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mo0nfairy · 9 months

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ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ THIS IS A LIFE, PART ONE !

summary :: in every universe, spiderman will inevitably lose the one thing that matters most to him: y/n l/n. miguel o'hara, peter parker, and hobie brown have all suffered through this story. they soon discover another version of you is alive, bound to fall in love with miles morales and to die abruptly. with the prospect of a second chance and a newfound obsession, these four men will do anything to keep you at their side.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 7.5k

content warnings :: yandere!miguel, yandere!miles, yandere!noir, yandere!hobie, reader death, gore/violence, murder, electrocution, fire, guns, alcohol, cigarettes, suicidal tendencies, kidnapping, stalking, physical restraint, child abuse/neglect, allusions to a child's death, physically abusive ex-boyfriend, infidelity, & torture.

──── October 17th, 2099 — Miguel O'Hara remembers the day the same way he will never forget you. August 24th, 1934 — Peter Parker remembers the day the same way he will never forget you. July 3rd, 2020 — Hobie Brown remembers the day the same way he will never forget you.

Y/N L/N. Miguel O'Hara, Peter Parker, and Hobie Brown will never forget them the same way they will never forget how it felt to lose them.

The inevitable fate of your demise is a cannon event for all spider-people. To love this person with every shred of their being only to live the rest of their lives without them; to love this person with all the might their body can contain only to let go of their hand in the end. It crushes their soul. Countless people are forced to live with the consequences of being bitten by a spider, not one had suspected it would be so detrimental.

Not when it is your life that has been taken.

Written in the stars is this destiny. How they will never love another again, but vow to be a hero and refrain a similar fate from falling onto anyone else. Many have been able to crawl out of the bottomless pit that is grief, but others have succumbed to the unforgiving anguish and let their life escape them. Just the way yours had. After all, what is life if you are not present? What is the point of living if there is no one there to patch up their scars and praise them for their heroic acts? There is no point, which leaves these three particular spider-people here. Their body is stuck in the past, reliving each moment with you up until they lost you forever.

October 17th, 2099. It was all his fault. Maybe if he hadn't let his violent tendencies toward anyone who isn't you slip through the seams, maybe if he had been more persistent in his reminders of how loved you are. Maybe if he had tried harder, Miguel O'Hara would still have you here at his side.

Miguel's attempts to make this sudden transition in your life as easy as possible turned out to be disastrous. He is not stupid; he knows this upbringing into this new lifestyle you claim to be "kidnapping" was blunt. He knew this, yet still, his plans on easing you through this change had collapsed right before him. Time had passed, and he naively assumed your fear had depleted, far too caught up in the sheer delight that came from holding you in his arms. Days and nights spent trailing his fingers down the expanse of your skin and kissing away the bruises his fangs had left upon your lips. This is a dream, Miguel always catches himself thinking.

And his sweet daughter, Gabriella. How she adored you so much. Even more so than her own father, he often joked. Coming home to find you both brushing the hair of her numerous dolls, baking treats that were rich with far too much sugar, or fast asleep on the couch while some whiny kids show plays on the television. His heart hammers like a fluttering hummingbird at the sight of you so soft and calm with his daughter. However, your guard then builds itself back up, brick-by-brick, faster than a gust of wind when he makes his presence known. In a way, Miguel found himself... jealous of Gabriella. That gentle and loving nature of yours, why couldn't he have it for himself? Why couldn't you give him some of that attention, even just a blink? What could that crybaby brat possibly have done to deserve such an amazing thing!?

No matter what kind of thoughts suffocate his mind, Miguel always tried to keep himself composed in front of you. With his tall, muscular physique, it makes sense why you are so intimidated by his appearance. If he were to ever let this satiating envy bleed through the bandaids, however, you'd certainly never open your heart to him. The prospect alone makes his chest tighten with dread.

And he had been so negligent towards his daughter, it only makes sense why she would turn to you. With how breathtaking, elegant, brilliant, electrifying you are, Miguel can understand why she loves you so much. Still, this does not refrain him from tightening his jaw whenever his daughter does something as trivial as hug you. That should be me with Y/N. Let me hold them, let me hold them, let me hold them like that.

It's his fault he had so frivolously expressed his envy through sharp gazes, a towering frame, and muffled shouts through the thin walls. It's his fault he never assured you these ugly emotions were never your fault, since you could never do any wrong in his eyes, after all. It's his fault he didn't drown you in even more heaps of affection, to further remind you of just how much he needs you.

It is his fault you are dead.

Overcome with drowsiness, Miguel heedlessly packs his daughters lunch for school that day. Despite how you are usually the one who does this task, since you have always adored looking after the little one, you needed your rest. And he was insistent on treating you with even more intensive care, all to prove that he is the right one for you. No one else. Meanwhile, Gabriella sits at the kitchen table with her backpack on, swinging her short legs back and forth. She is bright with full energy that contradicts her father's state in a comical manner.

"Y/N/N always cuts my food into cool shapes! Yesterday, they made my sandwich star-shaped!" Gabriella exclaims to her father with admiration.

The mere mention of your name from someone else makes Miguel freeze. A sudden surge of anger wraps around his lungs like a sheen layer of morning dew resting on Spring grass. You treat her with such attentive care, why can't he get any of that? What is so special about her that he doesn't have? What does he need to change about himself in order to get you to love him the way you so fatuously love her? Miguel casts his gaze across the counter and finds several bottles of cleaning products you must have forgotten to put away. So endearing, so adorable. An idea then sparks. While Gabriella continues to babble about how cool and amazing you are, Miguel finds himself considering something he will never be able to take back.

Just a dash of some drain cleaner in her sandwich and this problem will fade away.

"Y/N/N!" The sound of your nickname shouts through the air upon your arrival. Gabriella is more than elated to greet you, but your eyes remain locked on Miguel. In other circumstances, he'd be thanking the heavens above for this bit of attention you have given him. At this moment, however, there is a disturbed gleam of horror in your expression that makes his stomach twist with apprehension.

The energy is not directed towards Gabriella, as you caress her cheek and gift her that smile of yours that rivals sunlight. Miguel inadvertently rolls his eyes at the sight, envious as ever. As she continues to ramble to you about her success at a recent soccer game, you retrieve all the cleaning products and return them to their respective place underneath the sink. Not without shooting a burning glare at Miguel, however. Had he made his intentions that obvious? You wave him aside from his stance at the pink, glittery lunchbox and he obeys. Pretending to finish up his original efforts, you examine every snack inside for anything this crazed man may have tampered with.

"Good morning, button..." The nervous tremble in Miguel's voice doesn't tarnish the sheer adoration that seeps from his tone.

Your short response of "'morning" could barely be heard over the thunderous sound of his heart shattering. Yet again, you have broken his heart. And still, he will crawl back to you every time, aching for any inkling of your regard. Soon, you're saying your goodbyes to Gabriella and wishing her a wonderful day at school. Planting a quick peck to her cheek, Miguel's talons grow and dig crevices into the steering wheel while he waits for his daughter to join him in the vehicle. Oh, if only you could give him the same act of affection, he would never ask the universe for anything ever again.

And if only he had known how the rest of the morning would play out, he never would have left the house.

When Miguel finally pulls out of the driveway, giving you a quick wave that is not reciprocated, you let your guard down. You almost watched this man murder his daughter. Tears begin to form in your eyes as the revelation simmers like boiling water. With more time here, who knows what lengths he'll travel to?

Fortunately for you, with how occupied he was with his daughter and his own inner turmoil, he had entirely forgotten to lock the door to his office. The one place neither you nor his daughter were allowed to venture into. You were unaware of what is within the room or how anything inside could aid you in your attempts to escape. What you were aware of, however, is how paranoid he was in his efforts to keep you out of there. Peeling back the curtain and taking a fearful glance out the window, just to ensure this psychopath who claimed to be your soulmate wasn't lurking, you embark on your journey into uncharted territory.

Miguel had mentioned several times in his late-night talks with you about his job at Alchemax. His boring explanations about the technology he was working on there did wonders in lulling you to sleep. Now, seeing the scatterings of machinery that littered the room made you gasp from their futuristic appearance. One contraption had caught your attention, however. It seemed to be a current project, evident in the numerous tools and papers inked with equations littered around. Upon stepping closer to the contraption, a holographic screen sputters to life. You find several distorted, glitching files that all attain to you in some shape or form. Y/N's wish list, Y/N's checking account, and Y/N's security camera footage. Curiosity does spark, but with how swiftly Miguel is able to drop his daughter off and speed home to return to you, the time you had was not versatile.

If I can piece together how this gadget works, I may be able to call for help and get Gabriella and I as far away from this man as possible, you think to yourself.

The machine continues to stammer pathetically as if it were desperately chasing its own life. Trying to peruse through the technology to find anything useful, its poor performance prevented you from any fruition. In a fit of frustration, you pull your hand back and deliver a harsh smack! to the side of the machine. With how little time you have, you can feel your opportunity for freedom begin to fade away with every glitch that erupts. With one final, violent slam to the machinery, the metal borders protecting the numerous open wires inside fall, and a sudden wave of electricity surges through you. Your entire body goes rigid before you splat harshly against the ground. You are now left entirely lifeless, except for the electric shocks that cause your stiff form to twitch in response.

With that, your life was over. October 17th, 2099 — the day Miguel O'Hara inevitably lost the only thing that ever mattered to him.

August 24th, 1934. It was all his fault. Maybe if he had stayed with you more and neglected the city, maybe if he hadn't been so careless with expressing his love for you. Maybe if he had tried harder, Peter Parker would still have you here at his side.

Peter, too, attempted vigorously to make your transition to this new life with him as smooth as possible. At the very beginning of this new adjustment, hope had still plagued your mind. As days turned into weeks, soon months, the forest fire that was your persistence had slowly been snuffed out like an old candle. Now, all you can do is sit at the window seat of his apartment and just pray that someone will recognize your face. From the numerous missing persons' posters that were now left behind in dumpsters and rain puddles, you could feel your luck grow thin. Everyday looked like this, all with this lovesick maniac at your beck-and-call, deluded enough to believe this fantasy of being your doting partner to be reality. The amount of egg-creams you've drank is bound to make you vomit at some point.

At the end of the day, you had gotten what you had wished for. You were once a journalist, putting all your time into unmasking the famous Spiderman. The truth of his identity was now in the palm of your hands. However, there were far more consequences to this wish than you had originally anticipated. And Peter is overcome with guilt when he thinks back to how disastrous his efforts to give you his heart turned out.

It's his fault he had so carelessly exposed his acts of heroism through the stench of gunpowder and chunks of blood beneath his fingernails. It's his fault he didn't spend more time showering you in the affection you truly deserved. It's his fault he never assured you the inevitable fate of the bastards that hurt you was never your fault, just so you can realize that everything he does, no matter how calamitous, was all for your benefit.

It is his fault you are dead.

Slow dancing with you in the gentle haze of the moonlight peaking through the window, swaying along to some romantic melody echoing from the saloon across the street, amorous words that you'd hear from the lips of a poet whispered into your ear — this is where heaven is. This is all that he has ever dreamed of; this is all he has ever wanted for the two of you. This is what makes him happy.

"My heart is bleeding in your hands, dollface. It's all yours, I'm all yours." Peter's breath tickles your neck, the infatuation-stained harangue finally coming to an end as he continues to sway you along to the harmonies outside.

You often joke to yourself that you could stab Peter in the heart, give him even just a sliver of the turmoil he has forced into your life, and he would still give you a smile with blood painting his teeth and that revolting gleam of pure, unadulterated devotion in his eyes. With this devotion, however, comes dark, dark side effects. This was not a surprise to you, considering how you've been locked up like a bad dog for these past several months. Still, when you inhale and the sharp odor of iron poorly masked with bleach overwhelms your senses, you find yourself taken aback.

The clamoring sound of the bolts to your prison cell your captor claims to be your love den being unlocked brings you out of your thoughts. When the door opens and Peter walks in, all you see is a euphoric, hopelessly-besotted partner. With the sudden stench that is still heavy in the air, however, you feel a new, sudden sense of dread with his presence. He is elated to see you, as he always is. An impassioned kiss to your lips and an ardent compliment are essential to your everyday encounter with the man you thought once to be a superhero. Sometimes, a gift of fresh, blood-red roses may accompany him in his attempts to woo you further, as well.

Through the whiff of cigarettes sitting on his trench coat when he envelops you in a much-needed embrace after his long day of work, you sense something else. The tang you had inhaled from outside the bedroom is now stuck to his form, nestled beneath the aroma of late-night brume and smoke. You force a gag down your throat and reciprocate the affection, trying to push your suspicions to the back burner in your mind. The rest of the evening is like any other: listening to some tunes from the radio as the two of you play a card game, all that Peter deems as a "romantic date". Your winning strike against him (he always lets you win, but he won't tell you this) falters when your brain can't help but wonder what he was so occupied with outside that door.

As devastating and exhausting as the truth is, coming to terms with reality is the only chance you have of returning to the life you once had. Hoping he'll wake from his delusions and let you off your leash is nothing more than a pipe dream, you realize. If you want freedom, you'll have to take it by the neck and claim it as yours. So, as the hours of the night fade into dawn, you conjure a plan in your head while the man beside you snores in a deep slumber (not without a few sleepy mumbles of flattery for you, though).

The scheme you had so flawlessly crafted was quick, simple, and easy. You would do something you have never done before: initiate affection with Peter.

This was your ploy: fulfill all the fantasies his lovesick brain was infested with and watch with a newfound sense of hope as he forgets to lock the door, too dazed from the pleasure your sweet attitude had brought him. And it worked marvelously. Not only did this man forget to lock the bedroom door, he had entirely forgotten to lock the front door of the apartment altogether. The prospect of this mistake being a test of your loyalty lingers, but when you watch through the window as he swings away from building to building, you let out a roar of laughter.

After your fit of hysterics, a smile sits on your face as you tread to the front door. Something stops you in your tracks when your hand hovers over the doorknob. When you leave, you will have nothing but months of memories to defend yourself with. Who are the authorities going to believe — you, a mischievous journalist, prone to bending the rules for a good headline, or Peter, the famous superhero, notorious for his restless efforts to save the city? Despite the freedom you have dreamed of being right in your palms, you step away from the door. Instead, you look around for any evidence deemed beneficial. Whatever can put him under the negative limelight is satisfactory to you.

No stone was left unturned in the apartment, all besides a single door at the end of a long corridor. The night before, Peter had been so frantic with his time inside (all in order to get back to you sooner) that he was sloppy with his efforts in cleaning his mess. The spilled bleach he had accidentally knocked over was still lying in a puddle; the nauseating scent of fresh blood still satiated through the air like a fragrance. And lastly, the latch on the door had been left unlocked.

Without so much as a second thought, you enter the room and let your curious eyes soak in the sheer horror that resides within.

A metal chair rests in the middle of the room, leather straps tightened around a body that sits motionless. Two tables are located on the sides of the room where all sorts of gut-wrenching tools reside. And there is blood everywhere. What was once a second bedroom for buyers of the apartment has now been morphed into a torture chamber of sorts.

The person restrained in the chair, you weren't sure if they were even alive. Everything is drowned in so much heaps of red, attempting to use your mere first-aid knowledge is impossible. What is most perceptible, however, is the way their eye had been forcefully torn from its socket. It resembles a runny egg how it causes bodily fluids to cascade down their face. The amount of flesh on their body that had been torn asunder, the gag in their mouth that was oozing with tears and saliva, the gushing blood that continues to hastily seep from infected wounds. Everything makes your eyes blur and your stomach churn with nauseau.

With the career you once had as a journalist, you've seen some disgusting sights. Sneaking onto crime scenes from a brawly saloon fight gone too far or snapping pictures of the result of Spiderman's "heroic" acts to save citizens, you've become desensitized to gory scenes. But, this. This wasn't like anything you have ever seen.

"Y/N?" You hadn't realized how deafening the silence was until the poor victim is able to speak out.

With one eye practically staring daggers into you, the revelation hits you like a train. That voice, that eye. This is no other than the man you had called your boyfriend before this mess had snuck into your life. Or, ex-boyfriend, as you'd prefer to refer to him as. The status of your relationship was left a mystery after the night he had come to your home drunk and reeking of someone's perfume. Your insistent demands for him to sober up and inform you of his recent whereabouts earned you a harsh slap across the face. With a loud shout of how much of a “shitty partner” and "piece of cityside trash" you are, the person you thought to be the love of your life storms out of your home. Never to be seen again.

Hastily, you unclasp the restraints that left his skin numb and bruised. With how malnourished he had become from his time spent here, it was fairly easy to support his weight. You swing his battered arm around your shoulder and help him stand on his emaciated legs. After only two steps, he pushes you off of him harshly with what little strength his body was able to garner. His attempts served well, as you feel your stomach hit a table adorned with blood-stained utensils that make you sick to imagine how they were used.

"You... How could you...?" As his weak voice fills the air, you feel your stomach fold into itself. Does he think you did this?

Opening your mouth to begin stammering your way through what you intended to be a thorough explanation, a loud bang! then pervades the air. Without a second to process his actions, the man grasped the pistol left on the table and pulled the trigger. A stream of smoke now stems from the barrel. The betrayal, the aversion, and the debility in his expression tell you everything you need to know. You were so close to the finish line that would grant you freedom, but when you shift your gaze down, you're devastated to find a bullet hole protruding through your chest. You then slump to the ground and your killer falls not long after you, the act of merely standing too much for his abused body.

With that, your life was over. August 24th, 1934 — the day Peter Parker inevitably lost the only thing that ever mattered to him.

July 3rd, 2020. It was all his fault. Maybe if he had been more attentive to your safety, maybe if he hadn't exposed how soul-crushing the love he has for you is. Maybe if he had tried harder, Hobie Brown would still have you here at his side.

As opposed to the others, Hobie did little to ease you into this new life with him. The transition was curt, violent. With you as a bartender, drunken customers are most certainly not a rare sight. However, when you rejected a man who had one too many drinks and he reacted with violence, it caught you off-guard. And Hobie, the lead singer of the band that consistently played at your bar, had become blind with rage. Through the mess of the blood on your head when the beer bottle shattered against you and the apple-red matter staining Hobie's guitar as he smashes it relentlessly into the man's skull, these events somehow landed you where you are now.

An abandoned building on the outskirts of town, that's where you had woken up. The debris around the room was masked with string lights and band posters adorning the walls, as well as a rickety bed frame scarcely supporting a lone mattress. With bleary vision and an even fuzzier head, you gain consciousness abruptly. You find yourself on the bed with thick, itchy blankets draped around you, clothes that certainly do not belong to you on your body, and spiky belts used to restrain your limbs. Barbed wires and decaying planks of wood board the windows; the lack of passing cars and loud pedestrians outside cause you to worry about how far you are from the lively city you called home.

A lanky figure makes their presence known, dressed in those all-too-familiar garbs. Spider-Punk, the man you'd always see performing at your penurious bar, despite how widespread their band was. Much to your shock, his large hand finds the trim of his mask before tearing the garment off. Beneath is a gorgeous face embellished with piercings and a wild head full of hair. Large, wet eyes overwhelm you. And there is only one discernible trait you could read clearly through his expression: desire.

The way your plump body pools from the hems of the small clothing he dressed you in from his closet, fuck. Hobie has thought of this moment plenty of times — finally being able to take you away, just the two of you. He swore up and down he'd keep his fervid cravings at bay. But, when you're truly here in front of him, looking like that. He has to dig his long nails into his palms to physically restrain himself from lunging for you like a feral animal in heat. God, you look too fucking good.

From here on out, the relationship you have with Hobie sprouted into something only you would call treacherous, something only he would call rapturous. Being trapped within the small expanse of this grimy room, your new life has shown how perceptibly different your reactions are from one another. You are entirely dumbfounded at these new circumstances you've been forcefully thrust into. Meanwhile, Hobie attempts to put space between you both to avoid giving into his irresistible hunger. Though, it doesn't take a genius to notice how his hands always find their way to your naked skin and how his eyes linger on the intimate parts of your body. And it most certainly doesn't take a genius to notice the sheer terror and confusion stuck to your expression.

The discomfort the residence brings does little to ease you, as well. How your body is restricted against the firm mattress has your limbs aching with cramps. Your neck throbs from no support, considering the lack of pillows. But, Hobie always remarked that his chest is more comfortable to lay on, anyway. His clothing reeks of alcohol from the numerous bars and parties he’s attended, but also from the expensive perfumes, lotions, as well as the skin and hair products he received from his time being a runway model. The scent now clinging to your skin fails to bring you any of the tranquility he wished you would feel. Meals shared between you two were often dowsed in grease and cheap in flavor. Your captor never put much effort into making your dinnertime together anything reminiscent of a romantic date in Italy or something along those themes. He would much rather eat something else for dinner, after all.

This is what life looked like for the next several months. Records spinning and filling the air with headache-inducing songs he says he had written about you; Polaroid pictures scattered around the room that display different variations of the same scene: you sitting pretty with Hobie's hands and lips all over you. Never, never, has this man ever felt so much bliss in his entire life. He has always preached about how the idea of "love" is nothing more than propaganda meant to earn greedy, capitalistic companies more money with their cheesy movies and Valentine's Day garbage. When you entered his life in all your glory, however, he was ashamed to put his pride aside and admit those irritating pop songs may have been correct.

"I don’t need nothin’ else. 'Long as I have you here, birdie." He fidgets with the necklace he had given you that was currently draped upon your neck. His lucky guitar chip is swung upon the chain, since it always belonged to you, anyway. You will always be his muse.

With how carelessly he let himself be swathed in the warm blankets of love, how carelessly Hobie had let you slip from his fingertips.

It's his fault he had so frivolously expressed his protective nature through blood-stained bar floors and constricting arms encompassing your body. It's his fault he never assured you these conflicts weren’t your fault, it was only the monsters outside who wished to separate true love. It's his fault he had disciplined himself so heavily for his big heart, fearful of losing self-control with the love of his life.

It is his fault you are dead.

You regret not tallying the days you've spent locked up in this birdcage. Carving lines into the deteriorating walls to represent the slashes this new life has left in your sanity. It feels as if lifetimes have tread by you, the same day repeating itself like your own personal nightmare. Mere months have gone by and unbeknownst to you, the sweet escape you so despairingly crave is sitting upon the horizon. The circumstances of your freedom were the absolute last thing you had wished for, however.

Hobie’s history of being a heartthrob and heartbreaker were no secret to you, but his newfound loyalty to the innocent person he had taken from their previous life was even more evident. All the possessive, delusional fans that were convinced they'd marry their favorite singer, it was just so easy for Hobie to indulge in some casual fun before leaving them behind in his dust. As the story of all Spider-People goes, however, Y/N L/N is the tool that throws this man into a whirlpool of enamoring disarray. Embracing this newfound happiness was exhilarating for him, but Hobie was so dazed from it, he never had thought that karma would slither itself between you two.

A certain groupie, wholly convinced she and Spider-Punk are soulmates, was devastated to see how carelessly the love of her life abandoned her. Her mind had sprinted to all sorts of gut-wrenching conclusions. Am I not enough? Is he moving on? Is there someone else? Her worst nightmare materializes into reality when she stalks behind his tall figure and follows him to a building one late night, an odd pep in his step as he enters. What she assumes is just another exclusive club location with more taboo forms of partying, she is left stunned when she catches sight of what sights lie within.

The man of her dreams is found in the depths of infidelity. Through the crack of a rickety door coated with locks, there he was. Chest pressed against the back of someone else, who was sound asleep beneath an array of blankets like a baby in a crib. With his arms locked around them like a lifeline, Spider-Punk presses long, intimate kisses to their face. The words she had begged to hear from him, he was so frivolously drowning this stranger in such, despite their unconscious state. Every syllable was dripping with lust and smitten-induced hysteria. Tears brim in her eyes from how desperately she covets to be you in this moment.

With a shattered heart and a festering rage, she comes to the conclusion of what she must do. She will take him back, no matter what it takes.

Rarely did Hobie ever leave the expanse of your room, he wanted to stay with you forever. When he did, however, it was for some quick cash at yet another gig he and his bandmates had landed. Singing his lungs out, knowing every lyric revolves around the one waiting for him back home — you have brought him ecstasy he still cannot fathom the sheer weight of. A Friday night like no other, Hobie would spend the evening beneath the blinding spotlights, drinking the hours away, before returning home and cuddling with the only reason he chooses to live.

Through the barricaded windows and doors, a sudden stench of what appears to be smoke invades your senses. A big city like this, something along these lines is nothing out of the ordinary. After all, you were so thrilled to finally be granted a night to yourself, anything that would jeopardize this gift from the universe is seen as insignificant. When the heavy smell becomes more perceptible and the unmistakable sound of fire cracking gets louder, you feel dread tickle down your spine. The fear settles into your bones before you can think of a logical way to escape. Hobie did everything to ensure you wouldn’t leave his side, after all.

Air soon becomes precious, your lungs begin to squeeze, your skin is burning with scorching pain. It brings you the hell you had carelessly thought you felt before. A final cry of help into the suffocating air and you feel your life begin to fade. Meanwhile, the lost groupie stands near the entrance, holding back a satisfied smile. An onslaught of concerned pedestrians and firefighters accompany her. And Hobie was still far away, alcohol heavy in his system and the joy of returning to you seeping through his body like a drug. So blissfully unaware of what awaits him when he comes back to the place he had called home only with you.

With that, your life was over. July 3rd, 2020 — the day Hobie Brown inevitably lost the only thing that ever mattered to him.

The effects your departure has left on these men are all nothing short of disastrous. No longer do they have the vibrant, loving souls they once held. Day by day, they are dragging the dead carcass that is their own body, suffering through every second and hoping it will be their last. The paths your death have led these three are unique from one another, but they all find themselves in one specific space. Spider-HQ, within Nueva York on Earth-928. The story the multiverse has written for them had so selfishly taken their happiness away from them. Taking the pen for themselves and creating the most beautiful fairytale where you are alive and back in their embrace is the only purpose they now have.

Now, Miguel O'Hara stands at the office he earned from becoming the leader of this society. Upon the various monitors displayed around him are scenes taken from numerous different universes. Lethargy sits like bags of bricks beneath his eyes, slowly blinking as he ensures no minor mistake is present. If the multiverse were to crumble, his sole objection to save the only important person in Spiderman's life will fall with it. When he verifies all is well on Earth-1610, something perceptible then catches his gaze and he does a double-take. Any sign of fatigue within him is snatched out of his body, leaving him more awake than ever before.

Within this universe, Miguel finds you.

Before, these universes have only displayed the effects your death has left on all the spider-people. Today, however, is the first time he has seen you alive since the day he lost you. Lyla snickers and accuses him of having a cute, teenage-like crush when she takes notice of the sheer captivation in his expression. Little does she know how much history lies in your mere face. It is heart-crushing, how much the simple sight of you enjoying a cup of coffee (with one too many sugars, as he knows you've always preferred) has such catastrophic effects on him.

Piles of schoolwork are scattered around your desk, covered in information adhering to your current college major. Even with your lack of sleep, school-induced annoyance, and general exhaustion over everything in your life, Miguel has never seen something quite as breathtaking as you in this moment. An epiphany sprouts in his brain as quickly as the sight of you caused his soul to blossom, just like it did all those years ago.

Maybe he can stop it. Maybe he can get you back.

Your death is inevitable, and even though Miguel was aware of this, dread still pervades his stomach at the prospect and churns with his breakfast. What really makes him shudder is when he reads through the cannon events assigned to you. A flare of jealousy ignites within him when he finds an unfamiliar name in the midst of your story.

Miles Morales, the Spiderman you are meant to fall in love with. What good is he? He's just some stupid kid, what more could he possibly do that Miguel can't? Why would you choose this loser when he can give you everything you have ever wanted!? In a sudden fit of rage, he grasps hold of whatever matter was closest to him and uses all the strength within his muscular arms to hurl it across the room. His chest heaves with infuriated huffs; his claws slice into the meat of his palms. He is enraged, yes, but he is mostly devastated that the beautiful face on his screen will soon meet their inescapable demise.

Not only will he do everything in his power to stop your death, but Miguel also vows to put his blood, sweat, and tears into ensuring you do not fall for this boy. Additionally, he will formulate a plan to bring you back into his arms without destroying the multiverse as a whole. With that being said, this does not change how reality on Earth-1610 continues to play out in front of him. It’s like a television show; a show he'd give a 1-star rating out of sheer pettiness.

In his last year of high school, Miles Morales' life was thrown into a tornado when his parents enrolled him in a new school to finish his last semester. And the 18-year-old boy absolutely dreaded this. New people, new location, new clothes that poke and jut at his skin uncomfortably. With the hefty responsibility of being Brooklyn's sole hero and hiding this truth from his loved ones, this sudden alteration in his environment does not relieve any stress. Swiftly, Miles conjures a plan to convince his parents to send him back to the way his life once was. Slack off, play dumb, and bring home report cards that are absolutely atrocious and his parents will have no choice but to give their son what he wants.

However, this is not what happened. Much to Miles' dismay, the grand idea his parents had was to not let him continue his education comfortably. Instead, they hired a tutor to aid him through his final months of high school.

Rio and Jeff had invited this tutor for dinner at their home, which Miles had flaked on entirely. Mostly due to his duty as Spiderman, but partially from how sour he was about the state of affairs. When he returned home, their anger was practically palpable. However, this disappointment soon shifted into a long, insufferable tangent about how marvelously smart, mannerly, and kind this tutor was and how embarrassed they were because of him. That Saturday, he was expected to join this tutor in the school's library or his parents may consider grounding him once again. Miles has to refrain from rolling his eyes at their never-ending lecture.

March 11th, 2023. It will be all his fault. This day is the day Miles Morales will inevitably meet the only thing that will ever matter to him.

To earn some extra support through your time in college, you had decided to take up tutoring in your free time. The myriad of students you had met all possessed the same attitude — the kind of attitude you'd expect from teenagers whose parents forced them to do schoolwork in their free time. Miles fit this category well, at first. And how your situation developed, it was oddly refreshing to finally meet someone who isn't repudiating every second with you.

15 minutes late, open backpack spilling with paper, tie loose around his neck, the student most certainly made his presence known when he stumbled into the silent library. Attempting to fix his untied shoelaces, you rush over to help him and save him from any further embarrassment he was already enduring. You are able to catch the folder that had tumbled out of his bag before it hit the ground, to where he mumbles a quick "thanks" in response. His gaze is still locked to the strings of his shoes he was attempting to tie together as swiftly as possible. Nearly tripping, Miles makes it to the table you had once organized thoroughly, but was now cluttered with everything this boy had thrown onto the surface.

Oblivious to you, the boy whose parents described as having a "heart of gold," was doing everything in his power to appear as rude and ill-mannered as possible. Deliberately arriving late, making a fool of the two of you, messing up the neat array of lesson plans and pencils you arranged. Anything to convince his parents to send him away from the nightmare that is this school. This plan of his was seized from his mind like a rug pulled out beneath his feet when he finally turns his shoulder and shifts his attention to you. What Miles expected would be the slowest, drawn-out hour he's ever experienced would actually be the most exciting, life-beaming 60 minutes he’s ever experienced.

Your voice sounds like honey as you introduce yourself to him. And that heart-stuttering smile of yours works wonders on him. Miles had already known your name, but hearing it from your mouth made him think he was listening to a symphony of angels. Since the last few stages of high school are stressful for everyone, you decided to cut him some slack and offer a kind hand for him to shake. All thoughts of his old school and the comfort it brought are all eradicated as he stares into your soul with those wide, bambi-brown eyes. After months in this new environment, you must be a gift the universe sent to compensate for all the misery he has endured. And fervently, Miles accepts you as the best gift he has ever received.

"I'm Spiderman." His mouth moves before his brain can compute. Your brows furrow in response, scrutinizing the confession for some sort of punchline.

“I mean- shit, uh… I mean, I’m Miles... You-You know, like- kilometers, yards, feet. Except, it's Miles this time... Y-... Y'know?"

His relentless stammering to try and prove himself worthy of your time while also acknowledging he accidentally told you his deepest secret earns him a quick giggle. And the sound bouncing from your lips is nothing short of paradisiacal, especially when he is the cause. A sudden wave of silence then rests between you both. You, laughing nervously to lighten the awkward tension. Miles, entirely flabbergasted at how he could have ever wanted to miss out on something as profoundly magnificent as this. His mind runs rampant while his wide eyes remain locked on your averting ones. Do it, do it, do it. Just do it already, Miles!

He pulls his hands up, your eyebrows furrowing once more trying to consider his intentions. He then lands his touch upon your shoulder.

"Hey..." Miles' voice drops several octaves, a fiddly excuse of a smirk forms on his lips, and he squints his twitching eyes that still hold the same crazed wonder they've had since they first landed on you.

"Hi...?" Your response expresses nothing but sheer confusion, not your face burning from the attention like Miles had initially strived for.

Wrapping your hand around his, your mere physical touch sends flares of electricity down his skin. Goosebumps bloom across his arms and his entire body halts in place, tense with shock and nerves. In an attempt to forcefully remove his hold on you, you're startled to find how he is now stuck to your hand. As if he had lathered his hand in heaps of glue before touching you, the efforts you took to get this boy off of you only resulted in your skin painfully stretching.

So enveloped in the way his heart lurches from holding your hand, a sudden, hushed whimper of "you're hurting me!" and Miles feels a gasp involuntarily escape his throat. Attempting to pull away from you, as much as he wishes not to, only intensifies your pain. What had Peter told him to do when this happened? Oh yeah, just relax! But, how on Earth can he possibly relax when your hand is in his!?

People are staring, exclaiming in annoyed distress over their interrupted study time. You're trying to piece together how Miles had managed to cement his hand to yours and why he refuses to let go of you. Meanwhile, Miles is apologizing profusely for inadvertently harming you, while also soaking in how rhapsodic it is to have your hand in his. He knows he has fully fallen into oblivion when the prospect of letting go of you hurts him more than the relentless pull and twist of his flesh.

So much for first impressions, right?

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

❝ MANY LIVES THAT COULD HAVE

BEEN ENTANGLED FOR ETERNITY . . . ❞

gif credits :: miguel, miles, peter, & hobie.

tag list :: @honey-beeuwu, @hex-touchstarved, @thel0v3hashira143, @cailey1011, @mickxxstxvxns-blog, @flaming-vulpix, @puthypirate42069, @dolliemoons, @mikalovesnoodles, @explosiongamora, @thegalacticnacho091, @brinleighsstuff, @shinsou-hoetoshi, @uselessbutinteresting, @amortentor, @fried-milkfish, @officiallypoopoo, @lu-lupe, @belladonnashifter, @forgottenbynature, @marooseshawnash, @gothika-spacech1k, @funtimefoxybae, @ethnicbratz, @painpainflyaway, @shadepelt4673, @vivacioussaint, @palepettycharmer, @rqdior, @clownwiki, @clever-username96, @bisoudoll, @darlingdontwe, @naiomiwinchester, @weskennedysgirl, @chubbuart, @simpfo, @neytirisarrow, @leilani04, @lizzymizzy-blogg, @sublimesoulmagazine, @minimari415, @hcmay, @jinuaei, @altusha, @daisygirlll, @boredwithlifeatthispoint, @islandgyal06, @the-hufflebird-girl, @laucoeurs, @nepherawinchester18307, @tiredao3reader, @decadentlawyerapricotcowboy, @kitisb0red, @gabiacee, @reneuv, @letmegetthestrap, @krentkova19, @ayupfrogg, @vita-nire, @emmbny, & @realifezompire

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ssahotchnerr · 4 months

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could we maybe get some momfriend!reader and jack dynamics, maybe from before her and Aaron were even together?

something special

<333 cw; fem!bau!reader, very tiny blood description (& yes i know you're supposed to wash a paper cut right away but for the sake of the setting and aaron being cute i didn't include that step 😭), mentions of haley, mutual pining

"whatcha drawing?" you asked mid-writing, your pen flying across your paper but still finding the opportunity to peek over.

"spiderman and superman." jack replied happily, switching from a red to a blue crayon. "see, they're teaming up to fight the bad guy because he keeps doin' crimes."

about an hour or so ago, jessica had dropped off jack at the bau. long story short; she was called into work urgently and with aaron in a meeting, you were quick to volunteer yourself to keep him company. rather than cramming into the small space of your desk, and jack potentially hearing conversations or details not fit for a six year old, you've made home in the roundtable room. you could work, jack could color.

you had also fired off a quick text to aaron; letting him know jack was with you, a brief synopsis of the situation and where he could find you both once his meeting concluded. it had, and he was about to join, but found himself pausing outside the door, listening to your easy, lighthearted conversation for just a moment.

when it came to you and jack, there was just something about it. something extraordinarily special.

"i see," you nodded along to jack's words, an encouraging smile on your face. "that's really good. since when did you become an artist?"

"since always." jack grinned proudly.

"then you have to promise you'll make me a drawing soon. my desk is pretty boring, i need something to brighten it up." you held out your pinky, eyebrows raised. "promise?"

"i promise." jack linked his pinky with yours, and turned back to his masterpiece with renewed vigor.

a sense of warmth filled aaron's chest, the ends of his lips turning upwards into a faint smile at the natural bond you and jack had developed so quickly, over the course of a few weeks. deciding it was as good a time as ever to join, aaron reached out to fully open the door when a wince-gasp came from jack, stopping him.

"oh no," your head turned. "paper cut?"

jack nodded meekly, grimacing as his gaze shifted to you. his big, sweet eyes were tearful, "it stings."

"can i see?" he offered his hand limply, hanging downwards at the wrist. you cradled his small hand in yours; it was just a tiny cut - no more than a few centimeters, a faint line of red gradually seeping to the surface.

"hm, well," you huffed a breath, turning his hand face-up face-down - vaguely exaggerating the examination. you got up to retrieve the first-aid kit stationed in the room, aaron sidestepping a bit to keep out of potential view. "i think luck was on your side today, i don't think we'll have to amputate this time." you spoke with an airy tone, quick to bring light to the situation. it worked, jack stifling a laugh as you retook your seat. "nothing a bandaid can't fix."

there was the click of kit opening, a slight shuffle of what sounded like paper.

"and don't tell anyone i told you this," you applied a bit of ointment onto the bandaid before wrapping it onto his finger - not too tight or too loose, all to avoid cutting off circulation and to let the wound breathe. "we gotta keep extra band aids around because your dad always seems to get one himself."

"dad gets paper cuts? really?" jack's eyes widened in surprise.

just as his son, a breathless chuckle exited aaron; that wasn't necessarily true, but your intentions were clear: cheering jack up.

in addition, the last time he had heard someone talking to or interacting with jack like this - empathetically, attentively, motherly, was, well... haley.

it touched the usually unattended part of his heart that had been vastly empty since the divorce. since that one, horrible day. while the emptiness still lingered, you had made a pull at it. for a moment, you had healed it, even.

again, there was just something special about you. and again, the only way aaron could describe it was extraordinary.

"really." you nodded convincingly, tossing the little plastic scraps into the nearby trash bin, giving top of jack's hand a consoling pat. "it happens all the time."

aaron mentally rolled his eyes at that, a smile itching at his lips.

jack picked up his brown crayon, pain forgotten, eager to get back to his drawing. "i'm gonna draw daddy and put a bandaid on him. he's a superhero too, y'know?"

"yeah," your smile was rather bashful, your tone of voice so admirable it caused a blush to rise in aaron's cheek. "i know."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x fem!reader #criminal minds drabble #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch imagine #criminal minds x you

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illiana-mystery · 1 year

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I've watched No Way Home like a million times now. And every time, I fall more in love with Otto.

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exhaslo · 6 months

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Kinktober Day 21- Yandere!Miguel x Reader (Breeding/Lactation Kink)

(Requested by reader, also early update bc I'm playing Spiderman 2 all weekend)

It was no lie to anyone that Miguel was a stressed man. His eyes packed more bags than someone did for travelling. You knew better than anyone the pent up tension that man carried. Miguel had the fate of the whole multiverse on his shoulders, plus his shitty Alchemax job. The man barely had time for sleep and himself. Even so, he always managed to find time for you. Miguel had to since he was your loving husband, after all.

You were just a regular person, but you worked with Miguel at the Spider Society. You were the front desk receptionist. Your job was basically to turn people away who accidently entered the building. Apparently which happened a lot. It was an easy job and one where Miguel could keep his eyes on you at all times.

You had been with Miguel for over two years. The man was head over heels in love with you. The moment he proposed you immediately said yes. You were happy to live a life with him. You shared his burdens and he with you. Miguel always said that you were his only stress reliever. Just seeing you each day made his tension melt away. He always joked about locking you away so no one but him saw you. It was cute.

That and the hours of dumb fucking sex. Miguel had a breeding kink. He was always determined to fill you to the brim with his cum, always threatening to get you pregnant. It turned you on so much. Miguel would fuck you anywhere and everywhere. One time he was so horny that he was drilling your pussy right at your desk. He did not care if anyone walked in, just as long as he got to fill you. There have been says where you couldn't move because of how much he fucked you.

"Amor (love), what are you thinking about?" Miguel asked as he approached you from behind. You jumped,

"Miggy, I told you not to scare me!" You whined before hugging him, "I was just thinking about getting a new dress for our date night."

"Hm?" Miguel glanced at the website you were looking at, "But we're having that at home, amor." His eyes glowing bright red towards your exposed breasts,

"Awe, but Miggy, ca-W-Wait," You pouted softly as Miguel's hands already started to roam your body, "S-Someone almost walked in on us last time!"

"Then they'll know that you're mine." Miguel hissed lowly, sucking against your neck, "Nadie puede estar cerca de usted. (No one is allowed to be near you.)"

You trembled under his touch as Miguel already started to pump your pussy with his fingers. Miguel refused to teach you Spanish, saying something about him enjoying your confused expressions. When in reality, he did not want you to know about his dark secret. Placing you against the desk, Miguel inhaled to the sound of your moans. Those sweet, sweet cries, only for him. Miguel made sure that no one got to touch your body.

When Miguel first laid eyes on you, he knew he had to have you. He did everything in his power to keep other men away from you. He was Spiderman after all, what's an injury here or there? Miguel just pushed you in the right direction for him. Playing the perfect boyfriend until you were convinced that he was. You were so cute as you fell into his trap. Miguel had you all for himself and he was going to make sure it stayed that way.

"Mírate, chupándome la polla tan bien. (Look at you, sucking my dick so well.)" He groaned as he started to pound your pussy from behind. "What is it that you want, baby? Tell me."

"N-Need you to fill me," Your moans were getting louder as he pressed you into the desk. Miguel brought your waist closer to his, making sure to hit you deep each time,

"Te he entrenado muy bien. Todo lo que quieres es que te derrame mi semen todos los días. Te doy mi hijo. (I've trained you so well. All you want is for me to pour my cum into you every day. Give you my child.)" He groaned lowly, giving you his first fill, "Gotta make a mami out of you, right?"

"Y-Yes!" You moaned out.

Miguel licked his lips as he kept going. One was never enough. He needed to make sure you knew your place. He flipped you over, placing you in mating position. Your breasts were bouncing out of your top. Miguel licked his lips as he went to squeeze your breast. You let out a sharp gasp as a sudden release of tension was given to you. Miguel's eyes sparkled as your tender breasts started to lactate. Your adorable face screamed embarrassed while he chuckled,

"Don't look away," Miguel leaned down and started to suck against one of your breasts.

"H-Hah, M-Miggy...T-That-"

You squirmed under Miguel, a new sensation burning throughout your body. Miguel was sucking against your breasts hungrily. You were reaching your orgasm and fast. Miguel felt you squeeze against his cock and continued his harsh pace. He switched to your other breast, wanting to share the love.

"Miguel!" You cried out, panting heavily after your orgasm.

Miguel released your abused nipples, watching your milk drip down your body. He pumped you a few more times with his dick, making sure to fill your womb. Once he was done, he fixed your attire and sat you back down in your seat,

"That was delicious, mi amor. We'll continue this later."

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

It hadn't even been an hour since Miguel filled you that he was back. He caught you leaving the bathroom and proceeded to fuck you in the stall, giving you another few pumps of his cum, while enjoying your milk. You body was starting to grow sore and it was no where near time for you to go home. It was like Miguel was under a spell. He kept groping your breasts, wanting you to cum from just his touch. You weren't sure if you were going to last the day.

"I need more water," You sighed softly, feeling dehydrated.

Right as you were about to stand, someone walked into the building. A young confused looking man approached you with what looked like a file in his hand. It was probably another lost interview candidate for the building behind the Spider Society. You told the young man that he was in the wrong building and when you went to stand, you fell. Your legs had given up on you from all of the rough sex Miguel gave you today.

"Are you-"

"Back off." Miguel hissed as he towered over the young man in his suit.

The young man fled in terror. Miguel cussed under his breathe and went over to you. He grabbed your arm before lifting you into his arms. You knew he was mad. Miguel always hated it whenever any guy talked to you. He wouldn't even let you order food if it was a male cashier. He was so protective and jealous that you found it cute, but annoying sometimes.

'Sorry," You apologized as Miguel took you home, "I was going to get a water."

"Then let me know. I'll do that for you," He grumbled.

You pouted towards his childish behavior. Once you arrived home, Miguel made sure you got hydrated. He took your pants off, massaging your legs to try and give them feeling again. His eyes trailed towards your pussy, seeing his cum still leaking out of you. A low growl escaped his lips as he pushed you against the bed. His suit disappearing before he started to stroke his dick,

"¿Por qué sigues desobedeciendome? ¿Ni siquiera puedes guardar mi semilla dentro de ti y dejas que otro hombre te hable? te voy a castigar amor. (Why do you keep disobeying me? You can't even keep my seed inside you and you let another man speak to you? I'm going to punish you, love)" He spat, shoving his dick inside your drenched pussy.

"M-Miguel! N-No more...It's too much," You whined. Miguel groped your breasts, giving them a good squeeze, "Hah~ Ah~"

"Voy a hacerte madre. Darte una muy buena razón para mantenerte alejado de los demás. ¿Tienes esperando en casa toda hinchada por mi culpa? (I'm going to make you a mother. Give you a damn good reason to stay away from others. Have you waiting at home all swollen because of me.)" He groaned, ravishing your cunt.

Miguel ignored your cries as he took your nipple in his mouth. The warmth of your breast milk going down his throat. How could he ever let you leave the house again after this? Miguel needed to be stricter with you. Gripping your hips tightly, Miguel let out a grunt as he filled your womb once more. Your body arched, moaning out in pleasure. Despite your cries, your body always told Miguel what you wanted. You could never be too full.

"Are you learning your lesson?" Miguel asked, releasing your nipple for the other one. You shuddered in response, "I can't hear you,"

"Y-Yes, Miggy."

"And what is it you learned?"

"Mhm, I-I won't," You whined as he kept bullying his cock into you, "I-I'm yours. O-Only yours-"

"And?" Miguel rubbed your clit as he pounded you harder. You gasped, moaning louder,

"I-I'll do as you say. N-no talking to other men, a-and...ah...ah~ M-Migu-" You shook as you reached another orgasm. Miguel chuckled as he gave you another fill of him,

"Good girl,"

Picking you up as he finished, Miguel carried you to the bathroom. He sat you between his legs in the bathtub, messaging your breasts. His whispers about how sexy you were made your brain foggy. Miguel loved the fact that you were lactating for him. His hands kept wandering all over your body, marking you as his.

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

You ended up working from home afterwards. Miguel said it was for your protection. You were so madly in love with him and blinded by his true nature that you obeyed him. Miguel always rewarded your obedience. You were his good girl. He made sure you got what you wanted as long as it did not involve leaving the house without him. Miguel made sure that you were always with him everywhere else. If you even stepped out for mail without him, he would punish you.

"Now, what is it that you did wrong?" Miguel asked as he pounded you from behind harshly. You gripped the bedsheets, sobbing from the overstimulation he was giving you,

"M...Ma..." He had made you cum so many times you lost count. You could barely form a word.

"Can't understand you when you're so fucked out and full of me," He said with a smirk, "Oh? You're lactating even more...I wonder if this means I succeeded." He hummed lowly. You moaned loudly as he went to fill you again,

"Mig....s'much....mhm..."

Miguel lifted you up as he gave you one last load. He turned you around, holding your waist up so nothing would spill out of your pussy. He licked your breasts, enjoying the lewd expression on your face. You learned your lesson alright. You were never going to disobey him again. You were his good girl. Miguel smiled as he rubbed your belly,

"You're going to be a mami, amor. I'll have to reward you later,"

"Mhm,"

You just laid against the bed, slowly falling asleep from exhaustion. You were happy and contempt with your life with Miguel. Even if it meant losing your freedom to him. Miguel could have never been happier, especially after finally breeding you. And he wasn't going to stop after just one. You were stuck with him forever.

#kinktober #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel spiderman #atsv miguel

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fuxuannie · 10 months

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╭₊˚ ๑︰𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒈𝒓𝒐𝒘 𝒇𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓

:★: pairings : spidey-boys x long distance lover ! reader

:★: warnings : none, crack & fluff

:★: a/n : new layout !!! watchu guys think :)? no major atsv spoilers

:★: tags : fluff, ldr relationships (more like different earth or universe relationships), author is very tired, sleepy brain rambling

MILES falling inlove with you was.. rough. After you had no contact for so long, it felt like the one way he could meet you was in his dreams and face the dread aswell as the emptiness in his heart when he wakes up.

When he sees you again, it's almost instant the way he pulls you in for the tightest hug on earth. Miles is whispering sweet nothings about how much he misses you, the way you never left his mind since the first day you met & how you continue to cloud his every thought.

He just misses you so much, just having someone understand him because it's not the easiest to find people he can casually talk about his stuggles of being Spiderman.. but you were there. You were his safe place, his second home.

HOBIE is forever greatful for the technology that the Spider Society provides and can just make a portal at any time, all the while constantly being able to land in your bed with no fail every single time.

However he is not greatful that he's constantly on missions, and when he's not, you are. But honestly, sneaking off during his free time to visit you is his favorite activity. "Hey there, love." "HOBIEWHATAREYOUDOINGHERE??" (hobie what are you doing here)

Sometimes he thinks its a rare occurence to see you more than 4 times a week. It makes him miss you an awful lot, but those 3 hour cuddle sessions make him forget all his troubles.. so he'll bare it until he's able to see his lovely partner again. <3

PAVITR can't stand being away from you but he loves you too much to complain, he'll suck it in but whenever he gets sad he calls you on his watch and immediately lights up when you pick up and sees your face.

He doesn't demand anything, but all he asks is one call within the day. Little updates when you're given the chance if you want to, he knows you're very very busy like him but he's not immune to missing you, and he misses you so bad.

When he finally sees you again, he's GLUED to you. He's holding your hand, an arm around your shoulder or waist or he's practically carrying you around because he wants you to be super close after being starved of affection.

Conclusion : spidey-boys lack affection, plz give them they need it badly

#˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ bailu's candy stash #atsv imagines #atsv x reader #spiderverse x reader #miles morales imagines #miles morales x reader #pavitr prabhakar x reader #pavitr x reader #hobie brown x reader #hobart brown x reader

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drottooctaviuslover · 2 years

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HES SO BEAUTIFUL😍😍😍😍

#my sweet alfredo #alfred molina #spiderman no way home #edit #dr otto octavius

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murdrdocs · 10 months

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this but from miguels perspective (gn!reader)

he thinks he's maintaining composure during the call. he manages to hold off the growl between his words, and his eyes are the usual amount of narrowed, so he thinks he's truly not being that obvious. but the envy sits heavily in his chest and the jealousy almost blinds him and of course, there's the devil on his shoulder to taunt him as soon as the call ends.

"were they just ...?" lyla's question doesn't need to be completed for miguel to know what she's asking.

"yea, lyla," annoyance is clear in his voice. to an outsider, maybe it's the usual annoyance that comes from miguel o'hara. but to the one who knows him best, it's a dose ten times bigger than usual.

"oh, someone's jealous." it's singsong, a direct taunt at his expense, something lyla's best at.

"i'm not jealous i'm upset that i now have to find another spider-person to fill in for spider-punk." lie. well, not completely a lie but mostly a lie.

lyla's tone says she obviously doesn't believe him. "uh-huh. sure." but then she's gone, and miguel's left to click on his watch and pull up the audio recording of hobie's call. all calls are recorded for ... archives and such, so it's not that weird.

miguel just needs to let out some frustration before he can focus again. he knows lyla will handle getting someone for the mission, he just needs 10 minutes on his own, with your moans lowly playing in the lab, and his fist wrapped around his cock.

he spits in his hand, the quarter of his suit between his navel and his knees disappears, and he plays the bit of audio that's clearest with your moans. when hobie deliberately paused to "think" about when he was next free, leaving miguel's ears to warm as his overactive imagination conjured up images of you, under the spider-person who upset him most.

his hand turns sloppy as he thinks about how hobie doesn't deserve you. he's too insufferable, too immature, and from the one accidental meeting miguel had with you, he could tell you were the opposite. you were sweet, pretty, the softest features and the most comforting eyes as you offered tea to the spiderman who'd jumped out of a portal and into your home.

miguel remembers scowling at the mix of items that were yours and hobie around the place, but his features leveled out when he saw you, wearing a long shirt that stopped mid thigh, a little bit of toothpaste crust at the corner of your mouth, and a bright smile as you tentatively approached hobie and miguel.

he felt disgusting in the moment, thinking about what you had under that shirt, if you even had anything under the shirt. you were young, clearly hobie's age, definitely too young for miguel, but so much nicer than most young adults, a simple fact that drew him to you even more.

he couldn't help but think about if you and hobie had just had sex while he accidentally stumbled over his words, having to take a pause all together as hobie shamelessly pulled your back to his front and rested his chin on your shoulder.

now, images of how embarrassed you'd looked then flashes into miguel's mind. is that what you looked like while your boyfriend fucked you on call to his boss? maybe your face was scrunched a little more with pleasure. maybe there were tears running down your cheeks, a show of humiliation and satisfaction.

fuck, miguel really wanted to make you cry. he wanted to see those pretty eyes well up with tears while he bounced you on his cock. not on hobie's. miguel wanted to wipe the salt water away, kiss them away, and continue to make you feel good.

he distantly realizes that he's groaning now, grunts thrown in there as his hips chase his own hand. it's messy, a little shameful, but the thoughts are coming into his head quicker than he can process.

pictures of you bouncing yourself on his cock, head thrown back. pictures of you begging to cum because you know that miguel controls when and if you do. pictures of you playing with yourself, putting on a show for him, moans high pitched and vulnerable like they are now as you beg for help.

and just as he's about to come, hobie speaks, and miguel sees a picture of the two of you, hobie being the one to get you off, eyes locked with miguel with that usual taunting look in them. but for once, it doesn't upset miguel. at least not when warm spurts of his own cum is spurting out of his dick and onto his previously clean skin.

#miguels into cucking #is that what its called?#miguel o'hara x reader #hobie brown x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x gn!reader #miguel o'hara smut #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 smut #spiderman 2099 x you

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kombuuuu · 11 months

Note

would u write angst with 1610 miles? Like they’re best friends and both like each other but miles is distant bc of spider-man stuff. Maybe reader tries to distract herself by going on a date but it goes bad and miles comforts her and reveals he’s spider-man and confesses to her that he likes her:,)

“Im Spiderman!”

Miles Morales x Fem!Reader

“What the hell.”

“Mi vida, listen.”

“What the actual hell.”

Of course sugar, this silly little angst WILL BE SOOOOO DELICIOUS

warnings: hurt/comfort, attempted sexual assault (not by Miles)

Miles had been distant.

He kept brushing you off, planning times to meet up and missing them. Calling you in no hurry then all of a sudden there’s a family emergency and he hangs up.

Now you would understand if it was just a few times, hell, even more than a few times you’d just convince yourself you were paranoid. But every time for the past two months?

You’d right about had enough.

If Miles doesn’t want to commit to your.. not relationship..

Then you won’t either.

—

Miles had been busy. Life had gotten ahead of him when he’d least expected it. After a year of Spider-ing (?), he’d finally settled into a nice pattern of, wake up, do things, call you, see you, call you again to make sure you got home safe, protect the innocent civilians of Brooklyn, also do illegal graffiti, then go home. And maybe text you. All of that had been snatched from under him like a shaggy rug. Tripping over his own feet and struggling to right himself.

He had some fued going on with a villain he’d heavily underestimated. Their likeness not only in fighting, but also preying. Miles had started home from his patrols more than once to find a chip attached to his shoe. Beeping only audible from his advanced hearing.

It had stumped him into a nervous stupor. Constantly worried that someone bad is going to waltz through his front door.

He was worried they would catch wind of you, and although that had always lingered at the back of his mind. Losing you had been put on the forefront the moment you came to school injured one time, saying some guy just wanted drug money, and was pretty easy to scare away. Doesn’t mean he didn’t nick you in the cheek real good. Blade running quick against your cheek, and lord were you grateful it was light.

Miles had pulled you out of class, ignoring the behest of his professor and dragged you to his secret stash of first aid supplies, locked away in an empty and unused science room.

“So why’s it here?” He glanced up at you, confused.

“Huh? What’s here?”

His puzzled expression pulled at your heartstrings, giving you some sweet butterflies. “The first aid kit, dummy.”

“Oh.. Oh! Yeah-“ he threw his hand behind his neck, blazer sleeve crawling up his arm. “Uh- For ‘mergencies..” He quickly went back to cleaning your cut, finding your gaze too strong on him, but unable to avoid it.

“This is an emergency?”

He grabbed your chin between his forefinger and thumb, tilting it slightly up and to the side, then continuing with his right hand at dabbing your cheek with antiseptic.

“It will be if you keep moving.”

You prayed he didn’t notice how hot your cheeks felt.

Once Miles finished, he caressed your face softly for a moment, relishing in the contact before he quickly packed his stuff away and rushed out of the room in an excuse of “late for class”. You stayed sitting at the table for a further two minutes before getting up gently, grabbing your bag, and leaving the ‘abandoned’ classroom.

—

You were sitting on the curb of your apartment. Wishing you could just go back inside and sleep. Miles hadn’t spoken to you for a week. You didn’t want to seem like a clingy girlfriend, but god you felt like one. You were waiting patiently on for the bud to arrive, far too early in the morning. Sat in the spot Miles would usually meet you at, you sighed down at your feet. Had you done something wrong? Your relationship had been blossoming the past few months into something you’re sure was reciprocated. There was no way that the endless supply of intimate moments between the two of you was a coincidence.

The way your whole face would light up at the mere sight of him had to be clear as day.

You swore up at the sky, watching your breath fog up in the winter air, the slow screech of your bus coming around a corner brung you back down to earth. Day dreams about a boy who you probably don’t even cross the mind of cut short.

You stood up and groaned, stretching your arms and leaned against the bus pole. Except it didn’t stop. It didn’t even slow down, and when you’d realised the driver wasn’t pulling into the parking bay, you were already too late.

“Oh- C’mon, really!” You kicked your foot against the scuffed ground, pouting at no one and complaining to no one too.

“Miss the bus?”

A man who looked to be around 17 approached you. You stepped back from him, him getting the hint and not getting any closer.

“Oh- Uh.. Didn’t mean to seem like a creep or anything,” he laughed lightly, dimples showing at the action. “I just, also missed the bus.” He gestured down to himself, disheveled clothes and messy hair.

Disheveled clothes didn’t look as good on him as it did Miles, but you smiled and hugged a laugh anyways.

This could be your chance, get out of your rut. Back into the dating scene and away from Miles.

Yet it seems you couldn’t go two minutes without him on your mind.

“Hence why I look like this.”

His eyes flickered back to yours, taking in tour appearance as well.

“Guess we’ll have to walk,”

He laughed, “Guess so.”

“Not like our clothes can get much more creased.”

That brought a genuine chuckle out of the man, eyes squinting at the sarcastic tone you held.

“Well, I know a couple ways.”

He winked at you and you huffed, following behind him as you began the treck to your school.

—

The man you met had been named Arthur. He was understanding of your humour, and pretty well in his own. He seemed king of untrustworthy, though. You just didn’t understand why, something about him made your stomach churn. Maybe it was butterflies?

You had been talking for a week before he asked you out.

The fact surprising you. Never in your life had you met someone and them be wanting to date you within the same month, let alone fortnight.

“Yeah- yeah, okay.”

Miles’ face crossed your mind in a fleeting thought, sending goosebumps along your skin and a buzz through your bloodstream.

You’d just gotten asked out by someone attractive, said yes, and weren’t told it was some joke. And yet, the mere thought of Miles brought a quake to your knees? Good god.

Cross your fingers this date gets him off your mind and his image peeled from the backs of your eyelids.

“Cool, see you Friday?” Arthur stood from his chair, walking backwards towards the door.

“Yeah, Eight good?”

“Absolutely.”

—

Arthur had met you at ten, not eight. So you had spent the better of two hours thinking you got stood up by *someone you didn’t even know.

The moment he’d stepped in front of you, the nice outfit you were wearing felt overdressed and unfitting, he was wearing the same day-to-day clothes. It felt almost embarrassing.

“You clean up nice, babe.”

The name had you near gagging.

“Oh! Uh Thanks!” You grimaced as he winked.

The restaurant you’d arrived at was fairly busy, a quaint place with hung string lights and vines crawling along the ceiling. It led out into a cute garden, where it looked to be their own food growing.

At least he knows how to pick a place.

—

Fifteen minutes into the date, you had just gotten your food. And Arthur wouldn’t, for the life of him, talk.

It was so unnatural, so absolutely awkward you had just picked at your nails until your food arrived.

He had chatted with the waiter more than you.

“So uhm.. Arthur!”

He grunted an acknowledgment and glacéd you at you before returning to his food.

“What do you do study?”

“Anthropology.”

“Cool, I’ve always liked stuff like that.”

“Uhuh.”

You were going to shoot yourself if this man gives you anymore one word answers.

After a few more busted attempts, you had given up on trying. Just focusing on finishing your food faster so you could get the hell out of here.

A man you didn’t know came over to greet Arthur, said man responding enthusiastically. Peeking up and talking with “David” about who-knows-what.

“And who’s this lovely lady?”

“Oh hello, I’m—“

“—She’s my girlfriend David, so don’t try. Maybe after a while i’ll convince her to let me share ‘er with you.”

Girlfriend? Share?? What the fuck.

David laughed whilst he eyed you, his body leaning scarily close to you. You chuckled politely, what the hell.

“Well, let’s hope she agrees, huh?” David’s sly voice sent a shiver us disgust down your spine, seeping into your bones like marrow.

“She will.” Arthur assured him. You felt sick, violated. You need to leave, you need to get to Miles.

—

Another ten minutes passed before you’d both finally left the restaurant, the air getting stuffy with so many people around, and no one to see your fear.

Arthur had insisted walking you home. Which you vehemently refuse, you don’t want him knowing where you live.

Arthur had gone quiet after that, a look of almost anger on his face.

You had stayed quiet too, not wanting to poke the bear. And after a second, he was pulling you towards him and leading you to his car.

You panicked, struggling against his grip on your forearm. “Get in the fucking car, [Name].” He’d almost growled the words, “You fucking wanted this.”

“Let go of me!”

“You accepted in the first place, now you’re not going to give me what you owe?”

“I don’t owe you anything, let go!” You cried out, his grip was painful now and he was trying to shove your body into his car by force.

You were tearing up, your breath catching in panic, you were getting weaker and he was still shoving.

Suddenly, all the weight had been thrown off of you. Your wrist now free, and the presence of Arthur gone out of thin air.

“Your parents ever teach you not to lay a hand on a woman?”

You spun around to be greeted with sight of Spiderman wrapping Arthur in webs.

He docked him in the jaw as he tried to talk back. Arthur groaning heavily.

“Oh, guess not.”

“Fuck you, man. The girl wanted it.”

“Didn’t look that way to me, homeboy.”

Arthur glared up at him then turned to you, “You wanted it. Didn’t you?” It was phrased more as a threat than a statement.

“I—“

“Whoopsie.”

A web shot out and covered Arthur’s mouth, his eyes widening in panic as he tried to scream through it.

“Slip of the finger.”

He picked Arthur up and threw him to a wall, shooting a web at him as he went to stick him to it. The impact on his head swiftly knocking him unconscious, probably concussed.

You stood in shock, not really able to process the sight in front of you when Spiderman turned back, suddenly a lot less collected and a lot more worried.

He moved quickly over to you, raising on hand to caress your injured arm and one to your cheeks, the eyes of his mask downturning in fear.

“Hey-. Hey, hey look at me.”

You did, the tears in your eyes finally falling as the situation truly dawned on you. Your lip trembled. “Oh, [Name], you’re okay, i’ve got you.”

“Spidey—“ You shivered a little in his hold. His arm snaking down from yours to holding you close to him. The other continued to rub circles into your tear-stained cheeks. “—Come here, Chiquita.”

You hadn’t even noticed the names, your name, falling from his lips. You had only registered the immediate feeling of comfort around him. Unlike the feeling of fear, primality, around Arthur. Spidey had felt more like safety, like someone you could call a lifelong friend.

He grabbed you by your waist, talking you through it the whole time.

“I’m gonna touch your waist now, that okay?” “Mhmm..” “Okay, wrap your legs around me when I pick you up, yeah?”

Humming your affirmation, you wrapped your legs around his waist while he carried the whole weight of you in one hand, spread out on the low of your back. The touch sending the first pleasant tingle of your whole night through the tips of his gloved fingers.

“Let me take you home, querida.”

Miles’s eyes squinted in the pitiful sight of you, this was his doing. If he had been there for you, this never would have happened. His paranoia for something bigger had outweighed his realistic worries. If he’s not in your life, who’s going to protect you?

The names of sweet kept tumbling out of him, making up for the weeks he’d been missing. God, even now, holding you to his chest while he swung you home. Your eyes closed and buried into his neck, ignoring the world around the both of you and finding safety in him. Even now, he’s felt better than he had in the last months.

His feet landed softly on your fire escape, the soft thud of the metal a welcomed thought. Or, maybe it was being home again, either one.

Spiderman’s right hand slid under your bedroom window, opening it slow enough as to not wake your parents.

“We’re home, [Name].”

He climbed through the indie with you in tow, leaving it open slightly as you began to undress. He turned around quickly while you put on a large shirt and sleep shorts. Trying graciously to avoid watching you through the reflection of the window.

Once you were finished, he turned around and went to grab the makeup wipes from your dresser. You giving him a quizzical look he ignored.

You sat down on the bed with your legs crossed and he followed, your knees brushing one another.

“Close your eyes.”

You did, letting him softly wipe away any makeup you had put on for the night. You sighed in content, and absurdity. What was the likely hood of your date going so horribly wrong, then being saved and comforted by Brooklyns best vigilante. Then having that very same vigilante sit in your bed and wipe the tear streaked makeup from your cheeks.

“There you go.”

You opened your eyes again, seeing his hooded face so close to yours it made your heart beat.

“Thank you.”

He leaned back, suddenly seeming nervous.

“Hey, I—,“ He stopped and breathed in deep, “,—I need to tell you something.” He sounded conflicted, scared.

Why would a crime-fighting spider be scared of you?

“Yeah, of course. Anything.”

He sucked in another breath, quicker this time. And reached up to the bottom of his mask so fast you almost missed it. He pulled it off quickly, panicky. Leaving you to stare at the soft, plush lips and Hazel eyes that could only ever replicate the fall of an autumn leaf. Or the cinnamon dusted on the baking you would do with your mother.

Miles Morales stared back at you.

“I’m spiderman!” He laughed nervously. Picking at the fabric of his hood.

He looked back up at you and sighed, a smile playing on his lips at your dumbfounded expression.

“What the hell.”

“Mi vida, listen.”

“What the actual hell.”

He dropped his mask and gathered your hands in his. Holding them against one another.

“[Name].”

“You’re Spiderman.”

“I know, baby, I know.”

You looked up at his, he was closed again. Glancing at your lips every now and again. “Miles..” You pouted at him, almost crying his name. His chest aches for you. A thick guilt rendered his voice useless, a longing for you mixing into it.

“Is this why-“ You broke eye contact. “—Is this why you’ve been ignoring me?” You whispered it, like you didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

His fingers twitched against yours, squeezing your palm and rubbing his thumbpad over the juncture between your thumb and forefinger.

“Oh, cielo.” He let out a shaky breath. Saying the term in a quaking sigh.

He watched you watch him, your glassy eyes telling him all the hurt you’ve been through.

“Baby I didn’t mean—“ He shook his head, “I didn’t mean to ignore you. I was worried that some bad people would find out I—“ He stuttered, focusing on your intwined hands once again. “I cared for you, and they would use that, use you against me.”

“I never wanted you hurt, I just wanted you safe.”

You let another set of tears fall, the relief soothing the ache of stress in your shoulders, you were still mad at him, sure. And not only for ignoring you. But for keeping such a big secret to himself. But god, you were so happy he was back.

“It wasn’t because of you, cielo. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“You could never hurt me.”

“I’m dangerous, [Name].”

He looked back up to you in earnest, desperation and fear clouding his eyes foggy.

“You’re worth the risk.”

“God,” his breathing was heavy, deep. “,You’re making this real hard for me, baby.”

“Good.”

“Jesus christ.”

He surged forwards, using your joined hands as leverage as he pulled you closer into him.

He stopped just short of your lips, breath escaping you at the sight of him, looking as gorgeous as ever. Even with his hair in a mess and smelling like baby powder. “Please let me kiss you.” The man was near begging, desperation of a different kind now.

“Okay.”

He closed the distance, letting your eyes fall shut at the feeling. You never had felt more perfectly at peace than you had right now.

His hands let go of yours, moving up your body and landing on your hips. He shifted his weight onto his knees, leaning over you as you lowered back. You broke apart, panting heavy and laboured, “I’m still mad at you.”

“I’ll make it up to you.” He peppered you with short kissed. You’re back hitting the bed and him crowding over you, trailing kisses from your lips, to cheeks, to just below your jawline. You giggled lightly, his kisses tickling.

“‘M gonna hold you to that.”

He grinned up at you, slotting himself neatly between your legs. His right hand propping himself up beside you head, and left finding any bit of you he could hold.

“I don’t doubt it.”

He kissed you again.

—

okay maybe i lied this is also kind of long

BUT AWE 🫶🫶🫶

#miles morales x reader #miles x reader #miles morales x you #spiderverse x reader #miles morales #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman #across the spiderverse

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