#MILLIONS OF ANGRY SPIDERS

[yeollie-plz]

Fill

Miguel O’Hara x F! Reader

Synopsis: You babysit Mayday, it puts thoughts into Miguel’s head.

Genre: smut!

Warnings: smut, 18+, breeding kink, unprotected sex, pregnancy kink, p in v sex, kissing, biting, fingering, choking, spanking, daddy kink slipped in there at the end

Gif credits to owners!

Miguel was expecting to come home to his beautiful wife, eat some food, maybe make love to her, and bask in each other’s warmth until they fell asleep. What he sure didn’t expect was to come home to said wife babysitting Mayday for Peter. You might have forgotten to mention to Miguel that you were babysitting tonight.

Honestly, you didn’t mention it because you didn’t want him to say no and Peter and MJ really needed the night out. No baby. So now you and your husband were going to have a night in. With a baby.

To say Miguel wasn’t thrilled would be an understatement. He was borderline angry with you at the “slip” of your mind. It’s not like Miguel hated Mayday in any aspect but the thought of you holding a baby brought up strange feelings inside of him.

He had tried for the year that Mayday has been around to try and push those feelings down. But every time he saw you even glance at the baby had him all in a fit. Miguel didn’t think he’d ever be ready for a child again, but seeing you so motherly was changing his mind.

I mean, he didn’t think he’d ever want to get married again and there you were changing his plans.

You two have had the baby talk before, as well. You were always so understanding of his past and never pushed him too far. But he did notice the disappointment on your face when he had said he never wanted kids.

Never? Why had he said never? It was such a harsh conclusion and in recent months, it was one he was regretting making.

He could imagine you now, belly full of his seed, a prominent bump showing what the two of you had made.

Shit. He needed to get those images out of his or he wouldn’t be able to hold back.

Shaking his head Miguel retreated to the kitchen, leaving you to continue to play with the baby uninterrupted. Busying himself with looking through the cabinets, like he wanted to cook something.

“Miggy?” You questioned as you entered the kitchen, Mayday perched on your hip. He turned and took in the sight, imagining what a mini you would look like. He sighed.

“Did you want me to make you something to eat?” You were trying to read the look on his face.

“No.” He grumbled and pushed pass you and into the living room.

“Miguel, I know you’re mad that I didn’t tell you. But it was an honest mistake. Plus, you know I love Mayday and since we-“

“Don’t.” He cut you off. Your mouth snapped closed at what you were about to say. Before you could apologize Miguel made his way to the bedroom, slamming the door closed behind him. You blinked in shock, you didn’t want to start a fight in front of poor little Mayday. This would have to be brought up later.

It was nearing the time that Peter was supposed to arrive to pickup Mayday. You were a bit sad to say goodbye to her but you were also exhausted. Suddenly, you understood why Peter didn’t even change out of his pajamas most days. Especially with a spider baby!

She stuck to everything! And being someone without powers, your knowledge on the matter wasn’t very strong. Sure, you knew a lot about Miguel’s powers but he was what…Spider-Man number 30 out of 1 million? You wished you could ask Miguel for some help.

Eventually you figured out the best way to unstick Mayday was to distract her. Show her a toy, play peekaboo, maybe give her snack. Anything to keep her hands busy and off your ceiling. You hadn’t heard Miguel much through the night. You figured he had gone to sleep or was silently doing some work.

When you agreed to watch Mayday, you hoped the two of you would be able to do this as a team. But obviously, that thought was all wrong.

Peter came about 30 minutes later, knocking on your door. Miguel heard the door open, a few words being exchanged, and a rush of thank yous as the door shut once again. In a few quick steps you were moving across the house and throwing open the bedroom door. Miguel’s wife was not happy.

“Really Miggy? Slamming my doors now?” Usually the tone of her voice would make Miguel instantly apologize but he was too wound up to care.

“Yes I’m slamming our doors!” His voice was slightly raised as he gave a lackluster response, cringing at himself.

“All this and because I decided to help Peter out! You know they never get to go out. We are their friends Miguel, we should be helping them out!”

“I don’t mind helping out our friends, but this favor…I just.” He groans, running his face across his face and through his hair. His usually tight posture, slumping in exasperation.

“What Miggy? What is so aggravating about that little baby?” Your hands were on your hips, face turning red with your increasing anger. He was not going to get away with throwing this tantrum.

“It’s not the baby that is aggravating! It’s me seeing you with the baby!” His eyes soften as he admits the truth.

You were shocked, not understanding the meaning behind his words, “I’m the aggravating one?”

“No! Mi amor, it’s how I can’t get the thought of you round and pregnant out of my mind. The image of you running around chasing a child that we created. I thought after everything that I would never want that again but…”

It finally clicks, “You’re mad we don’t have a baby!”

“I’m mad I’m not inside you right now putting a baby in you” His eyes darken and rake across your form.

He crosses the room in three long strides, wrapping his arm around your waist pulling your body into his. His lips ghost along your neck, his hot breath creating goosebumps on your skin.

His mouth reaching your ear, whispering, “Do you want that? Want me to get you pregnant, baby?”

You can only whimper in response, which eggs Miguel on further, finally connecting his lips to yours. Desperation coats the kiss as he basically devours you.

He nips at your lower lip, pulling away. Looking down at you he takes a step back, your body reacts instinctively and tries to close the distance again. He stops you by cupping your clothed core. A strangled noise passes your lips as he uses his other hand to pull your dress over your head.

“Mmm, wore this like you knew I’d want easy access. Always so eager for this cock, hm?” His deep voice and words cause you to get even wetter.

The hand on your core moves a bit to tease you. He feels your wetness, moaning in satisfaction.

“I might not even need to prep you, baby. Wanna breed you like you weren’t meant to be bred.”

His hand grips your neck leading you towards the bed. The hand now makes it way behind your neck and brings your lips to his once again. The force causes you to moan.

“Why don’t you get on all fours for me?” He says it like a question, but you know it’s a command.

You do as you were told and get onto the bed on your hands and knees. You let your knees naturally rest a bit apart, knowing that he will just adjust you if he needs it. A hand runs down your spine, sending a shiver down with it. It reaches your ass and gives a squeeze before landing a firm smack there. Suddenly you hear a rip and feel your wet core exposed to the cool air. You glance down realizing that he had torn off your underwear.

You gasp, “Miggy!” Usually you would’ve found this extremely hot, if those weren’t your favorite panties!

“I’ll buy you new ones. Besides until you’re pregnant you’re not leaving this bed. You won’t be needing panties for a while.” Okay, now it’s hot again.

He doesn’t wait for you to respond and inserts a finger inside of you. He pumps the finger in and out quickly, testing how wet you are.

“Already all wet and ready for me. Just how I like you.”

Quickly, he pulls the finger out and before you can even protest at the loss he pushes his dick fully inside of you to the hilt. Another gasp passes your lips at the intrusion. He gives you no time to adjust before setting a pace, ravaging your body with his thick cock.

He continues his assault, pushing deep inside of you before pulling out almost completely and repeating the action. The force of his thrusts are making it hard for you to think, let alone hold yourself up. But when you start to fall to your elbows, his hand is quickly wrapped around your throat holding you up.

“Have you at the perfect angle, can feel all of you.” Is all he says as his fingers tighten on your throat. Your vision goes black from the intense pleasure.

He fucks into you harder as the pressure of his fingers releases slowly, letting some air back into your lungs. When you have enough air, you are moaning out as a particular thrust hits the perfect spot.

“Miggy please, need you to make me cum. Need your cum in me.”

His large body incapsulates yours at your confession. The hand that was on your throat makes it way down to your clit, rubbing circles into it. His teeth bite down into your shoulder, sending a shock of pleasure through you as you cum hard onto his cock.

The clenching of your orgasm causes him to groan and falter a bit, before he regains his head and pace.

“Mmm, gonna cum in you baby. Gonna make you a mommy.” He says as he shoots his seed into your awaiting womb. His orgasm seems longer and stronger than usual as he bites your shoulder once again.

After he recovers, he releases your throat, letting you fall into the plush sheets. Miguel slides out of you and pulls your body into his. He rubs your back in slow circles, calming you both down.

Eventually you speak up, “So what do you think? Think it worked, daddy?” Lust drips from your voice at the name.

“Fuck, maybe, and even if it didn’t I’m ready to go again. Just want you so full of my cum that you can feel it with every breath.”

And fill you he did.

[miguel-ohara-eater]

The suit stays on 🕸️

(red: Miguel)

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(summary: he gets home early from work SUPER horny, and he gets right to it with the suit still on.)

CW: masked sex, creampie, angry sex, rough sex, face grabbing, uhh whatever it's called when you can't talk.

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you were laying in bed reading your favorite book, wearing one of Miguel's big shirts that went down to your mid-thigh as you waited for him to come home.

everyday was the same. you'd lay in bed, he'd come home mad, and you'd cheer him up.

it was the regular ritual, but you didn't mind. you knew his job was stressful and you loved him so you'd do anything to help.

just as you were daydreaming about him as you read your book, you heard the front door open and shut a little louder than usual.

you put your bookmark in your book, setting it aside on the bedside table and you sat up a bit.

he walked through the bedroom door, wearing his spider suit and his mask. he walked over to you, flopping on top of you before you could say anything.

"well hi." you smile and pull him up a bit closer as he wraps his arms around you, and you could hear his heavy panting.

"how was work?" you'd asked as you tried to take off his mask.

he pushed your hand away, burying his face into your shoulder.

"fine." he mumbled

you looked at him, a little confused since he normally wasn't this touchy, let alone since he was still wearing his spider suit.

"wanna talk about it?"

"no."

what a man of many words huh?

he sat up, his hands on both sides of your head and his knees next to both of your hips.

you looked up at him and raised an eyebrow, not able to see his face but he was panting.

"you good? you sound pissed." you went to go put your hands on his waist but he wrapped one hand around both of your wrists and pinned them above your head.

"I said I'm fine." he grunted, and you sighed.

"fine. what do you want me to do to help then?" you huffed

he didn't answer. instead he used his other hand to lift your (his) shirt past your waist and underneath your breasts.

when he looked down he saw you weren't wearing any panties, and since it was ovulation week you were already dripping. he let out a soft 'mmmh', pushing your legs apart with his knee.

"you're not gonna take the suit off?" he shot a web at your mouth, keeping your hands pinned above your head.

"the suit stays on." he mumbled, and you just nodded.

his suit dissipated from the waist down, a pair of spandex thong-like underwear underneath. (in the comics he wears these, sorry!)

he used a talon, sliding them down the middle as if he's got a million pairs of these. his rock hard cock springs to attention, the spandex underwear falling off of him and who knows where.

he tightens his grip on your wrists, pushing apart your legs with his hand and positioning himself in front of you.

once your glistening pussy was right in front of him, he rubbed his cock in your juices, coating himself with a small grunt before pushing his tip into you.

you squeaked, already feeling full just from his tip and you squirmed a bit.

he pressed down on your hips, keeping you still and shoving the rest in with a loud (plap).

you moaned/screeched, and he started thrusting.

"keep squealing like that and I'll make sure to let out any anger for the next three days out on you." he snapped, his thrusting becoming harder and faster.

you closed your eyes, seeing stars and your back arched as you adjusted to his size during the thrusts.

he was still panting, his hips moving at speeds faster you'd even known he could fuck you at. his balls slapping against your ass and your clit nudging his pelvis everytime he bottomed out his thrusts.

"wanna know why I'm so pissed?" his voice was angry, and with every thrust your knuckles knocked against the headboard as he kept your hands pinned above your head.

with how hard he was fucking you, you could barely hear him but you nodded and your breasts bounced at the same rhythm as him.

"Miles Morales broke a canon event." he huffed and thrusted harder (plap)

"Miles Morales didn't listen to me." (plap)

"Miles Morales ran when I tried to explain everything." (plap)

his voice was getting louder, and with how hard he was gripping onto your wrists you knew he was close. and coincidentally you felt your own knot tightening up in your stomach, turned on by seeing him fuck you angrily in his spider suit.

"Miles shocking Morales is going to collapse the multiverse!!"

he let out the loudest groan known to man, your eyes rolling into the back of your head and with your moans and skin slapping, you couldn't tell if he was groaning or yelling anymore.

his pace quickened, his warm seed filling you to the brim as his hips stuttered a bit. he was huffing, still fucking the ever loving shit out of you as his cum started seeping out of your holes.

you couldn't take it anymore, your back arching as a orgasm ripped through you.

your cum soaked his dick, mixed with his and after he fucked you through your orgasm he pulled out. leaving your pussy tightening around nothing and his panting slowed down as he laid on top of you.

after a couple minutes of recollecting your thoughts, he pulled the webs off of your mouth, took his mask off, and let go of your wrists. he made some marks on your wrists, but you didn't care.

you wrapped your arms around him and kissed his head, running your hands through his sweaty hair.

"sorry." he mumbled and you shrugged

"don't worry about it. I'm pretty sure that's the hardest orgasm I've ever had." you smiled and he looked at you, grinning.

"guess we'll have to do this again tomorrow huh?" he said jokingly and you shrugged

"sure."

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LALALALA okokok. IT'S FINISHED SORRY IT'S LATE 😔

I'm at my aunts house rn and soo tomorrow will be late too. apologies everyone.

I actually kinda liked this one today though 😛

SEE U TOMORROW

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[breadly-art]

I often see people saying that Miguel hates children. All I can say to such people is that their views are too shallow. And that's why they're wrong:

Let's think logically. Miguel, like the entire HQ, is sure that the violation of canon events will result in the destruction of the entire universe. He has reason to believe so - before his eyes, the whole world disappeared through his own fault. That's it, it's all gone. Of course, Miguel will be sure that it is not worth violating the canon. Moreover, he knows that the universes are connected, and if you lose too many of them, then the entire multiverse will collapse, this is logical. It's like a spider web - the more holes there are in it, the sooner it will break.

Miguel leads a squad that maintains the stability of the canon by dealing with anomalies. He must be sure that each of the spider-men will be reliable enough to prevent a violation of the canon event. He has no other option, he will not just forget about the minor mistakes of any spider-man from the HQ. Not because he's angry and strict, but because the safety of all universes depends on it, God damn it.

He's in charge for a reason. He knows what he is doing and why, he knows what a mistake will cost. "I don't always like what I have to do. But I know that I have to be the one to do it." He knows that the canon event often costs someone their life, he knows that some spider-man will feel bad about it, but are there any other options?... Yes, in the question "one person or the whole universe" he chooses the universe, but that doesn't make him an asshole. He's trying to save millions of lives in the only reliable way he knows how.

And now back to his "hatred of children." Miles. Yes, I can understand his desire to save his father, but it could destroy his universe. And yes, it is not a fact that it will be destroyed, but judging by what Miguel saw, the chance of the collapse of the universe is GREAT. And it's not just about Miles's universe, it's about all universes. A web with many holes breaks faster. If saving the universes costs Miles's father's life, if Miguel has to keep Miles at HQ by force to prevent him from making a mistake, he will do it. I don't think Miguel likes it. But he knows he has to be the one to do it.

Gwen. A lot of people didn't like the way he treated her, but listen - there were reasons for that. As I said, Miguel needs to be confident in every spider-Man at HQ, it's a matter of keeping the universes safe. And Gwen let Miles go, let go of someone whose actions could destroy everything. Miguel can't count on her the way he used to, not after she let Pavitr's canon break and didn't catch Miles. He sends her home not because he hate her, but because the HQ is not a place for those who think with their gut. Here you need to think with your head, only this can be 100% sure. You can't make mistakes. HQ must not allow the disruption of the canon. They must not allow the chance of death of millions of people. So Miguel wasn't mad at Gwen. He was disappointed in her - because she couldn't make a hard choice.

For the same reason, he doesn't take Peter B. on a mission. Peter didn't stop Miles when he had the chance, but unlike Gwen, he hasn't questioned Miguel's theory about the canons yet. Peter believes him, but is clearly not sure what to do next. That's why Miguel takes Jess and Ben with him, the ones he's 100% sure of.

Next... Gwen's father. No one, damn it, keeps their finger on the trigger when they don't really want to shoot. Do you think he wouldn't have shot his own daughter? Oh no, he would have done it. And Miguel understood that - that's why he intervened, even though he shouldn't have been there. After all, remember - a vulture could disrupt some kind of canon event. But which one? Facereveal Gwen in front of her father, perhaps? Nevertheless, Miguel intervened. After all, he knows what it's like to deal with an Irish father named George, who is ready to raise his hand against a child.

And then, even seeing Gwen's insecurity after everything that happened, he suggests that she "join the club", he knows what it's like to be all alone. And he clearly doesn't want that for Gwen.

Miguel is not a bad character. Not a villain. He doesn't hate children. He's just trying to protect the universes the best he can, and he's ready to be the one who has to make the hard choice. I don't think he likes it all. He keeps doing it because he doesn't know any other way. He tried to find it - and the more he tried, the more damage he did. He’s only on the “prevent other worlds from being disrupted” step of this process and he’s already way past worn out.

Look at it from this angle - if you had been working on a project for a very long time, which you had already failed once (and it was so terrible that you don't want to remember), which required all your time and effort, required you to lead people you didn't know very well, required you to constantly make choices, after which you would they always looked askance, and you yourself would feel extremely lousy, but which would clearly benefit many people... And then there was a high chance that another person would ruin everything for you, because he has another untested work plan. And this person is not listening to you, this person is not interested in your arguments, he is absolutely stubborn. Wouldn't you freak out about it? Wouldn't you be angry? Wouldn't you try to stop this person with all your might? This is not hatred of children. It's a damn fear.

[comicaurora]

Sorry to drop a hella irl-political question on your mostly webcomic blog, but have you/any of the OSP gang heard of/been participating in the week-long strike for palestine that's been (presumably) all over tumblr/the internet?

For some background info: Following the attack on Oct. 7th by the hamas militant group (a terrorist org. Or resistance group, depending who you ask), the state of israel (which is practically a mass colonial settlement on Palestinian land since '48) has taken the attack as an excuse to indiscriminately bomb the homes of thousands if not millions of homes while forcebly displacing almost all of the ~2.3 million people crammed in the gaza strip with no escape.

'Israel' has also tightened it's blockade on the strip of land such that a growing majority of people there are experiencing catastrophic starvation, disease from sewage-infested drinking water (as water aid is too scarce). Soon even deaths by preventable causes such as diabetes will occur since insulin pens for children have been blocked from entering by israel, who controls gaza's borders, water, power, food supplies, and shoreline. Civilians in Gaza are very frequently and indiscriminately killed often in places they were told were safe zones to evacuate to. It's agreed upon by both experts and laymen worldwide that what is happening (and has BEEN happening before Oct.7th) is nothing short of genocide.

In the occupied Palestinian west bank, where there is no hamas whatsoever to use as an excuse, Palestinians are still arrested without a fair trial for years, abused, prevented from using certain roads, shot, and often straight-up have their houses stolen by armed or military-backed israeli settlers (many of whom have no ancestral connection to the land at all) in a system often compared to or outright stated to be apartheid.

Very recently, a journalist in Gaza by the name of Bisan Owda called for a strike from January 21st to January 28th. The conditions of the strike can be paraphrased as:

Cease all unnecessary purchases or payments, avoid generating ad revenue when possible

Do not go to work or school if you can possibly avoid it

Pay for things only in cash if you must

Use social media exclusively to flood the internet with palestinian voices and resources about the ongoing genocide against the palestinian people

Attend protests if you can

Be visible.

It's the 26th now, but joining late would be far better than to not join at all and stay silent.

I figured I'd ask since since OSP has covered various topics about history and/or politics and we're kinda watching some awful history unfolding, the kind of history where neutrality doesn't really work and a side needs to be taken.

Opinions? (Sorry if I'm coming across as condescending! I just really want my favorite blogs to be aware and take a stance rather than being silent hhhghf)

Okay, here's my answer.

OSP has been supporting calls for a ceasefire for months, and we were fundraising in direct support of it via Doctors Without Borders all through November and December. Total, we raised over $30,000. If we include the UNICEF fundraiser we ran on the Spider-Man streams, the total is over $40,000.

During our charity livestreams, we have made our positions clear – we support a ceasefire, Israel is perpetuating settler-colonialist violence and has been for decades, Hamas is a terrorist organization that endangers Israelis and Palestinians alike, the innocent people of both Palestine and Israel deserve safety and peace. We concluded that the best thing we could do under the circumstances was empower those who are in a real position to actually help by providing funding for their work. We believe this is significantly more beneficial than adding Another Angry Internet Post to the pile of insular outrage on Internet Land. Fundraising for the organizations with boots on the ground feels like it does a lot more good than being loud online for the benefit of other online people.

This is not the first time I've heard reference to the strike, but it is the first time I've seen the parameters of the strike laid out, which to me indicates that it wasn't spread as widely or effectively as it could've been.

I understand and appreciate why you sent this ask, but your premise worries me. I know this may surprise and startle us denizens of the internet, but being extremely loud on the internet is not the only or the most effective form of activism, and people not being extremely loud on the internet with every account they have is not the same thing as silent complicity in war crimes, and people acting like those two things are the same thing has been unbelievably frustrating to watch.

If we act like everything is a binary moral choice between "scream your loudest, most angry opinions online every time you feel angry about them" and "not doing that is literally the same thing as participating in genocide", we are creating a very strong pressure to flood the internet with our angriest, most unformed thoughts, lest we be branded as complicit in war crimes. Social media sites live and die on engagement, hence why twitter has rapidly trended towards doomscrolling and encouraging inflammatory clickbait - angry shouty people are traffic and traffic is money. The cynical part of me is utterly unsurprised that social media encourages the idea that the only true form of activism is being loud on social media.

It sounds like you had the feeling that sending me this ask was weird and a boundary overstep, and you were correct. My platform is not world-changing or in any way politically powerful beyond our ability to create charity fundraisers for causes we believe in, and we are doing what we can to help in the tiny ways that we can from halfway across the world, from a position of absolutely zero political weight beyond emailing our representatives. You are just asking me to also shout about it online loudly enough that I measure up to an artificial loudness metric, because my existing shouting was not already loud or omnipresent enough.

You are not entitled to know every thought in my head or every action I take in my life. I am not online to perform outrage and live up to an arbitrary moral standard of Shouting Enough. I am especially not online on my fantasy webcomic blog to do those things. Please understand that what you see of me is what I choose to share, and I am under no obligation, moral or otherwise, to share more.

[astroboots]

EVERY YOU EVERY ME: Issue #2

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: Your streak of bad luck continues as you find that the universe is not done putting you in harm's way. Luckily, you have grouchy Spider-man to save you.

Word count: 3,500 words.

Content: Slowest of the burn, near death experiences, the emotional whiplash of Miguel O'Hara being a rude bastard and a total softie.

Astroboot’s Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist

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According to an article that ran in the New York Times: one out of every 40 New Yorkers will have a run in with a Superhero in the time they live here.

That might not sound like much, but considering that nearly 8.5 million people live in this city, it adds up to a lot of people. In fact, most in your friends circle have their own anecdotal story to tell.

I ran into Tony Stark at the Brandy Library and he asked me for my phone number. Bit of a sleaze but he bought our whole table a round of drinks.

Captain America landed on my Fiat on Manhattan Bridge. He dented the roof, but he was very polite about it.

Daredevil was hanging out at the fire escape ladder above the Meatball shop. Gave me tips on what to order.

It's nothing short of a miracle that having lived in this city for as many years as you have that this is the first time you've had a Supes encounter.

It'll be a great story to tell at parties. You fell out of the Chrysler building and were rescued mid-air. It blows all the other stories out of the water. Though, you'll probably leave out the part where he wished he'd left you to die.

You stare blindly at your computer screen. There are endless rows of cells on your excel sheet no matter how far you scroll. Uninterrupted numbers and reference codes for insurance claims that are waiting for your attention. But the numbers and letters all blend into an indecipherable sludge soup. All you can focus on is: 'I should've let you fall.'

Heat prickles your cheek, as you replay his words in your head.

What the hell.

That was entirely unnecessary.

You didn't deserve that.

Over the course of the last 24 hours, you've played the scene on an endless loop in your head, until the memory is worn and scratched like a used up VHS tape.

Did you do something wrong? You must've. Who has ever heard of a Superhero treating a civilian in this manner? You’re just a hapless innocent bystander who fell out of a building due to a supervillain battle they started. To blame it on you and then call it a mistake. Isn't that something a supervillain would do?

Gritting your teeth, you feel yourself seething of the memory of the windows next to you breaking and shattering out of nowhere as a bird-person villain with mechanical wings tumbled past you. Next thing you knew you were tumbling out the window. 

And then he saved you.

Did he mean to save someone else? Is that why he was so annoyed? But, you didn't see any other people falling from the building on your way down.

You replay the memory. Again.

The looming silhouette of his towering frame over yours as he sneered down at you.

He looked at you like he knew you. Like you had offended him with your mere existence. But you don't understand how. You've never met him before. Never met anyone who looked even remotely like him. You would've remembered a man with red eyes, they're not exactly common. Plus, you don't think you've ever met someone quite so tall. Your neck hurt with the angle you had to crane just to look at his face.

What could you possibly have done in your lifetime to piss off a Superhero you've never met before?

For that matter what Superhero is he anyway? You think back at the dark navy suit clinging onto every inch of skin, embellished by that bright angry red in the emblem of a spider.

Spider-man... 

Except Spider-man is known to be a swell guy with a great sense of humor. Not a rude asshole.

Aren't his colors inverted too? You pull up the browser on your screen and google "spiderman outfit". There's over 800 million hits. In all of them Spiderman's suit is primarily red with blue embellishment.

Whoever the guy is, you don't think he's your friendly neighborhood Spiderman that every New Yorker knows and loves.

With a hapless sigh, you click aimlessly on your screen, trying to look busy at work for the next twenty minutes until you can go on your lunch break. You go through the motions of your soul sucking tasks. Tagging each insurance claim into one of the following categories: approved/rejected/further missing information required.

Peering over your cubicle wall to the wall of windows, you spy the section that has been zoned off since yesterday. The broken window you were knocked out of has already been replaced, but there's still shattered glass and debris nearby.

Your stomach drops, the phantom sensation of the ground beneath you giving way. For a brief second you swear you can feel the weightlessness of soaring through the skies without anything catching your fall.

You stand up from your desk, solid ground meeting the soles of your feet to remind you where you are. 

The office.

There's a monotone drone of workers all around you grumbling and sighing just as unhappily. The quiet tip-tapping of keyboards of the working masses.

Is this the life you managed to escape death for?

Is this it?

It's kind of sad isn't it? You nearly died and lived to tell the tale, only to return to a life so unremarkable your brain didn't deign it necessary to provide you with any highlights (cause there are none).

The most exciting thing that has happened to you the whole of this year was being insulted by a grumpy superhero. The most you've wanted to live was during that span of ten seconds when you were falling out of a building to your death.

You glance at your clock, still 15 minutes before noon. You log out of your desktop anyway.

You barely make it across the street from your office. The light is green as you cross Lexington Avenue when the screeching noise of tires tears down the street and rips through your eardrums.

A yellow taxi hurtles towards you at full speed. Through the car window separating you, the cab driver is staring up at you with wide-eyed horror. In that fraction of a second before the hard metal is going to collide and shatter every bone in your body, you only have one thought: Oh god, this is going to hurt.

Life doesn't flash before your eyes. All you see is the familiar blur of shiny blue and red.

Go figure that's the only moment extraordinary enough for your brain to think it's worth replaying before you die.

There's a blunt and forceful shove to the side of your ribs. Softer than you would've imagined a two tonne vehicle slamming into you would be. It doesn't hurt. It reminds you of that time you played football with your cousin and he body slammed you to the lawn. You've heard about this phenomena, the brain will try to protect itself by going unconscious if the pain is too extreme.

But there's no bright light, when you open your eyes all you see is the familiar shiny blue fabric.

A firm weight wraps around your shoulders, and you recognize this, the feeling of being held as you're pulled into their solid chest. There's not enough time for you to look up, you're slammed onto the ground, the solid warmth wrapped around you, absorbing the fall.

The pressure wrapped around you shifts then lifts away entirely. When you open your eyes for a second time, there’s no one there holding you. 

There's no one else there with you. Just the standstill traffic of cars and pedestrians gawking at you.

A concerned woman runs over to you, bending down to help you up on your feet. "Are you okay? That car came out of nowhere."

Your legs feel unsteady, wobbling as you put weight on it to stand up. 

“I’m fine, I think,” you respond, and look down on yourself. There are no scrapes, just a bit of dust on your work-attire from traffic.

"You're so lucky, Spiderman was there to save you."

You blink up at the woman in dazed confusion and it takes your brain a few seconds to process what she's telling you.

Spider-man...

In your mind's eye the flashes of blue and a vivid red invades your vision. It wasn't just your life flashing you by. Not just a figment of your imagination.

He was here. He saved you. (Probably not) Spider-man saved you (again).

A wave of gratitude washes over you. You take back every unflattering thought you had about the man not five minutes ago. Rude? Would a rude man save you, not once but twice in one day? No, of course not, you probably just misunderstood him, or misheard. After all, if he truly regretted saving you, he wouldn't have done it a second time... right?

--

When you get back at your desk, there's a post-it tacked to your computer screen, with an angry scrawl of a handwriting.

'Look BOTH ways before crossing!!!!!'

You stare at the note, and the way the word "both" is capitalized and aggressively underlined.

Rude.

The universe is out to kill you. You're sure of it.

They say that death comes in threes after all. So no one can blame you for being a little bit on the edge after you've gone two for two within the time span of 24 hours.

You stay away from windows in tall buildings. You look both ways, twice, before crossing the street. You try to go straight home from work the minute you clock out from work, turning down any and all initiations with friends to go out after out of precaution. It's just not worth the risk.

And for a while it seems to work. For a while, there are no more incidents. A week goes by and your nerves start to settle and you are lulled into a temporary sense of security before it all goes to shits.

A ceramic flower pot on a windowsill tumbling off the sixth floor of a brown house by Chelsea that would have dropped on your head and split your skull if someone hadn't bumped into you from behind that you weren’t able to catch sight of.

A piece of scaffolding that comes loose and falls from a construction site in West Village as you happened to walk past, and would have been crushed under if you weren’t tackled away at the last second by someone who fled the scene before you could thank them.

A hot dog cart runs amok, hurtling downhill towards you between 184th and 190th street in Manhattan when the cart suddenly out of nowhere, against the very laws of physics like it’s being pulled by an invisible force and changes direction mere inches in front of you, hurtling through the air and crashing into the windows of a bodega instead.

Each and every incident leaves you with an ever growing sense of paranoia that this cannot be explained away by being merely pure bad luck. There are cosmic forces at force that clearly want you dead.

On Thursday, there are leftover cupcakes from a client conference. Mary, the secretary in your team, boxes up four of them for you and tells you to take them with you, because, "you've had a rough week, toots."

It’s not a flattering assessment of you, but when you see your own reflection in the mirrors of the office toilets, you can’t help but think it’s an accurate one. You look rough. Eyes bloodshot with deep furrowed lines underneath. Your face is gaunter than you remember seeing it too. 

You take the cupcakes. 

It's the first good thing that has happened to you all week, and as small of a comfort it is, you take it as a win.

You eye the box from your desk the rest of the day, squirreled away in your tiny cubicle. You are determined not to eat one while at work. Because you'll be damned if Matt from accounting catches a whiff of your cupcakes and asks you to share one with him. You want to properly savor them in the comfort of your home at the end of the day.

But as often is the case when you have something to look forward to, the seconds, minutes and hours tick away with a reluctant drag as if time itself knew you wanted the day to end faster and decided it'd be fun to flip yet another cosmic middle finger in your direction. 

When it's finally time to end work, you get off your chair so forcefully it knocks it to the floor. You are practically jogging through the lanes of cubicles to get to the elevator, and nearly smack the security guard on the other side with how hard you swing open the front door. 

It's pouring outside, which, of course it is. You take off your jacket and cover your cupcake box with it, because you're not going to let the universe ruin the one good thing you've got going for you this week, as you run towards the station.

The moment you step into the damp and sticky station any remaining sense of joy in you evaporates. There's a hoard of tourists swarming the subway paying no attention to their surroundings. Tourists wearing their caps and backpacks and wheelies knocking over a 'Caution Wet Floor ' sign as they gather in a throng in front of the subway map, blocking the way as you hear the train approach.

It's not that big of a deal. A train comes every two to five minutes, and if you miss this one, you'll just get on the next one. It's not the end of the world. Logically, you know that. Emotionally and spiritually however, the world around you has just taken a little bit too much from you for you to concede to this minor little loss.

You are going to make this goddamned train.

Taking a determined step forward, you shoulder and push your way through the throng of people to fight your way to the front of the track.

You push a little too hard. Your feet skid across the slippery tiles, leg buckling from your own weight and you lose control, tumbling forward.

In your peripheral view there's a blinding light approaching. There's wind beating the sides of your face, and you can hear the screeching metal of the train right next to you. Your foot drops into empty space and you are falling into the tracks. 

Oh god why...

Why?

You just want to live.

The cupcake box flies out of your grip, splattered somewhere across the front pane of the train. There's a hard tug on your shirt as an invisible force you cannot see yanks you back, hard.

Your head whips back and for a fraction of a second, there are crimson eyes staring back down at you, you blink and then it's gone.

You land on your ass with a bruising force to your tailbone with a bone-breaking thud. The subway whizzes by with a demonic roar past you, inches from where you're sprawled on your ass on the dirty tiles of the subway station.

In front of your feet, there's a long streak of white frosting trailing down from your feet to the tracks of what looks like a crime scene.

Maybe it's the stress. Maybe you've just had a bad night of sleep (after many successive bad nights with little to no sleep). But something in you breaks at the sight of the frosting smeared across the dirty subway tiles.

Your eyes sting with exhaustion. Chest drawing in tight with a crumbling ache that makes you want to curl up on the cold tiles. You're just so tired.

There are people around you staring at you. No one in their right mind who lives in New York would sit on the floor of the subway.

But your legs are heavy and numb. You can’t move from the spot. Everything tastes like bile. You try to swallow and force it back down but it's no use, your throat has swollen shut. Your cheeks run wet and you press your palms to your eyes to make it stop but that only seems to make it worse. Snot runs down your nose and drips down your wrist. You're crying and you don't know how to stop.

Is this the rest of your life?

In the morning, you wake in your bed with a sore ache that gnaws at your bones. Swollen eyes and a soreness that scratches the lining of your throat.

Your back hurts, and as you try to turn to your side to get out of bed a sharp pain surges up along your entire spine.

Fuck.

It's too bright. The sunlight is offensive. It stings your eyes and makes you sick to your stomach. You only have vague memories of how you made it back home. Feet shuffling through the subway in a daze like the walking dead.

God is that what you are? A dead man woman walking?

You crane your head and catch a glimpse of your clock on the bedside table. 9.13 You're late for work. But that's mind as well, you don't have it in you to make it in.

What's the point anyhow? You hate that place.

Besides, if the subway on the way over doesn't finish off the job this time around, then eventually a taxi will. Failing that the universe is probably going to send over a ninja assassin rat from the subway to come after your life.

There's a soft breeze coming in from the open window that grazes the back of your neck and you turn your head towards it. All you can see from your window is the brick wall of the neighboring building. Even though your apartment is on the sixth floor, you can't see a speck of the New York skyline.

Still the breeze is nice, though you don't remember opening the window last night. You never usually do. It is silly and paranoid. No human robber could possibly climb up your six storey building just to climb into your window and rob you. If they could, they’d find that there isn’t much to rob in your apartment, the most valuable thing you own is a complete Le Creuset Cookware set. 

Your eyes glaze over your work tote bag on the floor next to the window, drifting upwards and spot the pink box sat on the window sill and you stop. 

You didn’t put that there. 

You sit upright in your bed, setting your feet to the floor and force yourself to leave your bed as you pad over to the open window.

It's a fancy looking thing. Baby pink, and chiffon ribbon on its side. Wrapping your pinkie around it, you tug it loose. You perch your thumb against the corner of the lid when you stop.

It's not another one of the universe's assassination attempts is it? You're not going to open it to find a bomb ticking down are you?

You hesitate for another moment, taking a deep calming breath before you gather the courage to finally lift the lid. Inside, there is a gorgeous display of cupcakes adorned with white and pink frosting, topped with strawberries, chocolate shavings and on two of them there's mini macarons.

Way fancier than the day old Costco cupcakes you'd lost yesterday.

Picking up one, you take a bite. The frosting is light and zesty. The refreshing lemon melts on the tip of your tongue as the buttery cream floods your mouth with the rich flavor. It's the best thing you've ever tasted.

Lifting the box, you check the sides of it to see if there's any note left behind, but there's none.

Gladis Bakery. It's from a bakery you've never heard of before. When you google the name the place is outside of New Jersey, 58 minutes away and you would need to take a subway then switch to a tram.

There's no note attached, but you don't need one. The list of candidates who would be physically able to climb up six floors up the bricks of your apartment building to leave cupcakes on your window isn’t a long one. 

Something warm blooms in your chest at the thought, and your fingers linger on the top of the box, savoring the taste of lemon and sugar still lingering on your tongue.

You put your head out the window, not sure what you're expecting to find but find yourself disappointed all the same when there's nothing there. No people in the quiet street below, and nothing unusual above.

"Thank you for uhm... saving me,” you say into the silence with nothing but the traffic noise below to answer you. 

 “And the cupcakes," you add. 

There's no reply. 

~ To be continued.

I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

[iaure]

𝔩𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℑ 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔯𝔶; 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔳𝔦𝔬𝔩𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔢

𝖞𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖒𝖎𝖌𝖚𝖊𝖑 𝖔❜𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆 𝖝 𝖋𝖊𝖒!𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗

𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 2: 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔦𝔫 𝔪𝔶 𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔰, 𝔶𝔬𝔲'𝔯𝔢 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔨𝔢𝔢𝔭 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 3: 𝔦 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱 𝔪𝔶 𝔟𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔰 𝔬𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔫𝔢𝔠𝔨, 𝔴𝔥𝔦𝔩𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔰𝔩𝔢𝔢𝔭 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 4: 𝔰𝔞𝔡𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔰𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔱 𝔢𝔫𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔴𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔴 CW: self-awareness, stalking, obsession, delusion, ptsd, mention of a brother's death, thoughts of kidnapping. Written in the third person. Use of Y/N. Spoilers for Spider-Man: Across The Spiderverse.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ heaven have mercy on my simple soul. we might have another dearest series on our hands, but for miguel. god. jesus. i made this in one (1) day. it's two am.

wc: 1.7k

𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘀𝗻❜𝘁 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗾𝘂𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗱𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗮𝗿𝗺𝘀.

Miguel knew that feeling all too well. Gabriella faded away in his arms, a flash of technicolour and geometric shapes. An entire world, falling away and escaping from him, like grains of glass as fine as sand but still so colourful. That's what kept him moving. He never wanted someone to make the same mistake. But he was only a man. he couldn't be alone in the isolation of his own making forever. He built up those walls, praying he'd have the sense to never knock them down. But brick by brick, other people did. First was Jess. She was his friend, his sister in arms. Then Peter, then a thousand other faces and names and hearts and morals and everything that made Spider-Man, Spider-Man. They each took a brick, as though it was nothing. It was just by pure chance that she was the one to take that last brick. She was a new addition. Friendly, witty, quick on her feet. Just like everyone else. Another Spider in another place and another time. Another in a million, another clone, another warm body as fodder. But when Jess brought her to him, Miguel knew; she was one in a trillion.

She had stood next to Jess, firm, with a thousand yard stare like she'd been digging around Miguel's soul and yanking out her favourite bruises. Harrowing was a good word for it. Her estranged brother, a captain in the police, had died. She looked like she'd seen Hell. Fresh bruises, scarring, her suit torn in some places...and she stood tall.

"Spider-Woman, from Earth 7290. Also known as Y/N."

Jess spoke softly, a hand on Y/N's shoulder. Her breathing was steady but her eyes had glazed over, completely tapped out to the situation. Miguel felt his heart tug. He knew what it was like. Everyone did. Most Spiders were sad, upset, but she simply seemed...angry. Furious, even. Like if Miguel made a move towards her, she'd chew him up and spit him out. He'd seen people try to tame horses before, ones that would buck and kick and neigh until someone's leg was broken. It was like Jess was doing that. The one hand on Y/N's shoulder, keeping her in place.

"Miguel?" Jess spoke up, and he came out of his haze. "Are you listening?" "Yeah." He nodded, quietly clearing his throat. "Sure. Get her a watch." Jess shared a look with Y/N, one that he couldn't quite tell the reasoning behind, but the glance of her eyes was enough.

Spider-Woman of Earth 7290 took the last brick.

He'd see Y/N around, walking around the Spider Society and speaking with other Spiders. She seemed to hold that anger close to her heart, despite the other Spiders telling her that it'd get better over time. They'd healed, or got over it, or pushed it out of their mind. But not Y/N. She stayed mad. She stayed angry. Miguel understood that more than most. Mourning took time. So many had gotten over it after years. It wasn't fair to expect Y/N get it over it so fast. He didn't think so, anyway. After all, it was an anomaly that took her brother's life. A mistake. It had fallen off the proverbial map, but according to Jess, Y/N had 'handled it her own way'. Whatever that meant. Miguel didn't really care. All he worried about was her. Rather than just taking the brick off his walls, she smashed it in with a hammer and ran it over with a bulldozer. She had a wrecking ball to smash a single blue and red brick. And he hated it. Because what about Gabriella? What about his wife? Did their deaths mean nothing now? And how was this healthy? Granted, Miguel wasn't a healthy person. Not like that. But the sudden way his mind dedicated himself to her was absurd. Did it have to do with his DNA? With the spider mutation? Rapture? Mating season? There had to be an explanation. A cure.

But there was none.

Now, Miguel's mind was rotting away. He wished he could pry it open and take to it with tweezers, to prod out the parts that he hated. But his eyes lingered on you for a moment too long, and he knew he didn't stand much of a chance anymore. It was all Y/N, Y/N, Y/N. Even just the faint, passing scent of her was enough to drive him up a wall that very much shouldn't exist. Passing word of her wellbeing made him tune into conversations he was never part of. He began to develop a seventh sense: touch, hearing. sight, smell, taste, spidersense, and Y/Nsense.-the uncanny ability to know when she needed help. Trademarked, owned by Miguel O'Hara exclusively. Peter once teased him about how Miguel would suddenly jump up and scoot over to the cameras, checking in on Spider-Woman 7290.

The teasing didn't last long when given way to the severity of the situation.

Gradually, Miguel leaned into it. If he couldn't fight it, then join it. Revel in it. Let his eyes linger on her frame. Let his waking hours resort to thinking of her. Let him suffer. He deserved it. He began to follow Y/N around. What she didn't know wouldn't hurt her. And sometimes, Miguel would see enemies-a Vulture here, a Doc Ock there-and he'd help when she wasn't looking. Little favours here and there began cropping up. Getting her groceries. Taking care of her cat. Fiddling with the gas for the car of the one creep that kept following her around that was so sure she was Spider-Woman. Granted, the creep was right. But he didn't know that.

(He did. Love comes in many shapes and forms.)

Y/N never seemed to notice. She was off, battling her own demons and fighting the good fight in her own world. She was good and kind and still angry but she used that anger so well, and Miguel loved her for it. She burned with the anger of a thousand dying stars. She was everything. When Y/N would stop by the Spider Society, Miguel made sure to look good. Brush his hair, brush his fangs, make sure his eye bags weren't too obvious, or if they were, then they looked good. He was trying to get her to like him, after all. Check to make sure his suit didn't have any tears or holes. Because Y/N was gorgeous. She could drag herself in with her guts spilling out like roadkill and he'd still think she's the most beautiful thing to grace the multiverse.

The beauty of delusion, he supposed.

He was aware how delusional this was. He knew how absurd it was that he saw her and fell immediately. Was this what happened in fairy tales? Is this what Prince Charming felt when he saw Cinderella? The world completely spinning the moment there's even a hint of her? The complete dedication of his heart to this woman that barely acknowledged him...someone who would only glance his way if it was a requirement. Y/N was cordial to him, but little more. And it made his heart ache. She spoke to Jess more than she spoke to him. It felt wrong. It felt cruel, like a tease, trailing up and down his spine but never providing relief. One word to him was ten to Jess.

Miguel refuses to admit it, to accept that he was willing to stoop so low. But there was a brief moment where he thought about hurting Jess. Or getting her on some mission that would take forever. Breaking her bracelet when she least expected it so Y/N would have to come to him.

He'd never act on it. He was sure of that.

If there was one thing Miguel was proud of for himself, it was his restraint. He had the unparalleled ability to simply...hold off. Another day, he'd tell himself. Next time, he'd self-assure. Then another next time. Then another. Until heaven knows how many next times it's been, and he's aching for her to even look at him, but why won't she glance his way? Why was she so cold? He's done everything he could. Just look at him! For god's sake, just fucking look at him! That's all he wanted! Five minutes with your eyes on him, your undivided attention.

But no. Another day, he said. Next time.

But maybe he could simply...take Y/N away. Her world was inconsequential. It'd be easy to take care of any villains. He'd do it for her, single-handedly. She were everything. He could just keep her there, in his office, never allowed to leave. He could come back after a long mission to her loving arms, her warm embrace, flush to flush to flush to flush. He'd do unspeakable things just for her to trace the vague outline of his body with her eyes. If Y/N told him to kill, he'd do so without question anymore. Miguel barely had any control over himself.

The next time he saw her, it was while dealing with Miles. It was so much, all at once and never at all and undying and swarming his senses. It was so much that he didn't realise how much she'd been smiling at the two teenagers, how sweet her gaze got, the gentle touches and warm laughter and how Gwen and Miles looked up to her.

He didn't know Y/N had a soft spot for kids. And he found out most vividly when she was the first one to help Miles escape, blocking off what must've felt like half of the Spider Society with the same undying rage, now spent on protecting her new friend, the child she called such sweet things. That she saw as her own.

Miguel felt his heart shatter when he had to take her down. The way she fell into the floor, limp and dangling like she was nothing more than occupied space. His heart was wounded, wailing like a dying dog. She picked the newcomer, the anomaly, over him. Him, her one true love. Did it matter that she'd known it yet? No. It only mattered that she helped Miles escape.

Lord, he thought. I worry that love is violence.

[spooksforfun]

Husk Overlord AU Fic

This is the first chapter to my fic based on celestialalpacaron's Overlord Husk au

Husk had been dreading this day for a while now. He knew Valentino wouldn’t give up so easily, but a man could hope. And that’s what led him to the situation he was in now. Sitting at one of the many poker tables in his casino, across from the moth overlord. In between the both, slightly to the side was a contract signed by the both of them, stating that should Husk lose he would give Valentino the deed to his casino. However should Husk win, he would win the partial ownership Valentino has over the pornstar, Angeldust.

Said sinner was sitting right on the overlord’s lap, who had claimed the spider was his good luck charm, already having made him millions through his videos and pimping. It was clear to Husk that Angel was uncomfortable with the situation, clearly he didn't like the thought of his soul being bartered with.

Both overlord’s eyed each other. Valentino had a large grin on his face, which hadn’t faltered throughout the game. A novice would believe the moth had no tells, but Husk was no novice. You don’t get to own Hell’s most profitable casino owner by not being able to read another’s body language.

Just like he could tell the fake personality that the pornstar exudes, he could see straight through his fake confidence, and boasting about Valentino’s skills in and out of the bedroom, that he truly didn’t want to be anywhere near the moth.

Valentino breathed out a puff of his pink smoke from the cigarette he had been smoking from as he laid out his cards. A full house. When it took more than a second for Husk to respond with his own cards his grin widened. 

“It’s ok Husk, I’ll make sure to take good care of your casino.” No doubt thinking of all the ways he could use the casino to create another one of his prostitution rings.

Husk let out a small chuckle. Which instantly turned Valentino’s smirk into a frown. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news.” But it was clear there truly was no disdain for the information the casino overlord was about to give. He laid his own cards down on the smooth wooden table. A royal flush.

Immediately Valentino stood from the table. Knocking Angel out of his lap and straight to the floor. His short dress slid up exposing more of his fluffy white legs. The sweetheart neckline of the sparkly pink dress he had on accentuated the curve of his chest fluff. You could see his fear not only in his eyes, but the way he was breathing. It was clear it had not been the first time he saw Valentino this angry. 

The tall moth slammed his hands on the table. Now shouting about how Husk must have cheated, there is no way he could have lost. Husk only gave him an annoyed look in return. Not even bothering to get from his seat. “A deal’s a deal. Tino.” He huffed out, holding his hand out to the enraged man. Valentino had no choice but to hand over Angel’s contract, no longer the owner of the spider demon’s soul. Along with it came a set of pink smoky chains which materialised along with the contract. The chains led to a thick collar around the slender white neck of the man on the floor.

With a few more angry swears and a promise of him not giving up so easily, and what sounded like squeaking from the taller man, he began to gather himself and leave the private room Husk had prepared for their game. Angel watched, now on his knees, as his former owner walked out of the room. He looked to the floor for a moment, evening out his breathing before turning to his new owner.

Husk however was not paying attention to him. He was focused on his staff giving out orders. They were all moving with quick purpose, none of them sparing Angel another glance, as if this happened everyday. 

The winged cat finally looked down at the pornstar. He stood and walked closer to him, the bright pink chain still in his hand. He never pulled the chain taut, it stayed relaxed, even when he was close to Angel, he didn’t need to pull on it to get his attention, he already had it. Angel looked into his eyes, he couldn’t tell what the man was thinking. The silence was cut between the two as Angel shivered, not having noticed that his furred shawl had slipped past his shoulders, being held in his elbows instead.

“You know, I didn't think Tino would be a dumbass to bet you over my casino.” As he said that, the chains glowed bright and broke, right in front of Angel’s eyes. And Husk held his hand out for the spider to take. He was unsure at first, whether he could trust the gambler or not. Slowly, with a shaky hand he reached out to him. Their hands met, Husk was soft, not as soft as Angel, but still comforting.

“Here’s some ground rules.” Hus’s baritone voice filled the room, making Angel look from his own hand back to the cat’s face. “Ya want cash, dope, a boat. Anything with a tag, I'll give ya it.”  Husk’s face seemed uninterested with the topic. “Do what you want, but put that famous face o’ yours to work and bring guests in.” 

Husk rubbed his thumb over Angel’s middle finger. The man on the floor looked confused until he felt a slight tightness on the finger. He couldn’t look just yet at what the overlord had done to his finger as he was gently pulled up to his feet. He was almost twice the height of the overlord. Had this been any other situation he would have laughed at their predicament. But he still hadn’t found his voice since Valentino had left.

“No wearing blue. I fucking hate that colour.” Their hands were still connected. “There’s no such thing as ‘free’ in my casino. Everyone’s gotta pay up. Nothing here is cheap so no weapons beyond the doors.” Angel was stuck under the gaze from the smaller sinner. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak. He was amazed he was taking in everything said to him, but it was as if Husk had him under some spell. “If you’re hungry, I'll get ya something for that. Same thing goes if you want some privacy. I’m assuming you have your own place, since Tino only owned you when you were working for him.” Still unable to speak, Angel only nodded. “I’ll make sure you have a room here to destress. And if someone here is treating you like ass, I’ll have them shot.” Husk’s eyes bore deep into Angel’s mismatched ones. “But as long as you’re under me, do your job  and hustle the hell out of the lowlifes here.” Husk finally gave him a smirk as he sent Angel out. One of his staff was waiting for him. He was escorted out of the casino as he heard that deep voice once more, calling out that he’ll have his first shift tomorrow. Outside the casino was a car, and the driver opened the door and led him inside. The inside had black leather seats, with red and gold accents. The driver got in the front and asked Angel for his address. 

Angel finally found his voice, and gave out his address. He tried to fully understand what had happened. Val no longer owned him, now some other overlord did, and he didn’t know if he should be happy about it or not. So far Husk had not hurt him, but it could all just be a matter of time before his real intentions were shown. The streets blurred past his window as he tried to distract himself. He wrapped his arms around himself and he felt it. He looked at the hand Husk had held. Around his middle finger was a simple gold ring. This must be how the overlord showed his possessions. 

The car stopped outside his apartment and the driver hurriedly opened the door for him once more and helped him out of the car. He slowly climbed the stairs up to his apartment. Once inside his home, he beelined for his bed where he met fat nuggets who immediately cuddled up to him. He stared up at the ceiling, his hand raising up as he stared at the ring on his finger. He felt his eyes grow heavy and he decided sleep was for the best. To prepare him for what tomorrow would bring.

@celestialalpacaron

[exhaslo]

Corruption Ch5

(Villain!Miguel x F!Hero!Reader)

Ch1, Ch2, Ch3, Ch4

Warning: Minors DNI, smut, mentions of sex, violence, blood, murder, twisted thoughts, experimentation, language, wannabe fluff, established friendship?

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Four months, eight days until D-Day

Your body was sore and exhausted. The amount of second guessing you had towards this Super Hero gig was high. This was not something you were used too. What were you thinking when you decided to fight straight up crooks on the street?

You barely survived a roach crawling in front of you. All of this crime fighting was taking a toll on your physical and mental health. You were so tired that you were worried someone would catch on. This secret life of yours needed to be worked on better.

What's worse? Actually villains are starting to pop up! Who the hell would have thought that there was a Vulture in this day and age. Nothing like the one from the great hero age, but goddamn, enough to make you want to cry.

"You look like shit," Miguel grunted as he entered your office. You replied with a whimper as you rubbed your eyes, "This is exactly why my experiments will-"

"Better humanity," You whispered, finishing his sentence. Miguel just gave you a quiet glare before taking a seat on your couch,

"You know what to do. I got knots from dealing with the idiots down in lab two."

"When am I ever going to get repaid this wonderful favor?" You asked with a tease, approaching him from behind.

"When you do as much work as me," Miguel scoffed in response.

You just chuckled weakly towards him as you massaged his shoulders. Thanks to your night life, you were too tired to argue or complain with Miguel during the day. You weren't sure if Miguel liked that or not yet.

Dozing off as you pinched Miguel's shoulders, you tried to focus on your main task. You needed to find a good time to approach Miguel as Spider Woman. You needed him to listen to you. To answer your questions.

--------

Miguel had closed his eyes for a moment as you relaxed his tense muscles. It wasn't long for him to feel your touch soften that he regained his senses. Right as he went to complain, Miguel felt your head rest against his neck.

Confused, he glanced towards you, finding you asleep. Your breathing was soft as your hands still rested against his back. This would drive any man crazy, but not Miguel. Getting up, Miguel was careful to lay you against the couch.

"What's got her this tired?" He muttered under his breathe, "Lyla-"

"Let's see. (Y/N) recently signed up gym membership, telling her friends that she feels like she's too fat. Oh, she's also being flirted with by the new IT guy. Let's seeeee-"

"I didn't ask for all that," Miguel rolled his eyes before glancing back down at you, "If she had Spider Woman's strength, she wouldn't be this tired...but I wouldn't know that until I get a blood sample from that hero."

"Don't say that too loud or poor (Y/N) might cry in her sleep," Lyla teased as Miguel started to leave the office.

With a quick lock behind him, Miguel ignored his AI-whom was having fun with the situation. In order to stop hearing his AI, Miguel requested Lyla to set an alarm for you. Today was the day that the last prisoner was going to be tested.

Miguel needed you there.

"Oh, and Lyla, have that new IT guy join us for our experiment today. We could always use more...witnesses."

--------

You gasped and shot up from your slumber to the sound of a roaring alarm. Attempting to calm your racing heart, you spotted Lyla in the corner of your eyes. She gave you a simple wave and informed you of Miguel's experiment that was starting soon. Your fave turned a million shades of red once you recalled what happened before you slept.

"Lyla! Is Miguel angry with me?!" You panicked, trying to fix yourself up. Lyla smiled as she appeared before you,

"Miguel can never be angry at you!"

"But-"

"Trust me!"

As much as you wanted to doubt Lyla's words, you knew that Miguel has done worse for smaller things. Perks of being his only friend here...if that was even safe to call yourselves. It were moments like these that really made you wonder what Miguel was thinking.

If he didn't like you, then what were you to him? The thoughts sometimes made you go insane. Most of the time it just led you to crying when you were alone, wishing that Miguel would just show you some affection.

Hurrying to the lab, you grabbed your tablet and readied for the notes. You could still feel your heart aching as you wondered the look Miguel was going to give you. As you arrived, you noticed a few different and new faces.

"Hey, (Y/N)!" The new IT guy waved to you.

"Oh...Hey, Aaron. Um, what are you doing here?" You asked.

"Mr. O'Hara said something about wanting to have someone ready to fix the machine if it broke down."

Ohhhhh, Miguel had something up his leave. You just gave Aaron and innocent smile since you didn't have the heart to tell him that he is being played. Though, you never took Miguel as one to hate any of the IT people. He let them work since they were the only ones aside from him who could fix his stuff.

"So, (Y/N), if it isn't too much trouble, I was wondering if I could take you out-"

"(Y/N), did you get enough rest?" Miguel hummed lowly as he approached you from behind.

You could feel your body warm up as Miguel pressed his weight against your back. This was the closest Miguel had ever been to you! Hesitating, you turned to face him, almost feeling hazy from the direct contact.

"S-Sorry, Miguel. I...I didn't mean to fall asleep," You apologized. Your breathing hitched as Miguel placed his hand against your cheek,

"It's fine. I've been working you too hard," His voice was low and sweet, turning you into putty.

--------

Miguel hid his smirk as he watched poor little Aaron shake in anger. Oh, the joy in taking away one's love interest. It was Aaron's fault. How dare he have eyes on you. Didn't he know better? You belonged to Miguel.

Miguel was a selfish man. While he may never make a move on you, it was still fun to show off that you belonged to him. Even now, just a few sweet words of concern and a small touch of affection nearly brought you to your knees. Now, Miguel couldn't lie, that look you were giving him was tempting.

"Let's start the experiment. (Y/N), watch closely."

"Yes, Miguel," You cooed, running off to your usual spot.

Miguel chuckled darkly before he turned to face Aaron. The poor man was holding back so much.

"Aaron, thanks for coming. Do make yourself useful."

"Yes, sir."

The anger in his voice was hilarious to Miguel. Before Miguel started, he reviewed everything once more. This was the last prisoner. This one had to succeed. It just had too! Miguel was going to resort to desperate measures if nothing came out of this.

Growling in anger at the thought, Miguel told everyone to start the experiment.

---------

If it were possible, hearts would be floating above your head. You couldn't hide your smile as you started to take notes. Perhaps Miguel did have a heart inside him! His touch was so gentle and warm. You had wanted to melt right into his palm.

"ARGH!"

Gasping lowly, you came back to your senses as the poor prisoner screamed in agony. This was cruel. Glancing at Miguel, you saw his face twist with pleasure. How could someone be so heartless? No, you had to see the light in him.

Miguel can still be saved!

"I'LL KILL YOU!" The prisoner screamed.

You shivered as you felt your spider senses go haywire. Something was wrong, but you couldn't act. Not here. After another moment, the prisoner broke free from the chains-his body now morphed into a half spider.

Eyes widening in horror, you watched as the scientists tried to restrain the prisoner. Miguel, on the other hand, was laughing. Finally, he had a success. Although, this was still far from what he was looking for. This was still far from him cloning you.

"Youuu!"

Once again, your spider senses went crazy. You returned your attention to the prisoner and gasped as he charged towards you. You needed to move, but like how you used too. You couldn't move like you do now.

"(Y/N)!"

--------

This was great. Perfect even. Finally, Miguel had something successful! Although, this wasn't exactly what he was hoping for, but anything at this point is a win. Miguel could just keep testing on the prisoner to see what helped make this time different.

Hearing the pathetic attempts of his coworkers to subdue the prisoner, Miguel hissed as he had Lyla get security. Why was it so hard to find good help?

"Youuuuu!"

Miguel let out, yet another, sigh as he turned his attention to the feral prisoner. His brows furrowed since the idiot was charging straight towards you.

You, frozen like a deer in headlights. Miguel wasn't sure what this feeling was inside his chest, but he dashed towards you. Lord, you were dumb, but move!

"(Y/N)!" Miguel roared out.

Why wasn't he fast enough? Miguel cussed as you screamed, rolling onto the floor as the prisoner dashed into the bench you were sitting. Finally reaching you, Miguel picked you up and hurried out of the lab. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you started to sob.

"Get back here!!!" The prisoner screamed.

"Tch, worked better than I expected." Miguel hissed before coming to a halt.

His wonderful test subject had crawled on the ceiling and landed right in front of the exit. Your grip tighten around Miguel as the two of you stared at the fearsome beast before you. Unable to hide his displeasure, Miguel scoffed,

"Killing me is too dull, why don't you have some more fun with it?" He spoke to the beast.

"Oh? I'd have you strapped on that table, screaming and dying like all the others." The prisoner hissed as acid dropped from him mouth. You tugged against Miguel's lab coat,

"M-Miguel, what are-"

"Fine, but let this little lamb leave. You can kill the lot of us after," Miguel offered, placing you on your feet.

"Miguel, no-"

"Deal, but only to give her a running start. I'll devour her after I'm done with you all."

Miguel chuckled lowly before turning towards you. You trembled slightly, not wanting to let go, but Miguel gave you a push towards the door.

--------

You nearly held you breathe as you stepped out of the lab. Once the door shut, you dashed towards the closest closet with no camera. Miguel was trusting you to get Spider Woman, that or he actually had a death wish.

Either way, he saved you....so now you were going to do the same.

"I'm coming, Miguel."

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Next Chapter

@tojishugetiddies @miguelsfavwife @foulsharkheart @club-danger-zone @ivkygirly @jollystrawberrycycle @amber-content @weirdothatwritess @smartyren @mangoslushcrush @nyxzoldyck6 @migueloharastruelove @chaoticlovingdreamer @sukioyakio @killjoy-nightshadow @heyohalie @the-pan-liquid @bokutosprettylittlebimbo @kpopscoups17130000 @pochapo @killerwendigo @barbiecrocs @miss-galaxy-turtle @oscarissac2099 @lazy-idate @lauraolar14 @migueloharacumslut @straw-berry-ghoul @daisy-artfield @sukunash0e @undf-stuff @iamperson12280 @nightingale1011

[connorswhisk]

and so it goes (miguel o’hara x spiderman!reader)

hi note this is a fic specifically for transmasc readers. don’t come anywhere near this if you’re a cis woman. you have a million fics you can read that aren’t this one. thank you 🍻

@spokentothewoods here you go ☺️

WARNINGS: Angst, slightly sexual situations >:)

That ever-present tenseness is visible in his shoulders; in truth, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him without it, for as many years as you’ve been working with him. You’ve been working late tonight and could really use a break yourself, but with Jess away for an ultrasound, someone had to stay behind and keep an eye on Miguel.

Perhaps you volunteered for the job a tad too hastily, if the smirk Hobie had flashed in your direction was any indication, but Hobie’s always smirking at things. You’ve gotten pretty used to it.

In any case, even Margo’s signed off for the night. You know Miguel’s the Big Boss In Charge, but…couldn’t he benefit from some chill time?

“That’s it,” you say, yawning. “That’s the last of the logs done. Think I’ll turn in for the night.”

Miguel says nothing. He either is so immersed in his work that he didn’t hear you, or he’s ignoring you - both are likely in their own way.

After a moment’s more of silence, you frown, and web yourself up to his platform. He’s always brooding, that’s pretty normal, but…

Oh, you realize, because you recognize the video footage he’s watching. You’ve never seen it yourself, but you know what it is, where Miguel came from. You know why he is the way that he is.

You contemplate leaving and pretending you saw nothing, but then Miguel turns his head and fixes you with his dark, exhausted eyes, and it’s too late to act innocent.

“Sorry,” you say quietly. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. You just…”

“What.” He phrases the word as a statement, not a question. “I just what.”

You sigh. “I worry about you, Miguel. I mean, when you first found me in my universe…you were sad, sure, but you weren’t this angry. I don’t know what changed, but if you ever need to talk…”

“I don’t.��� His stare is fixed somewhere past your shoulder, his jaw hard as steel. “Nothing changed. I’m fine.”

“Oh, bullshit,” you tell him, and you can’t help but roll your eyes. “How long have we known each other? I know when you’re lying to me.”

Miguel shakes his head. He’s been working with Jess the longest and all the Spiders respect him as their leader, but he’s never gotten as close to anyone as he has to you. You know this because he told you so himself, a year ago when MJ was killed and you were stumbling around HQ in a haze, the big empty pit in your stomach threatening to swallow you whole.

We all lose people, he’d told you, his voice the gentlest you’d ever heard it. But we persevere. You’re strong, Y/N. You can survive this.

I bet you tell all the Spiders they’re your favorite, you’d joked half-heartedly, desolate and depressed, sure you were right. But Miguel had given you this look that had told you plainly: I am completely serious. And then he’d started to say something, stopped as if he’d thought better of himself, and swung away.

You don’t know what he’d been about to tell you…though maybe you kind of do. The pair of you have never necessarily been the emotionally vulnerable types, but the connection between you is one that cannot be denied.

“I’m fine,” he’s repeating now, still hiding from the truth. “Just tired.”

“Which is exactly why you should call it for the night. You’ve done plenty.”

“I haven’t done enough.”

“Look, just…” You exhale deeply, pull off your mask so you can meet him eye-to-eye. You don’t miss the slight change in his demeanor when you bare your face, the fleeting look of quick relief. “Do you…want a massage or something?”

He blinks. “What.”

“I asked if you wanted a - “

“I heard you.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Ok. So? Your shoulders could really use it, dude.”

“I…” You can pinpoint the exact moment he decides to give in, posture slumped and scowl deepening. “…Fine.”

He turns back to face the screens - thankfully, the video from before is long gone. Miguel says nothing for a long time, ‘til he finally snaps, “Well?”

You lay your hands on his shoulders. You’re no trained masseuse, but your Aunt May does a wicked back rub and you’re sure you can replicate her technique, more or less. And so you try.

Are all shoulder muscles this knotted? Or is Miguel just overworking himself per usual? You’re not sure, but you press as hard as you dare, first with your fingertips, then kneading in and out with your knuckles. Miguel is silent as you work. The only sound he makes is the measured course of his breathing, up-down, up-down, up-down. You can feel it thrumming through your neurons, slow and steady.

“What, sorry?” You didn’t catch what Miguel just mumbled under his breath.

“Can you - go harder?” he repeats, practically spitting the words. He sounds as exhausted as you’ve ever heard him.

Wordlessly, you begin to apply even more pressure, and Miguel moans. You’ve never heard him make a noise like that before, and in your shock, you start and almost back away from him entirely. You manage to keep your wits, though, and you press again in the same spot, feeling the knot aching to unravel beneath his skin.

“Y/N,” he groans - but before you can begin to wrap your head around that, Miguel’s body is freezing up under your fingertips, and suddenly, he’s wrenching himself away from you.

“Woah - you ok?” You drop your hands to dangle by your hips, but you can still feel the buzz in your head, concentrated and slightly painful like a migraine, a hit off a cigarette.

“You should go,” Miguel says quietly, his back to you. “This…you should just go.”

“Ok.” You’re finding it hard to breathe, beneath all the spandex and bindings and confusion. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.”

“Did I hurt you?”

“No.”

“Then what the hell is the prob - “

“GO, Y/N,” Miguel seethes, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. “Just leave me alone.”

You scowl. “Fine.” Pulling your mask down over your face again, you shoot a strand of web over in the opposite direction, pull yourself through the air until you land against the wall and cling there. “Fine, Miguel. Whatever you want. As usual.”

If he looks back at you as you leave, you don’t know. At the moment, you’re too hurt and angry to waste another thought on him.

[the-kr8tor]

we need a Blob and Hobie alliance for like one thing they're tryna get from R, similar to Crowley and Hobie Of course this alliance is going to last from a few minutes to an hour or two depending on how stubborn R is, I feel like... After the tea has been spilled however they're going right back to bickering... "I made em spill, actually. you were just backup" (Angry bhbhbhhbhbhb noises) "shut up thats not true"

Yay Blob request! Thank you, angel ❤️

Paring: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, Blob the symbiote cat AU, cat symbiote AU, CW description of illness. FLUFF

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

“You're sick, love.” Hobie says whilst he leans on the doorway of your makeshift office, aka your dark room that has your ac blasting and your humidifier blowing right across your sweaty, puckered face. “Rest, you can finish that tomorrow.”

“‘m not sick.” You declare, clearly sick, nose congested, sneeze rising up to your throat. “I have to finish this today so I have a free day tomorrow—!” A loud sneeze interrupts your sentence. The noise finally awakens the beast on your lap. Your typing hand briefly brushes along Blob's slime-like body, black tendrils wrapping along your wrist as if he's trying to keep your hand in place. But alas, you have work to do. “Sorry, Blobie, pet later okay?”

The alien snaps his big milky eyes wide open, disgruntled is an understatement, he expects to be coddled the second he wakes up. He meows, agitated, a deep roar that doesn't even faze you.

“In a minute, Blob.” Blob, you haven't called him that since he tried to bite a chuck off of Hobie's guitar. Speaking of said man, he saunters inside, eyebrows furrowed. Blob would open his maw at the close proximity of Hobie, but the alien has been around you two long enough to notice what's happening. Blob's big eyes flick between your sickly form to Hobie's concerned ones.

“At least drink some meds.” The foil packaging crinkles as he places it next to your laptop. A second later a cup of water that has you looking up at him through the thick fog of fever. “Drink—”

“I'm not sick.” You stubbornly huff.

Hobie sighs, palm reaching down to your clammy forehead. Within a second, your fever seeps through his skin, searing heat making him flinch away and has him more worried. “Love, drink, please.”

Blob, ever the sweetheart (just for you) leaps up to your keyboard, blank eyes staring at you intensely. He opens his mouth, jagged rows of teeth showing, long snake-like tongue flicking from side to side.

“Are you threatening to eat me, Blob?” You sniff, glaring at the blobby alien in front of you. “I'm working right now, so can you two please give me some space?” Your tone isn't even angry nor convincing. Yet, the two rivals move away from your feverish form.

Blob shuts his large mouth, hopping away, looking back once before following Hobie outside. Hobie keeps a close eye on you through the open door while he grows wary of the alien that is conveniently near biting distance from his ankles.

Leaning on the back of the settee, arms folded over his chest, Hobie thinks of a way to get you to finally rest. Or at least take some medicine. To his surprise, Blob hops right next to him. He sits all prim and proper on the back of the couch, white eyes narrowed at your hunched form.

Hobie nods once at the so-called cat, “you got any ideas?”

Blob doesn't hiss, or even scowl at him. Instead, he meows lowly, still vastly different from a regular cat's tone but close to it.

“You've got an idea then?”

Blob's black gooey tendrils inch closer to Hobie, to which he flinches away. “No, never in a million fuckin' years. Get a better idea, you parasite.”

Blob chirps, a sound that Hobie has never heard the alien make. He thinks you've never heard of it too. He blinks, smirking. “Can you do that again?”

With a Cheshire cat smile, Blob looks at Hobie mischievously.

—

You have no idea how you got into bed with the covers properly tucked around you. A minute ago you were cooing at the chirping Blob, his eyes were so cute that you forgot that he can wrap you around his tendrils. With your vision filled with nothing but black gooey skin, you blink and suddenly you're in bed with a thermometer in your mouth.

Hobie checks your temperature whilst you wrap your mind around at what happened. Blob is on your chest, guarding over you as if you can move under the thick blankets.

“38.5.” Hobie winces. Eyes full of worry, Blob sports the same look, he lays down on top of you, blinking slowly, tails tucked under him.

You frown, feeling the heat under your eyes, “I'm sick.” Finally admitting your illness.

“I know you are, love.” Hobie brings his palm over your cheek, his cool skin grants you reprieve from the fever clawing at your body. You lean into his touch, nodding as he gives you your medicine. “Sleep, we'll be 'ere when you wake up.”

As you drift off to sleep, head laying on Hobie's thigh while he soothingly rubs your head, Blob purrs on top of you, tongue peeking between his sharp teeth. His eyes says it all, “no thank you?”

“You were a good distraction,” Hobie whispers.

Blob stands up, eyes narrowed into slits, huffing and puffing angrily.

“Fine, thank you.” Hobie scoffs the words out. Blob makes biscuits on top of the thick blanket, nails purposely digging into the cloth, stitches coming undone. “C’mon, that's my favourite, you fuckin' gremlin.”

[fictionalgap]

Steal My Heart

(chapter4)

Pairing: Kit Thantalos x Reader

Summary: Kit makes you a surprise.

Warnings: Swearing, underwater kiss😉😉😉

Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

Song Recommendation: Fire on fire - Sam Smith

You and Kit have been riding for two hours. Wherever Kit wanted to visit, It was really close to where your mother stayed.

"Kit, why are we here?" you asked suspiciously.

She stopped in front of your house. You stopped when she stopped.

She got off from the horse and landed on her feet. She approached to you and said "Suprise!" with a giant smile.

Your mouth moved but no words came out. You didn't know how did she knew you lived here but you were happy that she brought you here.

You saw your mum at the door of your house.

"Y/N!" She ran at you with open arms.

You got off from your horse and ran to her. You hugged and Kit watched you from where she stood.

"I wasn't expecting you too soon." your mother said with excitement.

"Should I go back?" you teased her with a smirk.

She playfully hit your shoulder then hugged you tighter. You broke the hug.

You turned to Kit. "This is Ki-, the Princess of Tir Aslee-"

"Your highness." your mum bowed to Kit.

"It's really nice to meet you. Just Kit is enough." she smiled to your mother.

"It is really nice to meet you too, Kit." she smiled then looked at you.

"Don't stand there, come in. " Your mum hurried into your house.

You all walked into the house. You and Kit were sitting in your kitchen. Marlene and kids were out somewhere. Your mum was brewing some tea as you fidgeted with your fingers anxiously.

"Thank you." you said to the girl next to you with a smile. "Don't. I just wanted a break from the castle." she pushed the subject away. A pleased smile obvious on her face.

"How did you know I lived here?" you questioned.

She cleared her throat after she avoided your gaze.

Your mum came with teas and placed them on the table. You both took the cups.

Your mum sat down with a wide smile.

"So, tell me everything."

Kit told her how you saved her life. You told about how Queen forgave your crimes and had a generous job offer for you.

Your mum told Marlene and her kids were great to her. They were able to live well since she was town's healer and made more than enough money. She told you she helped her during she was working and also take care of the kids.

You were grateful Marlene was there for your mother. You knew your mother wanted to give up on doing theft long time ago.

Your father didn't want to. He was a good man but he liked stealing so much it was almost like he needed it.

"Once a thief, always a thief." you remembered his words to your mother after she told him she didn't wanted to do this anymore.

After a couple of hours it was almost evening. "We should get back." you turned to Kit.

Kit nodded and stood up from her seat. You felt her hand brushing yours.

You said your goodbyes then got back on the road to the castle.

"You never answered me." You asked her calmly.

"Hm?" She turned to you.

"How did you know I lived here?"

She sighed nervously.

"You know that while were training your letter fell down. When you went to drink water I read it before I gave it to you." She looked down.

You stopped riding your horse. Your face fell with disappointment. Never in a million years you would think of her as someone like that.

"I know It's not nice to read someone else's p-"

"No. It's not and-" You started to get angry but something stopped you.

Your eyes got bigger when you looked at her direction.

"Kit. Don't move."

Kit's eyes widen with fear and she had the urge just to take a look but she couldn't.

She had a big hairy spider on her shoulder.

You didn't know how the hell she didn't feel that. It looked big and poisonous.

'What is with the Princess Of Tir Asleen and poisonous animals?' you thought to yourself.

She eyed her left and with realization her eyes got wider and she panicked for a second then fell from the horse.

She fell into the mud and now she was covered in it.

"Fuuuuuck!"

You snorted as you ran to her, saving her from the mud and the spider.

Spider was barely in the mud, was already crawling its way out to the clean grass.

You held Kit's hand and helped her up.

"Come on, there is a pond over there."

She groaned as she followed your lead.

She got rid of her outer clothes and you both washed them . You were glad it was Summer. It would dry quickly.

"I am sorry."

You looked at her direction.

"I shouldn't have looked. I just I didn't know why I did it. I - I guess I was curious or I-I don't have any excuse. When It's about you I just want to know more. A-and I guess I got excited."

You knew she was telling the truth.

You nodded to her and to yourself.

She looked at you as she was waiting for an 'I forgive you.'

Instead you stood up and wondered around the pond. She got up from her seat and stood next to you.

She looked in your eyes desperately. "Y/N?"

You stared at her coldly and she frowned at your expression.

Then, all of a sudden, you put your hands on her arms and pushed her to the pond in front of you.

"Wha-" she managed to get out before water splashed around and your giggles filled the woods.

She got up to the surface and swam her way back and got off from the water.

You expected an annoyed look on her face but she was smiling. She came next to you with her arms on her waist.

She bit her lip and nodded to herself. "I deserved it."

You laughed. She smiled as you laughed more.

What you didn't expect was her pushing you into the water.

You found yourself in blue-green pond and you saw her jumping in the water again. She was swimming to your direction. You looked at her with a smile. There was enough light inside the pond. Thanks to the Sun. You could see her clearly.

You saw her looking at you softly. That look melt your heart but also It awoke something inside you. You pulled her to yourself to give a peck to her lips. You looked at her face. It was blank. Than you swam to the surface and took a deep breath. When you saw her coming right after you. You couldn't find the courage to face her.

You took a deep breath and dived into the pond. You decided to wait there as If that was a good solution. You saw her coming down. She had a happy expression on her face as much as someone can when they are holding their breath. She came down to your level.

Then something you never could have guess happened. She held your cheeks with both of your hands and kissed you. You relaxed into the kiss as you felt her not hating this.

Your smile met your eyes as she clinged onto you. You looked at her eyes as she looked at yours. You held her arms but she smiled and pulled you to the surface with her.

Taglist: @valenftcrush @elliewilliamsgf69 @hayatistirahati @rubycruzsbitch @crxmxnzl-c0rpzes @scarletchase1989

[tallulah477]

Push Me, Push Back

Kinktober Day 10: Knife Kink

Pairing: Spider x Fem!Na’vi!Reader

Warnings: AgedUp!Spider, Semi-dark!Spider, Fingering, Bullying, Physical fighting/grappling, Knife kink/knife play, Blood play, Dub-con, Dirty talk, Dom Spider, Sub Reader, Size Difference, Mentions of Spider wanting to physically hurt the reader (briefly)

Word Count: 3K

A/N: It's technically not midnight here yet, so I'm still on time!

Summary: He doesn’t know why you target him - why you make fun of him, or push him around, or threaten him. But he’s tired of your shit, and he’s going to prove to you why him being shorter than you doesn’t mean he can’t still take you down. 

Translations:

Tawtute - Human, sky person

Tewgn - Loincloth

Vrrtep - Demon

Kurkung - Asshole

Skxawgn - Moron, idiot

Teylu - Beetle larva

Meyp - Weak

He doesn’t know why you target him.

He’s always been good to The People, always tries to prove his worth and value to the clan despite being born of the sky people. He’s never been anything other than kind, helpful, and respectful. 

The clan has come to accept him over the years. His psycho father is gone, all the other humans sent back once again to their dying planet with the firm expectation that this time they stay there. Even Neytiri who has every reason to hate his guts has mostly come around. He’s proven his loyalty to the Sully family a million times over, proven his bond with her children is true and never wavering - and when the time came to choose between the man who has the memories of his birth father and his found family, he let Quaritch drown and saved Jake instead. 

Neytiri had started to look at him a little differently after that, and he couldn’t be more grateful that he finally has the family that he’s always wanted.

Life is good now. He feels seen, heard, and loved. He finally has a place in the world and a position within the clan that garners respect from all.

All except you.

He doesn’t know what he did to make you hate him. It wasn’t like this before he got caught and the Sully’s fled to Awa’atlu. He remembers you from back then. You were barely on his radar, not direct friends with any of the Sully children so there weren’t lots of opportunities for hang outs or conversations. Plus, at that time, The People were still a bit hesitant to let their children play with a human. Despite them knowing that not all humans were bad, the stigma was still there, made worse by the knowledge of exactly who birthed him. 

But you were still around. He remembers the cute toothy smiles you used to send him from where you stood glued to your mother’s side. The small three fingered waves he would get as your mother dragged you off and out of sight. He remembers when Kiri’s lesson with Mo’at ran later than intended and you popped out of nowhere and offered to help him mix the fruit dye he uses to paint on his stripes. You were sweet, even if a little shy.

But when he and the Sully’s came back to the forest after the end of the war, you were different. Once innocent amber eyes had turned cold and angry. The goofy smiles had turned into scowls and frowns at the mere sight of him. Your words, once friendly and helpful, were now scathing jabs meant to hurt and anger. 

And you were relentless with it. 

“Move, vrrtep,” You snap, bodily throwing your shoulder into Spider’s, cutting in front of him in the line to get food, and nearly tossing him to the ground with the force. 

He stumbles, only saved from face planting by his agile nature. The food he was holding is not as lucky though and lands on the ground a couple of feet away from him. He whirls around, glaring daggers at your smirking face and trying to ignore how your friends laugh behind you. 

“What the fu—”

“The actual Na’vi get food first,” You say, grabbing a fig leaf and filling it with teylu, but your eyes don’t leave his, watching with glee as anger floods the dark orbs. “Then the little pets can have the scraps,”

He scoffs, fists balled up at his sides. “I am one of The People. I have every right to be here,”

You step up to him, towering over him and trying to use your natural height as an intimidation tactic. To his credit, it doesn’t work, and he holds your stare without an ounce of fear. He just barely is able to hold himself back from throwing a punch at your stupidly pretty face when you sneer, voice low and teasing. “You have the right to be locked in a cage. You can stay in my hut. I’ll keep you fed and watered, like my own little personal pet,”

He doesn’t dignify you with an actual response, can’t even think of one through his anger. Instead, he hisses, blunt teeth on full display as his face scrunches up, and the sound that rips out of his throat is as animalistic as it can be for a human. 

He turns, stomping away from you and heading for the safety of the Sully’s, fuming at the blatant disrespect. A pet - what a fucking joke. 

Your eyes follow his retreating form the entire time, glued to the way his tense back and shoulder muscles shift underneath his skin with each step, but you rip them away when you catch yourself staring - annoyed . . . and feeling a little too warm. 

The science guys have been working on an alternative for the oxygen masks for years. The original masks are clunky and, even though they get the job done, it’s difficult to use for everyday activities like eating or just general smelling of all the fantastic things Pandora has to offer. And, frankly, sneezing into the mask is gross, so when the science guys finally finished developing the alternative tech to the masks, Spider jumped on that shit fast. 

The new breathing apparatus sits snugly around the back of his skull, curving around his ear and filtering out the bad stuff while allowing oxygen to pump in through the nose tubes. It’s not perfect, and the nose tubes tickle the inside of his nose sometimes when he thinks about it too much, but it’s already so much better than the other mask, and he finally feels a little closer to feeling like an actual Na’vi. 

It feels so freeing, not to have to take off his mask and hurriedly shove food in his mouth every time he wants to eat something. Now, he can savor it, feel the juice of the fruit explode on his tongue and drip down his lips and chin and not have to worry about wiping his face clean to replace his mask. He can return Kiri’s ikran’s affectionate nuzzle, feel the smooth leathery skin against his cheek and its playful puff of breath against his face. He can wear the Omatikaya face paint proudly during celebrations or special hunts, the sacred markings unobstructed on his mask free face.

“Oh, look! Little tawtute got a new toy,” You say loudly when you see it, and Spider’s happy mood quickly turns sour. “Trying to look a little less vrrtep and a little more Na’vi?”

“Leave me alone, y/n,”

He thought he was going to get away with it. By some miracle, he hadn’t run into you or your dumb gaggle of followers all day and when he left the Sully’s hut after the last meal and headed into the forest to start back to the lab, he thought he was home free and free of you. At least for the day. Apparently, the Great Mother is still trying to test his willpower.

“It’s not working,” You continue, drawing closer to him. “You still look like a tawtute. A small, tiny, little meyp tawtute,”

Spider’s eyebrows scrunch in annoyance, a harsh breath punching out of him as he speaks through gritted teeth. “I’m not weak,”

You laugh, a terrible sound that shoots adrenaline through his veins as you begin to circle him. It’s just you right now, your friends are nowhere to be seen. He’s immediately on his guard, hand shifting closer to the knife sitting at his hip. 

In a group, he’d have no chance - the Na’vi height and strength giving them every advantage over his human body. But by yourself, he has some tricks up his sleeve. You’re not a warrior, or even a hunter. You’re a crafter with a specialty for weaving beautiful and sturdy baskets. Spider, on the other hand, he’s a trained warrior. He knows how to fight and how to use his shorter frame to his advantage. 

You’ve gotten physical with him before, pushing and shoving him more times than he can count. But those have all been in public places, with other people’s eyes watching. There’s a dangerous glint in your eyes now, large amber eyes locked onto Spider as you circle behind him. 

“You smell like one too,” You continue, leaning forward to steal a deep breath against his neck. Goosebumps explode along his skin at the touch of your flat nose against his skin. “Smell like a skxawgn who doesn’t know his place. Like a kurkung tawtute who’s trying to forget what a traitor he is - to both the Na’vi and his own kind.”

Frustration builds inside him at your words and he pushes his shoulder back roughly, catching you in the chest and knocking you back from your spot at his neck.

“I have never betrayed the Na’vi,” He growls. 

“Aw, poor baby. You just don’t really fit in anywhere do you?” Your fingers can’t help but reach out and brush against his arm, fingers gliding up and down the smooth, tanned skin. The light touch, so much like how a lover might touch him, a soft and gentle caress of his skin, only pisses him off more. The muscles are taut under your teasing fingertips. “Not with the Na’vi, not with the humans. Not with your father--”

In an instant, he snaps. Without another thought, he’s knocking your hand away from his arm and twisting your wrist so hard it makes you gasp in pain. He throws his body to the side, the sudden and unexpected movement of his weight is enough to catch you off guard, and you stumble into him only for him to kick the back of your knees and send you flying to the ground. 

You land on your stomach, face narrowly avoiding smacking into the ground, and cry out when Spider pins you down, body pressing you harder against the moss as he grips your hair tightly and pulls your head back.

You open your mouth to yell at him, scream all kinds of curses at him, but the knife he places at your neck makes your words catch in your throat.

“Say something else,” He snarls. The blade pressing in tighter against your jugular. One wrong move on your part and you’re done. “Come on! You wanna be a tough girl? Wanna be a bitch? Say something else!”

But you can’t, the words won’t come out. Suddenly, you can’t focus anymore. He’s pressed tightly against you, his legs bracketing your waist, and you can feel the outline of his cock against your lower back. Your hands ball against the ground, curling around the moss and ripping it out of the ground as he pulls your head back further. 

“What happened?” He taunts, scraping the side of the blade up your neck and over your chin, nudging the tip of it against your bottom lip. “Meyp tawtute got your tongue?”

“Get off me,” You say. You aim for a firm voice, something serious and intimidating, but it comes out breathy, voice shaking as the tip of his knife digs into your lip. Blood wells up from the small puncture, pooling into a dot and cascading down your chin.

The knife moves from your lip back to your throat. 

“You’re going to leave me alone,” Spider tells you, and his hand feels huge where it’s tangled in your hair. “Understand? I don’t want to ever hear any bullshit come out of your mouth again.”

The twinge of pain at your scalp sends electricity down to your core, and you whimper at the flood that’s suddenly filling your tewgn. The hard muscled body on top of yours is driving you crazy. The deep growl of his voice caresses your eardrums and sends shivers down your spine as the words wrap around your brain like a thick, warm blanket. 

The knife at your neck takes away all your power, any control you might have had over the (frustratingly gorgeous) human is gone in a second. It makes him powerful, gives him power over you, over your body, and you want to cry at the unfairness of it all. Cry about the fact that you even let him pin you in the first place. Cry about how you like it, how a human can even make you feel this way. Cry about how wet you are because of him, soaking through your tewgn already.

If Spider were a Na’vi, he would be able to smell you. His human senses aren’t that enhanced, but his eyes can still see, and his body can still feel, and he recognizes Na’vi nonverbal actions just like a normal Na’vi would - so it’s hard to ignore the way your tail slides along his spine and curves around his waist. 

The possessive move has Spider’s eyebrows raising to his hairline. He rises off you, grabbing your shoulder and rolls you over, eyes wide when they land on the large wet spot on the front of your tewgn. 

“Woah,” He whispers. “Interesting.”

You’re shaking, eyes struggling to stay on him as your thighs rub together, needing friction, needing something. You gasp when he lands on you again, legs bracketing your hips and the flat of the knife pressing against your cheek.

“What’s all this, hm?” Spider breathes, running the cool blade across your cheek. His eyes have gone dark, the brown of his irises almost completely swallowed up by the blacks of his pupils. “Is someone getting a little too excited?”

You whimper and you want nothing more than to scream at him, to push him off and make him stop his teasing, it’s what you’ve always told yourself you wanted. But your hands come up to rest on the tops of his thighs and your heart pounds at his satisfied grin.

“It all makes sense now,” He muses. He slides the knife down your throat again, over your collarbone and in between your breasts. “Why you target me. Someone has a crush on the tawtute.”

“No,” You try to protest, but a shallow slice on your chest makes you gasp. 

“Shut up,” He grunts. “Don’t lie,”

You both watch as the blood wells up from the slice, and, with a quick wicked glance up at you, Spider’s head lowers to your chest. His tongue is like fire as he drags it between the valley of your breasts, warm and wet as he licks up the blood from your skin.

“Huh, f-fuck,” You whine, and feel a new surge of arousal at the slight red stains left on his perfect white teeth.

“You think about me, don’t you?” He says, sliding the flat of the knife across the swell of your breast. He pushes your chest covering up and teases the tip against your nipple, the azure bud immediately hardening at the feeling. “You do. The thought of getting turned on by a tawtute makes you so angry, doesn’t it? But I bet when you go home at night, and you’re all alone on your mat, your fingers find their way to your cute little clit...”

He trails off, knife slowly making its way down your belly until it reaches the top of your tewgn. The ripping sound as the knife cuts through the thin material shoots through your ears, a damning echo as Spider’s eyes feast on the evidence of your embarrassment. 

You’re drenched, tewgn sticking to your pussy as he pulls it away from your body. His eyes fall to your swollen clit, thumb reaching down to brush over the reddened nub and smirking at the sound of your desperate cry. 

“Yeah,” He mutters, the blade pressing against your hip bone as his fingers play with your pussy. Two fingers slide into your leaking cunt while his thumb continues to circle your aching clit. “You definitely think about my fingers. Am I right? Do they feel as good inside you as you imagined?”

The moans and whines that fall from your lips are so pathetic sounding, desperate whines and whimpers as you try to move your hips harder into his thrusting fingers, but having to stop every time you feel the bite of the knife against your hip. The sounds coming from your pussy are so embarrassing, and you want so badly to cover your face in shame as Spider smiles at the wet sounds, but your hands have taken up a death grip on the moss below you and you can’t seem to remember how to unclench your fists.

“Feels so good, doesn’t it, baby?” He asks, fingers thrusting faster, his thumb pressing harder against your clit. “I make you so uncomfortable, don’t I? So needy for me. Make your pussy feel all wet and gooey just from the thought of me.”

You can feel your orgasm approaching, the tightness in your belly undeniable and, fuck, he won’t fucking stop talking.

“You’re gonna stop the bullshit games, okay?” He says, curling his fingers against your walls, fingertips rubbing relentlessly against that special spot inside you that makes you see stars. Your breath catches in your throat at the onslaught of pleasure and when you don’t respond, Spider is over you again, blade back at your throat as he hisses, “Okay?”

“Okay,” You whimper. You’re a second away from cumming, running along the edge towards an oblivion that you just know is going to destroy you, and his dark eyes are gleaming as they stare directly into yours.

“Good girl,” He grunts. “Just because you’re pretty, doesn’t mean you have to be a bitch,”

His words trigger your orgasm, and you cum, crying out as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you. You arch against him as he rips his fingers out of you, fingers working roughly against your clit, and the movement just barely causes you to knick against the knife. The slight jolt of pain only enhances your pleasure and tears prick at the edges of your eyes as the waves finally crest. 

Spider is looking down on you, knife removed from your throat and placed safely beside him on the ground as he holds himself over you, but his eyes hold an untamed heat inside them that makes your stomach flip in excitement. 

“You think I’m pretty?”

**Special thanks to @pandoraslxna for the prompt!

Taglist: @eywaite (saw your comment, but still can't respond - thanks for the tip tho! Idk what's going on)

[irondadfics]

Hi! Do you do fic recs? If so, can you rec me some really good really whumpy fics? Like, Peter almost dies but comes back kinda whump and Tony is just the best dad ever!

here are some recommendations for you

Reviving Peter Parker by YellowDistress

Spider-Man was murdered five years ago, on a beach, at the hands of Adrian Toomes. Peter Parker never came home. Spider-Man was murdered five years ago. Today Peter Parker took his first breath.

If You Should Die Before Me (Reserve Me A Place In Heaven) by Aurealis

Peter is locked in a flooding cave in and Tony tries to rescue him.

Identity Theft by KitCat992

It's been months since the events of Civil War, and the Avengers are doing their best to remain a team, having promised to forgive and forget. Unfortunately for them, Tony Stark's latest invention has been stolen and recovering it causes tension to reappear. Meanwhile, in Queens, Peter Parker has two main priorities on his plate — complete his midterm finals, and track down a fishbowl wearing criminal that may or may not lead him right into the hands of the Avengers. Somehow between all of this, Spider-Man's identity is revealed to the Avengers, Steve and Tony's friendship may permanently be damaged due to continued hidden secrets, and Happy struggles to buy a youth-sized casket for Peter's funeral. Things were a lot easier when they were fighting over Bucky Barnes. (Or: The Avengers welcome Peter into their crazy superhero family and will do anything to protect him.)

Burn up with the water by jaybaybay

Spider Man died while millions watched. There was a fire. Then an explosion. And just like that, the famed hero was no more. The world mourned for their loss, then the world had moved on. Save for one. Tony Stark had last been seen when he spoke at Spider Man's public funeral, his demeanor had been calm and stoic; a stark contrast to when he had been seen only days before, screaming and clutching the disembodied torso of the cherished vigilante. Iron Man hadn’t been spotted in months. Not since the incident.  Everyone knew Spider Man was dead. But somewhere, in a prison encased deep in the ocean… Peter Parker lived.

The Humbling River by mysterycyclone

Peter’s been distant lately. Edgy. Angry. On his best days, he moves through his life in a vague daze, skipping meals and sleeping. On his worst, he’s hit with fits of anger that border on unthinking rage.  Monday afternoon, he breaks Flash Thompson’s hand.  Wednesday evening, he goes missing.  That night, the first headless corpse appears in Queens.

[morlao]

"You can thank me later"

Headcanons:

Being best friends with Anne Sallow

(contains Sebastian x f!reader)

- The first time you meet Anne the two of you immediately get along very well. She is more than happy that after all the weeks that she spent alone with her uncle Salomon, she finally has someone her age - and on top of that A GIRL - to talk to.

- You both spend the whole afternoon talking about Hogwarts while laughing and giggling about the memories that she shares with you.

"Do you know how horrified Leander gets when he sees a spider? One time during class he jumped on his desk and screamed like a little girl for at least five minutes! Professor Hecat had to promise him three times that it was gone before he agreed to sit down again."

- Of course Sebastian starts to feel left out pretty soon. He left you two for only a few couple of minutes and when he steps back in the room you are so busy talking that you don't even notice him. He jumps around, making a scene and acting like a total drama queen, which makes you and Anne cry out in laughter. He dramatically points his finger at Anne: "Stop stealing my best friend!"

- He is not really angry, though, more relived that Anne finally seems happy again. It's been a very long time since he heard her laugh like this. He even feels like she's finally able to forget about the curse - at least for a few minutes.

- After your first meeting you visit Anne on a regular basis. Almost every weekend you spend some time with her, often bringing some snacks from Honeydukes or something from Zonko's to cheer her up.

- Sebastian really appreciates what you do for her and - if that's even possible - he falls even harder for you. Of course Anne doesn't miss the hidden glances and the way he smiles when he looks at you. Not to mention the blush on his face and the fact that he often acts like an idiot in front of you to get your attention. Maybe it's also because of twin intuition that his feelings for you are like an open book to her.

"Merlin, I can't believe how nobody sees that!"

- She loves to tease him about it, which almost every single time gives him nearly a heart attack and causes him to panic as he fears that she might tell you, since you two grew really close. And girls tell their best friends everything, don't they?

"Awww does my twin brother have a crush?"

"Shut up, Anne! That's not true!"

"Of course not, there are a million other reasons why you look at her like that!"

She starts imitating Sebastian's glances and gestures, which causes his face to blush a deeper shade of red than the Gryffindors' flag.

- Even though she likes to tease her brother about his crush on you (by threatening him to tell you if he didn't confess soon) she will not say a single word to you about it. Once in a while she might drop a hint or ask you a question in order to find out whether or not you like Sebastian too. She might say things like:

"Don't you think that he's acting weird lately?"

Or

"He let you have some of his Bertie Bott's Beans? Wow, normally he never shares with anyone! You must be really special to him!"

- Even though Sebastian constantly flirts with you he won't make a proper move for a very long time as he is afraid that you don't like him as more than a friend. While Anne was really amused about that at first, she starts to get pretty annoyed after a few months.

"For Merlin's sake, Sebastian! When will you finally confess to her? If you wait any longer, other boys may take their chance! You know she's amazing, a lot of people fancy her!"

Anne's words haunt Sebastian in his dreams so he decides that the next time you accompany him to Feldcroft he will tell you about his feelings. But again he is too nervous. He just doesn't find the right moment and the right words to tell you (even though he forced Ominis to act out this scene with him various times).

- In the meantime Anne has made a plan herself. She knew exactly that her brother wouldn't find the courage to tell you so she decided that it was finally time for her to take action. As soon as you knock on the door she jumps up, runs outside and takes both your hands while giggling excitedly.

"Y/N, finally! How was your date with Garreth? You have to tell me everything!"

She leads you inside without giving you the chance to stare at her in confusion and ask her what the hell she was talking about. Obviously you weren't on a date with Garreth. Garreth was just a good friend. Your heart belonged to someone else. That special someone who now stood frozen outside the door, absolutely horrified at what he just heard. Garreth FUCKING Weasley!

- He screams out in frustration before clenching his hands into fists and storming inside where you and Anne are standing. Anne is still giggling and asking questions about your "date", barely leaving you time to answer. Sebastian can't believe how happy she is. She knows exactly that he loves you and she still seems to be so excited about the idea of you and Weasley! In his hurtred and anger he doesn't even notice how confused you are and that you try to interrupt Anne various times by asking her, what she was talking about.

- "Anne, what the hell?" He shouts while grabbing her arm. "You knew Y/N was going on a date with Weasley and you didn't bother telling me?!"

Anne smiles innocently. "Of course I knew. She's my best friend. Actually it was my idea. She told me that Garreth passed her a note in potions, asking her if she wanted to go to Hogsmeade with him. I told her to say yes. Garreth is a nice guy, so why not?"

- Sebastian is so furious, he can't believe what she says. "I told you months ago, that I love her and you set her up with GARRETH? WHAT THE HELL, ANNE?"

- Anne's smile gets even bigger as she watches you stare at him in disbelief. "You love me?" Sebastian freezes as he realises that he just confessed to you (if that's what you could call that screaming and shouting). His face turns bright red and he gets all flustered, nervously rubbing the back of his head. "Yes, I do." He finally manages to say.

- Now it's your turn to blush a deep shade of red. Sebastian Sallow loved you? You couldn't help but smile. You never expected him to have a crush on you. While you try real hard not to turn into a blushing and giggling mess he still stares at you. Of course, you're such an idiot! He obviously wanted an answer, a reaction, any sign that you're still alive.

- "Sebastian...", you stutter while slowly stepping closer and taking his hand. "Did you really think that I would go on a date with Garreth? I thought it was quite obvious that I like someone else." You pull him closer and he holds his breath. "Do you really think I would drop everything and go into the forbidden forest to fight some spiders with you if I don't have a crush on you? Wow, I guess even the Hogwarts ghosts know I like you!"

- A huge smile appears on Sebastian's face and before you could say something else he cups your face with his hands and kisses you. Your heart skips a beat when you kiss him back. You couldn't believe it was finally happening!

- When the two of you let go of each other, you see Anne standing there with a huge smile, looking completely satisfied with herself. "You can thank me later!" You laugh and pull her into a hug while Sebastian stares at her with a grin, shacking his head. She really was a true Slytherin.

[cyren-myadd]

Avatar One-Shot: Child Support

As the clone of the late Miles Stephen Quaritch, the recombinant Miles is the legal beneficiary of all of his genetic donor’s property, wealth, and rank. Unfortunately, he’s also the legal beneficiary of his debts. This includes the fifteen years worth of child support for Miles Socorro.

The day started out just like any other day during Spider’s captivity in Bridgehead. Quaritch collected him from his “room” (AKA, the cell Quaritch had added a few amenities to after Spider started cooperating with him) and brought him to the cafeteria so he could eat before they set off to continue the recoms’ survival training in the jungle. The other recoms had already eaten and were off doing whatever it was they did when Quaritch wasn’t bossing them around, leaving Spider to shoulder all of his early morning bossiness alone.

“Get your hair out of your face, boy. And don’t pick at your food, just eat it.” Quaritch ordered impatiently while Spider prodded the contents of his plate. The brown lumps before him were allegedly some kind of sausage, but Spider didn’t trust the RDA’s menu anymore than he trusted their propaganda about wanting to “build a peaceful future with the Na’vi.” A group of scientists walked past with their breakfast trays in hand, and Spider eyed the large cinnamon rolls on their plates in envy. Their sweet fragrance taunted him as the scientists sat down nearby.

“This stuff is nasty. Can I have one of those things instead?” He pointed to the frosted pastries hopefully.

Unsurprisingly, Quaritch dashed his hopes by nudging the plate of “sausage” under his nose. “The last thing you need for breakfast is a bunch of sugary shit. You need protein.”

“Uhg.” Spider slouched miserably onto the cafeteria table and rested his head on his arm. 

“And sit up straight for Christ’s sake, you look like you’re falling asleep.”

“I am falling asleep,” Spider mumbled into his elbow.

Quaritch opened his mouth —to boss him around some more no doubt— but before he could say anything, a loud BANG! interrupted him. Both of them jumped in their seats and whipped around to see the source of the noise; somebody had slammed open the cafeteria door so hard it’d nearly been knocked clean off its hinges, and that somebody was marching straight towards them. All the RDA personnel in the cafeteria stared at him in varying shades of annoyance and curiosity.

“Miles Quaritch!” Hollered the man who’d caused all the ruckus.

Spider’s eyes went wide. He knew that voice. “No fucking way,” he hissed under his breath. Never in a million years had he thought he’d ever see him again.

“I got a bone to pick with you!” The man, who was wearing the obnoxiously bright orange uniform of the mining crew, stormed right up to Quaritch like he owned the place. Everyone around them stared. Spider leaned around Quaritch to try and catch his eye, but the man wouldn’t so much as glance at him. All of his attention was on Quaritch. It was a comical sight. Spider would’ve laughed if he wasn’t too busy wishing he would look at him. Even though Quaritch perched awkwardly on the cafeteria bench that was much too small for him, the man still had to crane his neck to meet his gaze.

Quaritch looked down at the angry little man with an odd expression on his face, like he couldn’t decide if he was more irritated or amused by this interruption. Luckily for the man, Quaritch’s amusement won out in the end and he gave him a smile that was only half sarcastic. “If you got a bone to pick with Miles Quaritch, you’ve come to the right place. Now who might you be?”

“My name is Nash McCosker.” He huffed and crossed his arms, watching Quaritch’s face for a reaction. Clearly, his name was supposed to mean something to Quaritch, because he looked even more irritated when he didn’t react at all.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. McCosker.” Quaritch replied dryly. “I reckon I don’t need to introduce myself since you already seem to know who I am, so I’ll introduce you to my, ah… translator. This here is Spider. Say hello, Spider.”

He nudged him with his knee, but Spider didn’t say hello; he didn’t think he could even if he’d wanted to. His mouth was as dry as the land around Bridgehead, and he felt like he was going to throw up. Spider stared silently at McCosker, waiting for him to say something or look at him or do anything to acknowledge his presence. Even with Quaritch making an effort to introduce him, McCosker still wouldn’t even glance at him. He might as well have been a complete stranger. The silent rejection stung like a slap and Spider’s breath caught in his throat. His legs bounced in place, itching to move. Part of him wanted to march right up to McCosker and smack that stupid mustache off his face while another part of him wanted to run so far away he’d never have to hear his voice again. But Spider didn’t dare do any of that with Quaritch breathing down his neck, so instead he settled for clenching his fists and glaring at the floor. If McCosker wanted to act like he didn’t care about him, then fine! Spider didn’t care about him either! Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Quaritch’s ears flatten back at his reaction, but if it bothered him he didn’t say anything.

The silence stretched from awkward to downright uncomfortable, and Quaritch seemed to accept he wasn’t going to get a proper salutation out of Spider anytime soon. “Eh, sorry about that. This one’s not much for manners.”

McCosker scoffed. “Heh. Tell me about it.”

All of Spider’s resolve to pretend he didn’t care evaporated in an instant. “You—!“ he hissed as he lunged to his feet, and McCosker recoiled with his fists raised. Fortunately for McCosker, Spider didn’t get any further than that because Quaritch put a hand on his chest and pushed him right back into his seat. “Whoa! Easy, there!”

The reaction came so quickly that Quaritch only could’ve been expecting it. He kept one hand securely on Spider and with the other he gestured for McCosker to relax. Spider shoved his oversized hand off him with a snarl, but didn’t bother with trying to stand again. He crossed his arms and glared at the next table over. The group of scientists seated at the table suddenly became very interested in their plates.

“Alright, would either of you like to explain to me what the hell is going on here?” Quaritch asked as he looked between the two of them. The novelty of the situation was wearing off quick and Quaritch was going from amusement to irritation even quicker.

“Look, sir, I’m not looking for trouble.” McCosker must’ve sensed the danger in Quaritch’s mood, because he switched to a much politer tone. “I’m just looking to get what I’m owed.”

“Uh-huh. And what exactly is that?”

Before McCosker could answer, the sound of rapid footsteps made all three of them look up. A man in a suit rushed towards them from the same door as McCosker. He clutched a haphazard binder full of papers to his chest that sent the occasional loose sheet fluttering into the air behind him.

“Hello, everyone, sorry I’m late.” He said breathlessly as he arrived at their table. “I tried to keep up with you, Mr. McCosker, but you took off so fast I got left in the dust, heh, heh.” He chuckled awkwardly before clearing his throat. “Good morning, Colonel. My name is Mr. Ford. I’m from the HR department and I will be mediating this agreement between you and Mr. McCosker today.” Mr. Ford offered his hand for Quaritch to shake, but Quaritch ignored it and narrowed his eyes.

“An agreement for what exactly?”

Mr. Ford lowered his arm and jammed it into his pocket. “Well, you see, sir, as the clone of the late Miles Stephen Quaritch, you are the legal beneficiary of all of your genetic donor’s property, wealth, and rank. You know this, correct?”

“Yes, this was all explained to me when I decanted. And?” Quaritch prompted impatiently.

“Of course you already know!” Mr. Ford fidgeted nervously. “But are you aware that you also inherit any and all debts belonging to Miles Quaritch?”

At that, Quaritch’s ears twitched back against his skull. “No… I don’t think that was ever mentioned. But I didn’t— I mean— him, the original Quaritch— he didn’t have any debt when he died, so why does this matter?”

“Well, not quite, sir. You see, your, eh, predecessor, left behind a child when he died.” He glanced at Spider and gave him an awkward smile that went unreturned. “And as I’m sure you’re well aware, children take a lot of time and effort to care for— a lot of labor, if you will, and I think we can all agree that so much hard labor ought to be fairly compensated for, so, well, you see, um—“

The more Mr. Ford stammered, the stonier Quaritch’s expression grew. “Get to the point already.”

“Mr. McCosker wants to be financially compensated for raising Miles Socorro!” He blurted out in a rush.

Spider scoffed loudly and Quaritch’s face pinched in confusion. “I’m sorry— what?” He turned to McCosker with narrowed eyes. “Who did you say you were again?”

“I’m Nash McCosker. I was one of the people who chose to stay on Pandora after Sully went native on us. Since your kid was too young to go back, somebody had to look after him, and that somebody was me! I raised him for fourteen years! Fourteen years! And now I want what I’m owed!”

Quaritch shook his head in disbelief. “I ain’t calling you a liar, McCosker, but this whole time I’ve been under the impression that this kid was raised by the natives.”

“He wasn’t. Me and my wife bent over backwards to give him the most normal childhood possible.”

“Are you seriously telling me that this boy was raised by two humans?”

“Yes!” McCosker snapped. “You think I’m lying, huh? What reason do you have not to believe me?”

“What reason do I—?” Quaritch repeated incredulously before pointing at Spider. “Fucking look at him!”

For the first time in over a year, McCosker looked his foster son in the eyes— the boy he’d raised and left behind for a chance to rejoin the RDA. Spider bared his teeth and hissed. He looked close to lunging at him again.

“Does this boy look like he was raised by humans to you? Heh?” Asked Quaritch.

“I know how he looks, but that doesn’t change the fact that you owe me fourteen years of child support!” McCosker yelled so forcefully that he sent up a spray of spittle.

“Please calm down, gentlemen!” Mr. Ford cried.

“Is he serious?” Quaritch asked him with the barest hint of a snarl in his voice.

“Yes, I’m afraid so, sir.” Said Mr. Ford. He clutched his overstuffed binder to his chest as if it would protect him if Quaritch decided to attack. “If he’s telling the truth, then, legally speaking, you do owe him child support. The RDA is willing to enforce this if we can confirm his claim.”

Quaritch hissed through his teeth and pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is unbelievable. Are you seriously trying to make me pay for something that happened while I wasn’t alive? And what do you mean, confirm his claim?”

“Well, that’s the other thing. We can only enforce child support if it’s proven that Nash McCosker did indeed raise Miles Socorro for fourteen years, and we obviously don’t have any legal record of what’s happened on Pandora since the RDA left. So I need some kind of confirmation that McCosker is telling the truth before we can proceed.”

McCosker frowned at Mr. Ford, looking as equally confused as Quaritch. Apparently, this was the first time he’d heard this too.

“What kind of confirmation do you need?” Quaritch asked.

“Well…” in answer, Mr. Ford simply nodded his head behind Quaritch. In tandem, both Quaritch and McCosker slowly turned to look at where Spider sat sulking in the cafeteria chair. He slouched back with his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face. Spider looked up at Quaritch, whose ears were pinned back in irritation, then over to McCosker, whose face flushed pink from anger. The whole cafeteria went silent, everyone waiting to see what Spider would say.

After a long pause, Spider straightened up in his seat and stared directly at McCosker. “I’ve never met that man before in my life.”

“What?” The word exploded out of McCosker so loudly that his voice cracked. His face went straight from pink to firetruck red in a matter of moments, and a prominent vein throbbed at his temple.

“He’s lying!” He roared, pointing an accusatory finger at Spider, who shrugged innocently. “You don’t actually believe him, right? I had him under my roof for fourteen years! You can’t throw the money away just because he’s lying about it!”

Mr. Ford backed away from McCosker with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Mr. McCosker. If you cannot prove you raised him, then the HR department cannot enforce your claim.”

Quaritch smirked. He looked an awful lot like a cat that was proud of itself for making a mess. “You heard the man, McCosker. It was a real pleasure meeting you, but me and the kid gotta get going now.”

“No!” Protested McCosker as Quaritch and Spider got up to leave. When Quaritch’s back was turned, Spider sneakily flipped him off before scurrying after Quaritch like he hadn’t done anything. That was the last straw for McCosker.

“You ungrateful little shit!” He howled, spittle flying everywhere. Before anyone knew what was happening, McCosker lunged at Spider, his hands going straight for his throat. They collided, and Spider stumbled back into Quaritch’s legs. Quaritch whipped around with a startled hiss. He moved to pull McCosker off of Spider, but before he could get a hand on him, Spider had already taken care of it. Snarling just as fiercely as any Na’vi, Spider shoved McCosker off him. He staggered back, almost losing his footing from the force of the shove. Before he could recover, Spider punched him in the jaw so hard his head snapped back like a bobblehead. Then he hit him with a kick that knocked him clean off his feet. McCosker collapsed on his back. Blood flowed from his slack-jawed mouth. He hacked and wheezed, then spat something small into his hands: a tooth.

For a moment, McCosker stared in shock at his tooth, before glaring up at Spider. “I hope they execute you, you damn race traitor!”

“Fuck you!” Spider screamed back as he lunged toward the fallen man.

Quaritch was still frozen where he’d moved to protect Spider from McCosker. Now he realized he actually needed to protect McCosker from Spider.

“Stop!” He ordered, but it fell on deaf ears. Spider managed to get in another vicious punch before Quaritch grabbed him around the middle and hauled him off the ground. “Spider, that’s enough!”

A few bystanders who also wore orange mining crew uniforms rushed over to McCosker to help him to his feet. They ended up holding him back instead when he tried to lunge for Spider again. He yelled at him, blood and saliva dripping down his chin and mingling in his facial hair. “You’re gonna get exactly what’s coming to you, you fucking bastard! Nobody wanted you around and nobody will miss you when you’re gone!”

“Fuck you!” Spider screamed again. He thrashed so hard in Quaritch’s grip that it was a struggle to hold onto him without hurting him.

Quaritch hauled him away from McCosker and back towards the entrance to the cafeteria. He roughly set him on the ground and shook him. “Get a hold of yourself, boy! There are cameras in here.”

Spider grit his teeth, his breath coming out in short, angry hisses, but he finally stopped fighting against him. His eyes went to the corners of the ceiling and sure enough, there were multiple cameras trained on the unfolding drama. The idea of Ardmore watching him jump an RDA employee after Quaritch had promised he would behave himself sent a chill down his spine.

“C’mon, let’s take a walk.” Quaritch never took his hand off Spider’s shoulder as he marched him out of the cafeteria. The mining crew hauled McCosker in the opposite direction, screaming curses and death wishes at Spider the whole while. Mr. Ford had made himself scarce a long time ago. Every set of eyes in the cafeteria was trained on Spider. Now that the tunnel vision from his anger had faded, he was painfully aware of all the stares and whispers. He looked down at his feet, letting his thick dreads hide his face from view.

“Alright!” Quaritch barked at the crowd of onlookers. “Show’s over, folks, there’s nothing else to see here.”

All it took was one look from Quaritch to send everyone’s eyes back to their plates. Quaritch marched Spider through Bridgehead’s cold, twisting hallways before pulling him into a small room used for storage. It was so small that Quaritch had to crouch to fit inside, but at least they had some privacy. Spider paced as much as he could in the small space, his hands clenched in trembling fists. Quaritch sat back in a corner of the storage room and watched him pace with an unreadable expression on his face.

CLANG! Without warning, Spider punched a nearby crate as hard as he could, leaving a small dent behind in the cheap metal. His knuckles came away bloody, but he was too angry to care.

“I hate that son of a bitch!” He yelled, and he moved to punch another crate, but Quaritch grabbed his arm.

“Hey, don’t go messing all these boxes up.”

“Get the fuck off me, asshole!” Spider hissed. As soon as he said it, he immediately regretted it.

Quaritch’s eyes narrowed. “I’m gonna let that slide ‘cause I know you’re upset, but you better not use that tone of voice with me, young man. Now, try again.”

Spider closed his eyes and forced himself to take a few deep breaths. Then in a much calmer voice, he said, “please let go of me.”

“That’s better.” Quaritch made a big show of releasing his arm and leaning back to give him space.

Spider bounced on the balls of his feet and tried to look anywhere but Quaritch. Anger buzzed under his skin like a nest of hornets, filling him with a restless energy. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. He wanted to hit something. Preferably McCosker’s face.

As if reading his mind, Quaritch raised his hands and extended them so his palms were facing Spider at shoulder height. “Here. You wanna hit something, put ‘er there.”

“What? But why would I—?” Spider shuffled a few steps back.

“Aw, relax, tiger, it’s not like you’re gonna hurt me. C’mon, gimme that same southpaw you gave the prick in the cafeteria.”

After another moment of hesitation, Spider half-heartedly hit Quaritch’s palm.

Quaritch scoffed. “You call that a punch?”

He hit him again, harder this time.

“C’mon, you can do better than that!”

This time, Spider put his whole body behind the punch, just like when he’d knocked McCosker’s tooth out.

“Atta boy! Now gimme a right hook!”

Spider punched Quaritch’s fists again and again, the dull thud of flesh against flesh driving away the angry buzz under his skin. Once he didn’t feel like he wanted to hunt McCosker down and knock the rest of his teeth out anymore, Quaritch stopped. The absence of anger left him feeling oddly hollow.

Quaritch whistled appreciatively, massaging his sore palms. “You could’ve been a boxer in another life, kid! Woulda been the next Muhammed Ali!”

Spider wasn’t sure what that meant, but he could tell from his tone that it was a compliment. He looked down and scuffed his heel against the floor, unsure of how to react to the praise.

“So, you wanna tell me what that was all about?” Quaritch probed.

“I… lied. I actually do know that man.” He kept his eyes trained on the ground as he spoke.

Quaritch snorted. “I figured that much, kid. Who is he?”

“He was my foster father— er, he was supposed to be. He was alright when I was little far as I can remember, but after his kids were born, well… I dunno how to explain it. I still lived with him and his family— slept in their home, ate their food and all that— I was never neglected or anything— but it was like I was a guest or something. I was just… there.” Spider shrugged casually, like it didn’t bother him, but he still couldn’t bring himself to look at Quaritch. He wanted to stop talking. Any information he let slip now could be used to manipulate him later. He knew he should stop talking, but for some reason he didn’t. These were thoughts he’d never voiced aloud to anyone, not even Kiri, and for some reason they came spilling out of him in front of Quaritch of all people. “It’s why I spent so much time in the forest instead of with the other humans. Some of the Na’vi didn’t want me around, but my friends did.”

Spider fiddled with the songcord on his belt, rubbing his fingers over three beautiful blue beads; they represented the day he’d befriended Neteyam, Kiri, and Lo’ak. “They actually cared about me, you know?”

Okay, skxwang, you’ve said enough, stop talking now. His brain screamed, but it was drowned out by his traitorous mouth. He continued spilling his guts to an insane Na’vi-killer. “And then when the RDA came back, Ardmore offered the humans a deal to rejoin them, and McCosker wanted to take it. I wanted to stay with the Na’vi, but the grown-ups forced me to go with him. And the crazy thing was, I was actually gonna suck it up and go with him until my friends came back. But then McCosker captured them. He was gonna turn them in to Ardmore in exchange for a better deal. That fucking bastard. Mr. Sully trusted him and let him go back to the RDA with no hard feelings and he betrayed him—” if Quaritch scoffed at that, Spider pretended not to hear it.

“So I helped ‘em all escape. We busted outta there and found Mr. Sully. He wanted me to turn myself in to the RDA ‘cause he thought I would slow them down—” Quaritch made another noise in the back of his throat that almost sounded angry, but Spider ignored it too, “but I proved him wrong! I ran twice as hard as everyone else and I kept up. We all got away safe and sound.” The memory made Spider’s chest puff out in pride, and he almost felt good enough to look Quaritch in the eyes again, but then he remembered everything that came after that and he deflated.

“Anyway, after that, I thought I was never gonna see McCosker again, until… you know, until today.” Spider scuffed his feet against the ground once more. To his horror, his eyes started to prickle with unshed tears. He stubbornly blinked them away before they could fall. “It’s stupid. When I saw him, for a second I thought he was gonna— gonna— I don’t even know. Do something other than ask for money, I guess. But that was stupid. He only talked to me when he had to before he left so I don’t know why I thought he would be different now and—”

THUD! The sudden sound of flesh against metal startled Spider so much he finally looked up at Quaritch. He’d punched one of the metal crates, leaving a larger, deeper indent just above where Spider’s smaller hand had punched it earlier. When Quaritch pulled his hand away, his knuckles were bloody, just like Spider’s. Now they matched. If Quaritch cared or even noticed the blood, he gave no sign of it. He stared blankly at Spider, as if looking through him rather than at him, his face twisted into a rictus of fury. There was so much pure vitriol in his eyes that Spider physically recoiled. His back hit the wall and he slid as far away from him as he could in the tiny storage space. Oh great. Now he’d done it. All his rambling had pissed him off and now he looked angry enough to murder.

“Whoa, I’m sorry!” Spider blurted out quickly.

Quaritch blinked and his eyes snapped back into focus, now looking at Spider instead of through him. “Why?”

“For pissing you off, I didn’t mean to start talking so much, I just—”

“Oh,” Quaritch’s eyebrows pulled up out of their angry scowl and he stared at the dent he’d left in the crate like he didn’t remember making it. He took in the way Spider recoiled away from him and his demeanor instantly changed, all aggression leaving his body. “Wait, kid, no, I ain’t mad at you. Relax. I was mad about something else.”

Spider eyed his bloodied knuckles warily. “You sure?”

“I promise.” He put his palms up to show he meant no harm. “You did nothing wrong today. It sounds like that guy had it coming. I don’t want you worrying about him anymore, you hear me? If he comes round again I’ll put him in his place.”

“Okay… thank you.”

Quaritch tilted his head to the side. “What are you thanking me for?”

Once again, Spider found himself unable to look Quaritch in the eye. What was he thanking him for? The man had kidnapped him for crying out loud, the last thing he owed him was an apology! In the end, all he did was shrug.

“You don’t know? Well, that’s funny, cause I’m the one who oughta be thanking you.” Quaritch gently reached out and brushed a knuckle under Spider’s chin, hard enough to nudge his head up, but still light enough so Spider could pull away if he wanted to. When Spider reluctantly made eye contact with him, Quaritch smiled— it was a real one this time, not like the mean, sarcastic ones he’d given McCosker.

“You just saved me from giving a shit-ton of money to that asshole.” He said with a slight laugh in his voice.

Even though Spider still felt pretty shitty, he smiled back and shoved Quaritch’s hand away from his chin. “I didn’t do it for you, skxwang, I did it to spite him!”

“Well, I’m thanking you for it anyway!” Chuckled Quaritch. “And you know what, I think I owe you a little something now.”

Spider watched on curiously as Quaritch reached into his side pockets and withdrew two little bundles wrapped up in napkins. When he unfolded the napkins and offered them to Spider, he was delighted to see two cinnamon rolls. He must’ve snagged them as they were leaving the cafeteria when Spider wasn’t looking. The gesture made Spider’s eyes widen. Usually Kiri was the only person who took note of Spider’s favorite foods and went out of her way to give him some when he was feeling down. Even McCosker had never done anything like that, and he’d raised Spider for fourteen years.

“You gonna just stare at it or are you gonna eat it?” Quaritch asked. He telegraphed his movements as if he were going to take the rolls back, but before he could, Spider snatched them out of his hand.

“Mmm!” Spider wasted no time sinking his teeth into a cinnamon roll. Sweet sugary icing and spice exploded on his tongue; it tasted even better than it smelled. He would always prefer natural Pandoran food to Earth food, but if he had to pick a favorite from Earth, it was definitely this.

“Don’t inhale it all at once now!” Quaritch laughed as he watched him scarf it down. “We’re not in a rush. Just make sure you eat it all before we go meet up with the others. If Wainfleet sees it he’s gonna want on too.”

“Mm-hm!” Spider nodded through a mouthful of pastry.

For some reason, eating the cinnamon roll made him feel instantly better, which was odd. Spider had never been a comfort-food kind of person. Maybe the human chefs put some strange magic in their cinnamon rolls. Or —as he looked up at Quaritch, another idea occurred to him— maybe it had less to do with the roll, and more with the fact that Quaritch had thought to give it to him.

[astroboots]

Every You Every Me #8

COLLABORATED WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You embark upon 'a Cosmic Masterplan to survive' - Phase one

Word count: 6,600

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

[Previous] [Next]

Ten days have passed since your home was blown to a million pieces. 

Ten days since you found out that there are multiple universes. 

Ten days since you learned that your universe—the world as you know it—has less than three months left before it implodes unless you can somehow find a way to save it… and yourself.

Despite the fantastical nature of those events, you find yourself returning back to your everyday life, just as mundane and ordinary as ever, cosmic murder attempts notwithstanding.

The helicopter crash was featured across the front page of The Times by morning, and apparently no one was hurt. The pilot had somehow been flung from the helicopter into a nearby window and miraculously survived without even a scratch. The only real casualty was your every worldly possession. 

After a personal calamity of that scale, you’d hoped you might be offered an extended leave from work. Unfortunately, corporate America stops for no tragedy. 

The only thing you're offered is a very sympathetic email the day after with a gift voucher for Dominos attached. Then Sally from HR had let you know that, given the severity of your situation, the company was generously granting you three whole personal days to sort out your affairs. After that you were requested to return to the office—the second quarter of the financial year was beginning soon after all. 

And so you find yourself back at work.

Back to 8+ hours a day spent sitting in your rickety office chair, killing your eyesight in front of your computer screen as you pore over excel sheets.  Back to the same old boring one-on-one meetings with your boss, who keeps harping on about Key Performance Indicators, as if they mean anything. You don’t understand what the point is. No matter how key your performance is, it never seems to be enough to net you a raise. 

“Our total revenue increased by 15% compared to last year, which is a significant achievement considering the challenges in the market, but I know we can do better if we just–”

You stifle a yawn, as you readjust yourself in your chair. It’s Monday morning, and you find yourself in one of the stale meeting rooms, with staler treats that you’re not even allowed to have because they are for external clients only. Your boss is right next to you, droning on and on about how she wants to see better results in the next fiscal quarter. All the while you’re trying to fight the losing odds of keeping your eyes open and the temptation of gravity that wants your head to lay down on the conference table for an impromptu nap.  

“We managed to improve our profit margin by 3% by reducing overhead costs, but we need to focus on further optimizing our operations in order to–”

Out of nowhere, the sound of her shrill nasal voice stops, and for a second you think that perhaps, sweet mercies of mercies, the meeting is finally over. But instead she points out the window and says the last thing you expect. 

“Hey, isn’t that Spiderman?” 

Huh?

You whip your head around to stare out the window so fast you nearly give yourself whiplash, and the sight that greets you is nearly enough to give you a heart attack on the spot. 

Oh, it’s Spiderman alright. Your Spiderman. 

Your maybe-vampire-but-maybe-not (he hasn’t combusted in sunlight yet, but then again he wears a full-body spandex suit) Spiderman.

Your Spiderman is right there in front of you in plain sight on the outside of the building, plastered to the wide wall-to-wall meeting room window. That dark blue super suit with the angry red spider emblazoned on his chest like a neon sign screaming: ‘Here I am!’ 

Your boss skips closer to the window in giddy excitement, until the two of them are only about a feet away from each other separated by a half an inch of glass.

“Look, his suit is different! I wonder if it’s an upgrade?” she exclaims, tilting her head to study him from the window. “He sure is a lot bigger in person, isn’t he?” 

You feel the blood drain from your face, and the whole of your back breaks out in cold clammy sweat against your blouse. Doing your best to act normal, you force yourself to stay seated in your chair despite the shrill scream ringing in your head and the way your heart is threatening to leap right out of your throat. 

What the hell does he think he’s doing!?

Thank fuck your boss still has her back to you, too enthralled by the unexpected superhero sighting to pay attention to anything else. You take advantage of her distraction to gesture frantically at Miguel, waving him away with as covert of a shooing motion as you can manage and praying that he’ll take the hint.

You know he sees you because the triangular outlines of his eyes narrow into annoyed slits and then he turns his face away as if offended, refusing to look at you. But at least he finally moves, leaping into the air and disappearing out of the sight of the window. 

“Oh, shoot! There he goes again,” your boss says, letting out a long, loud sigh as if even she doesn’t want to go back to listening to her own voice for the rest of this meeting. “Well, back to work. Guess that was the excitement for the day.”

Scratch what you were saying before. There are no more completely mundane days. Not now that Miguel O’Hara has entered your life. 

Once upon a time, your biggest dilemma with him was that he was avoiding you, refusing all your attempts to force a face-to-face meeting. Now you find yourself in the strange position of having the opposite problem.

True to his promise, Miguel is always there to protect you. 

In fact, he’s just plain always there. 

Never more than 10 feet away, regardless of where you go. He’s the last thing you see… or rather, hear before you go to sleep, his incessant snoring reverberating off the walls of your shared hotel room. Then, when you wake, it’s to his big 6’9” frame draped across the tiny velvet sofa, his long legs sticking off the end and hanging out into the room. 

Miguel hovers over you when you eat, in case you get another piece of toast stuck in your throat and he needs to do the Heimlich maneuver on you again. Or, like that one time last week, in case you developed another hitherto completely undiscovered food allergy and have to be rushed to the ER. He is constantly on alert, eyes glued to you at all times.

Miguel comes with you when you go grocery shopping at the corner bodega. Sticking close to your back in the cramped aisles, lest one of the shelves fall over and bury you under crates of Lucky Charms and Fruit Loops… again.  He has a sneaky habit of covertly dropping the most nutritiously questionable grocery items in your basket: jellied donuts, sugar-frosted pop tarts, fun dip and jolly ranchers. He eats like a five year old who has too much pocket money and no understanding of the food pyramid. It’s worrying to watch and you definitely google diabetes risk for spiders at least once, but the internet has nothing helpful to offer on that front.

Even when you’re relaxing in the luxury hotel suite that’s become your home, flipping through Tik Tok-edits on your iPhone (the newest model, which Lyla snagged for you!) or catching up on Netflix, Miguel is always right there. Not two steps away from you, looking over your shoulder. 

Being the constant center of Miguel's attention is… disconcerting. You know it’s because he’s watching for the next random disaster to strike, but having his eyes on you nonstop leaves you feeling uncomfortably aware of him all the time. Especially when you’re trying to watch Bridgerton on your new macbook pro (also courtesy Lyla) and an R-rated scene comes on. You’ve resorted to having Lyla order books and magazines for him in an attempt to keep him occupied, but it doesn’t seem to make much difference.

It’s so bad that you can barely go to the bathroom without Miguel guarding the door like a zealous German Shepherd, his back plastered to the nearest wall when you emerge. You try not to let the lack of privacy bother you… or to think about the fact that his spidey-supersenses probably let him hear everything.

The only place Miguel doesn’t come with you is when you go to work, because he doesn’t have the clearance needed to get into the building—tourists and non-personnel aren’t allowed any further than the lobby. It doesn’t stop him from climbing the walls of the building and hanging around outside the 44th floor though. You know he’s there because, you see his shadow blurring at the window whenever you get up to get more coffee or unstick the paper jammed in the printer. 

It’s an adjustment, but for all the madness that comes with the package, having Miguel around does make you feel safe. 

Time always seems to pass too quickly when there’s a deadline approaching. 

The problem is that right now the due it’s not the date of a school assignment or some work project that you’re worrying about. And if you take too long, the consequences will be much worse than a lower grade or a slap on the wrist. If you fail to meet this deadline, it will be the end of the world—not just as you know it, but for everyone in your entire universe.

A week ago you had been dauntless, facing Miguel down across the table at Starbucks and announcing that you intended to fight cosmically impossible odds in order to live. Bold even, when you’d confidently declared that the only thing you needed was three months and his protection from the universe's murder attempts to make that happen.

In retrospect, you might have been less dauntless and more… delusional, because so far the only real progress you've made is drawing up a Master Plan, complete with a bullet point list and no idea if any of it is actually going to accomplish anything.

'A Cosmic Masterplan to survive' - Phase one

Step 1: Personal history:

Identify past wrongdoings

Determine if they could explain cosmic retaliation

Step 2: Analyze incident patterns:

Study recurring near death incidents

Identify commonalities and patterns

Determine strategies to stop or prevent future occurrences

Step 3: Research genealogy:

Explore family history

Investigate any ancestors who may have incurred celestial grudges

Determine if these grudges extend to descendants

Step 4: Examine past life wrongdoings:

Establish if reincarnation is real

Investigate potential past life transgressions

Assess if they correlate with current cosmic retaliation

Step 5: Seek cosmic expert assistance:

Consider approaching Dr. Strange for guidance

Request expertise in understanding cosmic phenomena

Things had started out okay. 

You completed Step 1 in less than a day, quickly compiling a list of all the people you’d wronged in your lifetime. Anything that might make the universe want to intervene on their behalf and dole out some karma against you.

So far, your life's most egregious crimes include:

That time when you wet the bed during a sleepover when you were six and blamed it on your friend Sally Jenkins.

The night you bailed out in the middle of a date with a dentist from Tinder who insisted on ordering for you and kept talking about Alpha and Betas. (It was only after a very confusing and awkward conversation that you realized he was not talking about the omegaverse). You’re pretty sure you did both of you a favor when you told him you were going to use the bathroom before dessert and took off without saying goodbye instead.

That summer you brought only chocolate with coconut back to share with your coworkers after your vacation in Canada so that Matt in accounting (who always steals your yogurt out of the office fridge) couldn’t have any because he's allergic to coconut.

Are those the actions of a good person? Probably not. 

Are they petty? Oh yeah. 

Are they bad enough to justify karmic retaliation from the universe in the form of death? You doubt it.

As for Step 2, despite all the near death experiences you've had recently, there doesn’t seem to be any discernible pattern that could help you predict or prevent future incidents. After all it’s a bit difficult to predict that an impromptu mounted police parade would take place near your office, only for there to be a wild stampede of panicky horses that tried to mow you over. 

Step 3 of your plan? Another dud. 

Your family line is made up of uncles working blue-collar jobs at warehouses, aunties who pester you about being single, one grandfather who likes to talk about how things were better in the old days and a grandmother who likes to complain that you never call every time you call her (and another grandma you actually like because she feeds you sweets and cakes when you go visit).

There are no skeletons hidden in your family closet. Nothing interesting at all except maybe that one cousin who claims to have hooked up with Leonardo Di Caprio at Coachella (unverifiable and unlikely).

Your mission to try to figure out if all of this is caused by any past life connections in Step 4? 

It had seemed like a reasonable thing to look into, but how the heck do you go about doing that? You’ve put it on hold for now.

As for the final step? Your search to seek out cosmic expert assistance is still ongoing.

Contacting another Supe that has a magical expertise in the cosmic should be the most logical avenue. Doctor Strange is the superhero that famously deals with the magical cosmos stuff, so you figured maybe he could help in some way. That it wouldn't be hard for Miguel to reach out to him, one superhero to another.

It’s the one part of your plan you could actually take action on that seems like it might lead somewhere. Problem is, you've run into a big sassy roadblock named Miguel O'Hara. 

Miguel flatly refuses to have anything to do with Dr. Strange. 

His justification? 

"Hate that guy."

Repeatedly pestering him has gotten you nowhere, and it’s not like you, a random normie, can just rock up outside of Dr. Strange’s residence and ask for help because the universe is out to get you. That’s a good way to get yourself hauled away, like that guy from Colorado who was in the news last year for faking a UFO invasion with cheap props on YouTube and then camping out outside of Bruce Banner’s lab. Idiots like that show up from time to time, Superhero fanatics seeking the attention of the Avengers for some fake emergency.

Worst comes to worst, you could probably just stand outside Doctor Strange’s house until something tries to kill you again and hope that he’ll notice, but you’re not sure the universe won’t thwart you on purpose. Probably not the best use of your limited time, especially since you’re out of PTO. 

For now, you’re hoping to change Miguel’s mind through sheer persistence, but given how stubborn the man is, that might be more of a lost cause than trying to thwart the universe itself. 

It’s payday today, and you’ve decided to take Miguel to dinner in Chinatown as thanks for the man’s continuous efforts in saving your life.

As touristy as that area can be, there are some good, cheap diners owned by grumpy Cantonese families that serve large enough portions to feed this horse of a man.

It’s not entirely selfless. You’re tired of being cooped up in the hotel room as soon as you get off work, and you want to stretch your legs. You’re also hoping that stuffing Miguel full of food will make him more receptive to the next round of your arguments in favor of Step 5 of your Cosmic Masterplan. 

But you’ve been here for two hours now, and you’re not sure Miguel knows the meaning of the word full. 

He’s ordered egg tarts by the dozen. Crispy fried seafood noodles drenched in sweet cornstarch slurry. Deep fried turnip cakes soaked in sweet soy sauce. Beef Ho Fun. Every other dish is deep fried and slathered in XO sauce, and you are starting to be genuinely concerned about his cardiovascular health as you watch him shovel it down his maw, barely pausing to chew as he goes.

At least he looks happy while eating? Endearingly so. It’s the only time you’ve seen him relaxed and finally drop his guard a little bit, though you’re sure he’s still aware of every minute detail in his surroundings. You decide it’s better not to say anything since scolding him about being a glutton would be like the pot name calling the kettle. Your wolfish food habits is a shared hobby you have with Miguel at this point. 

“What’s wrong with the egg tarts?” you ask, eyeing the plate that lies still untouched on the table, the only food to have escaped Miguel’s massacre. Given how sweet they are, you would have expected him to inhale them within seconds. 

“I ordered them for you,” he says, not slowing down as he spears more food onto his plate. “Your favorite, right?” 

You nod slowly and reach for one, touched by the gesture but not sure what to say. 

There’s a fleck of sauce smudged on his cheek, a stray rice grain on his nose. He looks like any other civilian as he scarfs down the food in quick succession.

Out of his super suit, he looks different. He’s partial to oversized clothes that makes him look oddly gangly even with his build. You’ve caught him with glasses on more than once, even though you’re pretty sure he’s mentioned that supersight is one of the things he’s gifted with. You can’t help but wonder if he wears them out of a sense of habit or if it’s a conscious fashion choice. Probably the former, given what you’ve seen him wear so far—fashion doesn’t seem to be one of his fortes. All in all, it makes him look like a much homelier person with a slightly nerdy vibe than the handsome superhero when he’s on the job.

He’s softer without the supersuit. Still scowling, but it’s less intimidating when he’s doing it wearing a big hoodie with dumb logos printed across his chest. 

It’s still odd seeing Rude Spiderman in these domestic settings, but you think you prefer him like this.

“How’s your plan coming along?” he asks, mouth full of fried rice as he’s already reaching for a piece of char siu. 

Of course, he has to ask you a question just as you bite into sweet and creamy egg custard. 

“I’m kind of stuck,” you admit, the words muffled slightly by the pastry in your mouth. “I think we need to talk about reaching out to Dr. Strange.”

“No.” He doesn’t even bother to stop eating, still chewing with a gusto as the word emerges.

Nothing more than that. No reasons or explanation given, just ‘No.’ 

Irritation brews in your chest at his unhelpfulness. He’s throwing a monkey wrench into your cosmic survival masterplan, and he won’t even tell you why. 

Too busy stuffing his face with crispy wontons. 

“But why? He’s the only Avenger with an expertise in cosmic magic!”

“Expertise, my ass,” he retorts. 

“Why do you hate him so much?”  You slide the plate of roasted duck across the table, away from him, and that finally makes him pay proper attention. 

Miguel is doing that scowling thing again, first at you and then dropping his gaze to glaring down at his rice and chopstick like he’s about to stab it. 

“Because he’s an idiot. “Doesn’t have a clue what he’s talking about. Gives terrible advice.” 

“He was one of the world’s leading brain surgeons,” you huff. “I don’t think he’s an idiot, Miguel.”

Miguel leans over the table, sliding the plate back closer to where he’s seated. 

“Being handy with a scalpel isn’t a transferable skill to the supernatural. And he wears a cape. Only idiots wear capes.”

“Wait, what? You don’t like him because he wears a cape!?” you spit out incredulously. You don’t understand this man’s logic sometimes.

“Capes are impractical. Get snagged everywhere. No superhero worth the name would wear one,” he explain as if this alone perfectly justifies hating someone. He stabs a piece of meat with his chopstick and brings it to his mouth. “I will never ask that man for help again.”

Then he inhales the rest of the plate of roasted duck. 

You leave the restaurant frustrated. 

Miguel’s stubbornness remains as immovable as stone, and this big red and blue boulder has left you stuck at a dead end roadblock in the middle of a street, one you don’t know how to get around. He won't agree to talk to Strange, and you don’t know what else to do.

You need divine inspiration, or failing that maybe just… a hint. Something to tell you what direction to go in. Some kind of a sign.

Deep in thought, you turn round a corner, barely noticing how the alley narrows as you keep walking forward.  It’s not until a pile of crates in front blocks your path, forcing you to stop dead in your tracks that you lift your head to survey your surroundings. 

You and Miguel are at a small alley that you don’t recognize, which is weird because you know this area like the back of your hand. Somewhere along the way you must’ve taken a wrong turn.

Just ahead of you, there's a red stall set up on the sidewalk surrounding a small rickety table with red cloth draped over it, a couple of folding chairs set up in front.

Above it is… a giant sign. Fortune Teller, it says. 

Not quite the metaphorical sign you were asking for a few minutes ago, but maybe the universe has given up on subtlety for today. Hey, at least it’s not trying to kill you… unless fortune teller assassins are a thing. Shit, is the universe resorting to baiting traps now? You really hope it doesn’t start setting out poisoned cookies on window sills, because then it will be game over for you and Miguel both. 

You look the stall over, noticing that there are no crystal balls. No tarot cards. No trinkets or ancient scrolls like the ones you see in the movies.

There’s just an old lady. Her head is cleanly shaven, shining slick under the sole street lamp in the alley. She’s wearing a thick robe with a blue shawl draped over her shoulders that seems much too warm for the current weather, and cheap oversized sunglasses perch on her small nose despite it being evening. That outfit is certainly a choice.

Maybe you should be more cautious, but what harm can it do at this point?

The fortune teller certainly looks harmless and frail with her big round cheeks, sitting on a small stool. Even though she looks nothing like her, she makes you think of your grandmother—the one you actually like to call. The grandma who always has cookies stashed away for you when you come to visit.

Maybe she can give you a reading of who you were in your past life.

Maybe she can give you a protection amulet to make the universe chill the fuck out for a while.

Maybe she can burn some incense that will make you relax and get rid of the migraine you've gotten since the universe decided to murder you.

"Miguel." You tug at the lapel of his jacket, and point in the direction of the sign.

He turns around, scanning the space and then his eyes narrow disapprovingly.

"Fortune… teller,” Miguel reads off the sign in a slow skeptic drawl. He doesn't need to say more to express his complete and utter disdain, but that doesn’t stop him.

"You know it's all a scam right? People like this can't actually tell the future. They have no supernatural powers. What they do is cold reading."

It’s entirely unsurprising Miguel doesn't like the idea. There are a lot of things Miguel doesn’t like.

"What else do you propose we do?"

"Ask someone with actual skills who can help us?"

"You were the one who shot down the idea of asking Doctor Strange for help," you remind him.

"I don’t want his help," Miguel shoots back, grimacing as though the mere mention of the name is enough to leave a bad taste in his mouth.

"Yeah, so you keep telling me." You continue on to the stall, despite your companion's strong protests.

The sweet old lady greets you as you sit down at the table. She looks even weirder from up close, her bald head abnormally large for her small body. You try not to stare, not wanting to make her self-conscious, but you can’t help but wonder how gravity keeps her head upright. 

“Fifty dollars,” she announces the moment you take a seat. 

Fifty bucks to get your fortune read!? Talk about highway robbery! You could get seven overpriced Spiderman cookies for that. 

“That’s too much.” You shake your head, rising from your seat. 

“Okay, okay. I can do cheaper,” the woman immediately concedes, looking nervous at your sudden outburst, and you have to bite back a smile. 

That was easy. 

“How much cheaper?” you ask. You know how this game is played. 

“Twenty?”

If she’s willing to drop the price from fifty to twenty that easily, you can definitely get her to go lower. 

“Ten.” You cross your arms where you stand, making no move to sit down.

“Are you really haggling over this? You were the one who wanted to do this, and now you’re going to cheap out over ten bucks!?” Miguel says from behind you, but you ignore him. It’s enough to have him there looming over the lady as you stare her down, taking a note out of his intimidation tactic book. 

“Some of us aren’t made out of money, Miguel–” 

“Fine! Ten, I’ll do it for ten,” the lady says over the top of your arguing. 

She’s skittish in the sudden silence that follows, looking over her shoulder to her left and right, as if she’s checking if your loud outbursts have attracted any attention.

Seemingly reassured that there’s only the three of you here, she gestures for you to sit back down and then tilts her head towards you. 

From behind her sunglasses, you can see that her eyes are clouded white from glaucoma, but when she raises her gaze to give Miguel an appraising look from head to toe, it’s obvious that she’s still able to see.  

“Your husband is tall.”

You see Miguel go rigid out the corner of your eye and chance a quick glance up at him. His sour expression hasn’t changed but you can tell he’s uncomfortable from the way his fingers are gripping the fabric of his hoodie where the chain holding his ring is hiding underneath the layers of clothing.

"Can you do a past life reading?" you ask instead, trying to steer the conversation away from anything that might inflict further painful reminders upon him. "I want to know if I could have attracted bad karma in my past lives."

“No such thing,” she says bluntly, shaking her head, "You have no past life. Reincarnation is not real."

That’s step 4 taken care of, you think to yourself, and you think you hear Miguel choke back a laugh behind you. You’re not thrilled that he’s having fun at your expense, but at least he’s not sad anymore. 

"Uh… okay…" You try to think of what else was on your list. "Then can I buy a protection amulet or something? I've had really bad luck lately."

The old granny looks you over appraisingly, eyes traveling from the top of your head as far down as she can see before the table top gets in the way, and her benign and friendly smile fades as she does. 

"No," she says, eyes wrinkling with worry. "An amulet is of no use to you. Just a waste of money."

Oh wow, grandma is really dissing you right now.

She gestures her hand in a come hither motion to get you to lean down, and then pulls out a paper and pen and starts to draw an uneven circle with thick, crude lines.

"See here?" she says as she loops the circle closed, "This is all of us, our world" 

Miguel is suddenly right next to you, hunching down and bent over the small table. You don’t know when he managed to sneak up on you, but he’s right there, so close his shoulder is brushing up against yours. 

The fortune teller moves her pen inside the circle to draw a much smaller one, then a forked line sticking out of it, and another line across the center of that one. It’s so crudely drawn it takes you a second to realize it’s a stick figure. 

"This is you," she points at it with a pen, seeming to admire her own creation.

Next to you, Miguel is staring down at the childish drawing with his hands crossed against his chest in irritation, his right eyelid is twitching. He looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm.

Even though he’s not saying a word, you swear you can almost hear his inner monologue, protesting the lady’s poor handmanship and drawing skills. He doesn’t need to say it but even $10 is too much of a price to pay, even for a man with infinity dollars.

Seemingly oblivious to Miguel’s irritation, the fortune teller proceeds to draw angry darts from inside the circle aimed at the poor you stick figure. Pressing so hard with her pen that the ink bleeds into the paper and the darts are starting to look like daggers. You almost wince when you see a couple of them pierce through your stick figure. “Outside interference has brought bad luck to you. It will never go away; it will follow you forever.”

You peer down at the paper with a sense of unease. Aren’t scam fortune tellers supposed to tell you what you want to hear? Where are the reassuring lies? Shouldn’t she be telling you that you’re going to meet a tall, dark, handsome stranger? Or that you were a princess in a past life? Since when do they tell you that you’re doomed to die over and over?

“So what am I supposed to do?” you ask. 

“Keep moving,” she says with an unfaltering smile as if she hasn’t given you the most grim fortune telling of all time. 

You lean back in your seat deflated. Scam or not, the prognosis isn’t looking good for you right now. 

The lady ducks under her desk, and is sorting through a pile of junk paper, before she pops back up again. She shoves something into your hands, and leans over to you with a piercing gaze in her milky-white eyes. “The man who will help you lives here.”

Hope sparks bright in your chest at her words. Finally, a lead! Someone who can help you! You can’t believe your random decision to stop has given you the first clue that might actually lead somewhere!

You look down at what she’s given you. It's a pamphlet map of New York. Yellow and bright, the title reads: ‘Star Maps of Celebrity Homes.’ One of those cheap plastic ones they hand out with the tour buses. 

The hope that had been building in your chest deflates, popping like a cheap balloon. 

You make yourself scan the tacky star map for any clues as to who she means, but you you don’t see anything to lift you out of your disappointment. As much as you love Robert De Niro and Whoopi Goldberg and would love to get their autographs, you don’t think any of the people on this map are in any position to help you. 

You sigh. 

Ok, maybe Miguel was right. The fortune teller was a bust. What a waste of money. 

From behind you, you can already hear the rustle of movement from him, as he’s stepping away. 

“Come on, Cielito,” he says as he nods his head in the direction towards the exit of the alley.

The fortune teller grabs your hands in hers, as she leans in closer to your ear and whispers, as if trying to be out of earshot of Miguel. “Be careful with that one. He’s not from around here.”

Back at the hotel, you plop down on the ridiculously wide and fluffy bed, but not even the luxury of your surroundings can lift your spirits. You’re still uncomfortably full from dinner. The overload of delicious egg tarts sit like lead in your stomach, weighing you down. 

Wasn’t there a Swedish king at some point who ate too many sweet buns and died of a burst stomach? Wouldn’t it be ironic if, after all the calamity and disasters you’ve escaped, your gluttony was the thing that ended you? You don’t think anyone who knows you would be surprised to read ‘died from eating too many egg tarts’ in your obituary. It’s perfect. A stupid and meaningless death to match your stupid and meaningless life. 

From the corner of your eye, you see Miguel drag off his hoodie over his head. You squint your eyes, pretending not to look as the tan skin of his firm muscled back is revealed to you before he pulls on a tight-fitting white t-shirt that pulls taut against his chest.

The free peep show usually makes excitement and heat thrill through your spine, but tonight it does nothing. You feel… oddly numb. 

The lights go off with a gentle click, and then you are left by yourself in darkness with nothing but your thoughts to keep you company.

You don’t know what to do. The fortune teller had been as stupid and pointless as every other idea you’ve had. 

You grit your teeth, sighing as you turn restlessly onto your side in the bed, stretching out your leg to make yourself more comfortable, hoping sleep will claim you so that you can stop these thoughts from running on a constant loop on your brain like the world’s shittiest radio channel. 

God, you can’t believe you spent $10 dollars on that fortune teller, and got nothing to show for it except a crappy map meant for gullible tourists. 

What are you going to do if you’re too stupid to think of any other ideas? Your skin crawls at the thought, a tangle of worry sitting in the pit of your stomach, climbing upwards and trying to burst out of your chest. You roll over, but it only seems to get worse. 

Are you just going to wait out your time like a sitting duck? 

You twist your body, squeezing your eyes shut. The thoughts won’t stop. 

Are you just going to sit here doing nothing? 

Are you going to di–

Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeech.

The loud noise startles you, and you freeze, suddenly aware of just how vulnerable you are with only the sheets and comforter for protection. 

Oh god, what is trying to kill you this time? 

Your eyes are wide open with a strain, staring off into the darkness like a deer in the headlights as you listen to the sound of something sharp scraping against the wooden floor.

It’s coming closer. 

Fuck. Is it an assassin? Some kind of otherworldly monster that’s come to drag you to hell with it? 

And where is Miguel? Why isn’t he stopping it!? 

Maybe he’s gone, a cruel voice whispers in your head. Maybe he’s had enough. Maybe he sees what you don’t want to—the futility of what you’re trying to do. Running around like a headless chicken trying to find a way out of the grand cosmic slaughterhouse that is set on ending your life. Maybe he’s given up on you. 

Maybe you need to give up too. 

You’re too scared to risk making noise, but you can’t not do anything. You turn as soundlessly as you can in bed, rolling towards Miguel—hoping with all your might that he’ll still be there to save you—only to be greeted by the sight of his back closer than you expect, hunched over the lounge chair as he drags it towards the bed, the metal legs scraping against the floor, making the very sound that had just scared you half to death. 

You dart upright in the bed, outraged.

“What are you doing!?”

Miguel looks back at you, then down at the chair he’s moving, and then back up at you with that blank expression on his face. 

“Moving this?” He sits down on the lounge chair that’s now next to your bed, “I heard you tossing and turning. Thought you couldn’t sleep.” 

There’s a pause as he peers at you in the darkness, then he rubs his hand at the back of his neck.

 “Shit, did the noise scare you? Sorry, Cielito.”

There’s that nickname again. You don’t remember when it started or where it came from, but it’s something he’s been calling you more and more often. He’s wearing a wrinkly oversized t-shirt and a sheepish expression as he’s eyeing you, making sure you’re okay. It’s almost, nearly endearing. 

“Why do you keep calling me Cielito?” you ask. “Is that what you used to call other me?”

“No, I didn’t call her that.” He shakes his head, the same aching longing in his eyes that’s always there at the mention of your other self. “I called her Nena.” 

“Then why Cielito?”

He tilts his head down at you as if the answer is obvious, and then he breaks out into a small smile. “Because you keep falling through the sky.”

You stare at him in silence for a second, at the goofy looking grin he’s wearing.  He looks so proud of himself and his silly dad joke that you can’t help but smile back, laughter bubbling up and out of your chest. His smile just gets bigger.

What a dork.

You lay back down in bed, still tittering with laughter, and there’s a comforting weight that rests on top of your head for a brief moment. It’s his hand. The touch is pleasant, his palm warm against your skin, and the comfort of it erases the last trace of residual alarm in your body. 

“Just go to sleep already." The words are impatient, but his voice is gentle, and it makes your chest warm as he continues, “It’s okay. You don't have to worry. I won't let anything happen to you.”

He hasn’t given up on you. 

His words drip through your insides and warms you from inside out. It’s comforting, the way a blanket feels wrapped around you in the winter when your heating is out. He sounds so confident when he says them. Like there’s no doubt in his mind that you’ll survive this, because he will personally see to it. The anxious chatter in your mind finally quiets, and you close your eyes, knowing he’s only an arm’s length away. 

Somehow, with Miguel here, the impossible odds you’re up against don’t seem quite so impossible, and hope buzzes pleasantly in your chest as you drift off to sleep. It's the best sleep you've had in a long time.

~ Next Issue

Credits & Dedication: Love a thousand and million years for @thirstworldproblemss who had to finely comb over and beta-read and edit this chapter over and over and rubber duck i with me while I was fixing up the details. I hope that I get to write with her til I go old and grey and senile, because it is the most wonderful joy and experience and I love her so.

This chapter is also dedicated to the wonderful and talented @forwantofwill who was endlessly kind in doing this amazing, beautiful piece of art of Miguel eating cookies in the windowsill Thank you so so much for making this and gifting me not just with your immense talent but also your time!

For those of you who haven't yet please follow her! She's amazingly talented and have such a wonderful blog filled with gorgeous and amazing fanart!

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow astroboots-writes and turn on notifs.