#atsv angst

[sillyblues]

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐠𝐧!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

ੈ✩‧₊˚𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: miguel tells you how annoying you are

ੈ✩‧₊˚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: last and second part of annoying is here!! thank you so much for the huge support yall broke my app my notifications weren’t loading properly lmao THANK YOU! this was supposed to be just a short one but here we are with a part two and a bit bigger word count m’gonna need rest and need more time for the preggo fic

part 1

Wordlessly, you left the team. You returned to your own Earth and did your own thing again. There was a slight tinge of unfamiliarity, knowing that you might never work with other spider people, your friends, again, but you forced the feeling down.

Miguel’s outburst haunted you wherever you went. Even as you fought villains that disturbed the peacefulness of your home, even as you mingled with the other civilians and hung out with your friends, even as you laid down in the comfort of your bed, his words would constantly echo through your head, and they would threaten the fall of your tears every single time.

If Miguel thought you were annoying, what about your other friends? Do they think you were bothersome as well? Maybe, you bitterly thought as you brought your knees to your face. Maybe the civilians don’t like you as well. The thought of the people you treasure and care for so dearly, the people whom you devoted most of your life to save, the people whom you risk getting hurt every day for, hating you, left you breathless.

More tears fell, and you gasped. The ache in your heart was too much to bear and seemed to sting your entire being. You clutched your chest as you laid sideways on your bed, pillows and blanket long scattered on the floor. You tried to muffle your cries, but it was useless, as they still vibrated through the room of your apartment.

Oh, god. Please don’t hate me. Don’t hate me, please. Don’thatemepleasedon’thatemeplease—

“[Name]?” the familiar voice momentarily halted you in your weeping. You slowly rose a bit, supporting yourself on your arm and looked towards the source of it. Peter’s worried look greeted you as he crawled himself out of your window. 

“Oh, [Name].” you wavered at his heartbroken voice. He immediately rushed in to hug you. He sat on your bed beside you and embraced you. He rocked you back and forth, one hand on the back of your head that leaned into the crook of his neck, and one hand caressed your back.

“P-Peter, I ca– I can’t,” you hiccupped, and with shaking fingers, you gripped his suit tight. You felt your heart would burst with the way it was beating so fast and hard, ringing in your ears. “I can’t— I can’t breathe.”

“It’s okay, [Name]. I got you. I’m here, okay?” his voice was slightly muffled by the top of your head, but you could still hear him. “I want you to listen to me. Stay with me, yeah?”

You tried your best to respond, but it felt like your body wasn’t listening to you. He pulled back a little and held your face in his hands. You look at his eyes full of undisguised concern overflowing, and you desperately hope he doesn’t hate you too. You gathered what was left of your little strength and nodded weakly.

“Can you tell me three things around your room?” you try to look around as you cling to his arms. You looked away from his eyes and looked around you. Your old lampshade provided you with dim lighting in your dark, cold room. Your messy books were in disarray on the table. You saw a mirror. You saw yourself and how miserable you looked. Your face was wet with tears, and your eyes were red. You also saw how Peter looked at you with such solicitude, and you want to cry all over again.

“Um, lampshade.” You said and winced at the painful scratch in your throat and your hoarse voice. “Books. Mirror.”

“Good job. You did well. Can you move three body parts for me?” you unclasped your hands from his arms and tried to clench and unclench them. You wiggled your head out of his hold, embarrassment starting to creep onto you being seen so sticky and so wet and such a mess. It was fortunate that he understood and he chuckled. You were silent for a moment, and you didn't know what else to move so you settled on headbutting Peter.

“Ow! Of all things, really? Can't believe this is what I get,” he grumbled as he rubbed his forehead. You giggled at his exaggerated expression and unknowingly to you, your tears had stopped flowing, and only hiccups remained.

“Are you feeling better, [Name]? You can talk to me, my shoulder is vacant for you. Or do you want me to just stay quiet? Because yeah, I can do either. Just tell me what to do,” you chuckled even more at that. “I’ll even give you a pass for laughing at me.”

Seeing Peter comfort you like that, there was a sense of relief wash over you. It was obvious he was being genuine with you and if he wasn't, he most likely wouldn't even have the patience to sit with you and let you cry on him.

“It's nothing, um, it's just that,” you sighed as you weakly played with your fingers. The words are lodged in your throat, and you slowly breathe out. He looked at you with encouragement to take it slow, to breathe and you did. “I found out people at the headquarters think I talk too much and they didn’t really like me. Then I made Miguel mad, and I learned how I was annoying him. He probably hates me. And, uh, it got me thinking, what if you and Jess and Hobie think the same way? What if everyone thinks the same way?”

There was an urge to cry again, but it felt like you had cried it all out. There was none left for you to cry anymore.

“Wow, I knew Miguel was all bite and no bark, but I didn’t expect he’d bite that deep. What the hell is wrong with him?” the genuine disbelief made you sputter and chuckle. 

“First of all, whoever doesn’t like you is automatically wrong. I mean, who could not like you? You literally make everyone’s day. Jess loves gushing with you about her husband, and Hobie loves talking about how his punk stuff and fighting the literal government which I think it’s really pretty cool of him don’t tell him that he’s going to tell me I should do it as well and I just can’t,” he said. “And I love talking to you because you’re funny and so positive you just know how to make me cheer up. Besides, I’m talking too much now, aren’t I? Always have been. But did you think I was annoying?”

“No! I never once thought you were one.” You replied without a beat.

“Exactly. Us either. Look, [Name], everyone loves you. Trust me when I say that.” He said with confidence and finality that you had no choice but to believe him,

“But, Miguel..”

“He's stupid. I know. Don’t mind what he said because it’s all bullshit anyways.” He grins. “Lyla told me what happened. I’m not taking his side because what he said is just wrong and I get you, you know? Having to hear all of that hurts. But from the bottom of my heart, I think Miguel did not mean what he said. Like, all the pent-up stress got to his head and boom, it suddenly burst out. I’m not saying that it was a valid reason, no. I just wanted to let you know that he doesn’t truly think you’re annoying, you know?”

“Besides, from all the time I knew him, I had never seen him genuinely enjoy his time with someone nor mope so bad when you didn’t come to the headquarters anymore.” He said with a deadpan expression at the end.

“Pfft, really?”

“Yes, really.”

There was a pause, it wasn’t awkward but it made you appreciate him more for coming here for you. He smiled at you and you did too, leaning on his shoulder for support. He hugged you sideways, one arm rubbing the side of your arm and you closed your eyes.

“I missed you, [Name]. We all did.”

“...I missed you all too.”

.

.

.

The decision to come back to the headquarters was a bit hard but you took it slow with Peter’s support. He never rushed you nor forced you to come back which you really appreciated and when you did return, you were sure you didn’t regret it. Jess and Hobie immediately latched onto you, they hugged you tight and told you how much they missed you so bad. They asked you how had you been, if you were alright, if were you hurt, and all that. Seeing their sincere worry for you, you smiled hard enough to hurt your cheeks and slowly you were going back to the old, happy you.

What changed right now was that you avoided Miguel. When you first returned to the headquarters, Miguel was there a bit far away from you. You could feel his earnest gaze at you and you looked at him briefly. The bags underneath his eyes seemed to be bigger and you wonder if he had gotten a bit bigger too. A reminder of his words rang instantly through your head and you breathed deeply silently. You quickly looked away as soon as you laid your eyes on him and that remained true for a couple of weeks.

During the briefing of your missions, he would look at you expectantly as if you would stand beside him like you always did. But you usually stood nearby Hobie who was at the entrance of his office. Sometimes you stood beside Jess and Peter which was a bit near him but not quite so.

“You’re not gonna be near him?” Hobie once asked as he lay down on a flat surface. He nudged his head in Miguel’s direction who was looking at you a couple of times as he talked about the mission details. You smiled bitterly. 

“Aight, guess I got more time to catch up with you, huh?” the tip of his lips lifted up, “Wanna leg it and come join the protest in my home?”

“Oh no.” you silently snorted.

“What? It’s fun and we’re doing the right thing, you know.”

“Hobie, are you listening?” Miguel’s voice interrupted you both. You look away, not yet keen on looking at him.

“Yes, big boss. Ears open for you, don’t worry about me,” he stretched his arms before he folded them to lay his head on his clasped fingers. You wondered why he hadn’t called you when you weren’t really listening to him as well. Maybe he targeted Hobie on purpose to make you feel uncomfortable? You bit your lip. No, that can’t be. Peter said Miguel didn’t hate you and you trusted him so despite the voices haunting voices once more, you decided to believe in him.

Sometimes, you two would meet outside the building on his favourite Mexican stand outside the building. Maybe it was a habit formed over the time you knew him that you would buy him his empanadas. Now that you couldn’t bring yourself to talk to him just yet, you bought some for yourself. You could not deny that you missed buying his food, only to eat half of it yourself.

“Ah, it’s [Name]! How have you been? I haven’t seen you in so long!” Mrs. Flores exclaimed as soon as she saw your walking figure towards her. You two have gotten close a bit back then and has since then insisted you to call her ‘Abuela’. “Have you lost weight? You’ve gotten smaller since I last saw you!”

You didn’t think you did but before you could deny she was immediately cooking some empanadas, “Just wait, I’ll cook some for you, okay? No need to pay.”

“Abuela, thank you, but I can’t accept this without payment. Please, let me pay,” you opened your wallet and took some money but she wasn’t having it.

“No! I told you I don’t need any money! Do I look like I need some, huh? Don’t make me angry,” she threateningly pointed her clamps at you. You just sighed, knowing full well that her stubbornness was stronger than any villain you had fought. Suddenly, a figure crept behind you and you paid it no mind, figuring it was some other customer but the voice surprised you.

“Buenas tardes, Señora. Lo de siempre por favor.” You looked at Miguel in reflex. He wore a plain white shirt and trousers and oh, he was so close to you. His mouth opened as if he wanted to say something but hesitation dripped from him so you took the opportunity to look away and stepped to your side to create some distance between you.

“Oh, ¿es tú novio, [Name]? ¡Lo sabía! Why didn’t you say so? He’s been the one buying empanadas instead when you were gone.” You choked on your own saliva and embarrassment immediately crept up your cheeks. You coughed it out as she side-eyed you. Miguel was silent and you wonder if he wasn’t going to clear this misunderstanding up.

“You had a fight, didn’t you?”

“No, Abuela, he’s not my boyfriend—”

“He isn’t? ¡Qué hombre más estúpido! Are your eyes not properly working? What are you still waiting for?” she snorted at him. The bubbling noises from the oil fill the silence as you didn’t really know how to respond in this situation. 

“Well whatever, you will fix it, won’t you?” she glared at him. In that moment, you felt loved once more and you were starting to truly believe that those who said you were annoying were wrong. You bit your lip. You did not deny to yourself that you were expecting to hear his answer.

“I will.” He replied with such determination and resolution as he looked at you. Your heart throbbed, you saw how much he wanted to fix things right with you and you didn’t know how to feel. Glad? Happy? But you also felt upset at yourself because you almost wanted to smile just because of that and it felt like you were too easy in forgiving him even though he hurt you so much. You quickly dismissed the confusing feelings down and when Abuela gave you the empanadas, you hurriedly slipped some bills while you took the food and almost ran off.

But everything would have to come to an end, including this avoidance of yours of him. You sorted out your thoughts, and your feelings, each day as you avoided him like a plague after numerous encounters because you feared that if you saw him one more time, you would burst out and say things that you didn’t mean like he did. 

On the day that you decided to finally stop everything and just talk to him, you were beaten to it by Miguel. You were looking through the windows in the building and stared at the beautiful blue skies and the white clouds that decorated it. The flying cars and the mega train running vertically were like the birds and the beam of sunlight back in your home and you were reminded of the differences you and Miguel had. 

“[Name],” his voice was so soft, so unlike the tone he had the day he yelled at you. You admit you had gotten comfortable with the pain you felt since that day that you still wanted to evade his gazes and attempts to reach out to you. But the rational part of you, the one that grew from the pain, knew you had to meet his eyes this time. To let him reach you this time. And so you did. You looked at him, you looked at his eyes that were looking at you so desperately, so hesitatingly.

“Can we talk, please? Just the two of us,” he said but to you, it felt like he pleaded with the way his eyebrows furrowed and his jaw was clenched, awaiting your words that seemed like it would decide his fate.

“Okay,” you breathed out and he did too. The crease on his forehead slowly thinned out and his shoulders moved back. You knew that if someone different saw Miguel like this, they would think he was normal and that he wasn’t acting differently. But you knew better. Despite the tough shell he portrayed, there was a man vulnerable just like you. You just had a soft shell.

You two went to his office and the door closed behind you two. He asked Lyla to not let anyone enter for at least a while so nobody would disturb you both. She saw you and waved brightly at you. She then nodded and finally disappeared.

“Before you say anything, can you honestly answer this one question I have? Just one, please,” you asked him, nerves started to creep onto you and you wanted to look away so bad but you have to search for the truth in his eyes. You have to know his answer to your question.

“Sure, yes. I’ll be honest, I swear.” He promised you.

“Did you ever really think I was annoying? That all I do was nothing but cause trouble for you?”

“Never.” 

“Liar.” You were disappointed. You were not as stupid and oblivious as others thought of you. There was a part of yourself that knew that you were bothering them. That you were bothering him. But you couldn’t help it. You cared for him and if talking too much, if bothering him would make him distracted from the grief and the pain he had from Gabriella then you would gladly do it.

“No, I wasn’t lying, [Name]—” you looked away. He couldn’t even be honest with you. Were you that unworthy of honesty? That was all you had asked. You clenched your fist and let your nails dig into your palm. “Listen to me, please.”

You start to walk away.

“[Name], por favor,”

You were nearing the exit.

“I— fuck it, yes! I didn’t like you because you were so annoying. I hated you.” You immediately looked back at him. Disbelief was obvious in your face and tears fell from your eyes. You felt a sense of betrayal at this. If he hated me so much, then why did he let me so close to him? Were you just a show to him? Were you entertaining? He was approaching you and strength had left your legs from the shock at what he said but you remained still.

“I hated the way you talked so much I felt like I was losing a part of myself because I wanted to know more about you and listen to you talk. I hated the way you know so much about me. I felt like you could see through me and I was so scared that you would hate me if you knew what I truly am. I hated the way you cared for me like no other because I cared for you too and I was so terrified to lose you too. I hated the way you’re so reckless, you don’t care if you get hurt as long as it’s for others.” He stopped in front of you and tears were also coming out from his eyes. “I hated the way you captured my whole attention whenever you’re there by my side because I can’t look at anything else anymore. I can’t work properly anymore. I can’t think properly anymore and– and I, oh fuck.”

What?

“You’re so annoying because you distract me so much. I hated you because I fell for you and you’re all I could think about and I just don’t know anymore,” he shakily breathed out. His figure was so big but at this moment, you felt like he was so small. His tears ran continuously like a furious stream and you were sure yours were too.

“When you left, it didn’t feel right anymore. I missed you talking to me. I missed you eating my food. I missed you annoying me. I missed you so much it hurts.” His voice turned hoarse and you finally moved. You caressed your hand on his cheeks and he leaned his face against your touch. “Lo siento, [Name]. I really am. Es la verdad, por favor créeme. Por favor…”

“Are you stupid? Why didn’t you tell me?” you cried out as you wrapped your arms around his neck and hugged him tight. But you couldn’t really blame him. Because he was the same as you. Despite his flying cars and vertical running train and your birds and beam of sunlight, there was still the same blue sky and white clouds. Despite his tough shell and your soft one, you two were just as vulnerable as the other.

“I’m sorry, don’t hate me please…” he croaked out and gripped onto your suit tight. You leaned back a bit to hold his face in your palms. His face was wet, his hair was a mess, and he looked so haggard. You lean your forehead against his.

“I don’t, I promise. I could never hate you and I hate you for it as well,” you giggled amidst your tears. 

Really, he was such a stupid man and you were so annoying.

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#blue writes! ✧˖*°࿐ #spiderverse 2 #across the spiderverse #spider man: across the spider verse #spiderman 2099 #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #atsv angst

[tvgals]

‘ CHILL OUT ‘

— e42! miles morales x black! fem! reader

synopsis — you see miles walking around campus with a girl you’ve never seen before and it sparks a new issue .

cw ; cheating, fluff to angst, hurt/no comfort, black! reader, reader literally doesn’t deserve this shes so sweet, watched good girls during this so i think that’s where this came from, made up characters

— ENJOY !!

you watch as your boyfriend walked into the cafeteria with a girl you’d never seen before. a mid-length honey blonde wig on her head and her nails done with french tips. you synch your eyebrows together in confusion and you turn to your friends. “who’s that with miles?” you ask, subtly pointing to her. “oh, girl! that’s the new girl, her name is jess or something, i dunno.” she says, shrugging her shoulders. “aight.” you say, shrugging your own shoulders and scrolling through instagram. miles and jess get closer to your table and that’s when you can hear their conversation.

“i love your braids! who did them?” jess asks, running the tip of her fingers over them. “awe, my girl did ‘em for me. there she go right there.” miles says, taking a seat next to you. “y/n.” miles calls your name. you look up at him and smile. “hey miles. who’s this?” you ask, looking at her features. “jess. she’s new so i just showed her around a lil.” miles explains, pulling you into his frame. “ohhh…” you say, widening your eyes and nodding your head. “well, y’know, i really need help with the spanish homework, could you help me?” you ask coyly, batting you eyelashes up at him. “‘course, chica guap.” miles replies, bending down to kiss you.

“get a room!” you hear from one of your friends, taking a video to post on her story later. you giggle and miles opens up his phone. jess looks over and seems to perk up. “you got snap?” she asks, pulling her own phone out. “oh, yeah,” miles replies, “i don’t use it like that though. i don’t talk to people like that.” the bell rings and you and miles say your goodbyes and walk to spanish. “so,” you started. “so?” miles repeats, curiosity in his voice. “where’d you meet her at?” you ask, interlocking you and miles’ pinkie fingers while you two walk down the hallway. “she came up to me while i was walking into the school, asked me to give her a tour.” miles dismissed your question, now taking the lead in you twos walk to class. “oh.” you say, searching through the sides of your backpack with one hand trying to find your lipgloss. “what’re you looking for?” miles asks, opening the door so you can walk into your spanish class. “my lipgloss..i can’t find it..” you mumble, sitting yourself down and sitting your backpack on your desk.

“chill, mami. i can buy you some more.” miles soothes you, taking the desk next to you. you sigh and pull out your notebook and pencil. you watch the front of the room, bored while the teacher talks. within the first thirty minutes of class, miles had thrown six folded up notes to you and texted you over five times. you pull your phone out as discreetly as you could and scroll through the texts.

‘she found my snap bro’

‘swear ts annoying’

‘i ain’t even talk to her like that’

‘bro she’s texting my phone foe’

‘i’m finna block her ass’

‘respond 😒’

you look over at miles and roll your eyes playfully, texting back.

‘js block her?’

miles turns to you and gives you a straight face, looking down at his phone and ignoring the ping of the snapchat notifications. this is bothering you and you don’t know why. you and miles have been dating for over eight months now and you’ve never felt like this before. is it jealousy? maybe. you doubt it though. you leave it in the back of your head just for the bell to ring again, signaling the last class of the day. you pack your stuff up and wait on miles in the doorway. “she keep on texting my phone.” mines groans, shoving his phone in his pocket.

“maybe she got a lil crush.” you snicker, feeling miles playfully bump your shoulders together. “nah. don’t need no crushes, already got my girl.” miles grins, pulling you in for a hug then having to pull away almost immediately. “see you at my dorm?” you ask, walking slower than before. “yep.” and with that, you two parted your ways until 2:30. you and some of your friends meet in the hall and make your way to your classes. you were taking your time walking to class, until your friend brought up a topic. a sensitive one.

“y’know, it’s be funny if miles were cheating on you with that jess girl.” she laughed while everyone else went quiet. “what?” you ask, looking around confused. “it was a joke, damn. if you were in a loyal relationship you wouldn’t get so mad.” she clapped back almost immediately, as if she was waiting to say it for a while now. “what are you talking about? i am in a loyal relationship.” you argue, pulling your phone out to text miles. “little do you know.” she replies in a sarcastic tone. your purse your lips together and turn around, making your way to the bathrooms.

“you didn’t have to do allat.” another one of your friends said, sympathy laced in her voice like she was just confronted with her own boyfriend cheating. you made it to the bathroom and opened a stall, sitting on the toilet seat. you open your phone and text miles.

‘so that’s wtf we doing now?’

you sit and wait for a response, getting one almost immediately.

‘wym??’

‘i mean you cheating on me’

‘who told you ts?’

you sigh and start to feel tears well into your eyes. you loved him so so so much, you met his parents, you ate dinner at his house, you’ve spent the night, you’ve watched him cry, bleed — everything under the sun and this is how he repaid you.

‘you don’t need to know all that. we’re done bro. don’t come by my house, don’t call my phone, don’t call my momma phone, give me back my house keys, and delete my number.’

miles fucked up, and he knew it.

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#miles morales #myatalks🫡 #blkshoyo #black reader #im black #i love being black #ilovemyfollowers #being black #writing is my therapy #atsv x y/n #atsv fluff #atsv angst #atsv x reader #atsv miles #atsv x black reader #miles morales x black!reader #miles morales x y/n #miles morales x reader #miles morales angst #miles morales x you #miles morales x fem!reader #x black fem reader #x black plus size reader #x black reader #x reader

[slut4sugu]

YOU HARDLY EVER SAW YOUR BOYFRIEND GET SCARED, LET ALONE CRY INFRONT OF YOU; so when you felt miles grip tighten on you in the middle of the night, your neck wet from tears and slight mumbling you quickly shook miles a little to wake him up. “What’s wrong amor?” You asked softly, wiping away tears with your thumb. Your heart almost broke when you saw miles look at you with such sadness and guilt in his eyes. “ ‘had a nightmare about you.” Miles’s voice was low and his eyes started to water again without him even noticing it, you quickly calmed him down and pulled him close to your chest. Pressing a kiss to the top of his head, before drawing circles in his back. “We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to guapo, We can save that for tomorrow, just know that I’ll always be here for you miles.” Your nail then wrote out the words ‘I love you on his back’, before rubbing it up and down softly. “I love you too Mami.” It was faint but you heard it, a small smile tugged at your lips as you saw miles pull away from your chest to kiss your cheek. “So damn much.”

♡

You kissed Miles’s face relentlessly for 3 minutes until you saw that handsome smile again, “Do you think you can go to sleep now amor?” He hummed in response, burying his face in your chest as his arm wrapped once more around your waist. You had always loved the fact that you and his mother were the only people to have seen miles morales this soft, you especially loved that at the end of every day you’d both be tangled in each others arms. Laughing, crying, or judging other niggas in your shared classes. It didn’t matter, as long as it was with him. “Thank you princesa.”

“Always niño bonito.” <33

Back to masterlist

#🌸. 𝐀 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐍 𝐁𝐘 𝐊𝐀𝐌 #atsv fluff #atsv x you #atsv x black reader #atsv miles #42 miles morales #42 miles x fem!reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles x reader #miles morales prowler #earth 42 miles morales x you #earth 42 miles morales x female reader #earth 42 miles x you #earth 42 miles x black reader #earth 42 miles morales x black!reader #earth 42 miles fluff #atsv angst #miles angst

[alrtyhoney]

TAKING WHAT’S NOT YOURS 

(I watch her go with a surge of that well known sadness and I have to sit down for a while– the feeling that I'm losing her forever.)

The rundown: That cake scene with Miles at his father’s bodega party but it’s with Miguel and his universe’s daughter. He’s late and it’s your quinceañera. Content: Father!Miguel O'hara x Daughter!Reader / Angst! (wc: 3844)

There was something oddly peculiar about your father. People would assume that he would be the archetypal absent one who chose to abandon his child; the dead-beat-dad who ultimately never cared for them. You’d argue it wasn’t true– you were fed, you had the weight of what a fifteen year old should have, and education was proper. 

You love your papa with all of your heart, but there was no denying the fact that he would never be around often enough. You understood this when you were eight years old, and mornings would bring only a cold breakfast accompanied by a hastily scribbled note from him. He’d leave early– far too early. You tried staying up in an attempt to tell when he gets up and leaves the house, but you swear you don’t hear the door open every time. 

Then came twelve and the missed events. Miguel seemed to be missing in action when it came to certain school activities, not showing up for things that he had previously made commitments for. It became more and more frequent as you grew older– you wouldn’t hear from him for days.

He was a man dedicated to his profession, and although you felt pride in what he had achieved, there was this empty space in your heart that hadn’t been filled ever since you were eight. It was said that a child needed the presence of their parents to feel security– to feel important. You never truly understood it, not until you had to endure many nights at dinner alone and the numerous times you spent walking home with nothing but your own thoughts for company.

You had always pondered over the question of whether it was a common phenomenon that fathers seemed to love their daughters less once they had reached teenagehood– or if it was possible for fathers to unlearn being fathers. 

“Is your papa coming, bebita?” 

The faint notes of classical music filled the air as you sat on the wooden floor, stretching your sore limbs. You observed the ladies who were much older than yourself starting their exercise routines, having come in early before the group class began. You waited for Miguel to pick you up. 

– But that had been two hours ago. Your teacher finally worked up the courage to approach you, hesitantly looking for the right words to say. She wasn’t exactly pleased to be the one to let you down, but she’d seen you walk out the studio’s door alone time and time again after you told her that your father would bring you home himself.

“He said he’d come pick me up today.” You spoke, nervously twisting the ends of your skirt. Your teacher had most likely heard these words countless times before from you, but the faint ray of hope in your voice remained firm. “He promised.” You added quietly, praying that maybe it would be different this time. 

“Ay, bebita– you know how this ends. You tell me those exact words and you walk out here on your own anyway.” She slightly shook her head, her face softening with a sympathetic smile as she knelt closer to you. “Tell you what, how about I offer to give you a ride home today? I have plenty of snacks in my car that you can enjoy. You can take as many of them as you'd like.”

You took some time to consider it, letting her gently weave her fingers through the strands of curls that couldn't quite fit into a bun. Your lips pursued as you sighed softly, “What if he comes and I’m not here anymore?” You’d hate to miss the opportunity.

Of course you still had faith that he would come, having endured all the other times he had let you down. You were never one to quickly give up on people and your father was the only one you trusted the most— you’d hate to admit that his inconsistency was starting to hurt; digging a deeper wound to the already bleeding cut. 

“He’s not coming and I know you know that too.” 

She stands up, grunting slightly as she hefts herself up. You knew there was no more room for negotiation anymore when she urged you to come along. She carefully takes your backpack from off your back and drapes it over her own shoulders, “Come on sweetheart, let's get you home.” 

The silence in the car was palpable, with no one feeling the need to prod conversation. You hadn't stopped fidgeting with the hem of your bag since you got in, and you could feel your teacher's worried glances burning into you. Your mind was a jumble of emotions that kept bubbling away as they all competed for your attention. What could be his reason this time/?

She switched on the radio in an effort to lighten the tense mood, but when a melancholic tune filled played instead, you couldn’t help but let out a deep sigh.

“Is it possible for fathers to unlove their daughters?” 

It was a question that took her completely by surprise, so much so that another uncomfortable beat of silence passed before she could respond. The stillness made you regret asking in the first place. Your legs shifted nervously, an unconscious habit which you had never noticed before.

“Of course not,” She muttered, almost inaudibly. “Fathers tend to forget is all.”

But you knew that wasn’t the case. 

While Miguel was never home, something else resided on the corners of your house– someone you have never met at all. She smiled back at you from the frame sitting atop your dad's nightstand, wearing the similar blue soccer jersey your school had. She was the picture on his wallet and the little widget on his phone. It was beyond you– the few blue ribbons hidden on the box beneath his bed; the medals, the drawings you know you’ve never drawn or given him. For all you know, the kid didn’t even go to your school. 

It wasn’t anything sinister, but in a way she felt like a ghost. A child your father mourned for all his life and you had no idea why. 

This was a physical pain in your chest; one that was peeling away the very layers of your heart until it was nothing but ugly– just how could Miguel love a child more than his own? It was ridiculous to feel like you were in competition with someone you barely knew, yet somehow, you felt like you were losing. It felt even more absurd when you considered the possibility that maybe you weren't really his child at all.

“I joined our school’s soccer team today, papa.” 

It wasn’t an ordinary occurrence for Miguel to be at the dining table for lunch. But on this Saturday noon, he was there. Sitting across from you, quietly eating his food. Finally, he paused and shifted his gaze towards you, seeming to linger on you longer than normal before looking away, cracking a grin.

“Soccer? You hate sports, mija.” He says, a bit of laughter in his voice. "What made you decide to try out? I don't recall you being the least bit interested before."

Something in his eyes becomes brighter, a sense of familiarity as he eagerly awaits your response– and the thing is, you couldn’t tell him why. Not without addressing the elephant in the room. Maybe you’d hang my medals too? Maybe you’d frame a photo of me? You know well your question reminds him of someone else. 

“No reason.” 

It was no surprise that you were terrible at it. After barely two seasons, you'd already given up. However it was surprising to see Miguel in the stands during the times that you had a game, but there wasn’t much to watch anyway— not when you’d been relegated to the bench for most of the time. All you felt was shame. 

Oddly enough, he didn't question it. He remained silent during the rides back home, his gaze distant and never once looked at you. Had you embarrassed him to an extent where he couldn’t even acknowledge you? Or have you given him the impression that you were just no better than the little girl in his pictures?

You dared not to talk about it too.

Music was your passion; the pulse, the poise and elegance of it all resonating with you deeply. Ballet was something that spoke to you particularly in ways no other art form could. You found a special joy out on stage, a feeling that grew deeper and greater each time you danced.

But like every flame that you desperately try to keep alive, Miguel had a way of snuffing it out. 

You remember it all so vividly, even though you'd much rather the memory be nothing more than a faint blur. Your very first recital and yet he wasn't anywhere to be found amongst the audience.

Your focus was a tunnel-vision, only set to finding even a glimpse of him— you had been so determined to find him that you forgot about all of your own movements. Soon, the few wrong turns had turned to missed cues; as soon as the music stopped, you made a run for it.

Your teacher had done her best to console you that day, attempting to coax a smile from you in front of the vanity mirror with its bright lights. She had wrapped her arms around you, doing anything she could to draw even the faintest curve of your lips. But you stayed slumped on your seat, feeling the weight of the unshed tears on your eyes. 

The door swung open, finally revealing Miguel; he was out of breath and sweat glistened on his forehead. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top and his tie was undone, a clear sign that he had run all the way here. He paused for a moment to catch his breath before walking in frantically, eyes looking for you. 

His eyes softened at the sight of you in your pretty pink tutu– then the tenderness was replaced with a feeling akin to plummeting one hundred stories down. How could he miss this? How could he let his sweet girl wait? He rushed to your side, sinking down into a kneeling position. He looked upon you with lines creasing his forehead and you already knew what was to come out of his lips.

“I’m sorry muneca, I came as fast as I could.” 

The other parents of your classmates started to barge inside the very room, their children giddy with joy and excitement, running to them with beaming smiles. You could hear their loud congratulations– voices singing sweet praises and telling how they looked outstanding on stage. The noise sounded like static in your ears, like their words were unfamiliar to you. They received bouquets of flowers, sweets– gifts for a job well done. Miguel came late and only with apologies. 

“You want pretty flowers too, mijita? We can stop by the flower shop a few blocks away from here, you can pick any bouquet you want.” His lips curved into a gentle smile, desperate to make his daughter feel better– the same daughter who wouldn't even meet his gaze. “Papa had to deal with something. I’ll be sure to go to your next recital– pinky promise.” 

“But I worked really hard for this.”

You wanted so desperately to blame him; to yell at him for every mistake that you've made on the stage. You felt ashamed, humiliated, and helpless all at once- and still, you couldn’t have the heart to be mad at him.

He looked at you apologetically, "Baby, I'm sorry I couldn't make it earlier. How about we talk about the flowers you want to buy instead? There are lots of restaurants nearby as well— you can pick whatever pleases you, just name it." He paused for a moment before continuing, gently nudging your shoulder. “I know how much this meant to you.”

If he did, why couldn’t he have come at all?

You let out a deep sigh, feeling completely ridiculous in your tutu. All of the sudden, the leotard appeared to be two sizes too small and utterly irritating; your tights seemed unbearably itchy. You looked down helplessly, wanting nothing more than to leave this situation behind. “I just want to go home. Can we just leave? Please?” You pleaded softly. 

He bit the inside of his cheek, a gesture that conveyed own sinking heart in a way words could not. His shoulders sagged ever so slightly, breath hitching as he gave in to your request instead. 

“Of course.” 

After that very moment, you'd vowed to yourself never to wait in anticipation of something that may or may not come. You wouldn’t put your faith in any more of your father's promises spoken under the dead of night. It took a toll on you– your naivety had taught you better than before.

But when your fifteenth birthday drew near, you never expected he would go so far.

The locks clicked and whirred as Miguel fumbled with the keys to the front door. You could hear your Father's voice, clearly agitated as he jostled the keys back and forth in an attempt to fit them into the lock. Finally, he steps inside, eyes immediately darting to you.

“You’re not wearing your birthday dress, sweetie. Is something wrong?” He’s wearing a smile, struggling to keep the two boxes of cake upright as he locks the door from behind. The banner is lopsided and the balloons scattered all around seem small– like they’ve been there for days and were starting to deflate themselves. He kisses the top of your head once he gets close, getting a better view of what you were working on on the counter. Homework. “Did you have your friends over today? How was it? Wanna hear all about it.”

And he must have forgotten. You decided to pretend not to hear his question, continuing to jot down notes, only humming at his presence. He settles the boxes down, sitting on the stool beside you. 

“I know papa’s late, but you can still go and wear your dress. I want to take pictures– should we order pizza? Do you want something else?” He’s rambling, hurriedly searching for his tone to dial down a few numbers. Miguel turns frantic, looking at the closed signs under every nice restaurant. “Pizza should be fine, mijita– you’ve eaten dinner, right?” 

“Not hungry.” 

Miguel chuckled, dialing anyway. “Did school suck today, sweetie?” He jokes, trying to lighten the mood. “You know what can cheer you up? Cake. You love cake.”

“I don’t like cake anymore.” You say, your voice barely above a whisper. You can feel frustration boiling over inside– and you fear it wasn’t the kind you’ve grown accustomed to suppressing. He was oblivious and it was killing you, hurting you in so many ways possible. “I’m not hungry.” You repeat again.

“Don’t be like that, __. Besides, it’s still tradition.” He stands up to check the drawers, only finding worn out candles from past birthdays. He takes a lighter. “Know what’s better than a cake? Two cakes! You’ll change your mind, go and open the boxes mija,”

Miguel excitedly pressed his hands on your shoulders, pushing you gently forward to open the two boxes of cake. The look in his eyes was that of pure anticipation as he waited eagerly for you to do so. It almost hurt you to tell him the news— that you wanted more than to just take the blame itself. It was conflicting. 

You finally got up from the bar stool, settling on your feet in front of the counter. Taking a deep breath, you carefully opened the lid of the boxes. What greeted you had made you visibly recoil– the small flicker of hope that settled in your chest gone as quickly as it came. The cakes were crumbled and the frosting was all over the box, like it had been trampled and tossed around.

Was this all a joke? Were you a joke to him? Your shoulders trembled as you couldn't bring yourself to look away from it; the letter was still visible but amongst the cake crumbs lay written a name– Gabriella. Not happy birthday to you, but Gabi. 

You didn’t know what hurt most. Your lips quivered and all you could mutter was, “Gabi?”

His eyes widened in surprise as he quickly moved to your side to take a look at the cake himself. He swiftly closed the lids, shaking his head. “Must’ve been a mistake back at the bakery. I can–” 

And you could barely catch your breath, not when the hurt piled over one another. 

“Are the medals from her? The one’s from your bed? The trophies?” 

He furrowed his eyebrows, clearly irritated. “What did I tell you about snooping around my things, __?”

“Is this the girl–” A ragged inhale cuts your thoughts, “on your nightstand and wallet?” You didn’t even realize you had started to cry, but when another breath had caught itself in your throat, you were inconsolable– finally letting the dam break all at once.

Miguel did nothing to console you– he didn’t know how to. He knew he had messed up royally and all he could do was helplessly watch you break down. Who knows how long you’ve kept this? 

“__, come on. It’s just a simple mistake, it’s still cake–”

“And it was my birthday!” 

“Baby, what’s the big deal?” He was shocked and understandably so. His sweet, babygirl, who was usually so quiet and docile, was talking back angrily to him– but Miguel knew better than to point fingers. This was his fault– your unbecoming was his own doing.

“You just had to be late– on my birthday!” 

“I have work, baby, you know this.” 

“That still doesn’t explain anything!” You cried out, desperation flooding your voice. “Why are you never home? Where do you go? Who is Gabriella– why do you love her more than me?” You could feel your breath catch in your throat as your voice rose and trembled with every question. Your breathing grew unsteady and your throat began to close up, not allowing anymore words to come out as much as you wanted to scream. You feared there’d be no more room for air.

And there was something about Gabriella that everytime she was brought up, Miguel would be defensive. Perhaps it was the plenty of times Lyla would reprimand him when she catches him watching the few videos of them or when Jess would pity his state. “Don’t be ridiculous, __. I made a mistake– that’s it. We don’t have to fight.” He says, grabbing a spatula. “If it bothers you so much, here,”

Miguel frustratedly spreads the lettering with the spatula, leaving smudges of red on top of perfectly white frosting, resulting in a more muddled mess. He's making a complete mess of it and you can't bear to watch any longer. Your still figure finally reaches out to grab his wrist, “Stop— stop that! What are you doing?!”  

It was no use. The cake was nothing but totally ruined now. You didn’t even have the chance to read the message. He forcefully digs the candles on both, sliding it in front of you. Your eyes stayed on the cake– you didn’t have the heart to look at him. Anger boiled up within you and without a moment's hesitation, the words leaped from your mouth, "You're not listening to me! This is not what I'm so upset about—!"

But he responds in the same loudness as yours, slamming his hands down on the cold tiles of your countertop. “Okay, champ, you got it– go for it! Say what you have to say,” A sarcastic chuckle left his lips, adding insult to the already deep wound. “What do you have to tell me so bad?”

And you didn’t think it was possible for silence to be more deafening, but as you stared each other down, all you could think of was how maybe Miguel was worse than the archetypal absent one who chose to abandon his child or the dead-beat-dad who ultimately never cared for them. 

You were right. Fathers were capable of unloving their daughters and the way his dark eyes burned into yours was all the answer you needed. This wasn’t your papa– did you ever know him?

“My birthday was two days ago.” 

He furrowed his eyebrows, doubt creasing his forehead as he looked back to the calendar hung on the fridge. His gaze resting on your birthday date, the red circle mocking him in vivid reminder— two days ago. Your birthday was two days ago. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, and he felt nothing but guilt tying his stomach in knots. 

“Mijita–” He’s quick to console you, the anger in his words disappearing immediately and turning into an apologetic one– but every time he’d try to move forward, you’d only step back. Miguel couldn’t even bear to think how you’ve celebrated on your own. How you waited for him all night in your birthday dress. He subtly shook his head, trying his best not to clog his mind yet. 

He needed to make it up to you. He couldn’t lose you too.

“My birthday– why did you have to take it?” You rubbed your eyes harshly, but the more you wiped the tears away, the more they seemed to fall. “It’s mine and I still had to wait for you to be able to sing the song. It’s my day and all I could think of was what time you might come home tonight.”

You wanted nothing more than for him to run to you with open arms, to let you cry on his shoulders– but as his silence stretched on, you mistook it as nothing but ruthless. He simply didn’t care. Miguel was too much of a wall for that. 

The look you gave him was nothing but hate– a look no parent wants to ever come across and it almost makes him stagger back. It was like what he had done was the most disgusting– most inconsolable act ever beyond repair and all he could do was watch; watch as another daughter of his slip through his fingers. He’s holding you like water and he doesn’t know how to keep you in.

You scoffed, averting your gaze. “You don’t want to talk about it? Fine by me.” You turned your back, letting out another shaky exhale. You couldn’t look at him the same– not after this.

“You make it really, really, hard to feel like a daughter.” 

And with that, you run to your room, leaving Miguel to stay rooted to where he stood. He thinks to himself– had he taken that from you too?

#alrighty honey ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara angst #miguel o'hara atsv #father!miguel o'hara x daughter!reader #miguel o'hara x reader #father figure miguel o'hara #atsv angst #atsv #spiderman #across the spider verse angst

[luvjunie]

— when the dam breaks

contains: third person pov (42!miles’), no reader, feelings of anxiety, some harsh language, use of the n-word once, a one-sided fight, angst, mentions of grief, brief comfort at the end

summary: miles was holding himself together just fine, until he wasn’t. wc: 2,748

a/n: this fic is based on one of my headcanons from this post,(the 12th one). handling the grief of losing a parent is one of the hardest, most painful things to navigate, especially when you’re a teen and in school. i can directly relate to miles!42 because of this, which is probably why i’m able to go so in depth with his character. i’m really proud of how this turned out so i hope you guys enjoy reading <3

The back of Ms. Bellam’s history class was Miles’ favorite spot to sit in. The seat by the window, specifically. Where he could gaze out with the fantasy of being anywhere else but stuck listening to the lecture in his fifth block; forced to hear his teacher rave on about some old expedition he couldn’t bring himself to give a shit about.

But today, Miles was not in the back of the class.

He had a bad feeling the moment the bell rung and the projector powered on to display the newest assignment the tall, stocky woman had on the agenda; a partnered project. Which, unfortunately, meant a new seating chart was on the horizon.

Miles must’ve spaced out during the introduction of the assignment, but his teacher’s assertive voice brought him back to the very moment he was dreading.

“Cody, you’re paired with—“ Ms. Bellam pulled a small slip of paper out from a little bucket of randomized names on her desk. “—Lauren.”

She ignored the quiet groan she got after unknowingly pairing two exes together and drew two more names. “Bailey, you’re with Lucas.”

“Sarah, you’re with… Faith. And Miles,” The brunette-haired teacher stuck her hand into the bucket once more to pull out the very last slip of paper, and read it with finality. “You’re with Gabby.”

Miles lifted his head and did a quick scan of the faces around, until he met the eyes of his new partner, Gabby, who gave him a small wave from the front of the class. His jaw clenched at the realization that he’d have to give up his safe corner, since the seats around him were filled, while the one next to her was open.

“Alright everyone, if you’re not already next to your partner, go find them.”

With an inaudible grumble and something along the lines of ‘i hate this fucking class’ and a mix of ‘kill me now’— Miles rose from his chair, snatched his backpack up with a little too much force, and crossed the classroom to plop down defeatedly next to the girl he was paired with.

Chin tucked in his hand and eyes glued to the ticking clock above the white board, he didn’t know how long he sat like that, or how much valuable information he’d missed while he ignored the overly peppy, thirty-year old’s directions to the class. But he did know that the minute hand on that damn analog device wasn’t moving fast enough for his liking. The droning of voices overlapping and the bouncing of ideas filled the once silent air after instructions had been given, but Miles was far from focused on the task at hand.

The incessant tapping of his pencil against the hard plastic of his desk, matched with the clearly agitated bounce of his leg had his partner stealing experimental glances in his direction— her lips having been licked ample times from the stress of debating on whether to make the difficult decision of speaking to the boy who was clearly not interested in conversation— or even being here at all.

She spoke up anyway. “Um… So most of the other groups have pretty much chosen already. That means we’re left with James Cook, Vasco de Gama, Ferdinand Magellan, or—“

“You can pick for us. I don’t really care which one.” Miles interrupted.

“Oh—“ Gabby blinked. His response was curt, but at least she got one. “Okay then, Ferdinand Magellan.” Flipping through the rubric that had been passed out at some point, she referred to the second page with her index finger. “It says our presentation has to be between six to eight slides, which includes the works cited for our research. So we could do one introduction slide, and maybe about,” she paused to think. “Four?— information slides? And then we could add some fun facts and trivia questions at the end so we can get our class participation points in without too much effort. That cool with you?”

Gabby was a nice girl. She never bothered him, never looked at him weird when he’d come into class late sometimes, and had actually ran through the hallway to return the notebook that fell out of his open backpack just last week. He wasn’t aggravated at her, but more so at the fact that everybody could stare at the back of his head now instead of the other way around, like it was before. It made him self conscious about everything, even down to the way he was sitting in his chair. He could feel a few beams on his back right about now, and adjusted his position slightly.

Miles sighed and reminded himself to respond to her politely. “Uh-huh. Sounds good.”

A voice to his left behind him caught his attention, the voice in question belonging to one of the most obnoxious boys he’d ever had the displeasure of knowing— Ethan Thompson. Someone who always had too much to say and nothing productive or appropriate to add— it usually being something creepy or gross about a girl he wanted to ‘get to know’.

Miles would’ve tuned him out, like he always did, but this time it was impossible. Probably because out of all the conversations regarding the explorers meant to be researched, this one had absolutely nothing to do with history, or even school for that matter.

“Bro, did you hear about what happened to…”

Miles strained to hear as best as he could without moving from his seat, though it was a struggle since Gabby was still talking his ear off to the right of him about who would do what when it came to their workload.

“Miles?”

He ignored her as another voice chimed in, and his back stiffened.

“I know dude, my sister told me about it. Said he was killed in action or somethin’ like that… I just know his mom is crushed. I feel really bad.”

Miles knew people talked about this, he wasn’t dumb. But damn, did they have to do it when he was right there?

Then, there was a laugh.

Miles was confused. He didn’t find anything regarding the topic of their conversation even remotely comical.

“Fuck that,” Ethan quieted his voice, though not quiet enough. “That just means Mrs. Morales is single and up for grabs now.”

It took less than a second for Miles’ blood to simmer to a scalding boil. He held a subtle finger up and quieted Gabby, who was currently asking him about what they should research first.

“Can you give me just… one second?” he asked gently.

Gabby’s words died on her tongue and she gave a muddled nod.

Miles threw his elbow over the back of his chair when his torso whipped around, his eyes glazed with enmity and immediately catching Ethan’s.

“The fuck you just say?”

Ethan froze.

Miles’ tone was lethal, rage lifting the volume above the blurred chattering around, venom spitting from his tongue like he intended to kill the boy with words alone. The speed in which the class fell silent would’ve been humorous had there not been such hostility within the air.

“Miles, language!” Ms. Bellam’s eyes snapped up from her computer screen, her face a picture of disbelief at his unusual vitriol. He was always quiet as a mouse in her class, well behaved above all.

Jaws hung slack, the gazes of the students around darted back and forth between the two boys continuously, the tension in the room palpable.

Miles sat up straighter in his seat, jaw clenched and his patience dwindling. To say he was seething would be a dangerous understatement.

“Nah, nah Ms. B,” His head cocked, and his eyes narrowed at Ethan, ruinously. “I wanna know what this nigga just said ‘bout my fuckin’ mom.”

“Oh shit…” Gabby gulped. Today was the most she’d heard Miles speak in class almost the entire semester.

“It was a joke, bro.” Ethan huffed a chuckle, a nervous thing that his friend easily picked up on. Miles was not one to bluff, and Ethan was notorious for taking things too far.

“Don’t bro me, repeat that dumb shit you just said and watch how fast I knock your ass out.” Miles gritted through his teeth, hot air puffing through his nostrils like a bull who’d just seen red.

“Boys, enough!” Ms. Bellman was standing now, hands planted to her desk as she watched with bated breath, just like the rest of the class-now-turned-audience.

Ethan shrugged, and Miles swore he felt his eye twitch.

Strike one.

Then, the boy playfully nudged his friend’s arm with a cocky smirk, as if he thought the threat he’d just received wasn’t one that would be carried out.

Strike two.

“He’s baiting you, Miles…” Gabby whispered dejectedly, in warning, only so Miles could hear. But his tunnel vision had already set in.

“Go ‘head. Repeat yourself.” Miles demanded.

Nails digging into the skin of his palms hard enough to leave crescents in their wake, there was a voice in the back of his mind, reminding him that he could get into serious trouble if he didn’t get his emotions in check, fast. He’d progressed so quickly in his after school M.M.A classes, that now, even getting into a simple fist fight could land him a serious assault charge. A judge would take one look at the history of his intense training, and the option to deem his hands as deadly weapons in the case would immediately be presented, and most likely acted upon.

Knocking the teeth out of a rich white boy would never be the smart decision here, especially not for someone who looked the way he did.

He’d be sent straight to juvie.

“I mean, all I was sayin’ is, technically—“ Ethan threw his hands up in a careless manner. “If I play my cards right, I could be your future step-daddy.”

Strike three.

Ms. Bellam was yelling now. “Ethan, principal’s office, now!”

And that probably would’ve been the better option, had he actually had a choice.

Miles’ movements were swift when he shot out of his seat, and the students in his way followed suit with yelps and gasps as they quickly removed themselves from the area. The desks blocking his pathway to pummeling the shit out of this kid loudly screeched against the school’s tile when they were shoved out of the way, and the one he’d mindlessly flipped over in his stampede proceeded to erupt the room into pure pandemonium.

One punch would’ve been good enough, Miles knew that. But in this moment, thinking rationally was so far out of his reach he would’ve missed it even if he’d jumped for it. He’d swung a closed fist to Ethan’s jaw and knocked him to the floor with ease, then followed him down, sat on his chest and had the boy’s arms pinned under his knees so he couldn’t protect his snobby-ass face. One punch would’ve been good enough, but just two vehement blows later, the satisfying crack of a bone that wasn’t his under Miles’ knuckles had him sending a few more into the reddened face of the boy beneath him, just to really get his point across.

“Jesus Christ— Miles!” Ms. Bellman scrambled from her seat in a panic and rushed to fling the classroom’s door open, her desperate yells directed to anyone who might’ve been strolling the hallways. “We need security in here! You-!” She pointed to a student with a bathroom pass. “Go get security, and tell them to come to room 205, now! Go!”

Everyone was yelling at once, but Miles couldn’t hear anything other than the ringing of rage in his ears. Anger is only grief turned sour— a terribly perilous thing to leave untreated.

Some of his classmates were frozen with shock, or fear, maybe— hands clasped over their gaped mouths while others had their phones out with the camera app open—vampires for some good drama while they hooted and hollered at the most exciting thing they’d seen this entire year.

“That’s enough!”

Strong arms suddenly hooked under Miles’ armpits and prevented his fist from worsening the damage already done. Two male teachers from neighboring classrooms had rushed in and yanked him up and off Ethan, his hips bucking as he kicked his way up onto his feet. Miles’ chest expanded and collapsed with the weight of his heaving breaths, face flushed with the remnants of his lost temper as he directed his attention to Ethan’s friend, who looked like a deer in headlights.

“When your boy wake up, tell him watch his mouth next time!”

Miles didn’t know why he was yelling. It was common knowledge that it’s pretty rare for someone who’s unconscious to understand what you’re saying to them.

He didn’t struggle when the two teachers dragged him away, but when they shoved him out the door and into the hall with more force than he thought necessary, he snatched his arms away from their grasp with a rolled shrug, and huffed a frustrated grunt about how he knew how to walk on his own.

—

The drive home was eerily silent. The radio hadn’t been touched, and neither had Miles by his mother’s gaze the moment they’d left the principal’s office after he received his verdict.

Out of school suspension. One week.

It was the best the administrative staff could do after Rio swallowed her pride and went as low as begging them not to expel her boy.

Slumped in the passenger seat with his hands in his lap, Miles didn’t bother to look at the bruises he knew were forming on his knuckles. It was a familiar feeling, and at the moment he was more concerned with why it felt like his throat had been stuffed with cotton when he tried to talk.

“Mamá, I—“

“Do not. Speak.” Rio’s breath wavered, her hands clutching the wheel so hard she thought she’d crush it. She tried not to let her voice break. “Not one word.”

Silence.

—

It all settled in as they climbed the stairwell, the images of what just happened flashing back in his mind every time he blinked; what he’d done playing over and over again in a continuous loop. The wooden railings creaked under the weight of his mother’s hand, and as she knowingly skipped the one that had weakened over the years, he knew the home that held every single emotion he tried to leave behind when he went to school was now just a few steps up.

Rio’s key twisted in the lock before she opened the door, and Miles followed behind her, shoulders slouched dispiritedly. He resembled something of a stray puppy; desperate for attention, but acceptant and grateful that it, as much of a nuisance as it may be, was being tolerated enough to stay on it’s finder’s heels.

He thought being scolded by his mother was bad, but the lack thereof was even worse. Her brows were clenched, and her conflicted yet somehow blank expression told him that she truly did not have any words for him as she leaned on the kitchen counter, hands clasped firmly around the edge so tightly her knuckles paled. She didn’t even know where to start, and Miles didn’t blame her. He refused to explain why he’d snapped when it was asked of him. When his mother’s widened eyes had pleaded with him to tell the principal what happened in that classroom that set him off in such a way, he didn’t. He had no reason not to, at least one he could think of right now, but his voice just wouldn’t allow it. Both in that office, and now in their kitchen, dimly lit by the warm light above the stove, the weight of his mother’s disappointment clung to the suffocating silence, like a fish to a hook and he just couldn’t take it anymore.

“Mamá, I’m sorry.” He whispered in a quick breath, the lump in his throat painful when he swallowed it.

“Good money, Miles.” Rio shook her head, a hand coming up to rest over the rise and fall of her chest. “Good money! We paid good money to get you into that school, your dad and I. I work hard to keep you there and you just—“

Dad.

And the dam broke. Though its foundation wasn’t very strong to begin with— Miles’ shoulders crumbled under the weight of his actions and his tears flooded past his waterline with choked sobs that left no room for air.

Whatever Rio was going to say had been forgotten. The sight of her son sobbing in a way she hadn’t seen since the night they’d received the news immediately put a stop to her reprimanding. Now, she was truly worried.

“Oh Miles, come come come,” She hastily tugged him into a hug and wrapped him firmly in her arms, her hands repeatedly rubbing up and down the expanse of his back. “¿Qué es Mijo? (what is it, son?) Talk to me. No te lo guardes, ¿recuerda?” (no holding it in, remember?)

Miles could barely catch his breath, and somehow talking about it was just as painful as the ache that resided deep in his chest.

“I—It was Dad, it was about—“ a quick breath in split his sentence in half. “About Dad. He was—talking about what ha—happened and I—“ Miles tried for another, but it caught in his throat, ragged and choppy and had his ribcage stuttering from the lousy attempt to cease his hyperventilating. The fact that he couldn’t get his words out uninterrupted only frustrated him more; only made him cry harder. He scrubbed at his tears with the back of his hand, but it was no use. He couldn’t stop crying. Why couldn’t he stop crying?

“He said—“ Another wilted inhale, and a hiccup. “It was abo—about you, and it was terrible and I— I just, I got so angry, and I tried Mamá, I did. But I couldn’t and—and then I was on him and I’m sorry—“

“Shh, shh. It’s okay, it’s okay.” Rio used a hand to bring his head into her shoulder, his cries muffled and his tears wetting the sleeve of her blouse as his rambling came to a halt. Miles clutched onto her tightly, arms round her waist as he fell apart in front of the woman who’d tried her best to piece him back together.

“Respira, Mijo, respira… (breathe).” Rio whispered. “Please.” Seeing her son so distraught had brought on tears of her own, but she shut her eyes, and tucked away her own feelings so she could focus on his. “It’s okay. It’s alright.”

“But you’re mad at me, I don’t want you to be mad at me—“

Rio shook her head and tutted at him. “I’m not mad at you, papa. I understand. Okay? I’m not angry. No.” She couldn’t be upset with him for something like this, not when he could barely shelter himself from his own guilt.

“It’s okay. You’re okay, baby. I’ve got you.” Miles was inconsolable as Rio continued rubbing his back, and her voice shook when she spoke, but she kept the uncertainty she held within her heart concealed from her promise to him.

“We’re going to be okay.”

#junie’s works ᥫ᭡ #across the spiderverse fanfiction #earth 42 miles angst #miles morales fanfiction #prowler miles fanfic #miles morales angst #tagging x reader for reach #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #miles morales x reader #atsv fanfiction #atsv angst #miles morales fic

[marskid11]

sleepy spider people (it's too early)

#my art #digital art #illustration #photoshop #photoshop art #digital illustration #fanart #character art #atsv art #spiderman astv #spiderverse 2 #atsv angst #atsv fluff #spider gwen #atsv gwen #gwen stacy #miles morales #spider verse #ghostflower #gwen x miles #milesgwen #gwiles #they're my little gremlins

[heartpascal]

or is it loneliness?

▹— (eventual) spiderverse found family x platonic!reader

▹— summary: you need closure, and information. two visits kind of give you that.

▹— a/n: guys idk what im DOING. i have things planned for atsv but not how we’re gonna get there … rn im just yolo-ing. im not a big fan of this one but im gonna start writing the next one asap, which will hide fully be more found family-ish lmao arachnid is gonna start warming up to them all some day i swear

▹— warnings: angst, injuries, not good thoughts, dead parents, sensory issues, explosions, violence, fighting, blood?, damaged hearing for a good minute, peter b parker eating burgers deserves its own warning, food, mention of throwing up / nausea, insecurities about being good enough, refusing help, idk what else, if ive missed anything let me know!!!

▹— taglist: @rhymingtree (everything taglist) @justmare @uniquemonstrosity @lacunaanonymoused @erensbbg @dulceteris @noxxing @escherichiacolli @ray-rook @i-3at-kidz @miwagila @stoneforests (is it freedom’verse) — also i only tagged those who explicitly asked to be tagged!

MASTERLIST , part one

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

You spend a long time sat on the edge of the open window, staring out at the traffic below after getting back from Spider Society HQ. There’s a tangible relief that comes with returning to your dimension, like a weight being removed, a tension that is finally released from where it had been pulled taut. Your shoulders feel just as heavy as they did when you left, but you try not to think about it. You try to be happy that you’re back.

While you wouldn’t say it aloud, and you hate to even have the thought, you don’t think anybody had noticed you were gone. But then again, who would? You have no reason to be so upset about such a thing.

Time slips by as you diligently sew up the tears in your suit, frowning as you hold it up once you’re finished. It looks nothing like it used to, but then again, neither do you. Things have changed, it only makes sense that your suit would, too. You wonder if travelling through alternate dimensions can alter your perception of things. You’d swear that your suit had been a different shade before you left, lighter, maybe, but you have nothing to compare it to.

At least now, this time, when you put on your suit there is evidence of damage that Gwen Stacy had caused. The stitching along your the material where she had tore into you is a tangible thing, physical, and you run your fingers across it as if it might disappear. It’s almost a relief, to be able to feel where she had caused you pain, as opposed to the invisible ache she had left within you after fighting her the first time around.

Alongside the scar raised on your body, the fight with Gwen had left you with a sort of paranoia. An uncertainty in the back of your mind that has you glancing over your shoulder, has you messing up simple manoeuvres as you panic, thinking you hear her voice.

It must have been your third day back from the HQ that you come to the conclusion that you have to visit Gwen Stacy in her prison.

The decision doesn’t come easily. It comes slowly, torturously so, a realisation that deafens you as you glare through squinted lenses at the city around you. You won’t be able to go on like this, getting yourself hurt in stupid ways all because you’re not certain that she’s back in her prison. You’re meant to be a hero, which means that messing up, despite whatever paranoia that lingers in the back of your head, is unacceptable. It has consequences.

Seeing her in the flesh will likely be the hardest thing you’ll ever do. Except, maybe, not killing her when you caught her in that other dimension. You keep your mind on the fact that she won’t be able to touch you, that she’ll be walled away, to reassure yourself that there is no risk of either of you hurting the other — at least, physically.

But seeing her isn’t the only difficult part.

No, the hardest part is stepping back into an identity that you had lost your grasp on, long ago. You wear your old clothes, clothes that you hadn’t put on in months, and try to remember how it felt to be you, rather than Arachnid.

“Hi, Mrs. Stacy.” You say, when the door to an all too familiar apartment opens just a slither, and you catch sight of her wrinkled eyes. There’s a noticeable change to them when she realises who you are, and she’s slamming the door shut, undoing the chain, and reopening it before you can say another word.

She whispers your name like she can’t believe it’s you — and you can’t blame her.

You had disappeared, months ago, after the death of your father. Going missing was far easier than being placed in a foster system that would only hold you back. It had been so much easier, not having to face anyone, not having to speak at his funeral.

“Hi.” You repeat, when her stare lingers in the silence for far too long. The sound of your voice once again breaks her out of her trance, and she’s rushing forward to pull you into her arms as if you were her child. You suppose, in some ways, it was quite a lot like that. At the very least, your presence will remind her of the daughter she had lost.

“Where have you been? Oh, honey, I was so worried.” Mrs. Stacy says, her voice trembling by your ear as she squeezes you tight, unfazed by your lack of reciprocation. “Come inside, please.”

You follow her through the doorway, closing the door behind you as you had done so many times before. Not looking around at the apartment is near impossible, but you’re not sure how much familiarity you can take. Even just seeing Mrs. Stacey’s aged face makes your chest ache, your legs feeling shaky.

“Sit down, honey, let me get you a warm drink.” She says, a tremor to her voice as she bustles towards the kitchen which is adjoined to the living room. The news plays on the television, and you’re glad to hear a weather report, rather than some city-wide attack. Mrs. Stacy is quiet as she goes through the process of making your favourite drink, but with your enhanced hearing you listen to the telltale clink of a spoon against ceramic. You listen closely to her hitched breathing as her footsteps pad back into the room. “Here.” She hands you the warm mug, and you don’t comment on the way her hand shakes.

“Thank you.” You say, though it feels stilted, wrong, too formal. It’s hard to be normal in this setting, to be whoever you used to be, especially as she stares at you like she’s seen a ghost.

Mrs. Stacy stares at you for a long while before she speaks again, as if she’s still not sure that you’re real. “Where have you been? After—After your dad… we didn’t know what happened to you. Are you safe? Do you need help?” She asks, frantic once she’s gotten started on her questions.

“Mrs. Stacy, I’m fine, really.” You lie, smiling tightly over the rim of the mug as you hold it towards your face. Before, you would’ve burnt your tongue drinking it too fast, but you’re hesitant to drink it at all. The last thing you want is to become too familiar to your old life. “I’ve been staying with some friends, downtown. It’s been good.”

She raises a brow at you, and stares for a moment longer. “Honey… you don’t look well.” She tells you, and raises the back of her hand to press it against your forehead. Her frown only deepens when you flinch away from the touch. You try not to curse yourself too much, but can’t help reprimanding the way you hadn’t anticipated such an action.

The skin on your forehead is clammy, but that’s just the anxiety, the nerves at being back here. Arachnid can’t get sick.

“Listen, I… I was hoping I could ask a favour from you.” You say, hesitantly, gripping the warm mug tight between your hands, but loosen your fingertips against the ceramic when you hear a minute crack.

Mrs. Stacy furrows her brows, looking more concerned by the second, but nods. “Of course, anything.” She tells you, and places one of her hands against yours on the mug.

“I was hoping I could visit Gwen.” You voice, after one last moment of hesitation. The way her face immediately crumples at the request doesn’t give you much hope, especially as her hand withdraws from your own. “I—I know you don’t get to see her very often, and maybe it’s selfish, but… I don’t know. I wanted some kind of closure, I guess.” You ramble on in response to her silence, glaring down at the liquid still swirling in your mug.

“Honey,” Mrs. Stacy interrupts, her voice soft in contrast to the way yours was growing in volume. You quiet immediately, your gaze drawn up to where her tearful eyes stare at you, her expression almost mourning. “I would never deny you that, but you should know… I haven’t visited Gwenny since she was put in there.” She admits, her stare dropping to her lap, almost ashamed.

“Oh,” You voice, softly, in response. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed— I—I mean, I can’t even imagine—”

“No, don’t be silly, how would you have known?” She replies, raising her eyebrows at you strictly. “Now, I can get you that visit. I’ll call my attorney first thing tomorrow, but… really, honey, do you need me to call someone for you? Who are these friends?”

Her voice is familiar, and it’s kind, which makes it all the more painful. It’s strange, seeing the resemblance between her and the Green Goblin, and it makes a part of you ache. Your life wasn’t the only one torn apart by Gwen. In fact, her mother probably faced the worst of it. With her husband being long gone, her oldest son away at college, youngest withdrawn after her daughter became a homicidal maniac, who did she really have left? Who was looking after Helen Stacy?

You smile at her, as best as you can without tearing up, and reach out to grasp her hand, which she readily accepts. “I’m okay, Mrs. Stacy, I… It’s just a few friends of my dad, from his home town. Their kids, too. It’s better than being put in the system.” You tell her, and can only hope that she believes you. You have no way to back up these lies, knowing those friends of your father don’t exist.

“You could’ve stayed here, you know?” She says, teary and squeezing your hand so tightly you can hear your bones creaking. You smile sadly at her.

“You’re a much stronger person than me, Mrs. Stacy. I couldn’t even face my dad’s funeral, let alone be around the memories of somebody I lost. This place, it—it reminds me of her.” You explain, voice shaking as you hold back your own tears, swallowing them down and trying to breathe through the ache in your throat.

The way her heart breaks is almost loud enough for you to hear it, but she nods her head understandingly, regardless. “Of course,” She says, nodding still, “But know you always have a place here, okay?”

“Okay.” You respond, heart clenching so tightly you’re not sure it can pump your blood any longer.

“Now, what’s your number? Your old phone was disconnected.” She says, shaking her tears away to pull out a pad and pen from the coffee table. She sets the notepad against her knee, looking expectantly toward you.

“Oh, right,” You stutter, teeth chattering as you comb your mind for the number of your burner phone. “There was a mixup, because it was in my dad’s name.” You explain needlessly, still searching your mind for the answer. Finally, you remember it. You listen to her ballpoint pen scrape along the paper as she writes the numbers as you say them, and then she clicks the pen off after writing your name beside it, underlining it twice.

“How about I give you a call with the details of your visit, okay, honey?” She asks, nodding with a pleased hum at your affirmative. “Good. Stay for dinner, okay? I’ve missed you.”

Who are you to deny her that?

Though, even as you try to pretend that you help to set up the table for her benefit, and as you hug Gwen’s little brother tightly when he comes home for his, you know, deep down, that it’s for you. That this is a moment of selfishness that you’ll let yourself have, because god, you deserve it, don’t you?

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

It’s thirteen days post Spider Society discovery, and you’re starting to regret the way you discarded that watch so carelessly. Not because you want to be a part of some cult of superheroes, but because you wish you had asked some more questions.

Surely Miguel O’Hara must’ve known a way to stop these villains from appearing in other universes? And if he did, had he already implemented whatever it was to stop Gwen escaping again? How exactly did she escape the first time? Was it a coincidence? Is there somebody out there, working behind the scenes, helping her get out?

You, unfortunately, have no way to answer any of the burning questions nagging at the back of your head. While a part of you hopes that you never see any of the Spider Society weirdos again, you also desperately want answers. Especially if it meant you could call off your visit to Gwen Stacy.

But the day arrives as any other does, and you spend every moment before the drive over to the prison desperately hoping that one of the Spider-people will show their face. None of them do, and you’re left to get into Mrs. Stacy’s car and simply brace for the journey ahead.

You’re pretty sure that swinging would be quicker, or easier, but you had no way to explain that way of transport to an interrogating Mrs. Stacy, and so you had to relent to her insistence on driving you. Now, you sit here, shifting in the seat of the car, uncomfortable without your suit underneath the clothes you used to wear on a daily basis. Even the knowledge that it’s stuffed into the bottom of your tattered backpack in the boot of Mrs. Stacy’s car doesn’t bring you any comfort.

Instead, the rough material of an old jacket has your skin crawling like you were being bitten by a thousand mosquitos, and the trousers on your legs itch like you’re allergic to them.

You suppose, really, that the spider bite that gave you so many powers had to have more drawbacks than just destroying your life. It only makes sense that your heightened senses would extend to the receptors on your skin. It makes every movement in these clothes torturous, and you wonder if it had always been this way, or if you were just so unused to wearing your old style of clothes. Either way, you hope that you won’t have to wear them for much longer.

If it all goes to plan, you should be in and out of the prison, just ensuring that Gwen Stacy is actually in the cell as she’s supposed to be. Then you just have to endure the fifty minute drive back to the city with Mrs. Stacy, and you’re free. You won’t have to wear these clothes again, won’t have to use your name, no — you can just sink back into the half life that is being Arachnid. It’s better that way.

���Okay, honey, here we are.” Mrs. Stacy says at last, having shifted her car into park. She pointedly avoids looking at the looming high-security prison ahead, instead focusing on you as you wipe your sweaty palms against your trousers. “Now you take as much time as you need in there, alright? I’ll be just out here, if you need me.”

You smile tightly at her, nodding with what you hope is more of a grateful expression rather than a grimace. “Thank you, Mrs. Stacy, really. I appreciate it, more than you know.”

That much was true — after all, it wasn’t like you could tell her that she was allowing the vivid paranoia you had been experiencing to be put to rest after her daughter escaped to another universe. Mrs. Stacy, from what you could gather, didn’t even know that Gwen had been missing for any amount of time. She had no idea what Gwen had done, how many more people she had hurt, but you assured yourself that it was better that way. Mrs. Stacy already had to deal with plenty, and that knowledge surely wouldn’t help.

She was already dealing with her own grief and feelings on the situation, as well as trying to support her two sons in the matter. Given what Gwen’s little brother had asked of you when he found out about you visiting her, you knew that he hadn’t been to visit Gwen, either. It seemed that he wasn’t coping with it all very well.

“Of course, you’re family. You should know that by now.” She says, smiling with teary eyes, reaching across the console to grasp your hand tightly in her own.

Her words take a stab at your chest, especially considering what had happened to everybody else who had seen you as family. Dead parents, villainous best friend — it really didn’t bode well for your loved ones. You just reassured yourself with the fact that you’d be able to disappear as soon as the two of you returned to the city. You couldn’t put her in any danger, that way, or her remaining kids.

“I’ll—I’ll see you after, okay?” You respond, squeezing her hand in return before quickly letting go and throwing open the car door, getting out and catching a slither of Mrs. Stacy’s surprised reply before you shut the car door.

There are guards waiting for you at the gates, checking you are who you say you are, scanning you for weapons before you even get in the building. They’re satisfied after their searches, content that you weren’t stupid enough to bring a weapon into a highly secure prison. You keep your focus on your breathing as they walk you in, handing you clothes to change into as well as a box to put all of your belongings in.

The scrub-like clothes they give you are even worse than your own, sending shivers up and down your spine at the feeling of each fibre scraping against your skin. You just try to breathe through it. Luckily, the rest of the security checks blur by, which means less time spent on agonising over this visit. You barely hear a word of the statement they read to you before you go in, and your hand cramps as you write your signature against a dotted line of a waiver. All of the other legal things were sorted out by Mrs. Stacy’s lawyer, which you are more than thankful for.

Instead of having to deal with that, you just have to wait.

You think that the waiting might be the worst part of it all. With the scrubs making your hairs raise and promoting uncomfortable shivers up and down your body, as well as the cold metal seat that they sat you on, you’re far too aware of everything around you. You can hear the hundreds of heartbeats in the buildings, the beeping of security doors, the footsteps heading your way. You can smell the coffee that the head guard in the adjoining room to the one you’re in is drinking, as well as the day-old sandwich in his desk. Worst of all is the way your own heartbeat is thrumming in your throat, padding harshly against your chest, so loud in your own ears that it slowly starts to drown out everything around you.

Gwen’s footsteps are heavy, accompanied by the clinking of the chains she’s shackled in. You can practically hear the maniacal laughter that had come from her whilst in that alternate dimension, even though she’s completely silent as she enters the room.

She smiles at you when you look up, and for a moment you’re fooled — it’s soft, gentle, kind. But then you see the glimmer in her eyes that was distinctly not Gwen, and you feel the scar along your side throbbing with phantom pain.

You smile tensely at the guards, who regard you with looks of gentle concern and caution, before they attach her chains to a link on the floor beside a chair three metres away from where you sit. They nod at you, which you return, and you watch as they go and take their positions beside the door before you move your eyes back to the elephant in the room — which is Gwen Stacy.

“So, you missed me?” She asks, baring her teeth in a grin that has too much teeth to be anything friendly. Gwen regards you closely as you stare at her, watch for any signs of flickering, any signs that this isn’t real. Her brows raise slowly, the longer you’re silent, but you’re in no hurry to talk. “No? Is that not it?”

“Sure, I miss you.” You respond after another stretch of silence, tilting your head to study her more closely. You don’t acknowledge the way that your voice shakes as you speak, the way it comes out in something closer to a croak before you swallow harshly against your dry throat. “Thought I’d come to check in.” You add, brows furrowing to make sure she gets your true meaning.

“Ah,” She voices, then laughs, shoulders shaking, chains clanking loudly against her metal chair. “I get it, now.”

Gwen doesn’t add anything else after that, even though you suspected that she may take this opportunity to loudly claim that you were Arachnid, outing your identity once and for all. Apparently, if she does want to out your identity, she doesn’t want to do it like this, as she stays silent until you speak.

You sit forward on your chair, ignoring the way the guards at the edges of the room shift uneasily at your movement. “Your mom arranged this for me, you know?” You say, eyebrow raised. She probably knows what you’re doing, or what you’re trying to do, but she doesn’t voice it. Instead, she just shifts to lean backwards in her own chair, sighing as if relaxing.

“Hmm, so she can visit.” Gwen says, nodding her head as if it’s all making sense now.

“She can, she just doesn’t want to. Neither does Georgie.” You respond, and find satisfaction in the way her eyes flash at the mention of her little brother, the nickname that the two of you both used to call him. She recovers quickly, but you can tell that she knows it wasn’t quick enough. The Green Goblin cracked, right in front of your very eyes. It’s proof that, if anything, her little brother has some meaning. “He wanted me to tell you something.”

Her head tilts across from you, though she doesn’t move from her laid back position.

You clear your throat, and look at the words you’d written on your skin. She tilts her head forwards the slightest amount, and you shift uncomfortably in your seat, glancing at the guards who look just as uncomfortable as you feel. “He said that he misses his Gwenny, but he doesn’t want you coming home.” You stare at her as you repeat his message, the one he had told you nervously, as if he was truly afraid that Gwen would escape and come back. Her eyes twitch as she focuses on keeping her expression cool, but you know that the words have hit something in her, even if it’s part of the Green Goblin. “Looks like you even ruined your own family.”

You’re up on your feet as she lurches forwards, flung backward from where she tried to go against her chains to rush toward you. The guards are in front of you in mere moments, but you weren’t in any danger. Not as long as she stayed in here.

It’s almost satisfying, to see her chained up. It’s so different to seeing the Green Goblin on the outside, where she could be your Gwen Stacy. Whereas in here, bound by chains of heavy metal, clothed in uncomfortable looking prisoner scrubs, she was nothing but the Green Goblin. It was reassuring, almost, to be able to pick apart something physical between the two.

She bares her teeth at you, animalistic in a way that Gwen never was, and glares at you as you follow one of the guards out of the room, the others closing in on her, ready to take her back to whatever cell she came from.

The clothes you wear become less overbearing as you keep your focus on the guards taking Gwen away the whole way back through security, only switching back to your surroundings when they hand you the tray of your own belongings to change back into. You’re relieved for many reasons, and you try to focus on that feeling as you approach Mrs. Stacy’s car rather than the way your jacket itches.

Mrs. Stacy looks as if she wants to speak as you get in the car, as if she wants to ask about your visit, but she seemingly can’t bring herself to do it. You keep your mouth shut.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Not a month later, your daily activities are back to normal, uninhibited by the daunting idea of Gwen being free. Still, though, you think about her more often, as much as you did in the time after she was put away the first time.

Mrs. Stacy had tried to call you more than once since, and at the two week mark you’d had to invest in a new burner phone. You just couldn’t risk anybody getting a hold of it and seeing her contact, or the ringer going off and exposing your position in a fight. No, it was better for her not to have your number. Besides, you had hers memorised if you needed to call her.

It was better if you tried to reduce any connections to Gwen Stacy. You’d be much better off, the less you thought about her.

Despite knowing that, you couldn’t help it. And despite seeing that crack in the Green Goblin exterior at her little brother’s words, you didn’t have much hope for her. You don’t think they’d let her out of prison even if you could find a cure, somehow. The fact of it was that Gwen Stacy’s life was over. She had no hope of a future in this world, the Goblin had destroyed that. All you could do was remember her and hope beyond anything that in one of those alternate dimensions, you and Gwen were happy together.

The thought of it played on your mind every day, a lingering pain that stung at your eyes. You thought about it so much that you had even imagined the world where Gwen had never become the Goblin, where you and your Gwen were happy. It was a suffocating image, one without any hope of being true, but you couldn’t help thinking about it.

Even as you fought villain after villain, petty criminal after petty criminal, you thought about it. Even now, as you were swinging around a bridge, dodging all the debris this villain was throwing your way, it played on your mind.

It was a distraction, and it was one you needed to get rid of.

That much became certain as the villain you were facing, Tombstone, managed to get a hit on you, sending you flying across the bridge. You landed on a car with a groan, the windshield cracking below you, and you rolled your eyes as the person in the car held a hand on their horn until you managed to climb off, a distinct Arachnid-shaped dent left in the bonnet.

Well, that would be aching tomorrow, that much was for sure.

He grinned where he was stood across the bridge from you, showing off his filed teeth, as if trying to intimidate you with the pointy edges of them.

“You’ve been a formidable foe, Arachnid,” Tombstone says, his voice barely a whisper above the wind, but you can hear him perfectly. You suspect he knows as much, and that only makes you nervous. “But I think it’s time for our battle to come to an end.”

“I actually agree.” You respond, stretching your aching back and feeling a bone shift when it definitely shouldn’t. You can’t help but wince, gritting your teeth and glaring over at Tombstone across the bridge.

You’re getting tired of these villains, of their constant spiel about how the world should be, about how everything should be how they wanted it to be. What was so wrong with the human population that everybody couldn’t just get along? Surely, if everybody got along, listened to each other, the world’s problems would be solved. But then again, this is New York, and it’s a city in which greed is bred.

A light press against your webshooter has you slinging high up on the bridge, staring down at Tombstone as he watches you intently. You’re planning your next move, considering all the variables, when a burst of orange manifests into the air behind him. He looks confused as you falter in your web slinging, dropping slightly before you catch yourself, and he turns around just in time to receive a curled fist to the face, courtesy of a familiar man in a red and blue suit.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” You murmur, lowering yourself to the bridge to approach this Spiderman, glaring at where Tombstone stands, straining against a red barrier that had materialised from the device Spiderman had placed at his feet.

“I hate that guy!” The familiar voice of Peter B. Parker says, shaking his fist as he hops slightly from one foot to the other, his lenses squinted before he finally turns to acknowledge you. “That guy sucks.”

Your brows are furrowed, eyes squinted behind your lenses as you stare at Peter, confused. This Tombstone guy isn’t an anomaly, is he? While you hadn’t faced him before, you knew that there had been a battle between him and another vigilante down in Hell’s Kitchen. And he knew your name, hadn’t been calling you Spiderman like the last anomaly. So why was he here?

Peter sighed, as if he was disappointed to be met with your confusion. “You got a place, kid? Or a burger joint, maybe?”

With that same amount of confusion, you nodded, brows furrowed as cops came to collect Tombstone, who was still in a fit of rage. You can just barely hear him swearing to get you back, both of you, through the barrier. Peter gestured a hand forwards for you to lead the way, and with slight hesitation, you swung off with him following.

Now, the two of you are sat in a Shake Shack, despite you wanting to head back to the offices you were set up in. Peter had ordered two burgers, one for you and one for him, though you had decidedly rejected the one he pushed towards you. He had only shrugged, and accepted it onto his own plate.

“My wife’s pregnant, can’t even stand the smell of these.” Peter groans, stuffing what must’ve been at least a quarter of the burger in his mouth. You just nod at his statement, though you had to admit you were slightly surprised that this guy was going to be a dad. But then again, you’re pretty sure you can remember your dad scoffing down his favourite food in a similar way. “Now listen,” He continues, speaking with his mouthful and paying you no mind as you cringe at the sound. “Miguel wants to strike a sort of… deal with you.”

“Okay?” You respond, brows furrowed. You look around the place, uncomfortable with all the people staring at Arachnid in a booth beside an old man stuffing his face. The lenses of your mask squint with you as you look at Peter, waiting for him to add anything on to explain his statement. “Then why’d he send you?” You ask, at last, when Peter makes no move to speak of his own free will, too engrossed in his second burger.

Peter held up a finger, gulping down a sip of his strawberry milkshake. “Said something about this being good practice for me,” Peter eventually answers, flashing you a smile. “You know, being a new dad and all.”

He seems to realise quickly that that was the wrong thing to say as your eyes narrow further, visible only through the shift of your lenses. The last thing you need is some random guy trying to father you. Even just the idea of it irritates you, makes the very blood rushing in your veins feel hot with anger. You had a dad, and look what good that did you. He’s gone.

Not to mention the implication of you being a child! You’re far from being a kid. You’ve been looking after yourself for some time now just fine. Whatever deal Miguel wants to strike with you is because they need you. Not the other way around. You knew that you shouldn’t have let that Spider-doctor fix you up.

“I’m not some kid. I don’t need you lot, you need me. Don’t get it all twisted, Peter.” You respond as he continues to look like a deer in headlights, clearly kicking himself for revealing what Miguel had said. You keep your voice low, fighting to stay unheard with the quietened air in the diner. “Now hurry up and tell me about whatever bullshit deal you want to strike with me, so I can say no and we can go our separate ways.”

“Kid,” Peter sighs, before immediately wincing as he realised he just directly disregarded your statement about not being a kid. “Sorry, Arachnid,” He corrects, settling his hands on the table in front of him, finally taking a break from his almost-finished food. “Nobody’s saying you can’t do this.”

“Sounds like that’s exactly what you’re saying.” You mutter, averting your eyes from Peter and instead narrowing your lenses at the people still staring in your direction.

“All we’re saying is that you shouldn’t have to do this alone,” He continues, ignoring your interruption with nothing but a quirked brow. “It’s a tough job. Everybody needs someone to look out for them, you know? It’s in our nature to feel responsible for everything around us, as Spider-people. But you can’t carry the whole weight of the world on your shoulders, it’s too much!”

You stare blankly at him, remaining unimpressed with his whole speech.

Peter sighs once more, looking at you with hesitant hope that you’ll come around. Unfortunately, you’re not about to let these people think that you’re incapable. If anything, Peter’s little speech was just adding fuel to your fire. You liked proving people wrong — it’s what you thrived on. You needed to prove them wrong. Because if you didn’t, what did that make you? You couldn’t let people be right about their assumptions of you. If you couldn’t prove everybody wrong, then that meant some of the things people said about you were right. And with the amount of people who accused you of being responsible for more deaths than you saved, who portrayed you as a menace rather than a vigilante, who said you weren’t worthy of your powers, who said whatever divine intervention had given them to you was wrong, you couldn’t let them be right. You wouldn’t.

“I already told you people. I’m not interested.” You spit out at him, feeling your frustration brimming over the edge. Why would nobody just trust you? Was that so much to ask? You understand that you had made mistakes, that you had cost people their lives, but you were trying. Why couldn’t that just be enough?

Peter says nothing as you slide out of the booth, stomping your way out of the Shake Shack as if you were some kind of grumpy teenager. He could only hope that his unborn child was a less grumpy teen, but then again, he was pretty sure you had every right to be miserable. Correcting himself, he could only hope that his unborn child never experienced your reasons for being so miserable.

You make your way towards your office building, swinging through the streets whilst doing your best to keep your heightened hearing down. You really didn’t want to have to deal with anything else, tonight. All you wanted was to get back, to put on the only clothes other than your suit that didn’t make you want to crawl out of your skin. Even if it was just for an hour, you’d take it.

While you had gotten used to how quiet it was in the building a long time ago, you couldn’t help but think that tonight, it felt almost… eerie. There was something tingling, buzzing at the very base of your skull, but even as you strained your hearing, your sight, everything, you couldn’t detect anything out of place. Everything seemed normal, so you couldn’t understand why you were so on edge! It couldn’t just be Peter’s presence, surely, because he posed no threat to you. So what was going on?

Picking up your backpack filled with belongings, you stared around at the empty office, the breeze that flowed through the open window sending a shiver down your spine, even though you weren’t feeling cold. Something wasn’t right. You just couldn’t figure out what it was.

“Hello? Anybody there?” You call out, straining your hearing once more, trying to listen out for even the slightest sound. A movement, a breath, anything, even as you couldn’t help but think that this was the most cliché horror movie like moment that you had experienced to date. Still, you heard nothing, but that nagging feeling didn’t dissipate, and you quickly lost all desire to change out of your suit.

The unease you felt only grew stronger as you stood there, unsure what to make of the feeling. It was quickly growing towards being overwhelming, but you didn’t know what to do.

Luckily for you, you didn’t have to make a decision.

Unfortunately, the decision was made by one of the very people you were trying to prove yourself to.

Peter B. Parker — or at least, you were pretty sure it was him — swung through the very same window you had, only to grasp a hold on your arm and pull you out of the window as he jumped straight back out of it.

Now, you had been Arachnid for a long time now. You had gotten used to the swinging, to the way your stomach dipped and your throat tightened, but you had never experienced it where you weren’t the one in control. Finally, you understand why people you brought to safety had, on occasion, thrown up immediately after you set them down on their feet again. The feeling of falling, of having no choice but to trust somebody else to catch you, it was terrifying.

But what was infinitely more terrifying was the way that the very floor of the building you had just been stood on exploded.

The blaze was blinding, even with your lenses protecting your eyes, but the noise that came moments later was much, much worse. And sure, you had been around explosions before, but never one that big, never so close. And never so unprepared for one.

Your ears were ringing, and you vaguely realised that you had become dead weight in your shock, with Peter struggling to keep his grasp on your arm firm. After a moment, you had the sense to grab his forearm in return, trying to assist him in holding you up. He didn’t seem as effected by the explosion in comparison to you, and you wondered if he’d had the time to put earbuds in his ears as you had sometimes done before a fight. Either way, you were insanely envious as the pain in your ears increased, leaving you struggling to focus on holding on to Peter.

When he set you down, which couldn’t have been more than a minute after he had grabbed you, considering you could still see the office building smouldering, you had to hold a hand over your mouth even over your mask, trying to rid yourself of nausea. Smoke was leaking into the darkening sky, and you saw the flash of sirens below, but heard nothing other than the distinctive ringing that felt like it was melting your brain.

Peter’s hand was squeezing your shoulder, and after a moment in which you didn’t acknowledge him, he was gripping your other shoulder with his spare hand, shaking you the slightest bit. You looked up at him with a groan, squinting past the floating lights in your vision to see that his mouth was moving, no sound coming out. You shook your head, trying to get rid of that incessant ringing, but it didn’t work. You dropped your chin to your chest again, hands bracing against your ears as if they could ease your pain, and you didn’t make a move as Peter removed one hand from your shoulder.

Mere moments later, the same tingling you had felt before the building you were in exploded returned, stronger, more intensely. Your head snapped up, frantically looking around, paying Peter no mind as he spoke into the orange-glowing watch on his wrist. You breathed through your nose, trying not to cough at the smoke permeating the air, and you just managed to push Peter over the edge of the roof of the building, with you diving after him, as another explosive went off.

That explosion was smaller than the last one, and the only reason you had managed to avoid it was because you knew it was coming. You knew what the alarm bells in your head were trying to tell you now, and you spotted the projectile just seconds before it reached your feet.

Part of you was glad that your senses were dulled from the first explosion — your hearing, especially, as it meant you were less effected by the close-range on this one. You saw Peter’s eyes widen as he looked up above you at where the explosion had just occurred. You just about managed to web him before shooting a web towards the next building, feeling something in your shoulder pull sharply with his extra weight and the suddenness of the move.

You squinted down at him as he gripped the web attached to his chest with one hand, his lips moving more frantically as he spoke to a hologram projected by the watch on his other hand.

“Shit, what is going on?” You asked, though mostly to yourself, but the only way you could tell you had even voiced the words was by the way they rumbled out of your throat. That explosion had messed up your hearing, for the moment, anyway, and you quickly realised that with your slow healing and the ringing in your ears, this fight was going to be majorly difficult.

You only had a moment to think that, before something snapped the web that was holding you to the building, sending both you and Peter falling through the air. Embarrassingly, you’re pretty sure that you let out a yell of some sort.

All the air was knocked out of you the next second as something hurtled into you, sending you careening towards the windows of the closest building. Peter, for a moment, had a shocked expression on his face, before he seemingly realised what was going on, smiling and letting out a string of words that you didn’t hear. You groaned as your sore back collided with the window, smashing upon your impact, and you were sent sprawling over a desk, a monitor breaking underneath your sudden weight.

Yet again, there was a hand against your shoulder, and you paid it no mind as your head dropped back, thudding against the desk. You couldn’t help but groan, the duress that your back had been under today was certainly taking its toll, leaving your whole spine throbbing with pain. On top of that, you were struggling to catch your breath, and with the sudden adrenaline provided by the spider-sense fading, the intensity of the pain in your ears was increasing.

Finally, you managed to peel your eyes open to see a concerned Peter B. Parker looking at you, with Miguel O’Hara stood beside the shattered window, staring out menacingly, as if daring whoever it was to attack again. Peter said something else, squeezing your shoulder, and all you could do in response was hold up one thumb.

Miguel seemingly barked out an order over his shoulder, and a moment later, you were squinting against the bright orange light of a portal.

Peter was hauling you to your feet, leaning to hold one of your arms over his shoulder, practically carrying your weight towards the portal looming ahead. “No, no, wait,” You said, and you felt the way your words slurred as you became slightly delirious with a mixture of pain, adrenaline, and desperation. “Stop, I gotta—”

He only shook his head, before tipping the two of you forward until you both fell into the portal.

The dizzying feeling of inter-dimensional travel definitely didn’t help the pounding in your temples, nor the nausea you had previously been feeling, and you had no choice but to try and focus on Peter’s grip on you as you squeezed your eyes shut. When the world finally stopped spinning, or feeling like it was falling away around you, you opened your eyes just enough to take note of where you were — which was back in the Infirmary of the Spider Society HQ.

You shook Peter off, standing on your own weight and waving him away when he tried to assist you as you swayed once more. You glared, eyes narrowed, and turned to head straight back through the portal you had come from, only to see it close before your very eyes.

The same Spider-Doctor from the last time you were here snapped a band around your wrist, and you squinted down at the red and blue band. It made you feel lighter, even slightly, which felt good on your aching bones and muscles. You opened your mouth to speak as the Spider-Doctor led you to sit down on an empty bed with white sheets, but you vaguely saw the way his mask shifted as he presumably spoke. You couldn’t tell what he was saying with his mask on, but a minute later, you felt a sharp prick against the inside of your elbow.

You just about had the lucidity to murmur “You fucker—” before you succumbed to the weight of your eyelids.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

When you woke up, it was to a throbbing pain in your forehead, that only got worse when you tried to open your eyes. At the very least, you were glad to have your hearing returned to you, albeit slightly muffled, which you were only aware of because the sound of voices across the room was the reason for you waking.

“I’m just saying, maybe knocking the kid out wasn’t the greatest idea!” Peter B. Parker’s annoyingly loud voice says, slightly high pitched in the end. Who he was saying it to, however, you couldn’t say, not without opening your eyes. And that didn’t feel like a good idea, the lights even with your eyes closed feeling like too much.

Instead, you just groan, bringing your hand up to rest over both of your eyes. “It wasn’t a great idea.” You say through gritted teeth, more than annoyed over the situation you found yourself in. Honestly, what did these people have against leaving you be? Why did they think they had any right to tell you what to do, or how to handle things, or to overrule you when it came to your own treatment?

“Hey, kid!” Peter responds, drawing the letters out in that typical oh shit voice. From the snippet of the conversation you had caught, at least he was seemingly trying to advocate for your consciousness. However, that didn’t change the fact that he was there when that Spider-Doctor knocked you out. No, you were still pissed. And when you got your hands on that doctor? He was in for it.

Any other thoughts or feelings on the matter were overturned when you realised that your hand was resting over your eyes, not the lenses of your mask.

Who do these people think they are?

You open your mouth to jump into a rant on that exact subject, on the audacity that they all have, but find yourself silenced by somebody grabbing onto your free wrist, and seemingly dropping your mask into your hand. You feel it until you’ve got it the right way around, and then pull it over your face.

The lights are much more bearable with your lenses back over your eyes, but it’s still painful, and still worsens that pounding in your head. But it does mean that you can see who’s around you; Peter, Miguel and the Spider-Doctor. You have half the mind to leap at that doctor, but Miguel is raising placating hands in your direction before you can make the move to do so.

“Let’s all calm down.” Miguel says, placing his hands on his hips when your eyes only narrow at him.

“What is wrong with you? Who gave you people the right to—to take off my mask? To knock me out? Hell, to come to my universe and get in my business!” You practically yell out, swinging your legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the way your back hurts with the movement and glaring when the three of them step forward to help you.

“If Peter hadn’t gotten there when he did, you would’ve died.” Miguel responds plainly, seemingly aggravated by your irritation. One of his arms is raised in a gesture towards the man, who smiles almost guiltily, as if helping you was a crime. Which, in your mindset, it might as well have been. “There was an anomaly, a villain from another dimension targeting you.”

“I can handle myself.” You spit out, though the way the room spins when you stand is almost a direct contrast to your words. Your blood is rushing through your veins, and you realise that there’s a machine beeping next to you, increasing in frequency. As you look, you realise it’s measuring your heart rate, and you yank wires off of you that you hadn’t even noticed before, as if they were exposing you somehow. “And that doesn’t give you the right to take off my mask. Who does that?”

Spider-Doctor raises his hands, as if surrendering, though seems unintimidated by the way your glare switches to him. “It was necessary. Your hearing was severely damaged by the explosion, you needed treatment. You have dampening-buds in your ears now, while your healing catches up.” While that sounds reasonable, it only makes you angrier. Why did these people even care if some anomaly killed you? If your hearing was damaged? Why did they insist on bothering you?

Miguel sighs, pinching his nose, before he lifts his head up to speak to you again. You just about stop yourself from making a snotty comment about his attitude. You didn't even want to be here, and here he was, acting like dealing with you was such an inconvenience to him. It was frustrating. “Your universe seems to be at some sort of epicentre of anomalies, and we don’t know why. Yet.”

“We’re just trying to keep you safe. You can’t deal with all of those anomalies alone, nobody can. Sometimes, you need a team.” Peter says softly, like he could convince you of the matter. “Believe me, you don’t want to learn that the hard way.” He adds on, smiling almost hesitantly, as if there’s a memory he’s thinking of connected to his own words.

You’re sighing through your nose, your teeth gritting together as you regard them. “Okay, fine, you want to come take out your anomalies, or whatever? You do that. But anything more than that isn’t welcome.” You say, at last, your eyes narrowed towards them as you wait for their responses.

You still don’t really understand it, any of it, but it’s becoming clear that you have no choice but to deal with these people. Apparently, they were not budging on all of this stuff, which — fine, so long as they stay out of your way. The last thing you need is a bunch of Spider-people stepping on your toes, or making you seem incapable in front of the citizens of your own dimension when in the end, they’ll all up and leave.

After all, you can remember your mother telling you how important it is to do things yourself. The moment you start accepting help, you relax, and when they decide they don’t want to help you anymore? You’re screwed, your sense of independence reduced to ashes. And as Arachnid, there’s far too much at stake to risk that happening.

“Here,” Miguel says, only nodding his agreement — or at least, that’s what you assume the nod was for. He throws a watch towards you, and you catch it with some confusion. “In case you see any anomalies before we do.” He explains as he watches you fiddle witht he watch in both hands, glaring down at it as if it was offensive. He’s relatively satisfied when you relax at that explanation. While Miguel doesn’t voice what else it’s for, knowing you’d only get irritated and refuse the watch, he’s silently hoping that you’ll understand. It’s so you can come to them, if you need them. They can only hope that they’ll be able to tell you that, one day, before it’s too late, without the offer scaring you off.

“So, I’m good to go?” You ask, looking between the three Spider-Men still staring at you and the watch you hesitantly clasp around your wrist. They nod, or, Peter and Miguel do, while the Spider-Doctor throws his hands in the air, exasperated.

“That dimension is yours,” Peter says, leaning over to see the screen of your watch. “The button at the bottom will input this dimension as the destination. Just press that,” He points to another button, “To open the portal to whichever dimension has been typed in.”

You nod, still pissed that he’d let the Spider-Doctor knock you out, but at least you didn’t give him a snarky comment. Instead, you just pressed the button to go back to your own dimension, and stepped through the portal the moment it was big enough for you to go through.

You didn’t expect for him to follow you through.

“Hey, listen,” Peter says, almost reluctantly, as if he doesn’t want to upset you. When you turn to him, he raises his hands, as if to further prove that sentiment. “I am sorry that he knocked you out, I didn’t know he was going to do that.”

“Okay, fine, apology accepted.” You say, flatly, turning to survey where exactly you are. It doesn’t take you long to notice the remains of the building you had been camping out in, the building charred and the air still thick with all the smoke that had been produced.

“I wasn’t done,” Peter sighs, pinching at the bridge of his nose momentarily. “I also wanted to say that I’m sorry about your building. And I wanted to ask, well, mention about how when Doctor-Peter took off your mask, he noticed you don’t have anything protecting your ears, like other Spiders with your level of enhanced hearing do.”

You turn to stare blankly at him, while mulling through where exactly you’re going to stay in your head. If you’re being honest, you’re not paying his words much mind. So what, you don’t have anything protecting your hearing? Sure, sometimes you had stuffed earbuds into your ears when you knew you were going into a rough fight, but you didn’t know when some psycho exploded your building right in front of you. Plus, it’s not like you have unlimited resources to figure out some way of protected your ears under your mask while also letting you effectively use your hearing.

“Okay? And?” You ask, voice edging on the side of boredom. In all honesty, you just want to be left alone. You want to put on your comfy clothes, curl up into a ball and go to sleep so you can dream of a world where everything is okay. The likelihood of that happening is small, but not impossible, right?

“Well,” Peter hesitates then, which piques your interest the slightest bit. “Here, I had these made back when my hearing was crazy sensitive, but it’s not anymore, so I got no use for them!” He says, holding out two blue and red earbuds in a clear case. “You gotta wait until your ears are healed up to use ‘em, but I figured they’d do you more good than me.”

For a moment, you’re ready to deny him. To glare and insist that you don’t need his help. But then, he had said that they were originally for him, and he didn’t need them any longer, so really, would it be so bad to take them? To accept this one thing? To allow yourself to be saved of this tiniest bit of pain?

“You’re sure?” You ask, likely the least aggressive you’d spoken to him, though that’s not to say that it was asked softly. You were still firm on not accepting their help, on doing your own thing, but you could accept this much, surely? It couldn’t hurt.

Peter smiles, a short laugh leaving him, and he waves the box towards you. “I’m sure!”

“…Thanks.” You say, shortly, as you accept the earbuds offered to you. He also hands you the backpack that you had lost track of after the attack, and you accept that far more quickly. You’re glad that it feels the exact same weight as it did the last time you held it, before you shove the earbuds into the opening and zip it back up.

There’s a portal still open on the rooftop the two of you stand on, and Peter backs up to go towards it almost reluctantly. “Also, if you need somewhere to stay—”

“Don’t push it,” You respond, quickly, cutting him off before he could finish what he was saying. He doesn’t take offence to your abruptness, and smiles with a nod, before he disappears into the portal. You stare out at the city around you, looking in the direction of another building you had been very reluctant to return to. “What is my life?” You ask yourself, rhetorically, because you don’t know how you’d even answer that.

You glance behind you to ensure the portal is closed, before jumping off the rooftop, freefalling, relishing in the way the cold wind soothes the pain in your back. Before long, though, you have to shoot a web to catch yourself. You head towards the only place you know will be suitable for you, but can’t shake the way the thought of it chills you.

All you can do is hope that this multiverse stuff will be over with, and soon.

#heartpascal writes #atsv spoilers #across the spiderverse spoilers #spiderman atsv spoilers #spiderman across the spider verse spoilers #spiderverse x reader #spiderverse x platonic reader #spiderverse x you #miguel o’hara x platonic reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x reader #peter b parker x platonic reader #peter b parker x reader #peter b parker x you #spiderverse one shot #atsv x reader #atsv x you #atsv angst #miguel o’hara angst #peter b parker angst #idk how to TAG IM SORRY

[sunaluv]

Kinda random but what if Earth42! Miles had a s/o who was bitten by a spider as well (maybe just an AU where 1116 Miles didn’t get bitten by the spider or there was another one) and they are both rivals under the masks but literally love eachother without them bc they don’t know each other’s identity?? And some angsty if they were in battle and he was beating her tf up and literally about to kill her and removes the mask and MORE ANGST AHH. Thank You!!

omg i luvvv this idea!!!

"-coming up next, more sightings of the prowler around brooklyn. though his intentions unknown, it can be assumed that-"

both you and miles were sat in silence listening to the news report. his arm around your shoulders begun to bounce up and down as he watched the news lady talk about how he was an assumed criminal.

"out of everything, you choose to watch the news?" an unimpressed expression drew on his face, hoping you don't take note of the slight agitation in his tone.

"yeah." your gaze is stuck on the tv, eyes dancing around the screen trying to analyse as much as you can from the tv as you watched the masked figure evade the cameras lens.

the prowler was a... difficult subject for you. the you miles doesn't know about at least. the few interactions you've had with him as spider woman were very confusing. you obviously had a feud going on, the game of cat and mouse coming nowhere to an end. but for some reason, your spider senses seemed to be immune to him-- one of his abilities you assume. since that fact was revealed to you, you've been hyperfixated on the boy, using any public (sometimes private) resource out there to get a one up on him.

a deep groan came from your boyfriends throat. "you have a crush on him or somethin', ma?"

finally, your gaze is removed from the tv. "maybe i do," you teased, "he's an interesting character,"

nothing else was said that night and miles was forced to watch you stare this guy (which was him) down. it got to the point where he wasn't even sure you had blinked in the past 10 minutes.

once the headlines were no longer about the prowler, you had a change of heart and decided tv was no longer interesting and called it a night.

"sorry i was kinda absent tonight," you stood up with the intention of going to sleep. "you can sleep over if you want."

"all good. i don't think i can stay over though." miles rubbed his hands on his thighs, before standing up. "ill catch you later, mami."

he kissed your cheek gently, before leaving.

you walked him to the door, listening until his footsteps were out of view. once the hallway was quiet, you walked to your room with practiced, hushed footsteps before sliding your spider suit on with familiar fastness.

with a new objective in mind, you elegantly swung towards the main city whilst keeping an eye out for potential danger on the way. after making your daily night time rounds, you perched on top of a tall office building to rest a little.

"you're back."

the familiar voice spoke from behind you. the prowler had once again startled you with his masked prescence. thankfully, you were certain he had no way of telling how your heart rate slightly increased from the shock.

"saw you on the news today," you stood, making your way towards the man who had yet to move an inch. "you've officially been recognised as a criminal, congrats."

he watched, allowing you to get within meters of him. through your peripheral, you noted the subtle glow rasiating from his claws. you waited for him to make his move and it came.

finally, your spider sense reacted.

though the period between the instinct and the attack was much too short and before you knew it, he had dealt a heavy blow to your side but this attack was not like the others. whatever that was glowing in his hands had stored enough force to blast your body way leftwards, making you fall off the building.

the next series of attacks came quick. after using your webs to save yourself from falling, you quickly generated an electric current in your hands as you were now on the defense.

your spider sense was going crazy, as if making up for all those times it had failed you in the past.

left. right. from behind. a flurry of attacks were unleashed on you, filled with such hatred. you had managed to shock him a few times, but he had also snuck in a few of his own, never seen before attacks.

fifteen minutes have passed and the two of you were running on pure adrenaline at this point. all cards have been revealed and nobody had the juice to keep pulling out the flashy special attacks from before.

he had you pinned to the ground. "this ends right now araña," he held his claw to your throat, spikes digging into your skin hard enough to draw blood.

from behind the mask, miles watched as you choked and struggled, before going limp in his hold. he checked your pulse and confirmed you had just passed out. he had time to deal with you later, he needed some information before he discarded you after all.

releasing his hands from the claws, his fingers hooked under the mask to lift it and his blood ran cold seeing you, his lover, passed out on the dirty streets of new york with blood running down your face and bruises and cuts marked on cheeks which he had kissed an hour before.

he had done this to you. even worse, he had come at you with the intention to kill you.

"what have you done, mi amor," he whispered, eyes glossing over. "i'm so sorry," he had lifted you up and hugged you as tight as he could whilst trying not to apply more pressure to your cracked ribs which was again, his fault.

miles, the man who swore to kill anyone who harmed a hair on your pretty little head had now become the man he hated.

#miles x reader #miles morales x reader #e42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles x reader #atsv x reader #atsv x you #atsv angst

[tarjapearce]

Hi hi! Thank you for letting me go ahead and send it through! I didn’t want to overwhelm you, that’s absolutely fine still take your time and keep taking those breaks mamas!

I’ve seen a lot of single dilf Miguel x reader but I don’t think I’ve ever read where reader was a single parent. So I was thinking reader is new to spider society and on the day she’s told to join she has to bring her baby because she didn’t have a babysitter. Well Miguel sees her and it’s like he’s instantly drawn to her like sunflowers are to the sun, sunflowers move where the sun goes and when the sun doesn’t shine they face each other (She’s kinda like his day and night if that makes sense) but instead of acting on it he dismisses her but kinda admires her and her baby from a distance.

Well one day she’s having a small part for the main group and she invited Miguel because she always felt the feelings but also dismissed them. Then after the party he stays to help and the end up getting closer and yeah. It can be nsfw I don’t mind, I also hope this makes sense it’s been in my mind for a while and you’d be so good for this!

The rest is all up to you if you decide to write it pretty girl. Just remember to take your time and all the breaks you need. Mental, physical, and emotional health is important don’t overwork yourself 💕

Im so sorry this taken me soo long. Hope this make it justice 😊❤️. Thanks for requesting dear.

If it wasn't for the webs that stopped Rhino as he was about to deliver the last blow to you, you'd be certainly gravely injured or worse.

Another Spiderwoman, clad in a red, yellow and black suit had helped you through. Both of your minds in sync, that soon earned you the win over a now unconscious Rhino.

She introduced herself as Jessica Drew. Another Spiderwoman from another universe. At first her explanation of what the Arachnohumanoid-Polymultiverse was, had your head spinning and confused, but after quite a while of visiting you on duty, and clearing up as much questions you needed, you had been officially 'invited' to join, by Miguel’s orders.

You've never met the man, but the way people talked about him, made you not only curious but excited to meet him. Everyone described him as a good yet scary boss.

----

"Let's go"

"Hope you don't mind?" Your nervous smile reached Jess as you packed in your child's stuff in the baby sling. A couple of diapers, extra clothes and bottles.

"Look at this beautiful boy" Jessica held him as you finished packing up stuff, "Didn't know you had one"

"Oh, well. You never asked. Plus we always met on duty. The babysitter I get for him called in sick and I have none as a back up. Hope Miguel doesn't mind."

"What about his dad?"

Your head shook softly and sighed.

"He decided to not be part of our lives."

Jessica just nodded, lips pursing.

"His loss, really. Anyways, ready to go?"

------

Not even in your wildest dreams you'd imagine something as The Babylon Tower or HQ as most Spiders called it, could exist. Different sort of Spiders paraded around and greeted Jess upon her arrival.

Some even greeted your toddler that cooed and giggled upon the many heroes that came his way.

"Let's get you to Miguel." Jess walked ahead and you followed, you baby's eyes wandered, marveling at the different colors and people. You'd sometimes make hamocs and web playgrounds for him to be more active. Your babysitter was the only person you could actually trust your identity, she had even helped you sometimes by calling the cops, or even fixing your suit.

Another man in a pink bathrobe approached and gasped at your baby

"Please tell me we're getting a Spider Parents exclusive division now."

You chuckled and Jess just rolled her eyes

"Sweetie, this is Peter."

"As in Peter Parker?"

"Nah. As in Peter Benjamin 'B' Parker."

"Oh... And whose that cutie over there?" Your eyes trailed to Mayday as she beamed at you.

"Mayday. A lil spider in growth"

"She has spider powers?! Oh my goodness!"

"It's chaos, I know. What about yours?"

"Normal baby so far. Should I be concerned?"

"Not really, it comes in the least unexpected moment and them BAM! Spider baby. "

You giggled as you made your way through the halls to a much more secluded and dark area.

"Miguel?"

Your baby couldn't help but babble as a hulking figure approached from the furthest corner.

"He's so dramatic" Peter whispered and again, you giggled under your mouth.

Jess introduced you both and explained your progress to him. Apparently they had been observing you for quite the time.

" I apologize for bringing my child. My babysitter called in sick."

"No problem."

Even though his voice was calm, the coldness in it made you recoil to yourself. His scrutinizing gaze fixed on you and your baby. By instinct you held him close.

Red eyes settled on yours, but the subtle stare contest was interrupted by the anomaly alarm.

-----

As your time in the Spider Society advanced, your interactions with Miguel improved significantly, and by that it'd mean longer conversations, a joke here and there and of course moments so subtle between you both that you had to be quite analytical to know that he gave glances your way or lean to you slightly whenever speaking to him.

Not that you were inmune to his looks, but his patience stood proudly among his other virtues. And to your surprise he seemed to handle Mayday well enough. What actually made you to be drawn to him is that in one of your many occasions that you couldn't leave your baby boy alone, and brought him into HQ with you, he'd be instantly looking for Miguel.

Your cheeks would flush impossibly red as your baby clung to his leg and erupted in a bubbly laughter.

"God, I'm so so sorry, he just... seem to like the blue alot."

An airy chuckle was everything that escaped his lips. Of course there was so many questions he'd want to do out of curiosity. He had noticed you didn't wear a ring, neither talked about the baby's father. It was something he never seemed to coax out of you. No matter how subtle he was about it.

Pa pa

You both froze as your baby mumbled and grabbed a few strands of his hair.

"I'm so sorry..." You pried the baby away from him and fled the place as soon as you could. He just watched you leave, the inner turmoil in his heart was surely playing dirty. The way the baby had clung to him, and climbed ontop of his chest made his heart to leap after a long long while.

-----

You had been avoiding him, for sure. Ever since your little incident with the baby mumbling his first words, you had taken your distance with him. Of course you weren't ready for your baby's actions, but the fear of going through all that again, had surely dismissed all possible blooming feelings you had for your boss. Besides he seemed way too busy and aloof to try and pursue anything with anyone.

Not that you blamed him, the multiverse depended basically on him. It was for the best.

----

The moment you were falling asleep, your Spider senses tingled so hard you had a little headache coming your way.

Dread settled on your brain as your baby boy screamed and wailed.

No No No!

You were already darting towards his room, and pulled him with one of your webs towards you, holding onto him for dear life as the creature shredded his crib to bits with its elongated talons.

Your eyes went wide at the sudden action, your baby kept wailing in fear, earning the humanoid like creature to snap it's attention to you. You were fast, but the creature was faster and sliced through your flesh in one of your sides. You fell on your back protecting your son from the impact with a groan.

You needed to get out, or at least put your baby out of danger.

Survival mode kicked in as you dodged and took as much damage as you could from the creature that seemed way too keen into hurting your child.

You fought but exhaustion was taking over, the blows of the creature only seemed harder and powerful, but no matter what your priority was to keep your child safe, even if it costed your life.

The creature pounced on you, but the final blow never came. There was a commotion as you tried to get up, all you could hear was inhuman shrieks, growlings and finally the engine of a too familiar motorcycle revving up.

Your baby was pried away from your hands and you whimpered

"N-No!" even in your injured state, your mother instinct kicked in.

Your name was called, several times until you were held against a sturdy yet warm body with such care and tenderness that stilled your thrashing body. Vision blurred, but the last thing you saw the led lights of a blue and red suit, red eyes staring at you with concern.

-----

You woke up in HQ's medical bay. Pain surging through your body as you tried to sit down, Miguel's hand stopped you. Face with his ever permanent frown and something else. Worry.

"Where's... Where's my baby?"

"He's fine. Out of danger." His hands reached for a new set of bandages, he took your arm gently and began replacing the bandages himself, some were stained in a fresh layer of blood.

The silence fell upon you both until he decided to break it.

"You... were brave. We still don't know what that creature was, yet you didn't hesitate to fight back."

"It was going for my son... If I would've got there a second too late..." Voice broke and eyes filled up with tears.

The knot only tightened around his throat upon remembering the anomaly alarm in your world and saw you fighting for your son's life. He didn't think twice before jumping into action.

"The anomaly was terminated."

Terminated, not contained.

"I see"

"Your safety is all that matters to... this organization"

To me

You nodded

"Thanks."

----

He had learned that you were a single parent thanks to Jessica. Something he had trouble understanding sometimes. How could a man abandon his own family? He'd give everything to have one more chance and at least make things right, he wouldn't interfere with Gabriella, no matter how much he'd like to, just to keep her safe and alive.

But seeing you fighting for your son, made that side of him he thought buried forever to claw back full force on him. You were a great mother that wouldn't hesitate to attack and lash out at everything that menaced your son. It was the last straw for him.

----

A couple of months had gone by since your incident, and as a retribution you had decided to do a small gathering. Not only to say thanks to them, but to also celebrate your son's birthday.

Wounds were properly healed thanks to Miguel's attention and cares. Music echoed through your apartment. You weren't sure he'd show up, but the invitation was delivered to him.

Your son was having the time of his life as Peter and Jess played with him. Mayday was such a great play date and everyone seemed to have a great time. A portal was open to your kitchen and Miguel stepped out. Suit underneath civilian clothes. It was weird to see him out of the blue and red suit you were always used to see.

"Hey" You smiled and he placed a little present in your hands.

"Hope he likes it."

"I'm sure he will, thanks."

Your smile turned bashful as he leaned on the kitchen counter. Your place seemed normal, cozy even. Full with your son and you pictures. One was cut out and the only trace of a man existing in your life was the forgotten hand you were oblivious in cutting out. And even so, he seemed unsure since his fingers were barely touching you or your son.

"Here." You offered a plate full of food, which he took and scarfed down.

"When was the last time you actually ate?"

His eyes locked on yours, wide by the sudden question.

"There is more if you want to."

"I don't want to overstep-"

"The rest already had their portion. And I frankly went a bit overboard with it. So it's fine."

Your baby's laughter roared from the other side, earning you a chuckle.

"I'm... sorry though"

"For?"

"Him, calling you that. I know what happened and I'm sure it's not nice to just-"

"Couldn't blame a baby. Is it... ok for me to ask what happened to the father?"

"He just decided that we weren't enough for him. So he went for a new one. Away from us."

His eyebrows knit deeper and a light scowl drew in his face.

"But, it's fine. It's less of a burden knowing that you don't have to raise another man child."

He chuckled and nodded

"You're a great mother." You served him another plate but stopped when the corner of his mouth was doused in sauce. Giggling you reached for napkin and got in your tip toes.

"Excuse me" You wiped his mouth and smiled, "Sorry, can't help it"

His hand went to the back of your nape and leaned down for a kiss.

"Lo siento..." (Im sorry)

It was something that felt out of his character, he knew much, but it couldn't be helped. You had come like a little storm that turned into a hurricane in his heart. And that harrowing night where he saw you fighting with everything you had, only grounded him into allowing himself to feel and experience for once.

You got in your tip toes again and pulled him down for a kiss. There was no words needed, just a look of mutual understanding and complicity between the both. A kiss in the palm of your hand sealed up the implicit deal.

You were his now.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #Spider person reader #t writes✨ #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel o'hara fluff #atsv angst #miguel atsv

[kairiscorner]

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

imagine being forced to marry miggy because it's your canon event and like you both are now

bound by fake vows — miguel o'hara x reader

summary: do you take him to be your lawfully wedded husband? well, your real choice doesn't matter. choices aren't given to people, they're predetermined by the multiverse. you and miguel were resigned to married life after he discovered it was a canon event for the two of you to be married for... the multiverse only knows how long. not wanting to ruin innocent lives and destroy a whole universe, you accepted your fate and got married to him, but it didn't mean you had to pretend you were happy about it, about being with him. word count: 1,477

"do you take miguel o'hara to be your lawfully wedded husband?" the wedding officiant's voice rang in your head, the bright lights from the windows as the sunlight poured into the room as the witnesses to your marriage to this man looked on, not expecting you to say no because... because there was no way to say no. to them, miguel looked like he was extremely eager to marry you out of love, out of affection for you, like how any ordinary person would want to marry someone dear to them for. but he was only eager to marry you because the multiverse dictated it, you were to be his spouse, you were to make him your husband, and you'd be stuck with him until the multiverse decides it's had its share of fun from your suffering already.

this doesn't feel real. you must be dreaming, right?

it was like you drifted off to sleep and never woke up, like you were living out a dream while being fully conscious, fully awake and living. you were in your new home, and it didn't feel real, you were in a world that you recognized, but at the same time, would never recognize as one you belonged in. you felt like you were in a world that was completely foreign to you, a home that shouldn't be yours but just is now; the sheets and mattress underneath you didn't feel familiar, it felt soft yet rigid all at the same time. it was definitely not your bed, yet you didn't freak out, you knew exactly whose bed this was.

you thought you knew where you were, but you had the feeling your mind was purposefully repressing your recollection of what this place was to you from coming back up and surfacing to the front of your mind, to prevent you from reminding yourself who you were now. you sighed as you threw yourself back onto the bed, feeling the other side of the bed was still warm and thoroughly wrinkled up from tossing and turning the previous night. that warmth, you could tell, wasn't yours. that warmth belonged to the man who now made your life his, but certainly had no intention of making his life yours.

you tried to close your eyes to sleep, to shake off this nightmare of imprisonment, of you agreeing to lose the freedom you deserved and looked forward to your whole life. you gave up your freedom in hopes of saving your dimension from it collapsing in on itself, and you tried not to hate him for keeping you shackled with him for the rest of your days, when all you wanted to do was live your life and see where fate would take you. you had a whole life ahead of yourself, a whole future you wanted to build by yourself; you had to fight your way out of everything that ever hindered you from living out your life the way you wanted it to go, but of course, miguel had to ramble to you that you had to let go of it all to make sure nobody else gets hurt.

why was he telling you all this, why did it have to be you? could the multiverse not have picked anyone else, does the multiverse expect you two to agree and get married so nobody else has to die senselessly from your refusal? what happened to having a choice?

of course. the multiverse hated seeing you happy.

"if it makes you feel any better, i'll take care of everything for you from now on." he muttered to you as he escorted you in his car after the 'ceremony', and though you would've appreciated this small sliver of concern from him, you scorned it due to how dismissive your new husband seemed. he didn't even look at you a single moment in that who process of tying the knot, the knot that kept tied up and bound to him. you didn't feel the least bit embarrassed or guilty for barely giving an audible "i do," to the wedding officiator when you were asked if you'd take miguel as your husband.

all that ran in your mind was: why?

why? why? why? why? why? why? why? why? why? why? why? why? why? why? why? why? why? why? why? why? why? why? why? why?

why me? why him?

you promised yourself you wouldn't cry, you wouldn't choke on any tears, you wouldn't shed any tears as you let go of your autonomy that you fought hard for when you ran away from home, got yourself through college all by yourself, and scrounged enough money for yourself to leave your old life behind and swear never to let anyone, anyone, order you around and dictate how your life would be lived ever again.

but here you were, a new shiny ring on your right hand, one that matched the one on his left--the one he didn't care to wear after the ceremony and placed in his breast pocket because he complained it was 'too small'.

'he dares complain it's too small when he bought these both himself. what a clown.' you thought to yourself as you scowled at him, feeling a hot rumble of upcoming tears well up in your eyes, and a feeling of cold helplessness envelope around you; these conflicting emotions you were experiencing right now were enough to make you go insane. yes, you agreed to marry him, but why lie to yourself and say you were happy to marry him, that you loved him like no other man who entered your life and wanted to spend the rest of your days with him?

why marry the man who stole your freedom from you?

a silence fell upon you two as the tears came falling down upon your new dress, which wasn't at all anything like the dresses your friends donned on their happiest days. you dreamed of your happiest day being probably 5 or 10 years into the future, and yes, you weren't getting any younger, but what kind of life was this? was this even worth living, being reduced to the spouse of a man you merely consider as a colleague at best, a stranger at worst?

he looked over at you from the corner of his eye, his stoic expression unchanging as he darted his eyes from you to the road ahead of him. "...i didn't want this, either." he murmured as you began to sniffle. he didn't offer you any words or touch of comfort, he didn't feel qualified to give you any of that. who was he to you if not a captor, right? he roped you into this, and now, you were both paying the price. "but you let it dictate what would become of us." you whispered with a shiver in your voice as you sobbed.

miguel didn't quiver, he didn't evidently show you he felt guilty for his decision, for your decision to agree with him. he didn't speak to you for the duration of the car ride until he brought you to his home, where you will spend the rest of your life with... until the multiverse says otherwise.

you two were to share a room, unfortunately. though he promises you that he has zero intentions of touching you, he'd sleep on the couch if you wanted, but you couldn't bear to hear it. you headed up to the new room you were sleep in for the remainder of your life and slammed the door on him, with miguel sighing as he clicks his tongue, asking lyla to chill his beer for him as he sat back on the couch and leaned his head back before the AI alerted him his beer was now cold.

as miguel went to get his beer, he stared at his reflection from the glass. who was this sullen, melancholic man staring back at himself? a genius geneticist? an unknowing murderer of a whole universe he never belonged to? a revered and feared leader of a supreme society of spider folk? an overworked man who finds himself sleeping at his desk and waking up at the crack of dawn to back pains and a backlog of work? a husband?

whatever, it didn't matter, not anymore. as he opened his beer and took three gulps of it, he sighed as he looked up at the door of the room that used to be just his. he really hates what he has to do sometimes, but he's the only one who can do it. he knows you care, you don't want innocent lives and a whole universe to be destroyed because of you.

miguel just hates how you had to be dragged in to all of this, all of this chaos he never wanted anyone else to suffer with him.

a/n: might make a part 2 or smth, if tumblr makes this flop, part 2 is out the fucking window 😡

tags !! @thecoolerdor @miguelswifey04 @binibinileonara @luvstarrstruck @fiannee @fictarian @yuridopted0 @hisachuu @wreakingmarveloushavok

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara angst #atsv miguel #spiderman 2099 #atsv #atsv x reader #atsv x you #atsv x y/n #atsv angst #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse x reader

[honestsycrets]

before anyone else I: the venerable [admiral!miguel o'hara x princess!reader]

❛ pairing | admiral!miguel o'hara x princess!reader

❛ type | one-shot, sfw (minor past suggestive themes)

❛ summary | once upon a time, miguel loved a princess. upon learning about her engagement to his father, King Stone, he's back with a plan in hand.

❛ tags | forced marriage, arranged marriage, historical period not defined, royal!au, admiral!miguel, princess!reader, mention of character death, elements of implied treason and betrayal, some angst, some fluff, annoyed miguel, lyla makes trouble, self edited, f!reader, persuasion inspired, a kiss, innocent!reader, Spanish is not translated, a kiss.

❛ sy's notes | no requests were fulfilled; filled to meet this poll.

An imperial boat docks. It waves in the water a little off-kilter, pulling to the right in all its glorious majesty. On the dock itself, the head of ground forces stood dressed in full regalia, all navy blue and white, the gold buttons glistening in the fresh morning light. Jess expected this day would one day come. The seamen shouted among one another on the ship until at last the crew outstretched a thick oak plank. Boots bounded down the strong wooden ramp leading from an imperial ship to the dock. The awaiting crowd was rough and rowdy, casting bellowing screams at the admiral and his crew. 

“There he is!” Jess boomed, clapping her umber hands together.

They were freckled, with the frequency of her exposure to the sun. Today, her skin was shielded by a heavy coat. She abandoned the thing over her chair as she wrote letters, recommendations, and battle orders. But she preferred it when her poet shirt was thrown open, teaching the men and women in her charge. 

Admiral Miguel O’Hara led the charge, passing by the lackeys throwing down trade goods from the belly of the boat. Compared to Jess, his clothing was rough, punctuated by his time at the sea. What use was there for a thick coat with the spray of sea spray daily? No, he stood in dark brown breeches and a thrown open poet-shirt, sodden with sea water, likely from dealing with whatever injury brought his ship back to this usually forgotten port. 

He was glad to be back on the Spanish shore, if only it weren’t this shore and the many stairs he would have to brave to get to the castle while the engineers worked on the Venerable. Miguel loosened the sweat from his coarse locks, his shoulders bunched and ready for another fight. He came to a stop in front of Jess, exhaling deep, rage-filled breaths. Jess shifted back on her boot heel, a grimace on her countenance.

“That’s a pretty good hole. She’s taking on water quick. You hit something, Miguel?” 

“Me? No, I don’t hit rocks.” Miguel snorted, casting a look over his shoulder to the woman that stood at his side. Lyla’s eyes averted, not quite saying anything and saying everything at the same time. Lyla obscured herself behind her thick honey-brown bob. “Someone was distracted with the king’s cask of Carribean rum.” 

“Lyla?” Jess came up behind her, grasping her shoulders for emphasis. “No. Our Lyla couldn’t’ve done that number.” 

“It was once! One in eight years.” 

“Those... those changes you wrote me about. They have you on edge, paranoid. Let’s have a drink with the imperial guard. They have missed you.” 

Miguel threw a hiss back at the two as he stormed up the stairs, bundling buttons of his dirty poet shirt to obscure the sight of his dark chest from onlookers, namely the sex-deprived women and men of the capital whose hungry eyes ogled his crew. He didn’t need a loon bothering him right now, not here, he might punch them into a permanent, instantaneous sleep. 

“Oh, come, Miguel, these things happen. Look how sorry she is.” She says as if he cares. Jess rushed to catch up with him, the beads on the ends of her braids snatching and clicking. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, his head heavy.  He doesn’t have time for this.

“What she meant to do is as much irrelevant as it was irresponsible. If you’ll excuse me, Jess, I now have to prepare a new ship to set sail.” 

“The king wants to see you. It’s about her,” she shouted. Miguel’s steps came to all but a grinding halt, his finger fingers flexing into a tight fist. His mouth was dry, and it wasn’t due to a lack of hydration but the mention of your name on Jess’s lips. She brought her hands to her hips, her hands on the golden embroidered loops. His face sagged, all irritation melding into something different, inscrutable. He threw her a look.

“Fine.” 

But first-- he had to get this sea stank off of his skin. 

“Admiral O’Hara! There is just the man I have been looking for. Come, come, let me pour you tea. No? No tea? Of course not, it seems I don’t remember the boy I used to know. You’re a man now. And one of decisive action! Coffee, yes? You are better suited to black coffee. Am I correct?” 

Everyone thinks he is thirsty in this blasted place.

He didn’t belong here. He was, as he preferred to be, stuck at sea. The unforgiving sea required his attention lest his men befall a terrible end. He could handle that burden. He stood below a great sigil of a sea dragon whirling to chew its tail. Its hands secured a great many orbs in its sharp, jeweled talons. His eye tracked across the inside of the crest, turning over the word hopelessly on his tongue. 

“Rum,” he answered caustically, his eye dropping from the great sigil before him to the jeweled sapphire and emeralds that were embedded in the floor. Between rows of sentinel were porcelain statues, their hands wrapped around blunt and aged swords, their fingers almost palpable on the artifacts that remained from times of old. The deep navy blue curtains and tapestries are detailed in ineffectual teal. He never cared for the other assortment of pots and jars that were so-called mythical artifacts and rolls of paper that would soon house the king’s poorly-made royal decrees. 

“Aha! A good seaman and his alcohol,” the king minced his laughter. The noise aggravated him, the memory of the man’s words buzzing in the back of his head. Now he kissed up to him. How he’d fallen. He blinked up to the royal crest, then down to the aged king. His long, grey hair at the middle of his back reflected his many losses. Miguel turned his eyes back down to the king, eyes crinkling at the corners, taking a glimpse of him. His tone slipped. “It makes the time pass more tolerably, does it not?” 

“It does.” 

He pops open a glass bottle of rum, pouring it into a cup encrusted with more fine jewels. Miguel doesn’t drink.

"I suppose you want me to get to the point.” 

That would be a nice change, yes. His eyes held modest deference, his heavy dark brown boots pacing toward a hearth in the middle of the king’s study. Wisps of vibrant blue fire threw embers into the air. He finds himself staring at a stained glass effigy of your mother. A woman who undoubtedly would have been ashamed of the husband that stood before him now.

“You recall my daughter,” How could he not? He released a small grunt, an acknowledgment of the king’s words. Mindful of his reaction, Miguel turned his hands over the hot air, plumes of warmth kissing his sun-worn cheeks. As the king spoke, the flickering flames warmed the slight ring on his thick fingers. “I’ve arranged her marriage to Lord Stone. An alliance of sorts.” 

Miguel’s eyes go wide, aghast, staring into the blank flames. He grits his teeth together, the thin blade of his patience whittling down with every word from the king. He kills his face of the horrified, fleeting emotions that dappled his skin like obvious spots. He might have snapped a look at the king before his eyes calmed, trained to maintain the illusion of composure. 

“How unfortunate.”

“King Stone?” around the corner, his second-in-command squeaked. He should have left her outside. Miguel brought his hand to cup his slight forehead, throwing her a warning look.  “That old coot is still--”

“Lyla.” 

“Yes, he is quite old, isn’t he? I was surprised when he asked for her hand in marriage, truly,” the king said tightly, born in annoyance. He has gone ashy, eyes desolate as he recounts the death of the prince, or perhaps his own. “I would have preferred an engagement to his son. I trust you heard about his assassination. It was a great surprise. A tragedy, indeed.” 

“We have heard many things about it. I am surprised that you would agree to such an alliance after what he's done.” 

It was impossible not to hear rumors in the ports he sailed through. Miguel did not only hold to royal ports but those that held slimy crowds of pirates and prostitutes. If he did not, he would never have the truth behind the many rumors that swirled through the air. Women in richer towns had time to spread rumors. Those suffering from poverty had no time for them. Their lives were ones of perpetual struggle. What use had they for the death of stupid princes?

“Feelings change.” 

Did they really-- 

“Miguel. Truly, I understand your apprehension. But unless you have the magic to raise my dead sons from the grave, I have no choice.” The king sighed, beating his old knuckles on the game board. He’d sacrifice another child for his own safety-- the illusion of it. Coward. “I must know if I can I trust you with her transport.” 

“She won’t last.” Miguel stared at him, breathing the words out, his frown darkening the rest of his features. “She is a balm to any battle-worn king, but Stone is not just old. He is dangerous. If you send her there, you will send her to her death.” 

“His wives are well cared for,” your father argued mildly because it was not him who would face the rest of a lifetime with Stone. He brought a fist to his mouth and bit down upon it, a vestige of the man he used to be. “Perhaps your feelings for her cloud your judgement.” 

“I can separate my feelings from my professional judgements, mi rey.” 

“Yes. I suppose you can, admiral. How long has it been since you bore the responsibility of being the Head of Guards? Seven years?” 

“Eight,” Miguel cropped, his hand shifting to the top of his pommel. “It has been eight years since I left the crown city.” 

“Head of ground forces regulates my guard now. I find them lacking,” he grabbed Miguel’s cup of undrunk rum and threw it back, his tongue snapping against the roof of his tongue. He felt for the sentinel of guards in the room. “My soldiers, that is. If they had been stronger, perhaps my sons would still be alive.” 

Be it like him to find fault in everyone but his own battle choices.

“But I am ever humbled by your selfless service, mi hijo,” he spoke mildly, “Please know it isn’t a decision I make lightly. I know my daughter. She would feel more secure if you were the one to take her to Stone.” 

They were nice words from a soon-to-be puppet king. Miguel turned his gaze onward, locating Lyla by his side. Her small, scarred hands warmed themselves over the ancient blue flame. A surge of heat turned over in his stomach, punctured by a fear he hadn’t felt in a while. He steadied his voice. 

“I would not be so certain.” Miguel wrinkled his forehead, throwing a look that looked almost off-kilter. After this many years, would it be easy to face you again? No, he decided. Not for this purpose. “Soft women are fickle to easy words.” 

What of me? 

Not you, Lyla. You’re not soft.

“If you do not want to, I can send her by way of Jess,” a long sigh slipped off the king’s lips. Then quiet, only broken by a clatter and Lyla’s frantic attempt to replace game pieces into their proper position. Miguel swayed to where she was, grabbing the head of a miniature oak knight and popping it into the proper position. 

“For her sake, I will deliver her.” 

Miguel said nothing more. He failed to wait for the king to dismiss him, perhaps out of confidence in their relationship, that this was not something he had to tread lightly around. Lyla rushed by his side, the wordless guards drawing the heavy doors open to the wide stone hallway before them.

“You cannot take her there,” Lyla spoke with a rigidity that Miguel admired, mindful of the volume of her words, only a whisper. “Your father is--” 

“Yes, Lyla, I know very well.” 

“Then what next?” 

At the end of the hall, Miguel rushed down the steps, out of the king’s chambers, and into lush, almost stabilizing grass. Free of the constricting walls that he would have once called home, Miguel took in the fresh air, his hands behind his neck. To take you there meant certain death. To not take you there, well, he regarded both just as poorly. The fat roses bobbed on their pointy stems. Miguel expects to see you there, with your chambermaids, eating fruits on an Arab blanket. 

“We take Jess up on her offer. She’ll be expecting me.” 

“Miguel, the intent in horseback riding is that your ride the horse.” 

“You know, on top,” Lyla jumps onto Jess’s sentence. “He hasn’t been on top of anything in years--”

“And break its back?” Miguel held the reins in his thick fist. The horse, a chunky mocha and white painted thing was a profit from his voyages overseas. Not only was it subjected to awful sea travel, but now to have a man of muscle on its back? With his newfound speed, it was a risk he did not need to take. “No. I have two feet. I can walk.”

Miguel was many things, but he wasn’t a monster. Or so he liked to think.

“I think you’re quite sweet, Admiral O'Hara.” Jess’s own guard, Gwen, spoke. She was a willowy thing, barely a sprout of a woman with a good heart. He could tell. Miguel looked down, opting for silence as he crunched down full blades of grass under his foot. 

“Miguel doesn’t like compliments,” Lyla said. 

He also didn’t like long, relaxing walks in the valley. Jess proposed something like drinking in her office. It would have been glorious-- but Lyla, whose recent binge nearly scuttled his ship, chose a good ol’fashioned horseback ride. Something that didn’t remind her of sitting on the patchwork doll that was the Venerable.

“The princess would marry someone she does not know?”

Dread filled Miguel’s stomach at the words, the truth in them half-cocked and wrong. He found no words on his tongue that could fit the weight of bitterness that he felt about the arranged marriage. Everyone knew, everyone but Gwen. She was a young thing.

“It’s not her choice,” Lyla spoke in your defense. “It’s her father’s.”

“Forced marriages are a thing of the past. They are not right. Has the princess ever even met Lord Stone?” Gwen asked.

In less than a week’s time, following the festival of roses, they would sail eastward. Or, so said the sailing plans he laid out for Jess. Who, for her part, looked away. Lyla and he exchanged a glance of mutual understanding. That was what he liked to call a sign. 

“No, before their deaths, her brothers never would have allowed her travel to Alche. This whole alliance is a sham. We’re expected to deliver the princess in some false faith that he keeps this so-called alliance. He will not. I cannot decide if the king truly believes in this alliance or if he is hopeful he will remain as a ruler. In either case, it is foolish. Stone would murder his own legitimate heir and for what?” 

Except they aren’t his words. Those words flowed freely from Jess’s lips. 

“The king will fall.” 

“Miguel. Those are treasonous—“

“Treasonous? He is incapable of governing.” 

“The council helps him,” Jess says, but the words come out slanted. She convinces herself as much of the truth as him. Gwen’s lips close, looking down to the sword at her side, then back to Jess’s troubled eyes. Miguel had her where he wanted her. Where she wanted to be-- abandoning this foolish faith in a man who long since gave up hope on a strong, independent nation. 

“A counsel of plants. Five of his sons have fallen. If this keeps up, we will fall next.” 

Jess felt the words running bone-deep. 

“You have a plan.” 

He always did.

The deep night sky was a sea of twinkling stars. Oil lamps illuminated the solitary garden. Miguel fit his hands in balls on his hips, eyes flickering from the blades of grass to the long stems of lilies. He breathed softly, drawing in breaths that should have been relaxing, but morphed into something awful, some unfiltered fear of the failure of his plans. 

“These are her gardens, aren’t they?”

“They are,” Miguel answered. “If nothing has changed, she cares for them herself and harvests them with the peasants. She’ll be here, tomorrow, for her last harvest as a princess.” 

On one hand, overturning the king and his council could go seamlessly. He had Jess, that much was for certain. Gwen, who seemed to go with her bidding, held a good heart about the ethics of arranged marriage. She turned her nose up at it, the suggestion that you would be forced into a marriage with an old, cruel king. Lyla, his Lyla, held no apprehension to the plan. She treated him with deference, seeking only his happiness as his best friend.

Would this-- being king-- make him happy? 

Miguel looked down. Soft pink roses, ripe and ready for the rose-picking festival. Your last, if things went to your father’s plan. He hadn’t thought about it: about how you might feel in the push for another engagement. Not one to an aged, cruel man-- but… he never thought to find you, to ask. He wasn’t sure he could stomach the rejection and yet still force you into a marriage with him. 

It wasn’t that he wanted to-- but had to.

Miguel turned his hand into the suit vest across his chest, removing a bit of aged parchment with a broken wax seal. He turned his finger over the old ink. In every interaction I face, I long to spot you, hidden among the roses, the lilies, to be one of the heads of delighted harvesters. But you are not here. You are never here. I fear you never may be.

“Miggy,” Lyla said. “Miggy look.” 

Miguel lifted his head to look at Lyla. She wasn’t looking at him, peering across the garden, somewhere Miguel couldn’t see from where he stood. He lifted his dark brown boots, stomping around the corner. His sharp red eyes were wide in shock, bags of exhaustion lifted by your sight. Had it-- really been eight years? 

Panic works in tandem with longing. He could run for Jess’s chambers, crumple there like the very coward that ran this fastly crumbling kingdom. Face you another day. He couldn’t help but indulge himself in the gentle lilt of your voice, the way you rolled the ‘r’ on his last name, even though it was very much not an ‘r’ to be rolled. 

“Is that you, Miguel O’Hara? ¿De verdad?” 

No, Miguel thought. Not yet. 

His mind was overwrought, more stimulation than he had in months of battling the sea. He could climb ropes, fix sails, fight pirates, throw out orders, and care for the ports. No issue. None. But as you stood there, looking finer than any treasure he ripped from the hands of the most experienced of pirates, he found himself unable to locate his practiced words. 

You were meant to be his. To be by his side. Of that much, he was certain. Miguel folded the letter in his hand and tucked it back into his dark coat, exploring your gown. A light, white off-the-shoulder dress, embroidered in teal and ombre details, with the most beautiful seafoam bowed sash. You pulled at the rebozo over your long dripping sleeves, the jewels of your hairpieces tinking together as you moved, pulling up your skirts saucily over your ankle. 

“Is it not the admiral?” your handmaiden whispered. 

“I did not know he was back,” said the other. 

“Please excuse us, girls. Lady Lyla, I would prefer a private audience with the admiral. If you would,” 

“Of course! Of course, come, hurry up, you're slow--” Lyla did not need to be told twice. She made herself scarce, grabbing the mid-backs of the girls, forcing them up the steps and out of sight. Miguel dipped down to take a lantern that one of the girls had forgotten.

“Hola, mi amor,” 

Miguel turned around, offering you his forearm. Your jeweled eyes fell on it. You took his broad arm with one hand, minding the train of your dress in the other. The pads of your fingers shifted along the muscle. It took a moment for him to register your curious touch. The increase in his muscle mass, particularly as of late, must have been jarring. His brows knit together, his eyes crinkling around the edges in a way that reflected his age by sea. You moved through your gardens. Miguel, your ever-patient servant, followed your lead.

At night time, your garden was impossibly beautiful. It was lined by bushels of healthy, salt-tolerant roses, cloaked in the secret of darkness. Miguel remembered the small pond as if it were yesterday, the secret place of his youth. Small bugs sang in the heaviness of your mutual silence, breaking with the pop of your lips.

“I saw you had a letter in your hands. From a woman, perhaps?” 

He lifted his hand, offering the lack of a marriage band. No wife, not even a love on a distant shore. The memory of your kisses, your bodies strewn in bed, overrode any ability for him to find another woman. What happened to your eyes-- you began, reaching to touch him. He turned his face away. You were the first to notice. Or, perhaps, just unbothered by tethers of propriety.

“You are still unmarried? Then why did you never answer my letters?” 

“What would you have me say, princesa?” Miguel’s words came at last. He hadn’t meant them to come out the way they did. A long, painful lament on his tongue, marked with barbs. “You chose your family over my proposal. Your rejection was quite clear.” 

“You, above everyone else, should know it was not an easy choice. I could not have told them the truth.” You sat down on your stone bench, fixing your skirts. “You would have hung.” 

“Yes... well. How funny is it that they are now dead,” he bit out. “While I stand here alive.” 

Your eyes were bright, watery, bits of tears slipping down from the corners of your eyes, over pink blush at your cheeks. Shit, he hadn't meant to say that. A slow breath leaked from his mouth. You stood up, brushing the tears away with the flowing sleeves. It hurt to see your pain well to the surface.

“Miggy, I know you hate them, but please don’t talk ill of the dead. They did what they thought was best for our nation and nothing more.” 

Right-- to secure the possibility of an alliance through an arranged marriage, how charitable of them. You stood before a bushel of roses, turning your eyes over the fat blooms as an excuse not to look at him. You poisoned your mind with the lies of your father and brothers. He turned you, lip trembling.

“What of what was best for you?” His hand found your cheek, rolling away the tears that spilled openly before those in the garden. The sentinel who watched, the flowers that grew in peace. You leaned into his touch, eyes closing at the comforting warmth that welled up in your chest. He was here, again. “That has always been the only thing that I am concerned with.” 

“I know. My brothers couldn’t understand. They only understood politics.” 

“What of your father? He knows how I feel.” Miguel said. The words were smooth and soft, gentle like the sill waters of your pond. “He may not know that I was your first--” 

“Miggy,” 

“Your virginity belongs to me. Stone cannot take it,” he punctuates the words. They seem to draw some ancient feelings loose, drawing back with your hand to your chest, cooling the heat that bubbled in your chest at the mere memory. His voice milded out, a smile warring at the corners of his lips. Eight years, and he knew you thought of that very warm summer’s night on the pavilion.  "But your father would still allow you to live in misery."

You're not thinking of your father when Miguel speaks of such silly, youthful things. It's hurled into the past.

“You remember.” The tone in his voice pulled at a question, but he asked none. You tugged on your rebozo and turned away from Miguel once more, embarrassed. He couldn’t resist. His hands cupped your slight shoulders, rippled with goosebumps, though it was not a cold night out. His lips worked on your ears, kissing the delicate earrings that dripped from your earlobes. “The last day of the rose harvest.” 

“Miggy, not here.” 

“Your guards fell ill for their night shift. I took their place. You bathed in petals and perfumed your skin that night. I dare say, on purpose. You were so good for me.” 

The memory must have made you clench, your blood runs warm, leaning into the soft kiss he set behind your ear, the scrape of his fang. Oh, stars, you cried.

“We should stop, my father--”

“Knows what love we have. Even if he is a spineless coward.”  

“Have? Miggy?” 

He held his chin level, swaying where he stood, seeking some acknowledgment that your feelings had not changed. For what seemed like the hundredth time that night, you faced him. In place of a response, silence was the best course of action. A grim smile worked on his face, his head pounding with the lack of alcohol, that little friend of his that had made these years pass so easily. You tugged him forward.

“You are mine?” you ask. 

“I am yours. I am loyal to you before anyone else.” 

To his surprise, you held out your hand, your fingers twiddling at him. 

“Then prove your loyalty to me.” You hummed. “Give me that letter. I want it.” 

“You can’t trust me, can you?” He sighed, slipping his hand into his coat pocket. Finally pulling it free, he unraveled it. Its crispy, flaked edges slipped from your fingertips. The royal seal glimmered in your eyes, wrought in sudden delight at your own handwriting. 

“This is mine. And you’ve kept it so close to your heart this whole time? Oh, Miggy,” 

“Don’t start,” Miguel took a step away, rubbing the frustration out of his forehead. Blood rushed to Miggy’s dark face. He should be so lucky that it was night, that the moon was not full, and that you would not weaponize it. You plucked up your skirts, daring a twirl, jewelry jingling, skirts whirling. His lips pulled in a smile at your delight, a party all on your own. Congratulations on your victory, he wanted to say, as if it hadn't resulted in years of endless longing.

“I knew it.” 

“You did not,” Miguel bit out, kicking out his feet over the inky blades of glass. “You interrogated me regarding its source. Another woman when I have a princess? How asinine.” 

“Oh, Miggy. If you write me a letter, just one,” you settled it back in his coat jacket. “I can be at peace with this marriage. I’ll close my eyes and think of you.” 

His mind reeled at your words. He shot you a wan look, which you returned with a confused flicker of your long lashes, wondering what you said that was so wrong. Miguel looked toward the armed guards, men who-- in the day, he served with. He trusts them in a way that is unique to service under the crown-- to you. 

“What sort of man do you take me for?” he bit out, his tone tapering dangerously low. “To think I would allow you to marry that man?”

“What choice do I--” 

“You listen to your father regarding the oddest things. You would marry an archaic sack of shit but not the love of your life.” 

“Oh,” breath punched from your chest, exhaled in a shaky breath. Your hand came to your chest, twiddling the jewelry at your chest. Miguel turned his head back to face yours, his scarlet eyes trained on yours. “I wasn’t aware of your offer.” 

He couldn’t help it. Not anymore. The time at sea, eight years of suppressed pleasure through memories of your warmth, and the letters you sent all culminated in overcoming longing. He dipped down, his lips sliding against yours. He swept his tongue past your lips, drawing you closer with a stabilizing hand behind your back. He was many things, but never a coward, savoring the tender taste of fig and honey and you on your lips. You were as sweet as he remembered. His lips parted, words barely a puff.

“I don't believe I ever retracted it, Princesa.” 

Yes, you say delightfully. He wonders if you'll still say yes after you learn of what he's done. He doesn't always like the decisions he has to make-- but they're for your good. One day, perhaps, you'll understand.

#miguel ohara oneshot #miguel o'hara x you #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara oneshot #miguel ohara x reader #miguel x you #miguel x y/n #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara/reader #atsv imagines #atsv au #atsv imagine #atsv x reader #atsv miguel imagine #atsv x you #atsv angst #miguel o'hara angst #royalty au

[sillyblues]

𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐠𝐧!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

ੈ✩‧₊˚ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: you overhear a couple of spider-people talking about you and miguel

ੈ✩‧₊˚ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: inspired by a scene of a drama i saw in tiktok at 11:30 pm whoops here’s a small scenario while i work on that hiding pregnancy with miguel fic

part 2

You hummed to yourself as you walked towards Miguel’s room. You were so excited to talk to him about how your days went and if you were lucky, maybe you’d get to hear how his day went as well. It wasn’t like he doesn’t talk about himself, of course he does, you two were practically the bestest of friends now. It’s just that nowadays, he seemed more stressed and preferred to listen to you talk. Or at least you hoped so. He never really complained each time you rambled his ears off (which was like 83790134 times a day oops).

But a mention of your name in a hushed conversation stops your tracks.

“... [Name] is pretty close to Miguel, huh?” the conversation was actually a bit far from where you stood but thanks to your extreme superhearing, you were able to hear what they were talking about. You tilted your head. I wonder why they’re talking about me…

“Nah, I don’t think so. Miguel doesn’t even seem to like them.” You grumbled under your breath. That’s just what it looked like to others. They didn’t know that you know Miguel’s favourite empanadas are the ones sold by a Mexican granny on a stand right around the corner outside the building. They didn’t know that Miguel actually remembers what you say to him and even reacts to your stories. If that isn’t what you call friends in their natural behaviour, you don’t know what to call it.

“Yeah, it’s probably because they never stop talking. Their mouth just never know how to close for at least 10 minutes.”

“Miguel is probably annoyed at them. I wonder how he manages to keep his patience from running out with them.”

You bit your lip. Yeah, they were right…You admit that you talk a lot and you do feel a bit bad about it. But your friends haven’t told you to stop talking or that you were bothering them yet so you thought it was fine with them. If your friends said something about it, you would definitely stop and try to talk less for them. You were sure your friends would say something if they were uncomfortable, especially Miguel. You believe in them and you believe in him.

“I know right! If I was him, I would…” so you took a step forward and continued to walk towards your destination. Only this time, you weren’t humming.

.

.

.

“Hi, Miguel! Good afternoon! Such a lovely day, isn’t it?” you quirked up immediately as soon as you stepped foot into his office. As usual, he was on top of his floating station. Most of the time, he worked on planning and storing files with Lyla about which planets had been reported with anomalies. Sometimes, he watched videos of his daughter Gabriella and himself despite having already seen them countless times.

Miguel was lonely. You could see that. Sure, he had Jess and Hobie and Peter, but Jess was pregnant, Hobie was busy fighting against the government and being cool, and Peter had Mayday. You try your best to be with him because maybe he would feel less lonely with you around for him. Maybe he would be distracted by whatever you say from his exhaustion and his pain.

You swung yourself and landed on his platform. He was standing with multiple yellow screens hovered almost around him. His hands were on his waist and there was a glare on his face as he stared at it. He gave you a brief glance before turning his attention back to his work. Well, looks like today is a busy work day for him, huh. 

“Hey booo,” Lyla appeared in front of you and waved. You grinned at her. “Hey, Lyla! What’s up?”

“Ugh nothing much, except for Mr. O’hara on his red flood apparently.” She leaned and covered the side of her lips to whisper but it was no use to the said person with his abilities.

“I heard that.” His exasperated response was instant but he didn’t look away from the screen.

“Really? You did?” She asked with a higher and tightened voice with amusement. She then flashed a quick message to you. 

Miguel has been working even after you left three days ago. He wouldn’t take a rest no matter how many times I told him.

What? You looked at the back of his head in alarm. Worry immediately settled in your head and you furrowed your brows. Before you could convince him to stop, Lyla quickly made the message disappear and announced, “Oops, my power is running low. Gotta charge them now, byeeee.”

“I literally just checked your levels yesterday. Come back here—” he was cut off by her disappearing form.

He groaned and in his frustration, he swapped away the nearby items on the table. Most of them were papers but unfortunately, he didn’t notice he also swept away the teddy bear that you gifted him. It was similar to one Gabriella had and you knew this from the videos you watched with him. You thought how nice it would be to have at least a physical reminder of your love and not just ones you can see and hear. 

“I’ll get it, don’t worry!”

From his strength, the bear was flung high and without even thinking you walked backwards as you focused on its direction. You were being stupid because you forgot that you were on top of a floating platform and the floor wasn’t endless. The bear was almost near within your reach and with just one more step, you would be able to get it.

That one more step didn’t step on any solid floor but instead on air and so, you fell but not without the teddy bear in your hands. 

“[Name]!” Miguel shouted and you looked at him and finally, he was looking at you now. He ran at your falling figure with arms reaching out to you and for a second, you thought there was a tinge of panic and desperation laced in his hoarse voice and wide eyes. 

Sticky web was shot at your chest and you were quickly pulled towards him. You were hit against his figure and he caught you in his arms. You stilled and flushed, your ear was pressed against his chest and you could hear his roaring heart that beat so fast. He immediately shook you by your shoulders and yelled at you. “What were you thinking? Why weren’t you looking?”

“I mean, I was trying to catch it—” you flinched.

“Are you stupid? ¿y si te lastimas?” his nails were digging into your skin and his grip was beginning to hurt. You tried to laugh but came it off weakly.

“I just don’t want to see my gift get dirty. Besides, I’m fine—,” you tried to joke, hoping it would ease the tension and calm him down.

“Just shut up! Shut up!” he pushed you away with a growl, “Stop being so fucking reckless. I could have done it by myself. Stop annoying other people by doing stupid shit like this!”

He was breathing heavily, anger so deep in his eyes. Your eyes were wide and tears threatened to fall as you listened until it finally fell once he said his final word. Maybe the realization had finally settled in Miguel’s mind at what he had just said. His eyes widened in panic and reached out to you but you took a step back.

Your head hung low as you let his words sink in. Annoying? You couldn't even laugh bitterly like you usually do in situations like this. They were right. You were annoying him. You bit your lip. Had you been a bother to him all this time? How come Miguel never said anything?

Suddenly, his cold indifference to you was so clear and obvious now. Memories of him visibly annoyed with a frown flashed through your head. The sudden awareness made your head hurt and it burned your heart. It throbbed with a pang and you felt incapable of breathing, the pain overwhelming.

No, Miguel wasn't responsible for telling you this. You should've known better, you called yourself his “bestest friend”. You shouldn't have talked to him. You shouldn't have approached him in the first place.

You were annoying. You were a nuisance. You were a problem.

Stupid. Stupidstupidstupidstupid—

“[Name], I,” he sighed, “I’m sorry. I didn't mean—”

“No, it's fine,” you wiped your tears and pressed the teddy bear you gifted him and wanted to catch for him. You wonder if this bear was also a bother for him. Maybe it was. Everything related to you is irritating. You were tiresome. “I should be the one to say that. I’m sorry.”

“I need to go now. I’m really sorry, again.” With a brief glance at him, you immediately turned around and swung down. You almost ran as you made your exit from his office. You did the know where exactly to go, only anywhere without him and far away from him. Strength had left you once you were outside his office and you walked and walked and walked. 

Maybe if you left, nobody would find you annoying anymore.

#blue writes! ✧˖*°࿐ #spiderverse 2 #across the spiderverse #spider man: across the spider verse #spiderman 2099 #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #atsv angst

[tvgals]

‘ TELL THEM THE TRUTH . ‘

— when they reveal their secret identity as spider-man, it’s too late.

MILES MORALES —

miles was looking all over new york for you. in the alleyways, behind buildings, even inside some of said buildings. but he just couldn’t find you. miles decided to search on foot. he knew it was risky, but so was the chances of losing you. he ignored the plea to take photos or go places with people, he needed to find you first. miles called your phone multiples times, looking for the last location it pinged — in between two shady buildings. miles follows the map and after twenty minutes of searching, miles found you. you were curled up in a ball, trying to run away from the cold that was engulfing your body that no one else seemed to feel. miles drops down next to you and pulls his mask up, bringing you to his chest. “y/n?” miles whispers, gently shaking your body. you let out a weak “hm?” in response. miles sighs and heaves you onto his back.

“stay awake, okay?” miles says, holding onto your hands for dear life. you open your eyes to only a squint, you look to see spiderman.. “miles?” you whisper, earning a faint “yeah?” you put two and two together, realizing that your boyfriend of six months was spider-man. that when he was flaky on dates or not responding to texts, he was saving brooklyn. that even in your last moments, miles was your hero.

HOBIE BROWN —

hobie let his tears fall in the corner silently as he watched you fight for your life in the blinding white hospital bed. this all happened because he wasn’t watching you — because he wasn’t paying attention. hobie sat next to you, biting his lip. “please wake up, love. i know i’ve been distant and we haven’t been talking, and that when we did talk, it was always an argument. i’m saving the world for you, babe. this is all for you. everything i do,” hobie takes a deep breath, making sure no one was in earshot for what he was going to tell you. “i’m spiderman. that’s why i’ve been gone so much, and why i haven’t been home with you. i was planning everything out for our one year — got ya’ pretty flowers ‘nd cute chocolates…” hobie sniffs, draping his lean frame onto your legs.

“i love you, y/n..”

PAVITR PRABHAKAR —

this has never happened on his watch. this WOULD never had happened if he was a good spider-man. if he was as good as everyone else in the spider society. a train had came down from one of mumbai villains, you not being able to move out of the way before gravity weighed down and you were crushed. pavitr searched everywhere for you, between the crowds of people and the rubble, pavitr couldn’t tell which from what. that was until he saw your hand — he knew it was yours from the red and pink bracelet with you twos initials on it — sticking from under the freight train. pavitr wanted to throw up, he wanted to sit there and sob and reign hell on the monster that did this to you.

“y/n? y/n please, please wake up.” pavitr says, holding your hand from under the rubble. he wasn’t strong enough to lift this train himself, so he took almost all of the citizens from mumbai and lifted the train, revealing your bloody and bruised body.

“oh my god.” pavitr whispers, picking you up and running you from the scene, laying you down on an open lot and taking his mask off, tears cascading down his face. “please wake up.” pavitr shakes you, his suit still on for display. “i was gonna tell you today, i really was..” pavitr whimpered, pulling you into his body.

“i’m sorry i couldn’t save you.”

GWEN STACY —

gwen was breathing, she’s sure of it. she thinks so. she might be. but how can she breath when her girlfriend is laid out on the ground bleeding from a hole in her back. gwen covers her mouth and practically runs towards you, dropping to her knees when she’s next to you. she knew this was a bad idea. she knew that getting attached to you was a bad idea. she knew that as soon as you and her got together something bad was going to happen. gwen thought the two of you could outrun it. that the two of you would’ve been together forever.

“wake up, y/n wake up.” gwen cries, shaking you by your arm, “please?…” she whispers, your body cold and lifeless.

“i was gonna tell you i swear. if i told you sooner this would’ve never happened. i’m so so sorry..”

TAGLIST ; — @draculara-vonvamp @therealcees-blog @laylasbunbunny @kisminarii @d7n3 @deadgirlkisses @darkknightpeanutbagel @thecoloredpages @xricly

#myatalks🫡 #black reader #im black #blkshoyo #i love being black #ilovemyfollowers #ilysm <3 #being black #writing is my therapy #pavitr x reader #miles x y/n #gwen stacy x you #hobie brown x reader #atsv x reader #atsv angst #atsv #atsv x y/n #atsv x you #atsv fluff #atsv gwen #atsv x black reader #atsv pavitr #atsv hobie #hobie atsv #atsv miles morales #atsv gwen stacy

[slut4sugu]

— 𝐌𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋, 𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐓 𝐂𝐑𝐘 [𝙛𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜] 𝐄!𝟒𝟐 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬

Miles x Fem!Black reader

Including: miles scaring reader, comfort fluff, slight angst to fluff, bro I almost cried 3 times while writing this I can’t make this shit up bro

Genre: angst-fluff

🎸: 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐔𝐬- 𝐋𝐚𝐛𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐭. 𝐙𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐚

It was the weekend and you were hoping that you would be able to see miles if you stayed up long enough, you knew he hated the fact that you would stay up to such an ungodly hour just to see him check up on you, but you couldn’t help it this time. You haven’t seen him since early this week and you really missed him, FaceTime calls and texts helped but you wanted him. You wanted to feel his touch or his weirdly comforting dark presence, you wanted to know if he was okay- wait what time was it? You looked at your clock digital white clock to see it was almost 2 am. You quickly sat up and searched for your phone underneath the bedsheets before finding it, unlocking it only to find no new text messages from miles. Your heart sank, what if he was hurt? What if he got shot? What if he never comes home?

So many what-ifs ran through your mind you didn’t even feel the the tears that blurred your vision and ran down your cheeks, you grabbed the plushie that Miles had gotten for you on your birthday and held it close too your chest. It still smelt like him, tears streamed down your face as you worried for your boyfriends safety. You heard your heartbeat in your ears, only wanting to hear his to calm you down- “Ma?” Your head quickly shot up and looked to your window, “Miles?” You froze, just staring at him in the dark making out every feature you could to verify it indeed was our boyfriend, who climbed into your apartment and walked towards your side of the bed. “Why are you cryin? Did someone threaten you mami?” His tone serious as he cupped your face, wiping away your tears with his thumb. You slowly shook your head no, “I..I thought something happened to you. You didn’t text me it was late I thought-“ You couldn’t fathom the mere idea of miles being dead and broke down in tears. “Hey hey mami, I’m here. I got held up and had to take care of sum bullshit, but I’m sorry.” He sitting down on your bed, he lifted you into his lap. One arm going under your knees and the other one on your upper back, you instantly buried your face into the crook of his neck.

Your arms clinging onto him tight as your tears continued to fall, your body now leaning fully on him. The sight of you so broken and scared made miles rethink the idea of being the prowler, if it meant that there was a 50/50 chance of something like this happening again he wanted out. He hated seeing you like this. Miles’s hands now shifted one on your lower back, the other on the back of your head. “I’m sorry princesa,” He whispered into your ear, his tone soft as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. You looked up at him with happy and yet sad eyes before looking back down and nuzzling your head further into his neck. Then a hand that was gripping the collar loosened and went down to hug his torso, “Promise me something miles, please.” “Anything amor.” “Always keep me updated, I don’t want to assume th-that your-“ Your voice started to waver before miles shushed you and rubbed soothing circles into your waist with his thumb. “I promise, and that won’t ever fuckin happen ma.” You inhaled his scent, the smell of expensive cologne and rain making you feel safe. “Please stay the night.” You asked, your voice sounding small seeming as though you thought he would say he couldn’t “I will mi amor.” He pressed another kiss to your forehead and his grip on you tightened, “I won’t leave you alone.”

Miles knew he would get lectured for not reporting back to uncle Aron that night, but he didn’t care. At that moment at 2:23 am, all he could possibly care about is you. The angel he held in his arms.

#🎸.𝐀 𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐎 𝐁𝐘 𝐊𝐀𝐌 #atsv fluff #atsv x you #42 miles morales #42 miles x fem!reader #atsv miles #atsv prowler #atsv x black reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles x reader #miles morales prowler #prowler miles #prowler x reader #earth 42 miles fluff #atsv angst #miles morales #miles x black reader #atsv fic #atsv drabbles #miles morales drabble

[alrtyhoney]

VAMPIRE!

(You can't love anyone 'cause that would mean you had a heart.)

The rundown: Miguel had an image to uphold and you are in the way of him keeping up appearances.

Content: Miguel x !Reader / Angst! (wc: 2011)

Miguel had an image to uphold. He is of many things; stoic, cold-blooded, mean– some of the words you’d hear from whispers and passing spider-men. Of course he knew that, knew everything that came from everyone’s mouth. The walls talked, and by walls, it was mostly from those people that tolerated him. 

“You know people would talk more nicely about you if you weren’t so..” Peter B. trailed off, trying to find a description that didn’t seem offending. Not that it ever bothered Miguel, but he wasn’t in the mood to be sent out early back to his universe. 

“Stoic? Restrained?” He listed a reply, uninterested. 

“Closed off.” 

He wasn’t exactly expecting that. It wasn’t like the people knew him well enough to see who he was way past his shell of a tough man. He wasn’t closed off– He wasn’t heartless enough to not let people in and by people, you. Only you. 

It was only you that saw through him; the only one who tried to put the bricks of the wall he had built down one by one. You were gentle– genuine. Every word that he wasn’t. You made his brain short circuit, his spine rigid, and palms sweat. 

The problem was, while Miguel was all those mean words, he was also dense; unknowing, stupid, insensitive. He didn’t know how to love.

You were patient. It was satisfaction enough that Miguel had given you attention before; like you existed and wasn’t like any of the million other spider-men. You knew you weren’t imagining it when he had softened around you.

Days passed and melted into months– months into years and years into moments he couldn’t take for granted. Just how could he push you aside when you have been nothing but perfect to him? Before you knew it, he had asked you to be his and when he did, you saw nothing of what they called Miguel. 

It was surprising– Miguel wasn’t as overbearing with someone. And while everyone was delighted that someone had made him less hostile, a few comments had made his stomach churn in shame. (Who knew a woman was all he needed to release tension– jeez! / I wonder how y/n could put up with someone so nonchalant. Poor her.) They probably didn’t mean harm, but it made Miguel undeniably embarrassed. 

And before he knew it, he was pushing you away– slowly.

(“What ya working on, boss?” You had plopped on one of the tables from his office, legs swinging as you watched him from his platform. 

“Work. Something you should be doing too.” Miguel had answered, still focused on the plenty holograms but lowering the platform nonetheless. Something you’ve learned about him was he’d never be direct– everything he’d imply was for you to figure out. It wasn’t like you didn’t expect him to be an easy man, but it was still a privilege to know the little things about him. 

You jumped off from where you were sitting to join him, reading the reports from the desks that surrounded him, while stealing glances to what he worked on. It took every strength for Miguel to not soften his shoulders– jaw tightening so the smile that was threatening to seep through wouldn’t show. God, he yearned to touch you; to have you near him all the time. 

Something about you made him feel normal– just him. 

“Date night?” His body jolted slightly when you whispered, your warm breath fanning over his ears as you lovingly nuzzled your head against the crook of his neck. You had risen onto the tips of your toes, chest pressed against his as you waited for his response. 

He chuckles, the sound deep and resonating in your chest as you draw close to him. Unable to restrict himself anymore, he turns to you. He puts his weight against the machine behind him, positioning you between his legs. His crinkled eyes and warm smile make your heart swell, and for a moment it's just the two of you: no worries or troubles. No image to uphold.

"How could I possibly turn you down, amor?" he murmurs affectionately, planting a soft kiss on your forehead. He revels in the giggle you let out and it makes him shiver with so much love. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” You trailed off jokingly, drawing circles on his chest. “You seem busy.” 

“Never too busy for you, you know that right?” You hummed softly in reply, leaning your body against his and letting him play with the strands of your hair.

Suddenly, Jess came into view, her gaze focused intently on the papers in her hands. It wasn't until she had realized that someone was in the room with her. "Miguel– oh, y/n, what are you doing here?" she asked in surprise.

Miguel quickly rises to his feet, coughing and shifting nervously. He turns to face away from you, “Leaving. She was just about to leave.” Miguel blurts out, tone dismissive. 

You feel the heat of embarrassment and confusion spread quickly through your veins as you stand there, your heart aching. You had stared for a second or so before he finally looked back at you. “Leave. Now.”

Your eyes widened and that was the cue you needed to go. “Right– right! Was just about to leave.” You quickly scurry to leave, murmuring a soft ‘I’ll see you later.’)

You were respective of Miguel; knew of what troubled him. After that occurrence, he had pampered you– apologized a million times in between opening up. I didn’t mean it, love. He said, she caught me off guard.

You were still patient. You understood that it was never his intention to hurt you, but your mind was blaring alerts in bright red. Do you perhaps embarrass him? This wasn’t the only time it had happened– wasn’t the only time he had left you in a clueless state. 

(“So, you and y/n.” Hobie had begun, tinkering with his machines and carefully extracting different parts from them.

Miguel was aware that the seemingly casual conversation was only a ruse to distract him while he continued to steal from his devices, but he indulged nonetheless. Reprimanding him wouldn’t help anyway. “What about her?” Unbeknownst to him, you were in the same place. You couldn't help but feel your eyebrows rise up to the sound of your name.

“I don’t know, you tell me, you dense bloke.” Hobie let out a huff, then plopped himself down in an office chair and began to spin it around in circles. He knew about it anyway. You would tell him about Miguel and your relationship, told him what made your heart race and what troubled you greatly.

Hobie wanted to hear it from Miguel– wanted to confirm your uncertainty. 

Miguel hesitates as he ponders, eyebrows knitted together. He clicks his tongue in frustration before finally giving an answer “An associate? Coworker? I don’t know what you want from me.”

You felt a sudden weight crash down upon you— your mouth became parched and your chest seemed to constrict. It was like something was pressing hard against you, making it difficult to breathe. An unwelcome realization dawned on you as you pieced it all together. 

“Ouch. You hear that, y/n? If I was you, I would’ve dumped this oaf.” But you had been gone before Miguel even got the chance to set his eyes on you and he knew he had messed up again.)

“I’m not closed off.” Miguel had muttered under his breath– a bit too defensive to his liking as he clicked away on his keyboard aggressively. Peter didn’t miss the shift on his behavior and he decided to push further. 

What was with everyone and questioning about his personal life?

“You know what I mean– Jess, help me out here.” 

“What he means is, it wouldn’t hurt to be less uptight.” Jessica said, “I mean, look at you and y/n. It’s not so hard to be friendly.”

Peter's eyes widened in surprise and disbelief, his furrowed eyebrows clearly expressing his disagreement. “Friendly? Look me dead in the eyes and tell me the heart eyes he’s shooting y/n is friendly.” He butted in with Mayday babbling in the carrier strapped to his chest like she was on the same page as his father. 

Jess rolls her eyes, “I just don’t think Miguel’s the type to be all lovey-dovey.” She replies, both hands lifting in a gesture of surrender. “Besides, y/n is waaay out of his league.”  She can already imagine it - Miguel trying his best to sweep y/n off her feet with corny pickup lines or gestures that didn’t seem like him.

They didn’t know about them; no one did. It wasn’t like they made their relationship public. 

Blood rushed to his ears as they continued to banter about him, frustration brimming to the point of overflow. They continued to talk about him like he wasn’t there in front of him– like what he felt didn’t matter. He finally turns to them, expression clearly unamused. 

And unbeknownst to him, you were just around the corner. You marched towards his office, chest puffed and heart pounding as you advanced. Your mind was made up, finally giving in to the voices waving red flags. It wasn’t fair– wasn’t just that you had given your heart for him to throw around. However, his voice stopped you from making your appearance known; it was firm– angry.

“The fate of the multiverse depends on me,” He started off and it takes all the strength in Peter to not roll his eyes, “I do not have time to be in a relationship– let alone be with someone as soft-hearted as y/n.” 

It was like a strike to the gut and you only want the ground to swallow you whole now. Your legs threatened to buckle, begging you to leave but you couldn’t. It was wrong of you to eavesdrop, but you couldn’t help it; His words were answering every question you had in mind in the worst way possible, breaking you apart and squashing every butterfly that fluttered inside your stomach.

“Just what do you mean about that?” Peter comes to your defense, shoulders stiffened. 

“I do not need someone weighing me down.” 

Peter was having none of it— absolutely did not believe every word that fell from his lips. He knew it was love; the lingering stares, the small touches. He wasn’t a fool to ignore the signs, Miguel just needed a push. “But you tolerate her more than the others! You like being around her!” 

“Peter, just leave it.” Jess attempts to calm the escalating tension, but her words seem to fall on deaf ears as Miguel speaks again.

“Isn’t it our job to endure? What’s another headache to tolerate?” He said before finally looking away, ready to walk out. “Now stop asking because I have enough of having her around. Don’t make me talk about her too.”

What he didn't expect was that you were already standing in his path, cheeks wet with tears and lips pressed together in a deep frown. His heart sank as he took your presence in, letting it seep like a rain of needles. The realization had hit him like a bag of bricks. You had heard their conversation– heard every single thing he said. 

You quickly wiped away your tears, focusing on anything but the face of the one who caused them. You couldn’t bear to look into his eyes, not when he had you clutching your chest as you listened. It threatened to leap out, pounding against your ribs. “Yeah Peter, I think he said enough.”

“Amor,” He had whispered, walking towards you only for you to step backward in return. 

You had left the scene and the shame that swallowed him was nothing compared to the embarrassment he swore was unbearable. Miguel is of many things; stoic, cold-blooded, mean. And they were right– all of it. 

#alrighty honey ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara atsv #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel o'hara angst #atsv angst #across the spider verse angst

[keys-hellscape-1020]

Yeet.

A/N: this is just pure word vomit. I’m so sorry. The title is SO bad but I was giggling so hard when I wrote it. Also this is literally so fucking self-indulgent.

Summary: Spider-People have a sixth sense. This is common knowledge to anyone who intimately knows one. What you didn’t know however was that it can occasionally misinterpret intentions, leading to disastrous results.

Hobie Brown x gn!Reader

Contents: No use of Y/N, anxiety mentions, reader gets full on thrown through a window, reader dissociates (symptoms of dissociation are described in depth), reader gets injured, angst, hurt/comfort

————

It was mid-afternoon, the sun starting to lower towards the sky-line as you hauled your bags back from the grocery store. It wasn’t a long walk, not by any means, by the bags were heavy with ingredients for dinner and the sun was at the perfect angle to shine in your eye.

As you dragged yourself through the lobby of your apartment you could feel your heart flutter at the gentle vibration of your phone in your pocket. Hobie must be telling you that he entered through the window. How you longed to see him, today had been impossibly long and he had a subtle way of making everything better.

As you shuffled your way into the elevator, smacking the button awkwardly with your elbow, you impatiently watched as you rose through the levels of your apartment building.

It felt like a century. But eventually you were met with the sweet ding of the elevator reaching the correct floor. You dragged yourself one last time out of the elevator and down the hall, however instead of the sound of sweet guitar cords you were met with silence.

You anxiously creep down the hallway. When Hobie comes over he always plays his guitar loud enough for the whole floor to hear. As annoying as it was to your neighbors you couldn’t find it in you to ask him to stop, the sweet melody melting the stress right off your bones.

You somehow manage to mangle your key out of your pocket without putting anything down, and as soon as you’re inside you’re dropping your groceries without a care in the world and pulling out your phone.

As you unlock it your worst fear is confirmed, it was Hobie texting you alright. Him not playing his guitar almost certainly meant something was horribly wrong. To make matters worst Hobie had said he had a “surprise” for you. That made the anxiety in your stomach twist even harder, the idea of one of Hobie’s many enemies capturing him, or using you to get to him sparking to life in your mind.

You leave the door to your apartment open a crack, just incase you need to run, and creep down the hallway. The door to your bedroom is open just a crack, and light is spilling out of your room, causing you to hold your breath as you creep closer.

You perch on your toes, hoping to decrease the chance of someone hearing you as you near the door, hands posed at your side, ready to fight for your life or run as fast as your legs could carry you at a moments notice.

You lean on the door frame and push the door open another few inches using the side of your foot, holding your breath as the hinges let out a loud squeak.

When you don’t hear any immediate threats coming from inside the room you carefully shift your weight forward, gripping the door frame like it would keep you from harm.

You feel your heart leap with relief as you see not one of Hobie’s enemies, but Hobie himself. He’s sitting in your desk chair, facing the closed window. He has his guitar in his hands, but that is not what stands out to you. Instead what stands out is the pair of headphones on his head, forcing his wicks out of the way in a messy way that shows he has not taken much care when placing them on his head in the first place.

You scrunch your nose in delight at the comical sight and decide that some teasing is in order, after the near heart attack he gave you.

You creep forward, your movements reminding you of a cat as a Cheshire grin grows on your face. You still completely when you’re in pouncing distance and you see Hobie’s finger still on his guitar strings. A small cue, but one that indicated you’re plan would be foiled if you didn’t attack right… Now!

You pounce forward, you barely feel your nails scrap the thread of Hobie’s shirt before a firm force is pressing on your stomach, pushing you up and over yourself.

You can barely breath, a second and an eternity pass as you crash through the air.

You don’t think you’ve ever hit anything as hard as you just did.

The top of your head and one of your shoulders feel the crunch of the impact first, but it does nothing to slow your movements as your thighs crumple downwards you, and then past you still.

It doesn’t take you long to realize that you’re falling.

Not that you had a long time to realize.

You didn’t realize that you had the instinct to face the ground. Was that something that was impeded in every human? Or were you simply privy to this trait as you saw your boyfriend leap through the air on a near daily basis?

Whatever the cause, your descent is stopped by the feeling of something pulling on your back. It reminds you of how a bully would pull on your backpack in middle school, only if the bully was a double-decker bus instead of a 12 year old.

Your internal debate on the nature of 12-year-old assholes is stopped as you feel an arm wrap around your waist, pulling you in through the cracked frame of a window.

You didn’t remember being pulled in the wrong way through the air. Traveling in reverse. But it would be impossible to forget Hobie’s face staring at you with as much concern as you’ve ever seen on it, eyes wide and almost glassy.

You can feel the tightness of his grip on your shoulders, and you’re sure his fingerprints will be imprinted in your skin. You can see his mouth moving quickly but you can’t hear his voice.

You look vaguely at the busted window frame, the wood is cracked and splintering in nearly a hundred places. You fear your landlords reaction when he sees that. How are you going to explain it?

You feel Hobie gently brushing your forehead with his thumb, pulling you from your thoughts. You look down and see small specks of glass, almost like glitter, dusting your lap. You raise a hand to your head and it comes back a deep vermilion, you swear it sparks the same as that damned glitter.

You feel Hobie’s hand on your cheek, turning your eyes towards him.

“You with me?” Hobie’s eyes are large and concerned, troubled brows peering at you.

You can barely find the strength to make eye contact, mind still far off, falling through the atmosphere, clouds catching in your throat.

You feel Hobie’s firm thumb on your cheek, consistent pressure pulling your mind back down to earth.

“Hey now. Focus on me.”

You blink a few times, and slowly feel your bones becoming solid once more. You can hear the traffic out the window, Hobie’s breathing, feel the warmth of blood on your head. You find your chest naturally matching the rhythm of Hobie’s as he breathes deeply, prompting you to copy him.

You go to reach up to your head once more, intent of seeing how bad your injury is, but Hobie grabs your wrist and pulls your hand back down.

He stares at you for an intense moment before he scoops you up bridal style, being so incredibly gentle as he stands.

“Let’s get you cleaned up Luv.” He sounds more quite and subdued then you have ever heard him. He walks oh so gently, slow and smooth so as not to bump or jostle you.

He sits you down on the counter of the bathroom gently, and pulls a first-aid kit out from under the sink. Typically it is you patching him up after patrol, looks like the tables have turned this time.

He works in utter silence. His first mission is staunching the wound on your head. It’s no where near the point of requiring stitches, it had simply bleed a lot as head wounds are prone to doing. He cleans the wound efficiently, and before you know it the wound is hidden by a thick, white bandage on your forehead.

The rest of your wounds are thankfully small, and don’t take much treatment. After a few wipes from a damp cloth and some Neosporin your wounds are treated. The only evidence that still prove the incident occurred recently is your blood stained clothing.

Hobie stays in the same spot he was in as he treated your wounds, hovering almost. His normally large presence has shrunk and if your didn’t know better you’d say he was trying to hide himself away from you.

You are staring at your hands, finding your fingers very interesting as the intense silence clouds the air, closing in around your throat you want to say something to break it, but your throat chokes in on itself as soon as you open it.

“I’m sorry.”

Hobie looks so small as he whispers those words to you. His hands are ghosts on your thighs, you can feel him, but you’ve never felt so separated from him. He eyes the tile of the bathroom and you can practically see him beating himself up, pulling away from you in a belligerent attempt to protect you.

You gently place a hand on his cheek and turn his face towards yours, forcing him to look at you. “I don’t blame you.”

“I know.”

“I still trust you.”

He glanced away from you briefly, and blinks aggressively like he’s fighting off tears. “Are you sure you should?”

Instead of a verbal response you take one of his hands from your thigh and guide it your head, setting the tips of his fingers right on the thick bandage that lays there. “This is proof that you care. That it was an accident and we both regret it. I trust you with my life.”

He suddenly lurches forward, pulling you into his body with a sob. You hold him gently as he cries into you, rubbing his back comfortingly, letting him feel his emotions and let them out.

You have no idea how long you sat there on your bathroom counter, blood stained clothing as you try to piece back together the broken pieces of your boyfriend without any words. But none were needed.

#key writing #angst #WOW this turned out WAY more dark than expected #I have nothing to say for my sins except I hope it made you cry :) #hobie brown atsv #atsv x you #atsv hobie #atsv x reader #hobie brown x you #hobie brown x reader #hobie x you #hobie x reader #across the spiderverse #spiderman atsv #atsv fanfiction #hobart brown #spider man atsv #atsv angst #Sometimes I like to remind everyone that they are all quite traumatized #Like seriously trauma + Spidey sense means that all of them must be on very high alert at all times #They sense someone coming up behind them and assume the worse because they can’t afford not to #But it doesn’t always work out in their favor poor babies :( #I kindaaaa wanna write more on this subject