset about? Me saying fuck?”

Face deadly serious, Miguel nodded once more as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Nobody says ‘fuck’ anymore. I know you’re into the whole twencen thing, but cursing is a sacred thing. You need to act like a civilised human being and say ‘shock.’”

As if she was entirely unsure how to react, Xina’s mouth still hung open uselessly, her eyes searching Miguel’s almost urgently. When all she was met with was his carefully practised mask of apathy, she managed a surprised scoff and picked her jaw up from off of the floor. Miguel, to his credit, managed to hold himself together, too, and raised a brow.

“You’re unbelievable,” she sputtered.

“Thank you,” came the response.

Then, “No, you are genuinely…” but she didn’t finish, the words trailing off, and Xina’s eyes narrowed once more. She leaned back on her feet, managing to actually look somewhat intimidating despite how much shorter she was than Miguel. Her arms crossed, and she fixed him with an unimpressed look that made his skin crawl just a bit. “I see what you’re doing.”

“I’m not doing anything,” he lied through his teeth, trying desperately to keep the tension out of his shoulders.

“No, no, you are,” Xina insisted, no longer falling for his antics. “I’ve known you since we were kids, Miguel. I know all of your stupid little tricks, probably better than you know them yourself.” She approached him, and, really, despite Miguel quite literally towering over her, he still felt small under her glare. “I’m gonna apologise to you, whether you like it or not.”

“Xina,” Miguel began uneasily, giving her his best attempt at a placating smile. “Come on… Let’s not be rash. I cheated on you, and you told me ‘congratulations’ when I broke up with my fiancée. We can just call it even.”

“Alright, first of all,” Xina began, a finger waving in Miguel’s face.

“Oh, boy.”

“Those two things are not comparable,” she hissed, though Miguel’s attention was mostly on the way that her finger moved in front of him. “And second of all-”

“Right.”

“I am better than you.”

“Uh huh.”

“I apologise to people when I hurt them, even if they don’t deserve it.”

“Oh, great.”

“So, I- Are you even listening?” 

At that, her hand stilled, and Miguel frowned, his eyes refocusing on her face. “What?”

“Unbelievable.”

“I’m kidding! Come on, let’s just forget about it,” Miguel practically pleaded. “We can watch one of those twencen movies you like. One with that actress you really like, uh…” He trailed off, face screwed up in focus, mumbling, “ay, ¿cómo se llama?” then, with a snap of his fingers, “Marilyn Monroe!”

Xina placed her hands on her hips, brows furrowed as she eyed him. “You’re really sad about it, huh?”

A scowl found its way onto Miguel’s face once more, and he ran a hand over his face and through his hair in exasperation. “Ámi, I don’t know how I can be any clearer that I do not want to talk about it, or even think about it, for that matter.”

“Alright, alright,” Xina relented, raising her hands in surrender. There was a beat before she snickered a bit, shoving Miguel’s arm with a smile that was a bit too soft. “Look at Miguelito! He grew a heart, eh? What’d you do with the real Miguel?”

Despite the teasing, Miguel couldn’t help but to return her smile. “I guess someone got fed up with his ‘pompous’ attitude and killed him,” he answered, and the two laughed.

In a way, Miguel knew that it was irresponsible and selfish to hold all of his hurt as close to his chest as possible only to inevitably lash out when someone happened to push the wrong buttons. More than anything, he was terrified of being like his father; or, step-father, rather. George O’Hara had chosen the worst possible way to express his feelings, and it had, admittedly, left Miguel terrified to express his at all. It felt safer to just keep them to himself, up until the point that he couldn’t take it anymore and ended up taking it out on someone else, and, in the moment immediately after, Miguel realised just how much like George O’Hara he really was.

The thought was enough to make him feel sick, and it just made him work even harder to be everything his father wasn’t, for better or for worse.

George O’Hara never would have taken up the mantle of Spider-Man, and, even if he had, he certainly wouldn’t have used the position for any damn good. Knowing the bastard, he probably would have used his abilities to come up with new and improved ways to torment his family. If Miguel couldn’t say he was better than his father in any other way, at least he could say that he was better than him in that.

Still, there were more days than Miguel liked to admit that he wondered whether he was doing the right thing by trying to use his powers for good, or if he really was just using it to boost his own ego like Gabriel had accused him of.

“Hey,” came Xina’s gentle call, her hand pressed against his bicep gently, grounding him. “Have you ever heard of Pac-Man?”

Miguel was quiet for a moment, then, “not even once.”

“Oh, man,” she said, her face cracking into a smile, “prepare to have your mind blown.”

To say Miguel’s mind was not blown would be an understatement. Of course, he knew by now that the things Xina found to be completely mind blowing were entirely different from the things Miguel would be impressed by, but, even with reasonably low expectations, this was a disappointment. She’d led him through her house, skillfully weaving around the organised clutter of twencen artefacts, then stopped – with the biggest, proudest smile Miguel had ever seen from her – in front of a rectangle with two buttons, a stick, and a screen. He raised a brow at the thing, then peeked over to Xina again.

“Well?” she prompted, gesturing to the box and confirming that Miguel wasn’t mistaken and that the real thing wasn’t hidden behind the rectangle. “What do you think?”

Again, his eyes slid over the thing, and, yeah, it really was just a couple of buttons and a stick, but, nevertheless, he smiled. “Consider my mind blown.”

“Yeah, alright,” she huffed. “Thanks for humouring me. I swear it gets better.” Xina beamed as she pulled the cabinet away from the wall with some degree of effort and pulled what looked to be some sort of tail from the object. Miguel watched in muted fascination as she stuck the thing into some sort of specially made device that connected the thing to the building’s power source… with a wire? Who would want that?

All at once, the thing’s screen flared to life with so few neon coloured pixels that they barely even made shapes but, somehow, managed to be bright enough to hurt anyway, making Miguel flinch even behind his sunglasses. Coupled with the almost ear-piercing music and sound effects that accompanied it, he could safely say that he was less impressed than he was bothered. As Xina once again turned her smile to him, gesturing to the screen with all of the enthusiasm of a child, Miguel wouldn’t have dared to say it aloud.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” he said, and that much, at least, was true.

“I know, I know. It’s pretty awesome,” Xina bubbled, and her smile turned mischievous. “The best part? It’s two player.”

That made Miguel raise a brow in genuine interest. “It’s a game?”

“Finally have your interest, huh?” she teased. “It is a game. One of the first, actually.”

Miguel peered at the screen again, watching yellow pixels dart across, occasionally followed by red, blue, pink, or orange. His head cocked to the side, and he took a bit of a hesitant step closer. “How do you play?”

With a snicker, Xina rubbed her hands together before lacing them together and pushing them forward with an accompanying crack. “Watch and learn, rookie.”

As it turned out, Pac-Man was actually a relatively simple game; you (the yellow munching thing, though Miguel did not get an answer as to what it was other than “he’s Pac-Man!”) needed to travel through the maze and eat all of the dots (why, Xina couldn’t tell him) and avoid getting touched by the multicoloured “ghosts” that would chase you throughout the map (which, again, Xina couldn’t explain, but maybe it didn’t matter). There was also fruit that occasionally popped up for some reason – though all it really seemed to do was increase score – and bigger dots that turned the ghosts blue (“Xina, there’s already a blue ghost.” “Well, these are bluer.”) and made them edible, apparently. Though, the ghosts never stayed dead; whereas Pac-Man only got three lives. Miguel commented on the unfairness of it, but Xina didn’t seem particularly interested.

So, all that said, it should have been a pretty easy game. Xina certainly made it look easy, weaving between ghosts with ease and timing her dot collection just right to ensure that she could take out each enemy in one fell swoop. She only played a few levels, noting that the ghosts would get faster and faster, before she intentionally lost so the two of them could play together; which was the same as single player except the game forced you to take turns. Whoopie.

As easy as the game looked, though, Miguel ate his words more than he ate dots as he struggled through his first life.

“What the- What the shock?!” he hissed as he got stuck in a corner for the fifth time, struggling to time the joystick movement with the direction he wanted to go. He whirled to face his companion again, eyes blown wide with frustration. “Xina, it’s shocking broken. It’s these controls, I swear. They’re ancient. Are you sure it’s working?”

Barely containing her laughter, Xina gestured to the screen. “The game’s still going, Mig.”

“¡Chale!” Miguel all but screeched as he turned back to the game, furiously pulling at the joystick once more. “Este jodido juego es tan… ¡Qué mierda! Ay, no, no, no… Aléjense de mí, ¡cabrones! No quiero que me toquen, por favor, moriré- Ah! No! Shit, shit- ¡Coño! Shock!”

As the yellow pixels curled in on themselves in death, Miguel wailed at the screen in frustration, though he perked up as he heard the distinct sound of wheezing from behind him. Concerned for a moment, he quickly turned to check on Xina before his concerned expression fell away into annoyance once more. Xina was laughing so hard her face had turned red, cheeks wet with tears as she barely held herself up against a nearby dresser.

“Oh, yeah, laugh it the shock up, asshole,” Miguel grumbled, though the words came out sounding half-hearted at best.

“You are- so bad!” Xina managed to get out through wheezes. “I don’t think I’ve heard you curse that much ever!” With a short yelp, her hand slipped off of her crutch, and she slipped to the floor – thankfully harmlessly – and her fist pounded against the carpeting like a lifeline as she started to laugh once more.

Unimpressed, Miguel squatted down beside her. “Hey, Xina.”

Taking a few more moments to learn how to breathe again, Xina only hummed, glancing up to him with tears still streaking down her cheeks and eyes crinkled in a smile.

Miguel jerked a hand towards the screen, giving her his own grin. “The game’s still going.”

All at once, her laughter died away, and she rocketed to her feet, nearly taking Miguel out in the process. “Fuck!”

Then, it was his turn to laugh as she scrambled to get away from the oncoming enemies, though Xina was certainly much more successful in the endeavour than he was, managing to make it through a couple more levels despite her setback before she finally took her first death. 

With a grandiose laugh, she turned back to Miguel and grinned. “Beat that, bitch!”

Scoffing, Miguel took the joystick into his hand and leaned in close to the screen. “Easily.”

Unfortunately, he did not, in fact, “beat that,” bitch. 

In reality, Miguel only managed to make it through the first level, then near immediately lost his last two lives at the very beginning of the second one while, in the intermission between his second and third life, Xina made it all the way to level twenty-six. Needless to say, she had not only beaten him but, also, thoroughly humiliated him in the process. Not that Miguel could possibly be frustrated with the loss when Xina was smiling at him the way she was. In that moment, it really was like nothing had changed, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t make him feel lighter than he had in years.

Leaning over her shoulder as Xina prepared herself for last life, she bounced on the balls of her feet and took a deep breath.

“What’s with the face?” Miguel questioned, startling her out of her focus and making her yelp, and he snickered a bit before whispering an apology. “You’ve already beat me, ámi. By no small number, might I, regretfully, add.”

Without so much as a glance towards him, Xina scoffed, the sound accompanied by the skillful flick of the joystick every which way. “Not everything’s about you, Miguel. I’ve almost beaten my highscore.”

A beat, as he remembered just how much effort she’d put into ensuring she beat him. “...You’re sure it’s not even about me a little bit?”

“Shut up,” she hissed. “I’m trying to focus.”

“Alright, alright,” he snickered, putting his attention onto the game right alongside her.

Pac-Man is, admittedly, not as much of a disappointment as Miguel had initially chalked it up to be. In fact, he might even go so far as to say that he was wrong entirely and that the game was actually rather fun, though he wasn’t sure that it would be entirely fair to attribute his amusement to the game so much as the person he was playing it with. At the end of the day, it was just a few pixels on a screen – something that was over a century obsolete and had long since been replaced with far more complex and involved experiences – but there wasn’t anything that could ever possibly equal the time he spent with Xina or make him feel the way her laugh did.

…He’d forgotten the way that she stuck the tip of her tongue out when she was focusing.

As three of the four ghosts closed in on Xina, Miguel couldn’t help but wince. “Uh… please tell me you’ve beaten it.”

“Fuck!” was all he got in response, then, “this fucking game is so… What the hell?! Oh, no, no, no… Get away from me, bastards! I don’t want you to touch me, please, I’ll die- Ah! No! Shit, shit- Fuck! Fuck!”

Yellow pixels curled in on themselves in death as Xina wailed at the screen, and Miguel could barely hold himself up from the force of his laughter, mouth wide open as he cackled unabashedly. His chest heaved desperately for air, only for it to come out in more snorts and snickers, and Xina, clearly just as amused with the situation as he was, turned to him with a poor imitation of a scowl, her lips pulled up wide into a smile.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it the fuck up, asshole,” she chided light-heartedly.

Then, all at once, her smile dropped, and her eyes went wide. The suddenness of it all was enough to near instantly cut off Miguel’s laughter, too, though his smile didn’t quite fall away yet. It warped into something nervous, and a few more uncomfortable laughs fell from him, his brows furrowing into something concerned.

“...What?” he asked cautiously. “What’s wrong?”

Xina didn’t say a word, though she approached him with her own skittishness, taking his cheek in her hand and leaning in close, and Miguel’s face flushed bright red.

There was a moment, however brief, that he was sure that she was going to kiss him.

Then, her finger hooked his upper lip and pulled it upwards, her eyes widening even further as her breath hitched, and, even then, Miguel still didn’t quite get it. It wasn’t until she spoke, voice shaky and small, that he understood.

“Fangs.”

A terrified bolt of dread lanced straight into Miguel’s chest, getting lodged there and weighing him down; stealing his air. His body immediately went tense, his eyes wide, and a trembling hand reached up and ghosted Xina’s, gently pulling it away from his face.

“Xina.” His voice came out strained, equally as small as hers.

“Miguel, you- you have fangs,” she nearly whispered, as if it was some sort of horrifying secret that might get her into trouble if she said it just a bit too loud.

“Xina, I… I can explain.”

With a squeak, she pulled out of his grasp, and he let her. She held her hand close to her chest, as if he’d somehow burned it, and her mouth hung agape in abject horror. “What happened to you? Miguel, I- I know where you work. I know what you do. What did you… What did you do to yourself?”

“It’s not like that,” he breathed, though the truth wasn’t far enough off.

“Then what is it like?” Xina demanded, though the way her voice wavered made the command fall flat. “What happened to you?”

“It was an accident,” and that, at least, was the truth.

“An accident?” she echoed. The way that it was said made it clear she wasn’t quite buying it. “So, what, you meant to alter your own genetics in another way?”

“No,” Miguel shot back in horror, then, “well- well, yes, but-”

“Oh, my god.” Xina blanched. “Miguel-”

“No, no, it’s not-”

“Yes, ‘it’s not like that,’ I know.”

“No, Xina,” he cried. “Just-”

“I really thought you’d changed,” she muttered, trembling. “I really thought-

“Please,” he pleaded, taking a step forward, “just-”

“Miguel,” Xina interrupted again shakily, stepping back in kind. “How can you possibly justify this?”

Dismayed, Miguel backed away, too, hands raised. “I can explain, Xina. Please-”

“Then do it, Miguel!”

“I’m trying. Please, just-”

“Just what?”

“Just listen!” Miguel finally shouted, brows furrowed and hands gesturing in frustrated desperation.

A scream tore from Xina’s throat and she stumbled away, her hands shooting up in front of her as if to push him away, and Miguel choked away a scream of his own, his eyes going wide. Her gaze fixated on his hands, chest heaving desperately.

“Claws!” she screeched. “You’re- You’re a monster!”

“No, I-” Peering down to his raised hands where his talons had inadvertently popped out, he gasped and immediately retracted them, glancing back up to Xina with his own look of horror. He looked distraught, face screwed up in distress, and he stepped backwards once more. Claws, fangs, yelling just as his father had, and Xina looked just as terrified as he’d felt. He loathed himself at the thought. “I- I am. I am a monster.”

Xina’s expression shifted, though only minutely, as she remained poised for fight or flight, breaths still coming in short gasps.

“I’m sorry, Xina,” Miguel sobbed, and his hands moved to clasp over his chest to steady himself. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled. I didn’t mean to- I didn’t mean to scare you. Please, I… I wouldn’t hurt you, Xina. Never. Never. Not like that.”

There was quiet again for a moment, and Xina’s eyes narrowed, sliding over him in suspicion; over his hands, to his mouth, then, to his eyes. Her eyes met his through his shades, and he carefully, hesitantly, raised a trembling hand to remove them, giving her full view of his eyes and all of the ways they had changed. Again she gasped, met with bright red as opposed to the brown Miguel knew she was accustomed to, and his breath hitched once more. He hoped that his eyes didn’t hold the same agony he felt, though he wasn’t sure he was so lucky; pain never was something that allowed itself to be quietly hidden away. Maybe that was another reason for the sunglasses.

Seconds ticked by, and they simply stared at one another, words drowned by terror and uncertainty that stole the air from both of their lungs, then Xina’s brows furrowed, and her eyes softened ever so slightly. She took a hesitant breath and stepped forward, reaching a hand out.

Breathless, Miguel eyed her hand and shuffled a bit back.

With a frown, Xina once more approached him, fear replaced by determination. “It’s alright,” she said, kindness in her voice, so sweet it almost felt placating, and it probably was. “It’s okay, Miguel. I’m listening now. I’m sorry I didn’t before.”

This time, he didn’t move away, but he still hesitated to take her hand.

“Come on, Miggy,” she urged. “I was just… startled. I know you’d never hurt me.” She wiggled her hand a bit, frowning at him. “I shouldn’t have called you a monster,” Xina mumbled, her voice breaking. “You’re not a monster. Fuck, I’m so sorry, Miguel.”

With an exceptional amount of gentleness, Miguel inched forward and took her hand into his. He fearfully met her eyes, all of his hurt on full display, then, “What… What did you say?”

Her eyes shone with sorrow, and she gave his hand a squeeze. “I’m sorry, Miguel. I should’ve never said what I did.”

“No, not that,” he gently corrected. “The other thing.”

Xina’s head cocked to the side, then, all at once, her eyes went wide. “Miguel.”

“The f-word…” he whispered with almost reverent horror.

Laughing wetly, Xina stepped forward and used her free hand to beat against his chest. “You’re unbelievable!” Her fist came to rest against him gently, and she frowned. “Fangs, claws, red eyes, and you really haven’t changed a bit. I should’ve known.”

“I’m Spider-Man,” Miguel blurted, and Xina made a choked sound, looking back up at him.

“Alright, maybe you’ve changed a little.”

A hand came up to ghost Xina’s cheek, and he gently wiped away her silent tears. “Is that a bad thing?”

She leaned into his touch, though her eyes remained fixed on his. “I… I don’t know. Is it?”

Miguel frowned, looking away. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I’m… I’m trying to be good; better than I was before.”

“Well,” she hummed, removing her hand from his chest and placing it over the one placed on her cheek, “that’s all you can really do, I guess. For the record, I think you’re better already. The old you never would have risked his neck for someone else.” A beat. “Or apologised. Or pretended to like some twencen stuff just because I do.”

“The game was fun,” Miguel confessed.

Again, Xina hummed, a small smile on her face. “You really think so?”

“I do.”

“Well, gee, how bad of a change could you have possibly gone through, then?” she teased half-heartedly. “Seems like it gave you better taste.”

“Har, har,” he huffed sarcastically. “Very funny.”

“Who said I was joking?” Then, before Miguel could respond, “I really am sorry, you know. For calling you a monster.”

Immediately, he fixed her with a frown, averting his eyes once more as all of the hurt from before returned. “Aw, shock. And here I’d thought my sly tactic had worked this time.”

With a sad laugh, Xina patted his hand, gently pulling it away from her face and holding it down by where their other pair were still interlocked. “On me? Never.”

Miguel glanced down at their linked hands, thinking of his claws and how terrified Xina had been of them mere minutes earlier. Aaron had been terrified of them too, back when the guy had tried to kill Miguel and gotten himself killed instead, and he’d had a right to be when Miguel had shredded his skin without even realising he was doing it. How many times could one person accidentally hurt someone else before it meant that he was simply something evil and wrong; a monster. 

Exhaling shakily, Miguel’s face fell, his shoulders sagging as he tried hard to keep back tears. “Well, you were right. I am.”

“Miguel O’Hara,” Xina hissed, squeezing his hands hard; enough to make him wince.

His eyes met hers again, unwavering. “Xina Kwan.”

She didn’t speak, her expression screwing up into that same withering glare she’d fixed him with earlier, but Miguel still didn’t back down.

“You said it yourself,” he retorted to her silent disagreement. “I messed with something I shouldn’t have, and now I’m here.” The next words were spat, like venom. “A monster.”

“You are not a monster,” Xina seethed once more, as unwilling to give in as he was.

It was times like these that made Miguel less grateful how stubborn she was. It was also times like these that reminded Miguel why he’d left her for Dana; though, even more strongly, why he shouldn’t have. And, really, it was times like these that actually made Miguel all the more grateful that she was, in fact, as stubborn as she was. He knew well that he’d back down before she did. He always had. As arrogant and self-absorbed as Miguel may have been, he was also a coward. Xina had never been a coward.

“Monsters are scary, Miguel,” she continued, insistent as always. “You’re hardly scary.”

Scoffing, Miguel rolled his eyes, brows furrowed. “You seemed pretty afraid of me.”

“Startled,” Xina quickly corrected. “There’s a difference. I could hardly be afraid of someone who can’t even beat me in Pac-Man.”

He laughed shortly, glancing at her with narrowed eyes. “That’s your standard?”

“For you it is,” she smirked up at him, “because it’s never going to happen.”

“You’re unbelievable,” he said.

“Thank you,” came the response.

Looking about as pleased as he felt, Miguel gave in, his head falling forward with a sigh. “You don’t even know what happened,” he mumbled. “What if that changes your mind?”

“You said it was an accident,” she said, leaning her own head forward so she could still see his eyes.

“It was,” he immediately confirmed, a little too desperately. “It was, but…” He paused, teeth gritting as he struggled to get the words out. It was difficult for him to tell if he just didn’t know what to say, or if he was too afraid to actually say it. Both options were equally as likely, and, also, equally as frustrating. “I… If I’d been smarter- If I’d just been more careful in the first place, then I never would have needed to- I wouldn’t have had to- Because I had to, Xina, I swear. Or- Or I thought I did. You have to understand that I- I didn’t want to… But if I’d just- I don’t know. If I’d done better- If I’d been better I… I wouldn’t be…”

When he trailed off for the second time, lips pursed with frustration both at his past self for everything that had gone wrong and for his current self for messing this up, too, Xina hummed and graced his hand with another comforting squeeze, forcing him to look up at her and meet her gaze with misty eyes.

“It’s okay, Miguel,” she gently assured. “You don’t have to tell me. You may have been pompous-”

“I was not pompous.”

“-but you were never stupid, do you hear me? Arrogance or not, I don’t pin you as the kind of man to mess with his genetics just for fun,” Xina conceded, and a bit of the tension left Miguel’s shoulders. Then, she huffed, smiling teasingly and clearly trying to lighten the mood. “Especially since you so clearly thought you were perfect already.”

Miguel glowered at her, though it wasn’t very intimidating with his hands still gently held by hers and eyes still red with unshed tears. “Pushing your luck with the guy with claws. Not very smart.”

“Yeah, yeah. Beat me at Pac-Man, and then try threatening me again.” She laughed, meeting his eyes with her own sparkling with empathetic grief; there was a distinct lack of fear where there had been before, and Miguel couldn’t help but to let out a small breath of relief. She must have heard it because she gripped his hand tightly once more. 

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” Xina repeated, firm. “It wasn’t intentional. That’s what I was really worried about. That would have been scary.” She brought their hands up between them, glancing to them and smiling. “Claws or not, you’re still the same old Miguel.”

Miguel’s eyes locked onto their hands, too, and he managed to return a small smile. The relief was both light and heavy at the same time, making his shoulders sag in exhaustion as all of the tension and adrenaline resided and left him with the familiar fatigue of the moment the fight ended and he felt safe once more. Although he’d never say it out loud – knowing well that he’d be teased for it – Miguel could firmly admit that none of the foes he’d faced as Spider-Man had ever scared him half as much as this, and, in turn, they’d never left him with half of the respite after the fact.

“Maybe I’ll tell you one day,” he murmured. “Not yet.”

“Whenever you want, Miguel,” Xina replied, genuine, then, after a beat, “I do have one question, though.”

Frowning, Miguel hesitated again.

“It’s really simple, I promise!” she reassured, shaking his hands with a bit of a laugh. “You don’t have to answer. Just hear me out.”

Only minimally soothed, he let out a long sound of dismay that ended with an exasperated, “fine. Shoot.”

Then, face beaming, Xina asked the most stupid question Miguel could have possibly thought of, “Are you a vampire?”

For a moment, he could only stare, too surprised to even remember how to show it. Then, his eyes narrowed, and he cocked his head to the side with a pointed look. “I remember you being smarter,” he deadpanned.

Finally, Xina pulled her hands out of his, raising them in surrender with a vivacious laugh. “I just had to be sure!”

“Oh, you just had to be sure. Of course,” Miguel echoed, unamused. “Well, I hope you’re satisfied with yourself, idiota.” He huffed, arms crossed over his chest.

“Quite satisfied, as a matter of fact,” she shot back, and how could he be mad when she was smiling at him like that.

Biting back a laugh, he tried harder to maintain his frown. “You’re the worst, do you know that? Just the worst.”

“Aw, come on,” she tutted. “If I’m so bad, then why were we a couple?” Xina smirked, quoting his own words from their reunion all those weeks ago.

Then, Miguel couldn’t hold back his smile anymore, returning her exact response. “Because I felt sorry for you,” he quoted. “And it bugged my dad.”

“As good of a reason as any,” she hummed, a hand resting on her hip. Then, her eyes narrowed as she seemed to realise something. “You know, I know I made fun of you for that wall crawling joke back then, but, knowing what I know now, it actually is funny.”

A short huff of surprise fell from Miguel’s mouth at the statement, and he was reminded again just how different Xina Kwan was from Dana D’Angelo; someone who certainly wouldn’t understand what had happened to him, and someone who had pushed him for the truth even when he’d begged her not to; not Xina Kwan; not the person who’d believed he could be better even when he didn’t want to be and encouraged him once he finally did. The realisation was a pleasant one – a rare moment of pure glee that he revelled in amidst all of the sorrow he’d been surrounded by as of late – and his face was overtaken by a wide smile, red eyes crinkling in joy and fangs on full display as he laughed once more.

This time, Xina didn’t even flinch, just laughing along with him.

[tokruta]

A follow-up to my Miguel as Miguel Rivera's great-grandson post:

Just thinking about one of the Spiders from either the later half of the 20th century or the early 21st century playing some Ernesto de la Cruz music and Miguel bolts his ass down the hall to rip the device apart and then he storms away with no explanation.

Everyone now knows he hates Ernesto de la Cruz, but no one knows why. So people come up with wild theories, anything from de la Cruz being a time-traveling musical villain in his dimension to Miguel having a failed music career and being jealous of "the greatest musician ever". Those whose dimensions are after de la Cruz got exposed stay quiet bc the theories are funnier than just assuming Miguel really hates this specific murderous fraud from well over a century ago.

Meanwhile, Miguel just stomps his way back to his hidey hole and plays his bisabuelo's music (especially his covers of Hector's songs) loudly to calm down. Then he calls him and they talk about their hatred of Ernesto de la Cruz 🥰, he loves talking shit with his 100-year-old bisabuelo lol

[spider-man-2o99]

Spider-Man 2099 Meets Spider-Man (1995); lines by Rick Leonardi & Al Williamson, colors by Steve Buccellato

Miguel could have avoided some of this awkwardness if he did not prefer to sleep fully in the nude. but. alas. he should thank his lucky stars that MJ didn't pull out a can of mace or start braining him with that lamp before he could Run lol

[age-of-moonknight]

Timeless (Vol. 3/2023), #1.

Writers: Jackson Lanzing and Collin Kelly; Penciler and Inker: Juann Cabal; Colorist: Edgar Delgado; Letterer: Travis Lantham

[moonlitlunas]

do not separate my mary jane and peter for ur silly old man yaoi !!!

HOWEVER ... have we considered a throuple instead?

mj introducing them like "this is my husband peter and his boyfriend miguel who is also my boyfriend" like april in that one scene in parks and rec

[frogoat]

A blog about comic books and geek culture in general and Spider-Girl and the MC2 universe in particular.

[dailyohara]

i find it REALLY interesting that 2099 is a dystopian capitalist nightmare where nueva york is a surveillance state. THE MONKEY'S PAW CURLS... you get all this amazing tech (if you live uptown at least) at a great cost.

miguel makes comments like "oh this is made with real coffee beans" when he's in 1990s new york and gabriel remarks that 2099 isn't all it's cracked up to be / that he'd rather be in peter's time than his own ("well, probably not..." cuz hes an ipad baby but I DIGRESS)

as in the "eye spy" part of the special, your ENTIRE LIFE is on camera. the public eye is ALWAYS watching and there are creeps who tap into those cameras to record footage...

it hits especially close to home because that happens nowadays. we're always being watched, our private data is sold to the highest bidder and used to show us targeted ads (or worse). and the creepiest of creeps can tap into your camera, just like "cathode ray" does.

i don't know where i'm going with this other than to be like. man i love 2099 as a setting. and it makes me both excited and scared that there's so many similarities between their future and ours.

[fhrlclln]

miguel o’hara x assistant!fem! reader pt. 1

SPOILERS ??!!

now we all know this man has some serious anger issues lmao but who wouldn’t love a grumpy man having this deep unspoken sexual tension between the two of you, right!? right. and along with that, SMUT! such a beautiful combo. but mild smut for now.

but here is some mild miguel smut for y’alls horny ass (and mine) <3

here’s part 2 !!

mild smut under the cut

｡･:*˚:✧｡

spiderman 2099. miguel. miguel motherfucking o’hara.

leader of the spider-society, an elite crew of various spider people from all across the multiverse, their mission to protect the multiverse from any threat that may come. sure, knowing how crazy it sounds that the multiverse is real and that— there are more variations of the spiderman you knew since all before this shitshow happened.

and to say, your relationship with the leader wasn’t all that bright in fact.

you’re not a spider person yourself but sometimes you wish you are seeing how fucking cool spider-woman, jessica drew, a fellow member, along with other members coming in are (hobie, gwen, pavitr and so on.) but no radioactive spider ever bit you sadly. you are human, human as ever working under miguel o’hara as his assistant (more of a manager really) even though he has lyla, the virtual sweetheart, you still had some things you can do which are a big help in all the management for the spider-society.

miguel, as a boss, well— he’s a fucking menace sometimes as you grit your teeth to yourself, walking swiftly into the familiar hallways you always passed through, captured anomalies around your vision until you arrive at the fairly narrow one, meaning you were almost close. all the people knew how fucking grumpy he was, always snapping out of nowhere, sharp comments and unnecessary hurtful ones too when he’s super mad. you’ve dealt with all of that since the foundation was found— and he’s kinda a loner. you sigh, knowing from the looks of what has happened today regarding miles morales, things weren’t looking so great. and you had to ask him somehow about the situation and see how it goes, well not or not.

your feet echoed through the vast space of his lab, his platform was up high as always and you can hear him grumbling a top, watching every scenario of what happened. your heels clicked as you stopped, looking up, blue light restricting your vision as you coughed for his attention. cringing already inside as you heard the audios pause.

then silence.

silence….

more silence….

silenceeeeeeeeeeeeeee-

“what?” he asks from above in a clip manner.

“heard from lyla.” you merely quip back, shrugging your shoulders.

“and?” he grunts, resuming his work as the platform above descends down. ah, sassy. you think, usual miguel— not the mad one, real lifesaver for whatever you’re gonna say right now.

“nothing.” you say, waiting for the damn platform to come down faster. “i may have a few questions where this leads-“

“what questions?” he asks, the platform finally stops at the usual height, making miguel who’s back is turned from you visible.

“about the situation. miles morales.”

“ask lyla about that.” he dismisses you again, tone a little sharper. the back of his muscles flex, super suit clinging tight, his mask the only one that was removed. tousled dark hair seen as he clicks away on his screen, the voices of miles and gwen emitting. you gulp, sighing as you tried for one more.

“it’s more of a personal question for you-“

“has it ever occurred that i don’t answer those kind of questions?” he cuts you off, the footage he was watching paused as he slowly turned around to finally face you. your eyes meet his, familiar red ones looking down at you, face scrunched a bit as if he was annoyed already,

“i know.” you slowly say as he crosses his arms. muscle bulging, making you avert from his gaze for a moment, which embarrassed you. “but all i’m saying or asking is that are you going to make it easy for the kid?”

something in his eyes snap at your question. he jumps down, landing swiftly in front of you as he stands up, towering your frame. you roll your eyes, his shadow blocking the light from you as his hands were situated on his waist, meaning he was ready to argue. but you can’t argue how eager you feel seeing how close he is. heat radiating from him, the way he never leaves his eyes off you and his overall presence.

“what is easy in all this, really, huh?” he harshly spits out. “the faith of the multiverse is in danger. and who’s responsible to fix that? me! so no, i’m gonna make it easy for the kid. he was the one who started all of this if you can remember.”

“oh, i remember and i remember clearly telling you how all of this— this is happening is very much-“

“no, no, no. that is completely out of the logical reason for why this happening. not the reason at all.” he says, his brow scrunching together as you too became fairly annoyed that he was cutting you off. an ass really.

“out of the reason? maybe it is the reason if you think about it!” you retort back, huffing out a sigh as he shakes his head turning away from you.

“miguel.” you call out to him. “miguel, for once, try and see through this. through miles.”

“i have a lot of things to do, y/n. arguing with you is not one.” he commands, as your shoulders sink, the familiar feeling of disappointment washing over you from his words.

“maybe if you could listen to me, we wouldn’t be arguing.” you stared at him with hard eyes, he tensed, looking to the side before he swiftly walks towards you again.

“why would i, huh?” he glares at you. “do you know everything i know enough to make everything right in the multiverse?” he stalks over to you, intent to make you listen clearly as you back away a bit from him but he doesn’t stop. “no. so no, there is no point in listening to you.” he growls the last sentence, the lump in your throat bitter as you two stared down at each other before he utters his last insults. the buzz of something blooms between you both. you could feel it, he could feel it. the two of you were just contemplating in the inside as miguel steps a bit closer to whisper it.

“you’re my assistant, know your place.”

your eyes widened at his words. but you could not shake the fact how deep he said it, the rumble in his voice making your brain go haywire at all the emotions you are feeling right now for him. the breaking point of your patience at its peak as you glared at him harshly, his face close to yours as you cursed at him.

“fuck you, miguel.” you spit out. his face suddenly changed as he fucking smirked. smirked! you stare at him as he opens his mouth to spit something out as well in retaliation for your insult.

“really? that’s all you got? i thought you were better at this, churri.” his smirk widens as you shy away, suddenly flustered at how fast he can make you embarrassed. you could feel his chest close to yours as you avert his hard gaze, making the said man snap something inside of him seeing you all crumpled beneath him.

“you’re all bark but no bite, sweetheart.” he whispers as you didn’t look at him. “look at me.”

the subtle growl in his voice caused you to obey him. you look up to meet his eyes again, seeing them red as ever, red with that low gaze that makes your thighs clench hard. the slow breaths between the two of you are only heard as miguel leans down, face closer to yours now.

“what’s making you shy, huh?” he asks, the argument from earlier clearly out of his head as he focuses on you. his one hand creeping up to gently caress yours, urging you to say it.

“miguel, please, stop playing with me.” you grumbled, ashamed how you liked how he was acting now. “it’s not funny.”

“i’m not joking around, am i?” he sasses but you held your hard gaze on him which he surrenders. “alright, i’m sorry.”

“no you’re not.” you sighed, knowing there will never be a genuine sorry from him which leaves you utterly defeated, more upset how you know he’s toying with your emotions right now. “i’ll take my leave.”

“y/n, don’t…”

“please stop.” you raise your hand for him to stop.

“i’m sorry.” he genuinely says, gripping your hand gently back down, squeezing it softly. his big gloved hand envelops yours as you studied his face to make sure he wasn’t fucking around. miguel practically knew what’s going on between the two of you, which of course why he liked arguing with you. the way your eyes would dilate all the time and beat of your heart racing whenever he gets super close to your personal space. addicting yet a dick move he was doing because in all, he very much likes you. and this time, this time it all snaps at the pinnacle seeing you shamelessly stare at his lips.

“thank you.” you softly say, glancing at his lips, the fangs subtly showing behind them as miguel swiftly dips forward to finally kiss you with such fervor.

your eyes widened as you gripped his broad shoulders, toes tip toeing, heart pounding as his arms wrapped around your waist. you moan out on his lips as you kissed him back the same passion. months of ignoring the unspoken tension between the two of you and at this moment it happened! you think that this all sinks in because of the situation, and you are right in your head. all of this should happen.

“miguel.” you pant breathily between his lips as he shushed you with another one, too lost in the moment.

“miguel please.” you begged for more as his hands dip down to squeeze your ass, lifting you up effortlessly with his spidey strength as your legs instinctively wrapped around his hips.

“i know.” he kisses your chin down to your neck, slowly walking to the desk nearby. your breasts squished together with his hard chest as you grind down, feeling the evident bulge underneath you.

“you’re an ass, ya know?” you mumbled in his ear as he sits you down on the desk, objects scattering at the impact. he continues his ministrations, the things he was supposed to do are far long gone in his head as his hand dip down to where your legs were open for him.

“that i certainly know.” he admits, you giggle suddenly knowing how defensive he is when people point that out.

“but right now, i’m being very nice, amor. very nice.” he whispers, nipping your ear as his gloved hand touches you there, the pencil skirt you were wearing scrunched up above your knees. you gasp, clutching his shoulders again as he chuckles lowly, feeling the wetness as his eyes stared at you with this animosity as he kneels down, kissing your thighs before he sharply opens your thighs wide. your covered cunt staring right before him, begging to be eaten and he sure will be. he looks up to see you, this wild look in your eyes as you nodded for approval which makes him genuinely smile.

“i’m feeling generous today. it’s a once in a lifetime scenario, huh? so you better feel lucky today.”

｡･:*˚:✧｡

I HOPE I DIDN’T MAKE MIGUEL OOC CUZ I ONLY WATCHED THE MOVIE ONCE. ANYWAYS PART 2? <3

[fauustic]

late night bubble bath

((oh yeah the brainrot has hit HARD!!! IM IN LOVE!!! please send me asks / requests about miguel o’hara i might just melt ...))

gender-nonconforming reader x miguel “spider-man 2099″ o’hara

comfort, fluff. a needy miguel who is just a big kitty.

warnings: mention of wounds, very little blood. taking care of him after a night of insomnia. use of spanish pet names, yet a translator helped me because my spanish isn’t the best. lmk if i missed anything!

word count: 3027

A sigh escapes your lips as you shakily grasp the cup of water along your bedside table. You weren't one to have intense insomnia, yet the anxiety bubbling within your gut served as a painful reminder that you haven't been blessed with a moment of shuteye.

Was it something you had forgotten? You ran through a mental checklist that consisted of taking after Miguel's late nights, and not a single chore was unfinished.

Leftovers for dinner could be found neatly packed away in the place he always checks in the fridge, so there was no need for your love returning from work hungry and tired. Today's laundry was already fluffed and ironed, which will make it easier to begin the upcoming morning. Miguel mentioned off-handedly to you how an important board meeting at his lab had been stressing him out, so you couldn't help but surprise him when he got back home even if it was just prepared outfits.

You leaned back against your pillow before rolling towards Miguel's side of your queen sized bed. You felt so jumpy, your hands itching to do anything. Nights like these you craved Miguel's presence tenfold, as he would be snuggled right in your arms, smoothing the stress out from the tips of your fingers through a careful massage. You could remember the sleepy rambles he'd murmur into the air over the ambience of the television, "Pasar tiempo contigo, brillante. Encantador. Mi pequeño amor. Could bask in your presence always, mi conejito." Miguel would whisper into your ears with a cute sleepiness, peppering your jaw with his lips. It's almost as if he was right beside you, brushing his thumb against your skin as he held your hands.

Thinking so fondly of your boyfriend's habits soothed the anxiety of your insomnia as you tried to remind yourself that he always stays safe and remembers you love him. Once coming home for the first time from work, he can't help but smother you in kisses and silly pet names, showering you in soft reminders of how much love and affection he has for you. And then the second time of the night, he'd do the same thing under different circumstances. It had happened the night before, and it'll happen again. 

Miguel, soft groans escaping his bruised lips, would come through the balcony of your shared apartment that stored your little collection of flowers and greenery, slip through the door you always made sure to crack, and wake you up in the dead of the night to be bandaged and treated by your caring touch with hushed pleas. Whispering sweet things, neediness in every touch. "I missed you, cariño. Been waiting to see your pretty face all day, can I kiss you? P-please, let me kiss you." 

And so you did, resting your fingers on his shoulders and slowly trailing up until they cupped his bloodied face by the jaw. Then, you'd painstakingly kiss him until his blood would mix with spit, his fangs desperately wanting to sink into your tongue. 

Getting so caught up in your little dream, the blaring of a shrill beeping car down below your apartment startled you. Interrupting the glass upon your lips, it spilled onto your nightgown with a gasp.

"Fuck.." you mumbled to yourself, missing your boyfriend more than ever. Changing in a rush, you pulled over one of his flimsy lounge shirts over your head to bask in his smell as a reminder of his presence.

Nueva York was a city that didn't sleep, as the chatter of passersby rang through busy traffic. Bars down below thrived under the limelight, people not in their right mind hid in the shadows of skyscrapers. 

You wondered what Miguel could be doing right now. Scouting the vibrant lights as his claws dug into the beam of a building? Knocking someone senseless under the conditions of justice? Saving a civilian as they fall from great heights? 

Wondering made you sick, the anxiety bubbling in your stomach as if you were the one downing margaritas and cocktails in a scummy bar down below. You needed to distract yourself. So you did anything an adult on a late night would do.

So when you finally came to your senses, you slapped a flour dusted hand over your mouth and groaned.

Apron tied to your waist, hair in a loose bun– nothing too serious, in fact you appreciated how this style still kept your androgynous but still staying practical. Wisps of hair straying from the hold would cloud your vision every now and then, which you'd have to blow out of the way subconsciously while preparing the whipped frosting. The TV, distantly able to still be heard from the living room, echoed quietly through the apartment with an ambience that lulled you to a calm. It was the news, you couldn't help yourself due to late night paranoia, but your hands were busy and your attention was snatched away from your beloved creation.

You've truly outdone yourself this time, you decide as you watch the oven in front of you with an exhausted gaze and a yawn. The kitchen was messy with egg residue and splashes of water and vinegar oil, the clock on the microwave read "2:49" in the morning. It was a kind of chaos you normally wouldn't find yourself to, as Miguel loved a schedule, a routine. It wasn't as if he didn't want you to have your fun, far from that, he simply just loved doing whatever was eventful with you. And you couldn't help but find baking amusing as you observed the small cakes in the shaped pans inflate as time went on.

You found yourself in the middle of your small apartment kitchen floor, sleepily peering into the oven until that sleepiness shifted into fully dozing off. It couldn't be helped, crashing so hard after pulling off a mission to pump out more than a dozen cupcakes, half chocolate batter and the rest strawberry flavoring. Thankfully, you were able to stay awake long enough to take the cakes out to cool, but as soon as the oven made the beep to turn off– the couch was the closest thing to fall into a needed rest.

It's hard to know how long you had exactly fallen asleep for, yet the frantic arms encompassing your form must have been any kind of indicator. It was a startle to wake from, as your mouth couldn't keep quiet before your brain began working. 

"Eeugh! I- God Miguel, you scared me so badly–" You heaved into his shoulder as he practically slumped on top of you, whispering his usual panicky tangents he'd spew after returning from his late nights. 

"Lo siento, lo siento mucho." Miguel buried his face into your neck, nose pushing against your pulse. "Would never purposely scare you, mi lucero del alba. But not seeing you in bed, that made me feel… not like myself." Miguel confessed with a shaky breath and a pause, breathing in the floury smell and just you, swearing a purr erupted from his throat. "Would have fallen on the floor of our apartment if you weren't here, in my arms.  "Te necesito más que al propio aire, baby."

A subtle smile peeked through his tone despite the desperation, the longing in his touch. His forearms pushed against your back ever so slightly, reminding himself that you're here. That you're safe. His hands met your sides, thumbs circling in a soothing motion. You knew it calmed him down to trace shapes within your skin, but you wouldn't be lying if you said you loved the burn of his touch when he isn't even truly doing anything on purpose. It was as if the warmth of his finger tips ignited into flames, searing his touch into you. You'll never be able to forget each circle, heart, or even a very rare star traced into your skin, accompanying every freckle or birthmark you have. Every part of you is adored, loved, cherished. 

"I'm going to be here, waiting for you. No matter where you are or where I have to be."

"I hope so." Miguel hummed, "If anything happens to you," His claws found themselves underneath his shirt that you wore to bed that night, trailing your sides like handing a delicate doll. "Tengo miedo de lo que pueda hacerles. For you I'd do anything." 

His body didn't feel suffocating to be lying beneath, as he cradled the both of you to be meeting halfway. It was heartwarming, being clung to like a teddy bear by a man who's trying to hold up an entire city with his own two hands.

You realized his suit was only partially off, head uncovered as well as part of his chest– the suit clung to his waist like a lifeline. Needing to see his soft little smile that he held so selfishly against your neck, you led his face to be held over yours. A soft whine escaped his lips, missing the warmth your neck provided, but a quick hush quieted himself easily.

"Don't act like a sad puppy, my love." You whispered into his lips, breath fanning an old cut just underneath. Inspecting the damage, Miguel's eyes fluttered shut as you smoothed over the stress lines between his eyebrows. Not too rough today, expect a few cuts and bruises. So in your terms and conditions, today may even be considered a great day. "Aww, look at you. You did so well today, didn't you?" Awarding him with a kiss, Miguel melted into you like a weighted blanket.

Both hands cupping his jaw, you held him there for a long while, relishing in the moments of peace and quiet with him. Peppering quick, feathery kisses over his lips and gliding over cheekbones and freckles upon the nose, kissing the stress line you smoothed out, before doing the routine all over again. You strayed, always did– couldn't resist his alluring features and soft pleas to continue kissing him. 

Miguel isn't always so docile. Some nights he'd storm into your bedroom in a trance of pent-up frustration and stress with bruising kisses and bites that took home amongst hidden skin. But most nights, he could be handled like putty. It was an adorable sight to see, as his fangs peeked through his plush lips from the tension going slack in his jaw.

Your lips finally met his for the first time that night, yet it wasn't heated or filled with ulterior motives. Miguel's mouth met yours, and he lazily tasted every inch of your mouth, grazing his fangs against your tongue by accident. He needed to know every inch of you, and remind himself a hundred times over.

"Miggy.." you mumbled between his kisses, and happiness dripped from your voice as he barely let out a "mm?" Separating for just a moment, he decided to simply nuzzle your hand as a substitute.

"Let me run you a bath."

This sparked his attention, a quirk of the eyebrow and a stare of disbelief. "Eh?" Miguel chuckled stiffly, his nuzzles coming to an abrupt end. "¿Qué piensas de mí, un niño pequeño? I'm no toddler." By his response, he hasn't heard such things in ages. But as you slipped away from underneath his grasp, you padded towards your shared bathroom without a word. He was the one to bicker, but once the plan was in motion Miguel couldn't help but abide with a light begrudge in his step.

"The little cakes can wait, honey. Don't try to use those as an argument to get out of this." Your words would come out as a scold to anyone else, but as you turned to start the water it was clear you simply just cared. Too much for your own good. "Let me just do this for you, I missed you today." You admitted. 

"It's too late for this still, cariño." He groaned with a tint of guilt as you started helping him undress. "I'll just shower, go on. Vete a dormir." Yet he did not swat away your advancements to prepare a towel, nor even the drop of bubble bath mix in the water. Miguel looked at you like a deer in headlights, mouth agape as you did so.

"I added the bubble bath formula only because you told me to sleep." You said deadpan, grabbing the suit that's fallen to the floor to hang it on the rack. Miguel's expressions contorted to annoyed, then shocked, to just downright amused of your antics that always had him guessing. He cackled as you kept yourself busy, until you finally signaled to get in.

It was as if you tried to get a cat in the water, as he stared at the mountain of bubbles that rivalled the skies. "I'm not getting in. I can't lose the rest of my dignity." This time, his tone was solid– nothing sounded as if it could get through to him. But you could read your boyfriend like a book, solve him like a puzzle in a matter of seconds. 

"Miggy, my love. My other half. My everything." You cooed, dropping to your knees to poke at the bubbles. "You don't get in this forsaken bathtub with just the right warmth and the bubbles I made with my own blood, sweat and tears, you will sleep on the couch until I give you explicit permission to lay with me." His scarlet eyes glowed with genuine fear in his eyes. "And then, you will just lie with me. You would not be able to hold my hands or waist or twirl your finger around my hair– you will be in timeout. No bed, no holding–"

A splash interrupted your words, wetting your legs as his size struggled to stay in the tub. His arm hung out of the side as his feet kicked up on the tile walls, and he looked as flustered as ever. "No me lo puedo creer." Miguel blew at the bubbles that settled on his face. "I'm no dog who needs a bath, cariño." 

Shaking your head at his rare childish antics, you leaned over the tub to kiss the bubbles upon his nose. It was a sweet, domestic little moment between the two of you.

Small little scars littered his form as you glided a soft wash cloth over the grime of the city that washed off onto him. When the fabric slid over a sensitive muscle or wound, he'd hiss a curse and a "be gentle with me, love." You only responded with a lick into his mouth, which earned you a bite to your lips. "I'm not trying to hurt you, just wanna take care of you, my angel." You whispered into the bubbles, shuffling your knees the closest you can to the tub without falling into it– and massaged the tension in his shoulders.

This elicited a groan to rip through the bathroom walls, a low rumble that he couldn't contain to himself following. Miguel was like a domesticated tiger, all bark and bite yet the rare moments of silly tenderness peeking through his rough exterior. "Ah, that feels–" Miguel hisses again in pleasure, his brain short circuiting under your graze. ".. increíble. Tú eres mi medicina." 

His forearm hanging off the side of the tub twisted to bring his grasp to your face, locking the both of you into a heated kiss, one that stored the unspoken words of lonely nights as Miguel's shifts grew longer and more tiresome. "Missed you, baby. I need you, need you always with me. Wouldn't know what to do without you, I'd go crazy." He rambled as one of your soap filled hands snaked into his hair, to lather his curls and simultaneously scratch where he loves. 

It was an endearing sight whenever Miguel openly expressed his adoration of you, both his thoughts and worries.

"I love you more, Miguel." You giggled as his nose scrunched together at the abrupt sensation of water cascading over his head, the bubbles falling from the softness of his hair and down the ridges of his jaw and nose.

Silence comfortably enveloped the two of you as you rinsed him off, scattering kisses on his skin whenever he mumbled declarations of affection.

As you wrapped his curls in a soft, small towel, his sleepy grumble of a question caught your attention. "What about your little sweets, mi amor? Do you need me to help you finish them?"

Laughing, you shook your head only to shush him softly. "No, no baby. Let's just do it together tomorrow once you get some rest." Leading him to stand, you began draining the tub. 

Miguel didn't argue with the idea of that, purring softly as he imagined the two of you frosting little delicacies– something incredibly cozy and lovely. He loved that about you, the way you reminded him about his own humanity, the little hanging reminder that he needs his own time to help to heal and thrive. 

"All done, baby." You slid your arms around his waist, resting your head against his chest with a sigh. The towel hung around his waist was as soft as the fleece of a sheep, lulling you into the serene sleepiness your body craved to have. "How was your bubble bath?" The words tumbled from your lips as Miguel led the both of you to your shared bed, tucking you into the bundle of blankets scattering about. 

Before long, he slid into the opposite side with his own sigh of relief. Your hands grabbed at his now clothed chest, peeking at his exhausted, but content expression staring right back at your own. "Perfect, mi conejito." Miguel whispered with honesty, bringing you closer than ever as his breath fanned the crook of your neck.

Sleep began to take you as the strong scent of bubblegum flooded your senses, the slightly damp curls of Miguel tickling your neck and cheek. He intertwined his soul with yours, purring with a calm he could only achieve with you.

"Cupcakes tomorrow?" You murmured into his shoulder, soft and sleepy.

"Cupcakes tomorrow, cariño." A kiss to your neck. "Dulces sueños, goodnight."

[vertigoartgore]

Spider-Man 2099 meets Batman Beyond by artist Dan Mora (2015).

[fandomnerd9602]

Scarlet Trials

Wanda Maximoff x Spider-Man!Reader

You had it all. The loving witch turned wife. Two beautiful, amazing twin boys. A nice little home in Queens. It was the perfect life.

You and Wanda were just enjoying a nice little date day flying through the New York skyline. The boys were with their Uncle Wong, as you called him.

Wanda couldn’t help but giggle, this life she had with you was absolutely perfect, the best kind of domestic bliss. You found a little nook hidden by the buildings and set up a little web hammock for you and your witch lover. She curled into your side, relaxing.

“Best life” she whispered into your ear before topping it off with a kiss.

“Only life” you whispered back.

And then he appeared. Miguel O’Hara the 2099 version of Spider-Man. He burst through a portal in front of you and Wanda, claws drawn.

You and Wanda quickly evaded him, his claws slashing through the web hammock.

“Detka!” Wanda screamed. Miguel went right for her. He wrapped her in an electrified webbing.

“Wanda Maximoff” he growled, “you are under arrest for crimes against the Web of Life!”

“Back off Cyberpunk!” you screamed as you socked the muscular Spider-person right in the jaw. He stumbled only a little before immediately trying to slash at you.

Wanda broke free and fired off a couple bolts of her own. Boom! Miguel was only knocked back a few feet.

“Who are you? What do you want?!” Wanda growled.

“My name is Miguel O’Hara.” he answered back, “your mere presence here is a threat to the multiverse”

“Back off!” You shout, “your little multiverse hypothesis has no proof!”

“Proof?! You want proof?” O'Hara retorts, "I've seen universe fall to pieces with my own eyes because of the magic that little witch exudes every time she sends out a little blast!"

You and Wanda look to one another, resolute, standing together as one unified team. This was your home, your world, your family. No one was gonna ripped that from either of your hands.

"We won't let you take our home from us, Miguel," you replied, steeling yourself for the battle ahead. Wanda's hands began to shimmer with crimson energy as she prepared to unleash her powers, standing resolutely by your side.

You and Wanda charged at Miguel. He came at the two of you claws drawn and vampiric teeth bared.

The ensuing clash was a whirlwind of webs, magic, and futuristic tech. Miguel's agility and advanced gadgets made him a challenging adversary, but your teamwork with Wanda was unparalleled. As you dodged Miguel's attacks, you coordinated with Wanda, using her telekinetic abilities to create barriers and disarm the cybernetic Spider-Man. The fight raged on, but eventually it reached a stale mate, with buildings around you bearing the scars of the intense confrontation.

In a decisive moment, Wanda conjured an energy blast that momentarily disoriented Miguel. Seizing the opportunity, you ensnared him in a web cocoon, immobilizing him. "This isn't over," Miguel warned, his voice strained. "The multiverse is at stake." Wanda approached, her eyes glowing with determination. "We understand the stakes, but we'll find another way to protect it without destroying our home."

"There's always another way, O'Hara" you stated as you took your favorite witch's hand. He sliced thru the cocoon and pressed a few buttons on his wristwatch. A brilliant orange portal appeared behind him.

"Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you" Miguel intoned before jumping thru the portal, leaving your world for good.

You and Wanda swung home, Wong had long put the twins to sleep. You and your loving witch could only gaze at your sleeping boys with a sense of awe.

"Do you really think we weren't bound to meet?" Wanda asked you as she leaned her head against your shoulder.

"With how perfect we are for each other" you smiled, "and the amazing life that I have with you, I think we were made for one another. In every universe"

You gave her a kiss on the forehead. Your favorite witch couldn't help but giggle.

Tags: @lifespectator @konstantin609 @aloneodi @family-house-of-m @holiday-house-of-m @multi-fandom-enjoyer @moonpheus @iiconicsfan25 @iamnicodemus @deafeningsharkslimeempath @russianredassassin @revanshand @supercorpdanbeau @scarletquake-n7