satana-the-queen

[satana-the-queen]

I feel like no matter how much I revise a fic I’ll never like it.

🤑💯🔥hate it🔥💯🤑

[satana-the-queen]

vampire empire (or) we cry together.

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x reader

Word count: 1229

Warnings: angst, mentions of minor injury, hurt/no comfort, mentions of cheating

PS: I’ve never really posted a fic on tumble before so I have no idea what I’m doing

Brief excerpt:

“You leave without a trace for a month and a half and you want your job back?” His cold tone had never left for all that time. His shoulders were tense, and broader than you remembered. “You’re lucky I even let you back in here.”

The tension in the air was thick, thick with a disgusting amount of guilt and pain. You took a breath, the silence between you only furthered the tension, a sickly feeling forming in the pit of your stomach. Your eyes bore into his rigid back, his broad shoulders appeared stressed and strained. Your eyes wandered, taking in the total disarray of his ‘office’. Papers were scattered around the floor, the console next to him had claw marks etched into the controls.

Chapter 1:

“God I can’t fucking believe this.” You muttered through clenched teeth, a sour slime twisted on your lips as tears fell into the corner of your mouth, the salty taste invading your senses. He convinced you he would change, time and time again. You hated it, the way you were the pathetic little lamb that believed him. You were nothing but prey to him.

How could you be weak? You were fucking Spider-Woman. You were badass. He was the one that didn’t deserve you.

But you couldn’t help but blame yourself.

You were erratic, impulsive, hot-heated. And you heard the whispers. How could you not? The same ones that swore you didn’t have a place in the society, you were too emotional, a liability. But those weren’t the comments that hurt you. The comments that really got to you were the ones that said Miguel was too good for you. That he deserved better. The worst part was that they were probably right.

They sowed seeds of doubt no one could soothe. Miguel tried or whatever he called trying. Quiet words whispered in the bedroom late at night, full of care and affection, only to be washed away again in the morning. His cold words filled with ice seeped into your heart, making a home there, feeding into that doubt.

It was only a matter of time before you cracked.

You snapped out of your train of thought, fumbling to pack all of your belongings into the only case you could find in a hurry—it was small and poxy, but it was all you had. Your hands shook as adrenaline and fear coursed through you. You didn't even know where you could go. If you went back to your own universe, he would find you. If you stayed in this one, he would find you. But maybe he wouldn't search for you at all; maybe he would be relieved by your disappearance. It would be one less problem for him, one less stressor.

He was an enigma, your whole relationship was an enigma. You still couldn't decide what you'd hate more. Would he come for you? Beg and plead? Or would he let you leave. Forget about you, and everything you had? You wanted so badly for him to want you, to need you, to love you. You wanted him to feel all the things you felt.

Except you weren't even sure you loved him. It was hard to open up to anyone, let alone Miguel O’Hara. But somehow your walls fell down along the way. You never stopped long enough to wonder if it was love.

You glanced atop the kitchen counter, your gaze landed on his phone, it almost felt as though it was taunting you, reminding you of what you had found.

You knew his password, you had known for a few weeks. The niggling feeling picked at you day and night. The seeds of doubt were already sewn in your mind. They were all that occupied you.

It was time to put the restless thoughts to bed. You took a long, quivering breath, your hesitant hands reached to grab the phone. You managed to type the password in, your trembling fingers swiped through the photos. There had been some photos of the two of you that you’d forgotten he’d taken. You kept swiping and swiping through all the old photos, til finally there he was, with some unknown woman.

In one photo they were cuddling, you thought it may have been harmless, a totally innocent picture. That was until you found the photo of them kissing. The phone slipped out of your weakening fingers before you even had time to process it.

You paused, pouring yourself another glass of wine, your shaking hands struggling to bring the sweet red liquid to your lips.

You bent down to pick up the cracked phone, determined to collect all the evidence necessary. Then you found videos. Of little girl, of her playing soccer, of Miguel caring for her as she grew. And a woman, a woman whom he clearly loved, a wedding band present on her finger, one was present on his too. But this was a different woman, different to the one he’d been kissing in the previous photos.

He looked happier with his family than he had ever looked with you. A warm smile graced his full lips in all the photos, a kindness in his eyes, full of care and love. You envied the family, you envied miguel.

You hadn't a clue of what to do next, so you called Jess, she was the only one you could think of that would help you, that would know what to do.

She gave you a sad look, one of understanding and tenderness.

“It’s why he created the society. He caused an incursion.”

Oh.

It all made sense. It seemed every spider-person was destined for a life of tragedy. You just hadn't got Miguel's story till now. The times you'd caught him with Rapture, alcohol, or just being a workaholic. You chalked it up to the same issues everyone else had, Uncle Ben, Aunt May.

You should’ve asked.

But apparently his most recent vice, the one that helped him cope. Was this woman? If she made him happier than you? Then you'd just leave. It was the selfless thing to do.

Any justifications he had wouldnt offer you solace, you knew that. So you decided you would stick around long enough to hear them. You wanted him to burn, like you'd been burned. You wanted your disappearance to sting him. A scoff left your lips at the thought. He wouldn't care. You doubt he had the ability to care when it came to you.

The picture frame that captured you and Miguel in a loving embrace, the same one that Miguel made sure was placed on his side of the bed had now made a home on the floor, smashed into pieces. The shards covered in the crimson blood that flowed from your hand as you smashed it in your rage. You wanted it to be the first clue he got, the first breadcrumb of your whereabouts, or rather the lack thereof.

A million thoughts crossed your mind at once. Wasn’t I good enough? That was the thought that rushed through your mind the most.

You seemed destined for each other, He was Spider-Man and you were Spider-Woman. It sounded great on paper, and even better in person. You shared a connection that other people– regular people– couldn't comprehend. You knew what it was like to win, to lose. To lose people, to lose a lot of people.

You didn’t want it to be messy, you didn’t want it to be too obvious of what you had found out, but if you were known for something, it was your temper.

Before you walked out of the door for the final time, you eyes darted around the apartment, something akin to glee flashed in your eyes. the glass table was smashed into pieces, the metal door of the fridge dented, the TV glitching from the vodka you spilt on it, all the pictures of the two of you torn up and scattered across the floor, the walls were used as throwing boards for the kitchen knives.

A bitter smile couldn’t help but wipe onto your tear stricken face.