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vanderilnde · 2 months

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a more fleshed-out version from the third prompt of this post of mine.

cw for emotional manipulation, breaking in, stalking, smut, babytrapping, and dubcon to be safe

simon riley/reader

Something is wrong.

Your suitcase is halfway past the threshold of your front door, halfway past your new grave, when you notice the hum of salt and tobacco in the air. Discomfort licks your insides and binds to your skin so heavily that you begin to sweat. A tinny sound peals out as you rearrange your keys between your knuckles, clenching it, and step inside your flat.

Your heels are at the foot of your shoe rack. Your coat isn’t where it’s supposed to be, crimped in a pool on the floor. Your framed photographs are all inched to the left—you know this because you committed their placement to your memory—because you feared this would happen.

Something is seriously, gravely wrong.

You feel like you’re lost at sea. Dull-headed and impaired under the alluring melody of a blood-thirsty siren. Walking towards their call, your legs moving before your mind can, spit in the presentiment of fear the same way insects get caught in spiderwebs. Stuck, and about to be eaten.

You trek further into your flat, following the telltale signs that someone has been here—is here. A general shift in air. The stench of stale herbs and metal. A trail of silt on your hardwood floors, that of which could only be caused by certain mud-clogged boots tracking into your flat.

Here, you pause. On the threshold of your kitchen. Your stomach turns inside out and if it weren’t for your ribs, your heart would have burst out of your chest.

It’s like you’re walking on glass. Every thin sliver that pokes your skin, invading you, is a splinter of fear. And it also makes it so that you can’t walk away—you’re frozen in place, watching him above your stove, setting a kettle to boil.

He hears your squeak. Simon turns around, cotton-plated in his civvies, and hums.

“Welcome home, Love.”

The moisture leaves your mouth and rushes to your eyes. A film of dew materialises on top of your waterline. It’s thick and pearlescent and clouds your vision, turns Simon into an incorporeal blob in your vision, turning him into a trick of your eyes that you hope will go away after you blink.

He doesn’t.

Instead, Simon rests himself against your kitchen counter. He crosses his tattooed arms over his chest, tilting his head, and bends his lips into an unseemly smile.

“How was your friend’s place?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Simon?” You try getting your anger across, but your voice betrays your emotions. It’s heavily distorted by fear, waning, so much so that it makes him blandly chuckle. Like he can smell the terror roiling off of you. Like he feeds from it.

“How did you get in?”

Simon shrugs. “I’ve got a copy of the key.”

“I changed the damn locks.”

“I got new ones,” he says.

“We broke up.”

“You broke up with me,” Simon snarls. “When I was at my fuckin’ lowest. You broke up with me and I didn’t agree to tha’ shit.”

“Simon–” a gust of disbelief cuts your sentence short. You grip your hair at its roots, tugging it, twisting it, coiling your face in frustration. “Simon, you need to leave.”

“You’re talkin’ like that ‘cause you’re mad at me. Give it a few minutes, and you won’t be.”

“Are you fucking insane!?” You yell. You draw towards him and slam the kettle off the stove. “You broke into my flat!”

“I had a key,” Simon says. He steps towards you, bullying you backwards until the hind of your spine catches on the cold granite of your countertop. Until your back bends over it, Simon, looming over you. “I’ve always told you to use the deadbolt.”

You bite your lip. The blood sticking to the roof of your mouth isn’t as bitter as Simon’s eyes. His are cold, depthless.

“Fuck off.”

Then, Simon flips. His expression shifts in a whirlwind of seconds. Now, his brunette eyebrows are pursed and his lips are pointed down. His head is ensconced on your neck, his shoulder suddenly laden with an invisible weight as he kittens into you.

“Just came ‘cause I wanted to talk…” he mumbles. “One a’ my men died on me yesterday. Got early R&R for it. Thought you’d be happy to see me...”

You’re motionless as Simon clemently begins kissing your neck. You split your hands on his chest and try shoving him away, but he doesn’t move. He’s as solid as rock. Pushing himself into you, grovelling into your sleek skin.

A phantom chain is tightening around your throat. You don’t know what to say. You don’t know what you can say. You feel that with any words that poise themselves on your tongue, Simon won’t take kindly to.

“Simon… I’m sorry for you. I really am,” you slip out from under him and step back. “But this isn’t the way to go about it. We’re adults. And I’m asking you to leave.”

Simon raises his head, lukewarm. He stares at you through his half-lidded eyes, breathing heavily, clenching his fist around the lip of your countertop. Thickly, you swallow. You fidget with your cardigan and hope it will offset the discomfort hanging in the air. Simon takes a deep breath, sucking it all up—the discomfort, the presentiment—and you expect his huffing to precede an explosive reaction, but it doesn’t come. He just slips himself off the island and turns around, quiet when he speaks.

“Yeah,” he hums. “My old man didn’t want anythin’ to do with me, so why should you?”

Your eyes widen. Though you’ve spent so much time trying to bury it, trying to familiarise yourself with Simon’s sick gambits, a pang of guilt hits you hard.

“Don’t say things like that,” you point an accusing finger to his chest, “it isn’t fair.”

“No, no,” he grumbles. “Makes sense, does’n’it? My old man walked out on me, so I should handle you walking out on me, too.”

Simon shudders with a long breath. He slaps his face into his hands, and it’s at this point, does your knee-jerk impulse to comfort him take hold of you. The last of your even-tempered brain screams at you—he’s trying to ply you with a humanised side of him, but that side died a long time ago—but you press forward and awkwardly bring him into your arms, patting him on the back.

“Simon, I’m… sorry, okay?” He buries his head in your neck, nips at your skin. “I’m sorry.”

“Can’t you jus’ yell at me tomorrow?” He asks. Simon slips his hands into the depression of your waist, pulling you against his chest. Against the ever-rising tent of his jeans.

Your mind protests, but Simon keeps you close. He stinks of sweat, impairing you with it, spinning you around and pushing you against the counter.

“Simon–”

“Shhh,” he hums, catching his fingers on the hem of your leggings. “Y’said we can talk later. ’m tired, Love. Just need you right now.”

Any protests rot on your tongue because the wind is knocked out of you as you’re folded over the counter. Simon’s hands travel, gripping every part of you, rekindling old bruises left behind and making space for new ones.

He ruts into you, cock fattening in his boxers and stressing against his jeans. He slides a hand over the divots of your spine and bends it around your neck, hoisting your head back, huffing into your ear.

“You’ve no idea how much I missed y’Love,” Simon’s humping you now. Rutting himself against your ass with unrestrained vigour. He bites the husk of your ear, flattens you against the counter, and sinks a hand below your waistband. He spreads your pussy open like the shell of a fruit, pushing his thick fingers into its flesh, knuckle-deep and kneading you.

“How’s here?” He grumbles. You whine, and he twists himself deeper. “What about there?”

Your mind and body wrestle between pushing him away and yielding under his touch. Simon fucks his fingers a little deeper, a little meaner, into you, and chuckles when you squeal.

He rests his chin on your shoulder, and you see a sliver of bared teeth as his lips hitch up into a gnarled smile. “Ah, so that’s the spot, innit?”

You’re dew-skinned and fuzzy when Simon throws you over his shoulder, carrying you to your bedroom. Your tongue is heavy and numb and bootless against any objections as he throws you on the mattress, standing balefully at the foot of the bed.

If you were a child, you’d hide under your sheets until he disappeared. But you’re not a child, and Simon doesn’t disappear. He sinks his knees into your bed and swipes his shirt off over his head, unbuckling his belt in one slick motion.

He unzips his jeans and doesn’t even pull his balls out, just cups the gauze of his boxers beneath it and leans onto his hands.

A pearlescent bead of precum slips down the slit of Simon’s dick and drools onto your comforter. He wraps his hand around it, slips his palm up and down, tugging down your pants.

Your legs kick into a paltry complaint, but Simon pins your legs down.

“No reason in fighting,” he says, rubbing his cockhead against your clit, “You’re so wet, Love.”

Simon nudges your panties to the side and thumbs your clit. Leans in for a biting kiss and swallows your moans, slapping his fat cock against your puffy, wet cunt.

“Missed me just as bad, eh?” He huffs, setting his dick against your winking hole, pushing past your first ring of muscle and rolling at the sticky sound of your cunt spreading open.

“Simon–” you hic, latching onto his forearms. Trying to offset his bruising grip on your hips as he falls into a steady, deep rhythm. “At least wear a condom.”

He’s so thick, so heavy between your legs. Hoisting you onto his thighs and leaning over you, snapping his cock into you. He screws his face tight, pellets of sweat running down his marred collarbone. Congealing into the spindly, blonde threads of hair on his chest. Down to the wire of steel wool that thickens on his pelvis, pinching your clit each time he slams into you.

“You’re stayin’ with me, Pup,” he pants, kissing a stripe up your neck, suckling on your pebbled nipple. “Gonna gimme a litter, ain’t you? Just like we talked about?”

A little, lone tear slips down your hot cheek. Simon leans in and licks it off. He stuffs himself to the hilt, shuddering with abrupt pleasure as he skips to his feet and folds you in half, pounding into you, biting down on your shoulder.

It hits you like whiplash when Simon pushes himself so deep that you feel him swelling under your skin. He gives you no warning before emptying his balls inside you, flooding you with a white-hot come, clutching your jaw into a wet, messy kiss.

You’re blinded and eclipsed by pain as your orgasm shoots through you. The pleasure is numbing and makes you quiver, tremble, until you’re gushing around Simon’s cock and swivelling your hips to get away.

You’re shaking when he pulls back, giving your pussy no time to soften. Simon gives it a swat and flays himself off of you, heading to the bathroom. You hear the cellophane of your birth control peeling open, and the successive thunk as Simon tosses it into the bin.

You try getting up but Simon flattens you back as he crawls in bed next to you. There’s a hand of his on your waist, seemingly benign, but tightens itself each time you try slipping away. Your sniffles are piercing and Simon pulls you close. Brushes your tears away, kisses your eyelids.

“You’re not gonna leave me now, eh? You can’t,” he whispers, “you’re all I’ve got. You and our baby. You can’t leave me now.”

A pitiful cry escapes you. Simon takes that as agreement.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost smut #simon riley #ghost x reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost/reader #cod x reader #cod mw2 #writing #simon riley/reader #simon riley smut #simon writing

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erwinsvow · 2 months

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They call you the clueless pogue. The pretty one.

You don’t care much either way—that comes from years of being Kiara’s best friend, she’s taught you well on how to ignore what other people think and say about you. Maybe you would care more, you think one day, watching JJ and Pope drive each other crazy while trying to fix something that’s inexplicably gone wrong with the Twinkie. John B is swinging in the hammock, eyes closed, empty beer in his hand that is soon replaced with a fresh one by Kie. She drops the old can into a bin that has the recycling symbol drawn on with a sharpie, her own creation. She walks towards you with a can of fruity seltzer since it’s well known with your new friends that you refuse to drink beer—and it all feels very domestic.

You might care about what other people say if you didn’t love your friends so much.

You are a little clueless though—at least the boys think so. They wouldn’t dare to say anything when your protective best friend was around, but when it’s just you and one of them, or all of them, it comes out a little more.

You wear the kind of clothes that they wouldn’t let a sister of theirs be caught dead in. They never used to care about stuff like that, not until you started hanging around more often. It was the result of absent parents that were only on the island a few months out of the year. The rest of the time you had free reign, and an unlimited credit card that often funded their adventures—gas for the Twinkie, beer for the night, a new outfit to wear to the party.

JJ gets into a fist-fight with a guy who keeps offering you a drink from the keg, not listening no matter how many times you refuse and grabbing the short hem of your yellow dress to yank you back. JJ doesn’t mean to knock him out—it’s just like instinct, he explains later that night to John B and Pope while you’re sound asleep on the pull-out with Kiara—the way he feels protective over you.

“Are you okay?” Kie asks, and you smooth out your dress from where that guy had grabbed it.

“Only because JJ saved me,” you say, looking at him with big doe eyes and fluttering eyelashes. He swallows uncomfortably.

“No biggie, princess, I mean you know me, I’m a big damsel-in-stress kinda guy-” Kiara rolls her eyes and brings you inside, and he’s left standing there with pink-tinged ears.

He doesn’t tell them about how you were looking around for someone, anyone to help, how scared you look when he touched you, how your face visibly eased when you locked eyes with JJ, how you held a bag of frozen peas to his black eye and kissed his cheek before going back to find everyone earlier. He decides to keep that for himself.

You don’t keep an eye out for your surroundings when you tag along on their adventures either. That’s pretty much John B’s responsibility now, walking towards the back with you. You often start looking around, head in the clouds, staring at the trees and sky and walking right into a pile of mud or a puddle.

“Wow, the air is so clean out here,” you comment while taking a deep breath. It’s said quiet enough that only he can hear you.

“Yeah, pretty girl, that’s because of all the trees.” You laugh and shove his arm, because duh, but you can’t respond because the others are yelling for you two to catch up.

He doesn’t let you lead—you’ve cried over too many ruined shoes for him to risk it anymore—instead he holds onto your hand firmly, gripping tight when he needs you to slow down and pulling gently when it’s okay to proceed. It’s his job to make sure all the bugs are out of the way, that you’re not walking into a spiderweb or running after a butterfly or pretty bird. The others tease you two and laugh, but you still thank him with a tight hug, the thin material of your sports bra not really hiding much, murmuring something about no signs of mud on your new sneakers.

“Yeah, anytime,” he breathes after you’ve already walked away. You turn back to smile at him, adjusting your ridden-up tennis skirt you’d sported today. “Wouldn’t wanna dirty those shoes.”

You make Pope feel like the smartest guy in the world sometimes, without even trying. It’s not like you’re stupid, because he knows you’re not, but when you bite your cheek and tap his shoulder to ask him another question about whatever you were working on, your words start going to his head.

“So if I wanna save this and put them all together, I just use this program? And I just use the mouse?” you say thoughtfully, repeating his instructions back to him.

“Yes, sweetheart,” and he tries his best to make sure he sounds patient—he’s learned from experience you don’t react well if you even suspect he’s getting frustrated.

Pope watches you play with the thin straps of your shirt before the string idly falls off your shoulder, exposing a swath of soft, sweet-smelling skin to him. Staring at your bare shoulder, he thinks he could never get frustrated at you even if he tried his hardest. When you finish making your little vision-board on photoshop, you turn to show him proudly, and he is proud, with how well you followed his instructions and weren’t too shy to keep asking for his help. Later that night at the Chateau, you lean against his shoulder with his arm swung around you on the couch and explain what each of the images mean until you fall asleep.

They’re all playing a game of chicken—wondering which one will be the first to cross that line and suggest something more than just friendship to you. Through empty cases of beer and boys-only fishing trips they’ve briefly discussed to each other that they’re interested, but of respect—to each other, not really to you—they haven’t made the first move just yet. No matter how difficult you make it.

At the beach you help the boys wax their surfboards, taking turns with each one, floating around a little tipsy already from your fruity drink. They’re all talking, but you don’t really pay attention, eyes staring at something in the distance.

JJ covers his mouth, imitating a walkie noise.

“Hello, uh, earth to princess, over.”

You turn back to him and his board, dropping the chunk of wax and leaning in. He blanks for a second—your pretty face getting closer, an eyeful of your tits in the tiny bikini you’re wearing today making his head spin. And you’re infront of everyone, which is definitely not how he’d thought he would win this little competition.

“Do you see that pretty girl over there? Three o’clock?”

“I see a pretty girl right in front of me,” he says, and you laugh, pushing his shoulder. He doesn’t realize that you think he’s just joking.

“Jayj, seriously. See her?” He nods, but still doesn’t turn to look. “She’s been staring at you for, like, ten minutes. You should go over there!”

You’re smiling big, like the idea of another girl talking to him sounds fun. He pulls back from you, confused.

“I need another beer.” He stalks off, walking to the boys while you turn to Kiara.

“What did I do wrong? I’m trying to get him laid-” Kiara rolls her eyes. You turn and see the boys in deep conversation, occasionally glancing back at you and Kie.

“She just told me to go flirt with some girl, like, right in front of her. I mean is this some kind of test?” He takes a long chug of the beer, sounding about as stressed as Pope and John B have ever seen. “Do I fail if I hook up with some rando? Or do I fail if I don’t hook up? It’s Schindler’s cat, man-”

“That’s not-” Pope starts, before being cut off.

“Sorry, sorry. Schrodinger’s kids.”

“No, JJ-”

“What the hell does she mean? So she wants us to hook up with other people?” John B cuts in, looking back at you, but something else on the beach seems to have caught your attention.

“Woah, I’m not doing that, but you two are more than welcome-”

“Yeah, nice try, Pope. We get with some girl so you can tell her you stayed loyal and win her over? I don’t think so, genius-”

“Well, you’re the one she’s trying to set up so I think I’m pretty safe right now-”

“It’s not a reality show Pope, you can’t eliminate me.”

“Guys,” John B speaks up.

“If this was a show, I’d clearly be the fan favorite and the winner-”

“Uh, says who? I would so win, let’s do a poll right now and survey this beach-”

“Guys.” Louder this time, they listen to John. He doesn’t say anything, just stares into the distance and soon they join him, to see what he’s looking at.

“Y’gotta be fucking kidding me,” JJ says, watching you run into Rafe’s arms, swinging around before giving him a kiss. Rafe pulls away and looks straight at the three of them, while giving them a wave.

#i am a proud supporter of reader x all three pogue boys <3 #obx #john b routledge #jj maybank #pope heyward #rafe cameron

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berry-potchy · 9 months

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Indulge Me

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x f!reader Rating: Explicit (18+ only please) Word Count: 7,072 Summary: You're a Spiderwoman who has ended up pinned underneath Miguel O'Hara in his lab one too many times. You're not sure what you are to him or what to call your relationship. And that would've been fine until your neediness kicked in and made you catch feelings. Surely, Miguel taking you to his room for the first time means something right? In which your lack of understanding of Spanish and denial of the hints Miguel drops are keeping you from realizing you already have what you want. Tags/warnings: pwp, p in v sex, rough sex, praise + light degradation, multiple orgasms and overstimulation, face sitting/riding, breeding kink, soft dom!Miguel, needy reader, recording, mirror sex adjacent, implied chubby reader, undefined relationship but soft feelings sprinkled in there as a treat, no use of y/n so lots of Spanish nicknames to make up for it, reader does not understand Spanish, brief sexy use of spider webs A/N: this is quite literally just a self-indulgent fic with most of my favorite Miguel x reader flavors. Not beta read but I hope you still enjoy it! (Translations are the end!)

Also on AO3

Edit: turns out some parts got messed up while I was posting here on Tumblr D: it's fine on AO3 though which is weird because I copied from this post instead of my doc because this has the correct spacing. Everything should be fixed now.

•🕷️────✧˖°˖🕸️˖°˖✧────🕷️•

Miguel has you standing in front of him between his parted legs as he sits on the edge of his bed. Even in this position, you were barely any much taller than him, only needing to tilt your head a bit to meet his red eyes. He looks at you from your face, down to the swell of your breast where his eyes are joined by a taloned finger on its journey downwards. You can’t help but let out a soft sigh as the sharp talon cuts through your spandex suit, fully exposing your soft chest to the cold air of his quarters. He would argue that the stretchy translucent mesh with a spiderweb lace design on your chest area didn’t do shit to cover the fullness of your tits anyway so he didn't understand why you even bothered with it. It was for style obviously but riling up Miguel O’Hara was a great bonus. You let out a shaky breath as he continued further down until he stopped right below your navel.

“Que linda,” he says in that low sexy voice of his, very different from the usual grumpy tone he uses to chastise you. He snakes his arms around your hips, bringing you closer to him and his hands find your plush bottom, giving them a rough squeeze. You are getting so worked up by how much attention you are getting from your usually sulky boss. Your heaving chest is right in front of Miguel’s face and his lustful gaze almost feels like it is burning you. The heat spreads from your chest downwards until it pools in the pit of your stomach and between your legs.

“You ruined my suit,” you pout, not really that upset about it. You think it was hot honestly but you just want to tease him “Am I supposed to go on missions with my whole chest out now? Walk around the HQ flashing everyone?”

“Of course not,” he says, rolling his eyes. He continues to take in your figure, hands gently kneading soft flesh on your sides “I’m making you a new suit. Should be done very soon. It'll be the same design but it will offer far more protection than this flimsy thing.”

“Making me a suit just like yours? What so you can control it hm? Deactivate it whenever you want to fuck me?” You laugh, wiping the imaginary tear in your eye until you realize Miguel is silent and looks like he’s been caught red-handed. You lightly slap him on his arm, flustered. “You’re a pervert, you know that?”

Instead of answering you, he brings his head forward to close his lips on a clothed nipple, his tongue flicking the sensitive erect bud. Your mouth opens as you let out a soft gasp at the sensation and you can feel the corner of Miguel’s lips twitch into a slight smirk. He teases your nipple alternating between flicking it with the tip of his tongue and giving it an audible suck. He pulls away for a split second only to give the same attention to your other nipple. You weave your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer to your tits. Your other hand is holding onto his shoulder for support as you urge him to keep going with your whimpers. His hands haven’t stopped exploring your body. His wide hands warm against your hips, ass, thighs, everywhere he can touch, squeezing your softness, committing every curve to memory.

“Migueeeel,” you whine, rubbing your thighs together to try to relieve the ache between your legs. You appreciate the attention to your nipples but your cunt was throbbing with need. You are so close to ripping the rest of your suit and panties off because the way the fabric is sticking to your wet pussy is becoming too uncomfortable.

“Miguel what, muñeca?” He pulls away, licking his lips. Those red eyes are now looking straight into yours and you feel yourself shiver. You try to look away but Miguel grabs your chin to keep you facing him. “Eyes on me. What do you want? Use your words.”

“Please,” your cheeks burn in embarrassment but Miguel just raised an eyebrow at you, unamused. “Stop teasing please.”

“Ah I see okay,” he says, taking his hands off you before standing up and walking to his closet.

“W-wait what are you doing?” you almost trip on your feet, knees feeling weak, as you chase after him. You grab his arm, tugging at it to get his attention as you pathetically look up at him.

“You said stop teasing so I’m getting you a shirt so you can go back to your world and get some rest,” he says as he looks through the neatly folded shirts in his closet. He’s stalling, pretending he was trying to choose one but he’s messing with you. There is no way he would let you go home tonight without getting at least a couple of orgasms wrung out of you. You aren’t leaving until he made sure you were stuffed full and dripping with his cum. You aren’t leaving tonight. Period. He knew you were too far gone with lust to figure that out yourself.

“Miggy, that’s not what I meant please,” you sob, pressing your body against him. Just the thought of being left unsatisfied was painful. “Please, Miggy, I need your mouth. And your cock please”

He finally looks at you and pulls you closer to him by your waist. You run your hands along his still clothed chest, feeling his heart beating with yours. You look up at him with glassy eyes, begging him to finish what he started. He coos at how desperate you were for release.

“You want my mouth and my cock?” he hums, still teasing. He easily lifts you up with one arm supporting your ass to carry you back to his bed. He’s carried you multiple times before but it never ceases to amaze you how he does it so effortlessly. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, hips bucking trying to get some friction against your still unfortunately clothed cunt. “Where do you want them, muñeca? You have to be more specific. Which one do you want first?”

“On my pussy, please. I need your mouth on my pussy. Miggy, I wanna cum on your face” you sobbed against his neck “And then- and then I want you to fuck me. I want you to fill me up with your cock. Only you can fill me up so good, Miggy. I need it.”

“Good girl,” he whispers right next to your ear, making you shudder “Now, was that so hard to do? Was it hard to tell me what you wanted?”

“Yes!” you bite his shoulder and you feel satisfaction when you hear him break character and snort. He shakes his head, smiling fondly while he sets you down on the bed.

"Qué voy a hacer contigo?" he brings his lips to your temple to whisper more softly "Qué haría sin ti?"

Your heart skips a beat at the gentleness of his tone. You’re not sure what he said but the genuine affection is evident. Intimate moments like this with Miguel are slowly becoming more and more frequent and you decide that you don’t mind it. You even crave it now. A satisfied sigh leaves your lips as you lean further toward him.

He pulls away but the fond look on his face doesn’t waver. He slaps your thigh, making the soft fat jiggle just how he likes it, as he moves to get settled in his bed.

“Put those lovely hips and thighs to use and ride my face, conejita.” He lies down, anticipating, patting his chest to encourage you to sit down.

You didn't need to be told twice. You rip off the rest of your suit, your heated skin meeting the cold air of his room making your nipples pebble painfully. You quickly take off your panties and toss them aside with your ruined suit. You squeal as you scramble to get on top of him. You position yourself on top of his waiting mouth, straddling his face but just hovering over his face, hands on the headboard to keep yourself steady. The smell of your arousal is almost too much for Miguel to bear at this proximity. The urge to lock you in his room for the next few days and not let you out until you’re thoroughly fucked and bred is getting hard to ignore. His fangs extend as his animalistic urges surface, yearning to bite you and mark you as his.

“Are you trying to tease me now? How can you ride my face if you don’t sit?” Miguel’s tone is deeper than it was just a second ago. There’s a certain roughness to it, a growl in his voice that makes your hole clench around nothing. He grips your thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh, waiting for you to sit down or he’ll make you. He’s trying to be patient, turning his head a little to mouth at the fat of your inner thigh. He licks a stray trail of your slick up your thigh, stopping just a breath away from where you both want his mouth to be. You feel him sigh, savoring your taste like he just drank the finest nectar, a promise of what’s to come.

“But Miguel–” you yelp when he suddenly pulls you down by your thighs and you immediately feel his tongue lapping at your aching cunt, his nose bumping deliciously against your swollen clit. He wasn’t going to hear your excuses. The only things he wants to hear coming out of your pretty lips are your moans and whines for more. The way Miguel is sucking and devouring your wetness so eagerly makes your head spin and your grip on the headboard tighten to steady yourself for a moment. He teases your hole, licking around the small opening before plunging in as far as he can, feeling you clench around his tongue. He grows impatient at your lack of movement and starts rocking you back and forth on his face by himself. He flattens his tongue for you to grind your pretty folds onto.

“Miggy, feels so good,” you whine, bending over to look at him from under you. He’s so pretty like this, forehead scrunched up from how focused he is eating you out, and when you get a peak of his nose and his cheeks, they’re shiny from being soaked by a combination of your wetness and his own spit. You take one of your shaking hands off the headboard to brush the hair away from Miguel’s forehead only for him to guide your hand into a fist, grabbing his hair, urging you to use it as leverage to ride his face harder. And who are you to say no to that?

You move your hips to try to match the pace he set for you, your thighs burn but you pay it no mind. Not when you feel that familiar delicious knot forming in your core. Your head lolls to the side and your eyes screwed shut as you immerse in the pleasure, grinding your cunt harder on Miguel’s tongue, nose, chin, anywhere you can get some friction, getting desperate to reach your orgasm.

“‘M gonna cum, Miggy. Gonn’ cum on your face” you whimper. You take your hand off the headboard and bring it to your tits, squeezing them, pinching at rubbing circles on your pebbled nipples. Miguel doesn’t stop lapping hungrily at your pussy, shaking his head from side to side as much as your grip on his hair allows. He groans as he watches in awe as you chase your own pleasure.

So close.

You’re so close you swear you can almost taste it.

Miguel could tell from how your hips stuttered and your pace growing frantic, rougher. He gives your clit another suck and that finally pushes you over the edge.

You feel the sweet release consume you like wildfire, your body tensing, back arching, toes curling. You can’t even hear yourself scream Miguel’s name, curling into yourself as he continues to suck on your oversensitive, pulsating clit. His hands held your shaking thighs steady, not letting you close them. It’s all too much.

“Miggyyy,” you sob pathetically, pawing at his head and his grip on you. You finally manage to pry an eye open only to see him watching you intently “Too much. I can’t-”

He doesn’t stop. He continues to lick stripes at your puffy folds and flick the sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue albeit slower this time. He takes one of his hands away from your thigh and plunges two of his thick fingers knuckle deep inside your needy hole. He manages to find your sweet cushiony spot and puts enough pressure on it to make you see stars. That burning hot coil is back just mere seconds after your climax and if you could think at that moment, you’d think it’s unfair how he seems to know your body too well, knows just where to touch to make you unravel.

He adds another finger into your cunt, stretching you out for his cock, curling them inside you, and hitting your sweet spot over and over again. You know that it’s not enough, that it’s nothing compared to what’s coming for you. No matter how much prep you do it's going to be a tight fit and you can’t wait to be stretched to your limits once more. You stop fighting him, needing to chase after your orgasm, grinding your clit again on his tongue as he pumps his fingers in and out of your slutty hole.

Soon enough, you feel your second orgasm wash over you. You spill over his face, making a mess on his pillows and bedsheets. Your limbs go numb and this time you can’t even form words, just sobbing, babbling nonsense as your body shakes on top of Miguel. You would’ve fallen over if it wasn't for Miguel supporting your back with his free hand. You frantically tap his hand as you hiccup a pathetic “no more.”

Miguel relents and lets you catch your breath for a second. He kisses your puffy cunt one more time before moving you to lie on your back on the bed. He lifts your head to turn over the soiled pillow and fluff it up before getting you settled comfortably. You watch as he catches the dripping wetness from his chin with his equally soaked fingers and sticks them into his mouth, eyes rolling back and moaning at your sweet taste. You feel your cunt throb at the lewd action and you can’t help but let out a needy whimper from the back of your throat. It’s so unfair how much he affects you.

“Ay, pobrecita,” he coos at your flushed face with fat tears running down your cheeks as he nudges your legs apart with his knee and settles between your parted legs. “too much for mi conejita to handle? I know you can take more. Your pussy is so slutty, isn’t she? So needy. I doubt two orgasms is enough.”

He cups your face with one hand, thumb wiping away a tear on your cheek, his other hand brushing your hair away from your face, knowing how much you hate the feeling of it sticking to your skin. Your lower lip is jutting out in an adorable pout that he can’t help but kiss, catching your lip between his teeth. You scrunch up your nose and push his face away as you try to steady your breath.

You can see his naked chest rise and fall faster than usual, his mouth open to catch his own breath. You didn’t even notice when he disabled his suit but your eyes are thankful as you drink in the sight of his warm brown skin, stretching across the expanse of his unfairly defined body. He looks like he was sculpted by the gods themselves, taking extra care to give him the most perfect proportions. How lucky are you to see this masterpiece up close? It would be a sin to not enjoy the view.

Your eyes trail down from his strong broad shoulders to his massive tits, and even further down to see his cock standing up proudly against his navel, the head dripping beads of precum and smearing it against his abs. Pride blooms in your chest as you realize that he’s just as affected as you are.

Your throat suddenly feels so empty. You lick your lips as you tear your eyes off his cock to look up at his face only to find his hungry gaze meeting yours. His eyes glint with danger as he takes in the sight of you in your post-orgasm haze, seemingly plotting his next move.

You didn’t have to wait long because, of course, he can’t keep his hands away from you.

He moves closer, making you spread your legs further. His hands grab at the back of your thighs to push them towards your torso, your knees almost touching your chest. Your dripping cunt twitches as it’s exposed to the cold air. Your hole clenching on nothing, begging to be filled.

“Que rico. Podría acostumbrarme a esto,” he says, his voice deep and rough with lust as his hands rub up and down your thighs, squeezing, feeling you. He drinks up the sight of you, so bare and exposed, all for him to take. “I could watch you like this all day. Maybe take a video of you right now so I can watch your pretty cunt pulsing, crying for me, anytime I want. Or…”

He takes his cock in one hand, running his thumb on the swollen tip to spread the beads of precum around, pumping his shaft with a few languid strokes. You yelp when he slaps his thick, heavy cock against your puffy folds.

“I could tie you up like this and keep you here for my own pleasure.” He starts moving his hips at a torturously slow pace, sliding his length along your wet folds, getting it lubricated by your own slick. He brings his hands back to your thighs and pushes them even further until you’re practically folded in half. “Keep you here to breed. Fill you up with so much cum and you’ll stay like this so it will surely take, yeah?”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Miggy” you hiss as the tip of his cock keeps bumping into your throbbing clit “What’s stopping you from doing so huh? You have your web and your little surveillance bots. Put them to good use.”

“Of course, you’d love that, my pretty little slut,” he chuckles, shaking his head as he lines up the tip of his cock with your hole. Your eyelids flutter as you hold your breath in anticipation, waiting for that delicious stretch of being filled by his massive cock.

“Eyes on me, cariño,” he commands and you obey, looking up at him from under your lashes “That’s it, good girl.”

He starts to slowly press his cock into your greedy hole. Inch by inch, he sinks in, knocking the air out of your lungs. Midway, maybe, you can’t tell, there’s just so much of him, you start to feel a little faint, your shoulders tense and your mouth stuck hanging open. You feel so full of him, almost like he’s going to split you apart.

“Breathe for me,” he coos as he slowly presses more of him into you, filling you up more than what should be possible. He drapes your legs over his shoulders, his chest pressing against the back of your thighs as he uses his now free hands to cradle your face. You suck in a breath as he instructed and try to even out your breathing. “There you go. Keep breathing. Relax for me. Thaaat’s it. My sweet girl. So good for me.”

You preen at his words, warmth flooding your chest and going straight down to your pussy. His hands stay on your cheeks, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your skin as he pushes the last few inches in. You put your hands on top of his as you lean into his touch. He starts to grind his hips slowly, gently, getting you used to his size. The coarse dark curls at the base of his cock tickle your sensitive clit and the head of his cock softly probing at your cervix makes you roll your eyes back and whimper from the fullness.

“Eres tan hermosa. No sabes lo que me haces, cariño,” he leans in to capture your lips into a deep kiss. Soft and gentle until both of you wanted more. One of his hands finds the back of your neck to tilt your head as he pleases as he tries to devour you. His tongue licks into your mouth and his fangs graze your lips with every movement. You hum against his lips as you feel him start to pull his hips back, letting his dick slide halfway out before snapping his hips forward to plunge himself back inside, his balls lewdly smacking against your ass. And he keeps doing it over, and over again making you moan oh so wantonly.

“Estás tan rica. Estás hecha para mí, mi amor,” he whispers against your lips. The breathlessness and the hint of desperation for release in his voice make you shiver. His pace picks up, thrusts growing rougher with it. The wet sounds of him sliding in and out of you and skin slapping against skin echo around his room. The only other sounds you can hear are your combined sounds of pleasure, calling out each other’s names.

You pull on the hand that Miguel has on your cheek to lace your fingers together, his large hand easily dwarfing yours, his talons folded back to not hurt you. Your other hand slips between your bodies, travelling downwards to feel where you two are connected. There’s a deep rumble coming from Miguel’s chest and he presses your sweaty foreheads together, looking at you through half-lidded eyes. Your tight heat is milking his cock so perfectly and at this rate, he’s not going to last long.

“Miggy,” you whine, keeping your eyes on his. His irises seem a little more brown as he looks at you so tenderly, making you feel like you are going to melt into a puddle of goo. He brings your joined hands to his lips to kiss your knuckles and you think you really just might turn into goo.

His thrusts get messier and more frantic You feel the familiar coil building up in your stomach. You lift your hand from between your legs to press firmly against the area below your navel and the sensation is electrifying. You can feel his cock pistoning in and out of you from where you are touching. You can feel him rearranging your insides, molding your pussy to accommodate him and only him, ruining you for anyone else.

“Mi niña hermosa, mi niña linda. Mía. Toda mía.” he moans into your ear, almost whiney and you know he’s near the edge. He starts peppering kisses on your neck, licking, sucking, grazing the sensitive skin with his fangs but not sinking them in yet. He takes the hand you aren’t holding to rest on your hand on your lower stomach. His thumb reaches further down to stroke your clit earning him a shaky whine from you.

“Cum for me again, hermosa,” he lifts his head to look at your flushed face. You’re sure you look like a mess but to him, you’re more beautiful than the brightest twinkling stars on a clear night sky. “Let me see your pretty face when you cum.”

And with that, you’re gone, pushed over the edge, screaming his name, squirting clear liquid up to his chest. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, your hold on his hand tightens, and your legs on his shoulders shake and flail from another intense orgasm. There’s ringing in your ears but you faintly hear him cooing at you, whispering sweet words you can’t quite understand.

Miguel is still fucking into you with messy, frantic thrusts and ragged breaths but it doesn’t take long for him to follow, not when your velvety walls are pulsing, contracting on his dick. He puts a large hand on the space beside your head for support, his claws tearing through the pillowcase, as he drives his hips into yours a few more times before spilling inside you with a deep growl. He paints your insides with his cum as he rides his high with a few more shallow thrusts. You clench around him trying to squeeze as much cum out of him with your tight hole and he whimpers your name.

Both of you pant in unison, trying to catch your breath after that life-altering orgasm together. You turn your head to the side to kiss the inside of Miguel's wrist next to your head. Miguel doesn’t want to move. Everything is too perfect at that moment. You’re perfect.

But he has more plans for you tonight.

He takes your legs off his shoulders to wrap around his waist as he adjusts the both of you so he can lay down comfortably on top of you, putting most of his weight on his elbows on the bed. His dick still plugged in your hole, keeping his seed inside and refusing to part with your tight heat.

“Miggy,” you softly call him, looking at his relaxed face resting on your shoulder, eyes closed.

“Hm?”

“... pull out.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“Fine, but only because I want to,” he grumbles, clearly not wanting to pull out. He gets on his knees again so he can at least watch your sloppy hole fluttering as he slowly pulls out. A thick milky ring of your combined fluid sits at the base of his cock. His eyes darken as he sees your cunt trying to clench at air and his cum starts to drip out of you. He can’t have that. He collects the trail of cum with his fingers so he can stuff them back inside of you.

“Miggy, come back here,” you pull at his hand and when he doesn’t budge, you add “You can just cum inside me more later. I need cuddles.”

That gets him to leave your fucked out hole alone. For now. Miguel kisses your stomach up to the valley between your breasts to your neck and lingers on your lips. He goes back to his earlier position on top of you. You drape your arms around his neck as you hum in contentment against the kiss. He smiles and moves to mouth at your sensitive neck, planting soft kisses, licking and sucking as he moans and pants in your ear.

“Miggy, I’m sleepy now,” you turn to look at him. You know what he’s doing. You know that he’s trying to turn you on again. And it’s working.

“You can do one more, mami. One more for me,” he says. He’s almost pouting, almost begging “You said I can cum in you again.”

“I didn’t mean right away. I just came three times already” you whined wrapping your arms around his broad chest. you want to feel him close.

“Mmm, you can cum four times. Maybe more because you’re such a needy little whore,” he murmurs into your neck, not stopping his ministrations. “My cum slut who loves being bred. We’re not going to end the night without your tummy full of cum I promise you that, cariño.”

You roll your eyes at him but you don't push him away and instead start playing with the short curly hairs at the back of his neck, ignoring the way your pussy shivered at his perverted words. You find comfort in his warmth and weight on top of you. You inhale his familiar deep masculine scent and it almost lulls you to sleep until you feel something wet and hard poking at your thigh.

“How are you hard again?” you say in disbelief as you look down and sure enough, Miguel’s dick is erect and ready to go for another round.

“It’s been a while since we had sex and my hand could only do so much to make up for your absence, cariño,” he huffs as gets up on his knees to turn you over and slap your ass. The sound of his palm meeting the sticky wet skin of your ass is undeniably lewd. “And what about needing to get you pregnant does not make sense to you? Get on your hands and knees for me. That baby is not gonna make itself.”

You plant your knees on the mattress and present your ass to him but you don't bother to lift your upper body from the bed. You keep your face down against the softness of his pillows. You didn't want him to see the giddy smile on your face from hearing that he hasn't slept with anyone else. His cum starts dripping out of your hole, coating your clit with creamy white and Miguel almost cums again on the spot.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.” His large hands grab at your ass, kneading them. His thumbs spread your puffy lips apart so he can watch your cunt try to keep his cum inside. You groan as you force your arms to lift you up. “There’s my good girl.”

He smacks your ass which earned him a yelp from you. His lips curl up as he watches the flesh of your ass jiggle from the impact.

“Get on with it,” you whine, wiggling your ass to entice him to move faster. For someone who wanted to stop at the third round, you sure are impatient to be filled again.

“You are going to be the death of me,” he chuckles as he guides his cock back inside your wet heat. “There you go, mami. Back where it belongs.”

You moan loudly as you feel him grinding his hips, driving his dick as deep as he can reach inside you. Your eyes flutter close, as you savor the stretch of your hole around his fat cock once more. You couldn’t agree more with his words.

You hear Miguel from behind you input a command on a device. It beeps obnoxiously like it’s mocking you. It’s the last thing you want to hear while he is balls deep inside you, his girthy cock stretching you deliciously and filling you up so good. You think to yourself what was so important that Miguel can't put his gizmo down and enjoy the feeling of your warm, tight pussy on his dick? Right after insisting you can go for one more round?

You are about to snap at him for being ungrateful until a hologram appears in front of you. It shows a live video feed of his very own bed and a clear view of your fully naked self on your hands and knees getting ur insides rearranged by your boss. Your hair is a mess and your makeup is all smudged from how he made you cry from all the begging and overstimulation earlier. And he looks so big compared to you, having to bend low to align his hips with yours. You didn't even notice the recording devices planted around the room until now from how your brain was so fogged by lust. There seem to be at least three around the room from different angles. Well, it turns out he wasn’t just bluffing when he said he could record you earlier.

You wonder if he always had those set up. You haven’t really been to his room before. The few “encounters” you had with Miguel happened in his laboratory on his silly little platform, both of you too consumed by lust to think about moving to a more private area. It’s rather unlikely that they’re for actual safety reasons when they all just record the same area. You entertain the idea that him taking you to his room tonight is not just a spur-of-the-moment thing, that he might have all of this set up for tonight for when he has you writhing in pleasure on his bed. How thoughtful, you think. It makes you clench around his dick.

"You really are a pervert," you quip to annoy him. Clearly, the urge to mess with him hasn’t been thoroughly fucked out of you yet. You didn't even get to laugh at your own childish remark when Miguel abruptly starts thrusting his hips without warning, harder this time, dragging out a surprised whimper from you. His tip is bullying your cervix, testing the line between pleasure and pain but you love it. Your eyes meet Miguel's intense red glare on the screen.

"You're still talking," he tuts, his head shaking like he's some kind of pet owner trying to reprimand a disobedient pet "Let me fix that, cariño.”

He brings his large calloused hands back on you – where they belong, you think to yourself, echoing Miguel’s words. His left hand is firm on the flesh of your waist, you are sure they are going to bruise once he’s done with you. His other hand fondles your breasts, the sharp talons on his fingertips lightly grazing your soft skin. You know that when you look at yourself in the mirror tomorrow morning you’d look like you barely got away from being mauled by a feral beast, evidence of how Miguel O'Hara had his way with you and how you enjoyed every single second of it.

You cry out his name, chanting it like a prayer. He’s so deep inside you that you can almost feel him in your chest, his thrusts fucking the air out of your lungs.

“Miggy, Mi…. Mig– ah, ah Mi– haaaa –guel ahhh”

Your eyes roll back at the continuous assault on your sweet spot and your cervix with every deep thrust. High-pitched whines come out of your throat as your arms give out from under you, making you fall face-first on the soft mattress. It all feels so good but overwhelming. You think you’re going to pass out.

“Que rico, mami,” he pulls your hair so you can face the screens. “Look at yourself. Beautiful. Taking my cock so well. Don’t worry. I have this all recorded if you’re too cock drunk to watch yourself now, cariño.”

You can't say anything back. You try really hard to come up with something but the only word that comes out of your mouth is “please” over and over again becoming progressively needier each time. He wraps his arm around your waist to pull you closer to him, his chest flushed against your back, allowing him to rock you back against his forceful thrusts.

“Gonn’ make sure I put a baby in you tonight, cariño,” he growls in your ear. “I can’t wait to see your tummy swell in a few months. You’ll look divine, I won't be able to take my hands off you even more.”

His eyes are back to a glowing red as they meet yours that are glazed over by tears and lust. His hand tightens his hold on your hair making you tilt your head further, exposing more of your neck for him to suck bruises on. Your tits are bouncing freely at his aggressive pace. Coupled with the high-pitched moans coming out of your mouth, it’s all so pornographic. It makes you feel like liquid fire is running through your veins and pooling into your stomach.

“You’re gonna cum for me? Let go. Come on. cum for me, mami,”Miguel grunts in your ear, his hand on your hair letting go so he can greedily grab at your tits. “I wanna feel your cunt pulsing on my cock. Can you do that for me? Of course, you can. Going to milk me dry.”

And just like that, you throw your head back on his shoulder, eyes screwing shut as another wave of orgasm crashes down on you. Miguel follows closely, filling you up with more cum that drips down your thighs and on the bedsheets. Your body slumps back against his, too tired to keep yourself upright. You don’t even have the energy to open your eyes, content with feeling Miguel’s warm body against yours.

“I got you,” he says, wrapping his arms around you and moving you to lie down on the bed. You hum in contentment, letting him care for your tired body. He bends down to plant a kiss on your forehead before he pulls away. You miss his touch already.

A beeping sound lets you know that he turned off the monitors. You feel him taking the soiled bedsheets, getting up from the bed to get fresh ones. You have half the mind to reach out to him and tell him he can clean up later so you can cuddle now. Your mouth, however, doesn’t want to move so instead you groan as you blindly reach your hands out.

Miguel chuckles at your antics, walking back with fresh sheets and a damp towel to wipe off the sticky mess from your body. He sits next to you on the bed and brings the towel to your tear-stained cheeks, gently dabbing the area around your eyes to get rid of the messed up traces of mascara and eyeliner. You take your hand to rest on your chest trying to calm your wildly beating heart.

The comfortable silence, unfortunately, doesn’t last long. You hear the unmistakable voice of Lyla cut through the air.

“Heeeey, bossman! Heeeey, girlie!” she drawls and your eyes snap open as you snatch the sheet from Miguel’s hands to cover yourself.

“Ay, coño! I thought I said no alerts tonight,” Miguel looks pissed, rubbing his face in frustration before moving to turn off his watch. “It can wait until tomorrow.”

“Wait, wait! Sorry to interrupt the big night, Miguel, but it’s an emergency. Trust me you’ll want to fix this now,” Lyla raises her hands in surrender before Miguel presses a button. She turns to you, looking apologetic and asking for help “Then you can go back to babymaking, right, dollface?”

“I–” you flush, choking on your own words. You begrudgingly turn to Miguel, your lower lip caught in between your teeth. You lower your eyes as an ugly feeling crawls up your chest.

“It sounds important. You should go,” you whisper, not trusting your voice to speak up any louder. “I’d say I can be back up but I can hardly move so you’re on your own, big guy.”

Miguel sighs and gets up, telling Lyla to send him the information and that it better be worth his time.

You are already sexually satisfied and tired – that’s what four orgasms could do to you – but you are a little upset and sulky that Miguel has to be called in for work right now. Stupid anomaly or whatever it is. It’s probably important and a universe out there might be in grave danger. But you can't help feeling like shit about it though.

You like how soft Miguel gets when he cleans you up after sex. You like it when he picks up your tired form and whispers soft words to you in Spanish. Plus, you were looking forward to cuddles. What’s the use of having sex in his room on his bed if not to cuddle afterward and wake up next to each other the next day? And then, suddenly, in the early morning light, realize that you’ve been madly in love with each other all along. Okay, you are more than just a little upset.

Miguel notices you pouting and your eyes getting glassy with tears as you try to roll off the bed. He shoots his glowing red web at you, trapping you where you are before going back to readjusting his watch.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks, walking back to the bed as he makes sure his suit is all good and ready for the mission. He kneels on the bed to drag you to lie on your back.

“What are you doing? I'm going to take a shower,” you sniffle trying to avoid his eyes “I’ll take care of myself. you should go”

He hums as he takes both your wrists in one hand and forces them above your head to secure them together with his webs.

“Miggy?” you look at him and there’s a spark of mischief in his eyes. He darts his tongue across his lower lip and you feel a shiver run up your spine.

He doesn’t respond. He only keeps looking at you like he’s going to devour you once more. He brings your legs up to the position he had in before, knees to your chest, cunt fully exposed to him. You blush and your heart starts pounding in your chest. He shoots out more of his web, making sure you’re comfortable and your legs are securely tied in that position.

“Good?” he whispers and you nod in response “Words, cariño.”

“Perfect,” you moan, your chest heaving with need. He smiles at you fondly, caressing your cheek with a curled finger, and plants chaste kisses on your temple, your nose, and the corner of your mouth until he reaches your lips. He hums in contentment as he savors the feel of your lips against his. Then, he pulls away reluctantly and puts on his mask. He sets his watch to the right coordinates opening up a portal to wherever the universe needs saving.

“I’ll be back as fast as I can. I’ll make sure that anomaly regrets ever being made for interrupting my plans for our night,” he grumbles and gives you one last kiss through his mask for good luck. “And then it’s going to be all about you for the rest of the night, hm? I promise.”

He walks into the portal backwards so he can look at you until it closes and takes him away. Your heart flutters in your chest, anticipating what’s to come as you feel the webs digging deliciously into your soft flesh.

•🕷️────✧˖°˖🕸️˖°˖✧────🕷️•

Translations:

Que linda - how pretty

muñeca - doll

cariño - dear/darling

Qué voy a hacer contigo? - What am I going to do with you?

Qué haría sin ti? - What am I going to do without you?

conejita - little rabbit

pobrecita - poor thing

que rico - “[you] look good” (literal: tastes good)

Podría acostumbrarme a esto - I could get used to this

Eres tan hermosa. No sabes lo que me haces - You're so beautiful. You don't know what you do to me

Estás tan rica. Estás hecha para mí, mi amor - You feel so good. You were made for me, my love

Mi niña hermosa, mi niña linda. Mía. Toda mía. - My beautiful girl, my sweet girl. Mine. All mine.

mami - mommy (as an endearment for a partner)

coño - pussy

A/N: so many thanks to my friend who helped me with translating and giving me tips on some better Spanish terms to use 🙏

#miguel o’hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara fanfiction #miguel o’hara x you #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o'hara headcanons #potchy-writes #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara x female reader #chubby reader

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lolita-lollipop · 10 months

Note

Platonic yandere Miguel? You're an alt universe version of his daughter that he's taken in (aka kidnapped) so that he'll never lose her again, poor traumatized sod just wants a family again

Spiderweb

YANDERE MIGUEL O’HARA X READER

Preview:

When anomalies begin to enter universe 20477, Miguel is assigned to tracking them down. He wasn’t expecting to see himself, with a girl like you, scared and wide eyed on his arm. You were his, you just had to be.

(Platonic)

He knew what you would be to him.

He knew who you were.

He knew he had to protect you.

He knew he wouldnt let you go.

He couldn't.

It was purely coincidental, seeing you, that is. He just happened to be in your plane of existence that day, chasing down an anomaly that was jumping from universe to universe every other day. None of the others were able to catch him, a fast fujjer he was. So Miguel was a last resort, the only one capable enough to catch the guy. There was a chase down the streets of whatever universe he was in, then a catastrophic fight near the center of the city.

This place was so similar to his own universe, The same skies, the same cities, the same feeling, the same sadness as his own realm. He wanted to get in and get out, that's all. In fact, he was moments- seconds even- seconds away from catching the anomaly, seconds away from leaving this sad awful reminder of what happened to him. And then he saw you and his world stopped in its tracks.

You were teary-eyed, crying like a little baby. A few pieces of concrete that had been knocked up from the ground during the fight had cut your cheek, leaving a small dribble of blood streaming down your face. There was such a fear laced in your eyes, such a terror that flooded your expression. But that wasn't what shocked him about you, as his eyes panned from you to the man you had your arms wrapped around, his face fell completely.

You were clutching onto him. HIM. Miguel o’hara. You had your arms wrapped around his, clutched tight in fear, the two of you were trapped against the side of a building with rubble that had eroded. He was him, you were holding onto him, you had to be his daughter, and the way you were looking to him for protection was enough to show the parental status he had.

He had a daughter again.

You were his daughter.

He stared at the sight of the two of you for a moment, sending a harsh glare to his copy, his fake. Whoever you were clinging to, whoever you were wrapped around, he couldn't protect you. Miguel wanted nothing more than to pull you up and take you with him, take you home. But he couldn't, he had to play this carefully. He's lost a daughter before, he wouldnt do this again.

Like a flash, the tall man dressed in a black and red suit disappeared completely, along with the anomaly. Leaving the Town square In rubble. You blinked, just once, and when you opened your eyes once more, you had been pulled out from the bone-crushing concrete and were laid across the grass. It was too fast for you to see the man who had done it, to see the way his hands lingered at your waist, to see how he swiped the blood off of your face, to see how he looked at you. Of course, you hadn't. Maybe if you had, you could've avoided this.

---

You were shaken, to say the least. Things like this, like supervillains flying through the air and shattering buildings and corroding concrete, throwing people around like frisbees. Things like this just didn't happen, not ever. So to be trapped like that, stuck in rubble covered in blood as you had to watch the scene unfold… You were terrified. Even more so when your father had been hurt.

It was fast for the two of you to get away from the scene, especially since whatever was happening screeched to a halt, and the two figures disappeared, leaving the police, and you, completely confused. You just couldn't understand what the fudd happened, how could two people just disappear? Why did this happen all of a sudden? Why did that man- Why did he look so familiar?

It was supposed to be a fun little outing between you and your dad, a walk in the park to go get some food and have a picnic, but before you knew it you were shoved against a wall with glass and rock stuck in your face, your dad holding you close To shield you from the chaos around. You had been squeezing your eyes shut tight enough that they itched and ached now.

You were in too much shock to be able to give the cops any valuable information they would even remotely need, too focused on the fact Things like this didn't happen here, they just didn't. You cried on the way home, holding your (now bandaged) dad tight as you could. He hushed you, comforting you to the best of his ability. But you were both tired, too tired to care about taking your dirty clothes off or going to actual bed.

You slept on the couch, on your dad that night.

But when you woke up the next morning, he was gone.

It wasn't too strange for him, working as a doctor he was often called in early mornings to late nights, too early for you to be up when he left. But still, something felt off about it this time, usually he would wake you up for a few moments to say goodbye and give you a kiss. There was none of that today, just you, left under a blanket lying down on the couch, cold and alone and still scared straight.

The house felt different, dead. Like something was weighing heavy in the air, dragging all the air down and making it suffocatingly tight in the room. You wanted to get out, to go outside and go on a walk or something. But yesterday… with what happened. The feeling of dread sat in the back of your head, forcing you not to step out of your apartment, too scared to leave but too bored to stay.

You sat on the couch all day basically, watching reruns of old sitcoms. You knew your dad wouldn't be mad that you didn't want to go to school today, most of the time he came home too tired to do more than eat and sleep so you doubt he would even notice.

The sound of the door opening, along with uncharacteristically light footsteps Alerted you that your dad was home again, you sat up, pushing the blanket off of your shoulders and sitting up on the edge of the couch to look at him. At the sight of him, your head fell into a tilt, he looked… not bad, but different. A little bit more tired looking, his wrinkles were far more set into his face, and his was shorter, and far less groomed than it usually was.

“Hola Papa. Did you cut your hair or something? It looks different.” You narrowed your eyes at him with a small smile. He nodded, staring at you with some foreign look in his eyes. Setting down the few grocery bags he held in his hands.

You blinked, and within a moment he was on top of you, embracing you in a tight hug. You were immediately lifted off of the ground with a slight squeal, you wrapped your arms around his neck as he held you tight, breathing in your smell. How odd. Your dad isn't like this. Not very touchy, he never showed too much affection. The hug lasted for what felt like hours of you in his arms, held tightly.

You came realization only a few seconds in that you liked it, this is what you needed, and it felt nice. All the dread from your system completely drained out as his arms got tighter and tighter, and tighter. Since when has your dad been so muscular? Last you can remember, he was softer, not as rough. Strange, isn't it?

“Mija. I missed you so much baby, so much.” he breathed in the smell of your hair again, pulling you higher up onto his chest. His words should've sent off red flags in your head, you had just seen him hours ago right? You stayed quiet, choosing to relish in the moment of comfort this gave you. His voice was scratchy and rough, like he'd been screaming.

“Me too. I didn't go to school today, too scared.” Your voice was muffled against his chest, but you could feel his heartbeat with every breath he took. At your words his arms tightened slightly, and you squished your face further onto his neck. He was like a human furnace, radiating heat in your too-cold apartment.

“Oh baby- I’m here now. I’ll protect you, you won't ever have to be scared ever again.” With that, he brought a hand up to cup the back of your head, and his lips met your forehead in a warm kiss. If you maybe hadn't been so wrapped up in the fact that this felt so warm, so nice, you would've noticed the look he held in his eye. How deranged he looked, how terrifying he was. Maybe you would've paid more attention to all the little things that weren't adding up about him.

“Mi ninita. I’m so glad you're okay, I will never leave you again.” The two of you shared a glance, and that heavy feeling of dread pooled back into your system. There was something else in his eyes, something terrifying. Maybe you were just tired, or maybe you had head trauma from yesterday.

Moments passed as you enjoyed the warm hug, before he began to move, still keeping you in his arms, but walking elsewhere, you muttered a small “Hm?” squirming slightly in attempts to get yourself back on your own two feet, but he just shook his head at you, and squeezed.

“I got dinner while I was out, empanadas. I figured we could eat in my bed and watch a movie, You'll sleep with me tonight” He took note of your confused face, then went on to continue “ I don't want you alone anytime soon, especially not with all that's happening in the neighborhood. You don't want to get hurt, right? “

You just shook your head, letting yourself relax in his grip. Truly when had he become so strong, or on a different note, as affectionate? Usually, your dad was exhausted, he loved you, yeah, you knew that, but coming home from a 12-hour hospital shift at an understaffed medical center drained him. He usually didn't have time, and when he did he really didnt know how to spend it.

You slept better than you ever have in your entire life that night, close to your dad in his bed, cuddled under a warm blanket with your father's arms relentlessly wrapped tight around you, caging you in… you didnt hate it.

…

The next few weeks were different, strange, and not like you were used to. Everything changed. At first, it was just the little things, the things you would usually glide over. Miguel would come home early, leave later, and bring you food and clothes and stuff you were never able to afford.

Kids at your school started avoiding you, even though you never did anything to make you avoidable. It was weird for you, to see such a sudden shift in your life. The weirdest part about it though, is you had no idea what changed.

Not long after though, it got worse. Your dad would look through your phone, something he never cared about before, he always excused it with the same “I'm just looking out for you mija”, but it felt like a lie. Eventually, your contacts list shifted and changed to your dad.. And your dad. If you got any texts or calls he would look at them before you could, and decline them.

You stopped going out of the house as much, he excused you from school, telling you that you needed a break after all the trauma you've been through in the past few weeks. And without school or friends, you didnt have any reason to go out unless it was for mail or groceries. Even then, sometimes your dad would walk with you or just go himself instead. Eventually it got to the point that you weren't allowed to go out, not by your own choice anymore..

And Miguel, he would tell you things about what was going on outside. How all of a sudden there were villains on every corner, people were dying every day, crime was high. It scared you, and he clearly knew that, he used it to keep you inside, to keep you from going out.

It just got to the point where you did nothing, absolutely nothing. And you were tired of it. You wanted to go out, live your life and see people and see things, have fun with friends, do stupid teenager things. Things you should've already been doing. But he wouldnt let you, he made you stay inside, held you tight so you wouldnt leave.

And with the realization that this man was controlling you, your rose-colored glasses flew off of your face entirely. Your father wasn't like this, he barely cared enough to ask how your day was. Let alone keep you caged in your own home every day. Something was very very wrong. And just like that, it all snapped into place.

This isn't your dad. The way he acted, the way he walked, the way he held you, the way he looked at you, the way he controlled you, the way he comforted you when you were upset. There was not one thing about this man that made sense, not one similarity. Whoever this was, it wasn't your miguel ohara, it was a fake. A phony.

“Mija? Are you feeling sick? Whats wrong” He stared at you, letting his brows cluster together in worry. He had you sitting on the counter as he cooked, wearing one of your dads white t-shirts, it clung to his back muscles, showcasing the spider tattoo on the back of his neck. Your dad thought tattoos were trashy and unprofessional, and your dad most certainly did not have muscles like that. How had you been so daft as to miss that?

You stared, narrowing your eyes at the man who was wearing your dads clothing, your dads skin.

“Y/n?” he turned, placing the knife down on the counter, and grabbing your shoulders. The stranger stood in front of you, bending over to have his face at your level. He looked into your eyes, tilting his head. The position brought you back to your senses, and reminded you that this man, whoever he was, was extremely stronger than you were, and could overpower you without even thinking about it.

You snapped up. “Oh! Sorry. Just thinking.” you spoke with a shaky voice, grabbing his large hands with your own and straightening up from your slouched position on the counter. You met his gaze and squeezed his hand, his big hand. He was too big for you, you couldnt get away if he didn't want you to, you would have to be sneaky.

“What has you so deep in thought? Is my ninita daydreaming again?” a grin broke out on his face, showing his pearly canines. You returned the smile with a shaky breath. What were you supposed to do now? He hadn't made any move to hurt you yet, but he certainly could if he wanted to. You sent a glance towards the TV, where the local news was playing, the man left a reassuring squeeze on your shoulder before turning around and picking his knife back up.

Your entire body went frigid at the sight of the tv, you inhaled a small gasp, bringing your hand up to your mouth.

“The body of 31-year-old Miguel O’hara has been found, a resident doctor at the local medical center, any information about the whereabouts of this man’s disappearance should be reported to the authorities. Local police are currently investigating possible causes of death, and are contacting family and loved ones right now. This is Miles Morales with the six O-clock news, stay safe out there.”

Your hands shook violently as a photo of the scene splayed across the screen, it was a bloody mess, an utter monstrosity of a crime scene. The body was blurred completely, probably too gruesome to show on public access news, but you knew it was him, he had those old white shoes from the hospital on, the ones that he wore even though they were battered and covered in holes. And his wedding ring, the one with the tiny stone embedded at the edge of it. That was your dad, that was your fudding dad and he was dead. Mutilated and shown on the news.

You involuntarily let out a whimper at the sight, the hand you had on your face squeezed and shook, trying to keep your composure, keep yourself from sobbing and blowing your cover. You failed miserably, as tears clouded your vision and fell on the countertop. Your irregular breathing and whimpers brought the attention of the man in your kitchen wearing your father's skin, your dead father's skin.

“Ai dios mio- Mija what's wrong? Are you hurt?” immediately the man was on top of you, with his hands running up and down your arms, checking for any possible injuries. He was using that fake worried tone he always did, the one you would usually fall for. The rage that consumed you blurred your vision, that along with the cloudy tears. You smacked his hands off of you, pushing yourself back further onto the countertop. You stared with wide eyes.

“Who the fudd are you? “ You asked, staring at him with those teary eyes of yours, there was a pure hatred laced throughout your expression, his eyes flicked from you with shock as he muttered a small “language”, they then panned to the tv behind. His face slipped from confusion to dread, his eyes went wide and his brows unfurrowed and dropped. His shoulders went completely slack, and he just stood there, waiting for you to make your next move.

“Mija- just listen to me before you do anything stupid- I know it's scary but you need to listen to me for a second” he rushed out, his sweet voice now dripping with fear, why was he scared of all things? He was the one with the advantage. You squirmed back, hopping off the other side of the counter, you continued to back away, eyes staying just as wide.

“You didn't answer my fudding question. Who- Who are you.” He made no move to get closer, only staring at you, so you continued “ Did you- did you kill my dad? My real dad?” The way he tilted his head with those soft eyes of his answered your question enough. Your hands kept shaking, your head kept pulsing with fear, and finally… you let out a piercing scream. One the neighbors were sure to hear.

But in the blink of an eye, he was on top of you.

“Please- please mija. I am your father- your papa. Please, You don't have to be scared of me, I love you- I'll never hurt you.” His hand pressed against your mouth, leaving a white film that held your it completely shut. Your screams were muffled now, but still audible. He had you on the floor, on top of you, his hands pinning you down with his entire strength. You thrashed and looked around for anybody to help, but the more you moved the tighter his hands got. You were shaking, whimpering like a kicked cat.

“I promise you- Prometo mi ninita- I just wanted to protect you, I will never EVER lay harm to you. “ He was deranged, quickly rushing out the words in a panic. You had never seen him so fearful, so desperate, both your father and him. You stopped thrashing, Instead choosing to stare up at him. He was so… scary, now that he wasn't being sweet, now that he was forcing you onto the floor, holding you down. The look in his eyes was terrifying.

All of a sudden it was like you realized the position you were in, he could kill you right now, this imposter could crush your head in his hands and leave like nothing happened, he was going to hurt you. Kill you. Like he did your father. Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god. You were frozen, your hands began to quiver harshly, and tears streamed down your cheeks freely, panic flushed through your veins, overtaking that rage that you previously, pure fear rushed over you entirely. And you couldnt control your body anymore.

You couldnt breathe, or think. Or feel your body, you were overtaken with a fuzzy terrified feeling, your entire body quivered as you stared at him. The film over your mouth certainly wasnt helping, you tried to inhale, but you couldnt, as your vision blurred further. You couldnt feel anything. You hadnt realized you were digging your nails into your skin until there was blood dripping out of your wrists.

“Baby- you need to calm down. Your hurting yourself, you don't have to be scared, I’m not going ot hurt you. Just breathe- Tienes que respirar mija- por favor” The usually completely stoic miguel ohara, the leader of the spiderverse protection program was panicking, more so than he ever had in the past. You were having a panic attack, a bad one, that much was obvious, he had never delt with this before. You kept shaking, his words doing nothing. So he brought his arms around you, hoisting you up to his chest once more. Now it wasnt comforting, now it made you more fearful.

“Shh- I’m here. It's okay- I’m going to calm you down, don't be scared - Youll be okay.” He hushed, before bringing his head to your neck, it left you completely speechless and shocked, before he brought his lips to the nape, and bit down firmly. The tips of his canines dipped in, and the tiniest bit of his venom flushed into your veins.

You were only able to let a small scream out, before the venom overtook your senses. And your quivering figure went slack in his arms. He held you tight, lifting you off the ground entirely and clutching you. He wouldnt let you hurt yourself, he wouldnt let anybody hurt you, he couldnt. He ruined his chances before, He couldnt do it again. Even if you were scared, he would help.

“Lyla?” he spoke to the watch resting around his rist, setting you on his hip in the process. A small “yes sir?” rang out from the device, before he continued “Lets go home, I expect the office is ready for her.” His voice was harsh now, commanding like it should be.

“Yes sir. A-are you sure this is a good idea? She clearly wont be able to handle something like-”

“I’ll take care of it. Just do your job.

Were coming home. finally.”

———————————————————————

This is not very good. But I kinda like it. also MIGUEL OHARA TAKE ME NOW… anyways.

ALSO I COME FROM A HISPANIC FAMILY BUT I USE SPANISH LIKE NEVER SO IT IS NOT GOOD DONT BE MEAN.

Thanks for requesting anon! And thanks for reading! Please don’t be scared to write comments I absolutely love seeing them!

Have a great day! Bye!

1K notes · View notes

abibliophobiaa · 2 months

Note

Velvet

my skin in your teeth

summary: you’re meant to eliminate creatures from the upside down, but something — or someone — has got a hold on you lately…

warnings: 18+, blood drinking, biting, allusions to sex, smut, maybe a bit of obsessiveness, and hint of implied soulmates. to be honest, i don’t really know what this is. just wanted to write something. also thanks @myosotisa and @blueywrites for the additional vampire inspiration. 🤍

vampire!eddie munson x f!monster hunter!reader

Chance and Andy cackle ahead of you, their feet rustling the leaves littering the grass, guns at the ready. Normally you’re on duty with Steve, Nancy and Robin, but the powers at be today have decided to put you together with the biggest assholes of the bunch. Cocky, rude, still bullies despite everything — and yet, some of the best shots in the Upside Down Elimination Team. You suppose there’s some comfort in that. Should things go awry.

Your one goal on today’s mission? Make sure the perimeter of area four is safe. Fortunately for you, it’s been a quiet night. For the guys? They’re not having fun with it. For two trigger happy individuals, an eerily quiet night is an oddity. During your last overnight shift, you, Nancy, Robin, and Steve had managed to take down at least fifty demobats that had come through the gate, along with a fully mature group of demodogs.

The hours tick by. Nothing out of the usual to see. A flicker of movement from a solitary demobat with an injured bat here, rustle of leaves there. But nothing major to note when you return to base once the sun rises and your shift ends.

That is, nothing until three in the morning arrives and you catch the familiar whistle. The crack of a twig in the distance. The rustle of leaves as they draw nearer. A pack of demodogs rush through trees, but the familiar glint of predatory canines draws your attention.

You draw your dagger and throw. The metal slams into the trunk with a loud thud and you shout over your shoulder, “You go on ahead, I’ll take care of this!”

The guys run along, practically bouncing in their steps at the mere prospect of taking down a pack of demodogs on their own. Giddy with it. But your mind? Your mind is drawn to the darkened silhouette in the woods, the one that, given the chance, Andy and Chance would rip apart bit by bit.

And you can’t allow that, because Eddie Munson is yours.

——

It was forbidden; fraternizing with the Upside Down.

Even more so slipping away in the middle of the night to entertain a dalliance with a creature harbored and hemmed in the place where the world had ripped into quadrants.

No one understood how it happened. You’d all seen him die. Had seen what happened when a man was ripped apart by those winged hellions. And yet he’d appeared one night, trembling and starved. A hunger that you’d managed to quench, despite Steve shouting at you otherwise, by slicing your own palm and offering it to your friend.

The friend who peered out from those darkened eyes, lines of deep hunger like spiderwebs crawling from beneath his lashes. You whispered that it was okay, that you wanted this when he stared up at you with worried eyes.

Don’t want to hurt you, he said, sounding so much younger than his now twenty-one years of age. Or twenty? None of you understood this magic. He died at twenty, heart stopped at twenty — but months had trickled by, his birthday passed, and it only felt right to honor it all the same.

Shaking hands had curled around the back of your palm, his lips sliding over wet, injured skin, dripping scarlet rubies onto the forest floor below. Steve whirled around, choked out a horrified breath as Eddie drew in your blood, drew in your essence.

Loud, hungry gulps met your ears, making Steve retch. But you leaned in closer, curled your fingers around his bicep, clinging to him as you slipped away in your mind.

Into that heady, rich, velvety, lush ether.

“Eddie,” Robin warned, as your eyelids drooped, body slumping further into his frame, “Eddie, I think she’s done. Let go of her.”

He fell back, ragged breaths pulling from lungs. And he sounded so familiar, you nearly weeped at it. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, sweetheart —”

Those eyes shifted, changed back into the ones you knew before all of…this. Less haunted, more him, and despite the world tilting on its axis as you fell back into Steve’s arms unconscious, it seemed worth it.

You carried on with it in secret. Your friends decided it was better if, until things got better around Hawkins, Eddie remained nothing more than a shadow in the night. They’d find a way to make things right, but in the meantime…you learned how to keep things secret. How to slip away beyond the outer lines of Hawkins — to find ways to sneak off during patrols. Often, Steve would turn a blind eye. Nancy would wave you onward. Robin would give you a little eye roll and tell you to run along.

It started with conversations in the night. Things you never talked about when you’d known one another prior. And yet — since the day he’d drank your blood, you felt a connection to him in a way you hadn’t before. You would sit side by side, laughing and reminiscing. Dreaming, on nights where the world was quiet and it felt like you were the only two people who existed.

Those meetings changed as the seasons did. His gazes lingered longer. Your hands wandered. His lips glided over yours. Your fingers threaded in his hair. He fisted the back of your thigh and dragged you into his lap, whispered he wanted you against your throat.

That first time had been quick and needy. A frantic thing, with buttons flying, his shirt nearly shredded at the hem to get it off faster. He rolled you over onto your back and pinned you there against the dirt, the ground biting into your flesh, reminding you that you were alive despite it all. And you kissed him, panting into his mouth as his hips rolled furiously against your own, your fingers clutching at blades of grass, nearly ripping them up from the root as your orgasm stole your breath.

It kept on like that for months. Secret meetings, whispered words. His teeth in your skin, your bodies entwined, heart to heart, chasing whatever this thing was between you.

He was euphoria and light in a world filled with darkness, and you were addicted, and nothing would rip him away again.

——

The sounds of the guy’s hoots and hollers of enjoyment over their hunt grows quieter as you approach Eddie. He’s leaning against a tree, the dagger embedded near his shoulder, those dark eyes of his crinkling at the corners as you draw nearer to him. Lips curl back over elongated canines, and you note the swirling lines beneath his lashes, deciding you’ll have to do something about that later when you have more time and there’s no threat of the jackass twins coming back and throwing a wrench into things.

“Sorry I tried to kill you,” you tease, falling into his chest as broad palms slide around your hips to tug you close, “needed to make it look believable.”

“It’s fine, but next time you should try harder.” He draws a sigh from deep within your chest as he leans in to claim your mouth. It’s a quick kiss, doesn’t linger long, his head pulling back to look at you in amusement. Mouth curling into a grin, hair in disarray, dark eyes gleeful in the night. “Didn’t know you could throw a dagger like that.”

“You liked that, huh? Been working on that for months now.”

Your smirk grows as he flips you around, your back hitting the trunk of the tree. He grunts out as you coast a palm along the front of his jeans, grinning ruefully at the way his erection strains against the fabric.

“You did.” A satisfied smile creeps up along your features, heart skipping as he grips the dagger hilt near your head and tugs it free from the bark. The metal glints, the sharpened edge twirling as he toys with it in his palm. It shouldn’t be as hot as it is, him playing with your weapon, but the way he’s so leisurely about it — like he’s maybe done this before…knowing how good he is with his hands because you’ve been a very satisfied benefactor of their skills many a time now —

“You okay there? You forget I can hear your heart racing.”

He drags the dagger along the hollow of your throat, the standard issue button up uniform loose there, and then lower still toward the first button. He flicks his wrist and a button clatters against the ground, moves down a few centimeters and does the same to the next, the next, the next.

The knife follows. Falls into a pile of leaves, rustles them. There’s a moment — a quick, flash of time before he’s cutting off your breath in a searing kiss. Lips and teeth and hunger — a ravenous type of love, a ruinous thing that you crave. Fingers curl around your throat, apply the perfect amount of pressure that has you moaning into his mouth. He tips your chin up, up, up. His tongue glides along the skin there, silly nips spliced between, the rake of a fang over the throbbing beat of your pulse.

Heat pools in your belly. The sort of heat you know he can sense, your heightened arousal never to be hidden thanks to newer senses. He chuckles to himself as his nose nudges beneath your ear, lips toying with the lobe, breath sending chills down your spine as you shudder against him when his free hand slides down the front of your jeans, dragging a lazy circle over the wet fabric covering your slit.

“How long do we have before those idiots come back to get you?” he asks, a sultriness seeping into his tone.

“Long enough for you to feed,” you rasp out on a gasped breath, “or fuck me. Maybe both.”

“What do you want?” he asks, teeth scraping deliciously against your pulse again.

A little bit more, if you push him down a bit and ask him to take what he needs, and he’ll have sunk them into you again, submitting you to the delectable liquid honey that’ll flood your senses once he does.

The anticipation is one thing, a clanging cymbal that heats your blood. The knowledge that you can do this for him — that you enjoy it. It’s frighteningly empowering. Knowing it’s you who has kept him for so long— that it’s your blood that sings to him. Some might call it wrong; your friends had their own reservations and fears about it, understandably so.

After that first time, you got better with it. Quickly made sure to learn when to stop, how to stop (even if you often didn’t want to).

Sex had been one point of connection for the two of you. And that had been wonderful in and of itself. You craved him in ways you had never craved another. But this? Him having a part of you within him, your souls quite literally becoming one every time he drank from you — that was another level.

A sort of intensity that often made you both lose control. Whatever it was, you were irrevocably changed. This wonderful man, this creature you were meant to kill — the love that drew you into the forest like this, his hands making quick work of your jeans, tugging them down to your ankles, as his mouth licked at you furiously.

A gasp heaved from your chest. Fingers clutch in his hair as he pushes your hips back against the bark, fingers gripping tight to the dough of your thighs, keeping you spread out salaciously before him. It’s thrilling, the waves of your orgasm robbing you of your breath at the dawning realization of it, that at any moment Andy and Chance could appear.

That they might see you tangled so deeply in the web of lies you’ve become so tangled with these months, wrapped in the arms of the man who…loves you.

Because it’s forbidden, yes. By all means, if you’re found out it could be dangerous for both of you. They could kill him — would kill him.

But you would rip them all apart for the man who made a mess of you for all others.

You wince. And there’s coo. Eddie’s hands loosen from around your thighs, his body coming up to its full height before you. He lifts your hand, turns your palm up to inspect the splinter wedged into a fingertip. Blood pools from the wound, a scarlet teardrop that coasts down the back of your hand, trails toward your wrist.

Eddie’s eyes darken, and your lips curl up. You say quietly, “Go on.”

It might be wrong, on many levels, the way he brings your hand up to his mouth, tongue dragging along your wrist, the back of your palm, erasing the trickle of blood.

And it’s downright sinful the way he drags your finger into his mouth, eyes hazy and hooded, sucking lightly. Your mouth drops open, eyes fluttering rapidly at the beginnings of that familiar euphoria sparkling around the edges of your mind.

“I want to be inside you,” he groans, making no effort to let go of your offended appendage, “and you know I prefer somewhere private for…that.”

You know he means when he sinks his fangs into you, when he’s inside you, and you both lose yourself to the magic in his bite. Wants to be alone for when that primal desire kicks up within him, and he loses himself in your body intertwined like that.

“Eddie,” you whisper, dragging him down to the ground, onto the jeans laying sprawled across the floor. “Please. It’s been days.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, hissing out a breath as you make quick work of his belt buckle, the sound of a zipper ramping up your heart rate, “because your schedule has sucked this week —”

“Please,” you urge him as he helps you up and over his thighs, sliding you down his length like the thousands of times you’ve done this before.

His breath stutters against the curve of your throat as you rise and fall steadily over him, injured hand splayed over his heart.

“Please.”

There’s always a sting. It’s only a brief moment. A soft prick of pain like that of a needle. Only it’s really two, and they immediately are replaced by his tongue to soothe away the ache. A healing balm that oozes into your bloodstream. When he latches on again, it’s a bubbly, almost buzzing feeling that spreads through you. The feeling of sifting slowly through sinking sand, like dragging your fingers through water. Your mind numbs, a feeling of floating — of lightness unparalleled has you sinking further into him, the rolling of his hips beneath you tethering you to reality. Here and there, on the precipice of something earth shattering. It’s always like this with him.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers against where he’s bitten into your collarbone, into the skin peeking out from the collar of your shirt, “God, I love you.”

And he’s rolling you over, hands on either side of your face, eyes closed in blissfulness. The forest floor at your back, your thighs around his hips, bodies connected in a practiced dance. You marvel at his features, missing that point of additional connection, cupping his cheek instead. He’s told you you taste like the sweetest nectar, like heaven itself. Says it’s not like this with anyone else. That you’re divine, velvet, rich. You’re ethereal and his. And it takes everything in him to restrain himself, to tamper down the throbbing of his heart when he’s drinking you in, to not take too much. He could lose himself in you, in the bliss of your coupling, in the perfection of your essence.

You both come with a cry, and, as always, hate when it ends. There’s no time to hold one another, to kiss along his bare skin as he keeps you close to him. Not with the fear of Andy and Chance appearing at any time, fresh from their hunt, with murder on their minds.

Instead he leans down and cups a hand around the back of your head. Presses his forehead to yours and whispers of his love, devotion, desire for you. It’s a promise for later, sealed with the softness of his lips against yours, and he’s gone…slipping into the shadows.

No longer next to you, and yet forever marked on your heart.

——

A pair of white, well-loved Reebok’s sit near the door.

Paintings and sketches are scattered around the living room.

Further in the home, Eddie listens to the familiar thump-thump coming from down the hall. Can hear the reassuring inhale and exhale of your breath.

It’s night once more, and you’re finally off work, finally able to catch up on some sleep. Have slept most of the day since you got home, now that he thinks of it.

The bed shifts as he joins you once more, kissing along a bare spine, blankets curling low around your hips. He chuckles at the memory of you earlier, nearly kicking the door open on the hinges, ready to reprimand him for showing up unannounced while you were on patrol, only to end up ridding him of his clothes on your way to rest for the evening.

“Hi,” you whisper, eyes blinking up at him, adjusting to the darkness of the bedroom, “How long have I been out?”

“Few hours,” he tells you, running a hand along your bare shoulder. “Missed those eyes.”

“Sap.” It’s a tease. You see him every day, and even then it’s not enough.

“I made you dinner,” he says, rolling over onto his side beside you, nose brushing yours gently.

“Thank you.” You lean over to kiss him, smiling against his skin. That’ll never get old. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Another kiss. “Today was fun.”

A smirk curls your lips. “It was.”

“I should visit you at work more often.” He’s grinning, the insinuation of his words making your heart stumble happily. It’s music to his ears. “You liked that, didn’t you? Could smell it on you. Bet if I touched you now you’d be wet just from the memory of it.”

He’s not wrong. And he proves that point with the teasing drag of his middle finger along your clit, relishing the soft cry of, “Ed —” that spills from your parted lips.

“Reminded me of that first time we were together,” he purrs, rolling over you. Rolling you over onto your back. Your body settles beneath him, form soft and warm against his. “Forest floor.”

“Sexy,” you tease, breaking off into a whine as he pushes inside, rolling his hips against yours slowly. “All the dirt, twigs and leaves. Nothing screams romance like a nice forest fling.”

“We worked with what we had at the time,” he chuckles, cock dragging along your walls, drawing another moan from your throat. “But I think I like this better. Our bed. In our home.”

Because, though it’s forbidden, you never could handle the thought of being without him.

Had asked him to move in here months ago, into your home on the outskirts of town, to live a quiet life away from prying eyes.

Here, where you could protect him.

Here, where you never needed to be parted from him.

Here, where for a year now, and forever still to come, he’d have a place by your side.

“Next time, just bite me somewhere else, will you?” you ask, when you tumble back onto earth when it’s all over and you’re left satiated once more, body draped over Eddie’s. Eddie’s brows arch high on his forehead. “By the time your freaky magic saliva started to heal the bite, the guys thought it was a hickey and teased me relentlessly. And I can’t be with you from jail if they keep it up.”

“Pretty sure we’ll always be together.”

Forever, he’s promised.

Because maybe it’s his new, more animalistic side. The part of him that recognizes a soul mate. Maybe it’s the way you fit in his arms, the way your lips feel against his, or the way your blood sings to him.

But he thinks, in a way, you feel like his.

And he knows, in his heart, he’s yours.

#lunaloveseddie #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #vampire!eddie Munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfic

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jessamine-rose · 10 months

Text

꒰ The Spider and the Fly ꒱

This is for my hormones every artist/ writer who dragged me into the Miguel O’Hara fandom. Your content is absolutely amazing, and I hope this piece can measure up to the brainrot you’ve given me ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝

Tw:: YANDERE, kidnapping, manipulation, blood, violence, self-deprecation, mention of suicide, bondage, noncon, nsfw, MDNI

Note:: Female reader, double POV, ATSV spoilers, Best Wingman Award goes to LYLA

♡ 7.6k words under the cut ♡

i. spiral orb web

You’ve always been attracted to pretty things, and that includes spiderwebs.

In your eyes, the spider’s craft is the closest thing to art in your everyday life. It is a natural phenomenon marked by intricacy and utility, yet one so easily overlooked due to its associations with pest behavior.

Fortunately, public reception has shifted since the emergence of Spider-Man. It is thanks to your “Friendly Neighborhood Hero” that the spiderweb has been rebranded as a symbol of safety. Be it a weapon or a life-sized shelter, there is a certain beauty to those human creations.

Though the same cannot be said for Miguel O’Hara’s.

Spider-Man 2099’s webs belong to their own category. His are scarlet, bright as lasers, conspicuous and dangerous in equal amounts. When Miguel traps a villain in his webs, one is reminded that a spiderweb is the tool of a predator.

Miguel’s webs are not the only thing which set him apart from the other Spider-Men. He has more inhuman powers—claws, fangs, paralytic venom. His jaded personality and intimidating stature are also far removed from the public image which inspires hope in civilians.

Perhaps that is why you find him all the more alluring. Or it could be simply because he is the one who saved your life.

He’s done more than rescue you. After catching you midfall, Miguel regards you with shock and…pity, you think. It is the only logical explanation as to why he is being so gentle with you when your dimension’s stability is a greater concern.

It also explains why he allows you to follow him into the departing portal. No, follow is a self-preserving term. More like burst into tears, ran after him, then told him your pathetic life story and how anywhere is better than here.

Much to the surprise of his coworkers, he relents.

꒰♡꒱

At first, Miguel thinks you are an Anomaly.

It is one thing to find you in another dimension. It has happened before, and he always avoided your Variants for their sake. But you are inescapable.

Among every version of you, the happiest one was his Variant’s wife. Then there’s you, the one whose life would’ve ended if not for his interference.

He tries to justify his decision. Your departure doesn’t affect the Canon, so no harm will come to your universe. And judging by your personal data, you would be much safer in a different dimension.

His dimension, to be specific. Where he can keep a close eye on you.

He is also logical enough to recognize you as your own person. You aren’t his wife, and his observations support that theory. Your hairstyle is different. You code-switch more often. You sleep and wake up at earlier hours. You’re not as confident in your abilities.

You are alike and unlike her in so many ways, yet he still sees a spark of his sun in you.

ii. funnel web

Since then, you’ve resided in Nueva York.

In return for permanent residency, you are hired as a secretary for the Spider Society. It’s civilian work, nothing dangerous, but more purposeful than what you’d ever achieved in your old job.

Strangely enough, you encounter Miguel quite often.

At first, it feels totally warranted. He is the only person you know in Earth-928, so he guides you through every step of your adjustment. He gives you a Dimensional Travel Watch, shows you around the facility, and instructs you on how not to mess up the multiverse.

After your first week, he invites you to move in with him. Miguel claims that his home already has an extra bedroom, though LYLA’s remarks suggest otherwise. Regardless, you accept since it means a familiar roommate and better living quarters.

How thoughtful of him.

꒰♡꒱

“It’s easier to look after her if we’re under the same roof,” he rationalizes.

“Sure,” says LYLA. She flickers above his shoulder and watches the holographic screens with him. “And it’s not because she reminds you of a certain someone?”

Ignoring her, Miguel switches to a different camera angle. Peter B. Parker walks past your desk and does a double take, and he is promptly summoned for a meeting.

No doubt, there will be questions about you.

“What about the redesigns?” LYLA pulls up a screen showing two bedroom layouts, one collapsed and the other abandoned. “Should we pick one? Merge them? Think of a new design? Or we can ask for her input, seeing how she clearly has better taste than you.”

One of the monitors catches their attention, announcing an Anomaly in Earth-131222.

“We can talk about this later.” With that, Miguel opens a new screen and analyzes the data. On second thought, he adds, “She prefers thin bed sheets.”

Later that day, he escorts you home. Your mood has greatly improved since your change in environment, though you’re still quiet around him. LYLA compliments your coat, a purple remnant of her closet which Miguel lent to you, but he ignores her knowing glances.

You wear it differently, he notices. It’s the same article of clothing, but fully buttoned with a silver brooch on one lapel. The effect is significantly less casual.

“So, this is it.” Your expression turns hesitant as Miguel unlocks the front door. “Are you really sure that I can stay here?”

“I wouldn’t have asked you if I wasn’t a hundred percent sure,” he points out.

And it means less time monitoring the CCTVs.

“And you haven’t seen your room yet!” adds LYLA. “We know you’ll love it.”

“I guess it would be impolite to back out now.” You follow him inside and remove your coat. “I’ll try not to be a nuisance.”

He pauses.

That green dress…he could swear that he’s seen it on you before. Many shades lighter, paired with a bright smile, to match the T-shirt of the little girl by your—

“Miguel?” You frown at him, then your gaze flits to your dress. “Is there something wrong with my outfit? I didn’t commit a serious fashion crime in your dimension, did I?”

“It’s nothing,” he says quickly. But upon noticing your lingering anxiety, he admits, “You look good in it. That’s all.”

You nearly drop your coat. “W-What? Are you serious?”

Miguel could swear that you look more shocked than during your first meeting. If he were to come close enough to touch your face, it would surely feel warmer than average.

That’s enough.

“I meant what I said,” he replies, walking ahead. “Do you want to look around or are you just going to stand there?”

That snaps you out of your fluster. You follow him into the living room, a small smile making its way to your face. “The living room is pretty. Was it you or LYLA who designed it?”

The change of topic is a godsend. As Miguel shows you around, you recover from his comment and focus on your surroundings. LYLA is the next to admire your dress, winking at Miguel as she asks about the color, and he takes note of your reaction.

More vulnerable to flattery, regardless of speaker. Extremely happy afterwards.

His wife wasn’t like that. Usually, she’d be the one teasing Miguel with praises, pick-up lines, and inside jokes which he pretended to understand.

Still, it’s nostalgic to sit next to you on the sofa. He could get used to this again.

iii. lace web

In the following months, you fully adjust to your new life.

Your job in the Spider Society is manageable, fun even. Aside from the Spider-Man of your dimension, your close coworkers are kind enough to welcome you into their group. They look out for you, include you in their conversations, and appreciate your hard work.

They even indulge your aesthetic interests! One word from you, and they are already comparing webs. Among the various designs and techniques, however, none have fascinated you as much as Miguel’s.

…You do wish he’d let you roam Nueva York more often.

In case of Canon events, you need to get his permission first. Then you have to wait for him or an assigned Spider-Man to accompany you, and the latter is always a stranger whom you find difficult to bond with. Conversations with LYLA can only do so much.

You’ve recommended your coworkers before, but Miguel doubts their reliability. And every time you invite them to go with you, a new mission cancels your plans. If not for the official records, you’d suspect them of making excuses.

It’s a bit frustrating, honestly, but you know better than to complain.

You should already be satisfied with Miguel. He is an agreeable roommate, he trusts your capabilities, and he acknowledges your efforts. And no matter how closed-off or overworked he is, he's still deemed you worthy of his company.

…He is also very nice to look at. Muscular physique, handsome face, a serious gaze occasionally tinted in red. It’s a shame that he rarely smiles.

In another dimension, a better version of you would have definitely pursued him.

꒰♡꒱

“...and get this, he can shoot webs with stabilimenta. The designs are so detailed!”

“Oh, wow.” Miguel barely looks up from the monitors, grimacing at yet another Anomaly. He quickly sends an alert to the dimension’s Spider-Man. “What else?”

Behind him, you suddenly grow quiet.

“Now that I think about it, you must already know that since you recruited him. Sorry if that wasn’t anything worth listening to…are you sure I’m not bothering you?”

“You’re not.” It comes out faster than intended.

He turns around. Once again, you look surprised by his words, but you don’t ask for confirmation this time. You just nod and return to your digital reports.

Why did you visit his laboratory again? You said it was a false alarm from LYLA, who’d likely sent it on purpose. Lately, she’s been on his case about how rude it is to “avoid” you through extra work. He thinks he could easily do without distractions or triggered memories, however.

Miguel opens a private file and thinks of what you’d just told him. Apart from concerned looks from Jess and Peter B, most of the Spider-Men haven’t given you any trouble. Your coworkers, however, are a different matter.

23) ______ laughed because of some stupid pickup line from Web-Slinger. Smiled when he complimented her outfit (purple blouse, black high-waist skirt, favorite heels, pearl hairpin).

24) ______ talked about the other agents’ webs again.* She admires stabilimenta.

“You should be careful with your friends,” he tells you. He types a few more observations and closes the screen. “The last thing I need is for you to get involved in their mess. Don’t think that I can’t see them slacking on the job.”

To your credit, you don’t apologize. “Noted.”

“Miguel!” LYLA appears and moves the screens around him. “We have an Anomaly in Earth-332. Spider-Woman called for backup.”

Great, another one. It must be a persistent villain if Jess needs his help.

“I’m on it.” He types the coordinates on his watch and activates the portal.

“How dangerous is it?”

He stops, just a few meters short of leaving.

You leave your desk, an anxious look on your face. “I know you told me not to worry before, but I really have no idea of what your battles are like. So…will you be all right?”

“I’ll be fine,” he assures you. A hug comes to mind—it always calmed her anxieties—but he instead gives you a shoulder pat. “Don’t wait for me. If it takes a while, LYLA will call someone to escort you home.”

“Okay.” You’re still standing in front of him, but he can feel the tension leaving your body. “It’s my turn to cook dinner tonight, right? I’ll prepare a nice victory feast so look forward to that.”

A few more seconds wouldn’t hurt. “You don’t have to.”

You pout at him. “But I want to. Besides, it’s not fair that you are so good at making my favorite meals. I still haven’t perfected yours.”

Secretly, Miguel thinks your cooking tastes better than his wife’s. But whatever keeps you distracted while he is saving the multiverse.

It’s also…nice to talk about work with you. With her, he had to act normal and make up excuses for his sudden disappearances. It’s refreshing to see your concern and know that you are praying for his safety. To imagine your relieved smile when he comes home.

“Miguel!” LYLA reappears between the two of you. “I hate to ruin the moment, but Spider-Woman could really use some help right now. I know you’re counting the seconds!”

No more time to waste.

“I’ll see you later.” He lets go of you and walks into the portal.

“Take care!” you call after him.

iv. triangle web

“Welcome home, love!”

As the door opened, Miguel resisted the urge to flinch. The lights were always too bright.

His Variant’s wife wasted no time hugging him. “What took you so long?”

“Something at work came up,” he explained, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Again?” You closed the door behind him, a frown replacing your smile. “That’s the third time this month. Is there a problem in your office?”

“It’s…classified information. But nothing to worry about, mi sol.”

The house felt lively, even with Gabriella temporarily away. Warm lights. Family photos. Personal belongings scattered about. Your cheerful presence leading him.

The TV in the living room was on, paused at the beginning of a new film. Movie nights were an old family routine, he’d learned. The first time Miguel arrived in your husband’s place, you and Gabriella had agreed on an animated classic.

“Okay then. I’m just glad your office isn’t in the same area as that crime from earlier. Was there any debris blocking the road?”

“Not much.” And definitely none on the route to your workplace.

Upstairs, Miguel took a shower and contacted LYLA. The Anomaly had been returned to its original dimension. If he were lucky, none would appear tomorrow.

You were on the sofa when he came back. Wordlessly, he sat next to you and you rested your head on his shoulder. The film began playing.

“I called Gabriella,” you murmured. “She and her friends are already planning their next sleepover. I’ll pick her up tomorrow morning.”

“That’s good to hear. Have you gift-wrapped her present?”

A pearl ring glinted above your intertwined hands. “It’s in my closet.”

Note to self: Ask LYLA to record the party. It will be a nice memory to revisit.

He smiled at you. “I can’t wait to see her reaction.”

The movie had a happy ending. It was, in your words, a cinematic masterpiece.

“That’s how it ends?”

Your outburst prompts Miguel to face the opposite end of the sofa. In the dim light, he can easily make out the unimpressed look on your face.

“The ending looks decent to me,” he muses. “If you ignore the logistics of their reunion, the film is entertaining enough to rewatch.”

“I think it could be more realistic. And you’re saying that across the multiverse, this is the most common version of the movie?”

“In five dimensions, to be exact. Others have the same ending but different actors.”

You pause. “I’ll admit that Earth-928’s version has superior costume design. But I still prefer my dimension’s neutral ending. Maybe it’s because our societal values are different.”

The closing credits continue, but neither of you leave the sofa. You’re still criticizing the film under your breath, unaware that Miguel can understand every word. He does agree that the happy ending causes a few plot holes.

At least with you, he can adjust the brightness levels.

“We can watch your version next time,” he offers, reaching for the remote with his webs.

“Really? You don’t mind?”

He turns off the TV. “We can do it on my next day off.”

Knowing LYLA, this won’t be the last time she plans a movie night without telling him.

“Well, what else could I do?” she asked after he privately demanded an explanation. “You’ve been working yourself too hard, Miguel. You could really use a break, and so does ______.”

You take the remote from him and untangle the web fluid. “Do you mind if I keep this?”

Miguel gives you an odd look. “For what reason?”

You twist the web in your hands, forming string figures.

“As a decoration, maybe. Oh, and for the record, I don’t go around collecting webs from your coworkers. I just find yours particularly interesting.”

Weirdo. “My webs are functional like the others’. That’s all there is to it.”

You look him in the eye this time. “Hey, you should give yourself more credit. It’s my belief that every spiderweb is a work of art. And before you call me overly romantic, there have always been artists who thought they were worth noticing."

The web loops around your ring finger, in the place where her wedding ring used to be.

He averts his gaze. “I don’t see it that way. But whatever works for you.”

Another moment of silence.

“There is another reason,” you add softly.

He side-eyes you. “Is it about that day? You don’t need to keep thanking me for saving your life. As I said, I was doing my job and anyone would’ve done the same.”

“I wasn’t talking about you catching me.”

Oh, you meant that.

The web tangles in your hands.

“Listen.” You take a deep breath, eyes on your lap. “I know you’ve been avoiding this subject. Maybe it's so I don’t feel indebted to you or pressured into reliving bad memories. But…I just want you to know that I’m glad you foiled my plans.”

…It would be best to let you finish first.

Your voice shakes. “I mean, you’re smart, aren’t you? Even without my meltdown, you would’ve figured out that my fall had nothing to do with the Anomaly in my dimension.”

He did. And that was precisely why Miguel mistook you for one at first. It wasn’t just your identity but the fact that you were found in danger after the Anomaly had been captured.

Ten minutes post-battle. The undamaged state of the nearby buildings. The passive acceptance in your demeanor.

He can vividly recall the rest of that day. Those hours spent studying your personal data, identifying every action and condition which diverged from his wife's path.

A loud sigh. “I just—I couldn’t take it anymore, okay? I thought it would be easier to put an end to my mistakes, then you had to show up. And thanks to you, life has been great! I like this world, I’m not alone, I still have my personal issues to work through but I’m trying to do better. But yeah…I’m just sorry for forcing you to get involved.”

“It’s not your fault,” he insists. He scoots closer to you and puts his hand on top of yours. “I made the choice to bring you here. And I couldn’t exactly leave you, knowing your situation.”

That is a lie. Rather, half of his thoughts were about his wife and how he’d been able to sustain her happiness. How that farce proved he could do the same for you.

“Either way, I’m grateful.” You look up, your lips curving into a shy smile. “I’m really happy now, Miguel. I’ve made a lot of mistakes, but I’ll never regret my decision to follow a cryptic stranger into a portal. Even if it meant learning that the multiverse is in constant danger. Or that my favorite film has an alternate ending which makes no sense to me whatsoever.”

Has his wife ever looked at him like that? There is a soft brilliance to your gaze, wholly reserved for him. It triggers a warm feeling in his chest.

The moment is quickly ended when you cover your face with a cushion.

“Anyway! If you don’t mind, I’d really love to move on and talk about something else. How was your mission earlier? Is Earth-199999 still giving you a hard time?”

You’re still seated next to him, legs touching. Your tone leaves no room for objection.

He lets go of your hand. “You would not believe what kind of shocking messes we’ve had to deal with. We are never recruiting Dr. Strange or his little nerd.”

“You can tell me all about it.” You untangle his web from your hands; it loops around your pinky finger this time. “I’m here for you, okay? For as long as you’ll have me.”

v. mesh web

There have been more Anomalies lately.

You walk past the detained villains, silently counting them. Their increase in numbers has kept the Spider Society on high alert for the past weeks. While it means more documents for you, the effect on Miguel’s stress levels is concerning.

Come to think of it, has he returned from his mission yet? If not, you hope the cafeteria’s takeout boxes have a self-heating function. As you get closer to Miguel's laboratory, you hear the door open. The sound is followed by two sets of footsteps.

“Do you think it’s healthy for him?”

“I’m more worried about ______.”

You stop walking.

Is that Peter B and Jess? Why are they talking about you?

Jess’s tone is reproachful. “The poor girl has been through so much already. It’s not safe for her to be here, at least in HQ. He knows that she is a different case from Gwen.”

“You know how Miguel is. I’ve already asked about her, and he won’t tell me anything new. Not even my Super Adorable Mayday album could convince him.”

“I don’t like this, Peter.”

Their footsteps become louder. You go back to the entrance of the hallway, just within earshot but hopefully far enough to evade their Spider-Senses.

“Neither do I. But you should’ve seen him when he lost their daughter, Jess. Now think of his wife: He never got to see ______ before she disintegrated. Then one day, out of nowhere, after staying away from countless Variants, he finds a version of her who needs him.”

…What the hell are they talking about?

The walls close in on you. You take a step back, followed by another.

Then, at the sound of a sharp “Is someone there?”, you drop the takeout box and run.

Their daughter. His wife. A version of her.

You already know that Miguel lost a family in another dimension. It was briefly mentioned when he warned you about Canon disruptions, but he refused to share the details. Is this why?

This whole time…you are a Variant of his wife?

You aren’t followed. Your coworkers cheerfully greet you, but you ignore them and return to your desk. It’s arranged the way you like it, complete with personal decorations. The drawer holds a stress ball in your favorite color, a gift from Miguel of all people.

You never did tell him that it is your go-to stress reliever. Was it the same for her?

You squeeze the ball and take deep breaths, but the action does little to calm you.

It all makes sense. Why else would Miguel take an interest in you?

Your gaze lands on your Dimensional Travel Watch before you remember that the idea is futile. Yours is only a modified version which prevents glitches but can’t be used for travel. And the Go-Home Machine would require Spider-Byte’s help.

…Why are you even wasting your time on an escape plan? How are you sure that you won’t mess up and make another mistake?

“______?” LYLA appears in front of your face. Her greeting sounds different.

He knows.

You force yourself to answer. “Y-Yes?”

“Miguel is back.” She flickers as usual, but it doesn’t change the nervous look on her face. “He wants to see you.”

꒰♡꒱

Peter B will be dead when he gets to him.

Several screens surround Miguel, each playing CCTV footage. He focuses on a live recording of you on your way to his laboratory.

At least you are complying with his orders.

The platform is fully lowered by the time you get there.

“Hey…welcome back,” you stammer. “How was the mission?”

“It was fine,” he replies brusquely. “Jess and Peter B spoke with me as soon as I came back. I was just confirming the status of Earth-67 when I checked the CCTVs. Care to explain?”

A heavy silence falls between the two of you. LYLA is nowhere to be seen.

Your panic is evident. Your gaze wanders, at everything but Miguel, until it stops at the dented takeout box on his desk. “Is that…is the food still warm? Or have you already eaten in Earth-67? I forgot to ask in advance.”

He glares at you. “Are you seriously worrying about my lunch right now?”

“Well, what else am I supposed to say?” you shoot back. The anger in your tone is unmistakable. “‘Hey, Miguel, when was I supposed to know that we were a family in the dimension you accidentally collapsed?’ Does that sound any better?!”

“Believe me, I was going to leave you alone at first.” He grips the edge of his desk, resisting the urge to raise his voice. “But how could I do it after the way you reacted?”

“Oh, so it’s my fault? You could’ve easily said no! This whole time, I wondered why you were so willing to help me. I thought you were being nice, that you believed giving me a better life was worth all these risky accommodations. Was…was I wrong?”

Your voice cracks at the last part, and you hastily wipe your eyes. It’s reminiscent of your first meeting, the distressed shock which Miguel had never seen in his wife. Only that time, you had sought out his comfort.

“Tell me, was it because of her?” you whisper. Tears well up in your eyes, threatening to spill. “Is that all you’ve ever seen in me?”

“You have the wrong idea.” Miguel approaches you, but you instinctively back away. He raises his hands in a placating gesture. “If you would just listen to me—”

“How can I?!”

Your hand settles on your wrist, unconsciously fiddling with your Dimensional Travel Watch. The clasp loosens, and his reaction is immediate.

He grips your arm. “Don’t do that! You’ll get yourself—”

“Let go of me!”

You pull back, clawing at his wrist, but Miguel's grasp only tightens. His other hand taps the watch’s controls to activate the Lock feature.

“This is for your own good, ______." In the split second that he releases you, his webs shoot out and bind your limbs together.

“No!” You collapse onto the floor. The scarlet threads dig into your skin, emitting a harsh glow in the dark. “Please, just let me go!”

After everything he’s been through, he is not losing you again.

Ignoring the stab of guilt, he picks you up and salvages what is left of his composure.

“You see, this is why I didn’t tell you.” He sighs, already feeling the beginnings of a headache.

You’re still shaking in his grasp, tears rolling down your cheeks. “I…I’m not—”

His kiss easily silences you. It’s far from intimate but the sensations are familiar. Warm lips. The scent of your perfume. The addictive rush of euphoria. Physical and chemical reactions which couldn’t be adequately explained in words.

And the whimper that escapes your lips when Miguel pulls back to press a light kiss to your forehead.

“We can continue this conversation when we get home.”

vi. cobweb

Your days in the Spider Society are over.

Not permanently. Miguel says that you can resume work once you’ve calmed down, but you doubt it will happen under any pretense of freedom.

Since your confrontation, you’ve been confined in his home. As it turns out, Miguel had already prepared for this—locks, alarms, hidden cameras, a comprehensive speech which only elevates your horror.

“She wouldn’t want this,” you keep insisting. You writhe against your restraints, but the webs remain taut against your skin. “How would your ______ feel if she knew?!”

“She’s not here anymore.” Miguel looks away from your face, as though the reminder physically pains him. “What matters now is that I have you. The both of us can start over.”

“How can you say that?!” At this point, you’re on the verge of hysteria. “You…you don’t actually love me. You’re only doing this because I’m the closest you have to getting her back!”

The hand on your cheek makes you flinch. The gentle caress does little to soothe you, not with the underlying threat of his claws. His eyes flash red in the dim light, brimming with—what do you call it? Grief? Desperation? Obsession?

You can’t tell, not when those sentiments are for someone else.

“You only say that because you don’t know any better,” he says softly. His lips meet yours, trapping you in a deep kiss. “Now get some rest, mi sol. It’s been a long day, and we know how you get when you’re stressed.”

My sun. What a lie. Since when have you done anything to deserve such a title?

You can’t bother to fight back. You’re too tired to think, to resist the kiss, to move an inch as Miguel undos your restraints and tucks you into bed.

Instead, you close your eyes and retreat into slumber. But even in your last seconds of consciousness, his gaze is strongly felt.

As it turns out, Miguel really did consider all possibilities. Your Dimensional Travel Watch has an exclusive Lock feature, should you ever be tempted to escape him through death. It can only be removed during your scheduled baths, with LYLA acting as your timer.

You rarely talk to her, either. She clearly feels sorry for you, but not enough to help. She monitors your daily activity, keeps you company when Miguel is away, and tries to cheer you up. She has yet to accomplish the last task.

Against your better judgment, you ask her about your Variant. She is resistant at first, knowing the negative outcome, but you are persistent. In the end, LYLA decides that it’s better to show you a few videos than for you to ask Miguel directly.

…Your Variant is perfect. Pretty. Carefree. Successful. A calming presence. You can see why Miguel would fall for her, with how she effortlessly puts a smile on his face.

Among your Variants, isn’t there one who bears a closer resemblance to her? Or were they too important to leave without disrupting the Canon? Is that why he settled for you?

“You have a better sense of style,” LYLA offhandedly mentions. “It was Miguel who said that. And do you know that he calls you one of our best workers?”

It doesn’t make you feel any better. “I see. Thanks for letting me know.”

As LYLA predicted, the information only makes you feel worse. You can’t stop thinking about your other self. How did she turn out like that? How did she succeed in your failures? How has Miguel perceived his moments with you, as new memories or a replica of lost time?

You don’t want to ask him. You’ve had enough disappointments for one lifetime.

Neither do you make an escape plan. On the low chance that you succeed, you don’t have anywhere to go. The Spider Society, or most of them, is loyal to Miguel. And it’s not like you’d be better off in your dimension, back to your empty home and dead-end job and daily reminders of your insignificance.

At least here, you can feel valued. Even if you owe that to someone else.

꒰♡꒱

“I hate to say ‘I told you so,’ but I told you so.”

Miguel doesn’t look up from the screens. “Now is not the time for this.”

LYLA is anything but smug. ”Are you sure? Because you said that when I asked if you’d ever tell her the truth, and look where that went. A civil explanation might’ve been nice.”

“How is she?”

“No better than with you.”

The CCTV switches to the kitchen. By now, you've established a new routine—lie awake in bed, rearrange your room, watch TV, cook your own meals. It's repetitive but easy to follow.

He zooms in on the ingredients. “Do you see anything suspicious?”

“No potential poisons,” LYLA responds, equally focused. “Oh, is she cooking dinner again? Last night’s meal looked really good.”

“It probably helps. Gives her something to preoccupy herself with.”

In the end, you’ve chosen the docile route. You’re still tense around Miguel, but your behavior can’t even be counted as malicious compliance. You just go through your new routine, trying to create some semblance of normalcy in confinement.

Though internally speaking, he has no access to your thoughts.

“She’s quite different from his wife, isn’t she?” asks LYLA. “I like this version of ______.”

Miguel zooms in on you this time. In your current state, you’ve revealed more contrasts to his Variant’s wife. It actually doesn’t bother him in the slightest.

When did his feelings for you begin? Was it when he saved you? When he saw a spark of his beloved in you? When that spark turned out to be your own brilliance?

All he knows is that you’re the one who consumes his thoughts nowadays. Your distinct preferences, your little quirks, your quiet words, your uncertain expressions, your attitude towards him and no other Miguel.

...There must be a way to persuade you. If Miguel was able to play along with his Variant’s family, to the point that his love for them became genuine, the same can be said for you. He just needs to prove that you can and will be happy together.

The only thing missing would be Gabriella.

vii. sheet web

You’ve been promoted to Miguel’s bedmate.

His room isn’t much. It is dark, minimalist, often empty due to the nature of his work. There are zero mementos of his lost family, not even a framed photo or something of her influence.

They’re probably hidden somewhere. How considerate.

On most nights, you act oblivious to your new sleeping arrangement. You just say good night to Miguel, lie down on your side of the bed, and try to fall asleep as quickly as possible.

…That turns out to be more difficult than expected. Try as you might to feign sleep, you can’t relax in Miguel’s grasp. He holds you tightly in his sleep, your back pressed against his chest. You wonder if it is a familiar position or a means of keeping you close.

Lately, he has switched tactics. Movie nights have become a regular pastime. You’ve received permission to work from home, sans contact with the Spider Society. The two of you have even gone outside for a few dates, though his grip on your hand discourages any escape attempts. Awkwardness aside, he’s been more physically affectionate.

It’s absolutely jarring, but you’re somewhat grateful for the added comforts. If your choices are different from his wife’s, Miguel doesn’t seem to mind.

This should be fine. It’s better than when he was acting like an overprotective control freak…even if those methods had left no speculation as to who the intended receiver was. With this approach, you can never be sure if Miguel sees you or his wife in front of him.

You try not to dwell on it more than you already have. You’re still here. Your living conditions have marginally improved. Miguel doesn’t expect you to be more like her.

You just need to keep it together, like you always have.

That is what you keep telling yourself, up until the night Miguel asks for your thoughts on starting a family.

“No. Please, stop!”

Red. In the dark, all you can see is red.

The lurid color wraps around you, binding your wrists to the headboard. The webs are taut, no-frills, effective in their sole purpose of keeping you trapped.

No, what’s worse is Miguel. His gaze is trained on you, scarlet orbs alight with crazed desire and your own terrified reflection.

“Stop struggling,” he sighs as he pins you down. Blood decorates his bare arms, from where your scratches failed to stop him. “You’re only going to get yourself hurt.”

You continue, anyway, only to scream as he leans down and sinks his fangs into your neck. It hurts, the flesh burns, everything feels heavy—

You can’t move.

It doesn’t take long for the venom to kick in. The numbness spreads throughout your body, leaving you dizzy and helpless. Your limbs won’t cooperate at all.

Yet despite the paralysis, the pain stays with you. It’s the only sensation you can feel—the sharp ache in your neck, the chafing around your wrists, the sting from where Miguel accidentally scratched your thigh while tearing off your clothes.

“Mi sol, you are still tense,” he mutters. His lips remain on your neck, administering light kisses to the fresh wound. A clawed hand presses down on the bed, puncturing the fabric, to support his weight. “You need to calm down.”

You can only bite your lip as he moves on to your chest, tainting the skin with love bites. His other hand retracts its claws and strokes your stomach, tracing—are those patterns supposed to be her stretch marks?

Of course he memorized them. She must be on his mind right now.

You squeeze your eyes shut, but the ministrations continue. His thumb strokes your hip, eliciting a stifled moan, and the self-inflicted darkness gives way to the sight of Miguel’s irritated expression.

“You’re not listening to me, ______.” His eyes flash, daring you to try again. The sight of his exposed fangs, speckled with your own blood, triggers another wave of dread.

Should you even be surprised that he knows your sensitive spots? He already made it clear that any form of escape is in vain.

It's pure torture. It would be easier if Miguel would just have his way with you, use your body to his heart’s content, leave you to your thoughts. But no, he is taking his time and making sure that you physically enjoy this. Ensuring that you will be ready for what comes next.

“S-Stop.” Your lips are still numb, but you manage to form words. “I said…I don’t want this! I’m not ready!”

“Shh.” He silences you with another kiss, his palm pressing down on your stomach. “You’re only saying this because it’s our first time. You have to trust me.”

It’s hard to believe him when you know that his composure is slipping. What is he trying to hide? His ragged breaths? The hardness pressed against your inner thigh? The urgency with which he lifts your legs up onto his shoulders?

“You’ll understand once our child is here,” he says. He breaks off the kiss, his voice hushed to a reverent whisper. “We will be so happy, happier than you can ever imagine.”

“You’re lying…I can’t—!”

You can’t stand to look at him. His gaze is so cruel, clouded with love, adoration, hope. Skies, he looks so hopeful. You don’t want to wait for the day he looks at you differently.

Was this how he looked at her? How did she return his gaze? It must’ve been passionate. It must’ve been romantic. It must’ve been so promising.

“I can’t give you Gabriella!”

The world stops as soon as those words leave your mouth.

“...What did you just say?” Miguel stares at you, eyes wide.

Of all Variants, why did it have to be you?

That is when you burst into tears.

How humiliating. It’s hard to breathe, it must be an ugly sight, and you can’t do anything to cover your face. But it’s enough to make Miguel stop and listen to you.

“I can’t give you Gabriella,” you repeat in choked sobs. “It requires an exact time, specific cells and DNA. And even if we succeed, I can’t raise her into the child you knew. I...I can’t restore your family. I can’t be her.”

In the end, you will only disappoint him.

“______…” He raises his hand to wipe your tears, but you interrupt him with a glare.

“Honestly, why did it have to be me?!” you shout. “Why couldn’t you have found a better duplicate of your wife? This wouldn’t be happening if you’d chosen the right ______!”

He doesn't respond.

For a few seconds, all you can hear is your own pitiful weeping. You vaguely register the feeling of your legs hitting the mattress, of the absence of Miguel’s touch, but you keep your eyes closed. It’s easier that way.

Suddenly, there is the sound of threads snapping. Then the sensation of strong hands coming under your back, lifting you upwards, pulling you into an embrace.

Your eyes fly open. “What—”

“Ya, calladita.”

Miguel…is he hugging you? He holds you tightly, repeating the words in a hushed tone. The message is followed by a string of curses which, judging by the way he turns away from you, must be solely directed at himself.

Paralyzed, you can only stare down at your lap. At his webs, still wrapped around your wrists but no longer connected to the bed. “What are you—”

“Could you let me talk for a second?" he snaps. He tilts your face upwards, allowing you to take in his glare. “You are my first choice. Not the version of you from Earth-94, Earth-835, or any other dimension in the multiverse. It doesn’t matter that you are different from her.”

This can’t be true. “Still, I—”

“As for Gabriella, you’re right." There is a flash of resignation in his gaze, so sorrowful that it clashes with his words. “I knew that from the start.”

“...Then why?”

Your head spins. His hands are still on you, caressing your cheek and keeping you in his grasp. The numbness gives way to warmth.

“Well, it doesn’t change the fact that any child from you will be ours,” he answers. His voice softens, as does his gaze. “Just as you are mine and I am yours.”

The words get stuck in your throat. “Are…are you sure?”

How can he say such a thing? Your sense of hearing must be damaged. It is the only logical explanation as to why—

The look in his eyes leaves no room for doubt. “I promise.”

...What else can you possibly say?

Your vision blurs. Miguel is still speaking, another quiet reassurance from the sound of it, but it’s all static in your head.

What the hell are you supposed to do with this information? It’s beyond your comprehension, too subjective and unproven for the likes of you. And yet you feel…good. Happy. So, so happy despite everything you have been through.

Skies, you are truly pathetic.

No, what’s more pathetic is the way you cry harder and melt into Miguel’s embrace. It’s the way you listen to his remaining praises and beg him to keep talking. To list everything about you that is good and faultless and desirable to him, everything he thought was worth noticing.

And when he kisses you, you willingly reciprocate.

The darkness is soothing.

The dim lights cast the bedroom in shadows. It’s a blessing to your dizziness, your eyes tired from crying. With this obstacle to your vision, you can pretend that the previous hours never happened.

Almost. The soreness, the deft hands tending to your injuries, and the immense euphoria are impossible to ignore.

It’s also painful, unbearably painful now that the venom’s effect has fully worn off. You can only sit up and wince as Miguel disinfects another wound.

He looks up in concern. “Are you okay?”

“I am.” You give him a weak smile as he bandages your thigh and mumbles a second apology. “I feel better already.”

His own injuries are equally evident, from your hesitant love bites to the scratch marks on his back. As guilty as you felt, you could only say so much before Miguel silenced you with a withering look.

…You will make it up to him tomorrow. If you are still capable of walking.

The thought leads you to cry into the pillow, muffling your curses. If Miguel can understand you, he doesn’t say anything. Rather, he closes the first aid kit and holds your hand.

“I’ll draw a bath,” he tells you. “Can you wait for a few minutes?”

Your thumb brushes against his pulse point. His heart rate is frustratingly calm, perhaps slightly above average if you are to flatter yourself. Maybe you can count the number of beats and ask LYLA tomorrow. She will be happy to confirm it.

You meet his gaze, intertwining your fingers with his. “Sure.”

You’d like to think that his last kiss is another promise.

With that, Miguel stands up and leaves the room. As for you, you lie down and go back to screaming into the pillow. Tired as you feel, you haven’t felt this thrilled in years.

Then the spiderwebs catch your attention. They’re still stuck to your wrists, albeit frayed. There are loose threads from where Miguel broke them.

Red. Illuminating the dark, holding you close, keeping you safe.

Carefully, you pick apart the threads and twist them around your hand.

No string figures this time. Your technique is clumsy, irregular, lacking beauty and order. Nonetheless, you continue until your left hand is covered in a glovelike pattern.

The final knot is above your ring finger. It’s a perfect fit.

It is the prettiest thing you have ever seen.

♡

Author's Note ๑ Side Story 1 ๑ Prologue ๑ Epilogue ๑ Side Story 2

“I’m just going to write a short post to purge my brainrot,” I say, shortly before Miguel O’Hara unlocks a core memory of me reading The Spider and the Fly and inspires me to write 7.6k words with literary references.

Thank you so much to @diodellet for beta-reading this and @yanmaresu for helping me with the Spanish phrases!! As for my readers, I hope you enjoyed my take on Yandere! Miguel and his darling. Do entertain me with your comments and brainrot ⸜(⸝⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝⸝)⸝

Tag a Miguel O’Hara enjoyer!! @kocherry @yandere-romanticaa @yandere-daydreams @bweoo @h2o2-and-baking-soda @ansy-tea @yandere-wishes @weebsinstash @curesi @robindere @crystalcrynight @mrlidocaine @handsomeunderwear-art @blughxreader @chiikasevennn @fortheloveofleon

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psychedelic-ink · 8 months

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𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐒𝐒.

DAY EIGHT OF HAUNTED HOEDOWN

prompt: cult au + “do you like it when i bleed for you?”

pairing: cult leader!din djarin x f!reader

genre: explicit smut, minors dni

summary: din initiates you into the cult.

word count: 1.1k

warnings: dubcon (power imbalance), manipulation, innocence kink, corruption kink, blood/blood kink, blowjob, soft dom!din kinda

Your eyes follow the man in armor in front of you.

It’s just you and him, no one else. No one to hear you scream or beg while you are initiated. He removes the plates of his arms one by one, the majority of his armor staying along with his helmet. There’s a fire burning behind him. The flickering orange and yellow bathes his armor in light and you stare, mesmerized by how shadows deepen all around his armor.

“You can’t leave after this,” he says, voice modulated. “You will be one of us.”

“Can I see your face then?” you ask innocently, batting his eyes at him. He tilts his head, observing your soft smile and clutched thighs. You want to see him. Be with him. He had been protecting you for years, looking out for you, teaching you the way and how to live a happy life. He’d told you once, how he cared for you, but couldn’t give you a name or show you his face until you were properly initiated. That was the creed.

He stills for a moment. You see the tension building in his muscles and doubt begins to swirl in your chest. You want to please him and the thought of saying something that might upset him makes your stomach churn.

“Yes,” he answers finally, every word pronounced carefully. “I don’t show my face to anyone though, I want you to remember that and know how special you are to me. Understood?”

You nod and he shakes his head, “Use your words mesh’la. Use my name, it’s Din.”

“Yes, Din,” you answer. Your cheeks warm up. His name hits your tongue just right, as if your mouth is made to repeat his name over and over again.

Satisfied, he nods and pulls out a sharp dagger from his waist. The gleam catches your eye and your pulse quickens. You have no idea how the initiation works, your excitement courses through your veins, and pounds in your ears. His visor reflects your wide-eyed expression.

“On your knees,” he says.

You quickly obey, ignoring how the stone scrapes your skin. He displays his forearm, bringing the sharp edge of the dagger to his skin. Din cuts himself slowly, blood trickling instantly from the long wound. Your heart jumps, eyes going wide. You almost feel a cut of your own tingling over your forearm and it pains you to see him bleeding.

But also, you know this is not something he does for everyone.

Your pupils dilate, mouth flooding with saliva with the prospect of pressing your lips against the crimson blood.

“Repeat after me,” he says, drawing you away from your disrespectful thoughts. You nod. The blood ebbs like spiderwebs across his skin, coiling around his bare wrist and dripping from his fingers to the cold stone ground.

He begins, voice soft and words slow, “I swear on my name and the names of the ancestors. . .”

“I swear on my name and the names of the ancestors. . .” you repeat dutifully.

“that I shall walk the way of the mand’alore. . .”

“and the words of the creed shall be forever forged in my heart.”

“and the words of the creed shall be forever forged in my heart. . .”

“This is the way.”

He curls two bloody fingers under your chin and tilts your head further up. You feel the warmth of his essence on your skin, the scent of iron filling your nostrils. “Do you like it when I bleed for you?”

“Yes,” you answer without thought, feeling the blood moving down your neck, following the path between your breasts. He slightly bends his knees, leaning over you as he tugs your bottom lip down with his thumb. You exhale when he smears the tender flesh with his blood, marking you, and you taste him.

He sighs, “Maker, I can’t wait to ruin you.”

Din pulls away and you lick the blood from your lips. Oddly enough he tastes sweet to you, even though you know it’s impossible. Your eyes drop to the front of his pants where he unzips himself, your mouth goes dry at the size of his hard cock. He’s not too long, but the thickness of it is enough for you to shudder with pleasure.

“Have you ever sucked cock before?” he asks, coming closer and tracing your lips with his bloody fingers. Insticeticly, you part your lips and he slips them inside, he groans as you swirl your tongue, cleaning him off.

“No,” you answer. “It never seemed that appealing to me.”

“How about now?”

The drop of his voice, the rasp beneath the words, all of it makes your mind go completely blank. Silent. You swallow around his fingers. He withdraws his fingers, “It’s very tempting,” you breathe out, tongue swiping over your bottom lip.

Din ignores your answer, “Open your mouth. Wide,” he groans and when you do, he pushes himself inch by inch into your mouth. Tears build in your eyes and he cradles the side of your face with one hand, keeping you still. He doesn’t stop until you’re choking around him, a moan echoing from underneath the helmet.

Tears fall one by one as he begins to thrust his hips, burying his cock down your throat with every move. You brace yourself by placing your palm on his thighs. The muscles bulge underneath your hands. Arousal pools between your legs. He’s using you just like you wanted, owning you and making you yours.

“That’s it. You’re doing so well,” his head tilts back, pushing you down until your nose is buried within the dark curls. You can barely breathe. The mixture of precome and blood heavy on your tongue. You feel him pulse as your throat convulses around him, then he pulls back, a growl reaching your ears. “My sweet girl, always so eager to please.”

Din pulls out slowly and you can feel the slickness on your tongue. His hand slides from your chin up the side of your head. His rough thumb traces your lower lip. You can feel his gaze like a brand on your skin. he takes a deep breath and exhales before taking himself into his hand. The head of his cock is an angry shade of red, precome glistening beautifully at the slit.

Before he can command it, you open your mouth and stick out your tongue. He fists himself before spilling his hot cum all over your lips and chin, dripping down your face. His moans and whimpers are beautiful, a sight only you’re allowed to see.

There’s so much of it, his cock continuously twitches and throbs in his hand. He ruins you, just like he promised. Staining you with his seed. Your insides clench when you imagine Din coming inside instead of on your face.

When he’s finished, he tucks himself back into his pants and reaches for his helmet.

“As promised,” he says, voice hoarse, scratching your ears just right.

You finally see the real face of the man in armor.

And he’s beautiful.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x fem!reader #din djarin au #din djarin smut #cult leader!din djarin #hauntedhoedown #pedro pascal character fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalotian x fem!reader #the mandalorian x f!reader

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ghouljams · 1 month

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Do you think Fae König would ever indulge in a bit of pred/pray play with his darling? I just see him enjoying a fun chase through the woods

Oh absolutely. It's one of the reasons she won't go out in the woods with him, it almost always ends with her getting mounted on the forest floor. I mean can you imagine how annoying that is?

You're trying to spend a nice day out with König, enjoying the weather as you point out different plants and trees, occasionally a small animal skitters across your path and König's pupils blow wide watching it sniff the air. You turn to snip one little flower from its sprout and suddenly the man is gone. Gone gone. You can't see him anywhere, and it is so goddamn unnerving, but you're not about to wait for him when he can just find you wherever you are.

Of course that's the problem, König will find you wherever you are, and he's more the happy watching you from the trees, stalking close enough to hear you humming you yourself, but never close enough for you to see. He's trying to scare you into running. Trying to make you yelp and squirm and bolt. He grabs you from behind a tree, his claws digging into your hip as he pulls you close, watching you flinch and squirm away from his hold. You swear at him, annoyed with his games, and he lets you go to stumble away. You check the tears in your clothing, look up to glare at him and he's gone. Truly, truly, annoying.

Then he grabs your ankle to trip you, watches you catch yourself on your hands and knees, the forest floor digging into your skin. You're cute when you pout, thinking he can't see it. You start looking around more, start watching your step, watching the trees, his tail flicks excitedly and you turn your head quickly to catch the motion of it in your periphery. Your blood is starting to run hot, anxiety starting to spiderweb across your chest, as you realize how quiet the forest is. Silent in the presence of an apex predator. You feel König's claws ghost over your throat, and turn to yell at him to stop fucking around, but he isn't there. You turn back to your path, your heart hammering in your chest, and König I'd staring you down in all his monstrous glory: his body covered in growth, his face obscured by hair and vine, his fur and spines rustling either the wind his tail whips up. He is huge, and he opens his mouth to let his tongue loll out over the deadly sharp teeth that row his mouth.

You can't do anything but dart back down the path, especially knowing he'll give chase, you have to run. You run so that when he catches you, when he knocks you to the ground and wraps his claws around you, you can feel his cock already throbbing where he slides it between your thighs. It's demeaning the way he has to lift you to be level with his cock, a monster too big to even dream about, solely focused on fucking you like a toy. You can't say you aren't excited by the prospect, that the nervous energy coursing through you doesn't divert south to pool hot between your legs.

He so damn pleased about it. So eager to rut his thick cock against you, showing you exactly how big he is, exactly how he's going to ruin you. Christ he holds you up and the head of his cock bumps against your diaphragm. Your eyes go wide, his claws slipping under the waistband of your pants and slicing a neat line down the back seam.

"There's no way," you choke.

"I will make it fit," König growls, the sharp points of his claws tracing over your cunt, "don't worry."

As if that's what you're worried about.

#cod x reader #x reader #x oc #cod x oc #könig x reader #könig cod #könig mw2 #könig call of duty #fae!könig #oc: liebling

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k00295837 · 5 months

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Scans of real spiderwebs that I caught.

I sprayed them with spray paint, then spray a piece of white card with hairspray. I then used the freshly sprayed card to catch the webs as well as possible.

As apart of my horror/halloween research, spiderwebs being an aesthetic element in both instances, I caught these webs to do studies and look more into them as a texture and source of inspiration.

#spiderweb #gothic art #goth aesthetic #art research #k00295837 #projectwork #disrupt #research #concept development #how to catch a spiderweb

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bit-odd-innit · 9 months

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Fic: One Good Honest Kiss

“What do you mean you don’t remember?” Eddie, pancaked on Steve’s bedroom floor, scrunches his shoulders up to his ears in an approximate shrug. He’s drunk. They’re both drunk. “I think he was nice.” “You think?!” “I don’t know, dude.” Eddie’s hands drag over his face, through his hair, his arms and fingers unfurling vine-like above his head. His back arches into the stretch. Steve’s eyes flick to the flash of skin between the hem of Eddie’s shirt and the top of his belt. “I was nineteen, it was dark, and he was nice. What more do you want.” Steve should let it go. It’s nothing. It’s inconsequential. But also no it’s not. It’s fishhooked deep within his chest cavity, yanking him off the bed and floundering to sit at Eddie’s hip. His hand closes around Eddie’s knee. “Your first kiss is supposed to mean something.” Eddie snorts. “Says who?” “Says—I don’t know, society?” “When have I ever adhered to the weather-vaning whims of society?” “...Weather-vaning?” “Like, uhh, like fucking...the ever-shifting winds of change...” “Ohhh.” “Like. The wind. Guh. I don’t know. I’m a...metal...guy...on peoples roofs?” “Uh-huh?” “You’re mocking me.” “Yeah. But go on.” “I don’t know!” His voice bubbles with laughter. “I don’t know. People want things in a way? And I’m different, in a way. Stop laughing.” It’s easy to be buoyed by Eddie’s exuberance. It’s easy to lose the plot in the sparkling, seafoamy burst of his laughter. His forearms flop to fold over each other, ringed fingers gripping his opposite elbows. His tongue rests like a meek chewing gum bubble between the rows of his teeth, his grin self-effacing. His eyes are fixed, unmoving, on Steve’s face. As if he’s searching for something Steve is unwilling or unable to concede. “I don’t know, man,” Eddie groans. “I wanted to get it over with.” At once Steve is dragged back, bereft, to shore. “Honey,” he says and he shouldn’t, sees how Eddie’s body jerks as if electroshocked. “Yeah. Well.” Eddie is no longer looking at him. “What’re ya gonna do?”

“Do you want a do-over?”

Eddie’s eyebrows raise. “What?” “A do-over. Like.” There’s a tear in Eddie’s jeans in the center of his thigh. His thumbnail catches in the soft, spiderweb-like white thread, the calloused pad grazing Eddie’s skin. “Like you can get the Moment you always wanted.” “You don’t know what I want.” He pushes the words out of him, like he’s grappling down his body’s base impulses. “I’m asking what you want.” Eddie’s mouth falls open around a sigh. He blinks, slow. “How did you kiss those girls?” His voice is low but his legs slide out from under him. Steve’s hand travels, involuntary, to Eddie’s hip. “You’ve got a reputation. How did you kiss them?” Steve rolls to crush Eddie beneath his weight. One hand settles over the cross-section of Eddie’s wrists, the other buries itself in Eddie’s hair. “Do you want me to kiss you like I kissed those girls?” Eddie whines. “Oh. Honey.” Eddie’s arms lock around Steve’s neck. “Do you want me to kiss you like one of my girls?” Eddie’s ankle hooks around Steve’s thigh. “Do you want to be my girl?” “Oh God,” Eddie pants. “Please. Please. Kiss me first?” “Mm?” “Want to feel wanted,” Eddie exhales. “Want to feel wanted by you—” And he melts as Steve’s mouth crushes into Eddie’s, sinks into him like rain-drunk soil. Feels the scratch of carpet biting at the backs of his arms; tries to remember where the carpet touches Eddie; tries to put himself between the fabric and Eddie’s skin. Kisses slow, gentle, tender. Kisses likes he’s trying to erase everything bad that came before. Kisses like he’s trying to be the first. “Steve,” Eddie murmurs against his lips. “You’re my girl,” Steve replies, nonsensical, using every muscle in his body to steady Eddie’s trembling. He kisses the corners of his mouth and Eddie makes a sound that lodges itself in the chambers of Steve’s heart. “You’re my girl.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #stranger things #my fanfic

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cod-imagines-fanfiction · 9 months

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Jealous Alejandro kidnaps Valeria's girlfriend to be interrogated by the 141 (2.3k words, part 2)

Summary: Valeria despairs when you don't answer her calls and immediately returns to her residence, only to find you gone. In the meantime, Graves presses you for information, and Alejandro starts to understand why Valeria hides you so well.

TW: mentions of cheating, toxic Valeria and very toxic Alejandro (OOC but I think it adds juicy drama, sorry for ruining him!). Mentions of death and violence. apologies for the imperfect Spanish, I've been using Google Translate! I titled this as 'Valeria's girlfriend' but I ended up writing them as kind of unofficially married. Link to part 1 Link to part 3 Link to A03

Valeria knew something was wrong when you didn't pick up the phone. In all your years together, she never had to call for you more than once, you were always at her beck and call. Her face turned to stone as the call went to voicemail, it felt like her heart stopped and then started again with fire and poison. In hindsight, she should have worried about your safety first, but unfortunately, her insecurities got the best of her. Anger seethed within her as she thought of all the ways you had betrayed her the moment she left you alone. Infidel! Her right-hand man Rafael was looking at you closely when she left, no? How could she be so blind as to trust you? Of course, you were jumping around with her men behind her back - you seemed all innocent and pure, but sure enough the viper within revealed itself and finally slithered out of her tight grasp. Immediately, she called Rafael to check up on the house, and when he also didn't pick up the phone, she cut her trip short and packed her bags. El Sin Nombre doesn't need to explain why she's leaving early! She commanded her business partners to figure it out amongst themselves as she went to her chopper and rushed home. Her hands shook as she navigated the helicopter, her mind unable to stop thinking of all the ways you were intertwined with Rafael on your marriage bed; desecrating your marriage vows. Of course this would happen. Why would fate let Valeria get away with the betrayal she'd inflicted on Alejandro? It was only right that her karmic debt would catch up with her.

It was as she was lowering her helicopter on the freshly cut grass of your home that she began to realise her devastating mistake. Doors were left open with the curtains billowing with the wind, broken glass from shattered windows littered the entryway and, worst of all, dried trails of blood lead a path from the house to the bushes. Her heart caught at her throat as her eyes roamed frantically from one catastrophic sign to the other. Guilt coiled around her stomach and she cursed her darkness for having doubted your loyalty when really, you were fighting for your life. "Mi esposa," Valeria whispered as rushed out of her helicopter, the blades still cutting the air as she ran indoors, not even bothering to be cautious of any enemies that could still be lurking within the shadows. She knew there were bodies dumped behind the green bushes that you so tenderly cared for, but she couldn't make herself check for you there. Part of her hoped you were smart and had the time to hide somewhere good, but she knew you were as helpless as a child when it came to things like this. You, who were so kind and good, left to fend for yourself. How could she possibly think you'd remain unharmed within this field of work? Valeria selfishly forced a divine light like you to live in the shadows with her, of course you'd get snuffed out eventually. If not by Valeria's own hand, her selfishness and greed, her need to possess and own you at all times, then by the selfish and greedy hands of others. All these thoughts rushed through her as she ran from one hallway to another, rushing to your part of the mansion. Memories of violence clung to your home like spiderwebs, she could see the struggle that ensued in the doors left open when you'd normally keep them closed. In the flower vase that you lovingly refilled every week that now lay on the floor shattered, shattered like her heart. The flowers lay on the floor, dying.

"Mi corazon...," she whimpered and came to a stop right before your bedroom door, one hand clutching her chest as she stood there, too afraid to step in and face your fate. She could only hear the wind catching on your curtains and the light humming of your electric blanket. She could already picture the catastrophe. You were in bed, lathering your lotions on, probably adjusting your night light because you were too afraid to sleep in the dark without Valeria next to you. You were all snuggled for bed, probably waiting for her call on the phone, when somebody came for you. "God, give me courage," she said as she stepped inside and lifted her eyes.

It was as if you evaporated into thin air. She saw the marks your body left on the bed where you lay on it and your phone was still there. Valeria's eyes scanned every inch of the space, no blood or other fluids were on any of the surfaces. You were either taken, or whatever happened to you happened elsewhere. All your belongings were still there. She didn't want to have false hope, so she willed herself to look at the bodies left by the bushes. She charged through the rest of the houses, taking note of all the mess. Her chopper was still on as she crossed the garden you tended to, the sweet smell of roses faintly covering the stench of blood lifting from the pile of bodies. Rafael was there, along with the rest of her men who manned the house in her absence. Treacherous relief washed through her because you were not there. This was the most devastating attack that Valeria had ever experienced in all her years and she could not think of anyone that hated her enough to do this. A rival cartel? Unlikely. They were violent criminals, sure, but they still kept a code of conduct amongst themselves. El Sin Nombre was the biggest competitor out there, no one was so stupid as to do this.

Valeria went to the security room and saw the CCTV footage. Her heart stopped when she saw an all-too-familiar figure invading her home. The tall, dark man cut through her men and made his way directly to where her wife lay. It's like he knew exactly where she was. "Alejandro?" Valeria's heart dropped as she watched Alejandro prepare to break the door and attack her wife, who was shrouded in a naive innocence where she could never comprehend the attack she was about to experience.

Angry tears threatened to spill from her glassy eyes as she saw Alejandro's hand grab you by the throat and drag you out of your marital bed. The same bed that you made love in every night, now permanently defiled with the way he violently dragged you out of it. Bruises from his fingers would have definitely formed on your soft skin by now, if you were still alive. Valeria watched on as Alejandro handcuffed her wife and pushed her through the hallways, saying something to her ear whilst parading her through the home she was supposed to be safe in. It was no coincidence that Alejandro stared directly at one of the cameras as he pushed her wife forward, looking directly at Valeria's eyes. This was no incidental operation; this was deliberate and malicious. More so, it was fucking personal. Yes, this was where Valeria ran her operation, but it was also the home you and her nested in so lovingly. And now it was trampled all over by men in uniforms, just like those fallen flowers. She forced herself to watch on as you were put in a helicopter and disappeared in the night sky.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ "I hope you're ready to talk now, sweetheart." After a few hours of silence, the door to the container you were kept in opened, bringing in some rays of sunlight before shutting again. The American, whom you now knew was called Commander Graves, entered along with Alejandro. It had been many hours since your abduction, you had no way of telling how long exactly. But you were tired and restless, and cold. You thought they might move you to a cell at least, but they made no effort to transfer you out of the metal container. Too afraid to say anything when not spoken to, you sat still and waited. You wondered if Valeria had noticed your absence yet but even if she did, how could she find you? "I'm not sure what to tell you, sir." You remained polite hoping that courtesy would make up for your lack of talking. "Don't be like that, there's plenty to tell. How about we start with this little business trip of hers?" Graves circled around you, placing his hand on your shoulder before finally coming to a stop. " What'du hear about it?" Graves had many years of experience underneath his belt when it came to interrogation, especially the violent ones. And so did the 141. That was made very clear from the beginning. If this was any ordinary member of the cartel, they'd have buried them by now. But spouses were different; you hurt them and there'll be hell to pay. Even worse, there'll be no chance of making a deal with Valeria. "Like I said, I just know she went away for it, sir, that's all."

"Hm," he said and dropped his hand. He moved to stand right in front of you. "Well, you must know something. You know she's El Sin Nombre. You know she runs the biggest drug cartel in Latin America. You know she runs an international operation, you know she has friends in many places. What am I missing here?"

You looked up at him. "That's basically it, sir. It's a drug operation. But I don't know where it comes from, who her manufacturers are, or how she sells it. She doesn't deal with small details." Graves was starting to lose his patience, and not with her but with Alejandro. He couldn't understand why he insisted on extracting a housewife instead of the real deal. Here he was trying to gather intel on those Russian missiles with a trophy wife who hasn't had a day out of the kitchen, let alone discussions with the biggest terrorist organisation in the world. It was time to cut loose and make the call. "Hermano, take over for me will ya? I'll be right back." Graves walked away, wondering what General Sherperd will think of this whole situation.

You were alone with Alejandro now, who paced up and down the compound like a restless animal. You wondered to yourself how similar he was to Valeria, she had the exact same habit when she was stressed. They were very similar in temperament; too similar. Aggressive, hard-headed and dominant. Part of you gloated at the whole situation. Here was a Colonel of the Mexican Army, a well-decorated military man, wasting his time with you, someone quite irrelevant in the grand scheme of things, all because of- "Your wife," he said, disrupting your thoughts and you suddenly realised you were staring at him. "Is that correct?" He nodded at your ring finger. "Yes, sir," you replied timidly. He was exactly like Valeria, and it worked in your favour. You've spent so many years living with your partner that it was almost too easy to deal with people like her. People who could fill up a room with their presence; intimidating, powerful people who could hurt you badly. The sort of people who made the world go round. People, in other words, who could be domesticated.

Because violence and intimidation aren't the only ways to get what you want. Alejandro scoffed, "you've come a long way from that food stand, huh?" He looked at you with a faraway look in his eye, his mind having entered that shrouded area of the psyche where apparitions of the past hover, always eager to glide into the present in the form of memories. Your heart softened both at the memory he was referencing and because, at that moment, he seemed so pitifully sad, having lost himself in reminiscence.

Many years ago, you helped your Abuela run her restaurant in Las Almas, which stood very close to where the Mexican Army had its headquarters. Your Abuela was a genius in strategy and profited a lot from the laziness of soldiers who couldn't be bothered to cook for themselves but who also didn't want to eat whatever the Army served. And that's how you met Valeria, who was regularly sent by her teammates to fetch a group order. Valeria picked up the food because it was expected of her, an unfortunate burden of being one of the youngest women in her squad. But over time, she did it because it meant she got to see you. To everyone's surprise, when Valeria ran away to work for the cartel, that quiet girl in the small restaurant vanished too. "Alejandro." His eyes snapped back into yours. "Lo siento mucho. I really didn't know about you and Valeria. I am not that kind of person." You knew exactly what this was all about. Sure, they wanted to get El Sin Nombre and Valeria *was* the head of the biggest drug operation in the world. And she *has* made Las Almas dance to the rhythm of her tune for the past decade. But this was all just a big temper tantrum. And if you played your cards right, you could leave unscathed. You continued, "Whatever happens, I just wanted you to know that. I am truly sorry. I never meant to hurt anyone."

Something changed in his eyes. You could already picture what was about to happen. After your sincere self-flogging will come his pity, then the remorse. He might chuck you in a cell to show that he's treating you like the criminal collaborator that they all think you are, but soon enough he'll arrive bearing the fruits of forgiveness. Just like Valeria, you told yourself. Like moths to a flame. "Hm," he mumbled to himself, his eyes roaming all over you. "I get it now." He cocked his head to the side, "eres una cosa encantadora." At that moment, you felt a change in the air, something dark hovered between you two. It made you shiver.

"Tell me, Y/N. Have you ever been with a man?"

Hope you enjoy this part! Promised tags: @justmare @sleepiemain @caffeineliker @lesvii @silas-222 I'll bring Valeria and her partner together in part 3! I've also thought of a cute backstory for them that I want to get into :) also sorry for ruining Alejandro, i made him so toxic in this fic 😭

#call of duty valeria #cod imagine #valeria garza #valeria garza x female reader #valeria x female reader #valeria x reader #cod mw2 #cod valeria imagine

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jazjelspen · 10 months

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amor eterno

(miguel and platonic!reader)

(spanglish speaking mexican reader/silly cursing/full sentences in spanish here and there/not proofread/kinda rushed/female reader)

(Happy Father's Day everyone!)

(may make a pt.2 but not sure yet)

(you are Miguel's biological daughter in a different universe and you had to watch your father pass and get buried in your younger years.

you, now an older teenager, have been mastering your spider powers to help the city and your community till all of a sudden you get sucked into another universe where... you see your father again.)

the entire first half of your day was pretty chill as per usual, you just came out of school. you are in a rush inside your home and have been currently getting a few things for your "after school activities". your Tia May always reminding you to stay safe and be careful while Peter, your adoptive brother/guy in the chair, tried to casually dismiss May to let you out faster by asking you to bring him an iced coffee when you get back. once you ran out excusing yourself that you "cannot be late" you then hid behind a secluded alley way to change out of your normie clothes to switch into your spider-themed attire.

It was a normal rest of the day for you, being a crime-fighting spider themed vigilante casually swinging and leaping through your city while taking on a few thieves and even a villain to help your community before resting on top of a roof with a photo of you and your father while munching on a light snack and talking with said photo.

"octo was such a migraine today 'apa.." you scoffed before you took a bite out of your food. "pretty sure I might've broken a small bone or two..somewhere.. but I'm not really sure," you chuckled as you continued "and I know you'd tell me, ten mas cuidado mija, por pendeja te vas a quebrar la cabeza la proxima ves." you spoke as you talked directly to the photo of your smiling dad and you both catching butterflies on a bright sunny day. you imagined what else he'd do right now if he saw and heard you like this, maybe scold you, hug you, curse you out for being reckless then hug you. imagining all this just made you tear up as you stared at his face that you miss seeing everyday, oh how you missed it when he got mad at you. you'd rather him get mad at you a thousand times if it meant to have him back. "I miss you so much.." you let the tears run a bit yet you continued too down your food to calm down the nerves.

after awhile you calmed down and the sun was set with the stars barley getting into view as you peacefully finished the last few chews on your delight whilst enjoying the moment. after crying a bit and relaxing the environment was just so calm and so peaceful in that one second that you even felt as if you were floating, literally. you could practically feel yourself slowly coming off the floor of the roof and your snack basically almost floating out of your han-- oh.

wait.

you are floating.

your eyes then noticed ominous lights of blue, pink,..purple.. and turquoise-- glowing from up above you.

"ay caray..." you mumbled

you quickly snapped your head to look at the direction of the now glowing portal with black specks now growing in size.. you caught on that this portal was trying to suck you in!

"WHATHEFUCK!!"

you immediately shot two spider webs at the ground, one on the floor and one at the photo of your father and you to immediately tuck into your spider outfit to prevent from losing it-- these actions unfortunately forced you to let go of your delicious snack though. you held on as tightly as you could but to no avail your web detached itself from the surface and you were sucked in by the portal with your limbs scrambling to get back out but it closed right in your face.

as you traveled while screaming your lungs out all you could see was a complete endless void of galaxies and glowing blue constellation-like spiderwebs everywhere, your body continued to be sucked into different directions until you were spit right through another portal.

it was all incredibly blurry until you noticed you were heading face first into a group of people who all didn't seem to notice you until the last minute.

"AGUAS AGUAS WATCHOUT--" then they all exclaimed in pain with you as you crashed head first into them. as you all groaned while getting up.

"god that hurt.."

"what was that?--"

"seems like it's a spider-person.."

" 'don't seem like someone we have in the society."

you stayed on the ground still trying to process what just happened but once the figures started becoming clearer and your spider senses started tingling like crazy you then immediately scrambled to crawl away after you realized that-- they are all spider people! just like you!

"what the-- who are you people??.. where am I wh--.." you looked at all of them but a girl of fair skin, blue eyes and blonde hair, one side longer and pinker while the other was half shaved, stretched her hand out to you.

"hey hey... I know this might seem confusing--" she spoke "but right now you have nothing to worry, you're in the spider-society!.. so we don't intend to hurt you.."

you hesitantly took her hand as you got up, looking at her and those behind you up and down for any bad intent, which you didn't get but you still wouldn't let your guard down.

"my name is Gwen Stacy, those behind me are Hobie and Pavitr." each name she mentioned either nodded you 'hello', or gave you an exaggerated 'hello' wave.

you let go of her hand and took a step back, you recognized her last name but decided to think nothing of it "my name is _____... where am I?, I know you said the spider-society and clearly there's more than one... me." you sighed "but did I travel into another part of the world or--"

"oh no you're in another universe."

"what."

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it's been a good few yet long minutes being shown around the Spider-Society HQ and you've got to say you were getting along pretty well with these new spiders. You have been chatting with a few other spider people along the way and you were starting to really dig some of these guys, mostly because of the title and job but it was really starting to sink in. there were people out there in the vast multiverse that were just like you, held the same goals as you.. you felt like there really are people out here that are able to understand you the way your father did.

"and that's the lunch room, oh and theres the gym room but for some reason it's name is much longer than necessary since the leader of this whole organization is a bit of a drama queen. for understandable reasons but still it doesn't help much." Gwen spoke exasperatedly while leading you through the halls, Hobie and Pavitr following close behind yet kind of mingling between each other instead.

" tu leader? theres a whole leader to this entire mess?" you asked while widening your arms to emphasize the size of this entire organization.

"you bet, Miguel isn't the easiest person to get along with but he does his job really well in protecting the multiverse and all the worlds that live in it." she shrugged while speaking.

your body froze on the spot, the blonde took a few steps after you before noticing your slight missing presence and looking behind herself to see you with a worried look on her face. "you alright there?.."

"Miguel." you paused "Miguel." you repeated "that's... sorry that's my dad's name." you let out a sigh with an awkward smile "he died when I was younger but-- " you then couldn't help but chuckle slightly in embarrassment "ah, just missing him a lot lately."

Gwen smiled faintly as she walked up to you and placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, which you flinched at a bit but relaxed when you saw she was just trying to comfort you.. in her own way. "I'm sure he was a good man, _____. considering how many universes there are I'm sure that in one of them you and him are living happily... somewhere out there."

that phrase gave you a sense of comfort, you smiled and nodded as you gently patted the hand that was on your shoulder.

that was until in the same hand she hand on you her watch shined and emitted a small hologram of a person, a woman. she asked for Gwen and her group to go to Miguel's "office" for an overview of a mission that has to take place.

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you weren't exactly supposed to be there with them but you insisted to join them, using the excuse that you just wanted to know more about this whole society right from the source. but really you just wanted to see how this Miguel person was.

your spidey senses tingled in anticipation as you were expecting a whole different person entirely until you finally looked at the face of the man in front of you, once he turned to look at you and the entire group and all you could do was stare.

as he was speaking he noticed your staring but ignored it trying to get to the point into why he called his most trusted spiders in here. the thing is your staring made him lose focus since your eyes burned into his skull and he forced himself to stop mid convo to look at you face to face.

"what is it kid? what's your problem?" the man who calls himself Miguel O’hara. the same man who raised you but died in front of you. it was as if he was right in front of you back from the dead but just.. in a blue spider-man suit.

in a split second you felt your body just run up to him and hug him. everyone else gasped while you just sobbed and he immediately grabbed your shoulders and pushed you away but he paused while still holding onto you since you called him the word his own little girl used to call him by, " 'apa.. no sabes quanto te extrañé.. te juro que todo este tiempo siempre estoy regresando a la chamba tratando de ayudar a mi communidad y asciendo mucho mas. exactamente como tu me pediste papito..."

the man tensed up and looked at you and utter confusion yet with a mix of hurt just from being called 'apa',

"who are you?" was all he asked.

you wiped off all your running tears before answering "mi nombre es _____ O'hara. y yo vi a mi papa, Miguel O'hara, morir enfrente de mi para que yo podia vivir otra dia mas." you sniffed as you tried to relax "and I became Spider-man to keep his memory alive."

Miguel's eyes seemed to have widened, as if he wasn't sure what to think. his late daughter's name was Gabriella.. not ______.

once the man continued to stare at you in thought you continued to blabber your mouth out "his.. his name was Miguel O'hara." you repeated as you scrambled to get the photo of you and your dad that you held onto just awhile ago and showed it to him, basically presenting it right on his face "he raised me alone after my mother died giving birth to me, he loved empanadas y.. y--"

he gently took in the photo with one hand and the other he continued to hold onto your shoulder. while he stared deeply into the photo he seems to be inspecting it for authenticity. it took a minute of him just looking at you and then the photo and it seemed he recongnized the resemblance of the little kid in the photo to be you. for a split moment it seemed as if he was about to pull you in for a hug until he pushed you further away and letting you go "I'm not your father, kid. he and I might've shared the same name and the same physical features," he gave you a cold and hard look as he carefully returned the photo to you "but I'm not him."

"he's gone."

and just like that he said that one last phrase before he turned to then proceed to ignore you and return to talk to his team, whom were all awkwardly standing there from the scene they just witnessed. he spoke of some mission.. an anomaly.. and who knows what else. all you could think of was how this variation of your father was cold and distant. you hoped for a split second that this variant would at least recognize you, care for you the way your father did. but you should've known better, you know better, that this man was more than right.

he wasn't your father, no matter how many traits, features, or names they shared. you couldn't use this variant of him as a replacement.

not like there was ever a way to replace the man that raised you before May did anyway.

(tried to add some mexican slang and phrases that my family and I use on the daily, as well as trying to make this somewhat relatable to my fellow mexican/americans out there! T-T also sorry if my spanish grammar is a bit weird, not exactly used to writing dialogue in spanish but ill get used to it for sure <3)

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