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dreamingofbucky · 10 months

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THE REPORT

Miguel O'Hara x Spider!F!Reader (one shot)

summary: You failed to report to Miguel after a mission and he makes it a living hell for you. to teach you a lesson, he makes you meet him after everyone's gone home and has a special punishment just for you.

tags/content warnings: slow burn til it isn't, grumpy!miguel, cockwarming like that's the whole plot, consensual smut. p in v. fangs. praise kink, size kink. age gap (reader is 20, mig is almost 30 idk). reader is a sister figure to gwen.

Word Count: 6.1k

author’s note: not beta read. this was so fun to write! hope you enjoy <3

Living in Spider Society was chaotic, but you loved it. You enjoyed it so much, but there were times you liked to visit other universes and even your own. You haven’t been back to your own universe in months due to work though.

You’ve been to Gwen and Hobie’s ones countless times, even stayed multiple nights. Albeit you being a few years older than them, about to turn 21, they were your closest friends in Spider Society. They got your humor, they understood your mess, and they’d fight for you.

With Jessica Drew being older and busy with her own relationship, and then Peter B Parker with MJ and Mayday, you were glad you had these Spiderteens to hang with. You felt like an older sister to them sometimes which helped with the whole identity crisis you had the first month moving to Earth-928 and feeling so alone.

And then there was Miguel. He was technically your boss and he was so cold, so standoffish toward you. Even after he recruited you, you’ve seen him less and less around missions unless you had to go to his office to report any difficulties with anomalies. You felt miniscule under his gaze most times. But then… even as much as you hated to admit how he made you feel though at random times when you felt his gaze linger a little longer than normal.

It’s probably been a week since the last time you had to go up to his office to relay a report, yet the grumpy man’s eyes were everywhere in Earth-928. You felt his eyes everywhere. Your spider senses went haywire whenever you felt him near. But it was more than just a tingle to you. It was a strange feeling you couldn’t pin down. But you brushed it off anytime that specific feeling came around.

You did have some hard times though in this new universe you called home. You had your own Peter back in your own universe until he passed. It was your canon event, after all. Something you still hated thinking about.

It was hard at first acclimating to Spider Society seeing so many Peter Parkers. Yours wasn’t Spider-Man, since you were the one in your universe, but the name was hard to adjust to hearing all the time, every day at work. That was the one thing you and Gwen had in common which was why you both were glued to the hip most of the time like real sisters.

Some might say it’s just trauma bonding, but you did ultimately feel like Gwen was like a younger sibling to you at this point. And no one really understood the hard adjustment to Spider Society like she did. It was comforting.

“You’re thinking again,” Gwen says, pulling you out of your thoughts. Her pink-blonde hair fell in front of her face as she busied herself with a journal. She liked to journal a lot more recently ever since she’s been spending more time with Miles.

You remembered her mentioning when she saw him after a year apart that she found his own journal of doodles. It was so obvious the crush she had on him, but you didn’t push or ask any questions.

A smile comes to your face as you see her doodling nonsense. You couldn’t admit that she wasn’t the best artist, but you let her have her vice whenever Miles was busy and off on different missions or even back in his universe to finish school. His parents still didn’t know he was Spider-Man, so he wasn’t around Spider Society as often as Gwen would like.

“No,” you counter. “Just letting my mind rest. Had a long week.”

Gwen’s bright eyes drifted up from the journal before a smile etched on her face. “Did you send your latest report to Miguel yet?”

Your spine stiffened at the sound of his name. “No, why? Was I supposed to? I thought Hobie was in charge of that this week?”

Sometimes Gwen, Hobie, and you would rock-paper-scissors whoever did the reports for the week. This week was supposed to be Hobie’s.

Gwen shakes her head. “No, I clearly remember Hobie mentioning it’d be you. He’s not even around today.”

“Oh,” you plainly stated. She was right, he wasn’t in this universe today. Had some protest to join back in his own universe. He invited you and Gwen, but you both wanted to be around in case you were needed. You urged Gwen to even spend the day with Miles, but he apparently had something to do with his parents.

Gwen whistles. “Miguel is gonna be looking for you then.”

Your eyes widened at that. “Fuck, no he can’t. I didn’t even prepare anything! We went two days ago, how am I supposed to remember each detail of what we did? Fuck, I’m going to find Hobie and–”

“Chill!” Gwen laughs. “Just go see him and let him know. Hey, maybe bringing an empanada will lessen the blow.”

You rolled your eyes at that before standing up. The room you both were in was quiet and not many spider-people were around. Gwen and you liked to come in here to either debrief, talk about Miles, or just sit in silence while she doodled and you thought.

You cherished her, you cherished every one of your spider friends. Well, except now with Hobie. Because now you’re for sure going to get a scolding from the boss man.

“Good luck,” Gwen sing-songed as you shook your head and laughed. But inside you were dying, your heart was starting to race as you left the room. You made your way through the building until you got to the elevator. The ride up was short and you even forgot the empanada.

Your fingers laced together at the front as the doors opened and you walked on the floor where his office was. It was unusually quiet. And darker than normal.

There wasn’t any big anomaly that had to be contained today or else you’d know. So where was everyone?

By the time you reached his office, you craned your neck up to see his platform high up and he was there standing, staring at a screen. He hadn’t noticed you yet, due to his inability to have spider senses, and you take your time looking at him.

His broad shoulders were facing you and you noticed his hands on his slim waist. You lick your lips at the sight. It wasn’t something you were proud of.

Call it hormones. You closed yourself off to any romantic flings or relationships the moment you moved here, but you still had those urges.

And they so happened to heighten whenever you were around the one person you shouldn’t have those urges around. Your attraction to your boss wasn’t something you expected, especially with him being a few years older than you… okay, he was definitely older. He never mentioned his age, but you overhead he was probably closer to 30. Which made him almost a decade older than you.

Your thoughts drift to a week ago when you saw him in passing. Spider-Woman was briefing you for a mission when he caught on to the conversation and halted his steps. He interrupted that conversation to scold you, letting Jess know that you wouldn’t be joining her that day.

You didn’t understand why. It wasn’t like the anomaly wasn’t someone you couldn’t handle. But you had to follow his orders and ultimately stayed back while he and the other Spiders went. Even Gwen and Hobie went.

That was a low blow on Miguel’s part. You’d at least thought he’d make the non-teens go on a mission together. You can’t remember the last time you went on a mission where Miguel was present. It felt like some days he didn’t even want you around.

As you think about Miguel, you hear shuffling up above you and you blink, brushing away the thoughts and focusing on what you had to do.

You shoot out a web to his platform and bring yourself up, landing on your feet. He finally turns at the noise and gives you a side-eye.

“What are you doing here?” He asks.

Your fingers find each other again as you fumble for a response. Here goes. “I-I had that report to tell you about. I thought Hobie was going to give it, sorry for the delay.”

His shoulders rise and fall with each breath before he turns around. His hand goes in the air behind him, waving off the screens he was just looking at. You caught a glimpse of another universe and Spider people shooting webs.

He had an eye on everything.

“That was supposed to be given directly after you returned from it,” he scoffs. He takes a step toward you and you try to hold your ground. Your breathing increases and his lips twitch.

“I know! Just a simple miscommunication, that’s all,” you try to laugh it off, but his stern face is anything but finding it funny.

“Do you know what I think?” He simply asks. The hairs on your arms stand as you look at him. His eyes smooth over your face, looking all over. They stop for a brief moment a little lower, on your lips, for more than a second.

“What do you think?” You ask breathlessly.

He takes another step closer, now inches away. He’s so tall compared to you, he’s basically caging you in at this moment without even knowing. You gulp.

“You’re supposed to be an example to them.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” he grimaces. “You’re older than them, yet you seem to act their age. It’s evident in the way you completely forgot to send in that report on time.”

“It happened once! And by accident! Like I said, it was because–”

“Take responsibility,” he spits. His hand goes to his hip and now you’re on the verge of hyperventilating. You didn’t expect a lecture when you came here. You expected Miguel to throw a fit, yelling at you, and then banishing you from his office within minutes. But you’re still here.

“Okay, I will,” you finally state. You feel deflated from the conversation already and you’re starting to get impatient at his obvious anger. Or annoyance. He seemed to be either angry or annoyed by you everytime you’re around.

“Okay, let’s hear it.” He crosses his arms over his chest, his elbows brushing against your chest in the process with how close he is. You take a deep breath.

“I’m taking responsibility for not giving you the report on time. I apologize, boss.”

He nods before turning on his heel and returning to his screen. You’re left confused and you even raise a brow at the odd reaction.

“Don’t you want the report now?” You ask, kicking your heel at the ground.

“No, not right now. I’m busy. Come back later.”

“But I had plans with Gwen,” you start, but he snaps his neck back at you and his eyes glow red. You stop talking immediately.

“Come. Back. Later.” He hisses, fangs showing.

“Right, will do,” you stutter out before attempting to run off that platform. Your two left feet make you trip and fall, making you have to shoot out a web to catch yourself before you planted face first on the floor below.

You didn’t dare to look up and see if Miguel saw that, you left as soon as your feet hit the ground.

By the time you went to regroup with Gwen, she wasn’t where you left her. It took you a moment to walk around the building before you found her outside, sitting and staring at the scenery. You climbed the structure she was on, upside down, before shooting out webs to anchor you, and lowering yourself and sitting next to her.

“How was it?” She asks, looking at you.

“Not so well,” you confess.

“Really? What happened?” Her eyes widen.

You shrug. “Not much, actually. I apologized and took responsibility for not giving it to him on time.”

“But? Your face looks like there’s a ‘but’ somewhere in there,” she laughs. You nudge her shoulder with yours and you frown.

“Yeah, there’s a but. He didn’t want the report. Told me to go back later tonight to give it to him.”

“That’s great!” Gwen smiles.

“How’s that great?” You ask, raising a brow. You decide to look out in front of you both and see the vast city before you. Although you’re upside down, you never get tired of the view.

“Because you have time to do the report and then give it to him, duh. You don’t have to verbally give it to him on the spot.”

“I don’t know,” you finally breathe. You place your palms behind you and lean back. Gwen does the same, mimicking you.

“You know, Jess mentioned that he’s a big softie under all that anger and macho-ness.”

“What?” You laugh, wondering why the hell she’s steering the conversation this way.

Gwen nods with a smile curling on the tips of her lips. “Yep. It kind of reminds me of those stupid sayings where if he makes fun of you, he likes you.”

Your body stiffens and you shake your head. “Gwen! What are you talking about? Miguel?”

There is nothing behind the reasons why he’s cold to you or why he’s made it seem like you aren’t worth being around. If he had any inkling of attraction toward you, you’d know. Spider sense or not.

“See tonight, then! And please let me know. I kind of made a bet with Jess… I have to win.”

You groan. “What?! You guys are betting on the most impossible thing. There is nothing there. He hates me, but like actually. There is no underlying meaning.”

“Sure,” Gwen laughs. “Anyways, Miles said he’s coming back tomorrow so we might have to raincheck on that girls night.”

“I thought that was tonight?”

“I figured we’d have to move it to tomorrow night the moment you mentioned Miguel needing to see you tonight. He’ll probably make you handwrite that damn report all night.”

You lean your head back and stare at the city above you. “Fine, raincheck. But nothing is going on, you’ll see.”

“Hmm,” is all Gwen says before you shake your head and laugh. You both stay watching the city in silence for a little longer before you go on with your day, dreading for the night to come.

***

“Miguel?” You call out into the darkness of his office. His platform is dark, with no sign of life from him or anyone.

Suddenly, you hear a fizzle in the air and then Lyla pops up into thin air. You almost yelp, hand flying to your chest.

“Hey! Miguel let me know for you to meet him in his quarters.” Lyla floats around you, disappearing and reappearing at random spots. Her pink glasses lower on the bridge of her nose as she takes a good look at you.

“His place?” You repeat, your mouth suddenly feeling dry. You’ve never been called to his quarters. He had a place of course in the city, but it was known that he’d stay multiple times a week at the floor of the building that acted as a penthouse for when he needed to be on call for anyone.

You were terrified that you did something else wrong and that’s why he decided to have this meeting in a more private location. You gulp, looking at Lyla.

“Don’t look so scared!” She laughs. “Come on!” She yells before disappearing and reappearing a few yards away closer to the elevator.

You follow with no argument before you both get into the elevator and it skyrockets a few more floors up. The elevator dings and you see Miguel in normal clothes, not his suit. It didn’t occur to you that he can wear something else besides his suit. You’ve never seen him without the suit, so this was weird.

Miguel hears your steps and he looks, a look of concern on his face. You instantly cross your arms over your chest, as if trying to hide yourself from his gaze. His eyes drift from your toes to your eyes before he looks at Lyla who appears in front of him.

“She’s here, boss,” she sing-songs before Miguel grunts.

“Thanks, Lyla. Now pause all updates unless it’s an emergency. Forward any updates to Jessica if there are any.”

“Only if you say it,” Lyla teases, twirling around Miguel’s body.

Miguel groans, rolling his eyes. “Lyla, do it.”

“Nuh uh, I need to hear it boss,” she pushes. This makes you giggle at the encounter but you shut your mouth as Miguel gives you a stern look.

“Please, Lyla,” he finally says with a bite to his words.

“Already done, boss, but I loved hearing that,” Lyla says before evaporating into thin air. The silence fills the room as you stand there, rocking back and forth on your heels.

“Where’s your suit?” He finally asks, heading to the kitchen. You follow blindly, unsure what else to do.

“I-uh, didn’t think I’d need it.” You looked down at your sweats and long sleeve, wondering if you should’ve looked more presentable. It was past dinnertime, way past that to be precise, the sky was dark outside his floor to ceiling windows, so it didn’t make sense to wear anything else. You wanted to feel cozy too. The softness of the clothes calmed you a bit with the anxiety of what Miguel might say.

You tried to write the report earlier, but your mind was a mess. You’d have to apologize for that again you were sure of it.

“You didn’t, just wanted to ask,” Miguel chuckles as he reaches inside his fridge and pulls out a water bottle. He turns to you and raises it, looking at you with a questionable face. You nod as he tosses you it and you open it, taking a few sips. You hear the crack of his own and his gulping.

You didn’t realize how much of a cottonmouth you had until you started drinking the cold water.

“So the report, do you have it?” He asks, heading toward you.

“About that…” you start. His jaw clenches and his eyes go red for a moment before they go back to the pretty brown.

“You didn’t do it?”

You shake your head, swallowing the lump forming in your throat. “No, I-I tried to. I swear, I can do it right now, just let me get my computer or a pen and paper.”

That’s when he laughs again. You’ve never heard him laugh before. It was like music to your ears. Your heart picks up its pace at the sound and the way his eyes crinkle at the motion. His teeth bare with the laugh and you notice the fangs popping out.

An inappropriate thought of him sinking them into you comes to the forefront of your mind and you suck in your breath and clench your thighs together. He pinches his brows, looking at you at the sudden sound you swore he wouldn’t be able to hear.

“Ven aquí,” he beckons as he waves you over to the other end of the place where a living room holds a few couches. The place isn’t decorated and it looks like it was just created as something to show, not live in. He sits on the edge of the couch and you walk over to him, keeping a few inches away.

You can practically feel his body heat emanating and your body betrays you as your knees get wobbly and you have to clear your throat. You curse yourself for having these reactions toward your boss in his private place.

Lyla couldn’t even interrupt you both as much as you’d like. You didn’t want to be scolded. You wanted to take the punishment of finishing the report in front of Miguel and then go home.

“Your heart is racing so fast,” he murmurs, causing you to gasp. Heat pools in your belly and your cheeks start to burn. He cocks his head to the side before sighing and running a hand through his hair. His biceps flex under his shirt and you bite your lip.

“It’s just hot in here,” you lie, fanning yourself to prove a point.

“The AC is on,” he counters.

“Of course,” you squeak. You try so hard to lower your heart rate, but it’s not helping being so close to him.

“Do you want to know what else I can observe?” He asks, looking up at you from beneath his lashes. Your ears are pounding as you intake a sharp breath.

“What?” You whisper.

He rises, getting close to you. He lifts a hand and traces a finger underneath your chin, causing you to tremble and your lips quiver. “I can smell the way your sweat is protruding. And it’s not from fear.”

“Oh,” you whisper again.

He bares his teeth, fangs glinting. “I can also smell you to the point where it’s driving me fucking crazy right now.”

“Smell me? Like my sweat and my scent?” You raise a brow. You’re not sure where he’s getting at this. Is he trying to intimidate you? Cause it’s working.

“I can smell your arousal,” he chuckles, getting closer to brush your chest with his body. You widen your eyes.

“Oh, uh, I’m so sorry,” you apologize, not knowing what else to say. You try to clench your thighs together, but that doesn’t help with the growing feeling between them. Your pussy is basically singing for him to touch it. You do your best to push down those thoughts, it’s utter humiliation that he can sense those things.

His thumb brushes your bottom lip and your knees almost give out at the gentle touch. It’s all confusing you to the point where you’re not even sure this is happening.

“You look confused,” he mutters.

“I-uh, I’m not sure what’s going on. I thought I was going to be lectured. I thought you’d send me away to finish the report or something,” you admit.

“You won’t be going on any missions anytime soon, how’s that for a lecture?”

Your heart drops at this. “What? How is that fair? I’m not the only one who missed a report, I’m sure!”

His hand drops from your face and you miss the feeling of it instantly. You stare at him and your anger is starting to increase. Scrunching your brows together, you exhale loudly.

“It’s completely fair for the way it was handled.”

It wasn’t wise for you to keep talking back to your boss, especially being alone with him. There wouldn’t be anyone around to save you if he started one of his rage arguments.

“The report can be done now, how about that?” he finally breathes. He retreats back to the couch and leans back, thighs spreading. His frame is large and your eyes immediately go to his core and then his crotch. You gulp, knowing you shouldn’t be looking in that region.

He says your name sternly and you look up before seeing a smirk pass his lips.

You shake your head and straighten your posture. “Of course, boss. Where do you want me to do it?” You ask, looking around for a desk or maybe he wanted you to complete it on the kitchen island. You still needed a paper and pen or a computer.

He makes a slapping sound and you turn toward it, seeing him slapping his thigh. You stare at him incredulously.

“Miguel?” You whisper. His eyes are no longer the light brown you remember from moments before. They've gone a little darker and red is seeping into the sclera. You gulp.

“Aquí,” he states firmly. You oblige, getting closer and bumping your knee with his before you stand in between his spread thighs.

Your heart continues to race and you’re surprised you haven’t passed out from it. He pats his thighs again before he leans up for a moment, wrapping his strong arms around your waist and pulling you in so easily. He lifts you up like you weigh nothing before you’re straddling his thighs, legs on either side of his.

It happens so quickly all you can do is gasp and then balance yourself by placing your hands on his shoulders. His very broad, strong shoulders. Your fingers clasp them tightly and you swallow.

“Isn’t that better?” he whispers. You bite your lip, not sure how to respond. His hand lifts to brush your cheek before pushing strands of hair behind your ear. The movement is delicate and completely opposite of how Miguel holds himself in public. You’ve seen him swat a butterfly once that wasn’t even bothering him and his grumpy persona is all you know.

“Tell me,” he demands. You part your lips.

“Yes,” you finally admit. His hands move to your waist and press hard, enough for you to gasp. Your fingers dig into his shoulders and he hisses.

“What are we doing?” You ask, courage finally bubbling out of your chest.

“I’ve noticed things about you, reina,” he whispers, holding you tighter.

“You have?”

He nods. “The way you look at me. Your heart races when you’re near me. Your pussy craves my touch, I can smell it everytime.”

“What? No, it’s not–” you scream but he pulls you closer on his thighs until your core brushes against his. You feel something right under your pussy and you realize it’s his erection.

Your hips instinctively roll at the feeling and you groan, biting your lip.

“See? You can’t deny the way your body is wanting me. I can’t lie and say I haven’t thought about it too. That I don’t feel the same way.”

“Miguel,” you squirm underneath his hold but that only makes your hips roll even more into his erection and it sparks something in you. It feels so good and a moan leaves your lips. He grunts, fangs hitting his bottom lip for a moment. A slight red dot forms from the incision.

“Besame,” he asks, smoothing his hands up to your torso, over your arms and then to your cheeks. You feel intoxicated from his touch.

He wants you to kiss him. You can’t deny that, you’re already so far gone now. Without a delay, you nod and lean in, crashing your lips to his. A moan escapes your lips while a hiss leaves his. You feel a slight prick from his fangs and you gasp.

“Sorry, reina,” he says, licking your bottom lip.

You take a few deep breaths, lifting a hand from his shoulder to run it through his hair. You don’t do it gently, call it payback for the fang bite. But it only rouses him more, your fingers grasping harshly at his strands. He pulls you in then again to kiss you and then pushes his tongue into your mouth. He kisses you with fervor and you let him. Your hips begin to roll over his erection and it hits the spot you need it to.

“Take these off,” he slaps your ass and hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your sweats. You nod before lifting yourself and he pulls them down. You shift awkwardly until your sweats are off and then you’re straddling him with just your panties. His calloused palms touch your thighs and he groans.

“Fuck, your skin is so soft.” He murmurs before smoothing his hands over your thighs before moving to your panties.

“Do you want me to take these off too?”

He shakes his head, lifting a hand. You see a talon come out from his finger and he’s quick to cut the fabric of your panties. You gasp and he smiles.

“Hey!” You yelp.

“My turn,” he moves on, moving his hands to pull down his own pants. You have to lift yourself again, your panties falling from the motion. You watch as he slides his pants down enough until they’re past his knees. You finally look down and gasp, not expecting him to be bare underneath. No boxers, just his erected cock ready for you. A glint of pre-cum is at the tip and your mouth salivates at the thought.

His hand goes to his cock and he starts to move it up and down. He hisses through the movements before he licks his hand and continues the motions. You widen your eyes.

“Are you ready for your report?” He breaks your thoughts.

You lock eyes with him. “T-the report? Right now?”

He nods. “Sit on my cock, reina, and give me the damn report.”

Your cheeks burn and you look around the room, wondering if this is some kind of dream. You lift your hand to your other arm and pinch. It hurts, so you know you’re not dreaming.

He’s still fisting his cock as he waits patiently. His eyes are redder than before and he licks his lips.

“Miguel,” you whisper.

“You’re so wet for me already, I know it,” he laughs.

He wasn’t wrong, but your brain was turning into mush. You muster the courage to finally do as he says. You lift yourself enough to hover over his core and his hand moves from his cock to your pussy and you gasp from the feeling of his fingers running along your wet folds.

“Fuck, you’re going to be a tight fit. But I can’t warm you up, I’m sorry,” he mumbles.

“Wait, why?”

“Another punishment, now sit on my cock before I change my mind about everything.”

You didn’t want to know what else he planned for your punishment and you knew it wouldn’t be nearly as enticing as this. He’d probably make you work at the cafeteria or some shit.

“Okay,” you meep, finally lowering yourself onto his tip. You hiss at the feeling of his wet tip entering you.

“Come on, you got this,” he coos as his hands move to your waist to help lower you down. Inch by aching inch, you lower until you’re full of him. His girth practically splits you in half and you bite your lip, holding in a cry.

“You’re so pretty like this, sitting on my lap with my cock stuffed inside you.”

You let out a deep breath. “You’re so big, Miguel, I need a moment.”

“Take your time, you’re not leaving anytime soon.”

Your heart skips a beat at that thought. It takes a moment for you to adjust to his length before you’re ready to roll your hips. It feels like the world has flipped upside down and you’re in heaven. Sparks run all along your spine and throughout your body.

His cock twitches inside you and you start to roll your hips, closing your eyes.

“Open your eyes,” he demands. You whip them open and stare at him. Your hands dig into his shoulders again as you roll your hips again, causing him to groan and tighten his hold on your waist.

“Now, the report,” he repeats.

“Oh, yeah, uh–” you mumble out. Your mind can’t concentrate on that damn report as your pussy clenches around his cock. He stills your movements.

“We can only continue if you start talking,” he says.

That’s when you realize what he’s doing. He’s not going to take you off his lap until you’re done with the report. You’re not sure if you’ll be able to handle that. Your orgasm is already rising to its peak with the small movements. He’s so big, hitting your g-spot perfectly. Each roll of your hips sends you closer and closer to your release.

“Okay, well,” you start. “Hobie and I were able to handle the Vulture from Earth-673. It was good and–ah–we got him contained.” You say, biting your lip to keep from coming.

“And?” Miguel presses, lifting his own hips to drive his cock a little more into you. An exasperated pant leaves your mouth at this. He’s cruel.

“And that was it, that was all we did. Nothing else happened,” you mumbled out quickly.

“That’s not what I saw on the screens,” he hums. He moves a hand to roam down between your cores. His thumb presses gently against your clit and you clench his cock before whimpering.

“Miguel!”

“What else happened?”

You try so hard to think back to the mission that happened days ago. You curse Hobie for not sending the report or reminding you that you had to do it.

That’s when you remember something. You smile. “Gwen was handling that train cart that fell off the platform and then Hobie and I focused on the people on the ground. We got them all.”

“And what else?” Miguel starts to circle his thumb over your clit at a faster pace. You groan and hang your head back. His movements stop.

“Miguel, please,” you squirm, trying to get back that friction against your clit by rubbing yourself over his abdomen. He hisses and shakes his head.

“You forgot about the canon event you didn’t stop,” he reminded you.

That didn’t seem like important information to tell him. You all worked hard to prevent canon disruptions. It was an obvious task that didn’t need to be vocalized. He raises a brow. You take a deep breath and nod.

“Y-yeah,” you mumble. “We allowed the canon event to happen successfully.”

“Good girl,” Miguel coos before placing his thumb back on your clit and his other hand grasps your waist tight enough and he lifts you enough to slam you back down on his cock. You scream, falling on him and wrapping your arms around his neck. Your hands bury in his long hair.

“So good for me,” he whispers in your ear as you roll your hips some more, chasing that high.

“I’m close,” you whine. You feel his lips graze your neck and before you know it, you feel pain and little stabs at your skin. His fangs sink into your skin and that only causes you to moan loudly and squeeze his cock even more. He grunts before removing his fangs from your neck.

“You did so well for me, you can come whenever you want to, reina,” he whispers. And before you know it, both hands go to your waist and he’s lifting you up at an alarming pace and slamming you down on his cock.

You’re both panting loudly, the only sounds in the room are your cores slapping and your pussy drenching him in your arousal.

“Fuck! I’m going to come,” you whimper.

“Come all over my cock, baby,” he stutters as his pace of slamming you down grows sloppy. You nod and lift your head to look at him. His eyes are less red and his features have seemed to go a little softer.

Before you know it, you’re screaming and coming over his cock. He doesn’t stop though, he continues to jut into you until his hips still and his hands shake on your waist. You feel the warmth spread inside you and you know he just released inside you.

“Fuck,” he sighs.

You lay your forehead against his chest and his hands are soft to the touch as he rubs your bare back underneath your shirt. You shudder underneath his touch, but you try to calm your breathing. Your pussy clenches around his softening dick and he groans.

“I can get off,” you whisper, attempting to lift your hips, but his hold on you tightens.

“No, not yet.”

“Why?” You giggle. You lift your head and you’re nose to nose with Miguel. His eyes dance around your face before he answers.

“I think you need to repeat the report once more.”

“What?!” You scowl.

“I’ve got you here now, what’s the problem? You can’t repeat the same thing you just said? Or are you too cockdrunk to think of anything?”

You didn’t want to tell him that he’s right. The last few minutes are a blur and the mission of a few days ago is at the back of your mind already. You whimper as his hands lower to your ass and squeezes. You try to lift your hips again, but he slams you back down on him. The friction only causes your arousal to rise again.

Fuck, you’re never going to leave are you?

His erection starts to grow again in you and he smiles like a jerk.

“The report, repeat it. If you stumble once, you’re starting over. I have all night.”

You roll your hips, fully drowning in him and obeying his every command. You’re too far gone at this point to fight.

You nod, biting your lip before starting the report again. You mumble a few times and you curse yourself as he takes a moment to lift you and slam you on his cock a few times. You scream his name relentlessly before having to start the report over again.

You don’t get off his lap until the sun peeks from the horizon and filters through the penthouse.

#marvel au #miguel fanfic #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara atsv #atsv #atsv fanfic #atsv x you #miguel spiderman #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #across the spiderverse fanfiction #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters #miguel o'hara fanfiction

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vhstown · 7 months

Text

love our a.m.

— hobie brown x gn!reader

summary: Hobie hates mornings, but the ones with you aren't so bad.

warnings: hobie pov, fluff, alarm clock murder 😱 /j semi-edited

word count: 0.8k

a/n: wrote at midnight in like 2 seconds 🙏 p shabby but it's ok a little ooc hurt nobody thank you qiuwey for title idea ly

BRRIIIIII— Smash!

It didn't even get past the first ring. That was the third alarm clock Hobie had broken so far. If was almost a skill by now; he didn't even have to open his eyes. In fact, it was too bright to open his eyes. Everything was too much in the morning. Too bright, too loud, too cold. Why was it so bloody cold?

You. Or the lack of you, for that matter. The lack of you — and the back of you facing him. He stopped himself from moving you when he noticing the gentle rise and fall of your breath — that faint exhale he could listen to forever. Well, maybe not forever, given the way his arm was now cautiously hovering over your sleeping form.

Hobie inched just a little forward, peering over, his face tensed. You were asleep, alright. He couldn't tell if the expression on your face was a smile or a frown. For a moment, Hobie debated getting up and rotating his entire bed to stop you facing the wall, but his strength was only used for destroying appliances this early in the morning, it seemed.

With a sigh that had much more frustration than he'd like, the punk fell back against his pillow. He wasn't being needy, or anything, was he? Sure, he hadn't seen you in a while, and he hadn't held you in a while, but he could wait until you woke up at the very least — right? Hobie tried checking the clock, but it had already suffered fate of his fist. Truthfully, he hadn't slept a wink. Hobie thought about you often enough, sure, but you were all that had filled his mind last night — and arms. He surpressed another grumble. Not needy, of course — maybe a little cold.

You looked so warm — and comfortable. It'd be a crime to wake you up (not that he was much more lawful around you, but he didn't want to anyway.) The fact that his short-lived scrap with the alarm clock didn't alert you was a mystery. The wretched thing was from you, Hobie recalled: brand new from that little junk shop near the docks, now as good as a drumkit without sticks. There was probably a spring he'd dislocated somewhere on the floor for him to step on later. Another reason to hate mornings.

His pillow was starting to feel uncomfy. And the mattress. And all of his clothes. It was freezing now, as well. The blanket was too far, and was also probably too itchy, of course.

He relented, but not entirely. It was far more uncomfortable for him to try and keep his weight off of you, arm moving over your side and bent an awkward angle. If he wasn't so needy, this would be enough. No, this was enough, obviously... Hobie wished he had a second alarm clock to punch right now.

A sudden twitch of movement from you — and Hobie nearly punched himself. He held his breath, the muscles in his arm straining as you moved under him. He debated letting go (though he wasn't holding on much in the first place), before you were still. Hobie let out a quiet exhale.

It was a second later that your fingers curled around his. Then you squeezed his hand. Hobie's eyes flew open; his breath was trapped in his chest again.

"Hey..." He wasn't sure if he was just whispering to himself. "...You awake?"

Another squeeze to his fingers. Hobie sucked in his stomach. The expression on your face looked more like a grin. He had been, what one may call...

"You little—" Fooled.

Hobie couldn't finish his sentence before you turned to bury yourself in his chest, arms slotting between his to wrap him in a hug.

"Little what?" Your voice vibrated against his chest, still somewhat sleepy but awake enough to prove your guilt; you'd been awake all this time. All he could do was pull you more against him, closing his eyes in defeat. "Thought so."

Hobie sighed, soaking in your warmth as his body curled around you. He was like a bug to a radiator; the strange accuracy of that thought made him frown. He wasn't as small as a bug, but he could be as small as he wanted around you. Maybe one morning you'd hold him, but was more than enough, for now. He opened his eyes again when you shifted, yours narrowed by a faint smile.

"Morning," you whispered. The word didn't sound so bad coming out of your mouth.

Hobie leaned down to kiss your lips, if only for a moment, before pulling you back into his chest.

"G'mornin'..." he mumbled, yawning and closing his eyes again.

It was warm, comfortable. The sunlight had mellowed and the only sound was of your breathing, soft and even. Hobie hated mornings, but this one wasn't all that bad — not with you in it.

He decided he'd apologise about the alarm clock later.

🕸️🔭🎸

oho thank you for reading ^^ im trying to write more often but i have exams like... every week now so 💔 tis life but i hope u enjoyed

reblogs & feedback appreciated as always <3 find the rest of my atsv stuff here!

#hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x you #hobie brown x gn!reader #hobie brown fluff #hobart brown #hobie brown #hobie brown fic #spider punk #atsv x you #atsv x reader #atsv fanfiction #atsv fanfic #across the spiderverse #vhstown #kew

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honestsycrets · 8 months

Text

querido ii: ¿estás bien? | outlaw!miguel o'hara

Chapter List

❛ pairing | outlaw!miguel o'hara x reader

❛ type | tripleshot(?); explicit

❛ summary | while miguel gathers gabriella, you have an unexpected visit from aaron. miguel doesn't take his visit well.

❛ tags | mention of murder and minor character death, hidden pregnancy, western au, spanish not translated, outlaw!miguel, baby-mama!reader, slight cursing, angst, threats, implied physical assault, implied molestation, miguel beating a bitch up, mention of alcohol and smoking, f!reader.

❛ sy's notes | a bit long but-- enjoy.

The path Gabriella took was traceable. He wove through the pass of battered grass with efficiency, passing by groups of grazing cattle until he came upon a small wooden barn. It was nestled just in the mouth of the forest. It was clumsily built and even more sloppily painted. Miguel had no doubt that it had to be Peter’s handiwork. It had that look about it, half done but done in love.

“Gabriella?” her name was clumsy on his tongue. Before today, he’d gotten no word of his daughter in smuggled letters from Peter. Didn’t even know you were pregnant. It made sense, after the accident, that he’d step up. That was the kinda man Peter was.

“Go away,” she sniffled between the fallen tears and snot, her sobbing loud and relentless. “I don’t want to talk.”

“Let me take you home, kid.”

“No.” she bit out. “I don’t know you.”

“You know your mama.”

“I don’ think I do,” she said.

“Yeah, well, that makes two’a us.” Crestfallen, Miguel set his back against the wood panneling, folding his broad arms one over the other. His head connected with the aged old wood, staring into the distance at your little house with its peeling paint and tall flowering trees. He takes a swig of his flask of booze, needing something to cut with the sudden reality that he was an instant father. A smoke would do, too.

He should have known his method of pulling out and praying would slip up one day. Apparently, that came sooner than he thought. If he searched his memories way back when, he might have remembered a time or two that he failed to pull out, your beautiful body riding him for all he was worth. All beat up, he was a sad sex partner, clinging underneath layers of your frilly dress to fuck up into you. Coño, that had to be it. A laugh slipped off his lips, empty of his typical sass and mirth.

“Came back to see my girl and end up a father, fancy that.”

“Your girl?” Gabriella said, in between her raw tears. “What’d you mean your girl?”

“Tu mamá. She was my girl. Met her as a cattle hand for her papá. Back when I used to do things right,” Miguel found himself explaining, turning his head over to the tiny window. He couldn’t help but remember the first time you caught his eye-- the day you dropped that ruby-red rebozo into a muddy puddle on the way back from church. Whirling off his newly broken horse, Miguel near flung himself off her saddle to pick it up. Gabriella shifted to look out the empty window at him. “Shoulda seen her then. She had this glimmer, used to bring me out burros no matter how hot it was.”

He remembers the many days sitting on the wooden gate, tearing tasteless dried meat until you came around. You slipped out of your mother’s schoolhouse without fail to bring him something to eat. He hated sopita days the most. You loved those days the most. Beggars couldn't be choosers. He'd eat it, smack on a smile. Listened with an annoyed grin to the other cattle hands when they teased him about having to drop his entire salary back on the man to get your hand in marriage. Like the asshole would give you to a sunburnt, down-in-the-dirt cowboy like him. If he'd known that, he would've just eloped before things got... messy.

“Mama likes sopita,” Gabriella said. At least she knew her mother. “I like frijoles and tortillas.”

Sencillo. She was a simple child. Miguel exhaled a plume of smoke, spotting a dark brown horse out in the distance. He wasn't sure, but it could be Aaron coming to bother you again. He swore that the man had come in earlier when Miguel was feeding Widow in the barn.

“Abuelo y mi tia were shot.” She stated. What'd you do?! She’s not moving! Miguel shook the memory free. Every time he remembered, he hoped he could forget. He brings his cigarette back to his lips as the little girl goes on. “That’s what mamá said. Then, the paper says you killed the sheriff. Real outlaw like!"

“That’s what they say,” he mumbled, finding his mind running.

The days of running from his thoughts were coming to a quick end. He’s traveled far and wide, never married-- though he had certain needs met. It never fit. No one’s body held the quiet calm of yours under his, your fingers dancing the expanse of his muscled back, your soft lips on his chapped ones. He just wanted to make it right, thinking there was nothing more to tie you down. Looking at the curious twinkle in his daughter’s big brown doe eyes, that was obviously wrong.

“Yeah, but did you do it?”

“Don’t think your mamá would appreciate me talking out of turn.” Miguel unfolded his arms, knowing that he already said too much. He doesn’t know how much of the event you’ve told her. It’s easy to want to tell her things, to be more honest, and to invite open conversation like a papá should. He let Peter handle it all for years.

“What about me?” she asked, curious. “Did’ja come back for me?”

“You?” Miguel peeped over. “I didn’t even know you were alive, kid. Besides that, you won’t even talk to me man to man.”

“Man to girl,” she pushed open the door and popped out with her hands square on her hips. She’s a little spitfire, standing there proudly, fractured in some beautiful way, through moments of grief. It still wears in her girlish eyes, but it's smoothed over some by Miguel’s presence. He suddenly has a terrible fear of letting her down. He caught the tail of a frown before it dissipated. She presented him with her hand.

“My papá’s gone, so you’ll just have to do.”

Great, he’s a second-rate father. He knows he’s no Peter, who could run off with the smallest joy a child had. He could make it seem like the most amazing thing he’s ever heard. Miguel has a cold demeanor, his aptitude in things outside gunfights is questionable, and he has a fat ass bounty on his head-- no doubt spearheaded by Aaron. The deaths were so old. The sheriff was another issue. Why else would he keep chasing him?

“I’ll try.”

He could do this. Whatever having a child entailed, he wanted to do it. To one day bring that smile to Gabriella’s lips. A smile warmed his hardened face as he took hers. It’s the only thing that a newfound father could wish for his daughter-- to be the source of her happiness.

By the time they trek back home, there is no sight of Aaron. Widow is tucked kindly in your barn, out of the sweltering sun that beat down her little face to keep her safe. They take the backdoor in.

“Mamá?” Gabriella stepped in first. Miguel followed after, his hand on his gun out of habit. Too many sleepless nights in the middle of nowhere, nights sleeping in caves and rocky ground. “Mamá, are you there?”

Your clothes are thrown over a wooden chair, forgotten. Your cleaning water is used and indicates that you cleaned up in their absence. Miguel stepped past a broken dish in the kitchen that Gabriella thought fell off on its own accord. He set the sherds on top of one another and continued on in his inspection of the kitchen.

“Oh, mama made pie!” Gabriella picked up the forgotten peach pie from the window and set it on the lace tablecloth that covered the table. Miguel promptly shut the window behind her. He recognized Peter’s old pistol on the table, still holstered up in your thigh wrapping. Night had fallen on the home. Had they been gone so long?

Something’s off-- Miguel decided.

“I’m upstairs,” you called from up the steps. Your voice sounded strained, suppressing something Miguel didn’t quite understand.

“Eat n’ bed,” he told Gabi.

"Can I eat the pie?"

"Eat what'cha want." He minded how she took the pie up to her room with a shake of his head. He wasn’t getting him any of that any time soon. He checked her room first, shooing her off with the awkwardest hug. Not on his part, but hers. She squeezed his waist the tightest she could before she disappeared inside.

On his last visit here, he hadn't gone into depth exploring the home. It was beautiful. Warmed by your touch with well-framed family portraits and knick-knacks he recognizes from a decade ago. It’s terribly domestic, but that’s the beauty of a lifestyle he is alien to. Miguel hovered before a wedding photo. Unlike the typical wedding photos he saw town to town, you were clearly pregnant behind that tight white dress. Peter was clearly grinning like the idiot he was. He draws his knuckles over the heavy wooden door with a silent knock. He doesn’t want to fall into a trap with his daughter next door.

“Adelante,” you whispered, inviting him in. He pushes the door apart.

There’s no sign of Aaron. You sat at a small vanity, combing your hair out with a hand-me-down brush. Your hair fell over a heavy welt on your cheek that wasn’t there hours ago. His eye trained on the bruise. For a few long moments, he was silent. He eventually clicks the door shut and takes several steps forward, peeling your tiny palm that obscures the heavy bruising on your cheekbone.

“Did you find her?”

“What happened?” he asked, plain and dry. No room for debate, no way to deflect. You turned your head to one side, stroking your nightgown for a semblance of comfort. He removed your hand and set it on your lap, his large hand tilting your face in gentle concern. You abandoned your brush on the vanity. The spot was hot and angry, burning with a blotchy color that painted your face in a watercolor of bruises. “Was it Aaron?”

“You saw him?” He met your eyes and kept his gaze steady and strong. That was his answer. You sighed. “It’s not important.”

“Did he put his hands on you? Did he-- touch you?”

Miguel knew how Aaron looked at you in the past. Even back then, married to your sister, his eyes always wandered to any pretty thing. It wasn’t enough that the rumors that spread were full of talk of Miguel and you, ever the hot topic at every dance he took you to. Not because it was unique but because your father had clear objections to the match. Aaron took his presence as a threat. Right now, it was.

“Did you find Gabi?”

“She’s safe in her room,” he cropped his words. “I want to talk about you.”

“Y yo no,” you looked away. “I don’t want to talk.”

“Mi amor,” Miguel brought his hand down, supporting your soft jaw in his hand. Miguel doesn’t beg, but he will this time. It was all he could do to make you tell the truth. To soothe the sick feeling in his gut, to make sure that you were well taken care of. In a surge of concern, Miguel tried to push the issue further. “Don’t shut me out.”

“You’ll get all worked up and that ain’t gonna do nothin’ but raise that bounty on your head.”

"So." It doesn't matter that you had a point. There was a warning hanging in his eyes-- he wouldn’t let it go. Not without an explanation first. It was impossible. "I already got a chunk of change on my head. What's one more gonna do?"

“He’s been pressing me to search the ranch for you every so often,” you admitted, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “I left the front door open and he came on in while I was changing. I was about sick of it, querido, so I told him to go away. I guess… he didn’t like that much. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Miguel cut you off. That was closer to a version of the truth than he knew you wanted to admit. He knew you enough to know it wasn’t the full story. Miguel slipped onto his knees, his worn slacks scratching the floor beneath him. He held your hands in his, reminding himself not to lash out, throw something, or hit something for not being there. There was no outlet for his rage right then. He'd take it out on something later.

“He didn’t violate me if that’s what you’re thinkin’.” Your lip pursed, struggled to make words that don’t hurt so much. Your tongue was fat in your mouth as you explained. “He just… grabbed on me a bit.”

Grabbed on you a bit? Miguel searched your fingers with an intent expression for an answer that made sense. You were being cryptic. He doesn’t particularly like weighing the options of what it could mean. He could have grabbed the door and forced his way in. He could have grabbed you and tried to force himself on you. The thought burned low in his stomach, simmering the need for revenge.

“What’d he grab?” he drew your name out in a soft, puff of a thing. Your fingers left his, smoothing over your nightgown again in an effort to soothe yourself. Your breath quickened, a clear signal that he was hitting his limit with you.

“I don’t--” you struggled. “I don’t want to talk about none of that. You just came back today, Gabi learned the truth, Peter-- I can’t do it. Can’t you let it go?”

He knew that the tears pricking your eyes weren’t over something like Peter’s death or the bite of dust in your eyes. Shame and embarrassment dangle before him, fueling his enmity with a man that he’d not run up against in many years. If anything were going to force him into action, it would be this.

“If that’s what you want, amor.”

He couldn’t let it go. But if it helped you relax, he’d just let you think he could. Miguel sprung up on two feet and kicked off his dark brown boots under your wooden vanity. He slipped off his suit jacket and vest before offering you his hand.

“I should… check on Gabi. She might be hungry.”

“She took up with that pie you made her. Menudo’s on the stove.”

“Pero… I should make sure she’s okay.”

“Amor, are you okay?” he asked, his voice terribly mild, but bore a seriousness that struck a cord in you. His words hung like the blade of a scythe, cutting through the strength you had to have day to day since Peter passed. First death. Now as Miguel suspected, a molestation?

No, you choked out, your face pale of its usual warmth. You didn’t fight as he brought you into bed, his hand underneath your neck to draw you close. He knew his smoky scent would reek the sheets, yet you did not seem to care, burrowing in the space between his neck. Your hand slipped underneath his slightly unbuttoned shirt, curling in his chest hair. He caressed your back in soft circles.

“Miggy?”

“¿Sí, mi hermosa?”

“Make it better.”

Take care of it, he thought bitterly. That’s what you meant. Miguel slid his other large hand over the back of your neck, working you through the tears. The flood of your tears against his neck reminded him of how pathetic of a job he’d been doing, caring for his new little family, for you-- the woman he came to take away.

For this moment, he could only cradle your cheek and distract you with a salty kiss. He clumsily nudged his nose against yours to force you to pay attention to him. He probably tastes of booze, smoke, and a little bit of dried meat, but if he does, you don’t seem to mind it. Your lips shuddered, lips opening slightly to allow him to kiss you more fully. Your kiss held its own familiarity, a signal that he was home despite the years that passed.

“I don’t think I can do this alone,” you murmured against his lips. “I ain’t that strong.”

“You’re plenty strong. Got through a whole pregnancy without your man around, raised her up good.”

“I knew I was with child before you left,” you peered up. Emotions flickered there: a rush of anger, uncertainty, disappointment, most of all, sadness pooled in his eyes. “I just… I ain’t know how to tell you, what’d it change with papa not liking you the least bit after Lupe’s shooting.”

“I would’a wifed you up quick.”

Now-- what would he do? Miguel wasn’t stupid. It wouldn’t be just Aaron who would come around the longer he spent in this town. Bounty hunters of all kinds would be breathing down his neck. There was no future for him here. The only alternative was to take his family out of this tiny town, carve out a new life elsewhere. Miguel brought your knuckles to his lips, pressing a kiss there.

“I still would.”

Your cheeks are warm as they get, “Who’d marry an outlaw and a widow?”

“Someone out west that ain’t know about us.”

“There such a place?” you asked.

“'Course there is,” he assured you. “Think ‘bout it.”

You looked at him for a long time, considering if Miguel was telling you the truth, but he’s never lied before. Not where it counts. Miguel’s hand wandered, pulling your thigh over his, content with your consideration.

“Think that’d make me a bad mom, whisking my kid off to be with an outlaw, ain’t it?”

Miguel arched his brow at you, his eyes glossy and warm, teasing. In any other case, he might have agreed. But it was his child you cared for. He wasn’t about to abandon you— no way to make money, no way to take care of Gabriella but to remarry or sell off everything and try a life in the city. You liked rocking on a rocking chair at the end of the night, running through the wildflowers, and the taste of honey in the warmer months. You were no city girl.

“Ain’t like they don’t know whose kid it is.” Miguel laughed, a tuft of pride spilling into his words. “She look like she's mine.”

“Peter’d say that too.” The thought made you smile in a way you knew it shouldn’t. As good as a man Peter was, he brought up that fact the day you gave birth, when he abandoned the fields to be by your side. How we gonna hide this? He’d laugh. She ain’t look Anglo. She look just like Miguel. He always did say he hoped that it wasn’t too obvious. It was. Peter was a one-of-a-kind man. The memory brought a twinge of a smile to your face, looking over your marital bedroom. Speaking of others--

“Didn’t you meet other girls out there?”

Miguel forgets the kind of woman you were. A very jealous, terribly protective woman. He knew the question would come up eventually. You were a woman who loved to be the center of his world. Every man and woman wanted to be the only one in their lover’s eyes. He traveled the grassy roads for years and saw all there was to see. All types of women. Native women who lived on the land and slept in longhouses. Anglo women seemed to love to run their fingers down his swarthy skin but never considered bringing him home-- even if he wasn’t interested. Black women always fed him, even if they distrusted him a little. And, Hispanic women whose fathers did not like him prowling around their land. He couldn't blame them. He wouldn't want someone like him for Gabi, either.

“I met my share.”

“And you still came back?”

“Yeah? I came back for you. What, you want me out?” Despite your brilliant, soft smile, your mind ran like you’d taken the first ticket on the railroad out of town. He knew what you were thinking. You were wondering how many women he’d been with, what they were like, what--

"You're so sassy," you teased. He slid on top of you, his fat belt buckle catching on your nightgown. His lips peppered gentle but scratchy kisses down the expanse of your neck. The soft bruising there reminded him of Aaron’s mistakes. He'd take care of that next.

“Miggy,” you giggled, tugging on his thick dark brown hair. “Stop it.”

“Todavía te amo,” he lifted off your neck enough to utter the words. Your cheeks flooded with an unfamiliar warmth. You'd not had someone to make your heart soar in a really long time. Your hand curled up his head, dipped along the curves of his face to his sharp jawline, and tugged him to look at you. He complied, a tilt in his head.

“I wanna see you naked. You’ve gotten so big,” you said. “Take off your clothes.”

Well-- he had to know that one was coming. Miguel suppressed a small snicker from leaving his chest as he pushed off the bed and brought his fingers against the buttons you hadn’t undone. You scooted up on the bed, dragged your gown over your knees, and watched him undress. He drew the shirt off his massive arms and threw it in on your chair. His skin was memorable, still as dark and swarthy as you remember, but cut in more defined musculature. You brought your nail to your lip, suckling on the nail as he threw you a half-lidded look.

“Well?” he hooked his thumbs onto his belt buckle, waving a little closer. “You're not saying anything.”

“You’re so big, querido.”

“Believe you already said that,” Miguel teased.

He knew he looked good. It was how he attracted so many different women. You twiddled your fingers to urge him closer. Something about you loosening his belt filled his belly with a distant excitement. He watched you unlatch the fat buckle and draw his belt free of the loops with a whirl of leather. He held his thick leather belt in one hand as your trembling hands came up to unbutton him. The firm fabric slid down over his hips, revealing nothing beneath but his hirsute legs and a flaccid cock that settled on a tuft of nearly black pubic hair. If he wasn't mistaken, you moistened your lips.

Selfishly, he wonders how many men you’ve been with since he ran off. He wouldn't have blamed you if you wanted to be with a hundred. He left you pregnant, without a family, and likely terrified.

“How long’s it been?” Miguel stepped out of what was left, standing there as naked as the first day he came into this world, exposed without his rifle or his handgun. Your cheeks flared with warmth, gliding a hand up his hip. “Since you've been with a man.”

“Eight years.”

He knew that Peter had no interest in you, and you had no interest in Peter. He was simply a good man doing what he thought was right. If not for Peter-- he’s not sure what would have become of you. Yet, illogically, he thought you could stomach to be with another man.

“You never been with another man?”

“I married Peter. I’d never do him like that,” you shook your head, inching your hand over his cock. After eight years, you deserved a good fucking. He can’t bring himself to force you into it, not after what you’ve been through tonight. He allows you to lead, milking his cock with your small hand. Your other crawls up to his scarred stomach, tracing the line of hair to his navel. There were countless scars on his body, never afraid to leap head first into a battle.

“I bet you had needs,” Miguel murmured. "You use your hand?"

“‘Course I did, Miggy. I’m a woman, ain’t I?” You looked up at him, your bruised face beautiful as it was. Despite what other men liked to say, that women ain’t need to do nothing but lay there and take them, Miguel knows better. His mind is full of distant memories of sex with one another. Sneaking out in the deep of night to fuck in the fields, snatching you midway through your chores to kiss and finger you in the barn, or exchanging the smallest of glances around town. "Now don't talk so nasty, Gabriella is right next door."

“Downstairs. Lemme take care of you,” Miguel found took your hand, lifting it away from his cock and forcing you to stand. You complied, following his hand that slipped between your legs, stroking up your thighs to your neglected core. He imagines that on nights like this, quiet and alone when Peter was on a cattle drive, you’d come into your bed just like this. Slip over your bed, stroke your long fingers over your puffy lips, maybe dip one inside, and think of him.

“What if she comes in?”

“She won’t.”

“But I don’t know how to--”

“Mujer. You don’t need to think of anything short of what I’m about to do to you.” Miguel lifted your nightgown up and off your body. Your hands snapped to your midsection, covering whatever it was that was so offensive.

"Stop that." Miguel tilted his head to the side, flicking your hands away from appreciating the sight of your belly, littered with softly discolored stretch marks.

“But I ain’t pretty no more,” you told him. “I got--”

“You got marks from bearing me a baby. I know. Now, hush up,” Miguel teased gently, the pads of his fingers swooping over the marks. They had gone silvery with age. Perhaps, he thinks, you thought you'd never be with a man. Now, you seem so suddenly self-conscious of the marks that litter your skin. He curved his hands around to squeeze your plush hips, flushing his body against yours. You felt his cock rub up against your belly, soft to the touch. Miguel's cock stiffened against your navel, a feeling that brought a crack of arousal through your core. You rubbed your thighs together for the friction. As relief pooled in your belly, Miguel seized your jaw to kiss you, his hands slapping your ass to force you to move. You shifted forward, crying out into his muscular chest. “I’m after a woman, not a girl. Get on all fours. It’s my turn to see you.”

You complied by sliding onto the bed, memories of what Miguel liked flooding your mind: chest against the sheets and ass up. Despite the very real concerns you had about his attraction, Miguel seemed no worse for wear when you looked over your shoulder. His eyes crinkled at the edges as he grabbed your ass, massaged your cheeks between his palms, and separated your lips. He licked a long band up between your tender lips, enough to wrench free a soft gasp. He suckled on them with a wet pop, the puff of his lips musing hot air onto your cunt.

“That’s cute,” Miguel murmured, letting his palm come on your ass for a teasing slap. You groaned, the hot redness burned in a sweet and unfamiliar way. His lips began to moisten with your lubricant spilling over them, tasting of a woman he hadn’t had in too long. His tongue prodded at the entrance to your gentle hole, pushing in one of his thick digits. Your walls protested the intrusion, clamping over the foreign finger.

“Ah Miguel,” you curled your toes, his finger stretching you in preparation for his fat cock. “I ain’t sure I can take you.”

“Sure you can.” Miguel hummed, inserting another alongside the first. You were tight, that was for sure. He was sure that you hadn’t been with another man in years, just as you said. It made his cock leak to think of it-- your virginity was his, your child was his, and… now you’d be his again. He spat on your hole, his wet saliva squelching with your lubricant around his broad fingers as he entered your body. Your hips rutted back onto him, instantly making Miguel release a husky laugh. "Your pussy knows you can. Look'it eating me up."

"Por dios Miguel, don't talk like that." You stiffened around his fingers. His mouth had gotten nastier in his time away. He knows you like the way he worships you, finger flicking lightly over your walls, making sure to stretch you wide. Another slipped alongside the first, twisting his wrist for a deeper thrust, working you nice and loose, enjoying the gasps of decadent pleasure. Miguel whispered beautiful words of praise, remarking on how easily you took him, how well you'd be in only a few minutes. Your hands ruffled the sheets, cantering your hips back onto him. You needed his words, so tired after years of sexual frustration.

"That's it. Tell me you missed it," he fucked you a few more times before his rhythm would die off, leaving you empty of him. His hand shifted to your breasts, molding them between his big palms, waiting for an answer that sounded right.

"I missed you, Miggy."

Miguel momentarily paused. Then, he stepped up, the hair on his legs brushing your thighs as he mounted you. The blunt head of his cock nudged along your lips.

“I’ma fuck you now,” Miguel murmured into your ear, letting his chest rest on your own. He pushed into you. Your walls stretched with his long stroke, Miguel's face tightening up. He was seated against your cervix, pushed up as far as you would let him go. For all your whining about his language, the obscene cry that left your lips was loud. Loud enough that Miguel slapped his hand over your mouth. He hooked his thumb in your mouth, forcing you to suck him as he sped up his deep thrusts, pushing you closer to your limit.

“Just gorgeous, mi hermosa.” Miguel found himself grinding forth. The repetitive squeaking of the bed made what he was about to say real stupid like. “But you gotta be quiet. Gabi don’t need to know what we’re doin’.”

Your tongue coasted around his thumb, suckling him nice and wet. Your walls clamped back over him, unused to the feeling of having a man inside. Miguel found himself rutting against your cunt, his tightening balls slapping your ass as he moved. Again and again, Miguel set a soothing, quick rhythm, filling the emptiness from years ago.

He'd been with many women over the years. None felt so easy, so like home. He curses himself for not doing it sooner. Your fingers dipped between your bodies, filling the emptiness, and causing your pleasure to blossom under your fingers. Pleasure explodes in your core, battered by his frantic thrusts, and your mind goes over the edge into some distant land of warm pleasure. Your walls spasmed violently, and Miguel's gasps became thin, adjusting his hold on your hips under the clench of your muscles against his length. He holds onto his decency poorly, strain bundled in his brow.

“Could you-- inside?” you said between his thrusts, muffled by the fingers hooked in your moist mouth.

“I do that-- and-- you'll get pregnant,” you’re both older now, he wants to think wiser than being two stupid kids fucking one another without care. Not that his pull-out game was particularly great back then-- Miggy please, you cry his name out, a tone that is stretched sweetly thin, walls spasming tightly over his fat cock. He muffles a curse, his pace jagged and uneven, desperate.

“Please, I miss it,” you cry, a litany of please threatening his ability to be well-behaved. He never was good at that in the first place, never good at saying no. Miguel drags you onto his cock, complying with a groan that he didn’t mean to be quite so loud. Thick streams of cum fill your tight little hole, bubbling out around the site of your union. He rides out the tails of his orgasm, earning you desperate little snaps of his shaking hips.

“Ay dios,” Miguel came down from his high with a slap to your ass, ripping his other hand free from your mouth to comb through his hair. He didn’t just-- he did. Miguel threw a glance at you, your shy eyes hiding behind an embroidered pillow. “I came inside.”

Coño. Great. Just-- great.

“I can feel it,” you teased him. He was stressed out, seeing a stream of his cum dribbling out from your cunt. He didn’t even know how to take care of one. How was he going to take care of two? His eyes narrowed.

“You best pray that it don’t take.”

“Don’t think I control that, Miguel.”

He pieced himself together smoothly, failing to notice anything but the emptiness that settled in your chest. A sigh left his chest and Miguel would set a kiss on the top of your head, looking toward the clothes-covered chair. Your eyebrows drew together in the realization that Miguel did not intend to stay.

“Are you leaving already?” You whined, pulling his name out from somewhere deep and lonely. He knew what it was. He just fucked you-- and now, he was going to run off. “Where you off to?”

“I got something to do. I’ll be back another day.”

A frown marred your soft features, lips slapped shut. You pushed away the warm quilt and slipped below it with your head on pillows that still smelled of Peter. You took one, propped it under your arm, and hid your lovely face from view. Silence filled the suddenly stuffy room. Other women would whine and complain about his fuck-and-run attitude. He didn't usually care.

Miguel dropped his pants, drawing closer to look at you. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he could see an ounce of the grief in your watery eyes. Panic, embodied in sparks of anxiety, spilled down his chest. Filled his stomach full with a fear of aggravating your already damaged state.

“Hermosa…” he began, his voice tender and soft. He slipped behind your back, his fingers running across your waist. "What is it?"

“I’m-- I don’t want to be alone. I didn’t want you to go,” you stammered into the pillow, blinking back tears that fell so readily. You didn't want to say what happened, but you needed his comfort more than sex. Your words were heavy, hard to make out, almost as if you were suffocating. “Not so soon.”

“Then I stay,” he said, husky and soft.

“You’ll stay?”

His muscular arms bunched around your waist as he set a kiss on the top of your head. He was careful, sliding you away from the hunched position on your bed onto his chest. He’d stay if that was what you wanted. Not permanently. He could never afford you such a promise here, where many a man had 2099 reasons to chase him down. You were his reason to stay, to keep you safe. The other slept next door. Or, he hoped she was sleeping.

“For tonight.”

He forgot what this felt like, the ability to stay in bed with someone you cared for, no pressure to run. Miguel was disheartened without his gun in arms reach, instead combing his fingers through your hair, watching the moon draw overhead. At some point, your breath faded into a gentle rise and drop in your chest to the tune of the whistling wind against the side of your home.

He found himself awake for minutes after, focusing on the bright moon multiple times that night, her embrace cool and welcoming. The constellations pale in comparison to the bright light that streamed into the room. He could almost imagine doing this every day, in another world, where his head wasn’t on a wanted flyer in your biblia. Sleep claimed him, restful and horrible, and hours passed.

The gun was hot. Miguel's fingers trembled, wrapped around the grip of his mother's old gun. "Lupe! Miguel, oh glory, Miguel what did you do?" He hears your distant scream, the desperation rooted in your voice. There was a pool of blood by his feet, dripping out from a woman who gave him nothing but grief.

"What I had to," As much as he'd tell you that killing her, rather than wounding her, was wholly an accident, he knew it wasn't. It was another something he had to do. He knew the next something would be your father wielding that ancient rifle and putting a claim on his head.

Shit. He wakes with a start. Miguel soothes the bags under his eyes. Not a day had gone past that he had good dreams-- less so when he was in a proper bed with a woman. Not any woman, but his woman. You're dead asleep against his chest, his arm having long since gone numb. Still as beautiful as hours ago, blissed out and well fucked, the bruising on your face reminds him that he has shit to do.

There is little disrespect like the disrespect of a man molesting your love, the mother of your child. But you don’t want a body from him. So he would be gentle with this, unpeeling himself from your warmth and striding into town while the moon still howled in the sky, knowing where a useless scum bag like Aaron Delgado would be. He’d be drinking up, his liver fat and useless.

The saloon was still somehow rowdy, stuffed to the brim with men who sought relief from family life and women who knew the easiest way to make a buck off pretty lies. Popping into the saloon was stepping back into his usual life, one of little value other than the skills it gave him. Namely, his hand hooked around the gun.

“Hey handsome,” a maid cooed, trying to call his attention. But he’s not focused on the breasts in his face as he veered past, pushing through groups of standing men. He came up behind Aaron, who was dead asleep on the bar. It never failed that he looked sloppy, his booze soaking his ruffled shirt.

“What can I get you?” the barman said.

Miguel gripped Aaron’s collar and what little hair wasn’t balding, lifting and cracking the man’s head hard on the bar. Aaron may not have been awake before but he was sure now, blinking the stars out of his eyes.

“The hell!”

The sound of feet against the squeaky old floor marked the rush of steps out of the bar. Miguel kicked Aaron’s bar seat out from underneath him, sending him careening onto the floor with a heavy thump.

“Miguel?” he snapped, bright-eyed, eyes trained on Aaron. Aaron snapped his hand to his hip. Miguel leveled his gun at Aaron, threatening him to touch it, just try. Blood flowed free from Aaron’s nose. He pushed it away with the back of his hand, smug smile like he knew Miguel would show up.

“It is you. I knew you’d be around.”

That's him. Some stragglers, friends of Aaron’s no doubt, lurched forward. Miguel shot into the ground by Aaron’s hip as a warning. It burst into the floor with a booming pop. He had no qualms about making double murder a triple, quadruple if he had to. Aaron pushed himself onto one arm. Miguel’s foot connected with Aaron’s ribs, sending him soaring across the floor. He connected with an aged piano, a bundle of keys singing under the small man who stumbled past Aaron's poor, shitty friends.

“C’mon,” Aaron pushed himself up on his palms. "Kicking a man while he's down?"

“You didn't think twice about breaking in and hitting my woman."

Miguel knelt down, checking the urge to blow his face off, but not now. Not while you had a stake in this shit of a town. Aaron's face quivered, what little friends he had gossiping in and among one another, others slipping the fuck out. Aaron has nothing useful to say.

"You so much as think of touching my woman again and you won’t be so much as crawling out of here. The undertaker be putting you under, you hear?"

“Gimme a break. What I did was nothing compared to what you did to Lupe."

"Don't you fuckin' dare bring her up."

"I just touched on her. You killed my wife. She felt mighty nice, Miguel, bet you’re mighty proud--”

Miguel considers himself good up til that point, walloping the butt of his gun across Aaron’s face to force compliance. Once, twice, maybe three times. After the third, he lost the thin hold he had on his control. He just knows it's enough to where the bruises that formed on his face would make yours seem like gentle love taps. He beats the man bloody and slips out to the sound of calls for Sherriff Morales.

He never was good at handling disrespect.

#miguel x reader #miguel x you #miguel x y/n #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara/reader #miguel o'hara/you #atsv imagine #atsv imagines #atsv fanfiction #atsv fanfic #atsv au #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara imagines #miguel o'hara fic #spider 2099 x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel smut #atsv smut

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dapper-zappa · 8 months

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Sweetest Kisses | Spider-Verse HCs

Featuring: 1610!Miles Morales, Gwen Stacy, Pavitr Prabakhar, Hobie Brown, Miguel O'Hara x GN!Reader

Summary: How it's like for them to be so in love with the feeling of kissing your lips with chapsticks on.

A/N: There'll be a part 2 with Peter B, Margo, Jess Drew, Ben Reilly, and Spot so stay tuned!

MILES MORALES - SPIDER-MAN

Loves how they add this little kick of flavor whenever your lips touch his, and I just KNOW for sure he'd play the chapstick challenge with you by guessing what flavor you're using right now.

"Is this one cherry flavored, ma?"

"Guess again."

"Wait wait, I think this one's watermelon?"

"Peaches and cream, actually.

"Man, why do I always lose this challenge?"

GWEN STACY - SPIDER-GWEN/GHOST SPIDER

Doesn't want to admit it (until you find it out yourself) but she loves how good the flavored chapstick tasted and smelled on your lips as an excuse to stare at your lips more just so she can get you to kiss her. Also, I feel like she'd secretly steal one of yours because come on, the lipbalm is so good, ok?

"Hey, isn't that one of my chapsticks?"

"Uh... yes"

"Gwen..."

"Fine, but I can't get enough of how good your chapstick tastes, okay? And it smells so good!"

Then you'd just kiss your silly girlfriend on the lips to satisfy her craving ;)

PAVITR PRABAKHAR - SPIDER-MAN INDIA

Thinks you're even more precious to how sweet your kisses feel with the flavored chapsticks you often wear as of now. Would definitely steal kisses from you at times and whenever he pulls away, you're faced with the biggest grin ever from your boyfriend.

"How are you this sweet, meri jaan? You're the sweetest thing I've ever met but knowing you wearing the flavored lipbalm if I kiss you makes you even sweeter."

"Maybe you're the cuter one, Pav." you booped his nose.

Cheesy, but Pavitr's your kind of cheesy, right?

HOBIE BROWN - SPIDER-PUNK

The feeling of your flavored chapstick AND the cool metal of his lip ring combined? Now that's a treat because them combined makes his kisses even better thanks to the fact he enjoyed the taste of your precious lipbalm. So whenever you pull away, he'll pull you back in for a kiss.

"Nuh uh, love. Just wanna taste ya more."

"So you wanna do it again? But wait until I finish reapplying the chapstick-"

"That can wait. Now, let me taste that again."

MIGUEL O'HARA - SPIDER-MAN 2099

I established that Miguel won't show much PDA in from others but as soon as the two of you are alone... he can't get his hands and lips off you. So like, if you're one of the people out there who prefer chapstick to lipstick, Miguel would love it too because he LOVES tasting them in your lips whenever he kisses you. He'll offer to apply it for you, only for him to ruin it by kissing you right after.

"Miguel!"

"What, cariño?"

"You ruined it!"

"Can't help it when your lips taste this good."

420 notes · View notes

rexlroze · 1 month

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𝟏 — 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐀𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Hobie Brown / SpiderPunk x Fem! Reader

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.7K

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Use of Y/N, no physical description of reader (other then their clothing), Swearing, Mention of Alcohol, Mention of bugs, Violence/Fighting, and mostly Fluff I think.

𝑁𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑔𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠

𝑀𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

A/N: This is my first time EVER writing a proper fanfic so if it sucks. Yeah. Idk- I tried my best tbh and hope y'all like it cuz if not, idk either. I'll be doing a tag list so if you want in, uh. Comment or sumn ig. Leave tips for me to improve in areas you think I need improvement! Also this isn't exactly canon to Earth-138. It's set in the early 2000s cuz no way am I writing for the fucking 1960s or whatever fuckin' year that mf comes from. I don't do requests nor do I plan on doing so. Happy Reading! 💛

Chapter 1 >>> Chapter 2

Recently, you just moved out of your parents house into a small cozy apartment in the North of London. About 200 miles away from your mummy and daddy dearest.

“No ma, I've already rented out my parlor. 'm not changing my mind at the last minute.” You grumbled into your phone as your mom hounded you with questions about literally everything. Your health, food, water, apartment and your new parlor.

Your new parlor, you were proud to say. You had finally rented out a small shop in Camden which was about a 10 minutes walk away from your apartment.

The only problem was that the area where your shop was grounded, it was in a small narrow area where people barely passed by and only a few residents lived and since you couldn't really afford a better place due to the flies that flew out of your wallet when you opened it and your limited budget, you just had to deal with it.

“Just know, if you ever need anything sweetie, me and your pops are always here.” Your mother reassured you sweetly but you could hear the concern trailing behind her voice.

“Yeah thanks, ma. Love you, and dad.”

“Love you too, sweets. But if you need anything like money, food or even—”

“Ma.” You cut her off abruptly.

“Yes?”

“I'll be fine, alright? I love you.”

“We love you too, sweetie.” She finally answered after a second of hesitation.

With that, you hung up the phone. Beeps punctuated the silence hanging in your room before you let out a deep sigh.

You sunk into your bed, looking up at the ceiling. As supportive your parents tried to be, they didn't really trust you with your career choices. The first time you told them you wanted to be a body piercer, they laughed and brushed it off… that was until they figured out you were being 100% serious.

You were grateful they didn't try to stop you, not directly at least because they never failed to mention and suggest a few other paths of careers. They got to the point of getting so desperate that they even suggested acting school but alas, you were as stubborn as a mule.

You got your license around 2 months ago. You can still remember yourself squealing and hopping around in your (old) room like a five year old who just got a puppy for Christmas. You couldn't wait to finally quit your side job (which was being a boring cashier with fake smiles and a faker kindness towards the karens that walked in and ruined your Monday mornings) and start your own little business in London. Your literal dream.

I'll get to work tomorrow. You thought to yourself since it was pretty much late afternoon now, turning the next 3 hours into a continuation of scrolling on your phone, listening to music on blast from the speakers sitting by your desk and knocking yourself out with some cheap bottle of booze that you bought during your ride to your apartment from the airport.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Making your way through the streets of Camden, you didn't fail to see the liveliness of it. People busy with their own lives, friends giggling, children skipping, couples holding hands, staring at one another with heart eyes.

Something squeezed your heart at the sight of the adorable couple. It reminded you of what you could've had with him if he hadn't… but unfortunately, what life throws at you isn't really under your control no matter how much you wish it could be.

You brushed off the nostalgia quickly and turned a corner, finding your parlor that you had rented about a week ago. You were met by sudden silence. The streets were quiet and empty other then the two teenage boys who were giggling and had run away after when you arrived, disappearing into a narrow alleyway.

You walked to where they previously stood just to see a poster. Specifically a band poster that was vibrant with different colors. A lanky punk boy posed in the middle of the poster with a guitar slung over his shoulder accompanied by three other members.

You couldn't help but get lost in the beauty of said punk boy. Honey-coated eyes that shone back at you, the color complimenting his ebony complexion along with his puffy jet-black hair that were braided into wicks, jawline so sharp that it made you wonder what it would feel like to run your fingers along them.

You shook your head, breaking the love trance you were stuck in. You didn't have time for dating, falling in love or whatever, not that you wanted to either. Your eyes zeroed on the big font at the bottom of the page.

“Spidersica, performing this 9th March at 9:30pm.” You read out loud to yourself. Almost 2 weeks away. Shrugging, you turn back to your shop. You'll decide what to do with that information on a later date.

You twisted the door knob that was attached to the black sleek door with the obscure glass window adorning it. The gold paint was scraping off the knob revealing the silver underneath. Besides that, when you turned the knob, the door didn't budge. You twisted it once more. Nothing. You pushed the door while twisting the knob the third time. Nothing again.

Slamming your body against the door in frustration, making the door burst open and you fall through it onto the cemented flooring. The bell atop the door chimed, swinging back and forth, mocking and taunting you.

Get the door fixed, you made a mental note as you pushed yourself up back onto your two feet. Running a hand over your T-shirt and straightening it.

You scanned the room, eyes roaming over the unused facility. Cobwebs decorating the corners of the roof, dust bunnies waving at you from the floor, old cream wallpaper peeling off the walls revealing the cemented wall beneath, the polluted air making you have a cough fit after you inhaled some dust accidentally.

Unshed tears pricked your eyes as your coughing fit wore off after a little while. “This could use some renovations,” you croaked out to no one in particular as you switched the light switch on.

The light bulb lit up producing a very bright light (brighter than normal) that illuminated the room. At least something works— your train of thought was cut off when the light bulb abruptly exploded.

“Just had to jinx it,” you grumbled, placing your hand onto your face.

You found your way to some curtains beside the door, pulled the long dirty brown pieces of linen apart, revealing a huge window that let the warm sunlight seep in and lighten the dark room. You slid the windows up to let the toxic air out and fresher air in.

Get the curtains replaced. You noted down somewhere in your brain as you took in the hideous pattern of the curtains.

You walked around the shop, letting your hand trace the long wooden counter that extended from the wall. Dust collecting at your fingertips that you wiped off on your shirt.

Making your way through the shop, you found a recessed door that was fixed into the left wall on the opposite side of the parlor. You gently turned the door knob not wanting to repeat the incident that transpired a few minutes ago. It opened without a fight.

When you peeked your head in, you found yourself in a small closet room. Metal shelves up against both sides of the wall with various random and dirty objects decorating them. The closet was just as filthy as the rest of the shop.

You found boxes, some small, some large sitting at the other end of the closet. That must be the furniture! You think, making your way towards them.

As you pick up one of the boxes carefully, wrapping both arms around the box that was bigger than your own head. You suddenly yelped falling back on your butt, the box falling into your lap.

“Fuck no!” You screeched in horror as you saw a cockroach fly up in the air. “Nononononono.”

You dashed out the closet, almost tripping on your shoe laces that came undone who knows when, slamming the door shut so the pesky rodent wouldn't escape and terrorize the rest of your shop as well. “What the fuck!”

Mental note 3, get pest fucking control. So far, the day was not going as planned.

You released a deep breath pulling your phone out from your back pocket to check for damage. You've never been more grateful for the invention of phone cases in your life. You doubted your phone could bear another crack on it's already kinda-fucked-up screen.

Pocketing your phone once again, your hands rested on your hips. You stared at the floor trying to calm down. “Fuckin’ hell,” you murmured to yourself rubbing your eye with the heel of your palm.

You kicked off your left shoe and turned back to the closet, mentally preparing yourself for the battle your a lifetime.

—

After fighting for your life and clearing out your closet of any other unpleasantries that may surprise the living Christ out of you, you pulled out your phone and began typing in some to-dos into the notes app. Tile installment, cleaning, probably pipe replacement, a door fix, bulb and wiring replacement, paint, decoration and all that stuff with the budget of five fucking hundred pounds. Just yay.

You left the parlor with determination to accomplish your goal; renovate. You thought as you found your way through the door and back on the streets of Camden.

In a matter of a few hours, you had managed to hire a few mechanics and workers to, one, install marble floorings into the parlor, two, get any pipelines or such fixed, three, get all cracks and crevices in the walls plastered, four, fix the door lock, and fix, rewire and reinstall the lightbulb. All in the cost of four hundred and thirty pounds, and with the seventy pounds left, you could buy the paint, curtains, and other pleasantries as such.

Walking through the appliances stores, your phone on hand as you check off a few to-do boxes. Satisfaction bloomed in your chest to see how much you had done in the matter of a day.

A small smile spread across your face as you made your way towards the next shop when a sudden boom behind you made you stop in your steps.

Screams fill the air but they're tuned out by the sudden high-pitched ringing in your ears. People passed by you running towards the exit and evacuating while you just stood there, unable to move for some reason when finally, your head snapped towards the chaos to see what everyone was running away from.

Green Goblin. You had seen him on the news whenever you scrolled on your phone for too long or when you scrolled through the TV channels and ended up on the news channel but never did you think you'd see him in real life but if the Green Goblin was here then…

Abruptly, the villainous individual who was flying abounding on his hoverboard and terrorizing everyone in the mall was knocked off by a swift kick. The one who delivered it was quick, you only saw the red and blues colors blurring together. Oh my fucking god, no way.

Slowly, the blurs of color started mashing together into an appropriate form. It's Spider-Punk. THE fucking Spider-Punk. And you were seeing him not through tv, but through your own goddamn eyes.

You watched as the Green Goblin regained his composure and lunged towards Spider-Punk. The two vigilantes participating in a violent game of tango while you stood there wide-eyed and stuck amidst the chaos sitting in the front seat.

It didn't take long for both vigilantes to notice your presence. All at once, a shout broke out from the red masked punk, “move!” when a broken piece of the wall was thrown right in your direction by the one and only Green Goblin. You saw the white's of Spider-Punk's mask widen.

Move. An inner voice in your head screamed. You couldn't. Move, goddamnit! Nothing. It felt as time had slowed down.

The stone piece inches away from your face, ready to smash your skull in when suddenly a silky white rope connected to your side and pulled you towards it. A hand wrapped around your waist and suddenly, now you're in the air.

Your heart thumped in your ears from the sheer amount of adrenaline and fear coursing through you as the two of you swung out the appliance store.

Your arms were subconsciously wrapped around his neck, your face was buried into the curve where his neck met his shoulder. You peeked your head up to see yourself high up in the air, and a glimpse of blurred green chasing the two of you.

You sucked in a shaky breath, you wondered if he could hear how loud your heart pounded, like it was gonna erupt from your chest anytime soon.

You felt heavy air hitting your back when he abruptly turned a sharp corner and now you're sitting on a dumpster in an alleyway who knows where with a vigilante in front of you checking for any major injuries.

“You alrigh’, love?”

It took you a minute to register his words due to the daze but you finally managed to choke out a “I'm fine,” your voice was slightly breathless but you didn't focus on that right now instead, you focused on the individual in front of you.

You quickly took in his wardrobe. A red spandex bodysuit, spiked mohawk, leather jacket, collar, spikes, nets, guitar, red boots, blue laces— blue laces? well damn…

“Aight, take a breather f'me, lovelie. ‘m gonna go deal w’him, ay? Take care!” He shouted, his voice fading as he ran towards the exit of the alley and swung away before you could manage another response.

…

What the fuck just happened?

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

You slowly recovered from the incident that happened just three days ago. An hour long face call with your parents who had seen you on the news swinging around in the arms of Spider-Punk. You lost count after sixteen of just how many times your parents had asked you if you were okay.

You had paid off the workers to get the job done while you were away, now you could only hope they hadn't robbed you and were currently flying to another state with your money.

You didn't have much left to do from your to-do list. The only thing you needed was some paint and furniture. You had ordered the paint (and paid) online, it would be at the door of your parlor in about a few hours. Or at least that's what the notification you gotten had said.

As you were currently laying in bed clicking away on your computer and chewing on the back of a pencil you randomly found in your backpack and an orange sofa that you found in your fridge, something ringed in your head.

Right!

The concert, you were supposed to look into it when you got home. Unfortunately, it had pretty much slipped your mind due to your little experience about a day ago.

You clicked away, opening a new tab, “Spi…der…si…ca… baa…nnd.” You pronounced each syllable carefully while you typed away.

Pushing down the enter button, you were met by a white loading screen that led you to another google page. You clicked the first link and found yourself on another website.

“A popular punk band in london with the following members: Karl Morningdew, the bass Guitarist, Riri Williams, the keyboardist and Mattea Murdock, the drumist followed by their BandLeader, Hobart Brown, the guitarist—” Your voice slowly faded out as you saw the image of a familiar punk boy pop up that you had gotten lost in just a few days ago outside of your parlor. “Huh.”

You scrolled through the website until your eyes settled onto the information you were looking for, “Spidersica, publicly performing on the 9th of March.” The information was followed by the location and other necessary details.

“Eh, screw it. I gotta socialize anyway,” you blurted out, clicking off the tab.

—

After finishing another can of soda, you finally had gotten ready to go back out after locking yourself in your house for the past forty-eight hours. Patting the pockets of your jeans to make sure you had your phone and keys in them, you escorted yourself through the door of your apartment.

You soon find yourself making your way down the three quarter turn stairs and back on the roads looking up in the sky for a particular rebellious masked vigilante.

You didn't know what for, maybe to thank him. Or maybe just curiosity at its finest. You shrugged the thoughts off and continued making your way to the parlor. You didn't have time for a cat and mouse chase where the mouse doesn't even know he's being chased.

After all, you were no one special. Just a normal everyday civilian whom his job was to protect.

Finally arriving at your parlor, it looked a lot less abandoned than it did when you arrived three days ago, the front door opening with ease when you pushed the keys in and twisted the knob which was also replaced. You could tell due to the shining new gold color coating it.

Polished white marble tiles installed in the once cemented flooring. The crevices in the walls were filled out along with the old cream wallpaper removed. An air conditioner was fixed into the wall above the recessed door, a fixed bulb and working electricity.

Those were some major improvements but that didn't change the fact the place was still filthy as fuck.

You sighed and grabbed a broom that rested in the corner of the closet, pulling your headphones over your head and began sweeping away.

—

After you finished sweeping, you decide to install the new curtains you had bought. They were a dark marengo made of a silky smooth material. As you tried to push the curtains into the metal pole, the bell aloft the door began chiming signifying somebody had arrived, when you turned the door, you were met by a man who stood in a blue-ish uniform, a clipboard in his hand while he tapped the back of a pen on it.

“Uh hello, delivery for Y/N Y/L/N?”

“That would be me.”

“Oh, please just sign here.” He turned the clipboard around to face you, offering you the ballpoint he had.

You walked over, taking the pen from his hand and signed the piece of paper where he had told you to.

He put the clipboard away, taking the pen back from you as he stepped out and came back in with a large box placing it down onto the tile flooring. “G’day, madam.”

He politely bowed his head while you let out a small “thank you” after he tilted his head back up and walked back out the parlor.

You picked up the box that was immensely heavy, probably because of the damn paint cans in them, Sherlock, you had just assumed they most likely were the paints you ordered.

When you turned away, placing the box onto the counter, suddenly the bell chimed once again. You spoke without looking up, “did you forget something, Mr.mailman?”

“Mailman? Hardly.” A familiar angelic voice spoke, making you freeze, Spider-Punk—? You thought as you turned to the voice with wide eyes, but to your surprise. It was someone completely different.

“You good, love? You look like you just seen a ghost.” Honey-coated eyes, ebony complexion, jet-black hair, sharp jawline, is that-?

“Oh my god,” you breathed, “are you Hobart Brown?” your voice was a higher pitch than usual but you couldn't help it. “Oh my god, what are you doing here—” you were abruptly cut off by him.

“Okay okay, I'm gonna cut you off right there, love, first of all. Just call me Hobie. Please.” He chuckled, a small smirk on his face, “and well, second of all, I heard you did piercings, hm?”

“Oh. Uh… okay then, Hobie. Yes. Yeah, I do piercings, why?” Well, that's a stupid question.

“I was wondering if you could do mine, because as you can see, my face is pretty clean.” He smiles softly, pointing to his face that didn't bear any piercings… yet.

“Oh yeah, um. I'm not really open yet—” you cut yourself off at a sudden realization. “Wait, how'd you find me?” You raised an eyebrow, you only remember telling everyone in your circle about the parlor yet.

“Oh, one of my friends told me.”

You raised your eyebrow higher, confusion bubbling in you. “Can I know their name?”

“Yuri.” He shrugged nonchalantly.

Yuri? As in your goddamn BEST FRIEND Yuri?

“Yuri Watanabe?” You asked, expecting a no.

"You know her?"

Of course I know my damn best friend, dumbass! That's what you wanted to say, but instead you held your tongue.

“Well yeah, she's my best friend. We met at a bar back in York.” You didn't know why you were telling him, you didn't even know if you could trust him. After all, he was just a random stranger— sure he was famous or whatever but you still just found out about him like three days ago.

“Huh, I don't think she's mentioned you but nice to meet you, er…?”

“Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N. Nice to meet you too, Hoba- Hobie.” You quickly corrected your small error.

“Y/N.” He looked like he was trying to remember something from a long time ago. Suddenly his eyes lit up, “oh yeah, she has mentioned you a couple times if I think about it.” He gave you a polite smile, “Do you need help? with whatever you're doing?”

“What?”

“I said do you want help?” He repeated, “seems like you could use some.” He observed, eyes roaming around your unfinished parlor.

“Do… are you looking for something in return?” You were confused by his sudden offer. He had to be wanting something in return, right? I mean, he learned your name like JUST a minute ago.

“Nah, just wanna help you out. Plus, you could prolly use some company, ay?”

“I mean… wait, why would you wanna do that? Aren't you busy with things like… practice or something.”

“Do you want help or not?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Yes.” You answered with a small voice, biting down on your lip gently.

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @the-kr8tor @hobieszeze @missshelleyduvall

Banner(s) by @/cafekitsune

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mintkookiess · 10 months

Text

It's just practice!

How about practicing confessing with your best friend? Wonder how that turns out ( ๑‾̀◡‾́)σ"

Hehe enjoy!

Love,

Mint

Summary: You decided to practice confessing to someone with your bestie Miles... except he's actually the one you wanted to confess to, but he didn't need to know that.

Tags: Miles Morales x reader, confessions, fluff, HUGSSS

Word count: 1.4k

"I'm sorry... what?!" Miles exclaimed with a look of horror on his face. You were both chilling by his dorm during lunch break. Ganke had classes so it was just the two of you. Your lips carried a tiny pout as you slap his leg as a way of pleading. "Come on, I just want to practice confessing to someone."

The poor boy had cheeks so red you'd think he was a strawberry. It didn't help that he had freckles. "Why do you gotta practice on me? Go talk to a wall or something." You rolled your eyes in annoyance, "Just let me talk, then tell me how it is okay? You don't even have to say anything, just listen."

Miles sighed, finally giving in. He removed his headphones, letting them sit by his neck. His brown eyes looked at you while he also had a pout that mirrored yours. "Fine."

The two of you then sat on his bed with crossed legs, facing each other. Your heart slowly started to bang against your chest, as if it wants to just jump out of your body.

I mean, who in the right fucking mind would practice confessing on someone, and that someone is the someone you actually wanted to confess to for real.

Your mind is just flabbergasted at what you’re trying to pull here. For a few seconds, there was an awkward silence between you two and you just wished he’d say something.

But stupid you told him to just shut up and listen to you “confess”, right?

So look who’s quiet now.

Your fingers were laced with each other like a braid as your thumbs mindlessly fiddled together. Miles just stared at you cautiously, waiting for you to say something, anything.

It was always never quiet between the two of you, so it’s quite unusual that neither of you were speaking.

And who’s fault is that?

This is so fucking stupid.

You swore that you’d take your feelings for Miles to the grave because you were so convinced that he was way out of your league. I mean, he was Spiderman always out there saving the city, but you were just a normal person, going through life like everybody else. Except for the fact that you’re Spiderman’s best friend.

Okay, maybe you were a bit more special than the rest.

But definitely not the smartest.

Sweat started to decorate your forehead like you just had a one hour full blown workout, your thigh slightly shaking in nervousness. You realize this though, making you slap your thigh with your hand. The loud smack made you both jolt in surprise.

“Well come on go on with it.” Miles urged, almost whined even. His face was getting redder by the minute, his almost faded freckles seemed to stand out even more that you could practically count them if you looked.

Holy shit I did not think this through.

“Okay okay um,” You started. Your eyes trailed sideways to his desk, feeling all your nerves quaking underneath your skin.

Oh my god I can’t do this.

”I actually… Have something in my mind that’s been bothering me for a while now.” You mumbled. You were trying so hard to distract yourself while looking at his desk, like counting how many colored pens were there, or how many erasers did this dude actually have.

Too many apparently.

Who the fuck needs that much erasers?!

“I— think you should be looking at the person you’re confessing to so it seems uh… genuine you know?” Miles said, trying to alleviate the awkward ass tension in the room.

You shook your head to snap yourself out of it, before staring right back at him. “Right sorry sorry.” You laughed, before running your fingers through your hair.

Let’s take this more seriously.

Besides, he’d never know… right?

You exhaled deeply, “Anyways, I… actually like you.”

“I’ve liked you for a while now, and I knew I just had to tell you just so I could get it off my chest. Moreover, I just didn’t want to ruin what we’ve got, and I didn’t wish for this to happen. But unfortunately, I’ve come to fall for you.” Your eyes stayed on his the entire time, and every sentence was like a blow on Miles’ heart. But you did say that he had to listen to this practice confession of yours.

He just couldn’t help but feel sad at the fact that you were practicing the whole confession thing and not actually being genuine about your words.

But holy fuck he wished you were directing it towards him.

His mind was getting a bit fuzzy at the thought of you saying these exact words to him. Miles has quite an active imagination, and he just suddenly sees the two of you sitting in some romantic spot like a park or a rooftop with a perfect view of the sunset.

Wait stop it Miles... You have to focus.

"—and I'm just hoping you feel the same way." You finished. You let out the breath you didn't you know you were holding as you surveyed Miles for feedback.

"So? Did that seem natural or? Was it too sappy or does it need like a joke in between or something?"

Miles stared right back at you for a hot second before snapping back to reality. "Oh... right, right yes. It was um... great yeah." He nodded mindlessly before the two of you fell back into the same awkward silence.

You groaned loudly, your head falling into your hands as you rubbed your face violently in frustration. Maybe you should just tell him? Honestly all you gotta do is say—

"It's actually not a practice." You found yourself blurting out while your hands were still covering your face. Since your voice was a bit muffled, Miles scrunched his eyebrows together at you. "What?"

You sighed, removing your hands slowly to reveal your insanely flushed cheeks which not gonna lie made Miles' heart skip a beat like some corny ass romance movie.

"It's... actually not a practice." You repeated, hanging your head low while your eyes were staring up at him, trying to gauge his reaction to your words.

Miles was a bit um... out of it from all the shit you just said and he was still trying to process that you were just practicing. So when you said those words, he gasped loudly, suddenly sitting up straight that his head bumped the bunk bed above him.

"Oh crap!" He exclaimed, placing a hand over the area that got hit as he crouched down. You jumped in surprise, taken aback by what just happened. "Miles! Oh my god are you okay?"

You were quick to place your hands on his hair, not exactly knowing what you could do in that situation, but at least you were trying, no?

"Can—Can you say that again?" He stuttered, still trying to massage his head. Miles was kinda thankful that his torso was laying on the bed so you couldn't see his face. "It um... I wasn't practicing actually, I genuinely like you Miles." You mumbled, now caressing his hair.

He slowly sat up, and you saw how there were actual tears running down his eyes, making your eyes widen in shock. "Miles?! Why are you crying! Did you hit your head that hard? Does it hurt? Are you going to have a concussion? What—"

You were interrupted though when Miles suddenly lunged at you, wrapping his arms around you tightly. "I-I like you too." He whispered. Now it was your turn to freeze, mind going blank as you try to process and see if you actually heard him right.

"You... like me too?" You whispered back, gently wrapping your arms around him as well to return the hug. You felt him nod against your shoulder, which made your breath hitch.

"He likes me too..."

Miles laughed as he pulled back. His hands went up to caress your cheeks before he rested his lips on your forehead. "Yeah, and just so you know, that wasn't a practice either."

"What?"

"Just making sure you know. Like, I wasn't practicing accepting your feelings or telling you that I like you too right? You got that, right? I mean it would be awkward if you thought I was playing along and practicing and—"

"Miles shut up I get it."

Fin.

More of my Miles content here babes!

(if yall wanna be on my taglist feel free to let me know!)

#miles morales x reader #miles g morales #miles morales x y/n #across the spiderverse #miles morales x you #miles morales fluff #atsv fanfic #atsv fanfiction #atsv fluff

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kieranxvalentine · 5 months

Text

Her Muse {Miguel O'hara}

༻♡༺✎ After posting a picture, everyone starts to wonder who is the one who makes your heart beat. Not knowing he was closer than they thought ༻♡༺✎ Miguel O'hara x Reader, Miles Morales x Reader (Platonic), Gwen Stacy x Reader (Platonic), Pavitr Prabhakar x Reader (platonic) ༻♡༺✎ PG rating (one suggestive comment) ༻♡༺✎ 1.1k words ༻♡༺✎ Author's Note: Welcome to my first post in this little Mini Series with Miguel x Idol!Spiderwoman!Reader. I have plenty more for this series! Hope you enjoy! (This hasn't been proof read yet!)

“You’re dating someone?!”

You chuckle softly at the surprised sound of your friends, Miles, Gwen and Pavitr all looking at you in shock.

You were a fellow spider variant, but not only were you a superhero, you also were a popstar, entertaining and saving the masses one day at a time. You were basically an interdimensional superstar, going to universe's and hosting concerts. (only modern ones though.)

You were really secretive about your life besides what you revealed to your fans, but after a recent picture that appeared on your Instagram had your friends and fans in an uproar.

“I could’ve sworn you told us you were going to be focused on your career! But what is this!!”

Miles, who you considered a little brother shoved his phone in your face.

You did make a big speech to them roughly like 7 months ago about how you were going to focus on your career and that you didn't have time for a relationship...

Well..clearly that was a lie..

It was a picture on your profile, it was clearly your waist, in an outfit from your most recent pop up performance, with a mans hands wrapped around your waist.

It was clear that the picture was cropped to obscure whoever you were with. You could only let a giggle slip from your lips as you took a drink from your water.

“Is he from your universe?” Gwen asked and you shook your head. This pulled a gasp from your friends and Pavitr was the one to ask the next question.

“Soooo…Is he a spider person?”

You went silent and avert your gaze playfully. Gwen stood up with her arms crossed a playful grin on her face. “That means yea! You’re dating a spider variant!’

“Yea but who? You know how many of us it is!” “Well, it has to be one of the older spiders, look at the size of that dude!” “Hmmm…”

You laughed again as you looked at the three of them. “You three are really trying to figure this out aren’t you?” That earned you three rapid nods and you only playfully rolled your eyes.

You hopped off the table, checking your dimensional watch seeing you missed a ping from Miguel O'Hara, the leader and head of the Spider Society.

“Oh sorry guys, I gotta go. I missed a ping from Miguel.”

Gwen nodded in understanding. “Oh yea, You might wanna go before you get in trouble, You know how he hates when people are late.”

Miles pointed a finger at you, “Don’t think that this is over Y/n! We will find out!!”

You rolled your eyes and gave them a wave as you head off to Miguel’s office.

When you first joined the Spider Society nearly 3 years ago, you couldn’t help but be intimidated by him. The way he carried himself with such authority and power, you remember after walking out his office you thought you were going to melt. He was just so perfect to you. He was strong, he was caring (although he struggled with sharing it), he was very, very, very attractive.

You couldn't help but make him your muse. Every great artist had one, and yours just happened to be your boss.

Most of your songs were about Miguel, nothing too explicit. Just cute puppy love songs, you were crushing since day one.

It wasn't hard to either, you would come up with lyrics after seeing him whenever you had to report an anomaly, or you'd bring your lyric book to meetings and use some of his own words in your songs.

Your fans loved it, trying to figure out who the mystery man was in your songs, but of course you couldn’t let them find out. Especially when some of the spider variants listened to your music as well! And it certainly didn’t help-

“Took you long enough.”

You gave a sheepish smile as you entered his office, seeing him up on his platform, looking over the various neon orange and red screens in front of him. You swung up to his platform, waiting as he turned around to face you.

He looked down at you for a bit before reaching to wrap his hands around your waist and pull you towards him, he places his face in the crook of your neck.

“I should’ve known you were going to post that picture of us..” He mumbled against your neck and you giggled as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck.

“I’m sorry Miggy, You looked really cute..! Besides, I cropped our faces out, they only saw the lower half.” You responded as you moved his face to kiss his cheek.

He only shook his head before pulling back a bit. “Oh really?” He gives you a small smirk as one hand went to your lower back. “You should post the full thing.”

You raised an eyebrow. Miguel was a very private person, hell, only two people knew you were dating Jess and Peter, and that was because they walked in to give Miguel updates on an anomaly they were chasing, they got an eyeful of the two of you kissing.

He was embarrassed and demanded that they didn’t tell a soul that the big scary boss of the spiders was dating the bubbly popstar.

So it was surprising to hear him want you to post it...

“Why? If you don’t mind me asking?..” You ask as you lean against him. He placed a hand under your chin, tilting your head up so that you could be looking at him. You felt your heart nearly leap out of your chest.

Damn this man and his eye contact, he surely knew how to make you nearly melt right into a puddle in his arms.

“That way people already know you're spoken for. Can’t have others trying to steal my wife away from me...can I?” He flashed another smirk at you, showing his fangs and you felt a blush spread across your cheeks.

He chuckled at your reaction, paying no mind to you nearly short circuiting at such an action... “Mi preciosa, You’re acting shy as if we haven’t done anything else already.”

“THAT”S DIFFERENT MIGUEL!”

"Is it? I mean, unless you start using my-"

"SHUT UP!"

He ends up laughing at your embarrassed face and leans to kiss you on your forehead.

“Here, theres an anomaly that just popped up. I can intrust my little idol to it can i?” You nod as he puts the universe coordinates in your Dimensional watch.

He gives you a hug and another kiss on the cheek, whispering the words. “Be safe. I love you.” before letting you swing down from his office.

You exited his office and blushed deeply, pulling up your phone, scrolling through your phone until you reach the picture in your camera roll.

It was a mirror selfie, Miguel’s hand wrapped around you waist with his chin on your shoulder. This was taken at his home after you came to visit him after a performance, which explained the attire you were wearing.

You go to your Instagram and take down the original, before reposting the full picture with the caption:

My Muse and My SuperHero <3

After you returned from your mission, you were met with a Laughing Jessica and a confused Peter.

“Hey guys! What’s going on?..” You asked as you walked up to them.

Jess stifled another laugh as she pointed to Miles, Gwen and Pavitr. “Seems like they saw your post.”

You looked over and locked eyes with Miles and You gave him a sheepish grin before taking off running, the young spider man following behind you.

“YOU’RE DATING OUR BOSS!? NO WONDER YOU DON’T GET IN TROUBLE!!” “I-it’s not like that Miles!!” “OH YEAH!? THEN WHY ARE YOU RUNNING!? GET BACK HERE AND EXPLAIN YOURSELF MISSY!” "I was going to tell you guys soon!!" "LIAR!! GET BACK HERE!"

©kieranxvaletine 2023 <3 Hope you all enjoyed!

#atsv fanfic #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x you #miguel x you #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x you

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psychictheater · 6 months

Text

Baby (Punkflower)

(Miles is entrusted with taking care of Billie for a whole weekend. Not being acclimated with babies, Miles has trouble until his angel in disguise shows up through his bedroom window )

First of all, in his expert opinion, his parents were too damn old to be having another baby, especially when Miles was 18 years older than said baby.

But, his parents were happy so he put on a happy face and rolled with it, helping his mom throughout her pregnancy, helping his dad put together baby furniture and that was alright. Until the baby actually got here.

He loved Billie, how could he not ? She was his little sister and even though he had to get used to her being around the house, it’s not like he disliked her, it was just an adjustment getting used to not being the only child anymore after 18 years.

When he was at home from school, he saw how exhausted his parents were looking after Billie. They were in their forties, caring for a baby for the first time in eighteen years, of course they were exhausted and they desperately needed a break.

So, for their anniversary, Miles reluctantly volunteered to babysit Billie while his parents went away for the weekend.

His mom was, understandably, hesitant and so was Miles, since Miles was only used to watching Billie for a few hours, not a whole weekend, but he assured them that everything was going to be fine anyways.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay Miles ?” Rio had asked. “We don’t have to go, or we could take Billie with us-“

“It’s your anniversary and you need a break, we’ll be fine, besides, she’s like what, five months old now ? I read that’s one of the easier stages.” Miles assured.

“Well here’s the phone number for the hotel, call us if you can’t handle something and we’ll rush back.” Rio had said, giving him a piece a paper.

“We’ll be fine ! Now go on and enjoy your anniversary !”

And now he was here.

Billie hadn’t stopped crying for hours. It was now two in the morning and she had been crying since ten and Miles was losing his damn mind. Part of him wanted to call his parents but he knew they needed this break and he didn’t want them to come rushing back. He gently rocked Billie, even though she fussed and cried. Loudly.

“What is wrong with you ?” Miles asked. “I fed you, I changed you, why are you crying ?”

Just as he was about to give up and call his parents, he heard a faint tapping at the window. He looked over to see none other but his boyfriend, Hobie Brown on the other side, holding a bag and waving before opening the window from the other side and letting himself in, only to flinch when he heard the ear piercing crying.

“Gwendy said your parents were gone for the weekend so I decided to crash but I didn’t know you had the baby with you.” Hobie said, crawling through the window. “She’s cryin’ up a storm, what’d you do ?”

“I didn’t do anything ! She just started crying !” Miles said, obviously frustrated. “I’ve tried everything and nothing has worked and I’m just so damn tired-“

Hobie frowned, seeing Miles’ frustration and the frustration on Billie’s face too. He hummed and gave Miles the bag before taking Billie from him.

“Hey, what-“

“There’s takeout in the bag, figured you’d be hungry.” Hobie said, cradling Billie in his arms as he looked Billie over. “Now what’s up with you ?”

“Look, I’ve tried everything, I’m just going to call mom and-“

“- Oh, there it is.”

Miles looked at Hobie in disbelief.

“Wait, you know what’s wrong ?” Miles asked.

“Mhmm, I’ve seen this before.” Hobie said, laying Billie on the bed, on her back. “Luckily I know how to fix this.”

“Really ? How ?” Miles asked.

Hobie took Billie’s legs and made them move as if she was riding a bike, before pulling them outwards and pressing them against her stomach.

Miles was about to question what he was doing, until he heard the loudest fart he had ever heard come out of a baby.

And Billie had stopped crying.

Hobie picked Billie up, holding her close to his face but not close enough that she could pull at his piercings.

“Bet you feel better now, huh Billie Jean ?” He asked, as Billie cooed and reached to touch his face.

“How did you know that she just needed to fart ?!?” Miles asked, astonished.

“Easy, I felt her tummy and it was all hard and shit so I figured she just needed to pass gas and babies have trouble doing that by themselves.” He chuckled, watching Billie rub her eye and yawn. “Now she’s sleepy. You go ahead and eat your food and relax, I can put her down, then we can watch a movie, yeah ?”

Miles didn’t know why but he became ten times more attracted to Hobie than he already was.

Miles and Hobie laid in Miles’ bed, watching The Teen Apocalypse Trilogy, Billie sleeping peacefully between them. She hadn’t stirred, out like a light ever since Hobie worked his baby magic on her and whenever she did scrunch her face up as if she were going to wake up and cry, Hobie would rest his hand on her back and she would be at ease.

“You’re starin’ at me instead of the movie.” Hobie said, snapping Miles out of his trance. Miles didn’t even realize that he had been staring. “What’s buggin’ ya ?”

“It’s just… you’re so good with kids, you’re good with Mayday, you’re good with Billie… “ Miles rubbed the back of his neck. “How ?”

“I dunno, just comes naturally.” Hobie shrugged. “Always had a soft spot for the little ones, y’know ?”

“Would you… ever want to have kids in the future ?” Miles asked, hesitantly.

“Bit early to be thinkin’ bout that yeah ? Don’t tell me you’re gettin’ baby fever lovie.” Hobie teased.

“You’re right, it was a dumb question, just forget I even asked it.” Miles hid his face in his pillow.

“No, it’s not, I’d love to have a little one in the future.” Hobie nudged Miles’ side. “And I’d love it even more if I had the kid with you.”

Miles slowly looked up

“You for real ?” He asked. Hobie nodded. “But I suck at taking care of Billie, I had to have you help me all of the time.”

“I’m for real.” Hobie replied. “I think you’ll be a great dad, once you learn the ropes and parenting requires help anyways so you’ll always have me helping you.”

Miles felt his heart flutter. Hobie wanted to have a kid with him one day ? His mind started racing. What would their baby look like ? What would they name it ? Would they be difficult or easygoing ? His mind started racing about babies until Hobie nudged him.

“Oi, I see you thinking over there. Stop thinking about babies, I said someday, not immediately.”

“But I can’t help it, you put the thought into my head !” Miles groaned. “Now I can’t stop thinking about a future baby with your eyes and my nose and your lips with my hair-“

Hobie rolled his eyes and continued to let Miles ramble, shaking his head and turning his attention back towards the TV.

Although a baby with his eyes and Miles’ nose did sound cute.

(This is a repost because Tumblr deleted my first account for no fucking reason)

#punkflower #spider punk #miles morales #hobie brown #across the spiderverse #billie morales #spiderman atsv #atsv #atsv fanfic #miles x hobie #hobie x miles

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spywhitney · 4 months

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Hobie Gives You Oral While You're Sick in Bed

"Are ya goin' swallow when I come, princess?"

"Y-yes. I'll take whatever you give me, Hobie."

#hobie brown #atsv fanfic #hobie x reader #hobie x fem!reader #hobie brown smut #ao3 fanfic #spider oc #atsv hobie #fluff #fluff and smut

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the-kr8tor · 8 hours

Text

...And The Deep Blue Sea

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x Fem! Reader

Word count: 13.2k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, No specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), CW food mentions, TW blood, CW violence, TW death, CW gore, CW injury, CW guns.

A/N: it's the end.

Navigation

Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

CHAPTER 15 >>>

“Hello, little birdy.” Mathias cackles like there's a pebble stuck in his throat.

He roams his sickly yellowed eyes at your body, sending shivers down your spine with every glance. “Or should I say Viscountess?” He laughs again. “You wear that gown well,” his eyes flick behind you, “Eugene, my boy!” The man beside you stiffens up. “Come get your bride and sit with me.” He drums at the table. “The Food is comin’, I heard that the bride and groom usually don't get to eat after everything is said and done. We don't want you to starve, ain't that right, lieutenant?”

The eye patched man standing in the corner nods slowly. His hands are neatly tucked behind his back like an obedient dog waiting for his master.

“You're alive?” You say breathlessly, teeth gritted, knuckles clenching tight on the skirt of your dress. Pulse rapidly thrumming, sending alarm bells to ring in your ear.

“‘course I am! No one can kill the king's flame, not even the red hydra,” he spits the name out. “or even a real fuckin' hydra.” Chuckling, scars mar his neck and hands, the only visible ones under his navy blue officer's uniform. It's still red and angry, you can tell some parts of it hasn't healed yet. You plan to add more, whether it's by your bare hands or a piece of cutlery; you're prepared to hit him where it hurts.

Numerous medals are on display on his jacket, shining under the sunlight filtering through the closed curtains. “Can you believe it? I go out to hunt the red hydra and I get myself a pretty bird.” He continues annoyingly, voice crackling, a dry cough escaping his pale mouth.

Mathias notices you still standing in the doorway, his eyes are dull, like a hurricane that's about to devastate a whole town. Eugene notices and he reaches for your arm to sit you down. You flinch away from his touch, eyes trained on the man before you.

“I said sit down!” Mathias’ booming voice rings out in the dining hall, his fist slamming on the table, champagne flutes fall over like dominoes with a harsh crack. “Fuckin’ grab her, Eugene! Don't be such a fuckin’ cock and grab her!”

“Y-yes uncle.” Your ‘fiance’ tentatively guides you towards the chair by your elbow, you brush off his touch, angry eyes gazing at his cowardly face.

Sitting down on the right side of Mathias, you intentionally choose a chair as far away from him as possible. But before you could sit, he clicks his tongue, finger wagging in front of his scarred face.

“Not there, gorgeous.” He pats the seat closest to him. “Right here.”

“No,” you stand your ground, shaking from anger, or is it fear that climbs in your stomach and crawls upwards to your quickening heart?

You refuse to get near the monster as Eugene stares across from you with anxiety in his eyes.

“Sit. Down.” Mathias enunciated, “or Lieutenant Dubois here will make you sit down.” Said uniformed man grunts, hazel eye roaming across the table, gaze boring a hole in between your twitching eyes. The sheath of his cutlass is engraved with tally marks among the ornate laurels and lions. “You already know what he'll do to you, he's quite amazing with a sharp object.”

“I am too.” You clench your jaw, still refusing to sit.

To your surprise, Mathias grins, a sickeningly hideous smile, teeth bared, tongue lapping at the gold in place of the fangs, lips wrinkling, he chuckles softly as something passes by his yellowed eyes.

“Sorry ‘bout that, you just reminded me so much of your father.” He leans on the back of his chair, hands gesturing towards you. “I literally saw him instead of you! It's fuckin' crazy innit?” He shoves Eugene by the shoulder, the viscount flinches, wincing at the ache. “Y’know, I recognized you— wait, lieutenant! Grab her and make her sit down! This story deserves to be listened to properly.”

“No!” You try to run back to the hallway, but the man is too fast for you. With the heavy skirt and weak leg, you didn't have a chance against him. “Motherfucker—!” With his arms around your torso, you kick and flail about, Mathias gives him a look and the man headbutts you from behind.

The room spins as he carries you towards the chair. The ceiling swirls, ears flooding with your rushing blood. With your muddled hearing, you swear you heard Eugene defend you, and you swear you heard a slap right after.

With a heavy thunk, the door closes behind you, your exit closes behind you. The only remaining door is across you, it's currently closed but you're sure it's unlocked judging by the draft coming from it. Head still aching, vision warbling, the one eyed man stands in front of the only exit.

“Now where was I?” Mathias continues like nothing happened. You glare at him through the corner of your eyes, your skin feels like spikes from the goosebumps rising above. “Ah, yes! I recognized you on the ship, before a literal myth came eating my crew. By the way, what the fuck was that, huh? Fuckin' weird, right?”

“Shut the fuck up.” You say weakly.

“Anywho, You looked a lot like your father but with your mother's beauty. I knew them, your father more so. Once upon a time he was my lieutenant, he was pretty good at it too. Too bad he had to disobey orders and marry above his station.”

“Why don't you ever shut up?” You lay your elbows on the table, arms flat, slyly covering the steak knife under your arm. “Are you a narcissist? Do you like hearing your own voice—?”

Mathias hurls a salad plate at your head. You dodge it in time before it shatters on the floor. You don't have time for this, you need to get to Hobie immediately, before it's too late. You have no plan, no weapons, but you'll be damned if you don't try. And you can still hear his screams echoing in your ears, as if he's already dead, as if he's already haunting you.

You need to try. Or it'll be your end too.

The monster before you clears his throat. “Don't be rude.” He points a finger at you.

You now notice how worse for wear he is, under the white paint and powdered wig lies injuries that haven't healed since the fight. You smell it, the herbs hastily smudged, and the rot in his flesh. It seeps into his bones, poisoning his body. You just wish it'll eat at him faster.

You're suddenly not afraid anymore.

“Anyway, before I was rudely interrupted. Your father, well, he fought a good fight on the Demeter. He stood his ground till the very end until a dozen or so bullets pierced his skin.”

The crescent in your palms gets deeper.

“He was smart though, smarter than you probably. You see, he rigged the ship to blow. He had the fuckin' balls to do it even though his entire family was inside. Ain't it funny—?” The double doors swing open.

The butler interrupts his speech, a handful of staff bring in an entire chicken at his plate. One pours him a glass of wine before he snatches the entire bottle and places it right next to his glass. Hot soup and meat pie is brought in also, the smell is appetizing but you place your hand over your plate wordlessly, telling them you're not hungry at the moment. How could you be when Mathias eats in front of you like he hasn't eaten in decades?

The tension is thicker than the cream placed in front of Eugene.

He munches loudly as he takes apart the roast. String of meat flies all over, the former white table cloth turns brown when he wipes his hands on it. Eugene spares you a look, eyes staring forlornly at his empty plate. His hand inching closer towards his goblet before deciding to just drink the ruby liquid.

You're on your own.

The wolves devour their fill whilst you plan your escape. Your mind screams for you to run, to run where no one can find you. The voice echoing in your ears is right at one thing, but you'll never hide anymore, not from Mathias, not from your past, not from anyone. You'd face it with fire in your veins just like your father had.

Mathias snorts, and you wish it was a choke. “He fought well, got a few of my men. How do you think the lieutenant here lost his eye?” He points at the stoic man using a half eaten chicken leg. “Your father was brilliant with a sword. A crack shot with a blunderbuss too. But, eh, it was all in vain. He shouldn't have messed with the crown and polite society.”

He continues to loudly eat, hands slick with oil, mouth full of meat. “You see, your mother was that fuckin' woman. Wealth, looks, title, she had it all. And the king wanted it too, greedy bastard he is.” There it is, the confession. But you still listen because you know something else will come after. “But your mum decided to run off and elope with the bastard son of an unpopular lord. The king was pissed off.”

Mathias laughs roughly. “But he got over it.”

Your eyes widened, but before you could hide it, the devil noticed.

“I knew you ain't as smart as your dear old dad.” He smiles, you can see the meat stuck in his golden teeth.

“He was the crowned prince,” Mathias rips open the chicken in half messily. “And he needed a wife from one of the big families.” He doused the meat in salt, “and the greedy fuck chose someone who didn't want him, just for the fun of it. Who could blame her, all he ever wanted was a brood of children to pass on his blood.” He takes a generous bite, teeth meeting flesh, the sound of his chewing makes you hasten your plan. “Thank fuck Frederick's father ain't as stupid as his son. That man sought out the opportunity when given to him and fuckin' took it. Too bad he didn't live long enough to see the fruit of his labour.”

Anger settles in your stomach, fury in your eyes and flesh, you want to damn him, and everyone involved. Especially her.

“It's her isn't it?” You say as you slither your hand towards the ceramic bowl. “The Queen, it was all her.”

Mathias smiles genuinely, “You finally got it, little bird!” He claps. “She's fuckin' brilliant, and so are her coffers. The pay,” he whistles out, “the pay was magnificent, still is by the way. I didn't even need to become an admiral for the money when I'm earning more than a fuckin’ duke.” Kicking Eugene under the table, he makes his godson choke on his drink. “See, I told you the little duchess here is just your type.”

His voice fuels your fury. Each vowel is grating in your ears, every wheezed breath he takes is a reminder that he still lives. A reminder that your knife isn't stuck in his throat.

“It ain't as bad as you think it is,” The navy man continues. “Married to my boy, you'd have a title, a home and a decent family. At least now you don't have mister Brown crawling all over you. He'd be dead by sundown, and I can't wait to see it.”

Mathias thinks his words would make you do something drastic that'll have his hands wrapped around your neck. But you've learned your lesson, so you bide your time, taking their attention away from your wandering hands.

“You're dying.” The heat from the bowl matches the fire in you. Your voice doesn't shake, nor your resolve. “Even with all the coin she gave you, you still can't save yourself. You are riddled with sepsis, I can smell it on you. A collapsed lung from the way you cough, and whatever the fuck disgusting shit you have in you. You are dying, rotting from the inside like how it's meant to be. And the world will be better off without you. They will forget you, first, your poor family, then your men, then the entire country. Even your bitch of a queen will forget you. Then the world. But Hobie will be remembered. His name will be etched in the annals of history while your name fades into obscurity.” You laugh humorlessly, teeth bared, eyes aflame. “And I can't wait to see it.”

He seethes in his seat, hand clenching around the cutlery. The devil doesn't show his anger bluntly this time, he hides it because you struck a nerve. With a grin, you promise to Hobie and to your parents that Mathias won't live to see the day end.

“Do you remember what I told you in the revenge?” You continue with a smile that sends shivers down the spine of everyone in the room. The quiet lieutenant remembers the day he lost his eye. “I intend to fulfill that promise.”

Through a clenched jaw, he coughs again, hiding his weakness from everyone in the room and how a drop of blood stains his pale lips. “I love it when women show me their claws. But I can't stay. I would love to see the ceremony and the festivities, but I can't miss the execution. That's why I came here earlier so I could pass on my blessings.” Mathias wipes his mouth clean harshly. “If you'd excuse me, I places to be—”

Before he could stand up, you quickly fling the bowl right on his painted face. The hot soup splashes on his skin, melting the white powder off his face. With his guttural scream, within a split second before his man could intervene, you take the steak knife and plunge it into his hand and into the table.

The screams he let out was music to your ears, holding the hilt of the weapon, you twist it before yanking it out of his flesh, tearing his hand in half, ripping the nerves and letting waterfalls of crimson into the white tablecloth. With a determined yell, you aim for his throat.

Mathias recovers a second before steel meets his skin, he backhands you with the same injured hand. The knife falls off your hand. Pain blooms on your face, and you go blind as your head hits the floor. His blood dirties your pristine white gown, splotches of red drenching the bodice.

Your left eye stings, cheek heated from the harsh slap. Despite your lungs gasping for air through your possible broken nose, you crawl over to Mathias. Your scorn drives you to grab his leg, pulling him down with a strong tug, he falls hard on his back, splitting the floorboards in half. Taking the crown off your head, you use the pointy end to stab his leg and his knee in quick succession. He yells and yells but you don't stop. The ichor from his wounds drenches your face and hands, you see red, and you see his untimely death in your blood soaked hands.

Climbing further up, you use the opportunity to aim at his groin. But a pair of arms stops you before you could hit your mark. Thrashing, slashing the hands around your shoulders, you mark the man with the same bloodied tiara.

“Fuckin’ bitch!” Mathias stands up, limping, he unsheathes his lieutenant’s cutlass from his hip. With a stomp over your thigh, he pushes in the heel of his boot as you let out a cry. The steel is pointed at your heart, his eyes demand blood for blood. “I should've just killed you instead—”

A shot rings out, the bullet hits the blade, breaking it in half. Mathias flinches before he smiles at the one who shot him. There on the opposite doors, stands Miguel O’hara with his gun raised, barrel aimed at his former comrade. Lyla stands next to him, her own blunderbuss raised towards the man holding on to you.

“Let her go and there won't be any more bullets flying around.” Miguel's voice is steady, back straight, eyes flicking over to you writhing on the floor.

“You better listen, cyclops, O’hara here might hesitate but I won't. Let our girl go.” Lyla reassures you with a nod, and you bite your captor's hand.

You tear his flesh open with your teeth, ichor filling your mouth as he hisses in pain, dropping you unceremoniously on the floor.

Mathias looks at you with wide eyes, disbelief in his burned face. “I guess you learned a thing or two from your man.”

You spit out the chunk of flesh whilst your eyes never leave his. Crimson dripping off your lips like rain, teeth the same colour as the wine spilled on the table, you smile at him.

“Come near me and I'll show you what else he taught me.”

The man before you laughs genuinely, yet his eyes never leave yours, making sure you stay away from him. You're more than ready to close the gap. The cutlass is still trained on you, you're about to pounce when Miguel calls your name with urgency. As if he can read your mind.

��Your girl is fuckin' insane ain't she?” Mathias addresses Miguel, like how a family member speaks about a niece he hasn't seen in years. Proud, there's a sense of pride laced in his tone. “Just like her dear old parents, eh?”

“I'm warning you, Mathias.” Miguel keeps an eye out for the uniformed man behind you. “Take your captain, Alexander, before I put a bullet in his heart.”

Mathias scoffs, legs shaking from the wounds you caused. “Please, you'd shoot me? You didn't have the balls back then, why would you do it now?”

Miguel raises his gun higher, aiming for the man's head. “Because she wasn't there,” he cocks his head towards you, “you didn't have a weapon aimed directly at my goddaughter.” Eyebrows knitted together in anger, his hand doesn't shake, eyes glowing red in the sunlight. “Now let her go.”

Mathias posture sags, “fine, but only because I've got an event I cannot miss.” He nods at his godson. “Make sure you're married to her by the end of the day or there will be consequences.” He clicks his tongue, Eugene melts into his chair, face turned away from you and his godfather.

Mathias gives you one last look. “Happy marriage, birdy.”

“You're going to die today Mathias, one way or another I'll get my hands on you.” You flick your eyes towards the man clutching his hand. “Death is coming for you too,” you say nonchalantly. “I'll finish what my father started.”

They leave with their fronts turned to you, not even twisting around to show you their backs that are susceptible to your attack. Or in this case, your teeth.

Lyla appears next to you, helping you by the crook of your arm. Pain lingers on your leg and face. “Christ, he burst your fucking capillaries.”

Sure enough, you feel the sting in your eye, a throbbing pain that leaves you nauseous. Miguel, tentatively closes the distance, weathered hand carefully holding your chin. You wince, as he moves your face.

“Fuck, you need to see a doctor.” He says whilst you flinch away from his touch.

“I'm alright, I need a horse.” You begin to walk away, Miguel and Lyla follow close behind you. “And I need my fucking knife.” I need him back, your mind whispers to you. “I need to save him.”

“His execution is in two hours.” Eugene says meekly, and you stop in your tracks. “I heard the officers talk, they're not going to hang him for his crimes, the crown gave him the ax.”

With quick steps, you take Eugene by his collar, gripping tightly as you spill venom. Miguel tries to hold you back but you blindly kick his leg.

“Delay them.”

“I can't—”

“Do you want to be under his boot your entire life? If we marry I'll be crushed with you,” You stare determinedly at his scared eyes. “because that will happen if you don't help. You said you cared about me, then help me and all will be forgiven. Please, you're a viscount, you have the means to help.”

He sniffs, lips curled into a frown. “I'm sorry, I-I can't—”

You scoff, letting him go. “If I fail, Mathias lives and that means you'd be dead too.” Walking away, leaving him cowering in his seat, your small entourage follows.

“Where are you going?” Miguel matches your stride, walking next to you, he stares with concern. “Y/N, where are you going?”

“To my room to pamper my nose.” With adrenaline coursing through you, his face flashes in your mind with every step. Save him, your mind yells, save him, save him, or it'll be the end for you too.

“Cousin?” Collette asks as you make your way towards the apartments where your chambers lie. She roams her worried eyes around your bloodied wedding gown, her hands that are clutching a bouquet of flowers shakes. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

“I stabbed Mathias and bit through a man's hand.” You say without stopping, she squeaks in place.

John stops in his tracks, “w-what the fuck happened?” The twins are both dressed to the nines, all fine fabrics and hair all made up. “Cousin!” He calls after you whilst you don't stop for anyone.

“Thanks for the hot tip, kids!” Lyla yells back to your cousins. “A bit of advice, tell the catering staff the wedding’s off!” She cackles. “Save me a macaroon though!”

“They called you?” You ask, your heeled feet ache but you press on. “Where were you Lyla?”

“I'm sorry, duchess, I overslept.” She shrugs. “But I'm here now ain't I? Also I got Miguel here so...”

“You should stop, Y/N.” Miguel says sternly. “You're hurt—”

“No.”

“Y/N.”

You whirl around to face him. Anger flares up once again. “You should've shot him where he stood.” You poke his sturdy chest roughly. “He's the one who killed them, yet you let him get away!”

“I know, I— there are repercussions to killing someone. Especially if they're an officer.” He falters but he composes himself. “Revenge is not the answer—”

“He killed them, Miguel!” Your broken voice echoes out into the vast hallway. “Him and the queen are the reason why they're dead, and you let him get away so he could kill Hobie.”

“It was the queen? Not—”

“Yes, not the idiot king.” You turn around to continue your trek. You curse the large estate. “I have no idea why she did it, but I'm gonna get her too. But I won't live to see that day if I don't save him.” Your tone falters as you pass by your mother's portrait. “I need to save him, even if it's the last thing I do.”

“You won't succeed.” Miguel stands in front of you to stop you, and you roll your eyes, wanting to kick him in the groin. “He's a pirate, Y/N, he won't do the same for you.”

“He has, and he would. I need to try, I can't let him die.” You choke back a sob. Reality crashes around you. What would you do once you get there? Will you be able to save him on your own? You have no one, you have no idea where the crew is, and he's going to die. You can't live with yourself if you don't try.

“Y/N.” Miguel says your name like a reprimand.

“You said back in the carriage that I can leave whenever I want, all I needed to do was ask.” You chuckle without humour. “Here’s me asking, Miguel.”

“You'll die, Y/N, I can't lose you too.”

“And I can't lose him.” Tears gather in your eyes. “If no one will save him then who will? I have to go whether you like it or not.”

“The people will,” Lyla pipes up, she casually leans against the wall, checking her nails. “there have been…whispers since they announced his execution. If you go, I'm sure you won't be alone.”

You face the taller man again. “See, I have help—”

“Rumours aren't enough! Don't you get it? You're better off marrying Thompson at this point.” You blink in surprise. He backtracks. “I–I didn't mean it that way, I meant, I'd rather see you settled than dead.”

“You might not be as bad as Mathias, but you might as well be.” You brokenly say. Miguel's face falls at your words. “You claim to love my parents and me by extension, but you're complicit,” you spit out the word full of venom. “you're only helping them by not letting me go. I don't want to be settled, Miguel.” You shake your head. “It isn't love if you make me.”

Miguel visibly shatters in front of you. None of the composure he showed to Mathias is left in his body. He hasn't seen this much devotion since your parents. He hasn't seen this much love since he felt their presence. He hasn't felt this hurt since his daughter left this world.

“You had time to grieve for them, I didn't.” You push him out of the way, controlling your sob. “Please don't stop me, or I'll fight you like how I fought Mathias.” You open the doors to your chambers.

Miguel lingers outside as you and Lyla make your way inside the familiar room. The man that has your dagger sits in front of the vanity, the large man is currently trying on a spare tiara, and is wearing one of the ruby earrings.

“You can keep those,” Your sudden voice makes him jump away, large eyes staring at you with slight embarrassment. “I won't tell a soul, just take them, give me my dagger and get out of Hazelside.”

The cogs in his head move, swallowing thickly, he nods curtly. “Can I keep the necklace too?” He asks gruffly.

“Sure,” You shrug, Lyla stifled a giggle.

Wordlessly, he shoves a ruby necklace in his pocket, then he unsheathes your dagger and places it on the vanity.

“We good, duchess?”

“Actually,” you have an idea. “You're a muscle for hire, correct?” You've noticed how he doesn't move like the other foot soldiers do, or the guards for Hazelside. His disheveled uniform solidifies your theory. The man nods proudly. “How would you like to take my entire jewelry box in exchange for you and your men's services?”

“That depends, what kind of work are we talkin’ ‘bout?”

Lyla adds to the conversation. “Murder of some pompous nobles and free a bunch of pirates. With a main focus on the red spider of course.”

“Kill the red spider too?” He asks, a thick eyebrow raised.

“No!” You say quickly, “free him and kill anyone who stands in the way.” You mutter a curse under your breath. “I don't have time for this.”

The mercenary thinks once again, he seems to be weighing the pros and cons.

Stepping closer, you practically breathe down his neck. “I'll throw in my shoes and gowns too,” you raise a hand for him to shake. “As long as you'll be there before the execution starts, and you keep my uncle and aunt distracted, scare them is all. Just don't touch my cousins or the staff.”

The scarred man chuckles deeply. “An offer I cannot refuse, duchess.” He clasps your hand, shaking it once. “Creating chaos is our main specialty.”

“Yes and I saw a glimpse of that in the barn.” You give him a tight-lipped smile, eyes lit with tamped down anger. “You better hold your end of the bargain, or you'll have my dagger in your throat instead of my necklace.”

“‘course, my lady. My men will be there.” He leaves with a grin, shoving Miguel by his shoulder.

“What just happened?” Your godfather asks as you lift your skirt to rip the metal of your petticoat off using the dagger. He turns around, closing the doors to your chambers and shuts his eyes while still turned around.

“Our girl here just used her charisma to strike a bargain. Oh they grow up too fast.” Lyla dramatically wipes a nonexistent tear in her eye. “Don't forget to change your shoes, my lady.”

You stare at yourself in the vanity, blood coats the front of your gown, a smattering of crimson coats the lace, splashes of ichor paints the front of the bodice right next to the pretty embroidery. Your face isn't any better, the makeup the handmaidens painted you with is still there, but now it coincides with Mathias' drying blood. It drips down from your cheeks down to your neck, it hides the gold underneath the crimson. Your left eye shares the same shade, capillaries burst, spreading your blood into the whites of your eyes. The gloves meant to hide the callouses and fresh scars are sticking to your skin, drenched in ruby, drenched like the floors of the revenge.

You leave it on, a reminder of your goal.

“I haven't forgotten.” Tossing the heeled shoes away, you make your way towards where you hid your old friend.

The sight alone of the weathered leather shoes would make you weep but you don't have time for that. Lifting your skirts up, still wearing the ridiculous wedding gown that has become significantly lighter, you quickly run towards the unicorn tapestry.

Dagger in hand, you're surprised to hear Miguel's heavy strides following you inside the hidden tunnels. Once the sun greets you and the grass crunches under your feet, you beeline for the barn.

A stable boy jumps at the sudden intrusion, he stutters, moreso when he sees your blood drenched form.

“Can you saddle Bernard quickly?” You ask, and the poor boy almost has a heart attack. “Please? I'm a friend of Hobie and—”

“Oh, Hobie! You should've said it earlier then. You're her! He told me a whole lot about you." He smiles at you, already picking up the heavy saddle. "You know how to ride, My lady?"

“No need for that.” You wave away the title. “And yes, perks of running away for years, you learn how to run away in different ways.”

He chuckles, yet the nervousness is still palpable in his eyes. “I'm on it, your grace.”

Smiling softly, you don't correct him anymore. Turning around, you see no one accompanying you. “Lyla?”

“She went off to get her horse,” Miguel appears from behind the barn door. “I'm keeping a lookout.” He returns to his post, acting casual while leaning on the door.

“You don't have to be here if you don't want to, Miguel.” You walk behind him, the wooden doors are blocking you from his view and vice versa.

“I…pondered your words, Y/N, and you're right. I don't want to make you do something you clearly don't want. I won't make that same mistake again, it cost me years without you. It won't make me lose another day without you, even if it means saving a damn pirate.” He chuckles, and you take his hand from where you stood. You hear his breath hitch, “I'm sorry. I think your parents would hate me right now.”

“I don't know them very well but, I think they'll be proud of you. You found me, you brought me home. You were doing the best you can with good intentions.” You squeeze his rough hand, placing your forehead against the door where his shoulders would lie. “Thank you for letting me leave. I think it's best for you to move on, uncle. They'd want that for you.” You hear him sniff, squeezing your hand back.

“Yes, I think it's best.” He lets your hand go, “starting with this,” Placing something round in your hand, he closes your palm around it gently. “They’d want you to have it, something to keep close to you when you're at sea. It helped me back then, I'm sure it'll help you now.”

“You're not coming with me?”

“Not yet, I'll follow you once I can. I'll keep your aunt and uncle here, making sure that they don't get their footmen to follow you. And I'll make sure the ruffians you hired won't go overboard and actually do what you asked them to.” Miguel tearfully chuckles, “just promise me you won't lose your humanity after you take your revenge.”

“I promise, I won't let it consume me.” You whisper your promise just for him.

Taking a peek at the object in your hand, your heart almost shatters at the familiarity of it. It's the same one your mother was clutching in her portrait. Opening the golden locket, you see a portrait of your mother on the left, and on the right, your father. They look younger in the painting, happier, more alive. They were right, you bear a resemblance to your father just as much as to your mother's features. You finally got a good look at them together, and your heart squeezes at the thought.

Sniffing, you look up at Miguel with gratitude, “tell my cousins ‘thank you,’ please.”

“I will. Keep the locket safe for when we meet again?”

“I will, I'll see you in the water, uncle.” He's the only person who's worthy of the title you've bestowed him. Lyla gallops her horse in the distance. “Now get out of here, or I'll end up not letting you go.” You tease, it has half truth in it. Your smile falters, "Tell my mother—"

“Come back and you can tell her yourself. She's still staying in the same town. I know she's waiting for you.” He finally turns around to face you. “Before you go,” shrugging off his coat, he hands it to you. “You'll get cold.”

You look at the fabric with tears in your eyes. Taking the blue coat, he helps you put it on. Sniffing, he turns you back around, rubbing the creases in the sleeves away.

“There, it's perfect but it's missing something.”

“Something blue, and now I've got something borrowed.” Joking, you smile at your godfather.

Miguel hands you a blunderbuss, it's an ordinary looking one, save for the purple leather handle that decorates it.

“It was your father's, he gave it to me when he named me your godfather.” He points at the silver barrel where three letters are etched on it crudely. “It's our first initials. He said that it gave him extra luck.”

“I—I can't take this.”

“Well, you've already taken my locket and coat, what harm falls on me if I gave you his gun? You're gonna need it wherever you're going.” Miguel shoves it in your hands, “just— save a bullet for Mathias and the queen.”

“That I can do.” You grin at him despite the pain in your chest.

“The party's here.” Lyla’ horse stops just outside, she exclaims with fanfare. “Ready to kill some motherfuckers?”

“Aye,” you nod with determination. The fire is blazing under your eyes, lightning in your fingertips, you wear the locket around your neck with pride.

For your parents that you've never met but came to love. For Miguel, for the crew and for all they've sacrificed for you. for Hobie, the love of your life. And for MJ.

—

You ride off on Bernard's back, flames in your chest, wind whipped cheeks, and hands clutching the reins tighter. Your father's blunderbuss weighs heavy on your hips, the smell of Mathias' drying blood stings in your nose. But the putrid smell keeps you awake, a reminder of your goal, a reminder of what truly matters— Hobie. Your love that is currently in shackles, hands bound tighter than the rope around his neck.

Lyla snaps you awake, her own horse huffing from the intense speed.

“Your eyes keep glossing over, duchess, keep ‘em clear for me, yeah?” She yells above the loud hoofbeats.

“I will, are you sure about your plan?”

“My guild consists of a bunch of sacks of shits that'll do anything for a quick coin.” You knit your eyebrows in worry. “But they're loyal to a fault, ‘sides, your captain used to be one of us, once upon a time.”

“What?” You spot the capital's sign, entering the city without stopping. There's a fork in the road as you ride towards the center of the city. The familiar smell of the sea fills you as you ride closer and closer to your destination.

“A story for another day, gorgeous.” She rides faster, her guns clinking against the saddle. “I'll ride ahead, gather as many as I can. Go to him, and disrupt the festivities.” Her voice fades as she hurries off.

Lyla heads towards the left whilst you ride on the right, trying to remember the directions she told you during the short ride.

Numerous buildings whizz by you as you ride faster and faster. Rickety stone buildings turn into elegant carved marble. The streets become smoother as you get closer to the palace. You heard the crowd before you saw them.

Bernard stops in his tracks, right at the edge of the thousands of people clambering to see the execution. He whines as you try to calm him down. Some of the common people are quiet, eyes straight towards the stage where a large man with a black hood stands. The scraping of the ax getting sharpened makes your heart stop.

The palace looms overhead, its golden terrace holds the royals, faces smug, wigs high as they look down at the crowd. Right next to them stands Mathias, hand hastily bandaged, still dripping in blood. His face contorts into pain as he clutches at his injury. You draw your father's gun out, resisting the urge to shoot at the man, but with how far you are, you know you'll miss.

Scanning the stage, you bite your tongue, preventing a pained whimper from getting out.

You've made it, and he has too.

Clad in a white undershirt with the sleeves too big for his frame, trousers too short for his legs, hands tied behind his back, face beaten. Hobie stands with his back straight despite all the red gashes under his thin shirt.

You whisper his name like he can hear you above the yells of the people. You're frozen, hands shaking, eyes unblinking at his form.

The uniformed men make him kneel, his knees slam harshly against wooden floors.

Hobie was never afraid of dying before, he avoided it a hundred times. Yet, his binded hands quiver, dull grey eyes scanning around the crowd, he tries to find familiar faces amidst all the strangers. Trying to find his crew, not for help, but the thought of dying in front of them fills him with sorrow. He doesn't see them, and he's glad. Moreso when he doesn't see your face, he doesn't want you to experience what he had seen before.

But there's a part of him that wants to see you for one last time before steel kisses his neck. He wants to feel your lips against his again, but for now, having the memory of it is enough. The pearl you gave him is cold against his chest, he wishes to hold it again.

Having you in his arms however brief is enough for him, he'll think of you when the blade strikes him down for the last time.

Even with his imminent death, he still finds the will to smile, the same smile you love so much. It's enough to snap you awake.

A navy officer yells above the crowd, scroll in hand, voice booming and commanding. “Here stands the notorious pirate Hobart Brown, he stands here waiting for his sentence. The crimes he has committed are atrocious enough that the crown has automatically given him the guilty verdict!” The people don't cheer, some even boo and hiss at the man. You inhale deeply, hand holding on to the reigns tighter, as you weave Bernard through the crowd. Surprisingly, they part for you.

“What say you, Hobart Brown?”

Hobie chuckles deeply, lips split and bloodied, he grins. “It's captain, actually!” His voice drives you to ride faster, gun raised. He twists around to look at the nobles in their high tower. “It's captain Hobie Brown, you fuckin' wankers!” Cackling, the officer kicks him down. He falls, gasping, neck landing harshly at the stone slab that still has remnants of its last guest.

Still, Hobie yells obscenities, “you haven't won! You might cut my head but two more will replace me! Just like how I replaced the emerald bastard from the south!” He tries to sit up but another man holds him down. “They'll be stronger and better than me! From my death, the people will gather at your gates and break your golden walls!”

The executioner raises his large ax, the sun bouncing off the metal.

Hobie quiets down at the glimmer of the ax shining in his eyes. Whispering the names of his loyal crew, then he softly calls for you like an acolyte prays for forgiveness.

The crowd parts for you like the sea parts for a sailing ship. Giddying up, hooves hitting loudly against stone, you aim.

It's the end, but it doesn't have to be.

“Hobie!” You scream as loud as you can before you shoot.

He blinks in surprise for a second, the man holding him down scampers away as a shot rings out. Now free, Hobie quickly moves away from the stone slab as your bullet hits the executioner's hood right in-between his eyes.

Gasping, the ax falls next to Hobie's head with a thud. The edge is embedded in the wood, missing his face just a few inches away. Eyes staring at the clear sky, he thinks he has died when your face suddenly appears in front of him.

“Scuttlebutt,” he softly says in disbelief.

“Hi, captain, I'm here to rescue you.” You smile at him, “hold on a minute.” Sitting up right, you shoot at the remaining officer. A body thuds, and you return to his side. “I've got you.” You say as you help him sit up, hands already untying his bonds.

Hobie looks at you like a sailor looks at the sea for the first time, with reverence, and awed by the sheer beauty. “You've got me.”

Ropes falling off his aching wrists, he moves to hold your face desperately. Without a second thought, he kisses you fervently. Life spreads back to him, fingertips electric as he holds your face close. Lips warm, you kiss back like it's just you and him. Hands instinctively sliding to his head, you pull away when you feel scruff under your palm.

“What did they do to your hair?!” You almost weep, hands roaming across his bare head. “Oh my god, they have to pay for this.”

Hobie laughs, still holding your face like holding on to a precious pearl. “It'll grow back.” Tears prick your eyes, mirroring his own. “I love you, you did good, scuttlebutt.”

“I did good?” You peck his chapped lips once more.

“Yeah, love.” He prevents you from looking at the military that has their weapons raised and their eyes targeting you and him. “You did very well—” tears escape his grey eyes when he hears the familiar click of a gun.

It's the end.

“I love you too,” you know it's the end. “I'll see you back at the revenge?”

“Save some of Finn's bread for me, yeah?” Hobie leans his forehead atop yours. “I'm sorry.” His voice falters.

“Don't be, I'm glad I fell in that net.” You hold on to him for dear life. Etching his warmth in your brain so you remember it until you're cold. “I'd run towards that dock all over again if I had the chance again.”

It's the end, and you hold him close.

As you embrace each other, as your love is displayed for all to see, your warmth radiates through the crowd. You burn together with him.

Fire consumes and burns but it also lights the way.

The silence wraps around the city center, then, someone yells, pushing off the officer who has his gun aimed at your head. The people follow, rioting against their oppressors.

You both stare below in disbelief, hand cradling your head, he shields your eyes from seeing the violence unfold. Just when bullets hit flesh, and knives slash at necks, an explosion booms above.

Hobie holds onto you tighter, battered arms wrapped around you protectively as debris and smoke fills the whole place. The building across the palace is in flames, and from the billowing ashes out comes a familiar face.

Gwen takes off her hood, feet precariously standing on the ledge, then another form comes out of the smoke, Miles takes his stance next to the first mate, handing her a long rope.

“Holy shit! It's them!” Hobie exclaims, letting you see them with your own eyes.

You grin as you spot them above, “it's them,” you say in shock. A second later, they jump off the building effortlessly, guns raised as they land on their feet right next to the stage.

“I'll cover you!” Miles yells above the chaos as more and more buildings around the palace erupt in a chorus of explosions.

Gwen clambers next to you, relief on her face, hugging the two of you. Embracing back, she leans away to stare at you and her captain.

“You fucking idiots! I'd slap you over the head if I didn't love you both.”

“We love you too, Gwendy.” Hobie smiles amidst the aches.

“What he said, Gwendy.” You beam at her with overwhelming love.

“Love you too, now we need to get you out of here.”

“I have a ship docked somewhere, it's called the osprey. Take it and—” You start but Hobie and Gwen interrupt.

“You make it sound like you're not comin’ with us.”

“Y/N,” Gwen warns as she helps you two on your feet.

“I’m coming with—” a gun goes off.

Blood splatters across your faces. Crimson blooms across Gwen's stomach.

“...oh” she looks at you with her eyebrows knitted together, hand pressing on her belly. You catch Gwen in your arms as you feel the fear in you spread. She calls your name weakly.

Hobie stares at you with terrified eyes as he clutches the back of Gwen's head.

“No, no, don't speak—just… oh fuck!” You try to stop the bleeding by ripping a part of your gown to stuff it inside her wound. Ichor spills out of her like waterfalls. “I've got you!” She yells in pain and you simultaneously hear Miles scream.

Flicking your tear filled eyes over to Miles, he has his back on the ground, face contorted into pain whilst Mathias has his boot on his shooting hand. Miles still fights, kicking and scratching at the man's leg.

“This is what happens when you disrupt—” Red appears on his side as Hobie uses your fallen gun to shoot him where he has his foot crushing atop Miles’ hand. Mathias yelps in pain, a throaty sound escaping from his pale lips.

Hobie is filled with rage, embers flickering in him, turning into flames and then a blaze that burns his insides into ash.

Miles coughs as Mathias runs away towards the enormous church right next to the palace. He pushes away people, blood trailing behind him.

“Miles!” You yell, in your relief, he stands back up, weaving around people to clamber up the steps of the stage.

“I'm here!” He crawls over to Gwen, gently clutching her pale face. “Oh god no, please,” Miles looks at you. “Fix her, please.” Tears slide down his cheeks. “Please.”

You look towards Hobie, not knowing what to do, but said man is nowhere to be found. You briefly spot him running around the crowd, cutting down coppers swiftly with your father's gun and a stray cutlass, following after the man who has shot at his family.

Not again, you think, hands drenched once again in crimson. Not again, not again. You've failed once again.

Someone calls next to you, familiar hands holding yours.

“Tell us what to do.” Yuri thaws you out from your frozen state. Gwen gurgles, grip around your wrist weakening. James appears next to Yuri as you see in your peripheral the same mercenary and his men shooting at soldiers. Lyla cackles near them, adding her guild to the mix in the chaos. “Y/N,” Yuri calls again sternly. “We need you.”

With a sniff, you compose yourself, for Gwen. “Keep your hands on her wound, pack it with cloth then keep pushing.” Gwen groans, you look at her apologetically. “I know it hurts, I'm sorry but we need to do this. Let us do this.”

“I saw a doctor's clinic near here.” James pipes up, “if we take her there will you be able to save her?”

“Yes, we need to—”

Pavitr runs towards the group, guns raised, eyes full of rage once he sees Gwen. “No…” he says weakly. He fixes his composure, for Gwen. “James and I will cover you while the three of you carry Gwen.” He instructs, voice steady.

“No, no, no!” Gwen protests. “It hurts— I can't—”

“You can!” Miles beats you to it. “D’you remember what I told you when we realized Y/N and Hobie weren't behind us after we got attacked?” She nods weakly, lips bitten to stop her pained whimpers. “I meant it, Gwen. I meant all of it yet I haven't shown it because I'm a goddamn coward. Let me show you how much I love you, but I can't do that if you don't let us carry you. So please, let us carry you.”

Gwen smiles, icy eyes staring fondly at Miles. They have a wordless conversation, then Miles gives her a gentle peck on her forehead.

“As long as the d-doc here follows our captain.” She says.

“What—? No, you need me.” You shake your head.

“We already know what to do,” she winces, “you're the only person that can stop him, he'll die, Y/N. Meanwhile I've got a chance with them beside me. And he's all alone.”

You look at the others, they all nod and you blink in surprise. “But—”

“We have her, wifey.” Yuri smiles kindly at you. “This isn't our first bullet wound. Go and fetch our captain for us would ya?”

You have no time to think about it, so you choose what they instructed you to do. “Keep your hands on her and support her back—” your eyes find the familiar large man wearing your rubies. “Oi!” He pauses from crushing a soldier's arm. “Get a handful of your men and help them get to the doctor's!”

“Do I have to?” He asks, shrugging.

“Yes! I paid you!”

The man sighs then he gestures to a few of his people to climb up the stage. Before you let go of Gwen, you stare daggers at the men in the fake uniforms. “Keep all of them alive and I might just give you a piece of Hazelside.”

“Say no more, duchess, we got ‘em.”

“Gwen—” You take one last look over to her.

“Go, I don't plan on dying today.”

“You better. Meet us back at the ship.” You roam your eyes at the crew like it's the last time you would see them. With a nod towards Yuri, you slide your hands away quickly, Yuri replaces the space you left with her own.

Wordlessly you turn away from them. You fight yourself from looking back. Running away towards Hobie, you hope that it's not too late.

Weaving through the crowd, dodging bullets and swords, you keep your head down and keep your eyes forward at the grand church waiting ahead. The spires are tall and sharp, reminding you of the dragons that rose up from the sea and blocked out the moon. Gargoyles decorate the roofs, all stone and eyes large, mouths agape, unmoving.

You lift the skirt of your tattered gown, it might be covered in blood but the white colour of it is a stark contrast to the dark chaos surrounding you. It acts as a beacon to the people as they see you in their ranks, a noble in their eyes that bears gold and silver around her neck and sleeves. Someone who fought everyone just to get to her pirate captain, they find it in themselves to continue fighting. A few even helps you get to your destination by blocking any guards or soldiers from laying their hands on you.

Smoke in your lungs, steel clanging against steel. Blades slashing at limbs, people screaming in all directions, both with rank and without, they all end up in the same fate. You run through the blood soaked field.

Feet sprinting across the field, people are few and far in between once you get nearer and nearer towards the church. Hands on the large doors, you push the heavy oak to no avail. It's locked, the evidence of it is the rattling noise it makes as you shake it in desperation.

Hobie's in there, and you'd do anything to get to him.

You go around the structure to find a window that's big enough for you to slither into. But all the stained glass windows are too high up for you to reach even if you try to break one. Losing hope, you turn a corner towards the back. You finally breathe when you see a wooden door. Without wasting time, you push it open with your shoulder, shoving it, the rust covered hinges creak with your strength. And finally, it bursts open with one final push.

The sight alone made you stop in your tracks. Clutching your dagger, a finely dressed man lays dead in a pool of blood. A sword embedded in his back, a cracked crown sitting next to his bloodied head. The person standing over the king is none other than his own wife, her face isn't one of sadness but of sheer happiness as she grins at her husband's dead body. Blood dripping off her royal hands, she lifts her head to gaze upon you.

“Hello, little bird, you finally made it.” Caroline stands in front of the altar, the kaleidoscope of lights from the glass windows acts as her spotlight. Her gown is in rich velvet, furs covering her shoulder. And a large tiara on top of her intricate powdered wig.

“You killed him.” Gripping your dagger tighter, you stay away from the bloody queen.

“I did,” Caroline giggles, a sound that sends shivers through your spine. “You look marvelous in your wedding gown by the way. A shame that you didn't get married to that fine young man.” Her voice echoes around the large church, its ceilings are high and painted with saints. They look down at you, eyes lifeless. “Lieutenant.” She calls and the man answers, coming out of the shadows and into the pews. “Do me a favour and kill her for me.”

The disheveled man walks over to you, hand still decorated by your bite.

“Why don't you kill me yourself? Like how you killed your husband.” You address the woman, taunting her.

The queen raises a hand and the navy man stops immediately. She smiles and takes the sword out of her husband's body with ease, then she steps over his body without remorse.

“With pleasure.” She unclasps her cloak, the heavy cloth thuds against the marble. “If I couldn't kill your mother personally, I'd settle for killing you instead.”

“What the fuck—!” The queen arches her sword, thankfully you parry it with your dagger. You know you'll lose in the duel with your smaller weapon against hers and her swordsmanship. A yell echoes from above, a distinct scream from who you hope is from Mathias.

“I wasn't lying when I said you remind me of her!” She slashes, right foot pointed towards you, dodging the sharp edge, the heels of your feet hit a pew, then you fall backwards, back and elbows hitting the hardwood. “But she wasn't much of a fighter just like you!” Her eyes are ablaze as you scramble away.

“Why are you doing this?!” Your voice carries off around the church. “You said you were friends!”

Raising your dagger to shield your face when she tries to slash at your chest, she stands atop you, knee right next to your thigh, leg perching her up. Steel dangerously close to your face, wrists aching from her push, you take your free hand to grip the sharp edge of your dagger to combat her own strength. You feel the knife dig into your palm.

“Why?” The queen cackles, leaning her mad face close. “Because she's the reason why I'm here, she's the reason why that man has ruined me until I couldn't even recognize myself—!”

Lifting your legs, bending your knees, you kick her right in her chest. Making her lose her balance, face falling flat on the marble floors. You take the opportunity to crawl and stand up, sprinting away from her. As you bolt off towards the altar, and towards the door to the bell tower, the stairs are within your reach, but Caroline yanks you by your skirt. You fall off the steps of the altar, body and dagger sliding off the smooth marble.

Groaning, she points her weapon towards your neck, taking your mother's necklace by her blade. “Why did you kill them? For revenge?” You ask, vision blurring from the way your head hit the floor. Everything aches in you, but you continue to fight.

“No, for the satisfaction of them being dead.” She eyes the golden necklace and you glare at her. “She was meant to take the crown, not me. Instead she ignored her duty and ran off with a bastard, and I was forced to marry that fucking beast!” Her voice booms, the saints above look down at the chaos. “Forced to carry his children, children I never wanted but loved nonetheless. Children that I never saw grow up because they were taken from me the second they came out of me!” Her hand shakes around the sword.

You slyly inch your hand towards your dagger that's only a hair width away from your fingertips. You let her continue as the tears in her eyes fall on your bloodied face.

“I never wanted to be queen, all I've ever wanted was to see the world. Your mother took that away from me, and now her daughter is living my fucking dream! The second I knew you were alive I wanted to wring your fucking neck. To hurt you just like her choices had on me.” She twists her sword so the blunt edge is kissing your neck, torture, she's planning on sawing your head off with the blunt edge. “If she can't pay, I'd settle for making you hurt instead.”

“You want to kill me because of what happened decades ago? You're fucking mad if you think sins are passed from parent to child! I never knew them!” You fight back despite the blade near your neck. “Do you understand that you caused the same pain to me that the king has caused you? Whatever you want to call it, it's still revenge!” Caroline pushes the cutlass closer, so close that you can feel it in your throat, choking you. “You're blaming the wrong people for your misfortune, blame the people who used you, who said yes to his every whim, not the couple who only wanted to marry the one they love!”

“I’m the victim here—!”

“You are, but who points the sword towards the innocent?” She blinks, lips wobbling. “Look at you, Mathias told me you're brilliant, but you never thought this part through, haven't you? What do you think the nobles of the land will do to you the moment they hear of your regicide? Who will they blame? Me, who bears the mark of your cruelty? Or you, who has the king's blood on your golden hands?”

You distract her enough to finally reach the dagger, swiftly, you plunge it to the nearest part of her that you can manage, her thigh. She screams in agony, sword and crown clanging loudly on the floor. The once favoured queen clutches her wound that's gushing blood, seeping out of her velvet dress and spilling over the white marble.

Unexpectedly, she cries as she desperately wraps her skirt around the gushing wound. You clamber up to your feet, eyes flitting over the stoic man when Caroline calls for him to kill you where you stand. He doesn't move from his position near the confessionals.

“Are you gonna fight me too? An eye for an eye?” You ask, hands shaking while you bend down for your crimson drenched dagger.

“No, your father and I are even.” The simple words turn your eyes the same shade as the fluid pooling around the queen.

“You're just gonna stand there?” You ask while Caroline's wails echo around the expansive church.

“I'm waiting for you to leave so I can help her.” He seems to be unbothered. A scream rings out from above, louder than the woman's screams. Alarm bells trigger in your mind. “Sounds like someone needs your help.”

“Don't follow me,” you threaten, knife pointed at him as you slither towards the door. “Don't help your captain.”

“Alexander!” She screams for the lieutenant.

“You're right, he's already dead anyway, not my problem anymore.” His eye follows you, “Good luck, duchess.”

With one look towards the mysterious man, you get a glimpse of him crouching next to the woman, hands casually tamping down the rushing blood. Locking the door behind you, you run once again.

The winding spiral staircase seems to go up forever, hand clutching your dagger, you don't even feel the pain in your ankles anymore. Numbness flashes over you for a second, but you carry on. The walls get smaller and tighter as you go on, the stone scratches your hands, the small windows barely provide any light for you. The sounds of struggle get louder, so you speed off with the last of your strength.

Rushing, you make it to the top where Mathias has his hands wrapped around Hobie's neck, with no ounce of hesitation, you plunge your dagger in the devil's flesh, right in between his clavicle.

With a shriek, Mathias lets go of Hobie. Your captain gasps for air, clutching his neck. You wrap your hands around his shoulders, relief washing over you just from seeing him breathe.

“I have you!” Holding his face, you thank the stars that he holds you back with his warm hands.

Hobie utters your name softly, “You have a habit of savin’ me, eh, scuttlebutt?” He smiles at you even with his left eye swelling, even with his mouth full of ichor.

You grin, getting him back to his feet. “The others are waiting—!” A large hand picks you up, wrapping a thick arm around your waist, the other is holding your own weapon in his cracked knuckles. Your own blade is placed harshly against your throat.

A trickle of blood drips from your flesh, and Hobie has the same look back on the revenge. Terrified, the swirling greys of his eyes are mortified at the scene in front of him.

Mathias still lives despite the laceration on his neck, despite his life rushing off of him in waves. He stands precariously on the edge of the tower, his back against the sea, the waves lapping against the cliffs below. He holds you tight as a noose when the wind rushes from behind.

There's a bout of silence hanging in between, Hobie's breath hitches in his throat at your fearful face.

“Don't—” Hobie's voice is broken, pleading desperately. “Please,” Not again, not again. The words scream at him. Not her, never her. “Take me instead.”

Mathias gurgles a response. “Just like old times, eh?”

As the blade kisses your neck, you could only look at Hobie. The copper bell is hanging behind him, large and magnificent, and he stands there with his hand desperately reaching towards you, his gun holds no bullets, sword lay broken in half near his feet.

It's the end, but he declines for it to end, for your life to end at hands of the same man that ended his old love three years ago.

He thinks fate is cruel, he thinks the fates hate him. He thinks his life is a Greek tragedy that was waiting to be written for the fates’ entertainment. He refuses to give them the ending they wanted.

You know it's the end, but it doesn't have to be the end for him too.

There's no other option, no other hope but, "No more sacrifices." You whisper to him even though you know he couldn't hear you, at the same time, you whisper an apology to him.

Images of the past six months flashes in your mind. Images of the tavern you once called home, images of the ship you still call your home. Images of the people you've come to love, images of your island and the sand in between your toes, and the sun on your back. Images of Hobie smiling down at you, images of him holding you close as you cry in his arms.

Images of you learning to love him.

You love him and all his sharp edges, all his anger and all his warmth. You loved him, and that's all that matters in life. To love someone so wholeheartedly that it burrows into your bones and digs deep into your marrows, never letting go. You loved him, and he's worth it for what you're about to do. To be loved back is a gift that he graciously granted you, you intend to cherish it until your end.

You call his name like the softest of silk wrapped around your tongue. "Hobie," and you smile at him, letting your smile tell him that he wasn't born to be a knife, letting your smile tell him that you love him more than the moon loves the tides.

He whispers back your name, pleading with you, for he knows you more than he knows himself, and he knows what you're about to do.

With a loop of your foot around Mathias' ankle, you pull hard, then you let yourself fall backwards.

“Alis volat propriis” You softly say, prying the knife from Mathias’ hand.

And fly you did.

Fear encapsulates him as you fall, the same fear flows out of you like spring water as you plunge into the dark depths.

Hobie refuses to look, frozen on the spot, unblinking eyes still staring at the space you left. His heart feels like it's about to give out as he says your name over and over again like a mantra.

He's a knife meant to grieve.

Slowly, his feet move for him. Body stiff, he makes it to the ledge. Grief stricken eyes darting below, he lets out a guttural wail that carries on with the wind.

Clutching his broken heart, he falls to his knees. He keeps repeating your name as he stares at the bubbles rising up on the surface, the waves deliver seafoam on the beach below, and with it, hope still clings to him.

“No,” A sob breaks through when you don't emerge a second later. “...no, c'mon scuttlebutt, don't fuckin' leave me.”

Grief rolls over his skin like tiny pinpricks of sorrow puncturing his insides and into his scarred heart. Your face flashes in front of him, and the voice inside him asks, 'will it be bad if you follow?'

“Brown?” A familiar voice calls behind him, Hobie whirls around, grief evident on his face, Miguel already knows what happend. He shakes his bloody head profusely, “where's— where is she?”

Hobie doesn't answer, he turns back towards the sea. Agony filling his very being as he stares below.

“No!” Miguel follows Hobie's eyes. And then he screams for you. He searches for you under the waves.

Hobie lays his head on the wall of the bell tower. A minute, it's been a minute since you fell, yet no sign of a body has floated up. The sky is still calm, the sun still shines, yet, you don't resurface.

He blinks away when he sees fingers reaching amongst the waves. “Did you see that?” Praying, praying to any deity out there that is listening to him, he prays that his mind isn't playing a cruel joke on him.

“What?”

Hobie stands up, taking Miguel's face to turn it towards the waters. Something moves under the seafoam, someone moves under the seafoam.

His heart picks up speed, and he rushes down the stairs. Miguel follows close by, their feet thudding loudly on the stairs. They ignore the various pains in their body, what matters is you, and they intend to get to your side as quickly as possible.

They go through the broken door that Miguel kicked, and they run over a puddle of blood without a body. Sprinting outside, the sea breeze greets them. They don't stop for anyone or anything, even though the palace burns to the ground behind them, even though the heat from the melting golden gates sears their backs. They continue downward towards the path to the beach.

Hobie trips on a rock, Miguel helps him up swiftly.

From the tides, you rise once more.

Heaving from the swim, drenched and sore. You grin at the two men rushing towards you. Like the waves lapping at your feet, relief washes over them.

You raise your arms in time just before Hobie crashes his body to yours. His face finds safety in the crook of your neck. Arms holding you tight and comfortable, he breaths you in, taking a deep shuddering breath. You smell like the sea. He can't believe you're alive, can't believe that you're back in his arms.

“I lost the dagger,” you say against his cheek as you press cold kisses on his skin.

“I'll get you a new one.” Tears flow out of his eyes, he feels like he's dreaming, he feels like fate has finally granted him reprieve. “I’ll get you a hundred more, fuck that, a thousand more if you asked.”

“I just want one.” You chuckle.

“I'll get you one then.” Hobie peels himself off you, fingers roaming your face, the heel of his hand is placed atop your pulse, making sure he didn't fall off the tower himself. “You're alive.” He says breathlessly, “you fuckin' swam!”

“I had a good teacher.” You say as you hold him tenderly. “He's dead, it's over, Hobie.” Salty tears in your lashes, he pulls you in for another hug. Eyes closed, you savour the calmness with the sound of the rushing sea behind you, knowing that Mathias lays beneath its waves with your dagger embedded in his eye. “It's over, and I'm alright.”

Holding your hand towards Miguel who sits on his knees on the sand, eyes glowing with consolation. You flex your hand towards him so he could hold your hand. He stands up, taking it willingly, squeezing once like how he held your parents’ hands once upon a time.

Miguel nods proudly at you, gently pressing a gentle kiss on your knuckles, he gives you and Hobie space. You mouth a thank you towards the man.

—

“Shit!” James exclaims, jumping up and down on the docks. “Look at her! She's magnificent!”

“Spell ‘magnificent’, James.” Yuri taunts.

“Don't ruin this for me!” He turns towards you, grinning from ear to ear like a child in a sugar shop. “You're actually giving us this ship?”

“Mm-hmm—” before you could finish nodding, James sprints off towards the fine ship. Yuri winks at you before she follows behind James.

The sun slowly sets, bathing the waters in pink and orange light. James isn't wrong, the ship is magnificent. It's bigger than the black hellion, much bigger. Two crow's nests sit at the highest point of the masts. The body is well maintained, oak still shining in the late afternoon sun. Silver violets and hazelnuts decorate the sides, a reminder of what could've been.

Looking at your new home, you shift your gaze to Hobie, knowing wherever he is, as long as you're with him, you're home.

Your tired eyes flick over the figurehead of an osprey with its wings outstretched around the head of the ship. Hobie taps your head with his own gently.

“It needs some work done.”

You chuckle as you fix your hold on him. Still in your wedding gown, skin still smelling like the sea, you move impossibly closer to him. You're both winded, but Hobie has sustained more injuries than you and needed more help in standing up straight. “Do you think we should change the name?”

“Love,” he turns his head towards you, his smile almost makes you kiss him right there and then. “I think I've got a few ideas, for now let's get the fuck out of here.”

“Alright— wait, where's Gwen?”

“Here, worry much, landlubber?” She asks on her stretcher. Miles, Pavitr and an unknown blond man carry her.

“Well you were shot, Gwendy, I think I have every right to be worried.”

“I'm fine now, can't even feel a thing!” She smiles and you recognize her state.

“I think that's the medication talking.” You eye the stranger, “and who might you be?”

“Oi,” Hobie points at the man. “You better not cause any trouble Stacy.”

You lightly gasp, finally noticing the resemblance.

“Not planning on causing any, captain.” Gwen's father smiles and gives you a curt nod.

“Can we hurry the chit chat?” Miles groans.

“You telling me I'm too heavy, Morales?” Gwen teases but the fatigue must've taken a toll on Miles as he takes it seriously.

“W-what? Of course not!”

“You calling my daughter heavy?” Her father jokes back. They're father and daughter alright.

“No! Let's just get on the ship.” Miles pouts, you send him a smile, wordlessly giving him your thanks. He shakes his head, hiding his grin in reply.

“Pav!” You call after Pavitr, “tea later?”

He beams at you, happiness almost blinding you. “Hell yeah!” Jaunting happily, he practically skips off, to Gwen's protest, who still lays on the gurney, shakes from his little dance.

Miguel taps your shoulder, Hobie lets you go so you could hug the man.

“Room for one more?” He asks while patting your back.

Leaning away, your eyes widen, smile widening. “What!”

“I meant for Lyla, kid.” Miguel laughs, smile lines appearing.

“Oh, you're not coming with us?” Disappointment is evident in your voice.

“No, sorry. Maybe one day. I've got unfinished business” He holds your shoulders, “you better take care or I'll chase you again.”

“Oh god, don't say that!” You giggle whilst he mirrors your smile. “If you're not coming, then you can have this back.” Taking off the locket, you place it in his rough palms. “A reminder of them,” you close his fingers around the gold. “Besides, I already have his gun. You deserve something of theirs too.”

The sun shines in his eyes. “This was Gabriella’s, she gifted it to your mother when she got sick. It's a family heirloom.”

“She was Gabriella's godmother, wasn't she?”

“Yes, and your father was her godfather.”

You tap his hand. “It's back in the right hands then.”

“Thank you,” Miguel sniffs, neck craning towards Hobie who sits on a crate. “And you,” Hobie dramatically points at himself. “Take care of my goddaughter, or I'll come after you again.”

Hobie, smirks, “aye, aye, admiral.” He mocks a salute.

Miguel shoots you a look, “you sure about that one?”

You gaze at Hobie, your Hobie. “I'm sure.” He winks at you and you wink back.

“God, I gotta let you go before I get sick.” You chortle as Miguel hugs you one last time. Pressing a kiss on the crown of your head, he nods once, staring at your face, seeing his friends’ faces in yours, saying goodbye to the three of you. “Be good, I'll see you in the sea.”

“Looking forward to it, uncle. Don't get caught by the coppers.” He lets you go with a laugh, unhitching his horse and then getting on, he rides off.

Lyla suddenly appears from the dust with a big grin on her face, she carries suitcases upon suitcases in her arms. “Where to, captain?” She asks you.

“Not the captain, he is.” You gesture towards Hobie who doesn't even correct Lyla. He just waves at her with a small shrug.

“I thought whoever owned the boat was the captain, anyway! Off to adventure!” She cackles into the sunset, feet thudding loudly as she hurls all her luggage on the ship. You vaguely hear someone yell ‘who the fuck are you?!’

You ignore it for now, how could you not when Hobie stares at you so sweetly that you prefer this than chocolate?

“She's not wrong y’know.” He says whilst you saunter towards him. Stretching his legs, he gives you space to stand in between them.

“Are you planning on giving me your title, captain?” You tease, sliding your hands up and down his arms. His own is wrapped around your middle, staring up at you with endearment.

“You're already a captain,” you raise an eyebrow, tilting your head. He sighs, so full of love for the woman in his arms. “of my heart—”

“I knew you would say that!” You laugh, feeling like the weight off your shoulders has finally turned into dust. And he feels like the fish bone stuck in his throat is finally gone.

Hobie smiles softly at you, heart shaped grey eyes full of life. “Are you sure about this? Stayin’ I mean.”

You squeeze the back of his neck, already missing how his hair would tickle your palms. But you love him even with his scruffy head. He looks handsome with or without it, you'll never tell him or his ego would implode. At least now you get the pleasure of seeing it grow, you can't help but press a sickeningly sweet kiss atop his head.

The sound of the anchors getting lifted up fills your ears so you lean closer for him to hear your words better.

“I'll stay as long as you want me too.”

“Forever then?”

“Forever.” You kiss the tip of his nose. “Until I'm cold, you can't escape me.”

Hobie has a lopsided smile on his lips, grey eyes aglow with affection. “You're still in your white dress,” you raise an eyebrow. “Y’know what that means—” Lifting you up like a bride, he carries you towards the ship as you yelp and giggle in his arms. “Off to our honeymoon then!”

As the sun sets, you set off to new beginnings. You've found where you belong, you've finally found home.

A/N: And it's done!! Thank you all so much for reading, interacting and genuinely showing your support whether it's by making fanart or sending your thoughts, I'm forever grateful for all of them!! Love you ❤️

Already missing the crew? They'll be back for Between the Devil and the Sea Book 2!! You can check out my ☕ page for a lil sneak peek!

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cat3ch1sm · 5 months

Text

🕸️~ yes yes ive been gone again and ignoring you guys blah blah blah im very sorry 😭😭😭 but i return momentarily to drop this fic based off another one of the lovely star’s atsv headcanons. here it is below:

🕸️~ go check out their tiktok acc!! she’s a lovely and talented writer and awesome person and i was so excited to publish this one :)) it is super long tho so just be aware loll 😭😭 there isn’t nearly enough Margo writing for my liking tbh n idc if she was only on screen for three minutes

enjoy!! also yes yes i do intend to get to all of your requests for a Christmas present.

𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫-𝐛𝐲𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭

It had been a short time since Miles’ escape from the Spider-Society, and things were in shambles. There had been countless objects, rooms, and technology destroyed during the massive chase, many of which would definitely take weeks, maybe months, to repair. There were constantly maintenance robots and machines, that had previously hardly ever made appearances, zipping around the headquarters doing their best to clean up the residue of the chaos.

However, it wasn’t just the building itself that was in disorder- dozens and dozens of Spider-People had resigned after the chase. Most left because they didn’t agree with Miguel’s way of dealing with Miles. Others had disagreements with other Spider-People, on both sides: those who chased Miles and those who didn’t. Many left simply because they didn’t want to deal with the chaos and how quickly the Society had been devolving since the event. Nothing was organized or stable; tensions were high. There was a painfully obvious shift in the atmosphere; something was brewing beneath the surface.

But even amidst the mayhem, Spider-Byte had remained calm. She had been one of the few at the Spider-Society who hadn’t participated in the chase, and she certainly didn’t regret it. Some had even praised her for her lack of involvement. She didn’t lose any relationships, and her technology, by far the most adept and efficient technology used in the Spider-Society, was still intact and operating. She was essentially in the eye of the hurricane, havoc raging around her, but she remained at peace.

So Margo was surprised when, as she was sitting in her workplace at headquarters updating a computer of hers, her watch went off. Startling her from her reverie, she sat up, seeing that it was a call from… Miguel?

Her eyes narrowed a little. That was unusual. Besides Jess Drew, the head of the Spider-Society rarely ever called anybody personally, and least of all any of the teenage Spider-People. Miguel was rather strict about maintaining professionalism, so he usually had LYLA appear as a hologram to whoever he wanted to contact with his message. But no, it was his contact on the small screen of the watch.

Margo, still frowning a little, picked up the call.

“Hello-“

“Spider-Byte. I want you in my office. Now.” And Miguel’s tiny hologram vanished.

“What-“ Margo was both stunned and slightly peeved. She hadn’t even gotten out a greeting. But she knew better than to go against Miguel’s orders. The man had always been intimidating and uptight, and very work-oriented, but these past few days he seemed more distant than ever. He was scarcely seen around headquarters anymore, as he spent much of his time searching for Miles, and on the rare occasions he did make an appearance, he was downright unapproachable- his face contorted into a deeper frown than ever and his eyes were lined with dark circles and bags. Some days it felt like he wasn’t all there.

Margo glanced over at the computer she’d been working on and stood up from her chair. Gradually her slight annoyance at being interrupted so rudely during her work began to dissipate; presently she began to feel a little apprehensive as her luminescent blue avatar maneuvered itself smoothly through the halls. Miguel had not sounded at all pleased on the call, which was rare- although Miguel was not exactly amicable most of the time anyway, she was one of the few people he would be patient with because she was such an asset to the Society.

She phased through walls and skillfully avoided obstacles, digitally extending the limbs of her avatar and swinging from the ceilings as she made her way to Miguel’s office, moving quickly. It wasn’t long before Margo brought herself to the ground in the dimly lit area where Miguel stayed- sure enough, there he was, on the platform above her standing in front of his arsenal of screens.

He didn’t say anything as the platform that was his workspace slowly lowered itself down to the ground, and Margo stood there and waited awkwardly for it to come down- this always took a painfully long time. As Miguel got closer, though, Margo could see Lyla’s small yellow hologram beside Miguel, hovering just above his shoulder with an uncharacteristically uneasy look on her face. Margo glanced at her, brow furrowing, but neither said anything.

Now Miguel finally reached the ground. He turned around to face the girl with a dark expression, and she didn’t even have time to feel alarmed before he started in on her. “Did you let Miles get away?”

The question sent a jolt through Margo’s body, and she immediately went on the defensive. “‘Did I let Miles get away?’ How would I even have done that? I wasn’t even involved in that whole chase,” she protested.

“And why is that, I wonder?” Miguel countered demandingly, taking a single step forward but prompting Margo to take several steps back. “Did I not tell all of the Spider-People to go after him?” His voice was a low, menacing tone, and his body looked stiff and tense, as if he was trying to contain himself.

Margo momentarily found herself at a loss, and she scrambled to come up with some sort of explanation. “I was already taking care of something else,” she countered. “You know how my Go-Home machine been… acting up lately.”

“Really?” It didn’t sound as much like a question than it did an accusation. “The same Go-Home machine that conveniently worked when Miles escaped from this dimension?!” With every word his volume increased and so did his anger, and Margo noticeably winced. But still she had to defend herself somehow.

“The machine activated itself. I- I don’t know what happened,” Margo retorted, throwing her arms in the air.

“I can vouch for that one,” Lyla interjected, disappearing from Miguel’s shoulder and reappearing in between Margo and Miguel, like she was trying to break up a fight. “She wasn’t the one that did that. The machine was pressing its own buttons and going all crazy. We both tried to stop it, but it’s obviously very difficult to stop that thing when it gets going.” Lyla didn’t sound too happy, and Margo didn’t know whether it was because of her or Miguel.

Miguel cast his eyes at Lyla in such a beseeching manner that she glitched over back to his side and said nothing else, her expression tight and tense with displeasure. He directed his glare back at Margo, who met it with almost equal intensity and defiance. Despite this, his tone was slightly calmer when he spoke again, but still anger bubbled beneath the surface.

“Alright. You insist on playing that card? Fine.” Miguel turned around, then again, a huffy sigh that was more of a groan leaving him as he paced, a clear indication of his agitation. “Do you remember, Margo, something that happened a few weeks ago?” Margo tilted her head in mild confusion and frowned, prompting Miguel to explain further. “Peter. Peter B., the numbskull who runs around with a pink bathrobe and a baby. He brought her to headquarters like he usually does. I don’t know how, but somehow it happened that Mayday got away from him. And one way or another, she wound up in that Go-Home machine.”

Margo’s expression became a little less puzzled and she nodded as she remembered the incident, but still she wasn’t sure what he was getting at. Nonetheless, she said nothing and let him continue.

“Yeah. Peter was an idiot to give her a web-shooter.” Miguel’s tone was scornful. “Before he could make it to Mayday, the machine started activating after scanning her DNA and determining what dimension to send her back to. It was more than halfway through the process, and the machine was moments away from throwing the baby full force into her home dimension, but you realized what was going on. Luckily, you raced over and were able to stop the machine right before it sent her away.” Miguel’s voice grew slightly lower, and again he advanced towards Margo. “Peter ran over, got the kid, and thanked you I don’t know how many times. That was when you explained to him that there was one function of the machine that could stop it quickly no matter what stage of the process it was in. You showed it to him and said to keep it in mind if anything like this happened again.”

This time, Margo didn’t even notice how close Miguel had gotten, his looming height towering over her. Her eyes were lowered to the ground, her expression gone flat. She knew exactly what Miguel was getting at now.

“That machine was just fine.”

The tension in the room was so thick one could have cut it with a knife. You could hear a pin drop in the icy silence.

Miguel continued on, his tone dry. “And I saw you. You probably didn’t think I did, since I was obviously occupied with the anomaly. But the good thing about being a Spider-Person is that your senses are enhanced. You’re aware of more than one thing at once. And I saw him look at you. I saw you meet his eyes.”

Margo had nothing to say. Her heart had dropped to the pit of her stomach. She felt her breath escape her the more he went on. She pressed her lips together and averted her eyes.

“I know you could have stopped him. But you didn’t.”

Margo was unmoving. Every muscle in her body was tense. She was found out. And she didn’t know yet what the consequences of that would be, but she figured she wouldn’t take them without a fight.

Her expression hardened, and she abruptly looked up. And honestly, it took a lot for her not to automatically look back down; Miguel’s countenance was so formidable. But she pressed on, and without thinking as much as she probably should have, Margo retorted:

“And what would you have done if I hadn’t let him go?!” Her own tone startled her, she was usually laidback and really didn’t argue with people; but that by no means meant that she couldn’t stand up for herself or her beliefs. Her eyes were wide with passion and frustration as she met Miguel’s glare.

“I would have contained the anomaly!” Miguel snapped. His tone wasn’t calm anymore.

“You would have hurt him,” Margo shot back.

“I gave Miles every last opportunity to come with me peacefully. I gave him the courtesy of carefully explaining to him what was going to happen to his father and why. Did anyone else get that privilege? Did you get that privilege?”

That last question abruptly sent a sharp pain through Margo’s chest somehow, despite her virtual form. Miguel noticed her grimace, and instantly jumped on it.

“No. No, you didn’t. Everybody else had to sit there and let that happen. That kid should be thankful. And yet he still decided to make things hard for himself. I had no choice.”

Somehow, Margo felt like she was pleading more than arguing at this point. “He was bleeding when he looked at me!”

Miguel’s face was eerily cold when she said that; not a hint of remorse could be seen on his face. “There are consequences to disobedience. Just like there are consequences to defying the canon.”

“That- that doesn’t even have anything to do with it!” She could feel her composure slipping away. “That’s exactly why I couldn’t let him go. If the canon is really so final, he’ll find that out for himself. He’ll either lose his dad or his whole dimension. Does that make you happy now?”

Miguel threw his arms in the air in exasperation and annoyance. “Fine. You let him go. That was the right thing to do according to you? Because you’re so worried about what I would do to him?” Something in his tone was terribly condescending. “Now he’ll go and save his dad, like he wanted to. That’s great, right? That’s what you want? Now a whole dimension is going to pay for his actions. Which is the opposite of what this entire Society was even formed for.” He turned around and leaned over onto his desk, dropping his head into his hands in frustration.

Margo looked at Miguel’s slumped form with stone defiance. “I couldn’t let you hurt him. I’m sorry.”

Miguel had stood back up. His face was less angry. But he looked cold and remote as he stared down at the girl. There was a long, uncomfortable silence.

Finally Miguel spoke again. His tone was more controlled, and he wasn’t yelling like he was before. He let out a sigh. “Give me your watch.”

Margo started. “What?”

Miguel didn’t repeat himself. He simply held out his hand.

Margo’s eyes widened, and she felt her heart start beating a mile a minute. “My- my watch-? But- what-“

Miguel held up a hand to stop her, blowing air from his lips in an exasperated sigh. “Relax. I’m- I’m not kicking you out. You’re too much of an asset.” His expression hardened. “And you’re lucky I’m not. It is in no way your place to argue with me the way you just did, especially about that.”

Margo dropped her head to allow herself a brief eye roll.

“But you are on probation. I’m locking your watch for a week.”

Margo knew she should probably be grateful that that was the only consequence she was getting, but nevertheless a bitter taste came into her mouth, and she frowned. “Locking?”

“You won’t be able to travel between dimensions or contact anybody from the Spider-Society besides me. Additionally, when your watch is locked, you’ll start glitching again.”

“Go home,” Miguel continued in a stern tone of voice. “When your probation is up, I’ll have Lyla unlock your watch for you.” Again he extended his hand, and not having any more energy to protest, Margo took the watch off her wrist with a ferocity she hadn’t intended, and placed it in Miguel’s open hand.

Miguel took the watch. “Lyla. You know what to do.”

Lyla, who had vanished during Margo and Miguel’s argument, reappeared in a flash of yellow at Miguel’s side. “Working on it… alright. The watch is locked.” She cast an apologetic look at Margo, but Margo averted her eyes.

Miguel loosely tossed the watch back to her, and Margo took it and slowly put it back on her wrist. Miguel gave her one last long, unreadable look, and turned around with another heavy sigh. He said nothing else, and Margo left feeling somewhat heavy.

She had just made it back to her work area when the glitching started. That was something she hadn’t dealt with in a while- she’d forgotten what the consequences of being in another dimension without the watch were, especially in her virtual form. As a result, the pain was fresher than ever, and when she fell to the ground she just stayed there for a moment, even after the glitching stopped.

“You always want to start some sort of argument with me!”

“Because you don’t listen…”

Margo rolled over in her bed and pulled the pillow down even more tightly over her ears. Without the watch’s functions she could no longer escape the constant, incessant fighting of her parents. God, she wished they’d just get a divorce already.

Home, sweet home.

It had been several hours since Miguel had made Margo go home, and she already knew this week would feel more like a century. Her head was already pounding because of the shouting of her mother and father. She had tried to play video games for a little while, but she quickly became bored, and then she’d tried to just go to sleep and look where that ended up.

Despite all this, Margo didn’t regret what she had done for Miles. Maybe she should have, because she did respect Miguel and she knew she had a duty to the Spider-Society. But all of that had vanished the second he made eye contact with her- his shiny eyes wide with desperation; he said nothing but she could hear him pleading. And the way Miguel had been almost animalistic when he was tearing at the containment field blocking him from Miles, eyes bloodshot and fangs bared. Even from the distance she was at, Margo could see the bruises on Miles’ skin, the blood running down, and the jagged tears in his suit undoubtedly made by Miguel’s talons. She knew she had done the right thing by letting him escape. It chilled her to think what would have happened if she hadn’t.

Margo must have fallen asleep at some point eventually because when she awoke, it was dark outside and she could no longer hear her parents screaming. She blinked back sleep and groggily surveyed her surroundings- her monitor was still running, her game idle, the low hum of all the devices and gadgets in the room droning on, and-

“Lyla!”

Margo sat up with a start, jolting with surprise. Before her, hovering at the foot of her bed, was Lyla’s little yellow hologram.

Lyla glanced up at Margo nonchalantly, like this was just something she did every day. She teleported in front of Margo’s face, and the girl backed away slightly. “Hey.”

Margo was half-asleep and still totally confused. “Lyla? But- what you- does Miguel know you-“

Lyla waved Margo off, blowing a strand of pixelated hair from her face. “Let me see your watch.”

Margo frowned. “Why? It’s useless.”

“Just give it to me.”

Blinking, Margo slipped the watch from her wrist and placed it before Lyla. She didn’t exactly know what Lyla was doing as the AI murmured to herself, teleporting several different times around the watch, but suddenly the formerly darkened device had lit up again, a chime sounding from it as its screen lit up.

Lyla nodded, more to herself than Margo. “Your watch is unlocked.”

“It’s- what?” Margo looked disbelievingly from Lyla to the glowing watch, then back at Lyla. Wordlessly she took it, fiddling with its functions; it was fully restored. Questioningly she glanced up at Lyla, who held up a hand before she could say anything.

“Obviously you can’t just show up at the Society or Miguel will notice you, so I’m not sure how useful this thing will be till your probation is up. But you’ll be able to contact other Spider-People, and travel to other dimensions again without glitching. Clearly you’ve been thinking about that Miles guy, so I guess you’ll be wanting to look for him.”

Margo laughed a little sheepishly. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Oh, yeah- um. Miguel doesn’t know I came here, so it’d be great if you didn’t tell him I was here.” Lyla gave Margo a slightly mischievous smirk.

Margo nodded, a slow smile spreading across her face. “You got it.”

“Great! See you around.” Lyla gave her a brief wave before vanishing.

Margo stared at the empty space Lyla had left for a moment with the ghost of a smile on her face. After her argument with Miguel and her punishment she hadn’t felt good at all about the whole situation with Miles, but now she was thinking that perhaps she wasn’t as alone as she had thought.

Her smile grew bigger as she sat up and took the watch, slapping it onto her wrist.

There was a job to do.

#gwen across the spiderverse #across the spider verse fanart #atsv fanfic #across the spiderverse #margo kess #spider byte #miguel o hara #atsv headcanons #atsv fics #atsv fanfiction #atsv writing #miles morales #angst #miguel spiderverse #miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel spiderman

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vhstown · 4 months

Text

henna hearts

— pavitr prabhakar x gn!reader

summary: You never realised how long mehndi would take to do. Pavitr's got all the time in the world for you, though.

content/warnings: fluff, slight hurt/comfort, ambiguous relationship, briefly edited, henna/mehndi maybe used interchangeably

word count: 1.1k

a/n: he's not Real guys he's not (mitski starts playing)

“You're tickling me…!”

“Just how am I tickling you?”

Though you held your laugh behind pursed lips, a snort escaped from the boy in front of you — the boy who was so desperately trying to finish your mehndi before it got too dark for you to go home.

“Pavi, seriously, we're not gonna finish if you keep doing that.” You tried to frown, but your face was stuck in the ache of a grin. He probably felt the same.

“I'm just trying to keep your arm straight!”

“It is straight!”

“It won't be when I have to do the other side.” You gave him a dubious look, and he seemed to mirror it.

“You're doing my whole arm?”

“I wanted to, but…”

“But what?”

Pavitr's gave you one of those unreadable smiles which you could never tell were teasing or not, looking at you through the dark tousled curls that shrouded his face. Without much thought, you reached out carefully, brushing away his hair with the very tips of your fingers.

His irises caught the colour of the decorative lights around his room, and the way his expression softened made it seem like he was looking at you with all the tenderness in the world. It was hard to look away, and you felt your heart squeeze with embarrassment as a quiet laugh escaped his lips.

“But what…?” you asked again, hoping your voice didn’t sound weird.

“You’ll probably have to stay if I do.”

“Ah…” You nodded, as if it’d hide your disappointment. “Well, you know I can't, so…”

“I know.” He gently lifted your hand again to straighten it out, the tip of the tube grazing your skin with a coolness as faint as an exhale. As he worked on a flower in the middle of your forearm, you noticed his own hands were stained. Pavitr didn't seem to mind, or mention it at all, so you decided to let him focus.

There was a silence between you two, all except for the muffled clatter of pots and pans in the kitchen, where his aunt was cooking. Well, you called her auntie too; in fact, you'd never gotten so close to anyone as you did Pavitr and Maya Auntie. A part of you hoped it went both ways.

“How'd you learn to do this anyway?” Your question made him lift his head slightly. “Auntie said you’re even better than her at it.”

A quiet chuckle left him, and he finished the flower off with a small circle in the centre. “My cousins at home taught me. They always begged to practice on me anyway.”

“Really?” The image amused you: a bunch of young girls drawing all over a younger and scrawnier Pavitr’s arms ruthlessly with mehndi while he begrudgingly sat still.

“Yep, and then I started doing it for them before Diwali, birthdays… Nothing big, just simple designs.”

You looked down at your arms, decorated beautifully with intricate designs that just somehow connected together. Whenever you thought he was done, he added more flowers and swirls and patterns, and suddenly it felt like the design would be incomplete without it. He was doing it from the top of his head too; if only you could understand how. All you had to do was sit and wait, and take care not to smudge it. Maya Auntie even suggested that you should avoid doing the dishes at home, so the colour would stay longer. Fat chance, you thought, watching how quickly your arm was being embellished.

“And you call this simple?” you muttered, almost shaking your head.

“Anything’s simple when it's for you, right…?”

Suddenly, he winced, but not at you. Pavitr’s hand hesitantly moved away from the part he was just working on, and there was just the tiniest smudge running across one of the petals. Your lips pressed together out of reflex, but you quickly regretted it when you saw the flash of worry across Pavitr’s face. The brightness seemed to leave his eyes; your reaction was the real mistake.

“Wait, I'll fix it,” he said quickly, reaching to wipe it away with the corner of his shirt.

“Hey, no no no.” You moved your hand away, furrowing your brows at him. “Why ruin your shirt?”

“It would wash out,” he replied sheepishly.

“Not for a while.” Shaking your head, you tried to keep yourself calm. Why’d you have to do that? “It's okay, it's just a little smear.”

Pavitr frowned. It was only slightly, but you felt your stomach twist in guilt. All you wanted nothing more than to touch his cheek, reassure him; not without messing up his face, you couldn't. He really wanted to get it perfect.

“You could just get a tissue from the kitchen, or something,” you suggested.

“It’ll dry by then.”

“No it won't, Pavi.”

You tilted your head down at him, trying to get him to meet your eyes. His fingers tightened around your arm, but he wouldn’t look at you.

“I’ll figure it out, okay? It'll still look pretty…”

“Hey, it's fine, it does look pretty—” The words caught in your throat as he reached up with his free hand, his fingertips brushing your face.

“…What is it?” you managed to mumble out, surprised by his sudden touch. His palm moved to cup your face, hand warm. When he opened his mouth, his voice was just warm.

“Could you stay? Just a little longer — it'll be worth it, I promise.”

There were a lot of things you wanted to say to Pavitr, as he waited for your response, but “no” wasn't one of them.

“Okay.” You tried smiling, feeling his palm against the soft of your cheek. “I'll trust you. Just don't tickle me."

There was a slight light-heartedness to your words, and he mirrored your smile. His was always slightly boyish and a little crooked, but somehow managed to hold the entire world in it.

“Thank you, chellam,” he murmured, touch lingering for just a moment before he dropped his hand. You’d never heard him call you that before.

“…What did you just say?”

“Beta!”

Auntie's voice rang out from the kitchen before he could answer, and you caught the playful glint return to his eyes as he turned to shout back.

“I'm almost done!” You raised an eyebrow at him as he turned to look at you again. “Huh?”

“Chellam?” you repeated, noticing the way his eyes, and his smile, widened when you said it.

“En chellam,” he replied, giving your cheek a soft pinch. You couldn’t hold back your snicker this time.

With your heartbeat in your ears, and flirting now in the equation, you knew Pavitr was far from “almost done” with your menhdi. He still had the rest of your arm to do, and a little mistake to fix, but it was okay, you thought. He’d figure it out — for you.

🪀🔭🕸️

@phoenixinthefiles @qiupachups

hey 😊 i don't have anything to say ok bye

oh wait nevermind i do "en chellam" means like... "my darling" in tamil i believe but is not necessarily romantic it's just a casual term of endearment (correct me if im wrong im a coconut)

find my atsv masterlist here !!!

#pavitr prabhakar x reader #pavitr prabhakar x you #pavitr x reader #pavitr x you #spiderman india #pavitr prabhakar #atsv pavitr #atsv #spiderverse #across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderverse x reader #spiderverse x you #atsv x you #atsv x reader #atsv fanfic #vhstown

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felinecryptid · 5 months

Text

Revelations

(or how Pav and Miles Fucked Up and Maya Auntie Fucked Miguel Up)

Maya did not think her day was gonna end with her trying to chuck a belan at a thug wearing a blue and red body suit.

But then again, she was not expecting to find herself another nephew and a niece too.

Perhaps she should rewind a bit.

***

Maya's eyes opened to the light of sunrise shining through the thin curtains. Her phone rang with bird whistles under the pillow, and she stepped out of bed, already thinking about what to put in Pavitr's lunchbox. She loved her nephew, her baby since- since everything, but he ate like a buffalo and yet, he was still wasting away.

She could make him his favourite Pav Bhaji, she thought, taking out the vegetables to warm them up before she cooked them. Lord knows he suddenly started loving it out of nowhere, some months ago, around the same time he started staying out late and coming home exhausted and screaming 'Auntie, kuchh khaane ko hai kya, itni bhook lagi hai, pura imarat khajaun,' and proceeding to finish the entire contents of the refrigerator, including the karela bhaji. Pav never looked at karela bhaji. Even when there was nothing else in the house. It was very suspicious.

At first she thought it was that model girl, what-was-her-name, Gayatri. Maya warned Pavitr to not get very attached to her, she did not want her boy to get hurt, no. But this change of heart couldn't be because of Gayatri, no matter how much she snuck around when Maya wasn't home. She could smell the designer perfume in her nephew's room, the boy wasn't sneakier than his aunt. Pavitr looked visibly happier on days the perfume smelled the strongest. He laughed louder when she was over for snacks or homework, and Maya couldn't fault him for that. She might need to have a little talk about girls with him soon, Maya thought, spitting out toothpaste and rinsing her face.

So it wasn't the girl. Maya refused to think it was his other friend, Hobie. They were so sweet, even if she thought they could do with a little more substantial clothes than thin stockings and ratty jackets. She had mistaken them for a robber the day she met them, but hey, all that ends well? Right?

She walked back to the kitchen, in time to see a curly haired boy swing in through the window, barely missing her pudina plants.

"Are- arey?! Aap kaun?" Maya reached for the ladles she kept in the left drawer, fingers scrabbling at the smooth handle.

"Woah! Sorry for this, Maya Auntie!" The boy raised his hands. "Didn't think I'd run into you, I'm so sorry-"

"Who are you?" Maya pointed the potato masher she'd grabbed at him. "Why do you know my name?"

"Pav talks about you a lot, I'd be a bad friend if I didn't know your name," The boy said, tilting backwards over the water filter to avoid her potato masher. "I'm Miles,"

"Eh, I don't know how much is a mile, convert to kilometers."

"No, no, my name, its Miles," The boy looked at him, eyes wide. "Didn't Pav tell you?"

When did her boy start hanging out with another American boy? "He didn't say anything about you-"

"MILES!" The pink spidergirl Maya saw swinging around sometimes, landed on her sill, almost flipping all her pudina. "Miles, you're not supposed to be here!"

"And you are not supposed to be there, beta, khidki se utar jao," Maya gestured at her to get down, fearing for her plants. "Who are you now?"

"Ummm, I'm Spiderwoman?"

"Dikh raha hai. I meant who are you, not what do you do, dear."

"Oh, I, um-"

"Gw-wanda!" Pavitr called out, barging in unceremoniously in his sleep pants, without a shirt.

"Hey, um, Pav-"

"Pavitr beta, baniyan daal ke aa, kitni baar bola hai ladkiyon ke samne nanga mat ghoom," Maya stopped every conversation happening, pointing back at his room.

"Nanga kahan hun main," Pavitr muttered, pulling on a shirt lying just out of sight in the kitchen. Teen boys, kab sikhenge saaf safai. "Abhi thik hai?

"Han." Maya nodded at him, before turning to all three of them "What is happening, Pavitr dear, why do I have a random boy in winter clothes and spider didi standing in my kitchen?"

"It's a long story?" Pavitr tried.

Maya thought for a second. "You don't have to go to school today. Take the day off, explain this to me."

Maya definitely heard him cursing as he left to freshen up.

***

Maya set down plates full of poha and tall glasses of orange juice for everyone while they told her their 'long story'.

Handing out spoons to everyone, she sat herself down on the last armchair, reaching for the achaar jar on the table. "So Pavitr, why don't you introduce me to your friends? I would love to know how you are friends with- What's your name, honey?" She directed the last part at the girl in the spider suit.

"Gwen."

"Right, with Gwen."

Pavitr had stuffed his mouth full, chewing slowly. Gwen had taken her mask off, gingerly biting a piece of carrot picked out from the poha. Miles answered with something that made Maya almost spit out the spoonful of poha in her mouth.

“Uh, Pav you haven’t told her that you are spiderman yet?” Pavitr choked, and Maya thumped him harder than strictly necessary. Even if the Miles boy was lying, clearly Pav knew these kids and didn't tell her. Miles muttered a soft ‘ow’ as Maya turned back to him.

“Miles, beta, what are you saying?”

Miles looked like a deer in headlights, as Pav sunk down his seat trying to stuff even more poha into his mouth, giving the unmistakable impression of the squirrels she likes to feed on her walks.

Gwen shifted around like she would love to be anywhere but here. Maya stared at them, waiting for one of them to explain something about the situation.

It was Pavitr that finally broke the tense silence with a “I’m spiderman, Bua.”

Maya stared some more.

“I’m the kid that’s been swinging around the city, fighting the gundas, the bad guys. I hid this from you, because it wasn’t safe for you to know, so I won't ever be sorry for that, but I'm really sorry for hurting you by hiding a part of who I have become now.” Pavitr looked down at his lap, his voice hoarse like he was trying to not cry and Maya couldn't hold back anymore. She leaned over and hugged Pavitr tight, feeling his sigh of relief as he went limp in her embrace. Maya mostly felt, rather than see, the other two kids leave.

“I love you, beta, I’ll love whoever you are and will be, there is nothing in this world that could make me hate you or love you less.” Maya murmured, petting her nephew’s, no, her son’s hair.

Pavitr’s laugh was the best sound she had heard in months.

***

Pavitr called Miles and gwen back in after 3 minutes of intense embracing. They strolled in looking thoroughly uncomfortable. Maya glaced at the clock. It was hard to believe it had been only 20 minutes since Miles crashed into her kitchen.

“Im really sorry Maya Auntie, but we need to get going, or Miguel will-” Gwen clamped a hand over Miles’ mouth.

“Could you please stop revealing everything to her immediately before Pav’s had a chance to explain to her?”

“Who’s Miguel?” Maya asked.

“He’s like our employer? in a way, Pav can explain better,” Gwen looked pointedly at Pavitr.

Pavitr looked long suffering as he turned heavenwards for strength maybe, or just moral support because he knew Maya was not one for employment before he was an adult. Way too many people out in the world to take advantage of minors and their naivety.

“Miguel is like our organiser, he lets us know when there’s a job to be done, like assigns us on different vil- uhm- people,” Pavitr scratched his neck.

Maya has seen that exact tell since Pavitr was old enough to lie- from getting caught with malai around his lips at age 5 to sneaking gayatri or hobie into his room to turning his face away only months after his uncle, her husband had passed, hiding the tears still streaming down his face- all accompanied by the same scratch of his neck. She knew he was holding something back. “Pavitr, beta, organiser? Tu dallon ke saath kaam karta hai? Aur jobs? Kis tarah ke jobs?”

Pavitr turned red, but continued bravely, “Miguel dalla nhi hai! I mean, ek tarah se hai par, woh hame bas kuch bure logon ko marne bhejta hai aur mujhe toh itna zyaada bhi nahi bhejta, bua, mein baba ka kasam khake bolta hun, mujhe kuchh bhi nahi hua hai,” Pavitr wasn’t looking at her anymore.

Maya was furious. Not at Pavitr, never at him, but this random man, whom she has never met, told her nephew, her son, her baby, got him running around, doing his bidding? No way she was going to stand that. “Marne? Kya matlab? Jaise laat ghusa ya jaan se? Nahi rehne do, jo bhi karwata hai, dallali hi hai. Pavitr, you stay away from that man, and keep your friends away too.”

“I can’t, he is the reason we met in the first place,” Pavitr went on with a voice Maya couldn't quite place.

“What do you mean?”

It was Gwen who spoke up next. “He gave me a place to belong to when my dad was going to arrest me because he thought I- when he thought I k- killed someone dear to both of us, without ever hearing me out, and it is because of him and another woman that I met this bunch of nerds.”

“Are we just forgetting the fact that he also tried to kick you out of the society because I fuuh- ruined some stuff? And you actually were rooming with Hobie?” Miles frowned at Gwen, and it felt like they had had this conversation before and this conversation was going down the exact same route as the previous ones. Pav nodded along, agreeing with Miles.

Maya was furious and lost. “Wait, you were rooming with Hobie? As in Pav’s friend Hobie?” Gwen and Miles nodded. “What society? Why is Hobie associated with it?” She whirled onto Pavitr.

Pavitr shrunk like he wanted to melt into her kashmiri carpet instead of having this conversation, again. “The Spider-Society. A club, kinda, for all the spider people and spider animals and spider objects. Hobie is also spiderman, for their- place, in London. They travel here frequently because they have speciality transport clearance as Hobie’s crew. Well, ex-crew as of some months ago,” Pavitr shrugged. “They still have some perks for travelling, but they stay over sometimes.”

“When did they last come over?” Maya asked, doing some serious math mentally.

“Uhh, Thursday?”

“And what was the last time Gayatri came over?”

“Monday.”

“And what did Gayatri gift you for your birthday?

“A perfume from Versah- oh, shit. Sorry, uh, I'm just, gonna shut up now,” Pavitr blushed so deep, Maya was worried for his heart.

Maybe she should have a talk about boys with him instead.

“We are discussing this later, I want to know what exactly you've been doing with them that requires spraying half a bottle of perfume after they’re gone,” It was Gwen and Miles’ turn to look confused. Maya didn't bother to clarify anything.

“Tell me more about this Miguel dude,” Maya leaned back in her armchair.

“He tried to throw Miles off a train.” Gwen said, looking Miles straight in the eye.

“And sent all the society after him, like two thousand people,” Pav added.

“More like two hundred but go off, I guess,” Miles muttered, avoiding Gwen’s eyes

“Wait, how are you still alive? And how old is he?” Maya asked incredulously. These kids needed better guardians, and she was adopting them immediately. They can't be running around with this Miguel guy without adult supervision-

“He’s maybe thirty three? I’m not sure, Peter would know,” Miles shrugged, forgoing the first question entirely.

“He is an adult? And he tried to throw you, a kid, a child, off a train? I need to meet this guy, maybe have a little talk,” Maya Auntie stood up, fuming.

“What they didn't tell you, that Miguel also put Miles in a cage, so he would be unable to go save his loved ones from certain disaster,” Spoke a familiar British dude on her windowsill, thankfully not on the one with pudina on it. Maya’s favourite friend of Pavitr’s, though she wasn’t sure if friend was the correct word anymore, if it ever was.

“And Auntie, if you really wanna meet dear ol' Miggy, I can take you,” Hobie grinned, holding up a watch that glitched in and out of reality.

Maya missed the terrified looks on Gwen, Miles and Pavitr’s faces as she reached for it.

*****

Part 1 of 2

translation (as always, this is not direct translation, just close enough, or whatever fits better in context) (non direct translation marked with [])(also jsyk, everything is pronounced, exactly the way its written):

beta- son / [means as good as son]( i bet yall have this memorised)

belan- rolling pin

pav bhaji- buttered and toasted buns with curried potatoes and vegetables (as much as it pains me to describe it so, its simplest explanation and i have no patience its nearly 6 in the morning and i haven't slept a wink)

Auntie, kuchh khaane ko hai kya, itni bhook lagi hai, pura imarat khajaun- auntie, is there something to eat, im so hungry, i could eat a whole building

karela bhaji-spiced stir fried bitter gourd (which is very bitter, as you might have guessed, i personally like it, most people hate it)

pudina- mint plants (lmao)

Are- arey?! Aap kaun?- hey! who are you?

beta, khidki se utar jao- child, get down from the window

Dikh raha hai- i can see that

Pavitr beta, baniyan daal ke aa, kitni baar bola hai ladkiyon ke samne nanga mat ghoom- Pavitr dear, ive [literally told you so many times] to not roam about naked in front of girls

Nanga kahan hun main- [how am i naked]

kab sikhenge saaf safai- when will they learn cleanliness

Abhi thik hai- [is this fine?]

didi- older sister (term of respect, usually)

poha- stirfried soaked flat rice flakes and cubed vegetables with spices (again the simplest description)

Bua- aunt, who is the sister of your father (yep hindi has a word for that)

gundas- goons

malai- cream from milk

Tu dallon ke saath kaam karta hai? Aur jobs? Kis tarah ke jobs?- you're working with [ring leaders]? and jobs? what kind of jobs? (bc dalla (dallon- pl.) famously means pimp, but it actually also means 'person who leads extremely questionable stuff')

Miguel dalla nhi hai! I mean, ek tarah se hai par, woh hame bas kuch bure logon ko marne bhejta hai aur mujhe toh itna zyaada bhi nahi bhejta, bua, mein baba ka kasam khake bolta hun, mujhe kuchh bhi nahi hua hai- miguel is not a ring leader! i mean, he is kind of, [but he tells us to deal with bad people, and i don't even get assigned a lot, auntie, i swear on my father, nothing bad has happened to me]

Marne? Kya matlab? Jaise laat ghusa ya jaan se? Nahi rehne do, jo bhi karwata hai, dallali hi hai.- [deal with? as in beating them up? or taking them out?, no stop, i don't want to know, but whatever hes been doing, he is brokering you out, using your services]

kashmiri- [from Kashmir]

A/N:

i havent forgotten miles’ hypocrisy, we’ll definitely come back to that

the reason maya auntie didnt call miles out in the first place is that she doesn't know what is the etiquette for someone coming out as spiderman ( i say it like thats a new category in the alphabet mafia lmao) and she is a desi gossip queen, shes not refusing any source of information about anything (one thing i know that if desi aunties ran intelligence services, we’d all be fucked as hell) , we love her in this household

more seriously tho, family dynamics in india is just on a different plane of existence, and privacy, until like 20 years ago, was a ‘western’ concept, ‘made to weaken the integrity of society’ and as maya auntie is a product of that generation, she doesn't see anything wrong with miles exposing pav like that

i, however, know that is very wrong, and do not endorse or encourage it in anyway, and miles would be getting his sweets bc of that lil moment of breaking trust

it is just plot babyyyy

a little bit of explanation of the employment thing, bc the norm for employment is like 16 right? in india it is 18, or more normally 22, being a third world country, exploitation, generational trama and everything, yk

if there's something that's missing or wrong just lemme know bc im editing this at no sleep in 72 hours, pls don't be shy 💞

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