⋆✮↪ Warning: rambles, tangents, soft yandere!Miguel, weird Miguel, OOC!Miguel probably but idc, shy and useless reader
╭─── based on my first yandere!miguel tangent
┆
╰⪼ I want to dive into slightly more detail of how far Miguel goes in taking care of you. We have to keep in mind that Miguel has lost a lot, a whole universe, and his daughter. I imagine he'd be more of a normal boyfriend had he met you in normal circumstances. However, I also don't think you would've been his type for normal Miguel. You're more compliant, shy, and normal. You're also ditzy, clutzy, and barely scraping by in your home world. In front of the great geneticist of Alchemax and Spider-Man, he was definitely out of your league.
But, your normalcy and dysfunctional living habits create the perfect relationship for current Miguel. He's able to get away with so so so many things with you.
(You almost ran away once one night, but you stopped in front of the exit and hesitated. You were alone in this universe with no family, no version of your family existing in this world. You'd be a burden to the other Spider people, and Miguel is the only one doing more than just giving you a place to stay.)
For one thing, he sees you as a fragile little doll that was abandoned on the side of the road. Or a cute kitten. But more than a pet, he has to take care of every little inch and aspect of you. Having lost damn near everything, he needs to keep a close eye on the one he cares about.
The one he cares most now is you; you're all he's got.
Back to some of the things he'd do to you, well, they aren't harmful, just unnerving. He almost never lets you do anything yourself around the house. He let you cook once and you burned yourself slightly, and Miguel made sure no kitchen appliance like the stove or blender can turn on unless given a passcode. Even kitchen utensils especially knives were locked away. Don't get me wrong though, you can cook, but Miguel would rather die than see you wince in pain again.
You're allowed at least a microwave and airfryer to heat up food when Miguel's not home to do it for you, under Lyla's supervision. Believe me, if he's home, you're never lifting a finger in the kitchen, including dishwashing.
Speaking of cleaning, he actually quite enjoys cleaning the house, especially spaces you occupy in the most. He even carefully washes all of your clothes and underwear, and folds them away for you. The rest can be handled by other robots of course. He believes only he can provide you the best conditions to live in, no one and nothing else.
That includes care for your body. This is going to be the most prominent and unnerving aspect of his care for you. While him bathing you from head to toe almost everyday is tame, he's very particular in his details. Like mentioned before, he'd do your manicure and pedicure, your skincare routine (he even knows the weekly masks you put on), and haircare and hairstyling (he's done so much research, you'd think he's done this before. Mans multi-talented). But, there's a point when too much care becomes too much, taking care of your looks alone is not enough. Your health is PARAMOUNT to this man. Looks fade, but your health should not. He'd be a little strict on your diet. He'd frequently take blood, urine, and stool samples (and of course he does it for you, don't fuss, he will do it with force if he has to no matter how gross it is for the both of you) to monitor every part of your body. Depending on your family's history and genetics, he'd constantly test for anything that you may inherit that could harm you. Yes that includes your usual checkups like you would at your doctor. He is your personal doctor too at this point. It's not like you have insurance in Nueva York 2099, a whole foreign universe.
God another gross thought I have to put out there is that he used to watch you use the restroom until you convince him to just stand outside. He justifies that bathroom related accidents are more common than you think. 💀🤢🤮 (He does NOT have a piss and poop kink he's just WEIRD)
As for usual yandere behaviors, he'd obviously won't let you go outside of the house. If he has you in an actual house with a backyard, that's where you get your sunlight, but if he has you in an apartment, then the shielded off balcony and sunroof will suffice. For vitamin D purposes. Otherwise, he makes you take supplements if you are deficient.
The only thing, and I do mean only, he asks of you is to give him babies. Pregnancy and birthing are huge huge risks depending on your constitution. I imagine Miguel messing with your DNA so you can safely deliver him babies. (Or for you kinky folks, he'd rewrite DNA somehow to make your milk jugs overflowing with milk constantly)
Taking care of you is something that of a ritual for him. Something he looks forward coming home to doing, despite the countless responsibilties he has in the Spider Society. He'd actually get so upset if you took care of yourself without him. If the whole canon events theory he has is debunked, I imagine he retires and full sends in taking care of you 24/7 in every hour of the day. He already relays more tasks to Jess, Peter, and other Spiders than usual, so he can be home with you more.
With all the cooking, cleaning, and self care routine being completely done by Miguel, you basically can do everything else you want, within Miguel's reason. Only safe hobbies, like drawing, reading, shopping, watching TV, etc. He still monitors when he can, especially shopping, since he is watchful of where his money moves, but to also see if you're purchasing anything that could hurt yourself. He hopes that whenever he can, he could join you in your hobbies. He particularly enjoys dressing you up in his favorite outfits on you. He'll see a style online he wants you to try and spin his own twist to it. You'd be his little fashion model. He'd also definitely have photoshoots just for you. You also love dressing him up as well and making him join in on the photoshoots.
I feel like I have a few more unnerving ideas about my version of yandere!Miguel, but I'm stopping right here cuz its 2 am and I can't think anymore. Till next time. (I'll write an actual fic I swear I will!)
✩°。⋆⸜ 🎧✮
Tags: @belle-oftheball34, @mrs-oharaxx, @sukunash0e, @miguelswifey04, @wreakingmarveloushavok, @ghostofwinter, @crystalcrynight (LET ME KNOW IF I MISS TAGGING YOU OR WANT TO BE TAGGED FOR FUTURE WRITINGS)
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Phantoms of you (Ghost x F!Reader)
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
Summary: It's always easier to admit something when you think you have nothing to lose.
Warnings: Slightly suggestive, mentions of kissing, vulgarities, weapons, violence, death and destruction, mentions of food and birthdays, Simon is taller than reader.
Word count: <2.8k
Inspired by: Phantom of the Opera - Andrew Lloyd Webber
"And do I dream again? For now I find, the Phantom of the opera is there."
Author's note: I hope this is ok, i tried :')
Please give criticism! Also, if i missed any warnings, do tell me so i can add them!
The server had offered him a new job. Something about eliminating an ex-intelligence agent that had accessed the server.
He'll take any job. It doesn't matter how tough.
Anything to keep his mind off her.
("Oh my god! Yes!")
Her.
Her with somebody else.
(Her eyes sparkled as she looked at the man, offering a hand to help him off the floor.
Simon doesn't remember ever being able to make her look at him like that.)
Her.
Her and her new ring.
(She had held his hand so gently as he stood up.
She was always so, so gentle.)
His Dahila.
Fuck.
Simon slams the car door shut, and the loud sound temporarily silences the sound of her laughter in his head.
The mission, Simon thinks. Focus.
"What the hell, LT?" a man complains. "We're supposed to be quiet! What if we get caught?"
Not a bad idea, Simon decides. He'd gladly give himself up if it meant he'd stop thinking about her. He'll gift wrap himself up. Tie a bow on his head. They'd torture and mock him, and he'd thank them.
The pain of torture is a small price to pay to distract him from the ache in his chest.
Maybe he should include a thank you card as well.
(She had made him a card for his birthday.)
No, don't start now.
Ignoring his sergeant, Simon walks away from the car, pushing past branches to look over the cliff. A short distance below, amongst the trees, stands a dirty, small building about four stories tall. A small jump is all it'd take to access the roof.
(She had cut out little ghosts from papers of all colours and stuck them onto the front of the card.
"It's you, Simon! Mini yous!")
By the time Simon returns to the car, Soap has already laid out their weapon in the car boot.
"Get the rappelling gear out," Simon instructs, moving over to him. "A building with four stories. No windows. No enemies on the ground. Make a jump to the roof - it's a small jump - and head down. I'll head up and meet you halfway."
"Got it." Soap replies, leaning further into the boot to retrieve the gear, while Simon starts to check their weapons.
(She had sprinkled glitter all over the front page of the card. He was washing glitter off his person for days after. Gaz and Soap had made fun of him for weeks.)
Stop. Simon lets out a grunt and squeezes his eyes shut.
"Alright, LT?" Soap's voice is laced with concern as he hands the gear over.
Great, Simon thinks. Now Soap is worried.
"Nothin' to worry about," Simon curtly replies, placing the gear on the floor. "Carry on." He then resumes his weapon check, giving his rifle a once over.
(Inside, she had drawn an adorable picture of the two of them. A stick man with a skull face was him, while a stick woman holding a flower to his side was her. The two figures had a bent line attaching them to each other, which he assumes is supposed to represent them holding hands.)
Simon grabs a loaded magazine, missing the magazine well twice before finally managing to insert it into the rifle.
(Above the two figures, a 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY!' was written, every letter of a different colour. Simon had never known that there were so many colours.
Once again, she shows him that life is full of surprises, and he feels like a child discovering something new and exciting again.)
Simon reaches for his pistol, nearly dropping it as he checks it. He ignores Soap's concerned glance, opting to prove that he's fine by expertly reloading the gun.
(She had used stickers of trees and flowers to make a garden for the figures to stand in. The card is beautiful.
But the sight next to him was absolutely breathtaking.)
He ends up hitting the pistol out of his hands with its magazine. Soap looks away, pretending not to see his lieutenant's slip up.
Cheeks burning under the balaclava and white skull mask, Simon picks up the pistol, forcing it into his thigh holster with a vengeance. Standing up, he gathers his knives, inspecting each and every one of them.
(She was blushing.
Oh lord.
Her eyes shift from side to side as she fidgets with her fingers. She looks so shy, so precious, and so, so cute.
Hang him for lying if he said he didn't get an ego boost, knowing he was the cause. His hand clenches a throw pillow, fighting the urge to reach out and touch her and-
"Could you…turn to the back of the card?" she whispered her request, shifting uncomfortably on the couch beside him.
How could he refuse his beautiful woman?
Reluctantly pulling his eyes from her, he looks back down at the card, turning it around…
And is greeted by a blank page.
"Hm? There's noth-"
A hand cups his cheek, and there's a warm, light pressure on the other. He feels her press into his side, her warmth immediately spreading over his arms.
She's so close.
But it's all gone in less than a second.)
Enough, Simon pleads to himself. But it seemed the more he tried to run away, the faster the memories chased him.
The memories sting like salt in a wound, reminding him of what he had, and had so carelessly thrown away.
He should have been stronger. He should have had more trust in them. He should have explained what was happening and dealt with it together with her.
But he didn't.
(Simon stares at her as she pulls away, sitting back down.)
Fuckin' hell.
(She's nervous as she gazes up at him, face entirely flushed.)
Simon grips the hilt of his knife so hard it cracks.
(A second that feels like an eternity of silence passes.
She hides her face behind her hands.
Don't do that.
Gently pulling her hands away from her face, Simon pins them into the couch's backrest, shifting to stand in front of her.
"I'm so sorry! I should have asked you first I-"
"Don't do that."
"I'm really sorry! I'll-"
"Don't ever hide your face from me."
"Huh?!"
And the last of Simon's self-control disappears.)
"Bloody, fuckin' hell!" with a yell, Simon thrust the knife into the nearest surface, the blade digging deep into the inner side of the car boot.
"Jesus, LT! What's gotten into ya?"
(The feel of her lips against his. Her arms pulling him closer. The look in her eyes when he-)
It's too much. Every memory shatters his heart into impossibly smaller pieces.
Everything reminds him of her. He can't block it. He's always prided himself on having the perfect defence in combat, but when it comes to her, he's helpless.
(He could confide in her every dark thought, memory and thing he'd done.
She'd accept him as he is. Listening as he falls apart in her embrace.
And Simon thinks that for her, he wants to be stronger. To be better. To be a happier person, all for her.)
This has to stop before it gets Soap and him killed. He needs to calm down.
Simon examines the area. Recalling the route here, Simon remembers that they had driven past a field not far from their current location.
"We leave in fifteen. I need to take a walk."
"LT!"
Most people think intelligence agents are 'super spies' and carry out dangerous missions to obtain tidbits of information.
They couldn't be more wrong.
Intelligence agents are no different than regular folk. They run to catch the bus to work. They worry about rent. They wonder what they're having for lunch.
They really are just regular people. Minus the fact that they manage and collect top-secret military data daily.
As an intelligence agent, your role is simple. Organise and analyse the data you collect from espionage agents and send it to the respective teams that require them via the Special Ops server. It's pretty much an office job with regular hours.
(It is rare that intelligence agents would be assigned to work directly with special ops teams, let alone be able to speak with them.
"You'll be working with a soldier from the UK. You are temporarily relieved of all other duties until this mission is finished."
"A single soldier? Not a team?"
"Yeah, he's that good. Focus all your efforts on making sure he completes his mission.")
After the laptop crashed, Samuel freaked out.
("The fuck did you just do?" He shouts, reaching over to the laptop.
"It's normal for laptops like yours to crash when accessing the server," you replied, flinching when Samuel slammed the laptop shut. "Normal laptops aren't built to handle that much data all at once. You'll need to replace the CPU."
A lie. That wasn't why it crashed. But it seemed to convince Samuel.
"So? Who are they?"
"Task force 141."
"…That's all you've got?" He huffs. "That's not enough."
"If you get me another laptop, I can search up more." you plead.
He'll kill you and Max the moment you have no use.
You need more time.
"Ha! It'll just crash like this one!"
"But I'm faster than that," you assure. "Now that I know what team I'm looking for, I'll have enough time to access their files before the computer crashes again."
There's silence as Samuel considers your proposal.
"Fine," Samuel concedes. "I'll get you another laptop."
You fight back a sigh of relief.
Grabbing the broken device, Samuel walks to the ladder and climbs out of the basement, leaving you alone.)
Your sense of time has gone to hell.
You're not sure how long it's been since Samuel left, but you're thankful for a moment of solitude.
A lonely, final moment of peace before you either get burned alive with Max or get gunned down by Special Ops. You hope it's the latter.
Knowing how fast the intelligence team is, a Special Ops team is probably on their way to kill you. Or maybe they're already here, preparing to strike.
You retired from the intelligence team 3 years ago.
Accessing the server again means that Special Ops would come, and that's what you want. Thankfully, Samuel didn't know that. He's always been careless.
The Special Ops will come here, kill your captors and save Max.
But they'd kill you too.
To them, Max is a prisoner. But you are a traitor who sells secrets to enemies.
They won't hear you out. They'll shoot you and bring your corpse back for verification before dumping you into an unmarked grave.
Yeah, you've heard the stories. You've even helped to track down people like you before.
Tears cloud your vision, but you blink them away.
No, you can't cry. If you do, that'll make things worse.
("Let it out, love," Simon had whispered in your ear. "I'm here.")
God dammit.
("Hey, look at me," Simon's voice is gentle yet commanding. Dropping his gun, he cups your face. "I said look at me. You're safe now."
Your knees buckle, and Simon slowly lowers you to the ground. He held you close, rubbing soothing circles on your back as you sobbed into his vest.
He lets you stay like that for a while before standing and helping you up.
"We have to go.")
Pathetic.
You're going to die, and the only person you think about is him.
A tear rolls down your cheeks.
Him.
Him and the way he saved your life that night.
(There were tears in her eyes as she aimed the gun at you.
"Please…just walk away."
"You know I can't do that, Eliza-"
"Yes, you can! Just turn around and go!" Her grip on the trigger tightened.
"Eliza, please!"
"I won't shoot! I promise! Just go-"
A gunshot.
She was on the ground now. Something is pooling beneath her.)
Him.
Him and meeting in person for the first time.
("Are you alright?" a voice asks.
It sounds so familiar.
It sounds like him.
You can't respond. You can't move.
Your eyes are fixed on Eliza as she dies before you.
The sound of footsteps.
Now there's someone in a white skull mask before you, blocking you.
The only thing you see is him.)
You can't control it. You clamp a hand over your mouth as you begin to sob.
Him.
Him and the way he had carried you to safety.
(Simon had you in a bridal carry, darting through the trees as bullets whizzed past.
"Close your eyes," he pants. "It'll be over soon."
He suddenly lurches forward, and you feel his arm around you tense.
You let out a gasp. He's been shot!
"It's fine," he groans, readjusting his grip on you. "Hold on tight."
He doesn't stop running, even as more bullets begin to pierce his body.
His grip on you never loosened. Even when you begged him to let you down so you could help him.
He doesn't stop.
Not until you were safe.)
There are shouts from above, followed by the sound of gunshots.
They're here.
("I won't…let anyone hurt you," he had promised, voice slurring. "No…one, you hear?"
It took two medics to pull your hands out of his.
Still trying to protect you, even when delirious from blood loss. That spoke volumes about the strength of his resolve.)
You promised, you whimper. Where are you, Simon?
Wiping your tears, you let out a hollow laugh.
Of course you're not coming.
There's no Simon to save you now.
I want to see you, Simon. Just one last time, ok?
You humour yourself for a moment, squeezing your eyes shut. Maybe if you try and imagine hard enough, he'd appear before you.
Above, the pounding of footsteps mixed with gunshots intensifies.
I waited for you, Simon. Every day. I'd take the long way home after work just to check if you're at the bar.
Feelings you had locked shut come pouring out of your heart. But the one you wanted to give those feeling to isn't here.
I found someone new, Simon. He treats me kindly. He helps out at the shop sometimes. He proposed to me. We're getting married.
The shouts of men pierce through the basement hatch.
But I still take the long way home. I still wear the ring you made me. I still make you a birthday card every year.
It's quieter now, with only the occasional firing of a gun.
They're checking their kills. Your captors are dead.
It'd only be a moment before they check the basement.
Do you know why, Simon?
There are footsteps directly above you. You hear a man mutter something.
Do you know why, Simon?
You don't want to admit it, even if it's to yourself.
You hear the hatch above you open. Your fingers tremble. Your heart pounds inside your chest. Your squeeze your eyes even harder, preparing yourself.
You don't want to die. You're not ready to go.
I'm scared, Simon.
Someone lands on the basement floor. You hear the rustling of gear.
"She's here, LT!" a voice calls out.
You hear the sound of a gun reloading, and another person lands in the basement.
You want to run. You want the opportunity to at least try to run for your life. But Samuel had chained your legs to the chair. There's no chance of escape.
Do you know why, Simon?
One set of footsteps quickly approaches you. You clench your jaw.
"LT…?"
Any second now, the killing shot is coming.
Do you really want to leave without even admitting it one last time?
Do you know why, Simon?
"Because I love you, Simon!" it comes out more like a cry, than a declaration.
There, you've said it.
You still love Simon Riley.
You have never stopped loving him.
Despite your heart pounding in fear, you feel at peace.
There's silence in the room, but not a second later, it's broken by the sound of a rifle shifting.
Taking aim for your head, you suppose.
But just as you hear that, there's a loud thud and a groan.
"What the FUCK, LT!"
The loud sound shocks your eyes open. You look up from your lap, wondering what is dragging out your imminent execution.
Just to be greeted by the sight of a man in a white skull mask.
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The picture inside the card looks something like this:
I'm not an artist lmao. There's no colours so feel free to imagine it! Also i didn't include a hairstyle for the reader.
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