#spiderverse fic

[petertingle-yipyip]

Question…? - Miguel O’hara

//the miguel brainrot brought this piece to life tbr. it’s kinda just for shits and giggles but there might be more. depends on how this one does//

Pairing: Miguel O’hara x Reader

Word Count: 3,868

Summary: The latest recruit to the Spider Society hits a bit too close to home for its head honcho. But with great power comes great persistence to get answers.

You landed on the roof of your building and pulled your mask up, wiping a hand down your slightly sweaty face. You looked at the bright display of the neon billboard across the alley and saw the breaking news story of your latest bust of the local Midnight Sons crime syndicate. You smirked slightly as you watched the reporter talk to the police who had to reluctantly admit that you, Arachne, had caught them. He tried to dance around it but the fact that your webs were covering the background made it obvious.

Just as you were about to head inside, you felt a tingle shoot down your spine. An unfamiliar yet not unwelcome sensation crawled across your skin so you quickly replaced your mask and spun around, web shooters ready. Instead of being greeted by a foe, you were greeted with a large and seemingly unstable orange circle that vaguely resembled a doorway.

Before you could say anything, you had to drop to your stomach as a motorbike came barreling through. You rolled to your back and flicked a quick burst from either wrist to latch a web to both tires. You kicked yourself back and pulled the bike with you, forcing its rider to disengage and land on the opposite side of the roof.

“Not bad.” She said, though her back was still to you as you stood slowly. “I knew you were quick, but I didn’t think you’d be that quick.”

“Right… And you are?” You asked carefully. You didn’t feel she was a threat, but something about the way she triggered that sixth sense made you tense. “I mean, you came at me full speed on a motorcycle so you owe me that.”

“Jessica Drew.” She turned to face you and the first thing you noticed was her belly. “And I’m just like you.”

“I’m not pregnant!” You decided quickly, a hand covering your stomach.

She laughed and shook her head. After a second, you hesitantly laughed with her. “I meant the Spider Woman thing.”

“Ah…” You nodded before slowly lifting your mask again. “That’s what I felt?”

“Mhmm..”

“I thought I was the only one.”

“Yes and no.” She moved towards her bike, which you hurried over to beside her. “If you’re interested, there’s someone I think you should meet.”

You followed her through the orange and ended up in a massive complex. There were dozens upon dozens of variations of… you.

A cat version. A monkey version. A dinosaur. A plushie. A cyborg. An avatar. A video game. Other girls, other guys. Any type of Spider variation you could imagine, it was there.

As you were taking it all in, you were hit with the sharpest pain you’d ever had in your life. It took over your entire body, felt as if you were being yanked apart and haphazardly put back together. Your insides felt rearranged and your head spun violently while everything seemed to be ignited. But the pain only lasted for a second.

Jessica told you it was your body glitching from being outside your own universe, which she also explained was granted the official title of Earth-3505. She slipped a blue band around your wrist and you felt every ounce of tension in your body disappear. She explained the device on her wrist, how it kept her from glitching while allowing for travel to any dimension.

You had to admit. All the tech and different universes blew every single theory and experiment you had ever known out of the water.

You were talking with Jessica through the long walk down a rather dark and drafty hall that led to a wide open work area. She called to the man on the platform, which began to lower at an agonizingly slow pace. Awkwardly, you rocked on your heels and fiddled with your web shooters, checking the cartridges and scratching away the dried remnants from your earlier endeavors. You tugged the neck of your suit and dusted imaginary dirt off before running fingers through your hair and giving it a small shake in an effort to look a bit more presentable.

When you heard the gears click into place you looked back and found yourself in utter shock, despite him not even facing you yet.

And as someone who would fight the Bloodstones, a werewolf, and the literal avatar of a god of the moon, it took a lot to render you speechless.

The man on the platform was massive. The width of his chest and shoulders alone was at least the size of a twin mattress. His height towered over yours and you could tell even from the distance he was at. His upper body narrowed ridiculously into his waist, though his legs were proportionately built as well. And covering that Hercules-esque physique was a fitted red and blue suit, just like everyone else you had seen in that building.

So why hadn’t he given you the same tingle Jessica did?

You were snapped out of your thoughts when an elbow came roughly into your ribs.

“What?” You asked quickly, an innocent obliviousness in your voice.

“Introduce yourself.” Jessica hissed.

“Right.” You nodded and took a hesitant step forward. “I’m Y/N, from Earth 35-something.”

“3505.” She whispered.

“Yeah, sorry. Anyways, I’m like you and her and everyone else here… Back home I’m called Arachne, like the.. The myth. I’m sorry, are you not gonna face me?”

“¿Mande?” He said sharply and the sound of his voice drove your pulse to jump.

“If you’re gonna have your back to me the whole time, why am I even here?” You pushed, though your resolve was slowly shattering as you watched him turn around.

The room may have been dimly lit but you could see what looked like a red tint to his eyes.

“Why are you here?” He asked tightly as he hopped off the platform and stalked closer to you. You swallowed hard and flattened your two middle fingers against your palm to feel the trigger for your webs. “Why are-“

His sentence cut off abruptly when he got a few feet away from you.

“Miguel?” Jessica asked from beside you. You had forgotten she was there but you felt a bit more relaxed to know you weren’t alone in that room. “What is it?”

“What did you say your name was?” He asked. His words were intended to be more gentle, more intimate maybe, but they still had enough of an edge to keep your fingers where they were.

“Y/N… And you’re..?”

His face fell at your uncertainty, though you doubted Jessica noticed. He recovered rather quickly, as if your words reminded him of something painful. Something he already knew.

“Miguel O’hara.” He stood a bit taller, if that was even possible.

“It’s nice to meet you… You built all of this?” You asked lamely in hopes to fill the silence that you felt would suffocate you if you ignored.

“Yeah.. It’s a way to preserve the multiverse. Everyone here was hand picked to serve a bigger cause, to protect each other’s universe and canons.”

“I assume that’ll get explained if I get in?” You turned to Jessica who nodded with a small, amused smile.

“¿Perdóname, si entras?” His head cocked as the corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk that you felt was sarcastic. “No.”

“What?” You and Jessica asked at the same time.

“No.” He enunciated, hands at his waist and leaning forward.

“Why not?” You asked angrily, stepping forward with no regard to the size difference. “I can take anyone here!”

“Miguel, she’s really good.” Jessica tried earnestly. “I think you should give her a shot.”

“No.”

“C’mon.” She pressed.

“No.”

“What are you afraid of?” You challenged suddenly and the glare he shot your way made you hesitate.

“Afraid?” He laughed. “Afraid.. I’m not afraid.”

“Then what?”

“She looks just like her.” Miguel said, more to Jessica than you.

“Who?” She asked softly.

Miguel shot her a different look than the one he gave you. This one has more longing, more pain. You looked like someone he used to know. Likely someone he lost.

“Lyla.” Jessica said softly, waiting a moment for a hologram woman in a fur coat to appear at her shoulder. “Show Y/N around a little more, please.”

“Who- Oh.” The hologram spoke before disappearing and reappearing in front of you. She leaned in and lifted her heart shaped glasses before blinking away and reappearing up at Miguel’s side. A quick back and forth of hushed comments brought her back to you as she ushered you out of the room.

Lyla spoke quickly to you, bouncing around within your field of vision. She pointed out different Spider People, different villains. She showed you the machine that sent people home and the training center. While you were wandering the vast exercise area, you met two boys playfully roughhousing who seemed to create the golden retriever with black cat meets boys will be boys dynamic.

“Ooh! Who’s the new girl?” One of them ran up to you with a palpable excitement.

“Y/N Y/L/N.” You smiled and the other one leaned in close.

“Look at that.” He said with a small smirk, seemingly changing color with each sentence. “Got little fangs and all. That’s mad.”

“Whaaaat? Let me see!” The first one pushed the taller one aside and replaced him, though he leaned in significantly closer.

“I’m guessing these aren’t normal for Spiderman.” You laughed and gently pushed him back. “What’re your names?”

“Hobie, Hobie Brown.” He offered you a short salute.

“Pavitr Prabhakar.” He gave an extravagant bow. “How long have you been a spider person?”

You blew out a sigh and tried to calculate the numbers. “A few years? It happened my senior year of high school, and then the two years there... And then.. All I know is its been a while. You guys?”

“Couple months.” Pavitr answered with a small hop. “It’s been so easy.”

“Three years.” Hobie answered simply. “And yeah, it’s not bad. Your universe a mess, then?”

“I think mine is a weird one based on what you guys have said.” You answered awkwardly. “Werewolves, swamp things, Egyptian gods, monster hunters.”

“Sounds like a fantasy book.” Hobie scoffed.

“That’s the Midnight Sons for you.” You shrugged. “There’s normal stuff too, like other vigilantes. Daredevil and Black Cat and the Widow.”

“Were they bitten by a spider too?” Pavitr added with wide eyes.

“Who, Widow? Not that I know of.”

“How’d you get the little-“ Hobie made a vague fang gesture. “You a vampire, too?”

“Well, no.” You rubbed a hand over your mouth, suddenly embarrassed of your teeth.

“You’ve got everything else. Figured you had the little blood suckers and allat.”

“There’s rumors of one guy but I haven’t met him.. Actually, the spider that bit me was a mix between the same thing that created my world’s Goblin and just the radioactive spider. It was supposed to be able to cure something but…” You shrugged.

“Do they do anything?” Pavitr asked, still looking at your mouth intently. He slowly reached a finger forward so you leaned away and gently pushed his hand to the side.

“Uh..” Your brows furrowed. “Idunno.” You mumbled as you shrugged.

“You’ve never tried to bite anyone?” He laughed and Hobie facepalmed gently. “I totally would’ve.”

“I’ll try it when I get home.” You laughed slightly. You glanced around and noticed the AI woman - Lyla - was nowhere to be seen. “Can I ask you guys something?”

“Go for it.” Hobie nodded and Pavitr’s head bounced up and down like a bobble head.

“The little AI, Lyla… Does she see everything?” You asked quietly.

“You trynna do somtin’ you shouldn’t, aye?” Hobie quirked a brow.

“I wanna try to talk to Miguel but I get the feeling that she’ll keep me away.”

“Why?” Pavitr whispered loudly,

“Cause he sent me away, said I looked too much like someone.”

“Oy, Pav.” Hobie nudged the smaller boy before leaning down and plotting quietly. They went back and forth for a few moments before looking back at you. “Make it quick, yeah?”

“I owe you.” You grinned.

Pavitr and Hobie shared a small fist bump before Pavitr reached his fist towards you. You chuckled slightly and returned the gesture before the two ran off. It was only a few moments before sprinklers went off in the room. Lyla popped in and out of view, speaking rapidly and tapping small screens in front of her. She appeared in front of you, disheveled glasses and jacket hanging from her shoulders.

“Do. Not. Move.” She said firmly and you held hands up in surrender. She pointed two fingers at her eyes before pointing to you, gesturing up and down your body before disappearing again.

You leaned around slightly to ensure her digital frame was nowhere to be seen before you booked it out of the room. Your wet feet slipped on the sleek tiles so you opted to swing across the complex and back to Miguel’s workspace.

You wiped a damp hand across your face as you entered the hall again before you pulled yourself to the ceiling and crawled down the long corridor. Jessica left in a huff, muttering that he was unreasonable and that she wasn’t done. You watched her freeze and turn around, squinting her eyes in suspicion. You stayed still above her in hopes that she wouldn’t find you but with the water subtly dripping from your suit and hair, you thought you were caught. With a small smirk, she turned back and left.

You blew out a small sigh and continued down your path until you reentered Miguel’s wide open room. His back was towards the entrance as he vigorously typed and swiped various projections away. He was muttering to himself, broken Spanglish as he worked in that increasingly frazzled state. His head cocked over his shoulder as you clung to the space above the door.

“¿Qué estás haciendo?” He asked tightly, unable to face you fully. “And why are you wet?”

“I just…” You spoke, realizing you had no idea how to start. “May like some explanations.”

“I don’t have to explain anything to you.” He spoke simply, clearly trying to shut down the conversation.

“Okay, but… What if I just ask some general questions that have simple answers? Is that okay? I mean, can I ask you a question? Well a couple, but you know what I mean.”

“Can you please stop, just for a second?“ He sighed and pressed his palms against the table. You pursed your lips slightly and drummed your fingers against the wall while you waited for him to say something. “You don’t take ‘no’ for an answer, do you?”

“I don’t usually have to beg like this.” You confessed. You shifted your feet and leaned your shoulders against the wall behind you, allowing your hands to aim webs at the edge of his platform. You pulled yourself over and stood in front of him. “Miguel, please…”

“Ay, dios mío. You sound just like her, too.” He spoke to himself, though the desperation in his voice was hard to miss.

“Listen, if you don’t want me here because whoever I remind you of, that’s not good enough of a reason.” You insisted. Your words finally got him to turn and face you, which really drove home just how big he was. You gave a nervous chuckle and crossed your arms in an attempt of defiance. “I can prove myself against anyone here. I know I can do this!”

“It’s not about whether you’re-“ He began before he leaned down closer. You pulled back and teetered the edge of the platform. “What was that?”

“You got a little close.” You defended with a shrug.

“Not that, cariño.” He shook his head. “Open your mouth.”

“Okay!” You said loudly, trying to push him by his chest. “That’s not how you- Ugh! Whatthehellare-“

Your words became an incomprehensible jumble of syllables when his hand came to your face, fingers pressing gently on your cheeks to keep your lips apart. His pointer finger was free to manipulate your upper lip, exposing one side of your mouth. With a satisfied smirk, he let you go.

“Thought so..” He offered a lazy smirk. “Lemme see your hands.”

“Is this like.. part of the initiation process or something?” You tried to joke as you held up one hand. He took it by your wrist and gave your palm a gentle prod, just missing the trigger for your web shooter. “What are you looking for?”

“You always talk this much?” He mumbled with a small eye roll as he let go of your hand.

“It’s just a question.” You muttered and poured slightly.

He sat back on the edge of a table behind him, allowing for a more even eye line. But even at the new lowered height, he was definitely taller than you.

“How can anyone focus around you?” He said with a shake of his head.

“I can put the mask on, if it helps.” You offered awkwardly, reaching for the side pouch you usually tucked it away in.

Miguel looked back at you and laughed. A seemingly genuine sound that, up until that moment, you weren’t entirely sure was possible.

You took the opportunity to move away from the edge of the platform and stand more in front of him. Your hands rested lazily behind you and you simply looked at him for a minute.

The obvious physical stature was still as intimidating as ever but there was something in his expression. Something haunted, something guilty. However, when his eyes met yours, there was a softness there. A certain longing.

How does anyone focus around you? You thought as you took in his features for a little longer.

“You always stare like that when you’re not talking?” His brows raised with a slight smile as his arms crossed over his chest.

“Not usually.” You answered with a shrug of one shoulder in an attempt to ignore the blush creeping across your cheeks. “I take it you didn’t find what you were looking for with my hand, but you didn’t send me away again so maybe that was a good thing… Maybe I can…”

“Go ahead and ask your questions.” He nodded, adding a tired sigh at the end as if to say he was giving in. You thought he was curious as to what you wanted to know.

“What’s the big deal about my teeth?”

“Your teeth..” He chuckled slightly. “Most of the spiders around here don’t have fangs, cariño.”

“Right but why do you care?”

“Cause I have them too.”

“What do yours do?”

“Paralysis. Yours?”

“Dunno.” You confessed. “I’ve never bit anyone. Can I see?”

“No.”

“C’mon!”

“No.”

“Fine.”

You flicked a web at his chest and yanked him to lean forward, earning a small Spanish exclamation from him. You kept hold of the web with one hand and put the other on his shoulder as you leaned in slightly. His eyes darted between yours in slight shock before he broke into a small smile, enough for you to see a moderately more pronounced version of the same teeth in your mouth.

“Woah.” You said quietly as your eyes drifted to where your webs met his suit. “Wait..”

“What is it?” He asked lowly and the tone sent a shiver down your spine.

“Your suit. It’s all tech?”

“Mhmm.”

“That’s so cool.” You breathed with a smile, which faded as you squinted and noticed a falter in the colors. “It’s like a projection, which means if I…” You gave another slight tug on your web and watched the distortion of the colors where your palm was pressed against him. You laughed slightly before looking back at Miguel.

The web suddenly snapped and you stumbled backwards. You looked down and saw the excess still wrapped around your wrist. The tensile strength was much stronger than that so it shouldn’t have betrayed you so suddenly. It had never failed before. Turning your head back to Miguel, you saw the projections from the pads of his fingers.

“You were looking for claws?” Your brows raised as your head jerked towards his hand. “You could’ve asked.”

He simply shrugged.

“Let me ask you something…” He said calmly as he leaned back to his originally sitting position. “Why do you wanna be here so bad?”

“Good girl.” You gestured to yourself. “Sad boy.” You gestured to him and he shook his head with a scoff. You offered a small smile before wandering in a small circle, your back now to Miguel. “We all have this one thing going on.. And it’s always one thing after another, situations and circumstances and miscommunications. Losing people and losing fights, it’s all part of the job but… Honestly, I don’t know why. Maybe I just like the idea of not being alone, of not being the only one.”

You turned back to face him and saw he hadn’t looked away.

“It’d be nice to not be the only one with fangs, either.” You smiled, flashing your pointed teeth.

“You never told me why you’re wet.” He commented after a brief moment of silence.

“Oh.” You laughed nervously. “Funny story.”

You heard the muttered complaints come down the hall at the same time the tingle of another spider person hit your skin. Your eyes went wide when Lyla popped up in front of you, glaring at you with tightly crossed arms. You offered an innocent smile with hands up in surrender.

“Y/N!” Pavitr yelled with a wide grin as he entered the room, Hobie sulking behind him. The boy turned and began patting his friend’s shoulder excitedly. “It worked!”

“What worked?” Miguel turned to you.

“Those two-“ Lyla said angrily as she appeared in front of Miguel and pointed at the two spidermen. “-set of a fire alarm in the training center.”

“And that was your idea?” He looked to you again.

“Nah, mate.” Hobie answered casually. “Was all me.”

“You?” He shouted and then wiped a hand down his face. “I don’t- I can’t deal with you right now. Both of you, go help mop up and dry the training center. Just- Get out of my sight.”

Hobie offered you a salute before sauntering out, Pavitr quick on his heels. You smiled to yourself before you hopped off the platform, shooting a quick web to help control your descent.

“Where are you going?” Miguel called after you, causing your stride to pause. You spun to face him with a playful smile.

“To help clean up.. They did it so I could talk to you, after all.” You shrugged.

“Come back here when you’re done.” He tossed a device your way, the same device the other spiders had around their wrists.

“Gonna miss me already?” You teased as you fit it to your wrist, replacing the temporary band you were given.

“Always, cariño.”

You realized you hadn’t found out anything in regards to who you looked like from Miguel’s past, but with the confirmation that you’d come back, you figured you’d find out in time.

[stigmalarity]

Crimson

miguel o'hara x f!reader, fluff, smut, blood drinking, vampiric qualities, fingering ☆ crossposted to ao3

———————————————————————————

Hey, everything okay? 

Call me back when you can.

I’m getting really worried — I know you weren’t feeling well last night, can you just let me know if you’re alive?

I’m coming over.

You let out a sigh, scrolling through your messages to Miguel over the past twelve hours. He’s not a big texter, but it’s odd for him to go this long without responding to you. When you’d seen him last night you could tell something was up, but he’d just waved you off after you’d asked if he was feeling alright.

He hadn’t only looked exhausted, he seemed seriously on edge, his responses stiff and almost strained. The two of you hadn’t planned much for the day, seeing as he was currently on “vacation” with Jess and Peter B. holding down the fort at HQ. Something about mandatory quarterly time off to protect the spiders’ mental health. You’d thought it was a nice policy.

It wasn’t long after you’d arrived at his apartment above the HQ that you noticed how dazed Miguel was, movements sluggish as he grabbed the remote from the coffee table, responding to you only after you’d had to repeat yourself.

After the third instance of this, you got a bit concerned. “You tired, baby? I wouldn’t mind a nap before we start the movie.”

He pauses, sighing. “I think I’m getting sick,” he said, running a palm over his face.

“Oh no, really? You sure?” you asked with concern, shifting toward him on the couch with one hand raised to press against his forehead. Miguel hardly ever got sick. In fact, you thought it wasn’t even possible.

Miguel pulled away from you, just out of your reach. “Don’t get too close. I don’t want you to catch whatever it is,” he said. “Honestly, you should just go home. We can watch the movie another day.”

You frowned, then. “I don’t care about the movie, baby. Have you eaten at all today?” you asked.

Miguel’s guilty pause was answer enough. 

“I can stay over,” you declared. “I’ll sleep on the couch, so you won’t get me sick. I don’t want you to have to do everything by yourself while you’re like this.

An odd look had crossed his face, then. Anxious, almost pained. “I’m not a child.”

Though he hadn’t snapped at you, the words had come out shockingly cold. “I can take care of myself. You don’t have to mother me.”

That took you by surprise, your eyes going wide. It was unlike Miguel to take that tone with you. “I-I’m not trying to-“ you stuttered, hurt bleeding into your tone. “I’m just worried,” you said, looking down at your hands in your lap.

His eyes softened as he took in the furrow of your brow. Another sigh. He sounded so tired.

“I’m sorry, I know,” he said, reaching his hand out to lace his fingers through yours. “I’m alright, querida. I really don’t want to get you sick. Just go home, okay? I’ll text you.”

You gave him a long look, then. He was paler than usual, dark rings under his eyes looking more pronounced as evidence to his exhaustion. You hated the thought of leaving him alone like that, but you didn’t want to push him.

“Okay, just-,” you sighed. “Just stay hydrated, and keep me updated on how you’re feeling. Call me if you need anything.”

He nodded, trailing after you to walk you to the door. “Text me when you get home. I love you,” he said, pressing a quick, chaste kiss to the top of your head.

Now, you were standing in front of Miguel’s door, a plastic bag full of supplies in your hand. Since you weren’t sure what he was sick with, you’d brought a few different medicines, a large water bottle, empanadas and some pozole. You decide that if he gets upset, you’ll just drop everything off and go back home. Though you might just force him to accept your care, depending on how ill he is.

You take another breath before pushing the door open.

“Miguel?” you call, looking around the entranceway. All the lights are off, save for the glow of the TV in the bedroom. You kick your shoes off, walking towards the light. A quick glance into the kitchen tells you that he has either been well enough to do his dishes (and not text you back), or that he just hasn’t eaten at all. Both possibilities worry you for different reasons.

When you reach the doorway to the bedroom, you finally spot your boyfriend swaddled underneath the comforter, seemingly out cold. The TV’s volume is low enough to have lulled him to sleep, and you can’t help the fondness you feel for him when you see the Ghibli movie he’s put on.

You pad towards the bed, carefully placing the bag on the nightstand and taking a seat beside him on the edge of the mattress. “Miguel?” you call gently, smoothing away the stray hairs matted against his sweaty hairline. The heat emanating from his skin makes your eyes go wide. “Shit, you’re burning up, baby.”

You lean forward, digging through the plastic bag for the cooling towelettes you’d picked up at the drugstore. Miguel shifts behind you as you search, the mattress sinking under his weight. By the time you turn your head he’s already sitting up, arms snaking around your waist to hug you from behind.

“Why’re you here?” he murmurs weakly. “Told you I could take care of myself.” There’s no malice in his tone. Just him, nosing into the side of your neck.

“You call this taking care of yourself?” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “Lay back down, Miguel.” You’ve got the cooling towelettes in your hand now, ready to slap one on his forehead and then maybe slap him for making you worry so much.

“You smell so good,” he sighs dreamily, tugging you backwards so that you’re practically in his lap. His grip is surprisingly strong for how ill he seems to be. “Shouldn’t have come. You should go home.”

“Stop hugging me before you tell me to go home,” you respond. But he just pulls you with him as he leans back against the headboard, pressing little kisses along your neck and awakening butterflies in your stomach. It’s so warm and comfortable having him pressed against your back that you nearly forget why you came in the first place.

“Hey! Come on, Miguel. Stop being weird. I thought you didn’t want to get me sick?” you frown, smacking lightly at his arms. “I brought medicine and stuff. We have to get your fever down.”

“It’s not going to help. M’not sick like that,” he slurs, exhaustion tinging his voice.

“What do you mean, you’re not sick like that? You have a fever, baby,” you say, twisting at the waist to press the towelette to his forehead. “You gotta drink some water next.”

“Don’t need water.”

“Stop being difficult,” you sigh.

“I’m not trying to be,” he says, breath hot at your neck. “You smell so good.”

“You said that already,” you say, cheeks heating. 

He may be sick, but it’s never taken much for Miguel to get you flustered. You’re feeling the effect he has on you especially hard now, with his towering form swelteringly hot and wrapped around you like this.

You sigh as his hands slide underneath the hem of your shirt, rough hands skirting along the skin of your waist. 

“Can you just let me take care of you, please? At least take some of the medicine I bought you -”

“M’not sick like that,” he sighs, switching to open-mouthed kisses along the side of your throat that have your breath shallowing.

“You’re repeating yourself again,” you murmur, though you’re not really focused on what you’re saying as he hums against your neck. 

“Miguel,” you start again, sliding a hand along the back of his neck and threading your fingers through the hair at his nape. “You keep saying weird stuff. What are you talking about?” 

Miguel shudders behind you as your nails graze his skin, and his forehead drops to your shoulder. “You love me, right?” he asks, voice barely a whisper.

“You know I do.”

“Mmm, need you to say it.”

“I love you, Miguel.”

“You wanna take care of me?” He asks, lips pressing against your shoulder blade.

“Any way I can,” you whisper. You have the inkling feeling that he expects you to respond badly to whatever he’s about to tell you, but whatever it is, you know you’ll be with him for the long run.

“M’not sick with the flu,” he slurs, turning his head against your shoulder to meet your gaze. He’s still so handsome, even like this.

“Can’t get you sick. I’m- m’thirsty,” he breathes, warm breath huffing over your skin. 

“For blood.”

“Blood?” you ask, brows furrowing. “Like, like you want to kill someone or-”

“It’s a spider thing. My specific genetic makeup gives me more… vampiric qualities,” he interrupts, though a light smile stretches across his pallid face at your assumption.

“M’sorry I- I should have told you from the start,” he adds. It looks exhausting for him to even get the words out, but to add even one more shred of context while he’s in this state, he’ll do it. “I usually have a stock of blood bags on-hand, but there was a situation in the med bay. They needed it more than me. It’s why I’ve been off for a few days. With no blood, my powers are on low output.”

You pause, absorbing the information. He has no reason to lie to you.

“O-okay,” you say.

“Okay?”

“Okay,” you repeat. “Do you know when they’ll have-”

You freeze when another violent shudder rips through him, and both of you are reminded of the reason why he’s told you all this in the first place.

“Miguel, you can drink from me, right?”  You ask gently, cupping his face in your palms. He’s getting even warmer, you think, watching a drop of sweat slide down his temple. “C-can you just bite me? Does it work like that?”

He can only hum an affirmative, brows furrowed and eyes screwed shut at the awful lurching in his belly.

“Okay- okay baby, go ahead,” you say, peeling your shirt off and tossing it aside as you turn back around and bring a hand up to the back of his neck, guiding him into yours.

His mouth hovers over your neck, warm breath whispering over your skin. “You trust me?” he mumbles weakly.

“Yes,” you respond hastily, tilting your neck for him as he presses a gentle, lingering kiss to your skin. “Yes, of course.”

That’s all he needs to hear. His mouth opens wide, and he bites.

You jerk as pain blooms along your pulse point, but Miguel’s arms hold you in place, four little incisions from his fangs drawing blood to the surface. Then he sucks, audibly swallowing down a mouthful of your blood, your fingers tightening in his hair at the sensation. It had hurt when he’d bitten you, but now… you’re not so sure.

“It- it’s okay, baby, it’s okay,” you whisper, loosening your grip on his hair and combing through it in apology. “This’ll make you feel better right? T-take as much as you need.”

Miguel moans against your throat at your go-ahead. For a few moments you’re stiff, avoiding any movement that could jostle his fangs in your neck. He uses his hands to soothe you, resuming their movement against your skin, palms running up and down your sides in a gentle caress.

In moments you’re feeling warm all over, loose and comfortable in Miguel’s arms. The feeling of his feverish hands on you is so nice, every sensation heightened though you’ve gotten so lax — like there’s nothing you can do but take what he gives you and feel.

You’re surprised at how quickly the pain completely subsides, your senses focusing in on the feeling of his hands on your skin and the pleasurable heat spreading outwards from the bite. That sensation you’d picked up when he’d first bitten you – it’s clearer now, making your mind hazy. His venom.

—

Miguel lets his eyes flutter closed as he finally tastes your blood. He’s always loved the scent of you, but your taste is so much more concentrated, sends his mind to mush.

It had never been this difficult for him to curb his thirst for you in the past. For all the years he’s known you, he’d never needed to push you away like last night to keep from biting you. The throbbing in his gums had been so painful then, the scent of your skin so near. Even now, the conscious part of him feels guilty for biting you without a more extensive explanation. This isn’t how he’d wanted you to find out, but the euphoria of finally quenching his thirst far outweighs his hesitance to continue.

You’re feeling the effects of his venom now, he’s sure of it. He can feel it under his lips, your pulse slowing beneath your skin as you relax into him. He’s drinking slow, hyper aware of how much he’s taking. He wants to make this last so that he can show you that it isn’t something to be afraid of.

His eyelids lift, dark eyes looking down at his hands splayed across your skin. The sight that greets him is tempting; your skirt is rucked up around your thighs, the fabric just barely covering what lies underneath. The straps of your bra had fallen down your shoulders in your haste to pull him towards your neck, and he takes a deep breath through his nose as his gaze roves over the swell of your chest underneath the lacy edge. 

He can’t see your face at this angle, but he knows your body. He knows how needy you’re getting, soft pants echoing in the quiet room as you rub your thighs together under his gaze. His venom has you the same as him, after all — achy and wanting.

A different kind of thirst plagues him now, one that has his cock throbbing where it’s pressed up against your ass. And with the taste of your blood coating his tongue – making his head spin, he thinks he might go mad from how badly he wants you.

His hands leave your waist, skirting up over your belly to reach your chest. Gently, he tugs the cups of your bra down, bringing both his hands to your tits and squeezing. The moan you let out when he tweaks your nipples is so wanton that he can’t help but echo you.

“Sensitive,” you breathe. “Feels good.”

I know, he thinks. And he’s hoping to make it feel even better.

He drops a hand down to your thighs, sliding his palm lazily along your skin as he eases them open. You’re so pliant, spreading your legs wide so that he can feel the softness of your inner thigh beneath your skirt. You really are so sensitive, breathing out a soft sound as his fingers skate upwards until he grazes the hem of your panties, teasing.

“More, Miguel,” you whine. “Please, want more.”

And who is he to deny you?

He takes one last gulp before pulling away from your neck, licking blood from his lips. He’s taken enough for now. What he really wants is to see how your body reacts to his venom – how much harder he can make you cum while you’re under its effects. 

“You’re so wet, amor,” he marvels, finally sliding his fingers over your covered slit and feeling the wetness soaking through your underwear.

You whine as he brings his digits to your clit, rubbing little circles to the bud over the fabric while his free hand wraps gently around your throat. “How are you feeling?” he asks carefully.

“So good, Miguel,” you murmur hazily. “Feels amazing.”

“Does it?” he asks carefully, licking away at the blood oozing from the bite.

You nod against his chest, and a little mewl escapes you when he presses his fingers in just a bit harder. “M’so sensitive.”

“It’s my venom,” he says. “It’s supposed to make you let your guard down — stop you from struggling.”

“Not that you are,” he adds, huffing a soft laugh against your skin.

Your head lolls back against his shoulder as he continues playing with your clit. You’re so cute that he can hardly resist dipping his head, sweetly brushing his nose against yours before meeting your mouth. You’re so eager, sighing into the kiss and reaching your hand up to his cheek, pulling him closer despite the coppery tang of your blood coating his tongue.

He’s no better off, on a high after finally satisfying the thirst that had him run ragged for days. Any other time he would have touched you slowly, running his hands and his lips over your skin before reaching this point, but all he can think of is you. He can feel his cock spilling pre into his sweats, but the press of your ass against him is enough to relieve some of the tension. All he wants now is to make you cum hard, and to make you cum fast.

He can tell that you’re getting close, lashes brushing against his cheek and rhythmic little pants breaching your lips as you grind backwards into his lap. You’ve still got one hand on the back of his neck, and he can feel your nails giving him crescent-shaped bite marks of his own.

The taste of your blood is still fresh on his tongue, but he already wants another bite — wants to feel the way your pulse jumps under his lips and your blood rushes into his mouth when you cum. And once he’s had his fill, he’ll fuck you all boneless and lazy into the mattress, if you want it. You won’t have to lift a finger. He has to pay you back for taking care of him, after all.

You whine as his fingers leave your clit to wrap around the waistband of your underwear. “Shh, it’s okay,” he murmurs, tugging the lace down and cooing praise into your ear as you lift your hips for him.

“Good girl, ángel. Being so good for me,” he says against your lips, dropping your underwear to the ground before bringing his hand back to your pussy to spread your folds open for him. His cock throbs at the sight of your little hole fluttering around nothing. He’ll make sure to fill it up for you soon enough.

You whine as the hand on your throat moves to your jaw, tilting your neck just a bit further for him so he can lap at the bite mark there. 

“You taste so sweet, querida. Will you be okay if I keep going?” he asks, fingers rolling over your bare clit while he waits for you to answer. Some part of him is still hesitant, still wants to make sure you’re alright with him like this.

“Y-yeah, please, Miguel — it felt so good before.”

He hides his smile in the curve of your throat, nosing lovingly into your skin at your response. He’s always happy making you feel good, but this time it’s different. He’s not just giving — he’s taking, too. So he needs to make it all up to you.

“Yeah?” he asks. “Think you’ll cum if I bite you again?”

“I-I might,” you breathe. He can tell — you’re so tense, veins straining beneath his lips as his middle finger dips into your entrance. “I want it.”

“Good,” he murmurs, sliding his finger inside you to the knuckle as you let out another shuddering moan. “Just relax for me, mi amor. Relax for me and I’ll give you what you want — that’s it,” he coos, pumping slowly in and out. You’re so tight, walls pulsing around the digit even as you rest your weight against his chest, trying to follow his instructions. 

“That’s it, good job, ángel.” he says, pulling all the way out just to push back in with two fingers, his own breath stuttering at the way your pussy sucks them in deeper at the stretch. “It won’t hurt this time if you’re relaxed, okay?”

You let out a little hum of affirmation, cheek sliding against his hair as his fangs graze over the juncture between your neck and your shoulder. He can spot your reflection in the mirror on the dresser at this angle, and the sight has him biting down, injecting you with another dose of his sweet venom.

He can’t tear his eyes away from the mirror, watching you writhe with pleasure; eyes screwed shut, pretty mouth agape, lips swollen and smeared with red, tits spilling out over the cups of your bra. His eyes drink it all in, and his stomach lurches when his gaze drops down to watch his fingers fuck you open just the way you like it.

You’d already been so close before he’d pulled away earlier. It’s not long before you’re trembling in his hold, walls getting tighter and tighter around his fingers as he pushes you closer to the edge. He wants you to cum — fucks his fingers into you a little harder, a little faster, prodding upwards just to moan against your skin when he feels a little burst of wetness hit his palm as he hits your favorite spot.

You’re slurring your words, practically drooling as you tell him how good it is, how close you are. 

He gets to watch it all in the mirror — the sight of you spread open and dripping around his fingers is so obscene that it’s a wonder how he doesn’t cum in his pants. Most especially when your hips jerk, catching his tip in the slippery mess dripping down to your ass.

“Cumming, cumming-“ you cry, breath hitching as he finally brings you to your peak.

There’s blood slipping past the seal of his mouth and dripping down your shoulder as he fucks his fingers in faster, banging against your spot to fuck more squirt out of you, spraying across his wrist and up to his forearm. Your blood gets so hot when you cum, the flavor sweetening in his mouth as it spikes with endorphins and makes his mind hazy.

Miguel pulls his fangs out of your neck and his fingers out of your pussy, resting his hands on your hips. He holds you steady as he drops his head down to your shoulder blade, flattening his tongue against your skin to chase a crimson bead rolling down your back. You let out a tired moan as he presses a trail of kisses from your neck to your hair, arms wrapping back around your waist.

“You did so well, mi amor,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the space behind your ear. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

You hum sleepily as Miguel continues to shower you with affection, barely registering his movements as he reaches for the plastic bag you’d left on the nightstand and pulls out the bottle of water you’d originally bought for him. 

He thinks he may have overdone it, making you cum so hard while so low on blood, but you deserve it. You deserve the world.

“Drink up, ángel,” he says, lifting the bottle up to your lips and coaxing you into taking a few sips. Once he’s satisfied with your intake, he sets the bottle on the counter, using the extra towelette in the bag to wipe your cum from his fingers before pulling an empanada out for you.

He’s still cradling you against his chest, legs all tangled up with his as you twist into him, nudging your cheek against the fabric of his shirt.

“How are you feeling?” you ask, looking up at him through your lashes.

“I should be asking you that question,” he replies, dropping the wrapper into the plastic bag. “I’m fine, thanks to you. But you lost a lot of blood. You need to eat something, okay?”

He lifts the empanada to your mouth and watches you take a bite. The two of you are quiet as he feeds you, and once you’re finished, you lean forward to kiss the tips of his fingers. The action is so loving that it makes him shiver.

“You’re really okay with this? With me?” Miguel asks, skirting the back of his index finger over your cheekbone. The two of you are lying down now, your head on his chest as he runs a palm over your back. You’re still so sensitive, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

“Of course I am, Miguel,” you say, peering up at him through your lashes. “I love you.”

He lets out a shuddering breath as you cup his cheek, the softness in your tone making his heart throb. He turns his head, pressing a kiss into your palm.

“I love you, querida,” he murmurs into your skin. “Thank you.”

[maliland]

CORNELIA STREET

"i'm so terrified of if you ever walk away, i'd never walk cornelia street again."

barbie(s): e-42 miles morales & black fem reader

includes: angst

synopsis: following your breakup, you and miles meet up one last time to finish packing up the apartment you formerly shared.

wc: 3559

divider credz: @/bunnysrph a/n: i'm happy y'all liked my last fic!!! this fic is a one n done, so no second part. idek what fluff is 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️ they’re sayin angst is good for the soul. i proof read this time, but i can't promise that there aren't any mistakes. enjoy! <3

teary-eyed, you sealed off the last box. it felt like that alone solidified everything, and the harsh reality would soon settle in: after today, you would never see miles morales again.

the bedroom you were in was dimly lit by the single lamp you had plugged in earlier because the clouds were a reflection of your mood, gloomy and dark. you felt a bead of deep sorrow roll down the right side of your face and hastily swiped it away. you sniffled, and you hated how the sound bounced off the walls that were now covered in nothing but the paint, as if they were taunting you. 

you glanced around the relatively dark and empty room. though the space was now vacant, those four walls held the sacred exchanges and cherished memories that you and miles shared within them. you’d rather forget every single one, good or bad. 

you wanted to forget all of the netflix shows you and miles binged in bed, or the mario kart you’d somehow always beat him at. you wanted to forget the late nights that you spent tending to his wounds, or consoling him when he was missing his father more than usual. you wanted to wipe your mind clean of each and every thought that involved your ex-boyfriend and lock them in a box. every one of your thoughts was miles. your head would forever be silent, but you were okay with that. you craved peace of mind more than anything else.

you stared at the box for a moment before you slid your fingers into the makeshift handles that were cut out on either side and stood up. you tried to make your face look as neutral as possible as you made your way to the living room. while you sauntered down the hallway with heavy footsteps, the wood beneath your feet squealed and creaked. you found yourself expecting to be met with the familiar picture frames of you and miles that usually hung from the wall, but you weren’t. 

you mentally beat yourself up for even hoping for such a thing. it’s been two months since you two broke up. you should be focused on finishing up the move anyway, not reminiscing over what would never be.

in the living room, miles was taping up all of the bigger boxes. some were his, while others were yours. he insisted on doing most, if not all of the heavy lifting. you were in no mood to argue about it, so you just let him. you walked past miles without saying anything, setting the last one of your boxes from the bedroom by the front door. you then made your way to the kitchen where your water bottle was sitting on the counter next to a box of pizza that you hadn’t seen before.

“i didn’t know you ordered food,” you said, opening the box and waiting for miles to respond before you took a piece, just in case he didn’t want you to. the pizza appeared to be untouched. you took a few sips from your water bottle and pursed your lips, swallowing hard. every interaction with miles was an awkward one.

“yeah,” he stood up and turned to face you. “it got here, like, five minutes ago. you can take some if you’re hungry.”

you capped your water bottle. “i think i’ll just take some home.”

“that’s fine,” he retorted flatly. he almost immediately went back to taping up boxes. 

you placed your water bottle back down on the counter and tapped your index fingers against the surface of the counter rhythmically before clearing your throat. you only declined eating right then because you knew water was the only thing you could keep down, and even that was threatening to make an escape.

“thanks, by the way.”

“it’s nothing,” miles was silent for a few beats. you watched him carefully, silently yearning for the boy you missed tremendously. he cut off a long strip of tape from the roll and pressed it against one of the boxes. “aight, let’s take all of these to the u-haul trucks. i’ll put your heavier boxes inside for you. we can just put the smaller boxes in our cars.”

you nodded and joined miles in the living room once again. over a span of forty minutes, you moved boxes from the living room to the u-haul truck. all you could think about while you did was how just three years ago, you and miles were moving boxes into the apartment. it happened to work out because your universities aren’t far from each other. you remember being so excited that you could barely even focus on moving any of the boxes. you were so convinced that miles was the one, and that the cozy apartment that you’d made yours to share was one of the many estates that you’d share in the future. push came to shove and your dream was unfortunately cut short. you’d have to find something else to fantasize about.

“you need any help moving furniture into your new place?”

“oh, no,” you smiled awkwardly. “i already have a few of my friends helping me out, so i’ll be good. thank you, though.”

miles hummed in acknowledgment and went back inside. for a moment, you stared at the front door and watched it close. you blinked a few times then shook your head, redirecting your focus back to putting the last few boxes in your car. you strolled over to your trunk and put the box down on the curb beside your tire and all of the other boxes so you could open it. 

loading the remainder of the smaller boxes took maybe six minutes. by the time you closed the trunk, miles was back outside, loading his own boxes into his own car. you fought the urge to watch him as he did. you knew that’d be ridiculous.

you reminded yourself that you were the one who initiated the breakup, not miles.

when you found out about miles being the prowler, you were both still in high school. he made it seem like a temporary job. you sympathized with him because you knew him and his mama needed money, but you were always on the edge regardless. you would lie awake at night, anxiously waiting by your phone for that text message that confirmed your boyfriend’s safety. some nights you only had to stay up until ten, while others robbed you of sleep completely. 

miles would often miss class, dinners with you and rio, or your dates due to prowler business. you were always covering for him when it came to his mom asking if you knew where he was, and you hated having to lie to her. miles had explained to you that what he does wasn’t something he could just quit like a normal job, because his job wasn't normal. despite your iffy feelings about it, you brushed it off and kept it pushing. 

the hope and the lie that this wouldn’t go on forever was the only thing keeping you going.

soon enough, college finally rolled around and you two rented your first apartment on cornelia street. being with him each and every day made you realize something; you were starting to understand that miles didn’t have any intention to retire the mask.

things started to get serious. miles would not only come home late, but injured. he’d climb through the window to your shared bedroom with cuts, grazes, and sometimes deep stab wounds. you couldn’t keep staying up until the early hours of the morning playing nurse after wasting away time wondering if miles was going to come home or not.

the night he returned to you after not coming back for two whole days was the same night you called it quits. you had been getting less and less of what you needed, and instead, growing increasingly stressed. as much as you loved miles, you didn’t want to live in fear for the rest of your life. you sat him down and explained that as you tended to his severe wounds. maybe you should’ve waited, but you were beyond angry.

though you were firm in your decision, that didn’t make it hurt any less. it almost hurt more because you were the one that did it. there was nobody else to blame because you were the one who had given up, at least that’s how you saw it.

“hey,” miles approached you. “i’m gonna head out now. you got everything?”

“yeah,” you replied, looking back at your car behind you, then up at the sky. “i’m actually about to leave too.”

“cool, cool,” he nodded. “i’ll see you around.”

“see you,” you waved gently as miles turned away. after one left to right, you put your hand down.

part of you expected more to come out of your last goodbye when in reality, there was nothing more to expect.

you didn’t stick around to torture yourself by watching miles leave. instead, you wound up in the living room of the apartment again. the emptiness of the room was daunting. you couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that starting tomorrow, the apartment wasn’t yours and miles’ anymore. someone else’s name would soon be on that lease. if they were anything like you and miles were, there’d be two more names on the lease. two more sets of memories to be made in every single room.

maybe they’ll bake snickerdoodles at three in the morning like you and miles did, or go on christmas movie marathons when halloween hadn't even passed yet. maybe they'd match halloween costumes when it finally arrived. maybe they'd go to carnivals and hang the strip of pictures from the photo booth on the wall. 

hopefully they wouldn't end up like you two.

❤︎₊ ⊹

about an hour later, you finally found it in yourself to leave. your u-haul truck was probably at your new place by now. your friends were coming over to help you unpack, and you still had to turn in your key to the landlord. on your way out, you noticed that the box of pizza from earlier was still on the counter. you went over to the kitchen and opened it to find that the pizza was still untouched. it's rare that miles ever forgets things. he had to have left it for you.

you closed the pizza box and left through the front door. for the last time, you locked it. you carried the box to your car and placed it in the passenger seat. when you closed the door, you got a sinking feeling in your stomach because you knew you'd never drive back there again. you didn't ponder on it for long before your eyes widened. you remembered you'd left a box in the guest room. you'd always been the more forgetful one, after all. you dashed back to the front door and quickly unlocked it. you hurriedly made your way to the room and sighed in relief when your eyes landed on what you were looking for. you picked up the box and groaned in annoyance when you realized it was a heavier one. complaining would only make the process longer, so you sucked it up and brought the box outside to your car.

suddenly, you felt something wet on your face and your eyebrows knitted together. you glanced up at the sky, now noticing that the clouds appeared darker, and the smell of rain was more prevalent than it was before.

“it’s not supposed to rain until six,” you thought, wiping the tiny drop of rain on your face with your sleeve.

by time time you'd managed to fit your box in the trunk with all of the others, the rain was pouring at an increasingly fast pace, drenching your phone, your outfit, and more importantly, your freshly braided hair. you pursed your lips and slowly closed your eyes. a desperate attempt to search for the patience to keep it together was made, but you broke down, weeping in agony instead. you’d suffocated your desolation deep in your being for far too long, and it wanted out. you had only kept it in because you didn’t think you needed to cry over miles as much as your body wanted you to. you figured that since your breakup was final and beneficial for the both of you, there was no reason to dwell on it. you preferred to let your sanity dwindle. even when sadness engulfed you the most, you refused to provide it with an outlet. the lumps in your throat that you had always swallowed felt like rocks, and your eyes had grown tired of you dismissing your tears back into your eye sockets with rapid blinking movements.

you wanted nothing to do with the breakup in general. you really despised the look your loved ones gave you every time you had to break the news of your failed relationship to them. most people would appreciate the pity and constant check-ins, but you deplored them. you only wanted to feel normal again. it was already bad enough that you couldn't feel whole without miles. you didn’t need people to remind you of that. 

you stood there on the curb stiffly, letting the drops of rain mask your tears as they fell. you felt lost right outside of what used to be your home. if your friends weren’t back at your new place awaiting your arrival, you probably would’ve stayed in that same spot for a little while longer. collecting yourself would take a minute, though.

you wiped your eyes with the sleeve of your hoodie, your mascara staining the fabric black as a result. you closed your eyes and breathed out, preparing to bury your feelings deep once again and walk to your car until you noticed there wasn’t rain soaking into your scalp or running down your face anymore. looking down at your feet, you could still see raindrops bouncing off of the ground. when you raised your head, you were greeted with a black umbrella towering over you. you reluctantly turned around to see none other than miles standing there before you, his grip firm on the handle of the umbrella.

even if miles didn't show it in his expression, you knew you looked a mess. you didn't need a mirror to know that your edges had lifted. your neat, spiraled swoops were now untamed strands that were just barely sticking to your head. the rainwater weighing the flyaways down was the closest thing you were getting to a hold. that wasn't the only part of your appearance that was in disarray. due to the profuse tears you'd just been crying, there were streams of mascara trailing down either side of your cheeks. you wiped them away and sniffled. to top it all off, your sweatshirt and your favorite pleated jean skirt were both doused in water. you really didn’t want miles to see how messed up you truly were over his absence. you began to fidget with the bracelet around your wrist, opting to feign your normal expression like everything was okay. it's not like miles could tell you were crying anyway. the rain may have fucked you over before, but it was doing you a service now.

“did you leave your pizza?” you asked. "it's in my car."

“i forgot my jacket inside of the apartment,” miles held it up in his other arm.

“oh,” you nodded, avoiding eye contact at all costs. it’s what you did every time you spoke now. you entered each room multiple times before you left. you hadn't seen his jacket anywhere. “well, i was actually just about to go.”

“you were standing idly in the rain,” miles retorted. his eyebrows lowered in a mix of both worry and confusion. 

“well, i—“

“you hate getting your hair wet, especially when you just got it done,” he interrupted you. “you also said you were about to leave back when i was leaving.”

your mouth hung open for about three seconds before you closed it. you had completely forgotten what you were going to say before miles cut you off. you didn’t even expect him to notice that you’d gotten your hair done. miles always had been attentive to you, but you expected him to pay little to no attention to you now.

“i did say that,” you confirmed, rubbing your thumbs against each other as a release for your nervousness. “but obviously i haven’t left.”

“why’s that?” miles angled his head. he was peering into your face like he was determined to uncover an answer without you having to utter a word. it made you nervous. “you need help with something else?”

“no, miles,” you exhaled, the never-ending interrogation making you restless. you somewhat felt like you were in high school again. for a split second, you were thrown back to the days when you first started crushing on miles. “i lived here for a while. i’m just gonna miss this place, that’s all.”

miles noticed that you were dodging his eyes. he clocked it from the start, actually. the very start. you haven’t looked him in the eyes since the night you ended things. he pressed his lips together and closed his eyes, sighing deeply before opening them again.

“[name], i owe you an apology,” he says lowly. “i know you hate what i do. i knew i wasn’t gonna stop any time soon and i shouldn’t have made it seem like i was going to, but you have to understand, mama,��i’m in too deep. i don’t know if i can ever lead a normal life now.”

you continued to look down, your gaze fixed on the rain droplets that were splashing on the concrete instead. your mind doesn’t offer you any commentary, nor does it offer you solace. you’ve imagined this conversation a million times in your head. you’ve had this conversation a million times out loud. it ends the same way each time: with tears and a heavy heart, as well as the certitude that the same subject of whether or not miles would come home and decide he's had enough of making you worry, would be revisited in a curt amount of time. 

you thought this unbearable cycle would end when your relationship with miles did, but parting ways never did free you from the harrowing thoughts that occupied your feeble mind.

this had to be the last variation of that same dreadful conversation.

“it’s better this way. i don’t ever want to put you in danger. i wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something happened to you because of me—if you got hurt...” miles' voice trailed off.

you understood everything he was telling you. you always had. it wasn’t a difficult concept to grasp. again, it didn’t make the circumstances maim your heart any less. 

and miles would never truly get it. 

“you already hurt me, miles,” you finally look the boy in the eyes without even meaning to. “you’re gonna get yourself killed. you’re skilled, but you’re also lucky. really lucky. i don’t want your luck to run out. i hope you find a way to save yourself... to make a life for yourself without having to get your hands bloody.”

"me too," he replied after a couple of beats. 

still, he never would.

miles pushed the hand that had a grip on the handle of the umbrella forward, urging you to take it. your fingers brushed against each other as you reluctantly retrieved the handle from him. 

you wondered if there was something you should say…

do you ask to keep in contact? do you ask if you can still call him? do you ask if you can still visit? do you ask if you can still join him and his mama for dinner? do you tell him you still love him? do you ask for one more hug? do you ask for one more kiss?

do you ask if he’ll always love you?

miles’ hand dropped by his side, soon finding their way into the pockets of his basketball shorts. "take care of yourself, [name]."

that was it.

you were unable to think of something fast enough, so you stood paralyzed and watched miles jog back to his car. you didn’t feel even an ounce of shame as you watched your first love leave for the last time, your plans and your pre-determined future departing along with him. 

you knew that if it wasn’t for luck, you would never see the boy you loved so intensely ever again. if you ever did, you’d have to cope with the fact that his love for you would’ve more than likely faded to nothing but a memory stored deep in his mind, much like the thoughts of him that you longed to lock away. you really hated that things had to end the way they did, but no matter how much you loathed the veracity, miles would always be the prowler. there wasn’t any force or any drive—anything or anyone in that world that could make him stop. 

not even you.

one last time, you turned to face the place that served you well. it wasn’t you and miles’ apartment on cornelia street anymore, but it would forever hold the love you shared inside of it. at the end of the day, you knew that the walls that resided inside the building had seen generations of love in a multitude of forms. 

in regards to love, you knew that they would never cease to remember you and miles morales.

[plzu]

caricature of intimacy - (Miguel O'Hara x Venom!Symbiote!Reader)

summary: Miguel invites you to keep his cock warm while he works. warnings: explicit 18+ only (mdni), cockwarming, p in v sex, no Y/N, implied venom x reader, (mostly one-sided) hate fucking, the tiniest possibility of humiliation kink, interrupted orgasm, Miguel in civvies! a/n: part 3 of sleeping with roaches. title once again from P!ATD's Build God, Then We'll Talk. i've had this idea stewing for months and finally got a chance to write it. sorry for liking it when Miguel is mean. as if it's my fault. wordcount: 2.3k

Sometimes, it feels like Miguel may actually take pleasure in punishing you. Which, if you’re being honest, is hard to convince yourself of, given the way he carries himself. Like he’s the only person capable of solemnly bearing the brunt of the world (or worlds, rather) on his massive fucking shoulders. 

He doles out the responsibility of keeping you restrained, so to speak, with ever increasing proximity. It is a constant and cruel test of your discipline. How deep can he push himself inside you without 1) the symbiote overtaking you and 2) letting your trembling hands wander along his body.

Lately, though, it seems he's been getting more lenient regarding the latter. Maybe it's a test of will. Maybe he just likes this more than he'll ever be capable of admitting. Likes you more than he lets on, and he doesn't let on much. You fully believe he still hates your guts as deeply as he can reach 'em.

(And he can reach. It's a wonder you can stand at all after your onerous little trysts.)

Either way, your current predicament has you flush against him, body quivering from immense self-restraint and the overwhelming sensation crowding between your legs. Miguel allows your hands to clench at the fabric of his shirt, right at his chest. Your forehead rests between your shakings fists at his clavicle, which is hidden by said shirt and its wide-rimmed, almost bowl-like collar.

It’s a funny thing, seeing him in regular clothes. The fashion here is slightly different than where you’re from, which adds to the out-of-placeness it brings out in Miguel. Simple, yet futuristic, you suppose, given that this dimension is several decades ahead of your own, before it was crudely blipped out of existence. The soft white and gray material of the long-sleeved shirt does  something to mellow out Miguel’s typical dark and brooding aura. It’s nearly disarming, the way it makes you want to stare. Take in the way he looks almost… normal. Less creature of the night.

The casual outfit had certainly made you pause when you sought him out before. You blinked back surprise, wondering if you had wandered into the wrong room, if this Miguel was a different variant, not of Earth-928. Until he cut you with that familiar glare of disdain that only your Miguel could give you, and then accepted your offer to release any pent-up frustration. Only to surprise you again by commanding you to sit on his lap.

(“I’m busy, so you’re going to sit still while I work until I say you can move.”)

Maybe being fully clothed is why he’s allowing the proximity. The only bare part of him that you're allowed to touch is sheathed inside your heat -- the head of his cock pressed up against your cervix like a bruising promise. A delectable threat.

The clothes allow a modicum of distance between you. Nulls the intimacy that his exposed flesh might allow, skin against skin as you straddle his lap, stuffed with his cock.

Aside from being a barrier, you wonder if, maybe, there was an element of humiliation to the circumstance. While it was unlikely anyone would come across you two in his computer chair, in his very private office -- lab? -- it wasn't impossible. Some emergency could have one of the other Spider-folk bursting through, and they'd see you naked from the waist down, barely holding it together as Miguel coolly works on his computer.

Miguel would never let anyone else see him like this, of course, yet you can't help but wonder. He doesn't seem particularly pleased that the others seem to like you so much. It must be satisfying -- the idea that some of the others would change how they feel about you if they happened upon the sight of you quivering like a desperate little whore on their commander’s lap, while he remained clearly unaffected.

The seat Miguel works in is slightly reclined, so the orange glow of his holographic monitors spill over your back. Flashes here and there when he closes one and opens another. Miguel's focus on whatever information being displayed makes it seem like he's entirely unphased by the way you're soaking his lap.

In an attempt to distract yourself from the ache of his girth, and how badly you want to rut against his pelvis, you zone in on the barely-there audio coming through. The sounds of recorded fights with different anomalies. Vulture. Rhino. Sandman. Green Goblin.

But the hum of sound is much too quiet. It's drowned out by the thudding desperation pulsing in your ears. This would be easier, much more bearable, if he weren't so fucking big.

You whimper, probably. Make some pathetic sound, because you feel his attention shift. A slight turn of his head has his jaw closer to your forehead.

“Keep it together,” he warns, voice dipped into a molasses-thick gravel that only makes you wetter. You shudder against him, squeeze your eyes shut against the temptation of wanting to look at his face.

“M-Miguel,” you breathe, finding it difficult to talk around the feeling of him inside you.“H-how muh-much...”

“Until I say we're done.” 

This is frustrating. The thought isn’t exactly your own, but it mirrors your feelings. As much as Venom enjoys when Miguel has his way with you, he currently squirms with impatience beneath your skin. I do not like this one. You can feel the desire he has to snake out a tendril or two, use it in a way that would satisfy you both, but he knows better -- even the slightest hint of his appearance would disrupt this session. 

Despite the circumstances, this makes you huff a one-syllable laugh. A small puff of amusement that does not go unnoticed by Miguel.

“What’s funny?” he asks, mild irritation an undercurrent to his soft query.

You answer, after a beat. “Inside joke.”

That seems apt.

Miguel doesn’t seem to appreciate the pun so much, though. “That thing is not a part of this.”

Venom takes offense to that. I am a part of you, so I am a part of this whether he likes it or not!

“Don'worry,” you sigh, ignoring the symbiote in favor of lifting your head to peer up at Miguel's handsome, ticked off face. “Won't let him out. 'M a good girl.”

Miguel's nostrils flare at your words. His cock twitches inside you at the same time that his large hands clamp down against your waist, cementing you to his hips, preventing you from bucking against the brief friction.

Your mouth parts in a startled gasp. The feeling of his palms sears against your skin, warm and titillating flesh. 

His attention zeroes in on your mouth, his own lips peeling back into a snarl that traps a guttural sound behind his teeth.

And- you catch it again. The hungry look on his face as his eyes focus on your parted lips, the look that makes it feel like he wants to devour you. It sends a thrilling crackle of desire skittering along your veins, foolishly fills you with hope and longing. 

The truth is, you’d let Miguel O'Hara consume you in a heartbeat. He wouldn't even have to ask.

It makes something liquid and molten spool in your lower abdomen, and you clench involuntarily around him, your weakness for Miguel's attention making you mewl and quake in his hold.

You squeeze your eyes shut again, not wanting to see Miguel's expression shift back into controlled anger as it usually does after you interrupt the rare reverie of his attention. Instead of another frustrated growl, however, you feel his head bow into the space of your neck. There’s no contact, but his breath fans hot against your skin.

Your eyes open with careful slowness despite the speed at which your heart beats in your chest at the sight of Miguel's neck so close to your lips. The hair that falls over his ear tickles your left cheek.

His chest heaves under your clenched fists, and you could swear his heartbeat matches your own. You want to ask if he's okay, but you're afraid of shattering this moment with another word.  

It doesn't matter that your legs are starting to ache from being spread around his hips for so long. Doesn't matter that the feeling of his cock persists against your core. You want to savor this delicious torment of his hands at your hips and his fangs a breath away from your pulse for as long as you breathe.

Miguel is the one that breaks the silence, instead. Murmuring below your ear, “I don't like what you do to me.”

You’re not sure what he means, other than being well aware that you're a thorn in his side. You just hope that the comfort of your cunt is enough reason for him not to pluck you out.

Which is kind of embarrassing to admit. So you hum in agreement. “Same, here.”

He lifts his head, and you think you catch a glimpse of remorse in his crimson eyes before his features slip back into the more familiar grim stoicness. 

As he leans back, his hands travel lower, gliding over the curve of your ass until you can almost feel his fingers at the crease of your heat. The action lifts you, forces you to follow forward as he continues reclining back. It also makes his cock slide partially out of you. A quiet moan shudders out of you at the sensation of finally having some reprieve.

Miguel shifts slightly underneath you as he meets your half-lidded gaze. ���Don’t forget the other rule.” You just stare back at him, frowning slightly. The ghost of a smirk accompanies his reminder. “Stay quiet.”

Before you get to fully process his words, his hips snap up and slam against your ass, plunging his cock fully back inside you. You cry out for only half a second before biting back your wail. 

He shushes you against your hairline - you didn’t even realize you dropped your head back down against his chest. Though with the way he’s dragging out of you again, terribly slow, you’re probably going to have to use his chest to muffle your cries. 

He thrusts up into you again, and again, and again. Despite the bruising grip on your hips, the pace he’s going at feels almost tender. The head of his cock pushes repeatedly against that sweet, swollen spot inside you, gradually undoing you. 

“Good girl?” Miguel growls low in your ear. “You’re the most aggravating part of my day.” He switches up, guides you to slam down on him while he remains firm on the seat of the chair. It punches the air from your lungs. “Everything you do pisses me off.”

His words drip like nectar down your spine. It's difficult to take offense to them when he lets you hook your arms over his shoulders and around his neck so that you can cling to him; it's the first time he's ever allowed your arms to wrap around him.

If he weren't fucking all matter of coherent thought out of your brains, you'd be able to marvel over the fact that he hasn't ripped away from you. The fact that he's in your arms gets lost in the smoldering heat trapped between you.

Miguel spreads your cheeks, and it does something you can’t describe to the sensation of having his cock fuck into you. It makes you babble nonsense into the damp space of his neck, taste his sweat on your tongue as you keen, “so deep so deep so good-”, a feeling sweet and sharp swelling in your belly until it spikes and bursts, and you gush around the relentless ramming of his cock, soaking the crotch of his pants.

You pant, falling slack against the solid wall of his torso. His hands finally relinquish their hold on your bottom, and you feel his arms encircle your waist, holding you still and close as he uses your spent pussy to chase his own release.

The bunched up fabric at the crotch of his pants, his open fly, keeps catching at your clit with each thrust. The sensation quickly and overwhelmingly begins to build into another orgasm.

His pace quickens. Something animalistic rumbles in his chest, the strength of his arms crushing you to him. Your vision blurs with unshed tears as each snap of his hips brings him closer to his release- a second one of your own about to rip right through you-

“Yo, Boss man!”

Lyla's disembodied voice pings from the watch on Miguel’s wrist. He stills, coming to a tense stop with a grunt. You would have jumped off his lap had he not kept the vice grip around your waist.

“Sorry if I’m interrupting anything,” she continues, and it’s hard to tell if the amusement in her voice is from knowing what she’s interrupted. “But I’ve detected another anomaly.”

Miguel unwinds his arms from around you. You take the opportunity to ease up and away from his chest, quietly unwrapping yourself from Miguel’s neck, suddenly worried that he’ll push you away.

As he sits up and lifts the watch to his face, he speaks into it in a strained and gruff voice, “Where?” 

You don't look at his face to see if he’s spared you a glance as he gets information from Lyla, very purposeful in avoiding eye contact and keeping quiet as you begin to slide off of him, afraid that you'll remind him of who and what you are and make him regret these last few moments of intimacy.

The absence of him from between your shaky legs aches almost as much as being too full with him does. You feel his fingers gently graze against the soft flesh at your hip as you turn away. The unexpectedness of it makes you waver for only a second, heart going into a flutter. 

You keep your back turned to Miguel, smiling softly, as you gather your discarded clothes, planning to hold onto this moment for as long as you exist.

[inklore]

❥ — contains smut

hobie brown.

one shots

put on a show (2.3k) ❥

you like people watching you turn into a pitiful mess of need and desire, and hobie likes being the cause and effect of it.

miguel o'hara.

one shots

use me (1.4k) ❥

maybe if your work relationship had the boss and employee lines drawn in a permanent marker rather than an erasable one that keeps getting reapplied after nights like these, you’d ask him if he was alright.

lost in the fire (1.4k) ❥

as miguel pulls you on top of him he knows that no matter what happens, no matter who is sent to kill you next, letting you die will never be an option. 

blurbs

torment ❥

[ikarakie]

send me spiderverse interaction writing prompts in my asks if you have any. ill see what i can do

[flowerpotmage]

Tight Grip, Broken Dam (12)

<< Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter >>

You don’t question it anymore, when Miguel appears in your bed at night. He’s not there for sex, no, you’ve never even kissed—though you would be lying if you said you weren’t open to the idea of kissing him. He’s there for comfort. For rest. If only it could stay so simple.

Pair: Miguel O'Hara & GN!Reader

Notes: for series: slow burn, ambiguous relationship, found family dynamics, reader is in their late 20s. for chapter: sexual tension, injuries and injury aftercare, references and nightmares about 90s comic run canon events

Word Count: 2.4k

Read this chapter on Ao3 here. If you like my work, please consider leaving kudos there as well! You do not need an account to do so.

a/n: deepest apologies for this series' absence! i hope this (only slightly) shorter chapter and the knowledge that i am already working on the next and hope to return to semi-regular updates will tide you over.

Your brief trip across town leaves you more winded than you hoped and less tired than you feared.

Your apartment is empty but for the presence of warm midday sun and green leaves when you return, kicking your shoes off and carefully setting yourself down on the couch, bones heavy with the weight of grief and exhaustion. There’s nothing to do now but rest, and so you don’t resist the warm embrace of sleep when it curls around you like hungry arms.

Brrring brrring!

The ring of your phone wakes you, the light now coming more brightly through your balcony doors.

A disoriented grumble escapes your throat as you shift, lifting yourself back up to lean against the back of the couch and immediately checking your side.

Sore. Sore, mostly dry, and unopened. Good.

Brrring brrring!

You find your phone in your coat pocket, having fallen asleep still fully dressed. Karen’s name lights up the screen. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes and clearing your throat, you answer the call and hold the phone to your ear.

“Karen, hey.”

“Hey!” She chirps through the line. “Matt and Foggy just won a case today, and–”

“Come drink with us!” Comes Foggy’s voice, shouted from somewhere in the room Karen has called from.

“I’m assuming you caught that.” You can hear the bemused expression on her face.

You try to chuckle, and fail, body too tired to force any levity. “I shouldn't tonight,” you say, wrinkling your nose and trying to roll out the stiffness in your neck. “I, uh—sick. Not feeling great.”

“Oh no!” Karen says, sympathetic. “Are you okay?”

You can hear the sudden silence from Foggy.

“Yeah, just uh. Out of it. Probably gonna just rest up for a few days, it’s a little rough.” You wince.

“Do you need anything?” She asks. “I don’t think it’s too far out of our way if you need some food. Some soup?”

You smile, heart warming at her thoughtfulness. “No, no, I’m all set. That’s really sweet though, thank you Karen.”

“Of course,” she says. “Rest up. We’ll see you when you’re feeling better.”

“Take an extra shot for me tonight.”

“Not like Foggy needs the excuse,” Karen laughs.

“What? What don’t I need an excuse for?”

“Wow, nosy,” you joke, smiling. “I’ll see you all next time.”

“Alright. Text if you need anything. I mean it.”

“You’re too nice. And I will, I promise,” you can’t help but smile. “Now go celebrate.”

Farewells are exchanged and the call ends. You drop the phone onto the couch, a heavy breath leaving your lungs. You linger for a moment before finally mustering the will to pull yourself off the couch and trudge into your room to change into your loosest pajamas.

Sleep pulls you back under its currents again.

Something pulls you from your slumber hours later, your cheek stuck to the pillow with dried spit, your vision blurry.

You haven't been this tired or slept so much since the spider bite that changed your life.

Your spider-sense pings and seconds later your bedroom door cracks open, Miguel in the open sliver between door and wall. His eyes meet your own, your head lifted slightly off the pillow from the surprise ping moments before.

“When’d you get here?” You ask, voice muffled and slurred.

“About an hour ago,” he replies, opening the door further. “You needed groceries, and I know you weren't going to be getting them anytime soon.”

You groan, letting your head fall back to the pillow. “You didn't need to do that for me.”

He crosses his arms, leans on the doorframe.

Now, with the door open, the smell of cooking finally reaches you and you rub your eyes. “ And you cooked?”

“I did.” There it is, his disproportionately endearing, pleased little half smile. Miguel crosses the distance from the door to your bed to help you up. “ Vamos, come on.”

“Thanks,” you mumble, when your feet finally find the floor. And again, after you’ve eaten and you sit side by side on the couch, sleep dragging down your eyelids once more: “Thank you, Miguel. For dinner, and… everything.”

“Of course,” he murmurs, and you slip into dreams once more.

The next morning, thankfully, finds you less fatigued. Miguel changes your bandages again, makes you breakfast, again, before leaving to fulfill his self appointed duties.

It continues like this as you heal. When Miguel isn’t at Spider Society HQ he’s in your home, cooking your food and cleaning your dishes and changing your bandages (You try not to go insane from the feeling of his hand on your bare skin). You don't ask, but you’re fairly certain the only sleep he gets is in your bed—a place you have to yourself less often than ever before.

Not that you’re complaining. Neither of you mentions it, of course, that he's visiting more while the skin over your ribs heals. You both seem to immediately accept this new normal and move forward as if it has always been the way things are. For Miguel’s part, he knows you don't have anyone here to take care of you properly—he knows you’ve lost family and more friends than most Spider-People usually had to start with—and so he takes the responsibility of you upon himself, and does so happily.

And mostly things are the same… mostly.

He learns about your favorite color, the watering schedule of your plants, how you miss having a pet but with the life you lead it doesn't feel like the responsible thing to do. He tries not to think about how it feels like learning more about someone you’ve been with for years, because he already knew which spoon was your favorite out of the somewhat mix-and-match selection, already knew about your aunt and your aunt's girlfriend on the force who still checked in on you up until her own death, your personal ASM-97 event.

He starts to feel disconcerted about how little he's shared in return, and tries his best to give something back. He mentions Gabriel in passing when talking about his childhood one day, during lunch.

“Gabriel?” You prompt.

“Ah,” he pauses, lowering his fork. To his plate. “My brother.”

The two of you are sitting on your couch, the balcony doors open wide to let in the fresh afternoon air that meanders through the open glass. Miguel holds his plate in one hand, you rest yours on your lap and your feet on your coffee table.

“I didn't know you had a brother,” you say. You want to rest your arm on the back of the couch, but despite your wound being at less risk of opening and bleeding, you’ve still been advised not to stretch the skin. So you pick at the couch cushion by your thigh with your nail instead, glancing at him.

Miguel nods. “Gabriella was named after him.”

Your heart squeezes. “Is he…?”

“He’s alive and well,” Miguel gives a reassuring, if rueful, smile. “It's just us two now.”

You nod. “Older or younger?”

“Younger,” he says, smiling at you. He rests his plate on his lap now, like you, and rests an arm on the back of the couch to angle towards you.

“Ah, oldest brother,” you raise your eyebrows and nod sagely. “That explains a lot.”

Miguel raises an eyebrow back at you.

You gesture at him vaguely. “I mean. Come on.”

Miguel scoffs, smiling, and then he tells you more about his family. About Tyler Stone and the secret his mother kept, how he’s not a true O’Hara but still carries the name. You sense he’s still keeping some things to himself, but you don’t press the issue, happy enough to even be let in this small amount. You hope that your adoration doesn’t show on your face too much as you watch him talk, lit with warm afternoon light.

Miguel feels lucky when he wakes up and can’t remember his dreams, because the nights that he does…

Flesh torn and shredded under his fingertips as gravity pulls the arm from his grasp, the man attached dangles infinite stories up from the streets and even farther to Downtown. The writhing gasp and scream of a man in pain and Miguel trying to save him and only making it worse. His father, angry and raging and taking it out on his mother. The smell of rotting flesh from his Vulture’s pantry, rotting cadavers stored haphazardly in a dark room in the underbelly of downtown waiting for—

No. Even in dreams it’s too sick to name.

Sometimes the horrors of his early days as Spider-Man blend with his life now. Gabriella’s rotting body in the pile in Vulture’s pantry. Gabriella, caught in an attack on his apartment, or in the crossfire between him and the Public Eye. You, hanging from his desperate grip after the lab explosion that changed him forever, your face twisted in fear and your arm shredded under his finger-pad talons as you slip from his grasp and fall to your death. You, in the pods for the long discontinued Corporate Raider program and killed in a fatal human-animal gene splicing test. You disappearing into the air, turning to less than ashes in his arms, or sometimes worse: You, holding Gabriella and reaching for him and the both of you disappearing when he reaches out, unable to so much as touch either of you one last time.

It’s not every night. Sometimes he dreams nonsense like everyone else, surreal landscapes with changing figures and storylines that mean nothing. Sometimes he dreams of happy memories or past almosts as if they had followed through on their potential. Schooldays with Xina or childhood games with Gabriel, or taking Gabriella to the Spider Society HQ like Peter does with May.

Sometimes he dreams about your skin, and your sheets, and your breath. Those ones always leave him distracted, off kilter and embarrassed through the rest of his day. He wishes he could bury them properly, leave them in his subconscious where they belong. Wishes he could keep himself from wanting to cross that line.

But tonight brings no dreams of pleasant pasts, no surreal landscapes, no ecstatic gasps and tangled sheets. Tonight he dreams of loss and pain.

A sudden jolt uproots you from sleep, dreams turn to evaporated particles in the air. At first you think there might be a threat, that perhaps your spider senses were what woke you, but the shallow and forcefully measured breaths in the bed next to you quickly inform you otherwise.

“Miguel?” Your voice is but a whisper as you prop yourself up, mindful of your ribs, your hand searching for him through the blankets. “Hey, hey, it's okay–”

He starts to say something, his voice dying in his throat before the first letter can even form on his tongue. His hand finds yours, wrapping tightly around palm and fingers alike. You scoot closer, doing your best with one hand now out of commission, and then you're partially hovering over him, your held hand supporting your weight.

“It's okay,” you whisper, and you begin to pet his hair back from his face. “You're okay.”

Even in the dark your eyes find each other. Before you can blink his arm is around you and you're pressed into his chest, his face hidden in your neck. You can feel each thundering beat of his heart through your chest as it slows, still beating too hard to fall into rhythm with your own.

“I’m here,” you whisper.

His arm tightens around your middle at that, a brief squeeze pulling you closer to him. His shuddered breath gusts across your skin where he’s buried his face.

“Bad dream?” you whisper into the hair above his ear, shifting above him to rest on his chest properly and rest one arm on the pillow by his head, the other sliding around his side to hold him in return.

“Sorry,” he whispers, ignoring your question, loosening his grip. “Your ribs-?”

“They’re fine, Miguel,” you say, your arm on the pillow by his head shifting.

As his heart slows, as his breath steadies and you wake fully, you become conscious of your body pressed into his. His face is still buried in your neck, and you feel his ribs expand under your body, raising you into the air.

His head falls back from your neck, resting on the pillow, and you lift your head to look at him in the dark.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

He pauses, eyes flitting between each of yours before he looks away. He pulls his arm back from around you, hand sliding to rest on your waist under your ribs.

“No.”

“Okay.” You prop yourself up further. “I’m here, though.”

He sighs, nods, closes his eyes.

Silence returns to the room, pressing in on your chest, squeezing your ribs like the bandages around your calf. You are too aware of your position nearly atop him, body pressed into the side of his chest with his hand still resting on your side, yours on his and your other bracing you above him on the pillow beside his head. You've been this close before, of course, and held one another much tighter in the dark. But something about this is different. Perhaps it's the way his fingers begin to unconsciously stroke your side and the way you've never gotten to look at him like this, above him, his eyes closed under you—

Your breath catches in your throat, and you lift your hand from his side to touch his face. His brow twitches, his hand tightens and relaxes on your side, and he sighs again as tension slowly drains from his body. You let your hand rest on his cheek more solidly, and his eyes flicker open to meet yours in the dark.

You hope he can’t feel the way your heart skips and then beats just that much harder. You swallow, hold your breath, and let your hand slide into his hair.

His eyes flutter shut, and everything freezes.

“Thank you,” he whispers, and the pressure of the air eases.

“Of course,” you finally say, your mouth dry, stroking your thumb back over his temple into his hair. You shift, settling down into his side.

His arms wrap around you once more. Neither of you speak, and you don't fall back asleep for a long while.

<< Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter >>

[flowersfortheghost]

-ˏˋ⋆ Beyond The Spider-Verse by battleofthelarynx on ao3 ⋆ˊˎ-

☆ Chapter 3: Wait for me ☆

Chapter summary:

Gwen has a talk with a variant of herself from the future.

xxx

trying out a new format to post my fics to tumblr. i had a lot of fun making the cover/banner thing so i might do it more often. ignore how its like 80% song lyrics, i was struggling for this chapters😭 anyways, i wanna do this format for often since i really like it so hopefully yall like it too!

[spidereticas]

if someone asks, this is where i'll be. Spider-Man: Spider-Verse Movies. Miles/Hobie. Rated T. Sequel to i know that's our time (but stay on).

He doesn’t even know why he’s nervous really—he and Hobie share music recs all the time. But there’s something different, he thinks, about the idea of finally giving Hobie this mixtape, the one he’s been putting together in his head ever since the night Hobie kissed him for the first time. The thought of it makes him feel exposed in a way, like how letting Hobie look at all those drawings of him in his sketchbook had. This is how I see you, it says. This is how I see us.

[Chapter 5/5: i guess that this must be the place.]

[petertingle-yipyip]

CAUGHT IN THE MIDDLE - MIGUEL OHARA

//idk why this took so long to post, it was already done when i revisited it. edit: nvm its cause i kinda missed some of the request//

Pairing: dad!miguel x GN!reader

Word Count: 1,801

Summary (request): hii, this is platonic request! can you do a fic where miguel comforts a reader ( gender neutral if possible ) who's turned 18 recently and is super anxious because their parents are pressuring them to pick a career/collage, decide what they wanna do in the future, etc and it's all making them feel really overwhelmed and restless?

“Hey there, kiddo.” Your dad strided into your room with your mom in tow. “How’s homework?”

“It’s fine.” You answered quizzically. “What’s going on here?” You gestured to the two of them.

“Well, we just came to see if you needed anything.”

“No, I’m okay. Thanks though.”

“Honey.” Your mom offered your dad a look and you could tell there was something else.

“Okay.” You sighed and pushed away from your desk. “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?” Your dad tried, which earned him a pointed look from you.

“Alright, alright.” He put his hands up in surrender. “Your mother and I-”

“You need to start thinking about your next step.” Your mom cut in.

“Oh… Guys, I’ve still got time.” You tried. “Besides, I’m not sure what I want to major in.”

And that was true. There was so much going on with your vigilantism and latest recruitment into the Spider Society that you hadn’t had time to sit and think about your major, let alone what school you wanted. You knew MIT and Columbia were great options. Harvard was on the table, as were the other Ivys. But what was the point of applying if you didn’t know why you would be there?

“Calendar wise, yes, there’s time. But you know how steep the competition to these higher schools can be. Are you ready for the SATs? Or the ACTs?” Your mom continued, and her high emotions began to grate your own sensitive nerves.

“Mom.” You tried.

“We’ll pay the application fees.” Your dad offered, though your mom was still on her rant.

“No, I don’t need you to.” You told him.

“And your personal essay, what would you write about? Do you have any ideas? Oh goodness, there’s so much to do.”

“Mom.” You said roughly, finally cutting through her own words. “I don’t know, okay? I’ve been busy… I haven’t thought about it.”

“You can’t waste time anymore, Y/N.” Your mom said firmly, pushing your chair back against the desk.

“I’m not wasting time, Mom. Please just relax.”

“Sweetie, maybe Y/N needs to do this at a different pace.” Your dad offered and you gave a thankful expression.

“I don’t care.” She snapped. “My child won’t miss an opportunity because of hesitation.”

She slid your laptop in front of you and then leaned down to meet your eyes. “This is your chance to get somewhere better than this.”

“I like where I come from.” You said honestly.

“That doesn’t mean you have to stay here.”

“How about I take Y/N to the library to do these?” Your dad offered. “Wi-fi’s been acting up today.”

“Yeah, and maybe I’ll find inspiration.” You added on. “I can look through some books and see if anything feels right… I get what you’re saying, Mom, but I don’t want to rush into something I shouldn’t.”

She blew out a sigh and stood straight. “Fine.” She conceeded. “But please, get at least two done today.”

“Yeah, okay.” You nodded, figuring you could at least do that much, even if just to please your mom.

After all, she had given you everything she could growing up. Her and your dad gave up a lot so you would have what you needed and what you wanted. You didn’t have everything under the sun but you had more than enough. And that dedication was what inspired your actions as a spider-person. Your parents looked out for you in ways no one else ever would. They put everything on the line for a payout that didn’t always go in their favor, but in yours.

And being able to give that back to the community you grew up in, the community that supported you and welcomed you. That was what you wanted your adult life to be, something so giving and so genuine that it could inspire someone else to do the same.

But what kind of career or schooling could give that to you?

When your dad dropped you off, he gave you his credit card and said your mom would be checking the account to see the pending charge so you had to keep your end of the deal. You offered a laugh and thanked him for getting you out of the house.

“Kid, I know she’s a bit overbearing but she wants what’s best for you.” Your dad said honestly.

“I know, Dad.” You nodded. “I’m just a little bit caught in the middle right now. Can’t look too far ahead.”

“Can’t look back, either… Remember where you come from, of course, but don’t let it hold you back. Okay?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Call when you’re done.”

You offered a lazy sluate before skipping up the library steps. Once your dad’s car was out of view, you ducked around the side of the building to the library’s alley. You pulled your watch from your backpack before tucking it behind the usual pile of boxes and fit the device into place. You weren’t even in your suit but you’d wandered HQ in your pajamas before, so coming in your school clothes wouldn’t be a big deal.

Once you stepped through your portal, various spider-people greeted you in the halls. You offered nods or waves but didn’t stop for much conversation, not until you reached the head honcho’s office.

“What are you doing here?” He asked without turning to face you. Surprisingly, his platform was actually ground level today, meaning no one had annoyed him enough to raise it. “Don’t you have something else you should be doing?”

“No.” You shrugged. “It’s still daylight back home and the weirdos don’t start till dusk, at least so…”

“Not what I meant.”

“Then what?”

“Those college applications you promised your mom.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah, oh.”

“Why are you spying on me anyway?” You asked, hoping to change the subject.

“Because you, insectito, are the biggest pain the ass here… So what’s the problem then?”

“I don’t know what I wanna do with my life.” You said honestly, scooting some of his papers over so you could sit on the desk. “Mom wants me to just throw my name in the pot everywhere to see what happens and Dad just wants to make Mom happy.”

“Mmm.. And what do you want?”

You shrugged. “I dunno.”

“What do you like to do? Any classes in school get you excited?”

“Not really.. Bio is cool sometimes but..”

“That’s a start.” He glanced over with a small, almost proud smile that lasted half a second. “Biology major is broad enough to start picking schools.”

“I guess but-”

“What about bio do you like?”

“Miguel, can you just-”

“People, plants, or animals?”

You groaned and flopped backwards on the desk, throwing your arms over your eyes. You thought coming to Miguel would be a good time to rant and not be given advice, because half of the time he seemed to drown out your voice anyways. But of course the one time you just needed him to ignore your words, he had to do the exact opposite of what you wanted.

“You’re the worst.” You muttered, to which you felt a kick to your foot. “Hey!”

“Y/N, your parents are right.” He started and you groaned again. “You’re a smart kid but you have to find some sort of direction.”

“I’m just caught up in the middle, trying to keep going.. But it’s just not that simple.” You complained and when you got no answer, you kept talking. “But I have to keep going or they’ll call me a quitter.”

“Who will?”

“Everyone.” You shrugged. “I don’t know, probably no one.”

Miguel turned fully and took hold of your arms to haul you upright. You let out a loud sound of complaint as he did so and you didn’t bother to fight it, not that you’d have much of a chance to do so anyway. You dramatically let your head fall back so you could see his expression and he looked down at you with a small smile. You huffed a sigh and raised your brows expectantly as you waited for him to say something.

“What about a geneticist?” He offered and you were taken aback, no doubt your face showing it because he gave a quick chuckle. “I’m serious.”

“Yeah, you usually are but what the hell are you talking about?” You said in bewilderment.

He shrugged slightly before turning back to his work and you couldn’t help but follow him.

“You’re always lurking around to see what I’m doing.” He explained. “You ask questions about what I do and how all of my stuff works.”

“Like that injection you refuse to talk about.” You agreed and peaked up with a questioning expression. Without looking at you, he pushed your face away.

“Exactly.” He agreed with a nod. “And then you could study your own DNA and see if you can find anything cool.”

“I could give myself fangs!” You yelled with excitement before camping a hand over your mouth when you realized how loud you were.

“Yeah, and then you give yourself a lisp.” He rolled his eyes slightly. “What I’m saying is that maybe some sort of higher level biology career is where you’re heading… You’re one of the smarter spiders around here anyways. Might as well do something other than engineering.”

“Don’t you think science in general is a bit stereotypical for a spider? … Oh, shit. Is it our canon?”

“No.” He laughed a little. “There’s a Peter Parker around here that’s a photographer for a newspaper.”

“Oh.. That’s fun?” You tried.

“He takes fake candids of Spiderman and sells them to his Daily Bugle.” Miguel deadpanned and you laughed. “Not every spider leads a strenuous academic life.”

“But you think I could?”

“I think you should. Y/N, you’re always challenging yourself physically. Maybe it’s time to do it academically.” He shrugged. “But what do I know?”

You pursed your lips in thought as you considered his words. Maybe not genetics, but a STEM field could be fun. And with your current academic status, you’d be able to swing one of the better programs with better labs and better opportunities. You could try your hand at different branches and see what stuck. Even if you didn’t find one, you’d have a better direction for a graduate school at the very least.

“Thanks.” You said honestly with a small smile. “That actually helped… You always do.”

He put a hand on your head and gave you a small shake that made you laugh.

You went home after that and headed straight into the library after you fished out your backpack. You ended up doing four applications and got a text from your mom after each one. With every submission, you felt a little less stuck.

[dragon-queen21]

Regressor Pavitr + CG Noir fic

Tw: Implied self harm & depression

Summary Pav realizes Noir is in pain, even when he insists to the regressor that everything is fine. Pav decides to make it his mission to take care of and cheer up his caregiver.

ao3 link

Pav had been excited at the idea of having Noir watch over him regressed. He enjoyed the older spiderman’s company and while he preferred one of his closer friends, he understood that sometimes there were other things that got in the way.

He didn’t expect Noir to play with him, not like Gwen or Miles would have. After all, the black and white spider wasn’t either of his friends so it would be foolish to believe he would have the same type of manner when babysitting him.

Still, Pav isn’t dumb. He can tell that Noir isn’t doing the best. His caregiver seems, simply put, soggy, lying on the living room’s couch, staring up at nothing. Sure, Noir’s still his usual self, and Pav doubts that he would have taken up Hobie’s request at babysitting if he truly wasn’t doing alright. That doesn’t change the fact that something seems off about him. Noir seemed almost detached from the world around him.

Pav doesn’t get it completely. Maybe if he was in a normal headspace he would, but currently he’s five, confused, and wishing that one of his friends were here to help him figure out how to make the bad, nagging feeling go away.

The caregiver only hoists himself to a sitting position when the regressor comes over to him and stares for a very long moment. “Hey bud, what’s the matter?” Noir asks as Pavitr approaches him, stuffed bear in hand.

“You otay?” Pav asks. “Something hurt?”

Noir makes a sound of confusion at the seemingly random question. “I’m not hurt.” He defends himself, trying to figure out where this sudden line of questioning came from. Up until a moment ago Pavitr was happily playing by himself. At least, Noir’s pretty certain that he was. He did let his thoughts wander for quite some time…

“Sure? You seem soggy.”

“What made you think that?”

“Cause you’re laying there all ‘bleh!’” Pav sticks his tongue out in an over exaggerated re-enactment of the older spider.

Noir chuckles and the little’s dramatics. “That’s because I don’t have the endless amounts of energy that you have kiddo.” He ruffle’s Pavitr’s hair.

“Nooo, that’s not it. You feel bad, I can tell.” He gasps suddenly. “Oh no! You has the big sad don’t you?!”

Noir can’t help but laugh at this declaration. “The what now?”

“You know! Deh-dell-deep-depur-” Pav pouts at a momentary loss of words. Curse his fuzzy brain for not working right.

“Depression?” Noir supplies after listening to a full minute of the little trying and struggling to find the correct word.

“Yes! The big sad! See you do to know it!”

Noir chuckles, though Pav hears him curse under his breath. “I’ve been informed. You’re too young to be inconvenienced about such matters like this anyways. Everything is fine. Don’t worry about it.”

He ruffles Pav’s hair once again, while the regressor frowns. ‘Everything’s fine’ and ‘Don’t worry about it’ are two very different answers.

While it might be true that nothing did hurt on the outside, he’s sure that the hurt is on the inside, and that just might be worse. Pavitr doesn’t know how to fix either one. He’s not sure that he would even if he wasn’t regressed. That’s not going to stop him from attempting to anyhow.

“Can I do somethins?” He asks, just in case there is an easy solution.

“I’m doing just fine, you don’t have to do anything for me.” Noir tries to again convince the regressor that nothing is wrong. It’s obvious that Pav is not going to stop asking if, he finally tells the regressor a half truth. “Just a bit tired right now.”

He does look tired. Pavitr’s frown only deepens. He can’t help but feel a bit bad for being small and taking up the other’s precious time. Remembering that Noir had insisted that he could watch over him doesn’t help all that much in making him feel better.

“Need nap time?” The regressed spider asks. Usually, he can’t stand when any of his friends insists that he needs a nap, always wound up with too much energy. He’s willing to sleep if it will make Noir feel better.

The mentally older shakes his head no. “I don’t need a nap; I doubt you want one either.”

This time Pav shakes his head in agreement alongside the other.

“Besides, I should probably make you something to eat.”

“Not hungry.” He protests, not wanting the subject to be changed. He’s going to get to the bottom of how to help he swears.

“Kid...” Noir does sound tired. He sighs, again. “Fine. I’m not going to force you, that would be plain hypocritical. Something to drink then?”

The two make there way into the kitchen where Pav promptly takes a seat at the table. Drumming his fingers along the smooth wood as he watches his caregiver rummage around for a cup.

He’s given a sippy cup full of orange juice, which Pav happily sips from along with being handed a box of colored crayons and some sheets of blank paper. “Thought you’d like to color.” Noir says, taking a seat across from the little.

Pav beams, suddenly struck with inspiration. He’s going to make a drawing to give to Noir that will be so amazing his caregiver won’t be able to do anything other than cheer up!

The two sit drawing together. Enjoying one another’s presence.

“Can you grab me a blue crayon kiddo?”

Pavitr nods, selecting a navy blue from the box and handing it over the older spider man. Noir frowns.

“I asked for a blue one silly, not red.”

Pav giggles. “Dat is blue.”

“No. No I’m sure that it’s not.”

“Yeah it is.”

“No this one’s blue.” Noir grabs a green crayon, causing Pav to start laughing all over again.

He grabs ahold of Noir’s arm in order to take back the incorrect crayon and replace it with the right color when he notices something odd.

Dark lines scattered across the other’s skin. Some more faded ones run along Noir’s wrists, hidden beneath the sleeves of the older spider’s shirt, other’s that take on a silvery grey against the monotone skin.

Pav sees the scars and gasps. “You are hurt!” Pav exclaims. He feels like crying, whether from the betrayal or from the familiar implication of what scars like that mean, he doesn’t know.

“No sunshine. These are from a long, long time ago.” Noir insists.

His words fall on deaf ears as Pav leaps from his seat, running out of the room.

“Pav?!” Noir curses once more and gets up to follow Pav.

He comes to the bathroom, the door isn’t closed, and Pav is sitting on the floor struggling with something in his hands. Noir is about to apologize for upsetting him when the mentally younger looks up at him and holds out what looks to be a small slip of paper.

“Stupid-” Pav seems frustrated, shaking one of the items in his grasp. “Open?” he holds it out toward his caregiver.

Noir takes the item confused.

Pavitr, doesn’t offer any type of explanation, hands quickly occupied with trying to get the paper off another one. This time he manages to get it opened.

“Noir! Look!” The regressor exclaims, placing the band-aid over already healed scars. It’s bright blue. The color is shockingly vibrant against Noir’s skin.

Pav grabs the one Noir was opening, places it on his caregiver’s other hand.

Then another, this one wrapped around one of his fingers. There’s one soon after that is placed on his palm.

The regressor gets to the fifth bandage before Noir finally finds his voice.

“What are you doing?”

Pav notes that he sounds baffled. Which is silly, because it’s should be clean what he’s doing. “Hobie does when I get ouchie. Makes all better.”

“Oh darling… That’s sweet bu-” he doesn’t get to finish.

“Oh! I ‘most forgot.” Pav grabs Noir’s now colorfully bandages hands and drags the caregiver back towards the kitchen.

He retrieves the drawing that he had been working on during his lunch. “Tada! Is for you.” He holds up the drawing.

A very childlike doodle of what appears to be the Pav and Noir standing together outside with a bunch of flowers. The regressor seemed to use every bright, neon color, that was available in the box of crayons in order to color in the background.

Noir isn’t sure what to say. Pav’s no artist, even less of one in headspace, yet Noir can’t recall the last time he had gotten something so sweet. He ruffles the boy’s hair, genuinely smiling as he takes the paper from the boy’s hands. “It’s gorgeous. You did a wonderful job.”

“Wan’ to make you happy.”

“Oh kid, you already make me happy.”

~~~

Finally wrote an agere fic with Noir in it. I’ve been wanting to do a fic with a kinda role reversal, where it’s the caregiver getting ‘taken care of’ by a regressor. And with that idea in mind I couldn’t not do something with Noir. He’s honestly the perfect character for this + I love him and I will take any excuses to write about him. Let me know what you think <3

[frost-queen]

Caught in the spiderverse (Reader x Miguel O'Hara)

Requested by: anon Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco@subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine

“Peter!” – you called out, startling him. Peter’s body flinched as the flashlight in his hand shuddered. Reaching for his chest, he had to calm himself down. Once calmed down, he shone the light in your face. – “What are you doing here Y/n?” – he shout-whispered lowering the light a bit out of your face. You pushed his hand entirely down as the light was blinding you in this darkness. – “Did you really think I would let you investigate these sewers by yourself?” – you said back.

Peter nodded softly, then started to shake his head. – “Good! cause I’m not. If you are dead I’ll have to answer to mom.” – you told him coming up to him. Peter shuddered thinking about Aunt May’s rage. She would be so furious. You touched his shoulder brief as the two of you went on. Peter’s light casted on the ground. Your light focusing on the walls and your surroundings. Glancing to your side you had a feeling Peter had something to say.

“Go on.” – you said seeing him shove his glasses nervously further up his nose. – “It’s good to have you around cousin.” – he spoke making you laugh. It made you grab him by the shoulder, leaning somewhat against him. – “I know you Peter! You’re a scaredy cat.” – you laughed out making him snigger. – “I am.” – he chuckled out. The two of you cramped together through the sewers. Water dripping down on the pipes as it echoed loud. A cold draft coming from above from time to time.

Peter and you came at a crossing. He shone his light from left to right debating which way to go. – “What does your instinct say?” – you asked him, staying close by his side. Peter and you staid quiet for a moment, just listening to the sounds of water dripping. If you listened closely you could hear a rat scatter around. After a few moment decided Peter to go left. You followed a pace behind him, casting your light behind you to make sure nothing would jump at you.

Not that it would be possible for monster didn’t exist right? Peter came to a stop squatting down, casting his light down. You came standing behind him, letting your light go over the walls. – “What is it?” – you questioned as Peter Hummed. As you were waving your light around, you caught a glimpse of a break in the light. It made you move back to the point to see what it was. It took you a few seconds to find it.

Your eyes widened as you illuminated a spider dangling down a web. It’s legs kicking around as it descended. – “Peter!” – you shrieked out as it was getting close to reaching his neck. In an instant you pushed Peter out of the way. He tumbled down his head nearly hitting the brick wall in front of him.

Your movement broke the connection of the web. The spider fell down. – “What happened Y/n?” – Peter asked adjusting his glasses while you were lighting in a panic the ground. – “A spider!” – you called out trying to see where it went. – “Au!” – a quick reflex of your shoulder instantly after the pain you felt. You reached for your shoulder feeling something. It made you immediately push it off.

Peter’s light landed on the spider that had dropped to the ground. He rushed to his feet squashing it under his shoe. Twisting his shoe deeper onto the creature out of anger. He then went up to you, pulling your shirt a bit down to examine the pain. – “That darn thing bit me.” – you called out as Peter’s light shone on your skin. Indeed it had bitten you. Two tiny puncture holes as the skin around it started to turn red. – “That needs to be checked out.” – Peter said pulling your shirt back.

You nodded taking his arm as he guided you back out the sewers. – “And to think that thing nearly bit me.” – Peter said with a shudder. You smiled faintly not sure if you were so lucky to get bitten by such a creature. – “I was just looking out for you cous.” – you said as the two of you emerged from the sewers. Greeted by the city’s sounds. A siren going off in the distance followed by a subway riding over the rails. – “You were always the bravest of us two.” – Peter answered.

He helped you up the fire escape on the building to get to your room. He slid the window open, helping you inside. You immediately let yourself fall onto your bed, feeling a bit sick. Peter closed the window behind him. – “I’ll get some water and see what Aunt May has in her medicine cabinet.” – he told you. You nodded feeling your eyelids go heavy. Hearing the door shut was the last thing you remembered.

The web shot out of your wrist, shooting far away till it grasped on tight to the wall. You let yourself fling forwards with the speed. Bringing your knees closer to your chest, you went higher till you broke the connection to the web doing a backflip in the air. Turned once more, you shot out another web catching yourself mid-air. Swinging between the tall buildings. You flung yourself at a building, landing on the rooftop.

Standing on the edge you crouched down to overlook the city. Your head slightly moving along your view. Your eyes focused on something, eyepatches on your mask slightly squinting. Then your eyes widened as a tingle went up your spine. You had seen him, and he had seen you for he quickly got up and launched himself. You got up, jumping off the building. Shooting a web to catch your fall, you flung forwards. It took you a few swings to find him again. Swinging through the buildings it made you gasp loud.

“Hey! Hey, wait!” – you called out loud hanging on your web. You shot another web out to get to him faster. – “You’re like me!” – you shouted swinging after him. He looked over his shoulder while running over a rooftop, shock all over his face. You noticed something making your eyebrows furrow. – “Is…is that a baby?” – you said questionable. He shot out another web, flinging himself of the roof with the baby strapped around his stomach.

You swung after him wanting to catch up with him. It wasn’t every day you met someone just like you. – “Wait!” – you called out again as the man crashed through an open window into an empty building. You went after him, swinging through the same window. You landed on your feet, looking suspicious around. The building was deserted and empty. A still in the process of making bureau. Some desks and chairs had already been delivered but still had the plastic around them. – “I know you are here!” – you called out.

Turning your head on edge, you heard soft baby sounds followed by shushing. Looking for him would be an endless game of cat and mice. You walked up to the middle of the empty office room, stopping there. Taking a deep breath, you spread your arms. Exhaling deep you slowly raised your hands. Everything in the room with you shuddered for a moment till it got lifted up in the air. A desk went up revealing the man in hiding to you. His face in utter shock and disbelieve. – “You can do that?” – he said after gawking.

“Can’t you?” – you asked setting the pieces of furniture back down. He shook his head getting up. – “Who are you?” – you said approaching him. He chuckled nervously, rubbing his neck. – “You weren’t supposed to see me.” – he said sheepishly. – “How so?” – you wanted to know, crossing your arms. – “I…I…I can’t tell you.” – he stuttered out, looking down at his child.

“You are like me aren’t you?” – you spoke stating the obvious, taking your mask off. – “No I’m not.” – he answered nervously. – “I literally saw you swing around the city.” – you ranted with hand gestures. – “It was all an illusion.” – he replied waving his hands around like he was talking about some mumbo jumbo. You raised your brow tilting your head, even the kid agreed with you that he was talking trash. He knew he was defeated making him sigh loud. – “Okay okay fine!” – he surrendered. – “That your kid?” – you questioned pointing at the little one strapped to him.

He hummed loud, picking her up. – “Her name is Mayday.” – he said happily presenting her to you. – “Is it bring your child to work day or so? Did I miss a memo or something?” – you questioned as he practically shoved the child in your hands. You held her at arms-length watching her. Mayday giggled as it instantly melted your heart. You brought her closer to your chest, cherishing her. – “Aww you are a little spidergirl aren’t you?” – you tickled her as his heart blossomed at the scene. – “I’m Y/n Parker by the way.” – you introduced yourself while Mayday was grabbing her hands up to you.

The man brushed his hands off before giving it to you. – “Peter Parker.” – he said making you stare bewildered at him. – “So like my cousin.” – you said giving him his child back. – “Yeah.” – Peter chuckled out setting her back in the strap around his body. You hopped onto one of the desks, sitting down. – “So where are you from? New to town?” – you asked as you suddenly got excited. – “Maybe we could be a team. Me, you, and peter… well other Peter… my Peter.” – you excitedly announced. – “He is like my mentor. He does all the talking in my ear, science, and planning while I act out.”

Peter came up to you with a worried face. – “Listen kid.” – he started immediately tempering your excitement. – “I’m not a kid.” – you responded offended, crossing your arms, and looking away. Peter sighed loud. – “Old habit. Y/n.” – he corrected himself. – “I…I…I’m not supposed to be here…. You weren’t supposed to see me. I was just scouting because there has been a disturbance.” – he said suddenly clasping his hands before his mouth as if he had said to much. – “What disturbance?” – you asked getting off the desk. Peter started to back away, looking panicky around.

“I really have to go.” – he spoke seemingly fearing a higher might. He turned round taking a run for it. – “Wait Peter!” – you called out running after him, putting your mask back on. – “What disturbance? Why wasn’t I supposed to see you? What is going on?” – you shouted while jumping out of the window. The sun had began to set coloring the sky a shade darker. – “Peter!” – you screamed out swinging between the buildings after him. You weren’t going to let something like this slip away.

He was just like you. Perhaps he could teach you a thing or two. You always thought you were alone, turns out there is one more. – “Peter!” – you said touching your ear. Immediately you heard a familiar voice in your ear. – “Reporting for duty cous.” – the response was. – “I need you to track this Spiderman.” – you ordered. – “Spiderman? Cous what are you talking about?” – you immediately heard in your ear. – “Is there someone else? That is awesome! Maybe we can team up! Be the amazing spiderteam!” – Peter fantasied making you smile briefly.

“Peter focus.” – you told him changing web mid-air. – “Right, right just give me a second.” – you heard his chair roll over the floor. You knew he was getting behind his computer. Opening a few programs he created himself to lock your view with his. Connecting your view appeared on his computer as if he was looking through your eyes. This way Peter and you were always connected. – “I see him…is…is that a child?” – you heard him say. – “Yes.” – you answered doing a flip in the air.

With Peter’s tech he was able to use heat features on his screen setting him apart from others. – “By Macy’s go right.” – Peter spoke in your ear making you immediately change directions. On a distance you were following him. He noticed you picking up his pace. He swung through the buildings so easily you lost track of him. – “Where is he?” – you asked out loud knowing Peter would hear you. – “He’s stopped.” – you heard. – “The old construction site at 37th.” – you nodded firm swinging over to it. You landed silently down, staying crouched. You moved to some crates staying out of sight.

Peering over it, you saw him. He appeared to press something on the watch he was wearing. Your eyes widened when a portal appeared. – “Are you seeing this?” – you heard Peter say in your ear. The other Peter looked frantically over his shoulder before hopping in. You got up staring bewildered at the portal. Within a few seconds you were running over to it. The closer you got, the more disturbed Peter’s voice in your ear became. – “Cous… I…what… I… can… hear…” – his voice corrupted with static the closer you got to it. Without thinking much further you jumped in before it could disappear. The moment you jumped in, the portal shut in the blink of an eye.

Screaming loud your arms were flaying around while being carried around. A tunnel of color carrying into the unknown. After what felt like forever you dropped to the ground. Picking yourself up by your elbows and fists. Lifting your head, you were stunned. So stunned it made you remove your mask to get a better look. All around you people who appeared to be like you or at least dressed kind of like you. – “There’s more…” – you whispered in awe. You heard the faint voice of Mayday mumbling not far from you. – “She what!” – you then heard making you turn your head.

Peter had turned himself around as Mayday was still pointing at you. He yelled loud running over to you. – “No! no-no-no-no!” – he called out grabbing you by the shoulders. – “You weren’t supposed to follow me!” – he panicked looking slightly freaked out around. He made eye-contact with another spiderman making him freak out. He pushed you back, using some web to shove a panel behind him to shield you and him away from the others. – “I’m sending you right back!” – he called out in a fatherly tone.

“There are others!” – you freaked out. – “Like a million! Maybe even more!” – you grabbed Peter tight, shaking him back and forth. He shushed you pressing his hand on your mouth. – “You aren’t supposed to be here.” – he said softer looking worriedly over his shoulder. – “This is on a whole other level.” – you said to yourself. Suddenly you glitched as it gave you a weird feeling.

“What just happened?” – you asked worried looking at your own hands. Peter grabbed your hands making you look at him. – “This is why you need to leave. You can’t be here Y/n.” – he almost seemed sympathetic for you. – “If Miguel finds out…” – he looked worriedly down at Mayday.

“If Miguel finds out what?” – he suddenly heard as the panel got pushed to the side. Peter turned round gulping loud. – “Miguel!” – he called out overly charming opening his arms to him. Miguel pressed his hand against Peter’s head to prevent him from coming any nearer. You swallowed nervously when this Miguel looked at you or rather stared coldly your way. – “You brought the anomaly here.” – he said in a deep voice, turning his head quick to Peter as it frightened him.

“Ex-“ – you started wanting to comment on his name calling to you but you glitched, your words cut off. The relapse made you fall back on the ground, touching your forehead. Miguel smiled seemingly enjoying your torment. – “Perhaps you did a great job after all Peter.” – Miguel started. – “I did?” – Peter asked questionable. – “Yes.” – Miguel continued taking a firm step closer to you. – “You’ve made it easier for me to get rid of the anomaly.” – he grinned so wickedly it shook you to the bone.

The second Peter realized his words he came jumping in front of you, arms wide open. – “No! I can’t let you do that!” – he called out determined. – “Step aside Peter!” – Miguel said cracking his knuckles. Peter stood his ground, shaking his head. – “I won’t let you hurt her!” – he spoke as you glitched again behind him. The more you did it, the sicker you felt from it. Peter looked worried over his shoulder to you.

That was his weakness as Miguel wrapped his hand around his neck. – “She’s not supposed to be!” – Miguel spoke setting Peter aside. You started to crawl back when he came closer. – “Peter was supposed to be Spiderman and you!” – he pointed firm at you. – “You altered his entire course by taking what doesn’t belong to you!” – You hit a bump unable to back more up. Miguel came hovering over you, clawed hand out. – “You messed up the timeline. I can’t let you live.” – he grunted out, his hand hovering over your face.

“Miguel!” – Peter called out in an attempt to stop him. – “She didn’t know.” - Suddenly you gave to a revelation. Your look of fear changed into full of attitude. – “If Peter was supposed to be Spiderman and his name is Peter too. How come you, clearly not called Peter get to be spiderman?” – you bit back. Miguel grinned down at you. – “Did you steal it from your Peter too?” – you pouted your lips to mock him even more. Miguel’s smile dropped. He groaned loud bringing his clawed hand down.

The second it would hit you; it scratched the wall behind you making him look confused around. – “Run!” – Peter called out. Peter had shot a web at you, pulling you from underneath Miguel before his hand could hurt you. Now up on your feet, you started to run for it. Miguel called it out coming after you. Like a maniac was he pushing himself off by all four. His hands making holes in the floor as he set himself off. – “Run Y/n! I’ll try to slow him down.” – you heard Peter shout as he swung above your head. – “Where am I even going?” – you shouted back.

Several spiderman jumped aside as you nearly ran them over or pushed them aside. Some were hesitant of what to do. They could easily just grab you and hand you over to Miguel. – “She’s mine!” – Miguel roared out running after you. Looking over your shoulder you saw him punch a panel aside that Peter had throw at him. You neared a dead end as the only way out was through the window. So you did jumping through it, glass shattering around you. You shot a web out, the web almost contacting something sturdy as you glitched. It disorientated you and made you lose your grip.

The glitching stopped as you called it out, falling down. – “Y/n!” – Peter shouted loud in a panic standing by the broken window. You kept falling till you felt an arm around your body, breaking your fall. Swinging in the air across, you looked up to a blonde girl, one half of her head shaven. – “Hi.” – she said casually. – “Hi.” – you responded sheepishly. Miguel was still chasing you as it made you panic. You shot out a web of your own, swinging out of her arms. – “Bye.” – she said waiving at you as you swung further away from her. – “Miguel leave her alone!” – you heard Peter shout.

You swung over to a building. Before you could reach the building you got grabbed. Back crashed into the wall, laying a bit in a hole with Miguel’s hand around your neck. – “You aren’t supposed to exist!” – he shouted bringing his face closer to you. You struggled against his grip as he held you against the building vertically. – “Cry over it!” – you snapped at him. His response was to push you even firmer into the building. – “Say that again and I’ll end you!” – he grunted out in anger.

You curled up a smirk, slightly lifting your head up to get closer to him. – “Cry over it.” – you whispered out saying word for word. Miguel called it out ready to punch you if it wasn’t for you glitching. You glitched right out of his hands, leaving him shocked and stunned for a second. You reappeared fully falling down. Miguel looked down watching you fall. He set himself off jumping after you. He shot his web at you.

His web almost had contact with you till you glitched again. Miguel’s eyes widened with shock. You screamed loud falling even harder down. You tried shooting webs of your own, but nothing was in reach to catch you. In your panic you glitched again, scream sounding distorted. Arms and hands flaying around for a grip. Eyes locked on Miguel diving down above you. He shot out another web with wide eyes. His web stuck onto your stomach as he shot another one to the side to catch himself and you.

He pulled hard at the web attached to you as it flung up with you. You got send back up as the web snatched from you. You glitched again as it seriously started to annoy you. You got teleported a few paces from where you originally were again. Ready to fall again yet a sturdy grip grabbed you. Miguel had swung over, catching you with one arm. He let himself crash against the wall with his back, arm firmly around your waist.

Before you could glitch anymore, slid he a bracelet around your wrist with a lot of force. – “I thought you wanted me dead?” – you said looking up to him. – “The offer is still tempting.” – he answered staring back at you. – “Then why this?” – you presented him with the wrist band. – “It prevents you from glitching.” – he replied still dangling in the air on his web with you. You chuckled once making him furrow his brows. – “Why are you laughing?” – he called out annoyed. The look on his face made you chuckle even more. – “It’s funny cause not a second ago you wanted me gone so why give me something so I can stay.”

Miguel smirked. – “Maybe I’d like to kill you with my bare hands.” – he answered in a deep voice. It made you narrow your eyes at bit at him. Perhaps he wasn’t such a brute as you thought. Still somewhere inside of you, you still disliked him despite the charm… if you could even call it charm he was presenting you with.

Miguel brought you safely back into the main building where Peter immediately ran over to you. – “I thought you were gone!” – he breathed out, hugging you tight. – “Still here.” – you said squashed in his grip. The girl from earlier that saved you came around too. – “So you are Y/n Parker.” – she said intrigued. – “Gwen.” – she replied with a salute. – “So is she staying?” – Peter asked Miguel. Miguel looked briefly at you.

“She’s leaving!” – he had determined grabbing you by your arm. – “I’ll be back.” – you mouthed to Peter and Gwen with a smile. Gwen chuckled waving you goodbye. – “She will.” – Gwen said to Peter. Peter sighed deep waving also. – “I miss her already.” – he spoke receiving a nudge from Gwen. – “You big softie.” – she teased making him smile sheepishly.

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

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!  

[callenreesevzx]

Spiderverse fic recs !

Miles Morales

earth!42 miles x plus size reader @shipperssafehaven

doing earth!42 miles hair @spider-pvnk

sleepover earth!1610 miles @luvjunie

movie night earth!1610 miles @lqveharrington

somethin' soft for someone tough earth!42 miles @kombuuuu

soccer troubles earth!1610 and earth!42 miles @berriweb

ice skating with miles earth!1610 miles @luvjunie

te pertenezo, mi amor earth!1610 miles @moralesie

classmate earth!42 miles @axeoverblade

solace earth!1610 miles @cyberg4n

calling earth!1610 miles @carpecaelo

kisses with miles earth!42 miles @mysemantics

sing it for me earth!42 miles @juneberrie

Hobie Brown

labels @autumn-hiraeth

where's my love @autumn-hiraeth

back scratch imagine @spider-pvnk

honour @love-bitesx

stubborn @love-bitesx

spider kisses @kombuuuu

hobie brown x insecure!reader @autumn-hiraeth

comforting reader after a long day @likedovesinthewindd

crafting dates with hobie @bruisedboys

hobie with a pink!gf @redstarwriting

hobie x flirty!reader @spyder-junkie

jammin' out @junewritesstuff

real @redstarwriting

california @autumn-hiraeth

not a morning person @famwhy

family business @fishsticksloser

promise - laufey @zackolanternzz

pretty boy @gh0stsp1d3r

guitars and stolen jewelry @wingedsirens

Gwen Stacy

i don't like dorks @kombuuuu

sleep @fish-eat-fish

gwen x "thief" reader @unluckiestmember

matching tooth gaps @spxdxrpxnk

dr. gwen stacy @lu-vin-it

relationship hcs @dearsnow

comforting gwen @kairiscorner

Pavitr prabhakar

only you @kombuuuu

made for eachother @uramakimochi

stu(dating) @pinpurin

luscious locks @scarthefangirl

dating hcs @hearts4hobie

Miguel O'hara

useless promisses @planetspiderzz

platonic!miguel x daughter-like!reader @pearlsandcoconuts

[plzu]

sleeping with roaches - (Miguel O'Hara x Symbiote!Reader)

summary: You have nowhere else to go but under Miguel's skin. warnings: explicit 18+ MDNI, no Y/N, angst, hate sex!!!, interrupted orgasm, unprotected p in v sex, hair mention/hair pulling, hurt no comfort. if i missed anything pls let me know ♡ a/n: title from p!atd's build god, then we'll talk wordcount: 3.2k

Miguel O’Hara does not like you.

An understatement.

“Nnh-”

You lay prostrate beneath him, his right hand fisting the hair at your scalp where he’s just tugged at, causing you to react in that subdued whimper. Miguel's thighs cradle your hips, bulge pressed flush between the constricting fabric of his suit and your denim-clad cheeks.

“Stay quiet,” he mutters harshly. He feels you nod in his grip, sees your fists clench in the dim blue lighting against the floor.

This is what he has to do to keep you in check, make sure you don’t get too restless in HQ between missions.

If he had it his way, you’d be with all the other anomalies. Imprisoned. Confined in one of those cramped energy fields. No longer able to stalk around as you please, taunting him just by existing in your civvies. Distressed denim and scuffed-up combat boots, not a single spider-like motif adorning your figure. 

Because you’re not really one of them. Something Miguel is sure to remind you of with each scathing, red-eyed glare he shoots your way whenever you say or do anything that catches his attention. 

He knows the others in the Spider Society (minus Jessica Drew, who Knows Better) try to assure you to not take it personally. He glares at everyone like that, they say, an awkward chuckle that he doesn’t think does anything to comfort you. You’re not an idiot, after all. He can admit that much.

(Except that it is personal. There’s a red-hot, simmering fucking rage for the thing that you are, and the thing that you host in the confines of your flesh.)

Some of them rally to your defense, try to convince Miguel that you can be trusted. “She's not him, Miguel,” Peter B. says. “She's not Eddie.”

That's half the problem, isn't it.

He wants to ignore you completely, but that’d be irresponsible. Instead, he tries to pretend you aren’t there. Spider Society is huge, he should be able to go days without running into you. Yet you can’t seem to stay out of his sleepless radar. He catches glimpses of you on his displays--the way you pick at your food in the cafeteria; fist-bumps and easy smiles with several Peters; the sway of your hips as you roam the halls…

When he’s holding briefings about another anomaly and deciding who to send over to retrieve them, it’s your voice he picks up on out of every other quip and muttering in the room. He zeroes in on you, scowling. The faltering quiver of your smile when you notice his stare makes his brow furrow even more. 

Oh, and when you laugh? A sound that stands out, loud and brash. Prickles his fucking ears. His eyes narrow at the raised apples of your cheeks, gleaming teeth and glee because Peter B. Parker or Hobie or some other Spidey said something that couldn’t have possibly been that funny-

Deep breaths.

He’ll send you out with the others to help catch the anomalies that pop up now and again. It’s the only other time you can let loose, let it bubble to the surface and stretch its - your? - legs and bare its wretched fangs.

It’s not even yours. But you refuse to part with it, and it with you. 

While it’s beneficial to you--having you tag along with the others to different dimensions--it also means you’re out of Miguel’s sight. It’s the only time he has some semblance of reprieve from your existence, which riles him up so much it increases that pulsing pressure behind his eyes. 

Everyone else has their own dimensions to get back to, lives to live. But, unless you’re crashing with Spider-Punk, you don’t have the same privilege.

So you’re here. On Earth-928. Because you have nowhere else to go but under his fucking skin.

Like before, when your footsteps echoed in the dark cavern of his space. He knew it was you without even having to turn in his seat; no one else seeks him out unless summoned. Pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes squeezed shut from the multiple orange screens playing back footage of yet another misplaced villain disrupting another dimension. The sigh that crawled out from under his breath was more of a restrained growl when you stopped behind his chair, hovering. 

He hates the wordless hovering. 

“What?” he gruffed.

You answered, “for your migraine,” followed by the sound of something being gently placed on the surface of the desk beside him. One of his eyes slowly peeled open to see the blurry outline of a disposable cup. “Coffee helps,” you add.

“What makes you think I need it?” he asked, rubbing middle finger and thumb against his eyelids as if it'd undo the blurriness. He knows it won't.

“Well, for one, you're practically shoving your own eyeballs back into your skull.”

Miguel stopped rubbing his eyes to drag his hand down the front of his face until he was cupping his own jaw, covering his downturned mouth.

“Also,” you continued, “you squint a lot. Especially after being out in bright light like some kind of-”

“Don't say it-”

“-vampire.”

“Yeah, real original,” he grumbled.

“Just figured you could use some help after being out there before.”

He had ventured into the too-bright halls of Spider Society at the insistence of Lyla. Something about how staring at these screens all day can’t be good for his headache. As if out there is any better.

He doesn't understand why you keep doing this. You know how he feels about you. Whereas you visibly unfurl around the others, open arms and open-mouthed smiles, you immediately clamp up when Miguel's attention falls on you. Hunched shoulders, pinched mouth, unable to hold his gaze for long.

Miguel doesn’t care for ass-kissing. That’s what this is, right? Bringing him coffee for his migraines -- something he doesn't disclose to anyone -- has got to be an attempt to fall into his good graces. Just like the empanadas from the cafe, or the random containers of naproxen with glasses of water, all left on his desk like a meek offering.

It really pisses him off.

He wouldn't give you the satisfaction of turning to look at you. Sometimes it's like he can't even really bear the sight of you -- your eyes, your mouth, the curve of your thighs -- it twists his stomach into knots some days. But he picked up the cup of coffee and brought it to his mouth for a sip. Still hot, of course, but the cup doesn't do much to retain heat so it doesn't scald. Black and just a little sweet.

You always bring it to him just how he likes it. He hates that, too.

You hadn’t left yet, and he didn't like this swell of ticking silence between you. The very obvious space you occupied at his back made his skin prickle. Hyper-aware of your presence. It made his teeth grind.

He took another sip. “What are you still doing here?”

You cleared your throat and shifted your weight from one foot to the other. “Was, uh- was wondering if there was anything else I could do to help.”

Miguel let your words hang in the air for a moment, allowing the weight of it to settle over him as his lips hovered over the rim of the cup. The forefinger of his left hand tap-tapped against the arm of his seat, restless as he considered your offer.

You've done this before. This wayward give and take of flesh against flesh. And with a headache the size of his fist pounding in the thick of his skull...

Miguel sighed and downed the rest of his coffee before finally standing up. The slow, deep breaths he took enunciated the expanse of his back, broad shoulders finally on full display for you to see.

You're supposed to find it intimidating. It was not supposed to be enticing. It was not supposed to make excitement flutter low in your belly in anticipation for what he said next:

“Alright. Remember the rules.”

“Keep quiet.”

His head turned expectantly to the side, so just a sliver of his cheekbone and the corner of his right eye were visible. “..and?”

“...He can't come out.”

Miguel stalked away, deeper into the shrouded blue recesses of the room. Obediently, you followed. Like something lost that's desperate to be found.

Which brings you here, face-down beneath him, letting him rut against your ass in a steady, controlled pace as he pins you against the cold metal floor. There's something depraved about the whole situation, he’s aware of that, but it's worse for you, isn't it? It's gotta be; you're the sick one here of the two of you, getting enjoyment out of letting him use you like this. He doesn't even like you, and you know this.

And yet, still, you seek him out. Practically beg to be fucked by the only Spider-Man out of the hundreds in HQ that truly despises you.

His cock twitches uncomfortably with impatience, the need to stuff himself inside you almost maddening. Miguel yanks your jeans down by the hem so that it pulls snug over the slope of your ass. You grunt from the rough, quick movement, and it's not loud enough to chastise you for, but he brings one large palm down to smack lightly at a cheek just to be sure you remember the rules.

But then you moan. It's a quiet sound- something he can't get mad about. But it punctuates the full body shiver that overtakes you and it does something to him. Inexplicably makes him salivate, overwhelms him with the urge to devour you.

His mouth clamps shut — he doesn't know at which point his jaw dropped open in the first place — and scowls. “You're depraved, you know that?”

What he gets in response is- giggling? No, that can't be right.

Miguel looks around before landing a bewildered stare to the back of your head. You're laughing? At something he said?

In a frenzy, he shifts his weight so he can turn you over. There's desperation in the movement, something he will never admit to or could ever explain. When your face is finally upturned to him, his eyes land hungrily on the curve of your lips.

Miguel knows he's not one of the funny ones. There's too much at stake. He's lost too much, and humor just isn't his forte. He's too angry for it. Too focused.

So he stares at the smile on your face, listens to the breathless way you laugh after having been spun around, and lets the sound bury itself into his heaving chest.

Something in his expression must look weird, or wrong, or scary or angry or whatever the fuck else people think when they see his face nowadays--as if in slow motion, he watches the laughter start to slip from your expression, and it's like you're beginning to clamp up again. Like you always do when you notice him staring.

There's this pang of dread that grips his heart, a quick stab of pain that he can't put a name to. Swiftly, unthinkingly, he further shoves your pants down to your ankles, underwear included, so he can coax some of that pleasure back to your face with his fingers.

And just like that, a brush of his middle and forefinger against your slit, and the reserved mask you were slipping into disappears with a hitched breath that gets caught in your throat. His thumb presses against the bud of your clit and he's rewarded by the way your brows pinch at the sensation.

Two of his fingers slide between your folds, and it's already so wet. He slips in easily, warm and welcome, but he keeps his eyes on your face the whole time. No minute movement or change in expression goes missed, even in this dim lighting, not to his keen eyes. The corner of your lower lip disappears between your teeth as he pumps in and out of you, simultaneously keeping pressure on your nub with his thumb.

When his gaze trails downwards, he finally notices that you’ve apparently got yourself a new shirt. Black tee, thin white lines making an asymmetrical pattern of webs that spread from your heart. Miguel mockingly tilts his chin towards your panting chest. “Think that’s cute?”

You shrug. “It was on sale.”

He scoffs. “You expect me to believe you paid for that?”

“Five finger discount.”

One of his twitches inside you. 

“It’s like you exist just to torment me.”

His suit recedes, disappears in a digitized pattern down his body, revealing the toned, tanned skin beneath. He ignores the disappointed whine you make as he removes his hand from your heat to instead hold your hip down. He lines his length up with your entrance, ready to replace his fingers. The bulbous tip of him just barely notches itself between your lips when he reminds you to behave.

The reminder just makes your hips jerk up- the action slides him seamlessly into you. You both groan, an intermingle of incorrigible sound in the shared space between you. It feels like you're sucking him into you. Miguel falls forward, right hand coming to a slapping halt by your head against the flat, frigid floor. It makes you flinch; helps him regain control. He bares his fangs in a snarl, hovering by your face as his pelvis sits flush against your groin.

“Coño, I said behave,” he growls in your ear.

“S-sorry,” you gasp when he slides out of you. “D-didn't mean to.”

He slams back in, and you bite down on your tongue to keep from crying out.

You're trembling underneath him with the effort of keeping your hands to yourself. It's one of the unspoken rules of this unspoken arrangement, something that was learned after the first or second time. Your arms had snaked around his torso to pull him closer, and he reacted -- badly -- cutting the exchange short.

Miguel didn't know he'd react that way. Was probably some act of innate self-preservation -- it's when his distrust and distaste of you was still unwaveringly high.

Would he mind now?

Doesn't seem like waters either of you wanna test.

He continues rocking his hips into you, widening your thighs with each thrust. You must have kicked off a pant leg before; he's able to dig into you with much more ease than the position should have allowed.

Needing something to grab, your hands first at the hem of your shirt. It stretches the fabric taut against your bouncing chest and Miguel has to snap his jaw shut just to stop himself from diving into your collar bone to rip your shirt off with his teeth.

He forces his gaze lower, to where he repeatedly disappears into the clutch of your sex. There's push-back as your hips cant with every thrust, attempting to reciprocate. Give and take. The feel of your inner thighs are tense against his rolling hips; it's obvious you want to wrap your legs around him, pull him closer, keep him clutched to you but you're fighting back the desire in order to make this last. Savor the torment of this incandescent pleasure.

So he does you the favor of hitching one of your legs up. Cradles the back of your knee between thumb and forefinger as he brings your thigh up, can feel saliva pool under his tongue as he watches in fascination your pussy open up to him in this altered position. He grinds down, fucking into you deeper. The course hairs at his naval brush against the sensitive nub of your clit and it unravels something within you. Makes you clench all the more tighter around his thrusting cock.

He picks up the pace, plunging in and out of you faster and faster, the swollen tip of him knocking repeatedly against the spongy wall at your center. Relentless in pushing against the pressure that will bring you both to your release. But it coerces helpless whimpers from you, mewling that tumbles liberally from the tortured twist of your lips. He hisses a sharp shh as he clamps his left hand over your parted mouth, muffling moans, completely engulfing the bottom half of your face.

Miguel’s face hovers over yours, focused on the well of tears shimmering in your eyes like fractured glass. On the way your lips feel in the cusp of his palm, warm, moist breath trapped in against his skin.

Something tightens in his lower abdomen. It’s a dizzying feeling, intense and all-consuming and wiping all senses out of his mind. His head dips lower, closer, until his lips skim across the ridge of his knuckles. 

You notice. Of course you notice; your eyes grow wide at this illusion of affection, releasing the tears in a stream down your cheeks, disappearing into your hairline. Your pussy clenches needily around him, impossibly tighter. “Fuck,” Miguel hisses.

A full-body shudder wracks your pinned frame as your eyes flutter, rolling back in an overwhelming burst of ecstasy.

An absolute loss of control.

Inky tendrils erupt from your very flesh, slithering and obscenely alive as it starts to envelope you.

“¡MALDITA SEA!”

Miguel rips himself off of you as his suit quickly reforms over his naked body. He stands at a  crouch, arms taut and open at his side, fingers flexed, anticipating an attack.

“Shit shit shit!” you gasp, hunched over your lap on the floor as the symbiote recedes, disappearing under your shirt.

Seconds tick by as you face each other, shoulders heaving, willing your respective heart rates to slow down. Miguel on the defense. You waiting for- for something. For the head of the Spider Society to snap at you. Grab you by the throat and crush your windpipe for breaking the rules, even if it was an accident.

Or worse. Take away the watch that allows you to exist in the first place. Force you to glitch out of existence.

When your breaths finally even out, and Miguel is certain there's no danger, he straightens. Turns his back to you.

“Get out.” Cold and quiet.

“Miguel. Miguel, please-” tear streaks mark your face as you beg for him to understand, beg for him to forgive you. Beg for him not to hate you any more than he already does.

“I don’t want to say it again.”

“-I'm- I'm in control again, it was an accident, I swear-”

“I said GET OUT!” he shouts, upper body twisting towards you as his mask falls back to reveal the angry lines of his face and menacing protrusion of bared fangs.

The finality of his words makes you shrink, and you scramble to pull up your jeans as you finally stand. Head bowed, you hurriedly make your way past him, holding your left wrist close to your chest. As if shielding the watch, like it'd do anything to stop him from ripping it off of you if he wanted.

When the echo of your footsteps fade, Miguel roars and tears out the nearest bulk of metal from wherever it’s attached to the floor, flinging it hard across the room. The crash it makes as it lands becomes the resounding pulse of his still-present migraine. 

Miguel O’Hara, really, really, does not like you.

taglist: @whatevermonkey

[candyfloss-esophagus]

common bonds

Five times Hobie patches someone else's clothes and one time he gets patched up instead

1/6 chapters