#miguel o'hara hurt/comfort
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Nowhere to Run: Part 1 (Miguel O’Hara (Spider-Man 2099) x Spider-Woman!f!reader)
Pairings: Miguel O’Hara (Spider-Man 2099) x Spider-Woman!f!reader
Warnings: Hints of suicidal ideation on reader’s part, Fang stuff (Miguel uses fangs on reader), Chasing, Miguel is maybe ooc (I only saw the movie once and was mostly trying to keep from audibly moaning every time he was on-screen), Miguel and reader fight - he does some damage, Poison, Wounds, Not edited (but I will come back for some minor edits later on), Let me know if I missed anything
Summary: After the collapse of your universe, you resort to jumping around the multiverse to survive. Evolution gave you the powers needed to escape your universe. Technology of your own design stopped the glitches. But you haven’t found a way to escape the man relentlessly hunting you across every universe - Spider-Man 2099. ~2,500 words
Angst, hurt/comfort, eventual happy ending
A/N: This is for all of us who watched the Nueva York chase scene/train sequence and thought ‘when do I get to be Miles?’ This is dedicated to the Miguel O’Hara editors on TikTok - you guys are doing god’s work over there (especially with the captions). There shouldn’t be any spoilers in here beyond what was shown in trailers, but tread as carefully as you feel you need.
EDIT: Part 2
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A persistent tingle deep in your mind vibrated madly the closer Spider-Man 2099 was to you. It was your Spidey-sense warning you of danger. For the first few months, you managed to stay several universe’s ahead of the terrifying Spider-Man variant, but after running for months with no one to help you, dodging the Spider-Person in each universe, and growing more exhausted with each portal you opened, 2099 was catching up.
He was catching up quite literally. The man was a few blocks behind you, pursuing you through the streets of a Queens in a universe you had never seen before. Buildings were built into trees. The entire city was a perfect symbiosis between nature and technology. It was beautiful, but there was no time to appreciate it. The time on your wrist ticked down. Seventy-six seconds. Seventy-five.
You shot out another web. It caught a window, and you took a sharp corner then another trying to lose the hunter.
Seventy seconds until you could safely open another portal. Well safe was a relative measure. Ideally you would allow a full day between jumps, but if you only had twelve hours, well then odds of survival rose to about fifty-fifty. Anything less than twelve hours and implosion was basically guaranteed.
Sixty-eight. You extended your legs for more momentum, rolled in the air, shot out two webs and used them to zip forward. Sixty-two. 2099 was fast, faster than you. You didn’t dare to look back to see if he was still in pursuit.
He protected the multiverse, kept it from collapsing in on itself, and you put the entire web of connection at risk just by being alive outside of your universe. You didn’t begrudge 2099 for what he thought he had to do. Maybe it was true that your presence could cause a universe to collapse, but you were careful not to stay for too long, not to interact with the Spider of that universe, not to fight any super-villains. If he could just understand that you were careful, that you didn’t want a multiversal collapse anymore than he did, maybe he would be reasonable.
Then again, maybe not. He was relentless, and from what little you had heard of Spider-Man 2099, he wasn’t one for talk and negotiation.
Fifty-five. You dived down, shot another web, swung again. You could never go back to your world’s boundless emptiness and not another living soul. That thought kept your exhausted muscles working. Fifty. The void was all that remained of your collapsed universe, a void in which you could not die but where no one else could live.
Forty-eight. Forty seven. This block was all future, half-built apartment buildings.
Thirty. You’d long ago lost your suit. All that remained was the mask that obscured your face. You must look ridiculous swinging around in stolen street-clothes: a baggy sweatshirt, leggings, dirty sneakers.
Twenty-one. Nearly there. Just a few-
A solid mass of muscle stole the breath from your lungs and flattened you into a cement wall. Claws shattered the cement beside your head into a fine gray powder. A hand closed around your throat, and you were crushed between the blue and red clad Spider-Man and the wall.
He was pure muscle. This was the closest you’d ever been to 2099, and his sheer size was terrifying. The red lines on his mask narrowed with his eyes as he studied you.
Eighteen. You pushed at his broad chest, struggling desperately to fight him off, but he was enhanced too and probably well-fed and rested - two things you were not.
“Stop fighting me,” 2099 growled into your ear, his voice a deep rumble that you felt in his chest.
“I won’t go back.” You choked out the words while you planted a knee against him and tried to kick him away. Your efforts were utterly useless. Quite literally, you could feel muscles rippling across his chest and arms as he held you against the wall while you trid to wriggle free.
In the corner of your eye, you watched the red numbers tick down. Six. Five. Was it even possible? It had to be.
2099 brought you forward then slammed you into the wall again. The impact made your head spin. The red lines of his mask doubled and tripled. He was trying to get something around your wrist.
“Hold still!”
Two.
With the last vestige of strength left in your body, you brought a hand to his face and shot a wad of webbing at his eyes. He growled and stopped his attempt to hand-cuff you - or whatever he was doing - to wipe the webbing away. For a second he was distracted. You imagined the glowing golden portal. Closed your eyes. Energy sparked in your body, coursed through your veins and arm. You shot a web at the wall behind you. It shimmered gold, dim gold, but still gold.
There was a moment where you thought it hadn't worked. Then the wall crumbled away and you felt wind whip you backward as a bright gold light filled the space. 2099 reached for you, claws extended. Four knife-like talons dug into your shoulder, ripping through the ratty sweater, digging into your skin, and tearing four long bloody stripes into your flesh as the portal drug you away..
You planted both feet on his stomach and kicked him off. A bright red web shot out from 2099’s hand to tangle in a tree. The last thing you saw was 2099 falling then catching himself before you tumbled away from him and toward a new universe.
--
It was raining on this new Earth. Actually, ‘raining’ was a bit of an understatement. It was absolutely pouring, and you were soaked before you hit the ground. Hard.
You hadn't been as focused as you needed to be, and the portal had opened in the sky and dropped you ten feet to the roof of a towering building in some universe’s version of New York. You couldn’t tear the mask from your face quick enough as you gasped desperately for air. 2099 was strong, and he’d smashed you half a foot into solid cement.
Your ribs ached. So did your head for that matter. But it was the dull ache spreading across your shoulder, down your arm, and seeping through your muscles like liquid fire that really made you afraid.
The gray of your stolen sweater was soaked in crimson blood. Carefully, you pushed the stained fabric over your shoulder.
Shit. Shit!
Beneath the torn fabric, your skin glowed a sickly, dare you say radioactive red - the same red as 2099’s suit. His talons must have been poisoned, and now that poison was making it’s way through your body, causing unknown damage and immense pain. There had to be a lab on this Earth. Right? If you could only get there, you were smart enough to whip up an antidote.
But as you stood, it was obvious that you wouldn’t be going anywhere. The poison was potent and fast-acting. Insanely, you wondered if it was really poison or if you should be calling it venom. It didn’t matter, because a moment after gaining your feet, your legs failed. You careened forward and nearly smashed your head again, only just catching yourself before slowly laying down in the rainwater.
City lights sparkled in the distance and reflected in the puddle forming around your head. Purple and blues and few bright yellows. Not a bad view if this was how you died. If only the poison weren’t so painful. You wanted to scream, but you lacked the strength.
A familiar tingle shot across your spine a second before the bright gold light of a portal obscured the reflection of the city lights. No! He was so close when you jumped universe’s. He must have tracked you; no wonder he hadn't bothered to chase you through the portal.
You scrambled backwards weakly, your feet struggling for purchase on the slick roof as the broad shouldered man appeared. He was wreathed in gold light. You couldn’t jump again, couldn’t even stand, could barely drag your body through the rain as Spider-Man 2099 strode closer.
“Nowhere to run,” he said. His voice was flat, like he took no pleasure in finally having you trapped.
“I won’t go back!” You tried to sound tough, strong, but your voice cracked over the words. “There’s nothing there. I can’t. I’d rather die than- than go back to nothing. 2099, don’t send me back”
Your fingers felt the ledge of the building and empty air beyond it. Poison. Fall. The clawed Spider-Man. A slow descent into madness trapped in the empty and endless remains of your home universe. A fall seemed fastest. But you didn’t want to. You were scared. You didn’t really want to die. Your shoulder throbbed and head filled with fog. The skin was glowing such a bright red you could see it in the corner of your eye.
In the brief moment you hesitated, he was on you. 2099’s red webs wrapped around your chest, and he yanked you forward and away from the ledge. You crumpled at his feet, and he just stared down at you through that mask. His blue and red mask swam in your vision as you stared up at him. Was it the rain that was so cold? Or was it the poison? No, venom. Poison? Venom?
2099’s face got bigger as he knelt beside you.
“What is this?” He pulled at the torn sweater, his gaze falling on the bright red mottling your skin.
Miguel O’Hara had never seen his claws damage anyone like this. There was no venom in them… unless in whatever universe you had come from something about them was venomous. It was possible. His fangs were venomous, that he did know.
Miguel pulled off his mask, the adrenaline of the chase fading while he watched you struggle for life. He’d meant to stop you, take you back to base, figure out where you’d come from… not kill you. He ran his tongue over one of the fangs protruding from his mouth.
The next thing you knew, 2099 was sitting next to you and pulling you onto his lap. It might have all been a dream, you couldn’t tell. The lights were so beautiful. Your head lolled to one side, your whole body limp as a ragdoll in his muscular arms. His face filled your vision and blocked out the pretty lights.
He had a strong jawline, dark curls, sharp cheekbones, a broad nose, and were those fangs? And were his eyes glowing red? Yes, two orbs as red as the suit and your poisoned skin shone down at you. He was pretty too. This had to be a dream. The monster chasing you couldn’t be so handsome. You blinked, eyes unfocused. Your Spidey-sense was going wild, but you couldn’t bring yourself to fight. 2099 was warm, and you could go to sleep right here.
He shifted your body again so your side was pressed against his chest.
“2099,” you whispered weakly, pathetically.
“I’m sorry for this,” he whispered in that low growl. Now it was tinged with what almost sounded like real regret. “It’s the best I can think of.”
He guided your head to rest in the curve of his shoulder, face turned toward his neck. One hand brushed hair away from your neck, the other wrapped around your waist. His fingers were no longer clawed, and his movements were gentle as he held you close, muscles tensing underneath your body. The expression on his face was tender. It seemed impossible that this was the same man who had made you his prey for months.
“Don’t panic now,” he whispered as he lowered his lips to your neck. “Stay still.”
You were barely aware of what was happening. His lips were warm, then four sharp pricks stung the base of your neck just above your collarbone and the deep poisoned wounds. Panic tried to rise in your throat, but you weren’t conscious enough to really process that a man currently had his fangs sunk into your throat. He drew back and spit out bright red poison, then bit into you again. Then again. And again.
Miguel was exceptionally careful with you, holding you perfectly still and being sure to sink his fangs into the same spot each time so as not to mark your skin any more than necessary.
Slowly, the world began coming back into focus. You were exhausted, but the poison was being was successfully being leeched from your system by his fangs. Brown curls were the first thing you became aware of, then the almost unnatural warmth coming from the man beneath you, then the cold pricks on rain on your back, then... then that something was biting you. Before you could wrench your head back, a large hand cradled the back of your head. You desperately tried to struggle as you realized what this vampiric Spider-Man was doing to you. The muscles in his arm flexed as he held your head still.
2099 pulled his fangs from your neck, spit bright red then let go of your head. You sat up quickly. The movement made you dizzy.
“I know you’re scared.” Miguel could see the fear in your eyes. He nodded to your still glowing shoulder. It was dimmer now and hurt less, but it was still obvious poisoned. “But this is working. Let me help you.”
You were looking him right in the eyes, the glowing red eyes, and though you didn’t trust him, you knew instinctively he was right.
“Okay,” you breathed lowly.
You laid your head on his shoulder. Miguel could feel how your whole body trembled, but whether it was from fear or cold or something else entirely he couldn’t tell. When his lips touched your skin you whimpered. That was fear.
Miguel still had one arm around you, but he took your hand in his free one, interlaced your fingers, and squeezed once. Then he sunk his fangs into your neck. It stung a bit but didn’t really hurt. Now that your were conscious, you could feel the poison being drawn toward the spot where his mouth connected to your skin. That didn’t really hurt either. It was like stretching a sore muscle - a satisfying pain that ultimately brought relief.
2099 drew back to spit out his poison. When was the last time you’d touched someone like this? A touch that was more than an accidental brush in the street - or a purposeful one so you could steal someone’s wallet. 2099 was your enemy, your hunter. He was dangerous. But he was saving your life and holding you so tenderly it made your chest ache.
“Once more,” he promised.
His fangs brushed over your skin for the last time. You pulled your hand from his and splayed your fingers across his chest. 2099 brought his now free hand to your poisoned shoulder and pushed the ripped fabric apart.
Miguel watched the last of the poison be pulled from your veins as it filled his mouth. He spit it out then turned back to study how your body was pressed against him.
“Can you stand?” He asked.
“I don’t know,” you answered honestly. Then panic hit and you jerked back, still sitting on his lap but with your face now safely away from his fangs. “You- you’re going to send me back. 2099, please don’t.”
“Why do you keep calling me that? My name is Miguel.”
Miguel. 2099 had a name. Of course he did, but hearing it made him seem so human. And his face was handsome. That was no venom or poison induced hallucination. The man was beautiful.
“And no. Not yet.”
“My universe collapsed. There’s nothing for me to go back to.”
His red eyes softened as they met yours.
“We won’t send you back to an empty universe,” he paused, and one side of his lips twitched up. “You ran because you thought I’d send you back to a void? I see I have quite the reputation.”
Miguel lifted you to your feet easily. He set you on your feet and tapped the watch-like contraption on his wrist. You leaned against his muscled chest for stability. Even without his poison, you were still wounded and tired and malnourished. A portal spiraled out in front of you both.
“You promise not to send me back there?” You looked up at Miguel. He squinted at the portal’s bright light and tugged the mask back over his face.
“Promise.”
To be continued...
Part 2
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A/N: Part 2 will be a little time jump, and we’ll actually see Miguel and reader get into a relationship!
My Masterlist
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Taglist (Want to be added? Click here.) -
@copingchaos @n1ght5h4d3-24 @paintmekala @chaoticevilbakugo @janebby @chaoticevilbakugo @weirdo125 @roseqzpd @bitchyglitterfox @m0nster-fvcker @romanarose
Won’t Tag: @janebby @marvelescvpe
If you want taken off, just let me know! I took a guess on who might be interested.
#oscar isaac#miguel o'hara#spider-man 2099#oscar isaac fic#oscar isaac fanfiction#miguel o'hara fanfiction#miguel o'hara fic#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara x f!reader#miguel o'hara hurt/comfort#miguel o'hara angst#oscar isaac x reader#spider-man 2099 fic#spider-man 2099 fanfiction#spider-man 2099 x reader#spider-man 2099 x f!reader#spider-man 2099 hurt/comfort#spider-man 2099 angst#oscar isaac hurt/comfort#across the spiderverse#spider-man across the spiderverse#atsv
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contents: miguel o'hara x gn!reader, both reader and miguel have anger issues but are working through them, reader hurts miguel and is hurt by miguel (the contents of the fight is not specified), hopeful ending
or, you and miguel fight. it's not all bad.
you don't know how the argument started— you think it was something small. maybe miguel hadn't cleaned the dishes like he said he would. maybe you hadn't taken out the trash. maybe it was both. (it was both.)
it's a far cry from your fight now.
miguel is a force of nature. his anger blankets the skies, rumbling forth from his chest and striking the ground in bright-hot flashes. he rages against you, and his volume increases, drowning out the warning sirens in your mind.
you're not much better— a storm of your own. you give as good as you get, but there's nothing good about the way you slash at him, words sharper than knives. there's nothing good about the way he stabs back. hell hath no fury like yours— not when you're both like this. not when your every cell is soaked in ungodly wrath. not when you claw at each other with your words, vision hazy red, and you aim to kill.
it's you who deals the final blow, and yet it's still you who falls first. you don't remember what you said— something cruel, something awful, something, anything, to make him stop— but the expression on his face crushes your ribcage, leaving your heart trembling and vulnerable at his fingertips. your anger snuffs out, all at once, doused by the consequences of your wrath— the man you love, crushed under your heel. you, not much better.
"miguel, i didn't mean it," you say, desperate. "i was mad, i'm sorry, i didn't—"
miguel takes a deep breath— the kind that your couples therapist had taught you about. breathe in. hold. breathe out. hold. the world holds its breath alongside him.
"i know," he says. "i know you didn't. i didn't mean it either."
your own wounds are secondary when he looks like that. "i— i know."
"i'm going to take a walk," he says. in your mind's eye, you see his notebook from therapy. the steps for calming down are written in neat, careful handwriting. step 1: breathe. step 2: remove yourself from the situation.
you nod.
"you can join, if you want." he says. "i know you don't like being alone after fights."
you're not good at being alone, generally, but it's even worse after you hurt each other. it makes you guilty. it makes you anxious. when you're left alone, you turn into a desperate, crawling creature— the kind that people step on out of disgust. so, miguel's gesture is kind. it makes you want to cry. he's still mad— you see it in tense of his shoulders, the clench of his jaw— but he offers his hand to you, gentle. an olive branch.
you take it, and he tugs you closer, tucks you under his arm.
"thank you," you say. "i'm sorry."
"i'm sorry, too," he says. "we can talk about it."
"we can," you agree. "we will."
"later," he says. "we're going on a walk now."
"yes." it will be a silent walk, but you'll take comfort in his steady, solid frame by your side. you hope he takes the same comfort in you. he's told you before that holding you helps him calm down. it reminds him of the love you share.
he opens the door, and you step through it together.
#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara fluff#miguel o'hara angst#miguel o'hara hurt/comfort#writemin!#+miguel o'hara
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Until I found you
🕷pairing : miguel o’hara x spider!reader
🕷word count: 1095
🕷warnings: non sexual intimacy, description of wounds, nudity, minor ATSV spoilers
🕷summary: Lyla alerts Miguel that you’re injured, Miguel takes it upon himself to help you
🕸 After he set up the Spider association you were one of the first that joined, he didn’t feel much for you at first but after going on countless missions together he trusted you more than anyone.
🕸He gave up on finding love after his daughter died, he felt as if he didn’t deserve a good relationship after all the damage he caused. You were one of the few people that helped him through his guilt and sadness after the event, often cracking jokes with Peter B. to get Miguel to crack even the littlest of smiles.
🕸 He never truly got over his daughters death but he slowly started to act softer and more affectionate with you. He would hang around the lobby more, he didn’t really know why but he always felt like he was looking for someone every time he went out. All most each time he came out of his ‘office’ you would always find a way to lock eyes with him or even strike up a conversation and each time he’d always let his rough exterior fall and shoot you a small smile.
🕸 Normally in his free time you’d always be with him eating Empanadas or Arepas in the kitchen, working in silence next to each other, checking up on you daily and slightly leaning into your touch whenever you’d accidentally bump into him. Miguel even gave you special authorisation with Lyla that no one but him had.
🕸 It was when Lyla alerted him that you were severely hurt after a mission gone horribly wrong he quickly dropped everything and rushed over and into your dimension. You were bloody and bruised, sitting on your living room floor panting and exhausted. Miguel’s heart dropped for a second,at the thought of loosing you he’s reminded of how his daughter hung onto him before she disappeared.
“Mierda! What happened?” he panicked as he bolted over to the medical kit you kept under your bed. He knew where everything was in your house, he crashed many times to your place durning restless, nightmare filled nights. He fumbled a bit as he grabbed it, hurriedly making it back to you making sure he didn’t knock anything over. Without hesitance he started to rip your suit off to get more access around the wounds.
“Buy me a drink first.” you chuckled weakly as you watched him furrow his brows as he started to disinfect the gash in your thigh.
“You only need one drink to sleep with me?” he joked as he to reach over to grab the needle and stitches, rubbing your leg gently with his other hand. He knew he had to ask what had happened but he decided against it just in case you would start stressing out more, although this didn’t stop him seething with rage every time he saw your bruised and cut face.
“Cielo this going to hurt.” he apologetically looked at you before he started to close the wound, with every painful noise you let out his heart broke just a little more, reminding him yet again how in his daughters final moments she was also making those noises. It didn’t take him long before he was finished, putting away all the medical equipment he made Lyla scan you for any internal damage. It turned out you had a concussion but apart from that you were somewhat ‘okay’.
“You should probably wash yourself.” Lyla chimed in, looking closely at your body before turning around to wink at Miguel. He scoffed in annoyance and swatted her away. She always enjoyed pushing her limits with him.
“Come let’s get you cleaned up.” blush crept up on your cheeks as he bent down and picked you up bridle style, trying his hardest to not touch any bruises as he gripped onto you harshly. He swiftly moved around furniture and rooms until he made it to the bathroom, setting you down on the toilet seat before turning to get the bath ready. He stared at the water slowly filling up the tub lost in though, what if he got there sooner, what if you died, what if…? He didn’t know what he’d do if you were no longer by his side, if he didn’t get to hear you again, to feel you again-
“Romeo, you okay?” your teasing words snapped him out of his trance, his head snapped towards you, just blankly meeting your eyes.
“I should be asking you that.” he hummed as he looked you up and down, taking in the way your torn suit stuck to the curves of your body. The way your lips were slightly parted showing your front teeth, the way you looked at him intensely back. He felt like he was under your microscope as you were studying ass his features too.
“Miguel..” you placed your hand on his knee, softly rubbing it. Once he heard you softly whispering his name, touching him so gently he realised just how much he was deeply in love with you, he would’t be able to having you not there in his life.
“Don’t scare me like that again, okay?” Miguel replied as he grabbed your hand intertwining his fingers in yours as he stood up, bringing you up with him. “Also the bath is ready, do you need a drink firs-“
“Shut up.” a light smack to his chest interrupted him, earning a small laugh both of you. Miguel silently asked for permission, waiting for you to allow him to help. You offered him a nod and smile, relaxing your body as he started to strip away the layers from your body, each little touch was like electricity against your skin. It took a while before you were down to nothing. He stayed silent, not letting his eyes wander around your naked form keeping strong eye contact.
He grabbed your hand and helped you into the tub, worried you’d end up slipping and hurting yourself even more, sitting down in the water felt like a blessing against your skin, finally getting all the seat and blood off of your skin was rejuvenating. Miguel felt his heart flutter as he realised how domestic the scene in front of him was, finding comfort in the love and trust you gave him. He walked around searching for your floral scented shampoo and your citric body wash, humming a song quietly to himself. Once he retrieved everything you needed, he passed you the bottles and sat down next to you playing with your hair, watching you intently as you cleaned your blood off of you.
a/n: Cielo - Sky (affectionate nickname) Mierda - Shit . I’ll def be writing more Miguel so whatever nickname he says in spanish is normally what my parents call eachother! The title is taken from this song. Also i just redid my page, hope y’all like it!!!
#spider man 2099#spiderman#spiderverse x reader#spiderverse headcanon#spiderman 2099 spiderverse#spiderman x you#spiderman x y/n#spiderman x reader#spiderman 2099 x reader#spiderman 2099 x you#miguel o'hara#miguel ohara x you#miguel ohara x y/n#miguel o’hara x reader#marvel x reader#fluffy#angst#comfort#hurt/comfort#intimate
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tearful territory
miguel and a sensitive, tearful reader. you try to overcome the obstacle that is sobbing and crying whenever you're confronted by your ever stern and stoic boss, but your habit gets the best of you. no matter how hard you try to hide it.
hurt/comfort. miguel is bad with feelings. reader is bad with regulating their feelings. bad feeling and bad feeling regulation everywhere! thank you for this ask, anon <3
dividers by @/cafekitsune
You've been labeled as the family crybaby for as long as you could remember, so when you moved out, you'd figured that the habit of tearing up over even the tiniest of inconveniences would evade you. After all, you were now a hardened vigilante, beating up bad guys, saving a bunch of people should have gotten you tough skin.
Wrong! While you have obviously improved and it hasn't been as bad as when you were still a kid, the tears that found themselves home in your eyes were now just protected by a mask, a symbol of your heroic deeds that hides the weak, meek, and fragile person beneath it.
As you got recruited into Spider Society though, your mask was on more than half of the time. Even when eating, you only had it half-lifted just in case push came to shove.
Was it a little ridiculous? Yes. More than. But you'd rather bare the strange looks of people passing by you rather than have a full cafeteria of spiders witness you cry. You certainly didn't need to be labeled as Spider Society crybaby too, making work arounds for your habit was working for you now anyway.
Unfortunately, the universe is cruel. Oh-so cruel.
You were a relatively new addition to the Spider Society which means that the head honcho had been doting on you for a while now, doting was a strong word, but he'd call you into his office to give you feedback on your performance in missions so far.
Completely fine, besides most of the reports had been positive. Though, the thing about Miguel is that he's actually an uplifting boss when he can be. Which means he always gave you advice, tips to help you get better next time, and pointed out your mistakes from each mission.
Again, completely fine! You were okay with criticism, more than okay with it. But that lump that formed in your throat, the warmth that crept into your face, it functioned like clockwork. So you've just resorted to keeping your mask on whenever you had a meeting with him too, problem solved.
Another thing you didn't know about Miguel though was despite his lack of a sixth, spider-like sense, he'd a habit of his own. To be an observer, to pick up on the small details of the people he worked with. Even if he only saw them by mere chance, only passing by some in the multiple hallways of headquarters on occasion.
It wasn't rocket science, even if Miguel did know rocket science, to figure out that you had an... issue with dealing with the slightest forms of rejection. Aside from the obvious hint that you were always masked around him, he also noticed that you were radio silent for most of the meetings, only interjecting with quiet 'mhm's and 'okay's.
You were so quiet around him that it almost made him seem chatty. Miguel. Chatty. Those two words could not be in the same sentence, yet you made it possible.
He didn't want to force you to take your mask off, the end goal wasn't to see you cry, but after a few months of having literal one-on-one meetings with him, he hadn't really sparked any form of connection with you.
This time when you were called in, you two went through the ropes per usual. It didn't seem like you noticed Miguel's (un)conscious efforts to soften his tone, to relax his shoulders, and to not look completely stone-faced when talking to you.
Miguel wasn't particularly used to this, has he had people cry in front of him? More than too many times, but never had he seen your case before. It made him wonder what was going on in that head of yours, to care so much about his input that you'd hide shedding even a single tear in front of him.
The approach to the end of the meeting was steadfast, but before he let himself dismiss you. He asked, "Why do you always keep your mask on?"
He knew fully well the reason why, but to hear it come from your mouth, would make it even more worthy of an answer.
But the thing is that you don't answer him. It's the awkwardest moment of his life, he thinks. Two of you just standing there, his brows knit together in confusion and he's about to repeat his question or ask if you heard him until the smallest of squeaks ring in his ears and now you're turning your head away and clasping a hand over your mouth to conceal your noises.
He followed in your direction, but he can't even see your face. Your shoulders shook as your fingers sloppily pulled your mask up so that you could furiously swipe at the tears that streamed down from your eye. You bit at your lip so hard to silence yourself to the point where you could be crying about how you're about to draw blood simply from the force of it.
Miguel hadn't said anything, you couldn't see him either. How could you? You literally just broke down crying in front of him, there's no way you could ever show your face again here.
You want to say something, you tried to at least. But all you get out is a choked, "Sorry, I'm-- Sorry." To which you don't even get a response to, but you can feel it. That thousand yard, judgemental stare that you always get for reacting like this.
Which only caused you to get more shaken up when Miguel places a reassuring hand on your shoulder, which he uses to manuever you closer to him and to let him see your tear-struck face. Your first instinct to cower, you want to bring your hands to your face and peel your skin off like a banana peel, but Miguel doesn't let you.
In his other hand is a tissue to when he tenderly presses just below your eyes to wipe at the wetness, that hand on your shoulder moves to your chin and he lifts your face upward to get a good look at you. He doesn't look angry, rather concentrated. Locked in.
Your chest heaves with the effort to keep it together, the onslaught of a really bad headache is rising over the horizon like it always does. Once Miguel's done, he discards of the tissue before he takes off your mask completely and sets it aside on his desk. The hand on your chin remains, a thumb on one cheek and the rest of his fingers on the other so your face looks a little smushed right now. A sight he'd like to appreciate if not for the circumstances.
"So is this a common thing or?" The question almost seems a little unserious in nature, but that is mainly just the product of Miguel's awkwardness. He doesn't particularly do feelings, and he can't ask if you're okay because that might just lead to even more crying.
Your voice is too dead to properly reply, you move your face in a half nod considering the grip he has on you. "And you've been wearing your mask because you don't want me to see?" He asks again, you nod more bashedly.
A thin hum of understanding is all you can hear for him and he lets go of your face, but you can't hide anymore. Your mask is somewhere on his desk, it's managed to disappear among the slight mess that there is. It's awkward again, no words coming from either of you until–
"You're dismissed. Come back tomorrow." What? That's it? You put on this embarrassing display, you bawled in front of him, and he's letting you go? No lecture about how you need to be stronger of anything?
The thought chases you in your dreams later on in the night. You found it hard to fall asleep that you swore you saw the sun peeking through the blinds once you were mentally fatigued enough to succumb to your exhaustion, you groggily swung over to Miguel's lab, your grip on your webs were too loose for your own safety but you managed to get over to him without any incidents.
However, once his platform comes to a clicking halt, Miguel's back is turned to you. You notice that he wears a long sleeved turtleneck over his spider suit, a combination of articles you haven't seen on him before.
The screen he was paying attention to turns off as he picks up a coffee cup on his right hand side and he holds it up to you, "It's colder out today."
Whether that's to answer for the coffee or the drip, you don't mind. Silently taking the beverage, it brings warmth to your hand and you assume that it's freshly brewed considering the steam that comforts your cold cheeks. Miguel's attempt at small talk, despite how awkward, makes you feel a bit better.
Maybe you needed this. This kind of one-on-one meeting. It's clear that he came to that same conclusion too, but for now, you'll enjoy your coffee, sit in the decreasingly uncomfortable silence, and look forward to the days you won't cry as much anymore.
#spiderman: across the spiderverse#spiderverse#across the spiderverse#atsv#spiderman#miguel o'hara#miguel o’hara#miguel o'hara fluff#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara fanfiction#fluff#hurt/comfort#spiderman 2099#x reader#x you#x y/n#miguel o'hara x you#miguel o'hara x y/n
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Little things - Miguel O’Hara x reader
Warnings/tags: Vauge shit but it’s implied reader has issues with people taking out their anger on them- whatever that means to you. I’m gonna be completely honest- my father used his angry voice at me and now this exists because I have issues. This is probably triggering so dear god please don’t read this if you have/had a bad relationship with your parents or an ex or whoever. TW’s to the max.
I mean it’s technically hurt comfort.
Miguel starts to notice the little things.
He starts to notice how you react to even the slightest hint of frustration in his voice. How, despite his annoyance being directed at situations or objects, you always seem to take it as if it’s directed to you.
He notices that you go into spirals where all you can say is “sorry”. He notices that any attempts at reassurance and comfort are met with guarded wariness, like you’re expecting him to
He notices how if you get it in your head that you messed up- even if you, quite plainly, did not- then you’ll spend the rest of the night walking on eggshells around him.
He starts to notice how you flinch, and how you either speak faster or get quiet. He can’t quite decide which he hates more.
Sure, when you get panicked and speak faster, it pains him to see how down right desperate you are to please him and fix whatever is bothering him. Like you’re scared his frustration over traffic or incompetent subordinates will somehow end up being taken out on you. And yes, he hates that, he hates the idea that you’re scared of him.
But he hates even more when you’re quiet. When you find some excuse to run to the grocery store- even when you already have everything you two need for dinner. When your voice turns soft and meek, when you grow distant and dissociated. When you go off to bed hours early, a simple excuse of “I’m just tired” doing nothing to ease his worries.
Because you can’t imagine that his frustrations aren’t going to end up being taken out on you in some way.
On nights like that, Miguel always makes sure to pay extra attention to you. To not let you slip away and stew alone in your thoughts for too long. To make sure to hold you extra tight and give you extra kissing as he does. To make sure that whenever you excuse yourself to go to bed early, he follows you up, climbing into bed with you and holding you tight against his chest.
He’ll hold you like that till you fall asleep, stroking your hair and telling you how much he loves you, making sure to reassure you that you were in no way the cause of his frustrations, and that you, if anything, made them all melt away once he got home to you.
He makes sure to squeeze you extra tight, to hold you extra close if you start to cry. He’ll let you tell him about your ex, or your parents, or whoever hurt you in the past to make you react like this to even the slightest bit of frustration in someone’s voice. And he’ll listen as much as you need, and he’ll make sure you know you’re loved.
#y’all I’m being so fr rn read the warnings#stay safe because just- yeah#hurt/comfort#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel x reader#miguel spiderverse#miguel spiderman#miguel ohara#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara#miguel x you#miguel x y/n#atsv miguel#miguel o’hara x you#miguel o’hara x y/n#miguel o’hara fanfiction#miguel o’hara fic
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To Request • Miguel’s Masterlist • Main Masterlist
Running Red
Miguel O’Hara x spider-person!reader (gender neutral)
Summary; Miguel was a fair leader and a fair lover, never did he blend the two titles, never had he taken his anger from work on you, until now.
wordcount: 1.8k
Warnings: angst, arguing, Miguel is a bit aggressive, insults, hurt/comfort, very slight ATSV spoilers
Miguel had three different modes. The silent, brooding kind, seemingly displeased at all moments. That was his default mode, the one most everyone saw, the one most often associated with his name. And then there was his stressed mode, where he would rant, and rant. A loud string of blurred Spanglish that was intelligible to anyone but himself as he paced back and forth anxiously. That wasn’t seen by too many, mostly yourself, Jess and sometimes Peter. Finally, there was the gentle touches that would lead to more, soft smiles and sweet words. Intimate kisses, goosebumps, and whispered ‘I love you’s’. That was reserved for you
This was new, whatever this was. Silent for a while, and then loud venting, eyes glowing scarlet, slight lisping because he was so angry he couldn’t retract his fangs. It wasn’t like you didn’t understand, he was carrying the entire world on his shoulders. But then again, that wasn’t something you could ever fully understand. You’d been by Miguel’s side for nearly all of it, but you’d never been in his place.
“Miguel, baby, please try to calm down-” “No!” He snapped loudly, cutting you off faster than you could process it. That only made it worse. Miguel was a pessimist, and you were a mediator. You’d defended Gwen- and Miles, every chance you could. You didn’t think they were entirely in the wrong.
You reached a hand out to him and he only jerked away from it, that felt like a blow to the chest. He was acting like you were against him, like you were the opposing force and you weren’t, it was stressing you out.
You sighed and chewed your lip. “None of this is Gwen’s fault, you know this.” You pulled your arms closer to body, making yourself seem smaller, but still not backing down from the conversation-turned-argument.
He dragged a palm down his face and turned slightly to look away from you. “I was an idiot. I took a chance on her. I was an idiot for taking a chance on her.” He growled, fingers twitching at his sides.
“You took a chance on all of us- You took a chance on me-” your voice shook slightly and he cut you off quickly. “I wouldn’t have if I’d known you would turn out like this, so stupid.” He spat, voice laced with venom and resentment.
Your arms dropped to your sides and your lip wobbled. You wanted to yell and fight, you wanted to be angry. But you were only sad, hurt, more insecure than you’d ever been in front of Miguel.
The features of his face, aged with stress, softened just slightly, his tense shoulders sloped as he realized what he’d said, how it affected you.
The image of your partner in front of you blurred as your eyes welled with tears. He had yet to say anything else and you weren’t going to stand there and wait, so you turned on your heel. You wouldn’t let him see you cry.
He watched you walk away and you could feel his eyes on your back. Part of you was grateful he didn’t put up a fight against you walking away but a bigger part of you wished he’d apologized immediately, or begged you to stay there with him and explain that he didn’t really think you’re stupid. He watched you walk away instead. Did he really think you were stupid?
✽-
You had no interest in staying in his universe, and your own universe wasn’t quite an option. That’s how you found yourself sitting on the floor of Mayday’s nursery in Peter’s world. She squished her little head against yours, wild hair tickling your cheeks which were soft from crying. ‘Baby-love. Cures all types of sad.’ Peter had said. You had to admit he wasn’t all that wrong.
“Do you feel like talkin’ yet? Or…” Peter offered, leaning against the doorframe with two cups of coffee in his hands.
You smiled weakly. “Thank you for letting me borrow your baby.” You squeezed Mayday in a gentle hug. He took it as permission to hand you a coffee and sit on the floor with you, which you were entirely fine with.
It was quiet for a bit. You sipped your coffee and pulled your knees to your chest as Peter’s baby clumsily made her way over to him. He stared at you, his eyes kind and inviting. “Peter we’ve known each other for a good while, worked together a ton. Have you ever thought of me as stupid?” Your voice wavered toward the end of the question.
Peter tilted his head and furrowed his eyebrows. “Of course not. Why would you even ask that? It’s been an honour to fight alongside you. You’re so intelligent, you’re a wonderful teammate and a wonderful person. You’re far from stupid. I mean- Obviously. Miguel wouldn’t give you that much responsibility if he thought you were stupid.” He laughed softly, but the mood shifted and his demanour had entirely changed. He must've sense of change in your expression when he said Miguel's name. "Did Miguel say something to make you think that? Did he call you stupid?" He looked mad, and although it rose your anxiety, you knew none of it was directed at you.
“He said he wouldn’t have taken a chance on me if he’d known I turned out this way. ‘So stupid’ he said. I’m not sure if he meant taking a chance on me was stupid or I’m stupid but-”
“Either way.” Peter cut you off, finishing your sentence. He shook his head. “He shouldn’t have said that, Miguel doesn’t think you’re stupid.” He scoffed and you only shrugged. “Don’t let what he said make you think that. He doesn’t think you’re stupid- and even if he does, you aren’t. Understand?” He rose his eyebrows and you nodded with a sympathetic smile. While you loved Peter, and valued his opinion, you weren’t worried about what he thought right now. Miguel’s words were replaying in your head.
‘I wouldn’t have if I’d known you would turn out like this, so stupid.’
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
✽-
You’d spend the night at Peter and MJ’s that night, in their world. Alone in their guest bed rather than wrapped safely in Miguel’s arms like you were used to.
You were mostly over it now, having gone over everything in your head again and again, with each word Miguel said repeating in your mind. You’d mentally given him a million excuses, just desperate to be over it so you could forgive him and then everything would be fine.
Of course you had yet to forgive him, and nothing was fine. You weren’t sure if you could sleep in a bed so cold and lonely.
“Amor?” Miguel’s voice startled you and you scrambled, sitting up in the bed. You hadn’t heard or sensed him anywhere nearby. Did Peter let him in? “Can we talk? Please?” He spoke monotone, straight faced. This was the cold, emotionless Miguel that others were used to seeing. For a moment you worried he was still angry with you, that this front was to hide emotions he was feeling because he was about to break up with you- for being so stupid. Though, would he have addressed you that way if that was the case?
You nodded and chewed your lip. “We can talk.” You wanted to return the straight, monotone voice he'd given you, but you stumbled over your words. You wondered if your eyes were still puffy from crying- and that's when you noticed his were too. He’d clearly been crying. You’d never seen Miguel cry before, you were witnessing entirely new parts of him today.
He sat on the side of the bed and rested a large palm on your shin through the blanket. “I am so- I shouldn’t have- I’m so sorry. I do not think you’re stupid.” He kept eye contact with you. It was important to him that you understood how serious this was to him. “I didn’t mean to say it like that. I’m so grateful to have you by my side- and I- you’re not stupid-”
“Miguel- I’m not mad at you, you have so much on your plate, it’s okay-”
“It is not. I should not have said that to you- I didn’t mean to say it like that. I don’t think you’re stupid, I think I have been stupid, I could have prevented all this and I didn’t.” His voice shook. He was showing you insecurity and vulnerability; two things he’d made you feel already. You appreciated what he was doing for you right now and you understood how hard it was for Miguel to give himself to you like this.
You moved to your knees and took his face in your hands, smoothing your thumb over the worry lines between his eyebrows. “It’s not your job to save the world Miguel. I think it’s incredible that you’ve made it your job, but still it doesn’t have to be. You haven’t done anything wrong, and you haven’t been stupid.” You pouted slightly and let him kiss the pout off of you. One kiss releasing all the tension and stress from you both.
You rested your forehead against his and then two of you stayed like that for a while; breathing each other in, basking in the closeness. “You really don’t think I’m stupid?” You asked, the corner of your mouth quirking up into a smirk.
“No, no, lo siento carino, lo siento- te amo, mucho mucho mucho-” He rambled in a tone similar to baby-talk, peppering kisses all over your face until you were giggling and pushing his big head away.
“Te amo! I love you too!” You laughed, leaning against him. “Don’t ever speak to me like that again.” You still had a soft smile on your face, but you were being serious and he knew.
A kiss to the top of your head “Never.” He replied. You hummed, head against his chest and palm against his lean torso.
“Good. Because if you do, I’ll turn evil and start causing problems by tearing holes in all kinds of universes. And Jess and Peter won’t help you stop me because they think I’m cooler than you.” You joked and he fake laughed.
Gently, with faux annoyance, he pushed you away from him. “Is there anything I can do now to persuade you not to do that in the future?” He inquired, leaning toward you.
“Hold me?”
You weren’t doomed to sleep in the cold, desolate bed all on your own anymore. Gifted with Miguel’s arm thrown over your body and holding you tightly, he pressed his nose lightly into your hair and his heart beating against your back. You hoped Peter wouldn’t mind Miguel having a surprise sleepover.
He didn’t mind at all.
#petalwrites#miguel spiderman#atsv x reader#spiderman atsv#miguel x y/n#miguel x reader#miguel x you#miguel o'hara#miguel spiderverse#atsv miguel#Miguel O’Hara angst#angst#fluff#hurt/comfort#peter b parker#mayday atsv
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Rigor Mortis (part 8)
College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader
(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,
Part 7, Part 9
summary: You visit your ex. Miguel tags along.
warnings: mentions and description of depression. heavy angst, depictions of a toxic relationship. some suggestive language.
a/n: me when idk shit abt the american school system:
Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3
Join my taglists here
wc: 5.8k
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
you had forgotten; they were good.
Blank walls. Quiet corridors. The buzz of monitors and dull chatter sandwiched between blue vinyl and exit signs. You're not usually one to wander during your breaks; but you're going crazy looking at the same four walls.
That hair net itches and the strap of a blue mask digs into skin as you make your way to a little courtyard. You sit out on a paltry bench overlooking concrete. The spindly remnants of a tree provides little cover from harsh elements. Wind whips through its branches, whistling and cool, as you rip off the mask and crumple it up in your pocket. A heavy sigh, and you feel some semblance of peace. Some quiet, before the morning comes. Before a rush of orders and shunting plastic trays up and down the wards.
You screw your eyes shut to still the pounding at your temples. God. You're grateful for the job, really. And all things considered, it's not particularly taxing: coffee orders until the little cafe closes, meal prep for the morning rush, and sometimes you'd volunteer to take orders to bed bound patients. A whole lot of reheating and chopping and pressing buttons on the little machines. You don't quite get it, of course, but your lone coworker picks up the slack well enough.
The older woman doesn't do much for company, anyways. Riveting conversation comes in the form of grunts and sharp elbows when you get in the way or round the corner of the kitchen. It has you counting down the seconds until your shift ends.
And so you are grateful, well and truly. Jamie's not so sappy, anymore; doesn't partake in 'I love you's or grand gestures; but he is dependable. Safe. Willing to stick his neck out for you, at least. He'd gotten you a job at the hospital he has his placement at; with decent pay, and it slots in well with your other ones. He's taking you seriously – taking the news better than your parents. After telling him you wanted to go back to school, you're not met with thinly veiled disbelief, or lips pressed together with pity. He'd nodded, rather simply. Didn't make a fuss. No deep sighs, or heavy frowns. Okay , he had said. How can I help?
It was the simplicity of his reaction that had bowled you over, almost bringing you to tears. To have someone believe in you, for once – wholeheartedly and without an onslaught of questions – felt like a deep breath of air after almost drowning. It felt like love ; and after desperate breaths, gasping and gulping and clawing at something to hold on to, you think you've found dry land. Something solid, something stable; a rough palm to pull you out of swirling depths. Because, unlike your family, and unlike half-hearted friends: Jamie was there.
After heading back in to catch the morning rush, you're wiping down surfaces and sorting plastic trays onto a cart. Rote, repetitive, boring; you've settled into a routine that feels familiar. A couple more months, you reckon, and you'll be able to cover the costs for a second go at undergrad. You can shed the skin that seems to follow you at every family gathering, and the job interviews in between. Dropout – and when your Mom says it, it feels like a vile curse. Jamie calls it spiteful, and you opt for the democratic alternative; she's being dramatic - rather than cruel, rather than hurtful, rather than crass. You've heard enough, from all sorts: ‘too much pressure’, and ‘didn't think she had it in her, anyways’, are common phrases whispered in the background of phone calls home.
Your chest aches with the weight of it – the kind of ache that seeps into skin, and lines a casket. Grief; mourning a person you could've been, and a person you never would be. For a while, it left you paralysed by the what ifs and the maybes; rotting in a quiet corner. Sinking into sofa cushions or caked onto the bed sheets like the mystery mould bloomed onto the plates in your room. But Jamie was there, more than anyone else.
You'll wait for him in the corridor near the back of the service elevator, like you always do after a shift. You finish when he starts, early in the morning and rubbing away sleep from his eyes for ward rounds. You'll give him a kiss, and he'll give you a soft little smile to send you on your way. It almost makes the whole thing worth it. Almost.
You give and you give and you give. Your boyfriend isn't quite the same; doesn't pour into you the way you'd like him to. But it works. It works because it has to; a thousand miles away from anything resembling home. You can't ask for more – the right words die in your throat.
~~~
You've spent the past couple of hours in the library. Procrastinating for at least half of it, but you've managed to draft out a couple of essays and more or less reorganise your life. It's something you've been dreading for the past week or so; letting yourself get swept up in the monsoon that is your roommate. Miguel – sarcastic, saccharine-sweet Miguel – and his stupidly pretty lips, his pretty hands, and the pretty way he scrunches up his face like he's smelt something rotten.
You're staring at a computer with a slew of books spread out on the adjacent desk. Your half-finished report seems to jumble together on the screen; a tangle of citations and filler words and shitty diagrams. It's not quite clicking , and it's making you want to tear out chunks of your hair in search of relief. A tale as old as time, one you can merely wallow in and fold yourself between its pages. Struggling at school; and this time it's a stats module you thought would be an easy couple of credits, that you definitely can’t afford to fail if you want to graduate early.
You’ve picked a quiet spot on the third floor; a computer bay tucked into the corner. It overlooks a little window, cramped and claustrophobic and mystery mould in the corners of its grout. You've resorted to scanning the cracks with sharp eyes, light fingers on your neck to trace the leftovers of the morning. You can see it in the slightly mirrored surface of cloudy glass; you look like shit, you feel like shit, but you can still feel him. Lips on your neck, sucking soft hickies into the skin; and you can't help but like the way it looks on you. It's the same under your jeans, blooming like mauve and purple heather on a sprawling field.
You cross your legs, wincing at the dull ache that spreads. Sore, in that way that feels good; sending flashes of a morning with Miguel. Fingers knuckle deep in your cunt and the heat of him – cut and lean-lined – on top of you; it's impossible to ignore. Condensation drips from the panes, pooling in its corner and you swipe a finger in it, lazily. Again, you're reminded of him, for the thousandth time in the past hour: shaking legs, fisting his cock, spraying fat globs of his cum onto your face and chest.
With another glimpse of your reflection, you sigh. Deep and heavy, with the weight of half a decade of frustration, sexual or otherwise. You've never felt this good or had your needs satiated so wholly, so exorbitantly. It feels odd. You don't know where to put your hands, how to place your feet on the floor. Do you shout, do you scream? How do you tell all the poor bystanders that scatter the third floor: I'm sleeping with Miguel O'Hara! A walking red flag with cheekbones that could cut glass! He wants me, and I want–
Your phone rings. The noise catches you off guard, and has you stumbling to press accept.
"Hey," Miguel's voice sounds tinny in the speakers, and so you press it to your ears.
"Y-Yeah?" You steel yourself, batting away daydreams of your legs wrapped around his middle – too horny for your own good, clearly.
"I'm outside, chula. " He stops talking. The quiet ticking of an indicator becomes the only sign of life, before he says, "In that parking bay by the–"
"I know, I know. Give me 5 minutes." You rush to pack up, clicking off the monitor and haphazardly shoving your notes into your bag. Not everything fits, and you give up trying to cram that textbook in.
A beat passes before you realise he's still on the phone. Quiet, but still there.
"…I brought food, by the way."
You only just manage to catch it, slotting the phone between your ear and shoulder. That makes you perk up.
" Seriously? " You give him a small laugh. You think you can hear him smile through the phone. "Thank fucking God, I'm starving. But you weren't rushing, or anything, right? I mean, it's so soon after your session with… Sally, or–"
You're bounding down two steps at a time, so eager to see him – to get food , actually – that you're careless going down the stairs.
"Sarah . " He breathes, and you make your way downstairs.
It stops you in your tracks, for some reason.
"Okay. Sarah ." You say it with finality, voice tight. "What did you end up doing anyways? At her place, you said?"
"Pressure differentials. Modelling viscosity. It's not very interesting." He hums, shifting in his seat. "What about you? Did you get something done?"
You take a beat too long to respond, and it comes out half-baked.
"Loads, Mig."
He snorts. " Sure. "
" Fuck you. " You say it under your breath, ducking past the entrance, and into a side road.
And there Miguel is, car heaped onto part of the sidewalk. He's leaning back, lazy arm sticking out the car window, showing off muscle and pretty tan skin. It's getting cold, but he's cracked the car door ajar; donned in a well-fitting t-shirt and slack trousers.
You're trying not to drool; and he makes it a little easier by flashing a shit-eating grin.
Childishly, you stick your tongue out; wrenching the door open and slumping into the passenger side. You tuck your things by your feet, and it lands on the floor with a thump.
"You can put your stuff in the back.. . " Miguel frowns.
" Can't. We need the space, remember?"
To pick up the rest of your things left in your ex's apartment. You hope he can parse out the rest of that from a raised eyebrow.
He sighs, tossing a brown bag of takeout onto your lap. He starts the car. "...I didn't think we were still doing that, to be honest."
He seems disappointed, eyes flitting this way and that as he reverses and pulls out. You must've hit your head at some point, because you're in heat – pressing sore legs together at the way he does it. One arm on the back of your headrest, sharp jaw jutting out as he looks back, and bottom lip hooked under his teeth; he's just concentrating, trying not to hit one of the cat-sized rodents that roam the streets this late at night, and he's still hot .
"You promised ."
"I had my face between your thighs. Would've said anything if it meant I could have more."
You draw your lips in faux disgust – your heart's not in it, but it's enough to make him chuckle.
"Fuck you."
He doesn't miss a beat, deadpanning, "...you'd like that."
Lips pursed, you ignore the way it twists your stomach into knots. Steadfast, you stare out at the window, watching the yellow lights of a bustling city pass you by.
Miguel takes a different turning, one that'll take you across the city and away from your place. To Jamie's, most likely. You soften, taking a moment to look across at him.
His eyes flit over, intense and almost a deep red in the neon and lights. It's barely a couple of seconds, but he knows, just like that.
"Are you nervous?" He tests the waters, voice steady and non-committal. It's not an accusation; even though everything feels like one, lately. Not from him, though. Never from him.
" No ." Your tone is betraying, and you both know it. He seems to pretend not to hear that tremor in your voice.
"You'll be okay, sweetheart." He says it soft and low, not quite looking at you.
"It's just… it's the first time I'm going to see him after–" Your voice crackles. "After everything."
"You'll be okay," He starts. It doesn't feel like an empty platitude when he says it: it feels genuine and full-bodied and sonorous, clanging around your head like the chime of church bells. "Probably not right away – it's going to hit you like a semi, first. And you'll feel like shit afterwards. But it won't last. You'll move on, and you'll be okay; because you have to be."
He drifts off somewhere far away when he says that last bit; and you're not too sure what he's talking about anymore. Regardless, you wrap his words around you, holding it to your chest like a little songbird in the cradle of a tree.
You'll be okay. You have to be.
It feels less solid when it's not Miguel saying it, you think. You don't tell him that, though, sinking into the seat instead.
He doesn't let that silence sit for too long. Traffic creates a natural lull, and he reaches over to tap at the book in your lap – one of many different textbooks, the rest of which is lodged in your bag.
"You're taking a stats module, I assume."
You nod.
"With Dr. Karev?"
You sit up slightly. "...yeah, actually."
He hums. "You thought it would be an easy A, then."
He's right, but it doesn't make it sting any less. You were hoping for simple math and data processing, and here you were: drowning in matrices and linear algorithms.
"I thought it would be."
"Let me help you, then. I took one of his classes and he barely changes the syllabus. I could dig up my old notes, and–"
"You want to tutor me ?" You splutter – but you don't mean to sound as shocked as you do. " Why? "
"Why not?" He shrugs.
"I… I don't have any money, or anything."
"M'not offering because I want money." He's nonchalant, inching towards the car up front.
You squint. It's not adding up. "What's the catch?"
"No catch, I swear. Is it so hard to believe I'm being nice?"
Now, you feel guilty. "Sorry, Mig. I appreciate it, I really do–"
"Sit on my face and we'll call it even."
He turns to you now, face flat but with a twinkle in his eye. The corners of his mouth are slightly upturned - amused. He thinks this is funny?
You give him a light shove as the traffic starts to break up. He's riled you up, now, and you're much too annoyed to be nervous.
"Eyes on the road, asshole."
It's more bark than bite, and you settle into the seat, finally cracking open the paper bag. You munch on fries and it makes him laugh. Miguel swears he can see it: the hint of a gentle smile on your face.
~~~
He pulls up to the apartment complex. Modest, close to the hospital; and you probably couldn't have afforded to live there without your ex. Jamie was lucky; his parents could foot the bill of moving out, and he had family that lived in the city.
It feels odd to be on the outside looking in. The building's windows become snapshots into other people's lives. For some, it meant an early night, blinds drawn and lights off. From the parking lot, you can see the dim yellow of lights streaming through other apartments. Silhouettes flit past every now and then; the only sign of life.
Jamie's apartment is on the top floor, the two windows on the far right. You crane your head out of the car window, to get a better look. The lights are on, with one window left slightly ajar.
Miguel moves to get out, with shuffling that breaks the silence. You stop him with a hand on his arm.
"No, no. I'm going up by myself."
He cocks his head to the side, ever so slightly.
"...you sure? If you need help shifting boxes, I can–"
"I'm good, Mig. I just needed the car."
It comes out snappier than you meant it to, already irritable. With that, you pop the door open with a thunk . You can't see it, but he frowns, watching you swish and sway towards the entrance.
You trace familiar steps to Jamie's apartment. The door code hasn't changed, and so you buzz yourself in. This is something you can do quickly and efficiently, you've decided. In and out, and you don't have the energy for much else. Bracing at the door, you get ready to knock, hand curled into a fist.
The door swings open before you get the chance. He's there; still in light blue scrubs and a name badge pinned to his chest. It's the first thing you see, trying not to look at his face. But it's like pulling teeth, you decide: less painful when it's quick and sharp.
" Where's my –"
" Your stuff's in the –"
In a great clash of words, you finally look up at him. Where you're expecting some form of emotion – a flash of something, even for just a moment – Jamie is steadfast. Blank; blinking back sleep, if anything. You clamp down what feels like bile rising in your throat and push past him into the front room.
"Is this how it's going to be?"
Head down, you grit a quiet, "Don't . "
It's just as you left it, to the point it's almost comical. The same pillows you'd bury yourself in after work, the patterned tea towel you'd bought on a whim. The bar stools in lieu of a proper dining table, and that great big desk he had insisted on carting to the living room for years . Bits and pieces of you, of your relationship, and he barely bats an eye. He'll use your mugs and sleep on your patterned sheets.
It makes you sick .
You head to the second room. There's a stack of boxes, hastily stashed in the corner. There's still permanent marker on them from when you first moved in. Now, it houses the things you couldn't take with you the first time – everything you left behind.
Sick, sick, sick .
You take a moment to dig through the top box, that's clearly been moved. Knick-knacks, books, clothes and all the clutter you've acquired; and it reminds you of family, it reminds you of friends.
Jamie leans by the doorway, looking on in silence.
When you pick up a box, straining to lift it, he doesn't offer to help. He watches as you flounder, dragging it towards the door.
You're huffing when he finally says something; something that's clearly been on his mind for a while, with the way he says it.
"Are you seeing someone?" He's looking out of the window, gaze fixed on the car parked outside. Miguel's car.
Your eyes widen. You don't quite trust yourself to speak.
You leave the box by the door. "Are you?“
He shrugs. "Don't have the time."
It's noncommittal and frustratingly blasé. He's not giving you much, and it's fucking with your head. This whole thing feels like a big joke – he wants to talk, and all he's doing is asking bullshit questions. Once upon a time, you would've stewed in it; sat with that question on your tongue and let it rot.
"I don't understand." You croak. It hurts to say out loud, but you say it. That's the important part. "I don't know why you're doing this… why are you still doing this?"
"I don't like how we left things." He says it slow, like he's choosing his words carefully.
You want to scream.
" So? "
" So , I need some kind of closure. We've got unfinished business."
" Unfinished business? " You roll it around on your tongue, reeling at its bitter taste. It feels clinical and lifeless, yet again.
And then… oh. It clicks. Looking at him, arms folded and leaning on a wall, he looks antsy and uncomfortable. Now, when forced to face you.
" Closure. " Another word that tastes like shit. You give a watery laugh. "You feel guilty."
He doesn't say anything but his body language says enough. He shifts his weight side to side, unable to make eye contact.
You don't bother to stick around for an answer, snatching up the box as best you can. Through the doors, and down the corridor. You stagger down the flight of stairs, gritting your teeth. It's heavy – you've packed as much as you can inside, trying to get this over quickly – and you make it to the first floor before it clatters onto the steps.
You fold ; knees drawn to your chest and hands tight in your hair. Heart racing, chest pumping: you're trying not to get swept away by heavy emotions. The tide rises. You pump your legs around the swirling mass - barely staying afloat in deep, deep water.
You'll be okay.
You remember Miguel's words, gentle and sweet and kind. You remember the way he said it; firmly, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. The kind of grace that you don't have to work for and doesn't need a performance. He believes in you, at least; thinks you're stronger than you have any right to be. And you think of him in the car: eager to help and reassure. You brushed him off. You were mean.
Deep breath.
Miguel's waiting for you, just outside those doors. Diligent and patient, saccharine-sweet Miguel. Getting up, you make your way down the stairs with that box.
When he spots you, a pretty little thing in a hoodie and jeans, he leaps out of the car.
"Hey, hey, easy… "
"I'm good, Mig – "
You're struggling with the box, and he eases it out of your hands without breaking a sweat. One hand on the boot of the car, the other holding up the heavy box effortlessly, and he gives you a quick once over.
"...he didn't offer to help?" His face is scrunched up - disgusted by the looks of it - and all you can manage is a limp shrug.
It doesn't take him long to figure it out. You're dejected; nervous, down-trodden, blue in every meaning of the word; losing a little bit of that shine you had started the day with. If he had to guess, and he knows you well enough he'd bet money on it, it was that ex of yours – stealing away that light in a burlap sack, a thief in the brilliance of bright sun.
It makes him grind his teeth, eyes flicking up at the fourth floor window.
"I could help." He offers, a hand on your shoulder. It's your favourite hoodie, he thinks, as he circles the soft fabric with his thumb.
You purse your lips, thinking it over.
"It'll be quicker, chula. "
That pushes you over the edge, and you finally nod.
It must be a sight, knocking at the door with Miguel hot on your heels. After living with him for so long, you've forgotten how intimidating he can be when you first meet him; taller than Jamie, and mean-mugging the blonde with a deadly look. If you weren't so on edge it would make you laugh: you know your roommate is mostly harmless.
Jamie doesn't, of course. He visibly bristles, looking you both up and down.
"I just need some help with the boxes. This is my roommate, Miguel."
You turn to the man beside you.
" Miguel ," You say it softer. "This is Jamie."
Wordlessly, he stretches out a palm,
rough and broad and tan. Hesitant, the man in front of you takes it.
"Hey, man." Jamie flashes you a strange look when he says it.
Miguel doesn't answer.
You lead him to the second room, divvying up the boxes as Jamie hovers at the doorway. It's surprisingly efficient: Miguel insists on taking the heaviest boxes, hauling them up onto his shoulders, before stacking them up at the door. You'll take the smaller stuff, and it seems everything will be done in far fewer trips than before. It's hard to say out loud, but you're grateful for his help – Miguel was right , for once.
After the first trip, he's bounding back up the stairs for more. You've both made it into a game, with neither one of you having to explain the rules. He pinches your arm whilst you sift through boxes, and you stick your tongue out in response. Elbow deep in crap, and he manages to make it feel a little better.
Jamie stews. Jamie festers. In a corner of what used to be your shared apartment, he pretends to tap at his phone, uninterested. You know him too well for that facade to stick.
Miguel takes the last of the boxes down, and you're straggling behind, picking up the last few bits and pieces. You're left alone with your ex, for a brief moment.
"You're fucking him." He says it quiet, in a whisper that sounds oh-so loud in that little room. Fucking. He spits it out, and makes the word feel cheap and dirty.
You look up from across the room. Slowly, he traverses its width, gaze pinning you down like a bug under a microscope.
He brings a hand to your chin, cupping the flesh tenderly. It's intimate and familiar, reminding you of better days. Something bubbles up in your stomach, sweet and innocent. That feeling doesn't last long.
"You're fucking him."
It's accusatory, spat out with a rueful smile pulling at his lips. His fingers brush over your throat and you squirm, pulling up the mouth of your hoodie.
Those hickies, blossoming like flowers in the spring. They crackle across your skin like fallen leaves in autumn.
"It's none of your fucking business."
"Of course you are. I can't believe you." He rolls his eyes, half-laughing. "I was going to apologise! I was planning to say sorry for the way I handled things and you had to rub it in my face."
" What ?" You croak.
"You brought the guy you're fucking to our apartment!" He explodes.
His lips flatten into a tight line.
" ...now it's our apartment? You kicked me out. You dumped me ."
"Don't…. fuck , don't do that. Don't make me the bad guy, here. I gave you plenty of time to find a new place."
"Two. Weeks." You grit. "You gave me two weeks, asshole. You left me alone, and told me to fend for myself whilst you fucked off to your sister's."
That fire dies down as he hesitates. "I… I would've let you stay longer. You know that, baby."
" No. No I don't know, 'cuz you don't tell me shit , anymore." You blink back hot tears. "I don't make as much money as you do, and my family can't support me like yours can."
"I would've–"
"You didn't. " You swallow roughly. "You didn't. I don't even know what I did wrong ."
"No, no." He cradles your face with his hands, swiping at stray tears. "You didn't do anything wrong."
Now, you look up at him. With glistening eyes, and a heavily furrowed brown, it barely comes out as a whisper; red-raw and strained.
"Then why don't you love me?"
He doesn't deny it. There isn't a scramble to reassure you; to pat your head and kiss away tears to show you how much he cares. Instead, he steps away guiltily.
"I care about you, of course I do. Remember when you changed your major?"
You nod.
"I was there, wasn't I? I stayed up for hours talking you through it. And when you dropped out, I came over on the weekends and brought you groceries."
"I was there. I helped you through that funk , and helped you get that job for school. Every stupid little question, every depressive episode, all those moments where no-one else would help: I did. Even though I had other things going on in my life, I showed up. For you. It was enough, for a while."
Until it wasn't. He sighs.
"I'm starting my residency next year… and you're still in school, right?”
“Yes, I am.” You say it simply, not able to say much more without breaking down.
“I'm happy for you, really - proud that you actually got that far. But we're going in different directions, and at different paces. It's easier now that we're not together.”
You bristle at his tone: still in school, actually got that far . It oozes pomp and a quiet kind of superiority. Easier now, like it was difficult before.
“I didn't make that decision because I hate you, or because I don't care about you. I know you're angry.” He places his hands on your shoulders, and doesn't break eye contact. For the first time since you got here, you think he's finally showing emotion; quiet melancholy just below the surface. Up this close, you can see it: deepening bags under his eyes, sallow skin, and fine lines. Jaime looks tired. In fact, he seems exhausted .
“I'm sorry that I made you feel that way. But that doesn't excuse the fact that you brought your fuck buddy here, when I just wanted to talk.”
It feels cruel. The way he looks at you, and the way his demeanour switches from the Jamie you knew before, to this .
"I wanted to talk." You strain. " Months ago. After you broke up with me, and disappeared off the face of the planet. Every time I called, crying and panicking, it went straight to voicemail."
You shake his hands off of you, stepping back.
"Miguel's a friend… did you ever think of that? Maybe I just needed some help moving my things, Jamie. Maybe I don't have that many friends since they stopped talking to me because of you, Jamie. Maybe, there's not some devious plot to spite you."
You pick up the rest of your stuff, a little basket of trinkets and books. The very same books that he had told you to pack up; to make some space for his textbooks.
"Get your head out of your ass. Don't call me. Don't text me. I'm done. "
You're already halfway out of the door. With that, you start to storm off; clattering into Miguel by the stairs. When your things spill out of your hands, you both drop to your knees in a scramble to pick them up. You're chewing the inside of your cheek so hard it draws blood, fumbling around. Miguel is more efficient, scooping up your belongings back into its box.
You're drooping, only able to mutter a quiet thanks. On the way to his car, you're dejected. Miguel watches carefully, trailing behind.
~~~
He doesn't know what to say.
You've left him speechless before. Many times, in the span of your couple months together. Miguel recalls it in exasperated messages to Lyla; you're something else entirely. Frustrating, sometimes. Quick-witted. Perceptive. Thoughtful. A million and one words to describe you, and yet, it still doesn't paint the full picture. You are multi-faceted and brilliant in a way he's not sure he completely understands.
[Sent: 22:33]
Can't explain it, Ly.
[Sent: 22:33]
I'm going fucking crazy.
[Received: 22:34]
ur being dramatic :p
[Received: 22:34]
think u just need to get laid
[Sent: 22:34]
Fuck off.
[Sent: 22:35]
I said I'm taking a break. Meant it.
[Received: 22:37]
(image attached)
[Received: 22:37]
got this at the party
[Received: 22:37]
ur staring, mig
[Sent: 22:38]
…
[Received: 22:38]
that's my dress! told u I have great taste :))
[Received: 23:06]
miggyyy
[Received: 23:06]
stop ignoring me! its not fun anymore >:(
That was a while ago. Before anything serious happened between you both. And he's had the privilege of seeing you in many different ways; stressed, angry, beaming with joy. Bouncing off the walls after too much coffee, or crawling out of bed following a late night. He's seen your lips curve to form a delicious O as you writhe underneath him; he's seen you smile. He'd tattoo it onto his skin, if he could.
Fuck . He's overthinking it.
You've retired to your spot on the couch, and yes, he's staring. Tracing the slope of your jaw and the tilt of nose outlined by the glow of the TV. After getting back home late, he brushed off limp protests and took most of the boxes up himself. It sits in a pile by the dining table. You'll deal with it tomorrow, he supposes.
Retreating behind your ratty blanket, you stare blankly at the screen. Glassy eyes, you've curled up to watch reruns late into the night. Can't sleep, you told him, as he hovered by the doorway.
He should go to bed. It's nothing to do with him, really, and he shouldn't have overheard as much as he did. Miguel is curious but not nosy, and well-versed on the art of minding your business . So he shouldn't feel his heart splintering; creaking like the trunk of a felled tree; hacked into two by the way he sees you drowning.
He sits by your side. Not too close, of course, he's wary of all the shit you've been through today; not wanting to make you feel more uncomfortable.
He's reminded of a childhood holiday. Half a summer spent at a campsite, bounding through woodland and creeks somewhere up north. Gabi and him would disappear, forgoing the beaten paths for their own adventure. Miguel couldn't make friends the way his brother could, so he'd straggle behind; watching from afar as the other kids would climb trees or swim in quiet lakes. Reading by the banks, and he remembers a time someone had slipped under the water. Drowning, and it wasn't anything like the movies. It was quick, silent and deadly. Thrashing under choppy water, and then…
…nothing. Just quiet.
He feels that panic rising now, watching you stay so eerily still. You've slipped under the waves, and he doesn't know what to say to pull you back out.
Miguel isn't too good with words. He's not known for his warmth, or comforting presence. Sometimes, he thinks he wasn't built with that switch turned on in his head – and he certainly didn't learn the right words from his parents. And so, he gives you comfort the only way he knows how. He shows you. He takes care of you.
You come to him. Like two parts of a whole, you slot together perfectly: your head on his shoulder, at first. You end up on his chest, curled up like a housecat; matching shaky breaths to his steady ones. He brings a hand to your shoulder, drawing lazy circles in the fabric to soothe you.
With the dull chatter and gloom of the TV, you fall asleep. It takes Miguel a little longer, but he wraps his arms around you. He listens out for it: the gentle rise and fall of your chest. Steady, like a metronome, and it grounds him – drowning out the creak of gears.
_
_
_
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#miguel o'hara x reader#across the spiderverse#rigor mortis 😼#miguel o'hara#miguel o hara x reader#kat_writes😼#spiderman 2099#spiderman 2099 x reader#miguel o'hara angst#angst#emotional hurt/comfort#hurt/comfort
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I LOVE your Miguel x Reader fic so much! Can we please get another Miguel x Reader where they are complete opposites again, but she isn't use to seeing a scary/violent Miguel. So when she finally sees him like that she gets a little scared and Miguel has to reassure his little angel that he would never behave this way with her. Fluff please because i love your fluff fics!
OFC BBY! I changed it a little so that reader didn’t only see it but also experience it, yk? U’ll see :3 I hope you like it pookie!
Miguel scaring and accidentally hurting you
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You were on your way to visit your boyfriend of a few months at work, with a little Tupperware box of fresh cookies in hand, you knew that he was Spider-Man and you knew all about the spider-verse. You also knew that Miguel worked very hard to keep the society intact and that it put an immense strain on his mood and health.
He’d come home all grumpy and annoyed, just wanting to cuddle you to death, he wouldn’t even let you get up to make him some food or treats, so today you decided to bring him something to cheer him up. You’d made a variety of cookies, some frosted and others shaped like animals and stars, to some people it might seem like something from a kids birthday party where a trottle ran off with the sprinkles and went crazy with them but it was just how you liked to bake. You knew that some people thought you were weird for dressing in bright colours and having fun hairstyles, sometimes older people would whisper when you walked past them but you didn’t mind, to you the worst possible thing would be being called normal or plain. You didn’t let anyone stop you from buying or making the clothes you thought were cute and today you decided to show off the new skirt you made. You spent all of last week sitting at your desk with your sticker covered sewing machine, securing the fabric and hemming the edges.
It was truly adorable and you loved how it framed your butt and thighs! You matched it with the off white cashmere sweater that Miguel gifted you after only two moths of dating. He knew that you liked cute things so he had little bows added to the sleeves and it warmed your heart every time you thought of his attentiveness. You packed the cookies into a little shoulder bag and set off.
It didn’t take long for you to get to the main office and there you almost crashed into Jessica who you always enjoyed having a little chat with, you always asked how her baby was and if everything was going as planned at HQ, but today she decided to give you a little warning, Miguel had been a little agitated and stressed today, because Gwen got stuck in a mess and brought back a Teenage boy who was never supposed to know about the Spider-verse and how said boy was causing a bit of trouble. You thought nothing much of it and continued looking for him.
Your first stop was his main office, to be honest it looked like the bat cave, with a floating platform that was his favourite. It always made you giggle when you compared Miguel to batman, but he wasn’t there, so you decided to just walk around and see if you’d find him, when you suddenly heard a loud bang. Instinctively you whipped around, running to a large window and what you saw shook you to your core.
It was thousands of spider people chasing after what seemed to be a small figure in a black suit, it was a sight that you’d never seen before, was everything alright? Was that an anomaly? Why were so many chasing it? Millions of thoughts rushed through your head as you sprinted down the stairs to the ground floor to get a better look, but everything was moving so fast that you lost sight of them as that disappeared behind another building.
You rushed through the halls, trying to catch up with them and somehow you ended up in the room with the go-home machine, all while everyone was surrounding Miguel and the young boy who was in the midst of being “sent home” and Miguel had his talons dug into the electric walls of the capsule, almost tearing it apart while growling and yelling. You’d never seen him like this, as if he were a feral creature hunting its prey with cruel intent. Your body started shaking a little as you took a small step back, maybe this was a really bad time. In that moment the capsule fully closed itself, sending the teen home and leaving Miguel seething with rage, ready to demolish anything he got his hands on, when he suddenly noticed his wach showing signs of an anomaly or something that wasn’t supposed to be at headquarters standing only a couple meters behind him.
Without a second thought and with pure rage and will for distraction Miguel lunges backward, his vision blurry with fury as he sunk his claws into the floor, propelling himself closer and closer to his new victim. All the while you didn’t even have time to think, fear filled every fiber of your already tensed body, he made the decision in split-seconds, not even realizing that it was you, his partner, as he rushed closer to you. You started stumbling back, screaming his name, but nothing helped clear his mind. Miguel stretched out his right arm, talons out as far as they could go, ready to tear you to shreds.
His usually gentle fingers wrapped themselves tightly around your neck, nicking you and squeezing tight, you felt him almost crush your throat but that wasn’t the end of it. Miguel flexed his arm, lifting you up into the air and just as he was about slam you down with all his force, he had a moment of clarity, his heat almost stopped as he recognized your face, albeit it was contorted in ear and pain. He noticed how tight his grip on your neck was and how you were scratching at his hand for a single breath, as he cut off your air way. His eyes widernd, fear and regret washing over him. Instead of glamming you to the ground, he quickly let go of your neck and pressed you to his chest. He felt your tears wet his suit and he heard you cries. Your cries were pain filled and your voice hoarse as he tried to comfort you by rocking you back and forth gently. He knew that it was his fault. What had he done? What if you never wanted to see him again?
He did something he swore to never let happen. He hurt you. He made you fear him. Miguel commanded everyone to leave, so that the two of you could calm down and as soon as it was only the two of you, he collapsed to his knees. It was like your tears were never ending and your fingers weakly grabbed onto him, barely able to hold on as you hid your face in his chest.
“I’m sorry…” Miguel whispered, his voice cracking as he continued muttering “I’m so sorry.. please forgive me.. I didn’t mean t-to…” he whimpered, but it was like you didn’t hear it, way too caught up in the scenario that played out just minutes ago. Your heart was going a mile a minute and you were hyperventilating, not being able to calm your breathing. Minutes passed and Miguel was still rocking back and forth, as if comforting a crying child, the horrid scenes kept replaying in his mind and he didn’t know how to make it better.
Your cries slowly turned to whines and hiccups, you moved around in his lap, trying to find a comfortable position when he gently lifted your chin to look him in the eyes, he opened his mouth but said nothing for a few seconds until he finally whimpered “I love you, you know that, right?” He pulled you into a close hug, not even waiting for your response, he squeezed you as close to him as he could, his anger long gone. “P-please don’t leave me…” he continued, he sounded utterly broken and that only made you shed more tears, you didn’t want to be sad, you didn’t want him to be sad, this was just a stupid accident right? He didn’t mean it…
You nodded a little and tried to speak, but nothing audible came out, only whimpers and whines. Miguel pulled the two of you apart, gently placing his large hand onto the crown of your head, carefully lacing his fingers between your hair as he looked at your little form that was dwarfed by his own. “It was and accident… please forgive me…” he muttered as his eyebrows scrunched together in regret. You replied with a little nod, your lower lip still wobbling a little. Miguel caressed your hair a bit before moving lower to your neck, he pushed your hair back and revealed a couple red scratches going almost all the way around. He felt so ashamed that he’d hurt you, that he was the cause of your pain. Ge gently brushed his fingers over them and you let oust a little wince. He’d take you to the med bay right after this, he promised.
Only then did he notice what you were wearing, first he looked at the sweater. It was the one he had custom made for you, when he saw it in the store window he thought about how’d you look like a fluffy baby alpaca in it and he just had to get it for you. He touched the soft fabrics and slid his grand down your arm, intertwining his fingers with your slender ones. Next he noticed the skirt, ha hadn’t seen it in your closet or anywhere else?. Did you buy it? No it fits too well for that… you probably made it. He couldn’t help but let a soft smile cross his face. The room was almost silent so he tries to shift your attention to a different topic “Did you make this?” He gently rubbed the b fabric between two of his fingers.
You looked around quite confused for a moment until you found what he was talking about, you rubbed your eyes a little and gave him another nod “y-yea, i finished yesterday.” Your voice was barely audible and littered with hiccups.
“It’s cute” he replied, placing his hands on your hips and shifting your body so that you were sitting sideways on his lap with your head leaning on his pec. He wrapped his arms around you and nuzzled closer, almost purring. You liked sitting like this, on his lap and utterly surrounded by him, it made you feel small and soft, like a precious delicate possession of his.
You could feel how worried he was, it washed off him like waves and you wanted to make him feel better, so you cupped his jaw and whispered “I’m okay Miguel, you didn’t hurt me” as soon as he heard, you could almost physically hear the stones dropping from his heart and his spirit lifting. The two of you were definitely feeling better but there was still a bit left to talk about, so Miguel decided that it was time to leave. He rose to his feet but kept you in his arms, you rolled over a little and decided to play with his hair as he walked out of the now silent room. Your fingers wrapped themselves around the little short curls at the back of his neck, it was one of your favourite parts of his hair because it was so much more curly than the longer pieces.
Miguel felt your little fingers and could stop the lopsided smile that formed on his face, sure he still had work to do, but to be honest, for once in his life, he didn’t care. He’d do it tomorrow and surely get an ear full from Jessica.
✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏
Once Miguel stepped through the doorway a long sigh left his chapped lips, he still felt quite bad about what happened today, but he knew that you’d forgiven him and that you weren’t upset. You fell asleep in the car, so he decided to be the good boyfriend he was and carry you up to his penthouse. You often slept over at his place because you liked the big windows and loved his comfy king sized bed. Normally you fell asleep earlier than him and once he got to bed, he’d find you in your cute pink jammies, laying starfish with one of your legs over the blanket and the pillows long thrown off the sides. He couldn’t help but snap a little picture, you were just too adorable.
So now he careful layer you down on the side you preferred to sleep on. He took off your socks and reached under your shirt to unclasp your bra and pull it off you so you wouldn’t wake up in pain, before covering you with his blanket. Once you were tucked in, he strode over to one of his cupboards in the bathroom and pulled out one of the first aid kits (he has multiple stocked) and pulled out a salve. He rummaged around further until he found your favourite bandaids, the ones with the cute shapes on them and walked back to his bedroom.
You were sleeping soundly as he sat down right next to you, careful not to dip the mattress too much, he gently stroked your hair back so that he could tend to the little wounds on your neck. Guilt shot through him again once they were revealed, t be honest they weren’t even that bad, but he knew how sensitive to violence you were and he knew that the scare was probably worse than the pain. Nevertheless he dipped his fingers in the salve and started softly rubbing it over the red marks and covered them with the bandaids after. After a few minutes he was satisfied and snuggled up to you, making you the little spoon, he wrapped his arms around your wast to pull you close. And just like that, all cuddled up, the two of you fell asleep, meeting again in your dreams.
#Miguel#miguel x you#miguel ohara#miguel o'hara#atsv miguel#miguel spiderman#miguel ohara x reader angst#miguel x reader#miguel ohara x reader fluff#miguel spiderverse#miguel o’hara#Miguel ohara fluff#Miguel O’hara fluff#Miguel x reader angst fluff#miguel x reader fluff#spiderman#atsv#x reader comfort#x hurt reader#Miguel hurting reader#Miguel scaring reader#reader scared of Miguel#how do i tag thisss?#Miguel O’hara chasing reader
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the fear of losing this
too many people in my inbox got a little too comfortable asking me for “a fight between reader” as well as “miguel angst please” so i am combining both as i struggle to get through this writer’s block ))
gender-nonconforming reader x miguel “spider-man 2099″ o’hara
angst. little comfort. your universe is falling apart, yet miguel doesn’t want to let you go.
warnings: pure angst. light cursing? i’m not too sure, just lots of tears.
word count: 2211
The night sky of Nueva York shined brightly with the bustle of commute, highly advanced cars whirring softly through the clouds. Your mask hung from your hands at your side, bunched up in the anger that fizzed and popped in your bloodstream– threatening to explode at any given moment as Miguel brushed off your conversation with a stoic chill.
“You don’t understand how important this is to me Miguel–” your voice raised as you paced the highest level of the building, padding against the overly complex structures that mimicked webs. You would have laughed at the irony of having a headquarters so invested in the theme of spiders that even the ground you walk on replicated the symmetry of webs if the both of you were in any other given situation– but that joking persona that came with the gig flew and crashed out the window the moment Miguel brushed off and rejected your plans to return back home. “I need to be there, helping my people. What is the point of me taking up a spot in this ‘fateful–’” You dragged out the words, venom dripping from your tongue as you partially made fun of the organization he spent so much time on. “Spider Society if my own boss doesn’t let me return back to the place I belong in?”
“No, no.” His tone was blunt as he stood as rigid as ever; surveying your every move in a way that you could never guess what he was thinking, with or without the mask. “You don’t understand.” Miguel repeated your own words back to you in a taunt as one of his clawed hands fidgeted with the device that decided whether or not you could walk around or stay in a little bubble for the next week just like all the other prisoners were down below. “You created a problem in your own universe, that’s the problem we’re having here. You cannot fix it.” He practically spat his words, anger emitting from every rhythmic clang whenever he tossed the technology into the air and caught it with calculation. “It doesn’t matter whether or not you’re from that Earth, you put that place you so valiantly ‘protect’ into a state of emergency. Is that not clear enough?”
“Oh, sure– but the hundreds of other spider-people that can’t go one word without making a joke of the situation can fix my mess? Am I just some inexperienced rookie to you, Miguel?” You countered, ripping your gaze from his own. His features were exposed to you as his mask was off as well, the sunken circles beneath his eyes growing prominent when a vibrant car passed by and shone a striking yellow light into the corridor the two of you stood within. His usual expression made of stone chipped away with the stress he was under as a deeper frown made its way onto his lips.
Miguel sighed dramatically before pinching the bridge of his nose, turning away from you to mumble a jumble of incoherency. “God,” He repeats your name like it's a curse, “That’s not what I’m saying at all. It’s just not safe.”
You scoffed, eyes growing wide at the audacity of this man you have to call your boss. “Of course it’s not safe Miguel, that’s our job.” You couldn’t help but laugh in disbelief, pulling at the roots of your hair in any attempt to calm yourself down. “I risked my life every single day in my universe before I even knew of your existence, yet now suddenly I can’t?”
“This is different. For some reason these– these anomalies are running rampant in your world and it’s taking everything to finally have the problem at hand contained.” Miguel held his breath as if he had something more to say, but left it unsaid the moment you stomped closer towards him in a new fit of anger.
You shoved your palm against his chest, baring your teeth as a groan erupted from the back of your throat in a concoction of frustration and despair. “Exactly! That’s exactly the problem, Miguel. My people out there are suffering and fighting for their lives, surrounded by these people that are like me but aren’t me.” Tears began to well up in the corners of your pained gaze, humiliation washing over your consciousness as you sniffled and stifled a sob. Fauxe confidence and quips were something you specialized in, annoying Miguel in a little dynamic the two of you found yourself in as months turned into an entire year of being called in for missions. Emotions were never a thing the both of you have ever discussed with one another because it wasn’t your position to pry and he was never the one to initiate such conversation.
“If you just let me go, I’m more than willing to show you how capable I am.” It came out as a whisper as you turned away from him and began padding down the structural webs. Miguel was on high alert, you could notice as every glance felt as if he was trying to convince himself that no other member of his society occupied this part of Headquarters. He followed you close behind, claws digging into the beams of construction to reach the same floor as you without a word. The brooding silence that usually met your company could be sensed from any person in their right mind, and as you spotted the hesitation in each thud of his footfalls– confusion clouded your anger. So in a flurry of adrenaline, you webbed his next step to the ground with a ball of the substance you artificially produced in the depths of your makeshift and cozy lab, hidden away at your home in the world you desperately needed to save. It would give you time to finally just talk to him.
“¿Eres estúpido o qué? Do that again and I’m putting you in the–”
It wasn’t to hold him down, you know you couldn’t match his strength. It was to make a statement.
You interrupted him, a newfound determination holding onto the little hope you had. “You follow me for one more second, I’m going through that portal and never looking back.” Brutally honest and uncharacteristically serious, the attempt at ripping his limb free was cut cold at the promise looming in the air. His frown fell for just a moment’s notice, mouth agape in shocked horror before quickly recovering himself. Repeating yourself more clearly as his attention was occupied, your body shined away while shaky fingers struggled to input the coordinates of your universe. But eventually it clicked, the AI voice of Miguel’s beloved Lyla sounded throughout the tension in a glitchy mess– notifying Miguel of the portal to-be seconds before it truly distorted the fabrication of reality in front of you.
Miguel dropped to his knees, struggling to claw off the web that had his foot planted to the structure. His breath quickened concerningly, shoulders heaving as the plan of his crumbled in front of him in an instant; all because he was not observant enough. You played him like an instrument like you always had, a pained groan from the back of his throat sounded and echoed throughout the space of the vast headquarters. “No, no, no..” He repeated, mirroring the despair you had on your features moments ago at the idea of not being able to save your people. You could never once recollect a fraction of a second where he allowed himself to convey the pain plaguing his mind, and as he reached out to you in a frantic heap of limbs– the walls of protection he hazardously built around himself came crumbling down by each shape contorting and twisting into a gateway to your world. “I can’t, I can’t lose anybody else–”
You stood there, heart breaking as the man who has had villains three times your size on their knees, collapse into fragments of himself at the mere idea of you leaving the security of his universe. Bursts of color painted the dark hues blotching upon white, igniting his fresh-tear stained cheeks in splashes of reds and yellows and greens. The portal was completely open, awaiting your entrance to return back to your familiarity– yet your senses buzzed alarmingly at each step away from Miguel. It’s almost as if you could feel the hole in his chest, searing away his soul he finally allowed himself to offer like a god’s offering.
You fell to your knees to hold his face in your suited hands, the waves of sorrow and grief infesting your mind like a sickness almost had you doubling over in pain. You could hear the cries of hundreds around his, no– your own heavy breathing, a confused and fearful little girl’s pleas for help overlapping the muddled screams. You felt the weight of a child in your hands before it was ripped away like a paper airplane in the wind, and soon your trembling hands met the purchase of his nape. Your body moved automatically, holding his face in the comfort of your lap while you shielded his gaze from the portal. Despite his power, the capability to snap you in two, you held him like a fragile doll that would break within any mishap.
“All this time, you never told me.” You sobbed into his hair, dampening his combed back curls with your tears and he only held your waist like you were the anchor in this unforgiving ocean of anguish. You have become one, the memories of his own mixing into the blur of yours's.
“I didn’t know how to.” He murmured into the purchase of your thigh, wetness seeping into your suit. But you didn’t care as your hands wandered all over his figure: a soft massage to the shoulders before quickly scooping his neck into your arms before finally settling on petting his hair back. “I, I haven’t allowed you to go to your world because a part of my thoughts can imagine your arms fading into a technicolor mess, falling into the clutches of another failed universe.” He forced himself to take a deep breath, gulping up air as the portal behind the both of you fizzled and popped.
“I can’t lose you too. I’d be so–” He hesitated, breathing in deeply just to choke on a sob. “I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.” He poured out the burdens weighing on his conscience, confirming your long-forgotten wonder that he was just as emotional when he was faced with his grief head-on; the same intensity seen in his short-tempered anger.
You simply hushed him, cooing reassurance that he accepted with greed. “Nothing is going to happen to me.” The rational fear being expressed aloud made your shoulders shake and head buzz with anxiety, but you steeled yourself at the reminder of Miguel melting into your tearful embrace like putty. You needed to be strong for him when he wasn’t, just like how he pushed himself to the greatest extent his body can endure all the times before.
“It’s just, I can’t lose where I come from.” You worked at ridding his foot from your webs as your serene tone accompanied his sniffles, his breathing settling out bit by bit as you continued to finally explain yourself. In regards to Miguel's quietness, you genuinely thought he was listening. “You can’t keep me away and shield me from my own mistakes, O’Hara. It’s just not possible, I need a home to thrive and protect. Without my people, I’m going to disappear as well.” A snap of your webs trapping his limbs finished your little speech, indicating that time was up and you had a job to do.
“I’m.. worried.” He mumbles aloud, like the sentence itself was foreign on his tongue. “These creatures from foreign worlds, they are drawn to your universe as if there’s a pulling force. I haven’t been able to figure it out. It’s so infuriating, it’s like I can’t do–”
You intercept his little tangent as you grab his chin and lift his gaze to meet yours’, an unsaid question hanging into the atmosphere like an old letter to a former self. Do you want this? Is this okay? I’m scared of messing this up.
The question is answered as Miguel’s grasp finds purchase in your flesh, claws digging into your thighs like if he let you go you’d fade along with everything else of his. In a messy, salty clash of teeth against fangs and tongue against lips, Miguel lapped up every inch of your mouth like he had to memorize every crevice of your entire being. It’s as if the two of you have synchronized, being able to suspect slight changes in each other’s mood as he grew more needy with the introduction of desire bubbling against the forefront of your mind.
“We can do this.” You murmured into his cheek, hands dancing over his suit in case this was the last time you’d ever be blessed with his presence again.
Miguel nodded, heaving for breath before he snatched one last kiss– sincere and genuine and full of unfiltered affection. “Yeah,” His nose met the crook of your neck, grazing each curve it stumbled upon.
“Together, mi alma.”
#i just think miguel needs to cry really hard#idc if its mischaracterizing#my writer's block is kicking my ass#i have a could drafts i'll finish this weekend that are super fluffy so expect that in a little#anyways sorry this is so short#next stuff is a lot longer in comparison#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara angst#miguel o'hara comfort#miguel o'hara hurt#miguel o'hara x reader#x gender neutral reader#x angst#x comfort#x hurt#miguel ohara#miguel ohara x reader#across the spiderverse#across the spider-verse#across the spiderverse x reader#into the spider verse
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#DRUNK AS THEY WATCH MY SHATTERED EDGES GLISTEN
mirrorball husband miguel
reverse comfort - fluff
father! miguel o'hara x spouse!reader , (gn)
use of y/n
~
you held your daughter in your arms as you multitasked, trying to boil some water as she rested her small head on your shoulder.
when you finally got the kettle on the stove, you moved to the nursery to tuck gabriella in, pressing a kiss onto her forehead as you let her sleep.
you were curled up in your bed, sipping on some tea as you read. you knew that miguel hated when you stayed up later just for him, but you loved the smile he'd unknowingly show when he saw you were awake.
you yawned softly, glancing up when you heard your bedroom door opening, gasping in surprise at the sight.
you were used to everything, always eager and prepared to help him stitch up random cuts, or tend to his bruises, maybe even sticking a couple hello kitty bandaids on his knees, or at least that's what you thought.
his eyes were rimmed a dark red, he looked so unbelievably dejected it made you want to cry too.
"oh poor baby.." you murmured softly, sliding out of your warm bed as you walked towards him, taking his larger figure into your arms as you stroked his hair.
he shook slightly as he wrapped his arms around your waist, burying his pretty head into your shoulder.
you knew it was hard for him, you knew he didn't want to admit it. you noticed how he came home a little later and woke up a little earlier. you noticed how he started to appreciate the smaller things in your far from mundane life, dropping gabriella off at playgroup, then you at work, or coming home earlier and surprising you with dinner.
you weren't stupid, you noticed all of it.
"y/n, i-" he cut himself off, "i'm so sorry" he mumbled between light sobs, you felt the fabric of your shirt slowly dampening.
"don't apologise" you mumbled in return, rubbing his back with your palm, "let it all out."
you let him cry, whispering sweet nothings into the skin of his neck.
eventually, he pulled away. looking down into your eyes.
you smiled gently, needing him to know that he was okay, that you were here for him. you wiped his tears with your thumbs as he lovingly gazed into your eyes.
"are you ready for bed?" you whispered, gazing right back at him.
"yeah" he innocently pressed his lips to your forehead, giving you a tighter squeeze before pulling away. you slid back into bed, watching as he changed into his pajama pants.
he eventually got into bed himself, holding you tight against his bare chest. your fingers danced around his white scarring as his breath hitched.
"y/n?" he asked, his voice raw. "i- nevermind."
you glanced up at him, wondering if you should question it or not.
instead, you shuffled up slightly, pressing your lips onto his.
#YOU'LL FIND ME ON MY TALLEST TIP TOES, SPINNIN' IN MY HEELS, LOVE, SHINING JUST FOR YOU.
idk how i feel abt this
#miguel o'hara#astv#fluff#miguel o'hara astv#miguel o'hara fluff#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel ohara x reader fluff#miguel o'hara x you#miguel spiderman#miguel o'hara husband#miguel o'hara x reader angst#hurt/comfort#reverse comfort#i wihs i had a husband#gender neutral y/n#miguel o'hara x gn!reader
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hii i wrote this fic a while ago but just got this app again so im gonna post it here too! hope y'all like🙂
Something's Off...
tags: fluff, lil angst, death mention?? idk lmk if i missed anything
Ever since Miguel, your husband, came back home from running errands a few days ago, you can't help but notice that something is off. He's more muscular, his dark brown eyes that now hold a hint of red are more tired than ever, and he looks at you and your daughter like it's the first time he's seen you in years. And does he have..fangs? Slight differences, sure, but differences nonetheless.
You stand in the middle of the living room, about to put something on the TV for you and Gabi to watch. Suddenly, you feel a pair of big arms wrap around your waist from behind and someone's head rest on your shoulder, kissing your neck. You shudder and goosebumps run up your arms as your heart pangs with a feeling you can't quite name.
"I missed you.." Miguel whispers into the crook of your neck, lightly squeezing you tighter and planting another kiss on your neck.
Confusion creeps upon your face as you hesitantly respond, "I missed you, too?"
The man sighs contently, his breath hitting your neck and making you shiver. "Oh, where's Gabi?" He raises his head slightly.
As if cued, Gabi skips in sporting her favorite princess nightgown, babbling about the current drama going on in her second grade class. She stops when she sees Miguel and squeals excitedly. "Papi! You're home!" She giggles, running up to her father. Miguel turns around and beams down at the little girl, scooping her up into his arms. "Ay, mija!" He kisses her face and tickles her sides, and Gabi starts laughing and telling her father to stop.
Your heart sinks as you watch your husband hold Gabi, your mind screaming that something isn't right. However small they may be, the differences keep playing in your head. You look at the father-daughter duo, uncertainty written all over your face.
Miguel continues to play with his daughter and eventually stops tickling her, letting her catch her breath. He chuckles and looks over to you, seeing your expression. "Everything okay, hun?" He notices you staring at him, your gaze filled with hesitation. His eyes widen slightly, realizing that you know something isn't right. "What's wrong?" He asks again, his voice gentle.
You shake your head and plaster a fake smile on your face. "I-nothing, just, um, tired.." You lie through your teeth. "Come on, Gabi. It's late, let's get you to bed, yeah?" You take Gabi from Miguel's arms, quickly carrying the girl to her room. You chuckle softly as she tries to protest going to bed, unaware of Miguel watching you through narrowed eyes.
You lay her down in her princess themed bed, tucking her in and leaving a kiss on her forehead. You turn on her nightlight as you exit the room, closing the door behind you. You begin biting on your fingernails, deep in thought.
You bump into something as you walk, looking up slightly. You didn't hear Miguel walk over. You turn your head, beginning to walk away before the man grabs your chin and turns your head to face him, his eyes searching yours. "Cariño, what is it? What's wrong?" You swear you feel your heart stop, your eyes widening as he leans in to study your face. You stumble back a little, letting out a nervous chuckle. "Uh-nothing! Just, I had a long day?" You continue to lie, deciding it would be best to keep your doubts to yourself, not knowing if the man in front of you is dangerous.
Miguel watches you closely, not convinced. "Hey, don't lie to me. I can tell you're nervous." He moves your head side to side, sighing. "You know, don't you?"
Now you're sure your heart stops, all the color draining from your face as you look up at him. "Look-I don't know who, or what, you are, or where you came from, but you're not him. What did you do with him?" Your voice shakes with fear as you back up again, terrified.
Miguel's eyes widen, shocked at your accusation. What did you do with him? He takes a step closer to you, trying to remain calm and make you understand. You had to know the truth.
"Hermosa, listen to me. I'm not him, it's true." His hands move to cup the sides of your face, making you look at him again. "I'm not him. But you need to understand, I'm not here to hurt you, I promise. Just let me-" You cut him off by shaking your head, struggling in his hands as tears begin to prick your eyes.
"What happened to him?" You continue to struggle. "Let go of me! Please!" A few tears roll down your cheeks as you get more worked up and scared.
Miguel removes his hands from your face, letting you go as you beg him to, tears falling down your face. The sight of you like this makes him want to cry too, all he wants to do is hold you. He takes in a shaky breath, regaining his composure. "Please, sit down. Please listen to me." He pleads with you, his voice cracks slightly as he begs you to hear him out.
You look up at him, still confused and scared. You hesitate, but slowly nod before walking into the living room and sitting on the couch. You hug yourself, your hands squeezing your elbows as you watch him sit across from you. He rubs his hands on his knees, letting out a deep breath. "I know this is going to sound crazy, but I need you to believe me when I say I'm telling the truth." He looks into your eyes with full honesty and sincerity, waiting for your response. When you look at him and nod, though still a bit skeptical, his lips curl up into a soft smile before he continues talking. "I'm..from another dimension. Your Miguel, I.." He pauses for a moment, thinking of the best way to phrase it. "I replaced him. Though you seem to have figured that out."
He looks at the ground before looking back to you. Your face contorts with confusion as many questions flood your mind. You hesitate, thinking of what to say first. "That's not-How is that possible?" Is what you decide on, looking at the man across from you with genuine curiosity.
Miguel sighs with relief as you take in the news much better than he thought you would. "I figured you would ask that. Um, my universe is..gone. Destroyed. Erased." You look even more confused but continue to listen. "I had nowhere else to go. When I found this universe, when I saw that you and Gabi were here, I.." His voice trails off and he hangs his head.
You look at the man with pity, sorry for his loss that you're not quite sure you understand. "So then-" He raises his head to look at you again. "So then, where is he? Everything else makes enough sense, I guess, but what happened to him?" You ask, referring to your husband and saving all the questions you have about there being multiple universes for later.
Miguel bites the inside of his cheek before taking a deep breath and sighing. "To put it simply, he's..he's dead.." He looked at you before closing his eyes. He couldn't bear to to see the immense amount of pain and shock on your face. "He sacrificed himself for the safety of you and Gabi." He opens his eyes after you don't talk for a few moments.
Your heart drops and the reality of his words sets in. You cover your mouth with your hand and place the other over your heart. You can't control the tears that start to stream down your face. You would've rather been told that he's being held captive somewhere, he's in a different dimension, just as confused as you, anything but this. "He..he's gone?" Your voice cracks and your shoulders shake as you let out a choked sob, slightly muffled by the hand still over your mouth.
Miguel gets up from the couch and walks over to sit beside you. He wraps an arm around you, his hand resting on your shoulder. "I know, I know.." He coos, rubbing your shoulder as he comforts you. "I'm here for you and Gabi. You two can count on me, I promise. I've searched through countless amounts of universes to be with you again. I know it'll take time for you to trust me, but I'll be with you every step of the way, if you'll let me.." He looks down at you crying and squeezes your shoulder lightly, letting you know he means every word.
You pause, thinking about it. This man holding you is not your husband, but he is? He feels like him, smells like him, sounds like him, and travelled to another universe just to have another chance with you. After a moment, you lean into his touch, laying your body against his broad chest as tears continue to spill from your eyes.
Miguel lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding in as you lean against his chest. He wraps his arms around you, holding you tight. He looked up at the ceiling, thanking whatever higher power for the chance to have you in his arms again, even if it had to be like this.
"Mama?" You turn to see Gabi standing by the couch, rubbing her eyes. "What's wrong?" She asks, yawning.
You sit up a little, wiping the tears from your eyes. "Oh, nothing, baby. I was just thinking of this sad movie I watched the other day." It hurts to lie to your daughter, but you decide it's best to save the true reason for another day, if that day ever comes. You pull Gabi into your lap, running your fingers through her curly hair. "What are you doing out of bed, sweetie?"
Gabi sighs and lays on your chest as you play with her hair. "I can't sleep! I told you I'm not tired." She yawns again and you giggle. You're about to get up to take her back to bed before Miguel speaks.
"You want me to get her to sleep?" He offers, looking down at you. "That way you can get some rest?" You look up at the man, still a little uncertain, then nod.
"Mhm, that'd be nice." You sit up slightly as Miguel stands from the couch and takes Gabi off your lap. "Come on, nena. Let's get you back in bed."
He places Gabi on the floor and takes her little hand in his hand, leading her back to her room and helping her get into her bed. "Want me to read you a story?" The girl sleepily nods and Miguel picks a book before starting to read to her.
You sit on the couch, alone in the living room as you take a moment to process what just happened. You sigh and get up from the couch, going to your bedroom. You stop at Gabriella's door, watching Miguel read your daughter a story even though the girl is sound asleep. Your heart pangs with sadness. You walk to your room, sitting on the bed. You run your hand over the side where your husband sleeps, or slept. He's still here, it's just..not him. You feel tears prick your eyes again.
Miguel places a kiss on Gabi's forehead and puts the book he was reading back on her shelf. He leaves the room and closes the door behind him. He walks over to your bedroom and sees you sitting on the bed with a sad expression. "Querida." He whispers and you turn around. "Come here, please." He holds his arms out as you get off the bed and walk over to him.
Miguel raises your chin to look at him before taking your hands in his. "I need you to listen to me." He says, looking deeply into your eyes. "I'm not your Miguel, I know that. I know you're confused and scared, but I would never hurt you, I would do anything for you and Gabi. I will love you if you let me, just, please.." He promises and pleads with you, squeezing your hands.
You look down at his hands holding yours, then back to him. You take a moment to look at his face, seeing the sincerity engraved in his features. The honesty and love for you rooted in every wrinkle, freckle, and perfect imperfection. You move your hands from his and step closer, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist and laying your head on his chest.
Miguel gasps, his breath catching in his throat as he looks down at you. It takes a second, but the warmth of your body on his courses through every fiber and vein in his being. He wraps his arms around your body and rests his face on the top of your head, mumbling a small "thank you" into your hair.
You stay like that for a moment, embracing each other. Miguel slowly moves a hand up to your face, softly cupping your cheek. You look up at him.
"Can I, um.." He hesitates, not sure if he should finish his question.
But you nod, leaning in closer, just slightly. Not enough to close the space in between you, but enough so that he can feel your soft breaths hit his lips, enough that he can appreciate every single one of your features up close for the first time in what has been forever. Every moment spent away from you has been an eternity, and he finally has you in the palm of his hand again. You're close enough that he is reminded of how deeply his love for you travels. That if you asked for his heart on a silver platter, he would happily supply you the blade strong enough to tear through his flesh and ribs that have always been made for you. In every dimension, he is made to love you.
He leans in closer, your lips brushing against each other. He looks into your eyes, silently begging for permission.
You breathe out a laugh and close the distance left between the two of you. Your lips connect with his and he makes a noise of surprise. He closes his eyes and pulls you even closer, terrified to let you go. His lips move against yours and he hums, relishing in the feeling of your mouth on his. His tongue darts out and he tastes the flavor of your chapstick, the same in every universe.
You sigh and he takes the chance to deepen the kiss, his tongue meeting yours. You move your hands up, one moving to his neck and the other moving into his hair. You play with the hair at the nape of his neck and stumble backwards, the backs of your knees hitting the edge of the bed.
The kiss breaks as you both gasp for air, but you hold each other close nonetheless. Miguel moves his hands down to the backs of your thighs, lifting you up. You get the hint and wrap your legs around his hips. He carries you over to the side of the bed and places you onto it, his eyes never leaving yours. You lift the blanket and slide your legs under it as your husband walks around and crawls into the other side of the bed.
Once you're both under the covers, Miguel doesn't waste a second and draws you close to him again. You wrap your arms around his neck and his arms wrap around your waist.
You both smile softly at the other, appreciating what's in front of you in the darkness of the room.
"I missed you.." Miguel whispers, tucking your hair behind your ear.
"I know." You smile and place a kiss on the bridge of his nose.
---
transferring this was HELL so i hope the formatting isn't too bad😭 thank you for reading if you did💓 currently working on another one whenever i got the motivation!!
#miguel o'hara#atsv miguel#miguel x reader#fluff#little angst#hurt/comfort#kissing#married couple#across the spiderverse#spiderman
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Nowhere to Run: Part 2 (Miguel O’Hara (Spider-Man 2099) x Spider-Woman!f!reader)
Read Part 1 Here
Pairings: Miguel O’Hara (Spider-Man 2099) x Spider-Woman!f!reader
Warnings: Miguel helps reader through a panic attack (descriptions based on my own experiences but not necessarily perfectly written down), mentions of isolation and isolation-related trauma, references to child loss, scars
Summary: Living in Nueva York and working with the Spider Society is pretty great... except for Miguel O’Hara, the man who injured you, saved your life, and now refuses to speak to you. Luckily, Peter B. Parker loves interfering in Miguel’s life, so when you’re at your lowest, it’s Miguel who is there to help you through it. ~ 2,200 words
Angst, hurt/comfort, happy ending
A/N: This is still dedicated to the Miguel O’Hara editors on TikTok as well as the people leaving the comments. There are light spoilers for AtSV (I made up an ending for BtSV since this is set after that).
--
Two Months Later…
Miguel O’Hara kept his promise. His Spider Society ran all kinds of tests, searching for an explanation for the rapid evolution that provided your the ability to travel the multiverse. Best they could guess, you had been close to the epicenter of your world’s implosion, close enough to absorb some of the energy leaking from what was essentially a black hole devouring the universe.
Another Spider-Woman had given you a more advanced goober - no, gizmo - to keep you from glitching and destabilizing the place they called Nueva York. It was Miguel’s home, she’d explained, and the home base of the Spider Society that kept watch over the multiverse. You’d started volunteering for missions with them, happy to be doing some good. It made you feel like a hero again, like there was a point to all the sacrifices that led you here.
But you hadn't seen Spider-Man 2099 since he dropped you off at a Nueva York hospital and huffed an order to “make sure she gets stitched up, and for god’s sake, get her some food.” That was two months ago.
--
“I can’t believe you bring a kid here.” You waved to Mayday who was sitting on her dad’s lap and trying to steal his food with her webs. For some reason, Peter had given her a web-shooter… as if toddlers weren’t difficult enough.
“Neither can I, honestly. But she loves these guys. Especially Miguel.” He frowned and took a bite of empanada. “She’s borderline obsessed with Miguel actually. I think it’s because he has such climbable shoulders. It’s good for him to see her too.”
“Meaning?”
“Ah nothing.” Peter waved off your question.
An awkward pause filled the space between you and Peter B. Parker. Just ask him, you told yourself.
“Is Miguel avoiding me?” Blunt. Right to the point.
“Ummmmm…” He drug out the word for far too long, looked to his daughter for help, seemed to remember she couldn’t do more than babble random sounds, and then sighed heavily. “Yes. He feels bad about…” Peter gestured broadly to you. “About a year ago we had a little situation with this kid - I mentored him. Good kid. Smart,” Peter added proudly. “This kid, Miles, made Miguel rethink a lot of things. We started handling anomalies... differently, a bit more gently.”
“He calls this gently?” You touched your scarred shoulder.
“Ummmmm… no.” Peter scooped Mayday out of the air where she was now dangling from the ceiling. “You freaked him out pretty bad. I mean you are a huge anomaly. Dangerous. He sort of, uh, how would those kids say it? Oh, yeah, he ‘went off the deep end.’ You should hear him tell the story.”
Mayday babbled incoherently.
“Yes ma’am, it does all seem a bit romantic when he tells it doesn’t it?” Peter cooed to Mayday then grinned at you.
You blinked once. Twice. Romantic?
Mayday went zipping away. Peter stood and sighed.
“Gotta get this kid, but I’m sending him to see you.” He took off after his daughter who was expertly navigating a minefield of other Spider-People (and animals). “Promise!” Peter tossed over his shoulder.
You seriously doubted Peter B. Parker would be able to convince Miguel to talk to you. And that was just as well because by the time you made it back to your room, it was turning into one of your bad nights. It was illogical. How could you could be fine for and suddenly a panic-stricken nightmare-ridden mess one random night? But then, the human mind is an enigma even to itself, the traumatized mind even more so.
It happened when you walked into your room and found yourself suspended in complete darkness. You followed the same routine every night, but today was different. Blackness surrounded you and closed in. You could see nothing, not even the hand in front of your face, and something tightened in your chest, clamped down on your lungs. For a second, you had control of the thing, were reaching for the light switch. Then you were spiraling.
Your mind was no longer in your safe room in Nueva York surrounded by the Spider Society who had taken you in and protected you and even become your friends. No. It was trapped in the silent and endless darkness of a collapsed universe, utterly alone, smothered in deafening silence. Your breath came in rapid, shallow pants, and you stumbled back until your knees hit the edge of the bed. You sat down on the soft mattress, drew up your knees, wrapped your arms around yourself, bowed your head, and tried to breath through it.
Caught in your panic attack, you didn’t even hear two familiar voices arguing, or see the light from the hallway fall across the room as the door was pushed open, or notice the shadows that loomed in the doorway.
“I know what you’re doing, Peter,” Miguel snarled.
“I’m not doing- why’s the door open?”
Miguel noticed you first. The dim room was the perfect environment for his sensitive eyes to make out your hunched form and trembling shoulders. In an instant, he was kneeling in front of you, an act that confirmed every one of Peter B. Parker’s suspicions. He watched for a moment from the doorway before taking a step back and closing the door with a click. Miguel had this under control. He was sure of it.
--
A deep voice, gravelly as if it were being drug over stones whispered your name. It wrapped around you, held you tight, and pulled you above the thrashing waves. That crushing feeling in your chest relaxed ever so slightly, and finally, you managed a deep breath. Then a second. It’s okay now. The worst is over.
After the third breath, you looked up and searched the dark room in a search of the voice’s owner.
Two dimly glowing red orbs shone in the darkness. You knew exactly one person with red eyes. Slowly, your own eyes adjusted, and the broad outline of Miguel O’Hara materialized. He wasn’t wearing his usual vibrant suit, just a dark colored sweater. Even kneeling on the ground he was still tall enough to be eye level with you. The two of you stared at each other for a long second before Miguel slowly raised a hand and... and brushed his thumb across your cheek?
What was happening? All you could do was blink stupidly at him, but when you didn't shy away he brought his other hand to your face. He smoothed his thumbs over your cheeks. He was wiping away your tears so gently and with such concern it seemed impossible. His hands were soft, softer than they had any right to be, and those dangerous claws that had done so much damage to you earlier were nowhere to be seen.
“You’re safe. You’re here with me.” Miguel’s voice was so commanding; he was obviously accustomed to giving order, but that actually made it more reassuring. “I’m here.”
I’m here. For some unexplainable reason those words reassured you more than anything. You didn't even think, just did. You slid forward on the bed and buried your face in the broad muscles of Miguel’s shoulder. His sweater was as soft as anything you could have imagined, and his warmth seeped through the fabric. He smelled like fresh laundry and something more woody and musky.
Miguel haltingly wrapped his arms around you, awkward at first, before he pulled you in closer. He held you like that for several long minutes, running his hands across your back and drawing small circles with fingers until your breathing synced with his.
Since coming to this place, the most physical contact you had with anyone was the occasional hug or handshake or Mayday crawling up your arm. Before that it was Miguel holding you in the rain while he sucked his venom - you had confirmed that it was venom - from your body. Before that you had been trapped in a collapsed universe or on the run. Before that... well, being Spider-Woman was a lonely job.
To be held like this was the most comforting experience you had in longer than you cared to remember. You didn’t want to let go. Even when you realized that in this position Miguel was kneeling between your legs you didn’t let go.
Eventually, he shifted with a quiet huff. You pulled back immediately. What were you doing? Miguel definitely didn’t want you all over him. What could you have possibly been thinking, using the man who actively avoided you for comfort?
Miguel stood and stretched. You looked away, suddenly self-conscious.
“Thank you. I’m okay now,” you muttered.
That was an obvious lie. The man tilted his head as he gazed down at you. He knew what this loneliness was like, how it felt to have wallowed in solitude for so long that you forget how to feel anything but alone. His eyes shifted to your shoulder where a tank top did nothing to hide the four long scars he had left in your skin. You tracked his gaze and immediately tried to cover them with your hand.
“I’m okay,” you repeated, hinting that he could go even though part of you - an insane, irrational, needy part of you - wanted him to stay.
Miguel ran his fingers through his wavy brown hair with a sigh before sitting down, uninvited, on your bed. Next to you. He sat down next to you. On your bed.
Miguel O’Hara was handsome. You never denied that, especially now while he was inches from you smelling the way he smelled and radiating much needed warmth. The temptation to lean into him was strong, but not strong enough to override your embarrassment that he, of all the Spider-People, had seen you at your lowest point.
“I thought you were jumping through the Arach- the Spider-Verse with bad intentions. I had no idea you were running… from me.” The explanation came out of nowhere. Miguel turned to look down at you. “You had the potential to cause a lot of damage, and I panicked. I forgot you’re one of us, and I hurt you, and I’m sorry.” Another long pause. “My claws have never poisoned anyone before.”
The apology was genuine, you could hear it in his voice. Some invisible barrier between the two of you shattered then.
“Are you saying you didn’t mean to kill me with your venomous talons, you only meant to seriously maim me with your regular talons?” You could feel a smile growing as you tried joking with him.
Miguel looked back at the bed spread. Should you? Was this a good idea? You threw caution to the wind and leaned over to bump your shoulder against Miguel’s.
“Hey, it’s okay. We’ve all made mistakes. Glad I was threatening enough to scare you like that.”
“That’s not what- okay.”
“You can look at them. If you want, I mean.” You nodded to your scarred shoulder.
Slowly, as if afraid to scare you off, Miguel smoothed a finger over the scars. They were deep and jagged, but had healed rather well all things considered. His hand on your neck startled you for a moment before you realized what he was doing. Four tiny scars from his fangs still decorated your skin, and he was tracing his thumb over each one.
Miguel felt you swallow, realized what he was doing, and then froze. A single second stretched into an eternity during which you could confront every thought racing through your head. He’d chased you for months, but he had a good reason. He’d hurt you. Then he saved your life. There was that thing Peter said about Mayday being good for him. And Miguel’s sad eyes and ever-present frown. And how warm he’d felt while he held you. And the ripples of muscle across his entire body.
He’d kept his promise not to send you back. And he was handsome. Handsome and sad. So instead of pulling away and kicking him out and going back to avoiding each other, you leaned into him.
There was nothing awkward about Miguel’s movements this time. He wrapped an arm around you and maneuver you both until you were laying down, curled up against his side, head on his shoulder, his arm around your waist.
“What is going on?” You whispered.
“I’ll stay here until you fall asleep,” Miguel whispered back.
“Okay, but why?”
“Because... because I know how it feels to lose everyone and have no one to hold you.”
You looked up at him then. He was staring at the ceiling, some memory you couldn’t see dancing across his eyes. Peter said Mayday was good for Miguel then refused to answer any more questions. The frown lines. How ferociously he protected the multiverse. Mayday was good for Miguel. Mayday. The kid.
It hit you then, and it should have been the most obvious thing in the world. Miguel had lost his family, probably in circumstances not too different from your own. You wanted to know everything about the Spider-Man with the fangs and venom and the saddest eyes you had ever seen. Not now though.
Already, you felt sleep tugging at the edge of your consciousness, a sense of safety and comfort brought on by Miguel’s presence.
“You could stay until I wake up,” you offered drowsily and splayed a hand across his chest. “If you want.”
Miguel ran his fingers lightly over the back of your hand.
“I think I might.”
--
A/N: There is a teeny tiny potential for an 18+ Part 3. No solid plan yet, but possible. Thanks for all the love on this fic!
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𝑳𝑬𝑻 𝑰𝑻 𝑮𝑶
🔞 𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐎’𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀 𝐗 𝐅𝐄𝐌! 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: a day in the life as a Resident in Nueva York’s Medical Hospital with miguel o’hara
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: medical terms (i'm no expert in medicine. i study law.), mentions of bodily fluids, loss, denial, the reader has MAJOR mommy issues (like miguel-), and heavy imposter syndrome. brief mentions of sex, suggestive comments, and ofc OOC MIGUEL.(FLIRTY ASS FOOL—)
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: +4.5k words
𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: (new aesthetic?) yeah… I watch Grey’s Anatomy. sue me. but that show has some good drama. part two might be around the corner, i really want to make this timeline make sense. And I based this heavily on a couple of episodes in Grey’s Anatomy! (Like I mentioned, I don't study medicine and if there are errors, I am sorry!)
This is dedicated to the gossipers; all of you need some love. 💌
"Mom," You meek out, seeing her asleep on that usual brown leather recline with a blanket. "Yes, mija?" She groans out from where she sat on her seat. "I've been thinking—" She turns her head to you, showing those exhausted eyes to you—those exhausted, dull, dead-set eyes you were used to seeing as a child. "Don't think." She mumbled. "It's a waste of time." She grumbles lowly. "Well, I was considering going to Stanford and—" She hummed before it slowly became a lowly laugh. "Ay, mija. You silly girl." She grasped onto her glass of wine, soon taking a well-needed gulp.
"Stanford has a low acceptance rate! They only accept four percent of applicants! They wouldn't even glance at your GPA or application! Don't think about even using nepotism to apply!" You look down at the red wooden floors in the living room, hiding away your embarrassment like a dog hiding its tail between its legs. "Sorry, mom…" You conjured up, not daring to make eye contact.
"Go homebound or something…!" She murmurs in a low tone before slouching on her recliner. "Stanford… Que estupida." She brings her blanket up to her chest more to cover herself.
Entering your childhood bedroom, the Stanford University letter sat on your mattress, waiting to be opened. While grabbing the letter, you tossed yourself on the bed and held it up in the air, seeing the crisp letter before you.
Here goes nothing…
/
The sound of birds with the drizzle of rain greeted you out of your sleep. Your blanket was nearly slipping off your figure, with your pillow barely holding onto the edge of the bed. You let out a low groan from the back of your throat, soon opening your eyes and looking over to your right. The red digital numbers on your nightstand read a number you didn't want to see.
05:25 A.M.
It was too early to start your day as an intern. But something woke you up for a reason.
"Hey, you…" The sudden burst of cologne and a warm embrace snapped you back to reality as a nuzzle to your cheek was the first thing you felt other than the strong arms around your waist from your one-night stand. Your underwear on the floor, along with the man’s boxers, said everything.
"You need to go…" You sighed, soon grabbing onto your pink blanket to cover yourself, and got out of bed. "What's with the rush? Get your ass back into bed; we can pick up where we left off last night." You rolled your eyes, gathered your disregarded panties and bra, and threw them in the laundry basket from nearby. "No, seriously. You have to leave. I'm kinda running late for my job." You sat on the bed, letting out a well-needed big, quiet yawn. To the man, the sight you gave him was adorable. But to you, you looked like hell.
The man grabbed his boxers and his clothes, bunched on the floor, and gave you a sight while dressing up again. The man has the back of an adonis.
"Enjoying the sight, cariño?"
"No," You pause, not even remembering this man before you while giving you a free show of him putting his clothes back on. "Miguel." He intervenes, almost reading your train of thought, barely taking off for the day. "Nice place you got here, very Victorian." Miguel cleared his throat, looking at the antique furniture. "It was my mother's." You huffed, not thinking about your words.
"Oh, I'm sorry about that…"
You looked at him in confusion, trying to conjure his words. The sinking realization brought you back to reality as you collected yourself. "Oh wait! She's very alive, not dead. Breathing and living." You exasperated, slipping around the blanket tightly around you. A chuckle filled the space as he kissed your temple gently. "Will I see you again, chiquita?"
“No.”
"No?" He found the response more amusing than anything. He adjusted his shirt slightly before running his fingers through his messy hair. "Well, yeah? You can leave now because I'm going to take a shower, and when I'm done, you better be gone."
"I can just join you—" He adds, pulling you into a warm embrace.
"Just go."
/
The smell of rubbing alcohol and cleaning supplies filled the space, along with the hustle and bustle of doctors and nurses walking or running. You heard the manic talks of men and women were heard as you held onto your tiny purse of belongings. "Hey, girl!" A gentle nudge on your shoulder greeted you. "Oh, Jess!" You smile, acknowledging your ride or die. "Who are you interning for?" She smiles, adjusting her braids.
"The humbling reality."
"The humbling reality?" you questioned, nearly laughing at the persona. Yeah, it's Dr. Parker." She laughed, grasping her lunch bag. "Yeah," you chuckled, holding your purse. "I just didn't expect that nickname."
Jess shrugs. "Most residents call him that because of how he behaves." It was nothing but the truth. The man is in his early thirties, burned out, and has a baby. It's the only thing he talks about. It's endearing. "He always shows pictures of his baby to interns, so get ready to get bombarded."
/
"Alright, rule number one: Don't wake me up unless there is an emergency. I rarely get sleep at home since my baby girl is teething. She's been keeping me up."
"What a way to start my day as an intern…"
Following Dr. Parker or 'the humbling reality' felt like a task while you and the other interns caught up with the exhausted man. "If you have any quiet time, take it as a time to take a quick nap or to snack on something in the cafeteria." The man turned on his phone to glance at the time. "But I can't promise that it will last a while."
The phone's backdrop you glanced at revealed a tiny redhead playing presumably with his stethoscope, putting her mouth on the chestpiece. "Where's the cafeteria?" A voice questioned.
"Wish I can tell you, but you're gonna have to figure it out." Peter huffed out before grabbing a couple of pagers from a counter and glanced at them, soon handing them out to you and your interns.
"Another thing," He pauses momentarily before pointing at a specific door. "That door is the on-call room. Other doctors and nurses always take these rooms. So, sleep when you can, where you can."
A beep sounded as it cut Peter off during his mini-presentation before looking at the four interns, including you. "Another rule, please follow me."
/
"Ay, mija…" The older woman greeted you and Peter amongst the group of interns. Peter stays silent for a moment before he chuckles. You recognized the nurse before you, causing you to bite your tongue. "Did one of my interns catch your attention, Ms. Rodriguez?" Peter made his way over to the older Hispanic woman. The older woman nodded and gave you a weak smile. You smile in return, looking down at the ground.
"Peter, no need for formalities. Just call me Nurse Sofia."
Nurse Sofia, a scrub nurse you remember seeing a lot as a child, worked next to your mother for many years. She always brought you your favorite gummies or chips whenever she visited your mother. (Against your mother’s wishes.)
The memory of this older woman took over, and you ignored her conversation with Peter. The memory of her taking care of you while your mother was away in the hospital plagued you; how she would feed you her home-cooked meals, bathe you, and tuck you into bed always brought a smile to your face. The woman always made it a task to take you in as her own.
There were moments where, as a child, you saw her more as a mother than your birth mother.
Your train of thought ended as Peter placed a clipboard into your hands. He speaks to you, using your name to get your attention.
"You'll be taking care of Ms. Rodriguez." He pats your shoulder before he leaves with your other colleagues. Jess gives you a quick thumbs-up before following Peter along. The door behind them closes with a soft click, and you flip through the pages on the clipboard and sigh.
"It seems you'll be taking care of me instead." The older woman smiles gently and reaches out to hold your hands.
"I will try my best."
/
The first shift as an intern dragged on as you sat in the cafeteria with Jess, looking at the bland sandwiches and fruit cups before you on your tray. "I heard that you're looking over Nurse Sofia." Jess breaks the silence before she takes a bite from her home-cooked meal. "Yep." You huffed. "Didn't she take care of you?"
You nod, biting into the bland sandwich.
"She was my mom's, I mean, Cecilia’s scrub nurse."
Jess stopped eating her homemade pasta and put her fork down. A voice cut the conversation before the woman could ask more about the nurse. "Wait, is your mom the Cecilia?" Jess turned to look at the voice and at the other intern.
Her wavy, black hair got tied up in a messy bun, showing off her dark eyes and fair skin. She looked at you and frowned. "Your mom is Cecilia?" She then chuckled and did a second look. "She was the best surgeon here; what happened? Did she retire or something?" She sneers.
"Yes, she's vacationing in the Bahamas." You retort to her, not appreciating her attitude. The woman put her hands up in defeat, slowly hurrying away from the conversation. "Didn't mean to push your buttons." The woman sighed slightly, poking away at her salad.
"Xina, just stop." Jess sighs.
"Stop what?" The woman, now identified as Xina, leans back in her seat and gives you a shit-eating grin. "We all know that her mother is the Cecilia—" Jess glared at Xina, an informal form of telling her to shut up.
Xina shrugged before she looked off to the side and perked up a little from her reclined position. "Oh look, Dr. McDreamy, three o'clock," Xina smirks before fixing her hair and making herself look presentable. You glanced over to Jess and saw a disturbed look on her face. "He's mid." Jess shrugs, earning a chuckle from you before you look up to see this "Dr. McDreamy" Xina was talking about.
Oh… Oh no.
Miguel?
Peter B stood next to Miguel with a clipboard at hand while having a half-eaten donut on the other, having small talk with each other before you see Miguel roll his eyes at probably some crappy joke Peter told him or at an inconvenience he told him.
You looked down at your plate of half-eaten sandwiches and cleared your throat. "Yeah, Jess is right; he's mid." You coughed out, feeling the dry bread lodge in your throat. You grabbed your soda and took a small sip, relieving yourself.
You missed the person you were a few seconds before his head turned to look in your general direction. And then you felt it. His gaze fell onto you.
Oh fuck.
You looked down at your plate, almost as if the sandwich before you was the most exciting thing you saw the entire day, despite you looking at Ms. Rodriguez's yellow eyes and urine sample. "Hey," He calls out to you, enough to make you feel your heart drop to your ass.
"You're the intern shadowing me, right?"
What? No! Damn it, humbling reality! Did he switch me to be with this himbo??
"Maybe..." You answer flatly, shyly eating away at your dry sandwich. "I am."
Miguel nods and beckons you. "C'mon. You'll follow me this entire day instead of Peter." Miguel grumbles, not looking up from the clipboard.
God damn it.
/
Following Miguel around felt like a task more than anything. You would have to brisk around with purpose to catch up with the man. It was enough to piss you off. The final moment you caught your breath, you entered the elevator and took a deep breath. "You walk slow," Miguel grumbles, waiting for the doors to close. "Well, some of us are average and not as tall as you." You angrily huffed as you leaned back against the cold elevator and took a breather.
"Finally," You huffed angrily.
Silence carried the small space as the two of you stood silently. Tensions were rising like a tide on a full moon. "Dr. O'Hara-" Your words ended when Miguel chuckled at the formality you brought. This was someone else entirely in this elevator. Does he do this behind closed doors?
"Dr. O'Hara? This morning, it was Miguel. Now, it's Dr. O'Hara." He chuckled as the metal doors of the elevator closed. The color on your cheeks seemed to have failed you, but he didn't acknowledge it now. "Well, we should pretend what happened last night never happened." You breathed out as you moved a strand of hair away from your face.
"Pretend what never happened? The part where you were sleeping with me, or you nearly kicking me out of your home?" Miguel asks, adjusting his glasses.
"There goes that charisma you think is going to work. It is not." You heaved angrily, ignoring the growing feeling of embarrassment flushing onto your cheeks.
"It worked last night."
"You shut up. You've done nothing but become an inconvenience." You lowly grumble, crossing your arms and sighing. "I can become something else entirely in this elevator."
Just as he said it, you can hear the innuendo in his words.
"Dr. O'Hara," You scoffed, looking up at him. "This is highly unprofessional!" Miguel chuckles and ruffles your hair, leaving it into a muss. "I'm making a line, and you're crossing over it." You state with a firm tone.
You fixed your hair while making eye contact with the man you had a one-night stand. You give him an annoyed expression while doing so. The two of you stood in silence while the elevator continued up. "Well then, is this line imaginary or drawn with an Expo marker?" He croons, stepping close enough to smell his musk.
You pursed a frown on your lips, annoyed that this conversation was even happening, let alone see your sneaky link.
"Alright, chiquita, let's put this conversation on pause. It seems like my patient needs our help." The elevator dinging out loud filled the small space before the doors slid open. He rummaged through the pages before nodding with the information he was reading.
"Take her to radiology for an M.R.I. Beep me whenever you're done with that." Miguel demanded, handing you the familiar files of Ms. Rodriguez. You sighed, clutching onto the clipboard, and looked into blank space.
"You want the Whipple, correct?" He questions, giving you that all too-familiar smirk. You look at him again for a moment before you nod and get off the elevator first.
/
"I am so blessed to have you care for me, mija." The older Hispanic woman beamed weakly while you wheeled her to the first floor, more towards the ER area. "You know, there are different types of surgeons," Sofia continues as some doctors and nurses wave at her. "There are the types of surgeons who remember their patients' names, the ones who forget, and the ones who remember the surgeries."
"Your mom always remembered those surgeries."
You nodded to her words, and some hospital nurses greeted her and squeezed her hand. "Nurse Sofia," some greeted her, while some patted her shoulder. You exhaled and let the wandering doctors and nurses greet her before entering the radiology wing. "I'll be fine," she chuckled, disregarding the comments of worry and panic. You huffed out, not of irritation but of worry. This woman, who has raised you as her own, trusts her life in your hands.
"Let's get you ready for your MRI," you sigh, bringing the two of you into the radiology wing.
/
You hurried through the hallways of the hospital, holding onto the charts close to your chest. You halted in front of a whiteboard scribbled with surgeries planned out throughout the day. Skimming through the board, you hoped to see Nurse Sofia's name or even a mention of a Whipple.
No... Nothing... Nothing about a Whipple. Did he forget?
You made your way to Miguel, ignoring the slight fluttering-like feeling in your stomach. The fluttering feeling is enough to make you throw up in fear, but wanting to avoid any word vomit that could escape as well. "Dr. O'Hara," You called out confidently, standing straight like a pin. The moment his crimson eyes meet yours, the liquid feeling on your knees is enough to make you melt into a puddle of a warm, gooey concoction like honey on a marble counter.
Ignore the feeling, ignore the feeling, ignore the feeling-
"I see that you don't have Ms. Rodriguez scheduled for a whipple." You commented, ignoring the butterflies in your lower stomach. "Yes," Miguel replied. "Do you want me to write it down and schedule it?" Miguel furrows his brows and shakes his head. "I want to see her biopsy and overnight labs." He disregards your comment by adding a somewhat irrelevant comment instead.
"But we're still doing the surgery, right?" You ask, trying your best not to plead. But the look on your face said otherwise; the look on your face made it look like you were a kicked puppy wanting reassurance from its mother or owner. "The woman has pancreatic cancer; we're gonna do something." He forces a chuckle out before he ruffles your hair with his hand into a muss.
With furrowed brows, you felt a pout form and growled from the back of your throat. "You know what? No, can I talk to you?" You reprimanded, standing your ground.
"The floor is all yours, sweetheart."
You lead him from the busy space into a quiet hallway on that same floor. "I like what you're thinking, chiquita." He sneers. You glared at the man and shook your head. "What? NO! Get your head out of the gutter!" You demanded, deciding to lead the conversation.
"Have you Ms. Sofia's overnight labs and her liver panel?" You demanded, swallowing away the flutter in your heart. "Yes, and ...?"
"Yes? That's all you have to say? No, there's more to it. You know that the results suck. She is choking on her own vomit-" Your words come to an end as Miguel intervenes with his words.
"She is a very sick woman-"
"A sick woman with the need of the Whipple!" Your words silence the empty hallways, only hearing the sound of a draft. "Excuse me? Since when are you? Her surgeon? You are an intern following my orders." Miguel firmly questioned, flipping away from the flirty persona. He took her biopsy results away from your hold and read them. Your hands grasp the charts and pull them down from his view.
"No, don't look at those! Screw what that says! Because you know what I think?" The sense of heat rose to your cheeks, not the kind you get when you do something foolish but something of anger...
"I think that you didn't want to do the operation. You think it's a massive waste of time and want her to die here!" You scolded your words like venom, briefly pushing your feelings for the doctor away. The slight rise of his brow showed a look of being impressed, but the corner of his lips said otherwise. The subtle twitch makes you want to take those words back so severely that you want to get on your knees and take back your improper words. But what happened, happened.
But no, no backing down about what happened.
The silence and tension between the two of you is enough to suffocate anyone if they step into the space, almost as if they were in hell's gate. Heat crawls up your neck painfully, feeling it bubble up like boiling water in a geyser in Yellowstone waiting to be erupted. No words were exchanged as Miguel swiftly left the space, leaving you alone with your regret and embarrassment of literally yelling at your late-night rendezvous.
/
You sighed as you looked out to the dark outside of Nueva York, seeing the city lights brighten the horizon. You entered Sofia's room and sat in one of the chairs. A long exhale escaped, and you felt like your knowledge of the medical world had disappeared like you'd been a headless chicken running around. "How are you holding up?" the woman asked, turning her head in your direction.
A nervous laugh escapes, causing you to clear your throat awkwardly. "I feel overwhelmed." You nod with the statement, rubbing the exhaustion out of your eyes. Sofia hums and sighs. "You are like your mother, kind of." She chuckles. "Her whole life is about her knowledge about being a surgeon, and here you are, doing the same thing." You rolled your eyes playfully at her words.
"Think about something else?" She suggests, getting herself comfortable on the hospital bed. "It helps me when I'm overwhelmed."
You humor her and let your mind wander in the blissful silence you spared yourself.
The pull of being in a jungle gym fills your mind. You remember how you moved through the monkey bars as Sofia cheered you on, watching nearby from the bench she sat on. Or you remember taking early morning strolls with her during the summer while your tiny hand grasped hers firmly. Or how you let the mom label slip out, calling the scrub nurse your mom by mistake a handful of times.
A smile tugs at your lips as you recall the vivid memories, recalling your childish antics with her. "Be like your mother when it comes to diligence and adaptation, but be yourself for me."
The beep from your pager snaps you back into reality. "I got to take this," you tell her. With a simple nod from her, you return the gesture and hurry out of the room. "I'll see you soon?"
"I'll always be here, mija..."
/
Days staggered, like a blur of events mushed together, like making a week turn into a day with consecutive tasks. As the days passed, Sofia didn't seem to be better but worse, making every little task impossible. It felt like seeing her dance with the grim reaper at the edge of a cliff with such grace, a dance you never wanted to witness. But that waltz would come to an end...
You stepped back into the same room for the umpteenth time this week, going to nurse Sofia's room. "Morning, Sofia." You greet her with a lighter, soft tone. "Mija," The woman beckoned you to her, waving her hand to you.
You made your way to her, lightly grasping her hand. "It feels like the old days, doesn't it?" She quips weakly, soon having a small coughing fit. "Take it easy, Sofia..." You whisper to her, soon making your way to her. A mere silence fills the space before you break the silence. "You knew that you weren't going to get the Whipple. Didn't you?"
You breathed out. The older woman with graying hair nods slowly, slowly stroking her thumb against your knuckles. "Yeah, I knew."
"Why didn't you tell me? You would have saved me a lot of trouble from Dr. O'Hara."
The older woman shook her head and chuckled. "It was about time you stand up for what you feel."
Your heart dropped at this, and embarrassment painted your cheeks. "How did you...?" You breathed out before you shut your mouth. "Word spreads like crazy here in the hospital. It's like a wildfire in California; there's no way to stop it."
"Thank you for taking care of me..." Her cold hands began to tremble, tightly holding your hand. "Shhh... Don't speak, Sofia..." You whispered to her, feeling your heart accelerate uncomfortably as you anticipated the worst.
"I'll always be here..."
Her eyes drooped, clutching your hand with the familiar firm grip you remembered as a child. She had the exact grip whenever she took you to the park or around the neighborhood for a walk. "Sofia?" The barbed wire grip around your throat became suffocating while the burning sensation was at the brink in your eyes. You put your stethoscope on quickly and tried to hear a heartbeat. Nothing. "Mom?" You slipped out, trying not to sob on the spot.
"Sofia, stay. Please?" You begged, suddenly feeling like a seven-year-old once again.
It felt as if your body did the motions themselves, rushing over to push the alarm button and rushing back to her to initiate CPR. "No, no, no... Please, no." You breathed out, seeing some nurses come to your aid.
"Someone page O'Hara." You breathed, continuing with the chest compressions, narrow-minded to your surroundings.
"She's a DNR." A nurse tells you, looking at Sofia's charts and paperwork. "No!" You howl, continuing with the chest compressions, feeling tired and worn out from the motions. "Doctor, she's a do not resuscitate-"
"What the hell are you doing?" The familiar voice fills the space as you glance at Miguel's scowl, indicating sleep deprivation. "Let her go," Miguel demands, making his way over to you. "No." You bellow, barely holding it together. "Let her go! She has a DNR." Miguel pulls you away, nearly yanking you away in midair. "Okay!" You yelled out, looking down at the ground to hide that pained look on your face.
The mere two seconds felt like hours as you took in steady breaths. You looked down at your trembling hands, feeling sudden uselessness in your system.
"Call it..." Miguel demanded, snapping you out of it. He tried to make eye contact with you, but it was impossible as you looked at the white hospital tiles. The nurses began to turn off the heart monitors and continued with their procedure. You nod slowly and let out a shaky sigh. "Time of death... 06:23." You nod before you swiftly leave the room past the nurses and Miguel.
/
You sat by the stairwell in the hospital, trying your damn best not to cry in the middle of your shift. But the tears rolling down your cheeks showed signs of defeat. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." You sobbed to yourself, wiping your tears away with trembling hands.
"You fucking blew it, Cecilia was right..."
The heavy door to the stairwell caused your sobbing to come to an end and to look at the source of the sound. "C'mere..." The voice croons to you like you were an abandoned kitten left in the cold rain. You didn't leave your spot from the stairwell, still sniffling and holding in your sobs, but the whimper-like animal noises made it an easy find.
Light footsteps head towards you while you stay hidden behind the stairwell. "There you are..."
You let out a slight whine before you started to cry loudly, using your white coat to wipe away your tears. Miguel kneeled down to where you sat and slowly reached over to you, pulling you into an embrace. You tried your best to squirm away but failed as he managed to hold you down. "Miguel, I failed her..." You choked out. "Cecilia was right-" You continued to choke on your words, barely forming your syllables and sentences.
"Shhh... It's okay." He whispers, rubbing his hand through your hair. "Let her go, okay?" He whispers, trying his best to calm you down.
You nod slowly, soon accepting the embrace and sobbing into his chest, allowing your cries to vibrate on his chest. "We did everything we could. It's okay, I'm sorry..."
#miguel o'hara#miguel x reader#atsv miguel#miguel spiderman#across the spiderverse#miguel fanfic#miguel x you#miguel ohara fanfiction#miguel x y/n#miguel angst#miguel ohara angst#angst#hurt/comfort
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No more secrets.
I loved kinktober but I got tired from the lack of emotion aside from lust 😭. So here's a little idea I couldn't get out of my head.
Warning! : Reader had a toxic relationship with their ex, meant to imply that the ex was controlling and they often put the reader down
gn but implied fem reader !
This is my first little experiment with writing so I'm really sorry if it's boring 😭
You couldn't hide everything from him.
He didn't notice it the first few months you were together but he was oh so definitely noticing it now.
Miguel knew your relationship with your past lover wasn't the best, but he never knew any details.
He tried asking a few times but all you did was brush it off and tell him "it just didn't work out" or that it wasn't a big deal. He didn't buy a word of it but you were clearly uncomfortable about the topic, so he decided to quit pushing it.
It seemed normal to him at first, how you'd always put him before yourself. How you'd always listen to his opinions and use them to make a decision.
But no, it was far more than that.
How you'd ask him if what you were wearing was okay. Not in the sense that you were asking if it looked good on you, but in the sense that you were asking if he was okay with it. Or how you'd ask permission to to even the smallest of things, like going out with friends, or a quick trip to the grocery store. Hell, even if he was at work you'd send him a text, asking if it was okay for you to do almost anything.
"Y'know ya don't have to ask permission for everything."
"Just thought you'd want to know."
He felt like it just got worse and worse sometimes. How you'd always ask what shows he wanted to watch, or what he wanted to do.
"Why don't you decide this time?"
"Can't decide."
Sometimes you'd skip meals just because he didn't want to eat, even if you were literally shaking from hunger.
"You sure you're not hungry?"
"Yeah. Had a late lunch."
That was a lie. And Miguel knew it.
There were times he'd try to talk to you about it, but you'd just say you were trying to diet. Which was also a lie, but you'd always look like you were on the verge of tears when he brought it up, so once again, he decided to drop the questions.
One day as the two of you went out shopping, he saw you eyeing a dress.
"You like it?"
"It's a little expensive..."
Miguel didn't give a damn about the price. He'd do anything to see you smile. He surprised you with the dress a week later and you were literally sobbing, thanking him for getting it for you. This wasn't a new experience, of course. Whenever he got you something remotely over your budget you'd start going into spirals for days where the only thing you could get out of your mouth were endless thank yous and I love yous. Now he DEFINITELY knew your ex did you wrong, but he didn't want to push it.
Then it really got him worrying.
Miguel's boss had just dropped a bunch of work on him, he called you, texted you, told you he'd be home late. He told you he loved you, told you to eat, told you not to wait up for him. Yet, when he came home at 4.30 AM in the morning, he saw you waiting up for him at the dining table, his favourite empanadas on the table, nice and warm for him.
"Baby, you have an early shift tomorrow you really shouldn-"
"But I wanted to."
Things only got worse from that point on. Miguel was forced to stay at work after hours. And the part of it he hated the most? You literally wouldn't eat or sleep without him.
"Baby, please. You're ruining yourself."
"I'm fine."
Then came the final straw for Miguel.
Your friend from work called, saying you'd collapsed at work.
Miguel took no hesitation in rushing over immediately. Picking you up and taking you to a clinic immediately.
Apparently you'd been running on too little sleep and too little food.
Miguel took you home, calling his boss and taking a whole week off from work just to take care of you.
He fed you, made sure you got enough sleep, in all honesty you looked horrible. Dark eyebags, bloodshot eyes, pale skin. Miguel hated seeing you this way.
Once you'd finally gained enough strength Miguel was NOT going to hold back on his questioning.
You told him everything, how your ex treated you. How controlling and suffocating the whole thing was.
Miguel held you tight to his chest as you vented to him, he held you like you were the most precious thing in the world.
And you were. You were the most precious thing to him.
From then on Miguel made you promise to be a bit more selfish! No more putting him before you! Soon enough you felt like a different person, so much happier, so much more full of life. And you definitely got your sass back.
And even if you were being a little less selfless now, Miguel was still the center of your world. And you were his <33
#miguel o'hara#atsv#across the spiderverse#atsv miguel#marvel#miguel x reader#hurt/comfort#miguel o’hara headcanon#miguel spiderverse#miguel spiderman
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Perhaps a request for Miggy x scientist reader? Reader is a a former Alchemex scientist who used to work with Miguel. They have been working in spider HQ ever since the beginning of spider society. Both of them have been too busy to realize the bottled up feelings and emotions that is about to burst….
breaking beakers
miguel and a reader that's been by his side since day 1. since the treachery of alchemax, you've been loyal to miguel and his cause for protection of the multiverse. read bit by bit how your relationship with miguel develops, even if it's only something as simple as helping him administer rapture.
angst. drug usage (rapture). panic attack. absolutely love this request! i've never written a story where the reader was already a part of miguel's past so this is new and exciting for me. thank you, anon! i put my own twist, i hope you still enjoy reading ♡
dividers by @cafekitsune
breaking breakers
When you got paired up with your workplace's assigned asshole, you were more than concerned for your career than ever.
Miguel wasn't easy from the start. Arguments were one after the other, followed by complete silence in the lab due to the inability of either of you to take accountability. You had never really heard him talk or engage in conversation properly unless it was to scold or correct you for making, according to him, a quintillion mistakes.
It stretched you thin, you were close to asking the higher-ups to give you another partner, but you knew that they would ignore your protests so you put up with it. Besides, talking smack with your friends outside of work helped. Though, you knew that they were getting a little tired from it as well.
After a particularly harsh argument with him, you couldn't retaliate with anything witty to say. You sulked in your own corner of the laboratory for a while, until Miguel silently placed a small, steaming hot cup of coffee on your desk.
That moment had triggered the beginning of your actual relationship. Sometimes, the room would still be strung tight with tension, but it was better than awkwardly hanging around each other and waiting for yet another fight to start. It slowly turned into Miguel giving you rides home, Miguel buying more than just coffee for you, and Miguel staying at your place after he dropped you off.
Then he quit.
Or did he get fired? Liberated, in corporate terms. You didn't know the full story, you got a new lab partner one day, Miguel was gone, there was no coffee on your desk anymore. There was no comfortable silence.
It was difficult to get a hold on him with the moments that followed, you knew well that he had a tendency to brood, but never for this long. He didn't leave you on read, your messages weren't even going through. You searched his name up on social media and found nothing, a thousand other Miguels but not your Miguel. You reached out to his brother after a lot of thinking, but he couldn't come up with an answer either because his family didn't know where he went either.
Perhaps it shouldn't have upset you as much as it should have, Alchemax viewed their employees as expendable toys. You didn't mean to get attached to him, but you had breached that line very long ago ever since the first shouting match. He was your friend now, no corporation was going to get between at least trying to talk again.
When you had gotten a message from an unknown number, there were only two possible answers. A telemarketer or Miguel. Likely possibilities, a fifty percent chance for either. You thanked God that it was the latter.
The power that was held in that conversation had changed the trajectory of your life forever. Miguel helped arrange a time for you to meet, the second you caught sight of him, it erupted a feeling in you that you just couldn't bring yourself to describe.
He still looked like him, but otherwise different. His face looked more sunken in, eyebags, lines you hadn't seen on his face before. He was definitely taller, his physique was more built as well. What caught your attention the most though was his eyes, crimson red and deliberately drained of light.
Miguel, what happened to you?
It was a long, overly extensive talk. You shouldn't have broken down over it, the events that lead up to his timely demise at his job. It wasn't your place to cry over his misfortunes, but he looked like he didn't have it left in him to cry so you took that place for him. Alchemax was your breeding ground for innovation and evolution of human society, a little shady around the edges, but you knew that you'd still be helping people in the end. After this, your hopes in that place had been quashed. Clearly if they were heartless enough to treat one of their top geneticists like this, they wouldn't be any better towards the safety and care of the populus.
So you quit your job immediately. Miguel invited you to Spider Society and you gladly agreed, you were in no position to really decline. Besides, it was a good way to get you back on your feet again. You had become acquainted with the people that passed by in what used to be headquarters back then, Miguel trusted them with his life it seemed (despite him not being able to admit that himself though).
You'd find yourself in HQ more than in your own apartment at that point, you enjoyed being there. You had closer friends, Spider-People were better company than mad scientists anyway. You helped Miguel make this new, exciting thing from foundation to the top. It helped you become more social, it made you more comfortable opening up to people again.
You just didn't know that it was doing quite the opposite with Miguel.
You had blamed yourself for not noticing sooner, for not picking up the details that he wasn't doing as fine as he thought he was. When you found the doors to his office locked, you already felt your heart begin to race. You called out to Lyla and she was more than willing to answer back, "He's going through something, he hasn't really been taking his Rapture doses recently and-"
"Let me handle it," you said, firmly. "I can help him. I can fix it."
Lyla looked at you, just looked. She didn't feel, she wasn't supposed to feel exactly. She could act like it, her programming allowed her that at least. She made perfectly calculated decisions and perfectly calculated reactions to them, when she noticed a problem, she was supposed to fix it.
You weren't as accustomed to Lyla as other people, but you were aware of that as well. In spite of that, she still managed to be the light in conversations most of the time. Literally, when it was the dead of night, just you and Miguel strewing and caking together more reports, she'd find ways to make it more entertaining.
That means if Lyla looked at you like she did, with so much uncertainty and inner conflict. It was like her code turned to beat like a human heart, you could hear it in the swift moment of silent she'd left you in. The hiss and whir to Miguel's office doors reeled you back in, Lyla sighed. She shouldn't sigh, she never sighed.
"Do the right thing," she wished you off. God, I hope so, you thought to yourself.
It was dark, obviously. You were used to it, ever since Miguel told you about how sensitive his senses can get, you didn't really mind at all. There was still light that peeked from the corners, a small monitor here and there, maybe a secret window you just didn't know about. It was cozy sometimes even to evade the blinding sunlight and stay in the darkness with Miguel. But that's not at all what it felt like when you entered. It did not embrace you, it suffocated you.
There was no accompanied noise either, no beeping from a monitor, no whirring of a machine, and no idle chatter with him and Lyla like there would always be. It was the purest form of silence, the sound of your breathing and the small pats of your shoes against the cold, metal ground was all you could hear.
Miguel's platform was placed high up, there was absolutely no way that you could get to him without using a web shooter. Unless you could somehow convince him to lower his platform, which you really didn't want to do in the case you might accidentally say something stupid.
"Miguel?" You yelled, stupidly. Though, it would be more stupid to try and propel yourself up to the height of his platform. One option results in humiliation until the end of your life while the other option could result in the end of your life. You weren't really looking forward to experiencing the latter.
You thought you heard him mumble something, but before you could call out his name again, he answered back. "Get out."
The absence of cruelty in his tone was prominent to you already. He didn't have the heart to speak so coldly to you in the first place. No, he sounded scared, fearful, whether it was of you or himself, you were yet to find out the reason why. The priority right now was to talk to him, properly.
"Are you sure about that? I have a, uh, really important work file that I need you to review! The multiverse is at stake here, Miguel. Come on!"
Silence. For a few seconds. Before you heard the unmistakable click and whir of his platform, it makes its slow descent down towards you. Miguel begun to enter your vision, he had a chair pulled up and he was hunched over on his desk. Rare, you knew he liked to work when standing (oddly enough).
"You're a bad liar," he grumbled, not even facing you as he said it. You sighed as you stepped onto the platform, placing your hands on your hips.
"I wasn't lying, but your doors were locked and Lyla told me that there was something going on here." Miguel mumbled something else under his breath that you couldn't catch, he simply goes back to what to whatever he's doing. Which you really couldn't allow, but you couldn't push yourself into this. With him, there was always some sort of process.
You took the moment to observe your surroundings, it was unbearably messy in here. A feat that he'd somehow been able to achieve despite being way past the age of papers, there was clutter everywhere. From beakers, liquids of mysterious origin pooled around from here to there, and even... Blood?!
Your attention had snapped back to Miguel and that's when you had started to notice, how his shoulders rose and fell faster than usual, his hands ruffled in his hair, the rapid successions of his breath.
"Miguel," Shock the process. Shock waiting. He clearly wasn't okay, you knew that to the fullest now. In three short strides, you were already by his side. "What's going on?"
He shook his head. Okay, you didn't want to press him too hard into talking, but this wasn't something that you could leave alone. Hesitantly, you placed a hand on one of his shoulders. He flinched, so did you, but right now, you needed to be the strongest person in the room so you kept your hand there.
You tilted your head to the side, just so you could see his face, but he avoided your gaze. What entered your sights however was a discarded needle gun, yet to be picked up, and a few claw marks on the table.
So this was the Rapture that Lyla was talking about. You hadn't a single clue what it was when she mentioned it, you pretended because you thought that she'd lock you out if you hadn't. Even then, there isn't much you could deduce aside from the fact that it was a drug Miguel had to take. You heard very little about the Rapture studies back in Alchemax, it was very classified, and you wish you would have pried more.
"Do you need help with that?" You asked, trying to keep your voice as level as possible. Your thumb drew small circles into the muscle of his shoulder, his hands fell from his hair to his sides. He slumped back against his chair with a big sigh, and he nodded.
Shakily, you picked up the gun. There was no seat for you to take, so you decided on sitting on the table. When you leaned down, the nanofabric of Miguel's suit had dissipated, revealing the fullness of his arm to you. You attempted to steady your hands over the exposed skin, Miguel doesn't even wince as the little needles pierce through.
It will probably take a little while for the vial to empty out. You stewed in the silence with Miguel for a while, you'd usually use this as an opportunity to make conversation, but judging from his current state, he probably isn't one for talking.
You released the breath that you were holding in when it was finished, you set the device for the side. Your hand remained on Miguel's shoulder the whole time and it tightened as you asked, "Is there–"
"No. No, I'm sorry. I'm just-" Miguel took a deep breath. "I'm- not ready to talk about it right now. It's a lot, sorry for bothering you."
He still wouldn't look you in the eye, you looked down to his hands and saw him tugging and pinching at the fabric of his suit. He'd calmed down a little now at least, but still. You couldn't help but feel like you've failed somehow, you tried to put on what's supposed to resemble a smile to him. "Okay, that's fine."
When he dismissed you and let you (told you) to leave him alone, you promised yourself that you'd wait. You'd wait for him to be ready.
But maybe he never will.
#spiderman: across the spiderverse#spiderverse#across the spiderverse#atsv#miguel o'hara#miguel o’hara#spiderman 2099#spiderman#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o'hara x you#miguel o'hara x y/n#spiderman 2099 x reader#spiderman 2099 x you#spiderman 2099 x y/n#hurt/comfort#tw drug use#tw panic attack
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Hello, *sigh* I keep upsetting myself with these made up situations in my head, I’m in need of some serious angst to fluff right now 🙇🏻♀️🙇🏻♀️ (only if you want to write it of course🙇🏻♀️🙇🏻♀️) a miguel x reader where reader’s in love with him and reader doesn’t want children, but assumes mig eventually does. Is already heartbroken and hasn’t even told him yet, they’re probably over, right? What if he finds another variant of Gabriella who needs a father? He’d obvi choose her 😵💫…….. 🙇🏻♀️🙇🏻♀️🙇🏻♀️ angst 🙇🏻♀️🙇🏻♀️ to fluff please 🙇🏻♀️🙇🏻♀️ happy endings only haha
Obvious conclusions - Miguel O’Hara x reader
Warnings/tags: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader. Reader does not want kids. Angst, fluff, mentions of breaking up. Miguel and reader are in an established relationship. Mostly what you would expect from this. Very hurt-comfort.
No, I didn’t scream over someone requesting something and actually wanting to read my writing- you did.
You had always assumed Miguel wanted kids. Because… well- obviously.
You’d walked in on him watching the old videos of him and Gabriella one to many times to just…write it off.
And- yeah. It got to you.
You love him. You love him so much. You’d move mountains for him, you’d do any and everything in your power for Miguel. This is the man you want to spend your life with…
And it was easy to forget that you couldn’t. It was easy to block out the dark voices in the back of your head reminding you that it would never work. It was easy to just love and be with him for a night.
But for every night you did, your guilt only grew.
You were misleading him- practically playing with him. you were going to break his heart. You knew he loved you too, you’d seen how he’d linger by the engagement bands any time you two were near a jewelry store.
Because one day, you’d have to tell him. One day, you’d have to tell him that you… just didn’t want kids.
Maybe he would end things right then- immediately. Or maybe it wouldn’t happen right away. Maybe he’d try to convince himself he was okay with it at first. But you knew that feeling- that dark, creeping sense of wrongness. You knew that it would build- slowly and steadily until it was too much. Until he’d finally break and tell you that he couldn’t just be okay and accept not having kids.
But either way, you’d have to tell him… and it was probably best to do before he got even more attached.
Of course, you’ve been saying that for the past two years, and it’s yet to happen. It’s easy to make excuses, and you have a lot of them… but they won’t last forever.
It all came to a head one particular summer’s night.
It had been a… rough day. Miguel had been working more than usual lately- and you had worked yourself into a bit of a fuss. It had all just- built up. And now you were face down on you and Miguel’s bed, sobbing your heart out as your mind ran wild- creating worse and worse possible reactions for when Miguel found out you didn’t want kids.
One of your friends had brought it up, actually. The two of you were talking over the phone, and they brought up you and Miguel having kids.
They weren’t trying- but their words had weighted heavy on you the entire rest of the call. When you two finally said good bye, you couldn’t do anything but collapse and sob.
Full-on ugly crying. Your pillow was soaked in tears, snot, and a bit of drool. You laid there and bawled, mourning the loss of a relationship you hadn’t even lost yet.
You hadn’t heard Miguel get home from work, you hadn’t heard him call for you as he set down his stuff, and you didn’t even hear when he tentatively cracked the bedroom door open. You only, finally, noticed his presence when he came up behind you and pulled you into a massive bear hug- his calm, soothing voice rumbling through you. “¿Amor, qué pasa?”
You couldn’t bring yourself to put up a fight and try to convince him everything was okay- the words “it’s nothing” died immediately on your lips. Because it wasn’t nothing. Miguel deserved to know- he deserved to know the truth and be allowed to move on- to move on to a woman who would happy to give him the children he so desperately wanted.
You took a second. Relishing in the love and warmth of being held in Miguel’s arms for possibly the last time. You wanted to freeze time on this moment- because you wanted anything but for Miguel to leave you, but you couldn’t keep… pretending that you wanted the same future he did.
“I-I don’t want kids!”
Once you started talking, you couldn’t stop. It was like a dam had burst inside you, and all the pent up pain was coming rushing out.
“I love you so much- I love you more than anything and I’m so sorry- I’m a liar- I led you on. I-I always knew you wanted kids, and I knew it would never work between us, but I never told you- I-I just let you assume that I wanted that too. I’m sorry Mig- I’m sorry! I-I couldn’t tell you! I didn’t know how! I-I wanted to keep you and pretend it would all work out!”
Miguel let you finish your break down, stroking your hair and holding your from behind as he listened to you lay your heart out bare for him. Once you finished, you were only crying harder. You were practically shaking in Miguel’s arm as he held you close. You were too choked up on your own tears to notice but, Miguel was looking a bit shocked.
“Sweetheart… first of all, I love you too. Second of all, where is all of this coming from?” He asked, his brow furrowed as he continued to stroke your hair.
You sniffle- coughing wetly as you choke on your own tears before managing to respond.
“I-I’ve seen you- watching t-those videos-“
Miguel cut you off, pulling you tighter against his chest and burying his face in the crook of your neck as he reassured you.
“The ones with Gabriella? Oh love… you thought I was gonna leave you if you didn’t want kids?”
You nod weakly- sniffling as Miguel continues.
“Of course not- if kids were non negotiable for me, I wouldn’t have gone nearly three years dating someone without even bringing the topic up!” - Miguel kissed you cheek, wiping away a few of your tears before nestling his face back into the crook of your neck and continuing- “I’m not going to leave you because you don’t want kids, sweetheart. Hell, I don’t even know if I want kids in the first place at all! ¡Estás trabajando sobre nada!”
“B-but Gabriella-”
Miguel once again cuts you off, giving you a quick squeeze and moving his hand to hold your waist- the other one still stroking your hair soothingly.
“But what? Gabriella isn’t my kid, and never was or will be. When I took her father’s place… it wasn’t just for her. It was what came with it… not being alone, being happy.” -Miguel pauses for a moment, swallowing thickly before continuing- “You know how all that ended… but that was a long time ago, and I’ve found that same happiness with you. I don’t need a kid to be happy- especially not if that kid doesn’t make you happy or would mean loosing the love of my life.”
You couldn’t help but feel shocked. You could hardly stop crying- let alone process what Miguel had just told you.
“Y-you…”
“Sí, amor. I’m staying right here.”
You squirm in Miguel’s arms, turning around so you were now laying on your side facing him- looking up into his loving eyes as he tried to wipe the tears from your face- only for you to bury your face into his chest and give one final sob. This time, one of relief.
Because your world wasn’t falling apart- because everything was going to be okay- because Miguel was here and holding you and he wasn’t gonna leave.
You feel his lips on the crown of your head- hear the sound of him pressing a kiss to your head as he strokes your back and holds you close.
“I love you.” He says, tugging the comforter over you two and making sure your head had a pillow beneath it.
“I-I love you too.” You respond- still hiding against Miguel’s warm chest.
“I want to talk to you about this a bit more later, just to make sure there’s no other misunderstandings or worries eating away at you, okay? But for now, how about we take a nap, alright?”
You sniffle, nodding weakly as the warmth of the heavy blanket and Miguel’s body pull a haze of drowsiness over your senses.
“I love you.” You say, mostly into Miguel’s chest rather than to him.
“I love you too.” He responds, gently petting your head once again as he presses yet another sweet kiss to it- cradling you against him tight as you doze off. As if, if he could hold you close enough, you’d be safe from all the doubts and worries he’d only just noticed that plagued you.
#miguel o’hara x reader#hurt/comfort#miguel o’hara x y/n#miguel o’hara fic#miguel o’hara x you#miguel o’hara x fem!reader#miguel x you#miguel spiderverse#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel x reader#miguel spiderman#miguel ohara#miguel o'hara#atsv miguel#miguel 2099#miguel x y/n#miguel o’hara fluff#miguel o’hara fanfiction#fem!reader#fem reader
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