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teatoptony · 4 months

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High Enough (Without the Mary Jane)

summary; 'in every other universe, gwen stacy falls for spider-man. and in every other universe, it doesn’t end well'. you don't want to be a mary jane anymore.

or, in which you were the mindy s. mcpherson to miles's prowler

pairing(s); e-1610! Miles Morales x fem!reader, e-42! Miles Morales x fem!reader (r is referred to with she/her pronouns, no physical description.)

warning(s); fem spanish terms are used ('hermosa' etc.), reader’s hand is smaller than Miles’. author can’t write action sequences for shit.

may be ooc but we haven't seen a whole lot of p!miles yet so there isn’t really much to go off of

implied/mentioned parental issues with reader, not proofread, written (mostly) at ao3 hours

a/n; according to google the sinister 6 of e42 are doc oc, vulture, electro, rhino, sandman and scorpion, although i've seen some other ppl say that the eastereggs are vulture, rhino, scorpion, sandman, shocker, kraven and electro. i'm going w the google one, maybe kraven and shocker are their own thing. also they're prolly rich aholes since their signs are on buildings n stuff, so that's what i went with.

also reader was sent to earth 42, but like, a few days before 1610 miles arrives, kind of like how gwen was sent to 1610 a week before she found miles

Miles — or, who you assumed was Miles, anyway — took you back to his place, going out of his way to avoid alleys where there weren't many people around and sticking to the bigger streets. You found it kind of weird. Back home, you and Miles used to cut through backstreets and even some sketchy buildings all the time to make it home before curfew.

You felt him steal glances at you the whole walk, and you’d be lying if you didn’t do the same.

This version of him just felt so.. different.

Once the two of you reached your destination, he let you up the stairs first before quietly calling for you to stop once you reached his floor. You hesitated for a moment on the steps. It was a higher level than Miles’s flat back home, and the building had looked a lot different from what you’d seen just half an hour ago, even if it still felt familiar. You’d chalked it up to the multiverse doing multiverse things at first, but he was starting to act a little off.

Having been around your Miles for years, you knew all his tells. You could see how his weight shifted on his feet as he unlocked the door. You could see he was overall standing straighter and more tense. You could see the hesitation before he turned the key.

Miles was lying to you. And he felt guilty.

But what were you going to do?

This universe was new to you. Sure, everything seemed just about the same, but it was all so foreign at the same time. There where skyscrapers you’d never seen before, new graffiti on the streets of the same couple people over and over again - all of whom you were sure you’d seen somewhere before but couldn’t quite grasp where. The sight of buildings blocked by yellow tape and more in the process of repair after seemingly being burned down or blown up were common in this world, like it was an active war zone or something.

You really didn’t have a choice but to follow along.

He opened the door and waved you in, closing the door rather hastily after the both of you.

You took a glance around the room. There were metal bars on the windows, to keep people out or trap them in you couldn't quite figure. There was a DJ setup near them that looked awfully familiar. Hooks hung down from the unfinished ceiling, some holding chains and others oddly shaped items haphazardly wrapped with what looked like brown lunchbag paper. Wires and ventilation just about everywhere, most of the wires leading to either monitors or gadgets you assumed were in the progress of being built. An old, beat up couch and some gym gear by the wall, an open kitchen-slash-workshop area straight ahead.

The only source of light was the neon red from the signs outside the window, and even then the farther bits of the apartment remained a dark purple hue.

Then someone came out of the other room.

“What's this?”

The hell—?

From the shadows, Aaron Davis emerged.

His beard was more grown out then you'd ever seen, and his features looked sharper, almost rougher. His shoulders seemed more broad, though maybe that was the heavy jacket he wore making him look bigger than he actually was.

“¿Tío?”

Miles had taken you around to his uncle's a couple of times, which you now realized was why you recognized this place. Aaron raised an eyebrow at you, surprise flashing across his face before it was quickly wiped out. He looked over you, taling in your appearance.

“Miles.” He asked again.

“I dunno,” the boy replied, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets and avoiding his uncle's gaze. “Just found her on the way home.”

“Found her?”

Aaron glanced at you, then back to Miles, then back to you, his eyebrows furrowed in either confusion or frustration. He finally looked back at his nephew, the two of them having a silent conversation you couldn’t read.

“…Fine.” Aaron sighed, turning around—

You felt like you were dying, or being born, or possibly both at the same time. For a split second, you were nothing but particles, your skin and bones and just about everything being ripped apart then sewn back together. Your vision was a mix between TV static and rapid fire neon colors, and it was about the same deal with your hearing (which was concerning, since you couldn't usually hear colors).

Miles had taken a step forward, letting you grab his arms to keep you from falling over as he said something you couldn’t quite hear. Aaron had whipped around so fast you wondered how it didn’t give him whiplash, fists at the ready in case he needed them.

“What was that?” Miles’s voice finally got through to you, the high-pitched screaming in your ears dying down. You blinked at him as your mind went blank.

“I don’t—” You cut yourself off. Wait, was it..? Had you just..?

“Complete cellular decay.” You recalled Miles’s countless retellings of the multiversal mess that had happened just about two years ago. “I’m glitching, aren’t I?”

“Right, and you know this because..?” Aaron asked, his hands now at his sides but not eased yet. He eyed your face as if he was expecting you to grow a third eye or something. Honestly, you couldn’t blame him.

“Okay, so, this might sound crazy,” You started, “but I’m from another dimension.

“We had something like this happen back home a while back — except, y’know, people came into our dimension rather than people from ours going somewhere else.

“The people that came, they were glitching, too. Their atoms were displaced and decaying.”

“So you’re saying,” Miles spoke up, his grip tightening around your forearms just slightly. “If you stay here too long—”

“I’ll die, yeah.” You said, the reality of the situation hitting you like a KTX. “Disintegrate, to be more accurate.”

Silence filled the flat as all three of you processed the information. Miles was frozen, his gaze fixated on the spot where your hands grabbed onto him as if he was scared you’d disappear if he looked away. Aaron crossed his arms, his eyes darting from left to right like he was reading some invisible text.

As for you, you felt unreal. Your body didn’t feel like your own anymore, your vision more like looking at the screen of a first-person shooter. Were you going to die here? You didn’t want to die yet. What would your dad think? Would he file a police report? Would Miles’s dad send out a search party to look for you? And Miles—

You hadn’t even said goodbye to him at the party.

You hadn’t said goodbye to anyone.

I don’t wanna die I don’t wanna die I don’t wanna die I don’t—

“Hey,” Miles says, his voice softer than earlier, snapping you out of your spiral. His hands slide down your forearms and slip into your own, giving them a firm squeeze. “No vas a morir.”

You’re not gonna die.

“Te llevaré a casa.” The boy said, his deep brown eyes bore into yours, slowly bringing you back from feeling like you’re looking at a video game to feeling more like you’re lucid dreaming. It wasn’t a total fix, but it’s a start. “I’ll get you home, I promise.”

You took a deep breath, trying and failing to ground yourself more.

“What’s five things you hear?” Miles asked gently, tilting his head and leaning ever so slightly closer to you. You just blinked, overwhelmed with everything.

“Mi vida,” he said again. “Five things.”

You paused for a moment.

Sirens outside.

Yelling from the streets.

Chains clinking in the breeze from the open window.

Aaron shuffling around in the other room. When had he left?

The buzzing of the lights overhead.

“Good.” Miles said encouragingly. “Now, four things you see.”

Miles.

A pan on the kitchen stove.

The DJ table by the windows.

Tio Aaron pulling out the couch to make a sofa bed.

“Three things you can touch here.”

Miles.

The ground if you bent down, you guessed.

Some trinkets on the table just over there, but you’re not gonna touch that.

“Two you can smell?”

Rusted metal. There’s tons of it around; on the walls, the ceiling, tables, even on the shelves. What was that chest plate doing back there, anyway?

That pool smell, which is kinda gross since it came from the chlorine in pool water mixed with all the gross stuff that came from human bodies.

Miles smiled as you said that. “Vuelves a mí, mi sol.” He squeezed your hands again. “One thing you can taste.”

“I dunno, soda? We had a ton of it at the party.” You wiggled your fingers. It was like you were stepping into your body for the first time — nothing was a perfect fit just yet, like a pair of knitted gloves with too much room at the ends of the fingers. You’d have to get used to it again.

It’s then that Aaron called Miles over, the boy reluctantly leaving your side and following his uncle to the other room. He told you to make yourself comfortable on the couch before he went, though, so that’s exactly what you did. The spring cushions feel oddly comforting under you, the familiarity of home twisted just slightly out of proportion.

There’s really nothing to do alone here. You tapped your fingers on your leg. Thankfully, Miles and Aaron came back after just a few minutes.

The first thing the boy said to you, “I’m gonna get you home.” A firmer, more certain repetition of his promise from a minute ago, albeit there’s a bit of a strain in his voice as if it physically hurt him to say it. In a clumsy yet swift motion, he quickly leaned down and kissed your cheek before making his exit rather hurriedly.

You felt the heat rush to your face, your hand coming up almost immediately to touch the spot.

Aaron chuckled and shook his head.

“So,” he said. “You as smart as she was, too?”

You tinkered with the gauntlet of a prototype suit that Aaron had dug out of storage somewhere, the man himself working on the main body. The helmet — or was it more of a mask? It was a bit bulkier than Miles's Spider-Man mask, a bit more tech-y. Probably more similar to an Iron Man helmet, now that you think about it, albeit lower in its level of advancement — was plugged into one of the many monitors strewn about the flat.

You'd managed to pry a couple bits of information out of him for the past few hours (during which you hadn't glitched again, thankfully) in exchange for some of your own. So far you knew that this universe’s Jefferson Morales had passed away a few years ago, prompting Miles to take on the mantle of the Prowler to avenge his father’s death — the details of which he stayed frustratingly vague on — and, later on, to keep the city as safe as he could.

“Wait, wait, who’s your Spider-Man, then?”

“Who’s Spider-Man?”

You blinked in confusion. “What? You don’t have a Spider-Person?”

“What, like, a part-spider guy? Nah. Scorpion’s mostly bug though, that count?”

This dimension didn’t have a Spider-Man. That was why the city was so overrun with bad guys.

You gave him a general rundown of the whole ‘radioactive spider’ thing and moved on.

Your own variant, who was Miles’s best friend and had helped make a lot of his gear, had disappeared a while after the Prowler started taking out some bad guys that were a step above villain-of-the-week, the ones who had all sorts of shady connections. Hearing about your presumed death was a strange experience.

“We know they took her,” The older man had said, jamming his screwdriver into a faulty part of the suit. “But the cops are all in on it ever since the Cartel bought ‘em out. Declared her dead after less than 24 hours.”

Oh, speaking of, apparently there was a team of villains bringing Gotham to life in New York, Brooklyn being the heart of it all. How fun.

The Sinister Six Cartel, as the Bugel had dubbed them, was the one Aaron and Miles believed to be behind your variant’s disappearance. The two were certain that the Cartel had worked out a connection between you and the Prowler. The nail on the coffin was when they sent a body double of you in the Prowler’s direction to mess with his head just a couple months ago, complete with some sort of Face Off style mask that made it possible for the fake to look exactly like you. It was only a day or two before Miles figured out it was a setup, but it had shaken him up pretty bad.

“I thought you were another one.” He’d admitted. “But then you did the whole glitchy thing. Looked horrible, by the way, real nasty. It hurt much?”

“You have no idea.”

In return, you told him about home. You told him how Miles’s dad was up for a promotion, practically Captain already. You told him about your Miles’s art and how he made a mural of him after his death. You didn’t go into too much detail about the ‘death’ part, focusing more on the peaceful aspects since it was so clearly missing from his every day life. You couldn’t really read this Aaron Davis that well since he was more guarded than he had been back home, but you could tell he appreciated it; especially the parts about his brother.

You also told him how Miles and the other Spider-People who were sent to your dimension had worked out a solution to fix their situation, and gave him a brief summary of the whole ordeal, the details of which he texted Miles since he hadn’t given you a chance to tell him about it when he left so hastily. He said something you couldn’t quite make out as he did — you caught the words ‘lab’ and ‘property’, but that was pretty much it. He only waved it off as nothing when you asked him about it.

“How’s my dad?” You asked, pushing your hand into the gauntlet to test if it worked right. It was a near perfect fit, which made you wonder who exactly it was for, since Miles’s hand was bigger than yours. “Is he doing okay? After the whole ‘declared dead’ thing?”

“He’s holding up, just like the rest of us,” Aaron replied, checking on the monitor. “Your mom — her mom’s been sticking around. Grief brings people together and all that. They’re trying therapy.”

A weird feeling bubbled up inside. While it was good to know at least one version of your parents were trying to reconcile, it bothered you that your absence had prompted it. Was that what was happening right now back home? Had your disappearance magically brought your parents back together? Had it even been long enough for that to happen, or did time flow equally throughout the multiverse?

…

Would it be better for them if you just didn’t go back at all?

“Oh.” You said, nodding slightly as you flexed and wiggled your fingers in the gauntlet, watching the way it moved. It was a lot thinner than the claws that adorned the Prowler’s hands from what you’d spotted here and there in the flat, built to be stealthier in the way it functioned. There were no clunks or clinks, just soft whirring noises that sounded almost like a cat’s purr. “That’s good, I guess.”

It was worse this time around, which you didn’t even know was possible. You felt yourself being split in a billion different directions, parts of you re-atomizing not quite in the right places. You’d never known the feeling of having space between where all your joints were supposed to connect, but now you did, and it honestly made you want to die. Not really. Well…

Miles came back sometime before dawn. You heard the door opening slowly, almost like he was trying not to wake his parents up as he was sneaking in past curfew. Not that he used the door ever since he could climb walls, but still.

He crept into his uncle’s flat, even leaving his shoes at the door so he wouldn’t make too much noise. He was making his way to the other room when he looked at you on the couch, only to flinch in surprise when he saw your eyes were open.

“¿Qué haces despierto?” He whispered, his shoulders tenser than earlier from the split second of adrenaline. “It’s late.”

“What are you doing that you have to sneak in?” You whispered back. The boy just shrugged.

“Oh, you know…” He trailed off, looking around to avoid your questioning gaze. “…Stuff.”

You rolled your eyes. “That has gotta be the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard.”

Miles huffed, shuffling over to you and sitting down on the floor in front of the couch, facing you. “Yeah, well, I asked you first. Why’re you up, hermosa?”

You sighed. “Can’t sleep.”

“Why not?”

“Oh, I don’t know, the thought of my impending doom, maybe.”

A couple beats passed by without a word from either of you, a bit of awkwardness hanging in the air, though it was accompanied by a familiar sense of comfort.

“Do you trust me?” Miles asked, his hand reaching out to gently grab a corner of the blanket draped over you.

“Probably.” You replied. You hadn’t known him long enough to trust him just yet, as much as you wanted to. The corners of his lips tilted up just a bit in an almost smile.

“Then trust that I’ll do whatever it takes to get you home.” He said. “I already lost you once, I’m not letting that happen again.”

The next day was pretty uneventful. For the most part, anyway, if you don’t count the random glitching throughout. You were advised heavily against going outside since the Cartel had eyes everywhere, so your area of activity was limited to the flat. Miles had evidently snuck back out after your little talk the night before, which made you feel a tinge disappointed since you wanted to get to know him better. Fortunately, Aaron said you could help with the suit again.

The TV played in the background as you tapped on the keyboard, giving the helmet a few final touch-ups as the sun set outside the window. J. Jonah Jameson jabbered on about this week’s biggest disasters and lamented about how ‘if only there was a hero to save this city’, which made you snort.

“He’s gonna switch up real quick if a hero does show up,” You remarked to Aaron, who looked at you questioningly. “The guy hates Spider-Man back home.”

“What, Jameson?” He said, raising an eyebrow. “Nah, he’s the biggest Captain America fanboy out there. Loves heroes an’ all that.”

He thought for a moment. “Pretty sure Miles saw him at Comicon that one time too.”

“What’s a Comicon?”

Unfortunately, you never got the answer as you heard the lock on the door slide open. You spun around in your chair to greet Miles as you knew he was supposed to be coming by sometime in the evening, but your friendly smile quickly faded as his expression turned to one of shock, catching a glimpse of what the two of you were working on.

The boy froze as he stared, wide-eyed, at the suit. “Tio,” He said, looking at Aaron as he clenched his jaw. “What’s that doing out?”

“She needs a suit.” The older man answered simply.

“What?” Both you and Miles asked, though you could tell it was for vastly different reasons.

“We need to get into Alchemax to get her home, and we can’t do that unless she has protection.”

“Which is why I came here to make a plan!” Miles shouted, his hands moving animatedly, the way your Miles's always did when he got upset. “Eso, eso no le pertenece. ¡No es para ella!”

They had a back and forth as the pieces came together as to why Miles was so upset.

The suit was supposed to be for you.

His you.

You were, essentially, fixing up a dead girl's clothes to wear.

“The Cartel isn't stupid, Miles,” Aaron tried to make the boy see his point. “Even if we somehow made a distraction big enough for the big ones to leave base, there's still gonna be someone left to guard it. Would you be able to live with yourself if she got hurt? Or worse—”

“Don't.” Miles's nails dug into his palms, leaving dark cresent moons in their wake. Aaron sighed.

“If she got hurt, you'd feel like that's on you. If you got hurt protecting her 'cause she doesn't have anything to protect herelf with, then I'd feel like that's on me.” He said, his features softening as he reasoned with his nephew. “This is the best bet.”

“We could build her a new suit—”

“And take what? Couple days? A week? Two weeks?”

He glanced at you, Miles following his gaze towards you as well. You knew what was implied. The only people you knew this happened to had gone maybe over a week before the glitching became a real problem, and they were superhuman. Who knew how long you had?

“She can wear mine. We have a ton of old ones, I'll just take one of those—”

“I'm not gonna let you get hurt for her, kid.”

“Don't call me that.”

They went back and forth for a while, and eventually Miles went to the other room to cool off and think things through. Aaron sighed, wiping a hand across his face.

“No offense.” He said to you.

“None taken.” You replied, not really knowing what to do. It felt wrong for you to be tinkering with something that was so clearly not meant for you, even if it was for a variant of yourself.

You could hear Miles pacing the other room, muttering to himself.

“Maybe I could...” You trailed off.

“You could try talking him into it,” He suggested. “He'll listen to you more than me right now.”

“...Should I, though?” You couldn't even begin to imagine what Miles was feeling. All this multiverse shit was too damn complicated.

“Look, kid, I know it's weird.” Aaron said, shoulders sagging just a bit. “But this—” he pointed to the suit— “is the best way to make sure no one gets hurt. Trust me.”

There was something he wasn't telling you, but he didn't have to for you to know what it was. Miles thought you were alive, somewhere out there. You knew it was entirely possible that he blamed himself for your disappearance, as it was your own version of him's go-to for anything and everything that went wrong. The shadows under his eyes, that look whenever he saw you... you wondered how many nights he'd spent outside, looking for some trace of you, a new lead to follow. Especially since your arrival.

Aaron thought this was the best chance Miles would ever get to let go of you. To get some sort of closure by sending you home.

“…I'll try.” You finally agreed, getting up from your seat and shuffling to the other room. You hesitated before going in, but the lack of a door made it awkward to linger, so you just bit the bullet and walked inside.

The room in question was more of a faux-veranda (which explained the no-door thing); a long, narrow space separated from the main living area by a sheet of drywall, with one of the wider walls filled with shelves of CDs and albums and the other decorated sparingly with old band and movie posters along with Miles-brand stickers.

“So...” You said, fiddling with your hands as you took a look around the area. You gestured at one of the stickers on the wall. “Did you make that?”

Slowing to a stop to face you, Miles nodded, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket.

“Cool.”

You both stood there in silence for a moment, you working out what to say and Miles trying to come up with some other solution to the problem. The boy had an unhealthy obsession, that much he knew, but he just couldn't bring himself to let go of it. Not when you could be out there, just waiting for him to find you.

“I don't want to push you,” You started hesitantly. “But.. I think your tìo may be right.”

“I know that.” He looked at his feet as if the dirt on his shoes was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world, the sight of him reminisent of a little kid getting scolded by his mother. “I know that.”

“I can't say I understand.. whatever's going through your head right now,” You said, taking a step towards him. “But he just wants what's best for you.”

“What's best for me is finding—” He cut himself off when his eyes met yours, frustration and confusion and stubbornness and sadness and who knows what else all mixing into a big mish-mash of conflicting thoughts inside of him. He clenched his fists, tilting his head up as he tried to think clearly. To his dismay, his throat closed up, the familiar sting of tears pricking at his eyes.

“I need to find her.” He muttered, putting a hand over his eyes in an attempt to stop his tears from falling. It didn't work. “I need to find you.”

“And you will.” You were sure of it. Aaron and Miles were both so sure that their you was alive... she had to be. “But right now? Right now, I need you to help me out.”

He looked at you, his gaze almost spaced out for a moment. You wondered if he saw her in you — if she had the same haircut, the same eyes, the same accent...

You could tell he was frustrated by the way that the scrunch above his nose wouldn’t go away. Hesitantly, you reached out, wiping away the tracks stray tears had left on his cheeks. He stiffened for a moment.

“...Fine.” He finally muttered, a hand coming up to grab your arm, though he seemed unsure if he wanted to push it away or pull it closer. So he just held it in place, his thumb brushing over the inside of your wrist, the edge of your palm. His posture relaxed, just a bit. “Okay.”

Two days later, it wasn't too dark when the plan set into action.

Security at Alchemax — once belonging to Kingpin, now in posession of the Sinister Six Cartel — was thinnest sometime around six to seven pm, when dinner breaks, shift changes and the checkout of regular scientists were prominent.

Miles and Aaron had each set up time bombs at multiple smaller warehouses the Cartel used for storage, each coordinated to go off within minutes of each other. With little to no heroes or police in the way, the Cartel had no reason to keep their lesser important stocks well-guarded, which made it easy to sneak explosives into some of the shipments, support beams and pipes.

Once the explosions were set off, Aaron would use some rip-off Mysterio tech to make projections of some new vigilante gang, with each fake member leading the forces of the Cartel away from Alchemax. During this went on, Miles would sneak you in and to the Super Collider (which, surprisingly, had not been scrapped since its change of ownership) through the vents—

“Wait, wait, isn’t there like, a tunnel that can get us directly to the Collider?” You’d asked, remembering what Miles had told you when he first told you how he became Spider-Man.

“It got sealed off.” Aaron had said. “Some sort of supercharged electromagnetic thing. They did that with all the major underground entry points. Can’t shut it off without blacking out half of Brooklyn.”

“Or getting fried.” Miles had said. “The generators powering each point are all hooked up together a single system, como una mente colmena. You attack one of ‘em directly, all the others shoot a billion bolts of energy into you. And we don’t have time to hack into and get past the firewall to shut the thing down.”

—which you would navigate by memorizing a blueprint of Alchemax that had been conveniently leaked in a mass Cartel server leak a couple months ago. Miles would then plug in the goober he, Aaron and you had made using information gathered via Aaron's 'friends', and send you home.

It was a simple mission. Maybe a bit too simple, but you didn't really have much a choice when you were on a time crunch with limited information. Besides, Occam's razor.

“Copy?” Aaron's voice asked from your earpiece.

“Copy.” You answered, followed by Miles from his own communicator.

“A-6 is a go in 3.. 2...”

Boom.

A couple blocks away, a cloud of dust shot into the air. The building you and Miles were on the roof of shivered slightly as storage unit A-6 blew up.

“A-27.”

Boom.

“C-15.”

Boom.

From your vantage point, you had a clear view of what was going on at Alchemax without the risk of anyone down there catching a glimpse of you. You could see the non-combat scientists scrambling to get to their cars and the armed guards being led by weirdly dressed villains in the direction of the explosions. Although you supposed you weren't quite qualified to comment on the 'weirdly dressed' part at the moment, since you and Miles weren't much better in your respective suits.

Speaking of, Miles hadn't talked much ever since he first saw you wearing the suit. His responses were short if he even gave one, although you could feel him sneaking glances at you when he thought you weren't looking.

Miles fixed the gauntlet on his hand one last time before shuffling closer to you. “Ready?”

His voice sounded strange to you, his actual voice coming through your earpiece overlapping with the voice coming through his modulator.

“Mhm.”

“Going in.”

You hooked your arms around his shoulders and his arm wrapped around your waist, holding you tight as a grapple shot out of his gauntlet. He used it almost exactly like how Miles used his webshooters, although his actions were a bit more... forceful? Rougher around the edges, if that made sense.

As your feet left solid concrete, the city sped by underneath the both of you, a pretty blend of neon and gray. Your suit prevented you from actually feeling the air whipping by, but a fraction of the wind managed to seep through the cracks, sending a chill down your spine as your stomach dropped at the sudden decline.

For a moment, gravity seemed to disappear. The laws of physics no longer felt like they effected you in any meaningful way. Anything and everything that had been weighing down on you — this whole situation, Miles, demanding schoolwork at Visions, your parents and their myriad of problems — no longer held you down.

It was exhilarating.

Your 'flight', so to speak, was over almost as soon as it started. You tucked your legs as you reached the roof of the Alchemax building, separating from Miles and rolling to lessen the impact. Surprisingly, the move came quite naturally to you, even without practice. You chalked it off as something you'd learned when you were a toddler, when your mom used to sign you up for all sorts of extracurriculars. You were pretty sure martial arts or something had been one of them; maybe you'd learned it there.

Your heart pounded as the sudden rush of adrenaline faded away, and you found yourself wishing it didn't. The thrill was addicting, as was the freedom that came with it. It was like a rollercoaster, or watching How to Train Your Dragon in 4D for the first time, only a hundred times better.

Miles had never taken you swinging. He'd never exactly told you why, always brushing off your request with something like a 'maybe later' or 'I can't right now', but you knew why.

Swinging together was a him and Gwen thing.

And you were fine with that.

What, like you were gonna be jealous about something as small as that? Pfft. No way. Nope. Nada.

“¿Estás bien?” Miles asked, pulling you out of your thoughts. You nodded in confirmation.

The two of you pried open a vent using the gloves of your suit, which was easier than you’d expected it to be. To your surprise, the claws that extended from them were very useful.

“We’re in.” You muttered as you crawled into the duct, hoping Aaron wasn’t having any trouble on his end. He’d been awful quiet… Then again, no news is good news on a mission, right?

Miles crawled in after you. “You remember the way?”

“Yeah.”

Together you made your way to the underground levels of the building, miraculously avoiding any possible dead ends or mouse traps. That musty smell of mold and concrete reached your senses as you reached the deeper parts.

There weren’t many people at the Super Collider, thanks to the diversion and timing. Miles gestured for you to stay put as he swiftly dropped out of the vents, knocking out the few guards there one by one with relative ease. It was strange seeing him fight; so similar to yet completely different from him. You were doing as told and observing from the vents until you saw one of the last three people — a scientist, by the looks of it — sneaking up on Miles from behind while he was preoccupied with the two other guards.

You quickly dropped down from your spot, landing behind the guard and catching him by surprise as he whirled around with his weird-techy-science gun. Dropping to the ground, you swept your leg under his, toppling him over and knocking the weapon out of his hands. You were about to knock him out when—

“Peter Parker?”

Are you kidding me?

You were certain it was him. This Peter was scrawnier, his hair more sandy blond than Peter Parker’s back home (before he passed, anyway), and he wore thick, black-rimmed glasses that perched awkwardly on his slightly crooked nose. But the ID that read ‘Peter Parker’ in big bold letters around his neck was a pretty solid indicator.

“…Yes?” He almost squeaked out.

Meanwhile, Miles had dealt with the two guards, stepping over them to get to the console. “Sácalo y entra ahí.” He called, fumbling a little as he tried to figure out which buttons to push to fire up the Collider.

“We have a bit of a situation..” You said, pulling Peter up by his arm and dragging him to the console as well.

You gave him a hushed explanation of your unwillingness to hurt the guy, and how you believed he was genuinely a good person. After all, this universe was almost the same as yours, right? Peter Parker couldn’t be that different here…

“And besides, he probably knows how to work this thing. It’d be helpful.”

Miles sighed. “…Fine, I won’t knock him out,” He agreed. Turning to Peter, he asked, “How do you start the Collider?”

Peter gulped, everything in his body language screaming ‘I want to run away’. “You- you need codes,” He stammered out. “Approval codes, from—”

“Don’t care.” Miles cut him off, giving him a brief glance at the goober. “Just start it. ¿Lo pilla?”

Peter nodded hastily and got to work, pressing buttons and switching levers as you made your way down to the Super Collider. There was a catwalk that ran from one side of the machine to the other, connecting the two mechanisms. If you got to the middle of it, you could jump off and into the portal once the Collider was at full output. Sure enough, its huge metal plates clinked and clattered as they slowly sprung to life.

This was it. You were finally going home.

Just then, you heard a thunk along with some choice words in Spanish, and looked over to the source to see Peter out cold on the ground.

“He got to the panic button!” Miles said, scowling to himself as he plugged in the goober, praying that this plan would work out in the next minute or so. Bubble-like particles appeared at the two points of the machine that faced each other, the noise it emitted now making it so that you could only properly make out what Miles was saying through your earpiece.

The Collider whirred and sputtered as the bubbles grew bigger and brighter, eventually bursting into two beams of light that met each other in the middle, creating one big sphere with a bunch of little bubbles going in and out of it and surrounding it. The sphere grew larger and larger until it collapsed in on itself, sprouting thin, curvy lines.

The thing grew bigger and bigger until it was about the size of a person, you could feel it starting to pull you in. You just had to wait for Miles’s go ahead—

Ow.

What the hell?

You were suddenly sprawled on the ground, something having tackled you at what felt like a hundred miles an hour. That something — or rather, someone — skid to a halt just a few feet away from you, dragging a hand across the tiled floor and leaving… scratch marks?

Scrambling to your feet, you crouched in a defensive stance as you looked over the newcomer.

There wasn’t a single inch of skin showing, their suit covering the whole of their person. The suit in question was mostly white, with some gray sprinkled in here and there. It reminded you of Eve from Wall-E or a Stormtrooper, maybe a mix of both. Strangely enough, the mask was just a blank slate; a sleek, white panel with no features or details, kind of like one of those LED face masks.

Overall it was kind of… boring? It didn’t inspire fear nor did it seem very imposing or something of the sort, which you’d think would be a priority for a villain organization. If anything it was bland, the only thing that stood out from the suit being its hands which donned gauntlets that looked similar to yours, but slimmer and more polished, more accurately described as gloves rather than gauntlets. They had claws just like yours, albeit they looked sharper, a bit more gnarled.

“Miles?” You called, your heartbeat quickening. “What’s going on?”

You heard a grunt from his end. You didn’t look to see what was happening, not daring to take your eyes off of your attacker, but you guessed that backup from Peter’s panic signal had arrived.

“What’s going on?” Aaron echoed, his voice slightly fuzzy. Before you could answer, your attacker lunged. You managed to doge a full on body slam, but they grabbed your arm instead, using it to flip you over their body and knocking the wind out of you.

You writhed as you hit the ground, managing to rip your arm out of their grasp and landing a kick on their ankle, causing them to stumble. You took the opportunity to get up and put some distance between the two of you, though you didn’t get far before the lunatic started chasing you. They jumped at you again but you turned around at the last second, and as you were pushed back with their claws digging into your shoulders you kicked both of your legs out into their stomach just as your back hit the ground, sending them straight over your head.

“Tìo, get your nephew, now!” You shouted, rolling away just in time to avoid a punch that landed on the floor where your head had been just a second ago. “It all went to shit, get him out!”

The pull from the Collider was getting stronger, tiny scraps like bolts and papers flying through the air and towards the beam of light. You raced back to the catwalk but were once again stopped by the 29th century Stormtrooper. You yelped as you felt something grab the back of your neck, sharp claws piercing through your suit and digging into your skin as your head was thrown harshly against a metal beam.

And just like that, you were on the ground. Again. What was this, like, the third time? Fourth? Great. Just fantastic.

I’m not even supposed to be here, you thought, grabbing at your opponent’s wrists as their hands wrapped around your neck, slowly choking you. They were stronger than you were, faster, clearly more skilled. What were you thinking? You’re not a fighter — you couldn’t beat them, not like this.

Why was the universe so intent on making you miserable? You were just trying to get home, maybe not die. Not dying would be nice. But no. You couldn’t have nice things, could you? Not your own life, not Miles, your own damn parents were happier in a reality where you weren’t in the picture—

A sudden surge of anger made you lash out. The universe could go fuck itself. You weren’t dying like this. Not when your ticket home was right in front of you.

Your gauntlet caught your attacker’s mask, knocking it off.

You knew that face.

It was the same face that looked back at you every time you looked at a mirror.

Well, not exactly, you supposed. There was a certain roughness in her features, the same as how Miles looked different from Miles. But you’d know those eyes anywhere. But they were… what’s the word, fuzzy? Unfocused? It was like her body was on autopilot while her brain was off in Hawaii or something.

The thing you did next could’ve won you the prize for ‘smartest dumb decision of the year’.

In all your oxygen-deprivated brilliance, you retracted your mask.

It might shake her, was your reasoning. It would confuse anyone to see a doppelgänger in a fight.

Or, you know, it could go totally wrong and she could punch your face in. But you were already getting choked, so, what was there to lose?

And it worked.

Her eyes shifted back into focus as her grip slackened, and you quickly shoved her — or is it you? yourself? — off, gasping for air. You could vaguely make out the outline of a giant scorpion-guy going one-on-one with Miles, who seemed to be holding out pretty well. He was favoring his left hand though, when usually he used his right.

“I— wha—? Where—” You heard from your left. Your alternate universe counterpart looked around the lab, her eyes wide and movements jerky like a wild animal on drugs.

You were about to say something when a loud buzzing came through your comm, which had evidently been damaged in the whole head-beam connection thing. Miles’s voice came through in broken pieces.

“Col— get..t— ov-rload—”

The Collider. The goober could only force an incomplete system to run for so long. Your time was up.

Wonderful.

A flash of blinding light came from the machine as it malfunctioned. The goober could only make an incomplete system work for so long. You were just able to get your helmet back on before everyone in the vicinity was pushed back in an explosion. Was that Aaron—?

After your temporary blindness wore off, you made out the aftermath, a high-pitched ringing in your ear as you dazedly looked around. The glass that separated the control area from the Collider had been shattered, the Scorpion twitching as he tried to get to his feet — did he have feet? Now’s really not the time — There was no sign of Miles or Aaron anywhere, which was either very good or very bad. You decided to believe it was the former for your own sake. A short distance away from you was another you, that one unconscious but still breathing, from the looks of it.

Grabbing your variant, you ripped open a vent on the wall before the Scorpion could take notice of either of you, shoving her in before following suit and placing the vent cover back on. You had to get out of here. Fast.

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bruciesarch · 1 year

Text

thinking about this panel today

#out of gadgets ▬ ooc

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starrierknight · 6 months

Text

𝟎𝟐𝟕. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝❟ 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡

You don’t work or play by the rules. So what if that’s unfair? This is a dog-eat-dog world, and the losers get left behind.

MASTERLIST | KINKTOBER 23' | AO3

wc— 4.4k

Pairing— femme fatale!dom!gn!reader x CEO!sub!nanami

cws/tags— dub-con, blackmail (non-consensual filming), sadistic & manipulative reader, reader is gn but has the femme fatale personality, handjob, denied orgasm, very dialogue heavy, petnames (“mister”—it’s ironic, I swear), seduction, porn w/ plot, nanami is def ooc but we move

Stepping into Nanami Kento’s office, you were greeted by an aura of opulence. Mahogany desks and leather chairs exude sophistication. Sunlight filtered through expansive windows, casting a warm glow on plush carpets. A massive desk stood at the centre, impeccably organised with high-tech gadgets. Bookshelves held volumes on leadership and success. A cosy seating area boasted a plush sofa for informal discussions. Crystal decanters held aged spirits atop a sideboard. The atmosphere is both commanding and comfortable, a reflection of power and accomplishment, much like the CEO himself.

“You're late,” Nanami said, his voice monotone.

His words slid out with the click-clack of his keyboard, his gaze fixed on the screen as he typed away. You stepped into the room, the gentle swish of your clothing brushing the air as you approached.

“I'm not late,” you responded, your voice a composed counterpoint to his. “You’re just early.”

The subtle rustle of paper on the desk danced beneath the weight of your words. A faint huff of a sigh escaped him, a sound as controlled as his meticulously timed schedule. Disciplined. Unflappable. A smile ghosted across Nanami's lips, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

“You're my personal assistant,” he murmured, his voice carrying the weight of authority, “and I'm the CEO, ergo, I am always on time.”

"My, my," you remarked playfully, "Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today."

You glided across the expanse of the office, the soft rustle of your steps harmonizing with the gentle fluttering of a neatly organised stack of colour-coded papers as you set them down in a tray. A wry smile tugged at his lips.

"You're well aware that my patience for idle chatter is limited, and yet you persist in indulging in it," his voice rippled, a controlled undertone of exasperation tracing each syllable.

A subtle sigh slipped from your lips, and you found yourself easing against the edge of his desk, a connection between you and the polished surface. His fingers danced across the keyboard, a symphony of clicks and clacks that held his full attention, leaving you in the periphery.

"Any luck in your pursuit of the elusive mole?" Your words held a touch of frustration, "It's as if the leaks are gaining a life of their own, more persistent with each passing day."

In response, Nanami emitted a contemplative hum, a low note that resonated like distant thunder. "No luck so far," he mused, his voice a steady rhythm. "I’m having the matter investigated."

“You keep saying that, but nothing’s changed. You’re no closer to finding them, are you?” you spoke with a hint of weariness.

"That's classified information," he responded absentmindedly, his attention still tethered to the computer.

A wisp of frustration danced through your tone, like a fleeting shadow cast by a cloud passing over the sun. “I’m your personal assistant. I work for this company. Don’t you think I should know?”

"No," his response fell with the weight of finality, a single syllable that seemed to close the door on any further discussion. “Oh, and please rearrange my appointments and schedule them to be spread out over next week. Make sure they’re at quieter times,” Nanami's voice rolled out, a desert breeze carrying his words with a touch of dryness.

His instructions hung in the air, like a solitary tumbleweed drifting through the vast expanse of conversation. Tense. Stiff.

“Right. Of course, I’ll handle that,” you said with a tight smile.

✦•···················•✦•···················•✦

As you stepped into Nanami's office once again, the day's familiarity seemed to have taken a toll on him. The air felt different, thick with a weariness that hung around him like a heavy shroud. Unlike his usual poised stance, he now slouched in his chair—an uncommon sight that hinted at the cracks beneath his composed exterior. His blazer lay discarded, and his tie now hung in a relaxed loop, an admission of defeat.

"Hey, mister?" your voice was a gentle note, carrying with it a touch of casual familiarity.

A low, almost exasperated groan rumbled from his throat. "I've reminded you before not to address me like that," he muttered, his response laced with a note of resigned annoyance.

Your lips curved into a playful smile as you ventured further into the office, a glimmer of mischief dancing in your eyes. "You know, deep down, you don't mind it."

A heavy sigh accompanied his response, a mixture of exasperation and resignation. "I assure you, I do indeed mind it."

Your retort danced through the air like, a sing-song lilt that brushed against his ears. "Oh, but I beg to differ. It's just one of those little things that make our interactions all the more interesting, mister."

A grumbled complaint slipped from his lips, a muttered protest that bore the weight of his vexation. Your soft laughter swirled in response, a ripple of amusement. Despite his discontent, there was a subtle warmth in the air, a familiarity that seemed to soften the edges of his irritation.

Taking purposeful steps, you approached his desk with an air of ease, your movements a graceful choreography as you began to tidy the scattered papers, pens, and stationery that lay strewn across its surface. You leaned your phone against a stack of folders, propping it up. The soft clinks and rustles of objects finding their proper places formed a familiar symphony of order being restored.

Seated now on the edge of his desk, your presence became the focal point of the room as you regarded him with a tilt of your head. Your gaze held a mixture of intrigue and amusement, a silent reminder that amidst the rigors of his role, a moment of reprieve was found in your interactions.

“You’re looking a little worse for wear. Is something the matter?”

Nanami’s response was a heavy exhalation that held a burden of weariness too profound to be carried by mere words.

"Another breach occurred not long ago," his words carried the weight of a confession, spoken with a tinge of resignation. His eyes remained closed, a refuge from the world's chaos that seemed to press upon him relentlessly. "This time, it's worse. The most sensitive data yet has been exposed to the public. PR is grappling with the fallout, and Finance is in utter disarray."

"And so soon after the last one," you murmured, the words gentle. “You look tired, mister. Have you been taking care of yourself?”

He rubbed his temples with the tips of his fingers, a gesture of both fatigue and frustration, and at last, his eyes lifted to meet your gaze. Even from a distance, the telltale shadows under his eyes were evident, testimony to the toll his responsibilities had exacted.

"Don’t call me that," his voice emerged rough and worn. Exhausted.

Undeterred, your inquiry persisted, soft yet insistent. "So, tell me—have you been caring for yourself?"

A moment of stillness hung in the air, punctuated by the weight of unspoken thoughts. Then, his reply emerged, a sentence that bore the weight of conviction. "My primary duty is to safeguard the company."

A playful glint sparked in your eyes, and your expression shifted into a mockingly stern glare. You smoothly slid off the edge of the desk, your movements fluid and graceful, as you began a deliberate saunter towards his side of the desk. With each step, a subtle sway graced your hips, a movement that was both confident and teasing in nature. The air seemed to carry a touch of lightheartedness, a momentary diversion from the weight of the situation at hand.

A theatrical tsk escaped your lips, carrying with it a sense of exaggerated disappointment to playfully scold him. "Oh dear, dear mister. Letting yourself go to ruins is simply unacceptable. As your ever-watchful PA, I can't stand by and let you suffer."

With purposeful steps, you rounded the desk, your movements fluid and deliberate. The air seemed to hold a hint of anticipation, a quiet thrill woven into the atmosphere.

As you stood behind his chair, your hands found their way to his shoulders, their presence an assertion of care. Your touch was confident, fingers dancing with practiced skill as they worked to knead away the knots of tension that had taken residence in his muscles. He stiffened beneath your touch, a reflexive reaction to the unfamiliar sensation, yet your assurance seemed to melt the resistance away. While surprise lingered in the air, there was also a sense of yielding, a quiet acceptance of the relief you offered.

Nanami's words carried a note of reluctance, a protest against the unexpected intrusion of your care. "I didn't ask for this," his voice murmured, a touch of reservation threading through his words.

A knowing smile curved your lips, your fingers working with practiced ease as you continued to knead away the knots in his shoulders. "You didn't need to ask," you replied smoothly, your tone carrying a touch of reassurance that seemed to seep into the very air around you.

A brief silence settled between you, punctuated by the rhythm of your touch. Then his voice emerged once more, a murmur tinged with both realization and resignation. "You're my PA."

"And what does PA stand for?"

His reply held a touch of understanding, a recognition that seemed to settle the matter. "Personal assistant."

"Exactly," you whispered, “I’m your personal assistant.”

You let the silence hang in the air. Your hands continued their gentle ministrations, the cotton fabric of his shirt crinkling beneath your fingertips. As your fingers traversed the landscape of his shoulders, they encountered the subtle contours and defined edges of a physique sculpted by discipline.

Time seemed to melt, a river that flowed at its own unhurried pace. Slowly, the tension in him began to yield, a reluctant surrender that mirrored the reluctant acceptance in his posture. The weight of his responsibilities seemed to wane, at least momentarily, under the soothing spell of your touch.

A soft chuckle escaped your lips, a melodic note that floated through the air as your hands continued their soothing dance.

"You really ought to take better care of yourself, mister," your words held a touch of playful admonishment, a reminder woven with concern. "Your muscles are like a stone wall."

The response that came was curt, his voice carrying a note of irritation as he pushed back against your insistence. "I'm fine, and I've asked you not to address me that way."

"How many nights have you found yourself working overtime again?" Your question hung in the air like a gentle nudge, an invitation for him to acknowledge the reality of his situation.

A pause, and then his voice emerged, a touch gruff yet revealing of the underlying truth. "It doesn't matter."

A note of knowing crept into your voice, “Doesn’t matter? You hate working overtime.”

"I'm the CEO, and I must prioritize what's in the best interest of the company, regardless of the personal cost."

A contemplative hum escaped your lips as your skilled fingers traveled to his neck, where tension seemed to have found another stronghold. His reaction was a mixture of curiosity and apprehension, his gaze meeting yours with a furrowed brow and a hesitant parting of his lips that hinted at a forthcoming objection, yet it remained unspoken.

The soothing pressure of your fingers worked its magic, coaxing the knots to unravel beneath your touch. As you continued your massage, a question emerged from your lips, gentle yet probing. "So, if you don't take care of yourself, then who takes care of you?"

Nanami’s response held an air of stubborn independence, a declaration of self-sufficiency against the encroachment of care. "I'm an adult. I don't need anyone to look after me."

Your voice dipped to a murmur, a whisper that seemed to bridge the gap between you and him, and your warm breath brushed across the nape of his neck. "Who takes care of you?" you repeated, your words a gentle caress against his skin.

His response, however, was unwavering, a declaration that seemed to echo with an unyielding determination. "I take care of myself.”

A playful smirk curved your lips as your fingers wove through the strands of his sleek, blond hair, a gesture that seemed to stir a reaction deep within him. His breath caught in his throat, a shuddering exhale that betrayed the impact of your touch.

“Some things are better done by yourself… some things.”

You leaned in closer, your presence enveloping him as the back of Nanami’s head nestled against your chest. The warmth of your body radiated against his back as your skilled fingers continued their massage, now tracing delicate patterns across his scalp. Your nails grazed along the tender areas, setting off a cascade of sensations that seemed to quicken his breath.

The combination of your sinuous touch and the implications woven into your words created a heady tension in the room. His heart responded with an erratic beat, a rhythm that threatened to betray the carefully impassive expression he wore. Yet, he remained composed, a façade of control in the face of the enticing distraction you presented.

“Is it hard?”

His breath hitched, and he coughed. “P-Pardon?”

You let out a soft, knowing laugh. Leaning closer, your lips brushed the delicate shell of his ear, your words a sultry whisper that set his skin ablaze. “Being CEO. Is it hard, Kento?” you murmured, uttering his name with a familiarity that had been absent for far too long.

It was as if a barrier had crumbled, a threshold crossed, and the effect was electrifying. The weight of his name on your lips seemed to hang in the air like a revelation. After a year of playful nicknames—of godforbidden “mister”—and dances around formality, this simple act held a weight of significance. Oh, his name had never sounded so sweet in his entire life.

With an effortful composure, he replied, his voice carrying a veneer of forced calmness. "It's perfectly within my control."

The sound of your voice, the proximity of your breath, seemed to amplify the tension in the room. He closed his eyes, as if seeking refuge from the turmoil that swirled within him, struggling to steady his breathing.

But your words, like a siren's song, continued their subtle seduction. "Stressed, Kento?" you purred, the name a velvet caress against his ear.

As your hands slid down, tracing the contours of his neck and finding their way to the concealed muscles beneath his shirt, his heart quickened its rhythm. A smile, hidden from his view, danced upon your lips, a sign of the satisfaction you derived from the effect you had on him. You pressed a kiss upon the sensitive skin just below one of his earlobes, a gesture that sent a shiver through him. The tension in the room seemed to thicken, the air electrified by an unspoken desire.

“Don’t do this,” he whispered.

“You want me to,” you murmured back, “And you want it badly.”

Your hands continued their exploratory journey, tracing a path of tantalizing sensation down his chest, each touch leaving a trail of heat in its wake. They ventured lower, gliding over the firm expanse of his abdomen, mapping the contours of his physique.

As your fingers descended further, they encountered the defined muscles of his thighs, your touch igniting a web of sensations that seemed to pulse through his body. He remained still, his breathing now increasing, his body responding to the magnetic allure of your touch. The room pulsed with a charged energy, begging to be acknowledged.

His hands closed around your wrists, putting a halt to the tantalizing journey of your hands, but they didn't push you away. The tension in the room hung thick, a precarious balance between restraint and desire.

"This is a workplace," Kento protested, his voice carrying a note of caution.

A playful spark danced in your eyes as you retorted, your words dripping with a seductive undertone. "Who says this won’t be for work?"

With a tantalizing grace, you lowered your head and pressed your lips to his neck once more, trailing kisses along the warm, sensitive skin. Your tongue and teeth teased over the surface, each movement a deliberate exploration that sent a shiver of longing through him.

“Oh, c’mon. You know you want it. I can feel it—you sure as hell can. Why deny yourself the satisfaction?” you murmured into his ear.

You lightly bit his neck and he gasped, his heart skipping a beat, and his grip on your wrists faltered. You took the opportunity to slide your hands to his thighs again, caressing the inner and most sensitive parts. He made some noise of desire in the back of his throat, his breathing growing ragged.

A low, sultry chuckle accompanied your whispered words, the sound a velvet invitation that seemed to stir the air around you.

"Don't be coy," you murmured into his ear, your voice a honey-like whisper that washed over him. "You want this as much as I do, Kento. I can feel it, and so can you. Why deny yourself the satisfaction?"

Your teeth grazed his neck lightly, a tantalizing nip that sent a shiver coursing through him. His grip on your wrists faltered, and you seized the opportunity, your hands slipping back to the sensitive terrain of his thighs. Your touch was delicate yet insistent, caressing the innermost and most sensitive parts. A guttural sound of desire escaped him, a primal expression of longing that mingled with his ragged breathing. The office walls seemed to close in around you, as if the world outside had ceased to exist, and it was just you and Kento’s desire.

A low, tormented groan escaped him as his eyes fell shut, his internal struggle evident in the furrow of his brow. “This is so wrong.”

Your voice was a velvet caress as you posed your question, a tempting proposition that seemed to hang in the air like a forbidden fruit. "Is pleasure so wrong, Kento?" you purred, "Don't you deserve this?"

Desire ignited like a blazing fire, consuming every trace of resistance that had remained. As your dominant hand found its way to the growing bulge concealed by the fabric of his trousers, he couldn't help but release a breathy groan. His hips, almost imperceptibly, moved in response, a subconscious plea for more. Desire coursed white-hot through him, pooling between his thighs.

His hoarse mumble was a plea, a desperate attempt to reassert control in the face of mounting desire. "You should stop," he rasped, his voice trembling with a mixture of longing and restraint.

Your laughter, low and seductive, rippled through the air, brushing against his ear and sending shivers cascading down his spine.

"You don't want me to stop," you countered, your words a teasing assertion that seemed to strip away the last shreds of his resistance.

Kento's hands gripped the armrests of his chair with a desperate intensity, his knuckles whitening as he fought to maintain his grasp on composure in the face of overwhelming temptation.

Your words were a siren's call, a sultry enticement that seemed to draw him deeper into the vortex of desire. "C'mon now," you coaxed, your voice a velvet temptation, "You want me to touch you, to make a mess of you, to take care of you like no one else ever has."

With a confident touch, you rubbed the growing bulge between his thighs more firmly, causing his breath to hitch and a shuddering groan to escape his lips.

His voice emerged, a whisper of uncertainty and longing. "Y-You'll take care of me?"

You met his vulnerability with a promise that dripped with seductive allure. "Yes," you affirmed, your words a whispered caress, "Like no one else ever has."

Or will… You smirked.

As you unzipped the fly of his trousers and began to tug them down his strong thighs, Kento obediently lifted his hips to assist you in the tantalizing descent. The anticipation in the room was palpable, the air thick with desire.

The hard, throbbing length beneath the thin fabric of his boxers was damp along a certain path, evidence of his heightened arousal. Your finger pressed against the dampness, and Kento hissed sharply through his teeth. It was as if a current of electricity shot through every nerve in his body, pooling at the base of his spine, aching need pulsating within his throbbing cock.

With a tantalizingly deliberate movement, you pushed his boxers away, unveiling the long, aching length of his erection as it sprung free from its confinements. His breath caught in his throat at the sudden sensation of freedom and your touch.

One of your hands ventured down his body, seeking the source of his arousal, and you began to stroke him with a measured pace that balanced comfort and intensity. A deep, throaty moan escaped him, and he couldn't help but push his hips forward ever so slightly, a silent plea for more, tempered by the fear that you might pull away if he was too insistent.

His eyes remained shut, his body leaning into you as if seeking the reassuring pressure of your chest against his back. Every stroke of your hand sent waves of pleasure rippling through him, building an exquisite tension that threatened to tip him over the edge.

Your words dripped with wicked allure, a sultry taunt that sent shivers of desire racing through him. "You can't even deny how badly you need this," you cooed, a wicked smirk gracing your lips, your voice a seductive melody.

“Please…”

A guttural plea escaped him, his voice strained with longing as he groaned, his brow furrowing in desperation. Beads of perspiration formed on his skin, glistening in the office light.

Your touch was a maddening tease, the soft pad of your thumb tantalizingly swiping across the aching head of his cock. It was a taste of what you could do, a whisper of the pleasure you could elicit, the gentle pressure of your fingers a torment that electrified his sensitive length.

Kento's breathing grew more ragged, his body quivering with anticipation and desire. Every stroke of your thumb sent jolts of pleasure coursing through him, a tantalizing promise of the ecstasy that lay just beyond reach.

His hips bucked urgently into your hand, a desperate quest for the all-consuming release that eluded him. A guttural moan erupted from his lips, echoing through the room, and you silenced it with your free hand, your fingers pressed against his lips. In his ear, you whispered teasing, shushing sounds, a sensuous torment that only served to stoke the flames of his desire.

The tension in the room was palpable, a relentless crescendo of longing that seemed to spiral upward with each passing moment. His body quivered with anticipation, his heart raced, and he could feel the precipice of his orgasm looming ever closer.

"You know," you breathed, "I've waited a long time for this moment."

As if to emphasize your words, you slowed the pace of your hand, your touch a slow, torturous caress that seemed to drive him to the brink. He groaned in response, his head hanging low, his hips stubbornly seeking the pleasure that danced just beyond his reach. The room seemed to hum with desire.

In the throes of ecstasy, just as the climax threatened to wash over him, you removed your hand with cruel precision, a disdainful gesture as you wiped it casually on the shoulder of his expensive shirt. Kento all but cried out at the sudden loss of sensation, his whole body shuddering in response.

He groaned in frustration, his eyes filled with pleading confusion as he looked at you, the desperate desire still flickering in their depths. The room seemed to hang in a suspended moment, a tableau of torment and longing that left him on the brink of fulfillment, yet denied the release he so craved.

Your laughter, low and sardonic, filled the room, a taunting echo that seemed to reverberate in the air. With a saunter, you circled around his chair, moving to his desk and retrieving your phone, which had been propped up against a stack of folders. The video on the screen was ended, freezing the moment of his desperate longing.

"Quite the performance, Kento," you taunted, your words a playful mockery that laced with satisfaction.

The boundaries of the office had been breached, and the power dynamics had shifted in a way that left no room for doubt—you openly held the upper hand.

With a bold flourish, you lifted your phone high, turning the volume up to ensure every nuance of the recorded encounter could be heard. You skipped through selected sections of the video, each moment meticulously chosen to capture the essence of the temptation and desire that had unfolded within the confines of the office.

As the video played, the room seemed to resonate with the sounds of his seduction, his pleas, his moans—each intimate detail laid bare for him to witness. There was no avoiding it; the evidence was undeniable, and it hung in the air.

His chest rose and fell with the turmoil of emotions, and a betrayed expression contorted his typically composed features. The question escaped his lips like a lament, a whispered plea for understanding: “Why?”

Your posture exuded an air of casual indifference as you leaned against his desk, a playful tilt to your head that underscored your enjoyment of his discomfort. His question seemed to hang in the air, unanswered, as you chose to focus on the task at hand.

"So, Kento," you murmured, your tone a seductive tease, "What should I leak next: more of the company's closely guarded data, or this scorching little video?"

A mixture of disbelief and regret tainted his muttered words. "How... H-How could you?"

Your laughter was a sharp retort, a mocking response to his question. "How could I? Oh, Kento, you're so fucking naїve."

His gulp was audible, his voice barely above a whisper as he ventured, "How much is it you want, exactly? What's your price?"

A sly grin curled upon your lips as you leaned closer, your words dripping with seductive allure. "I want everything you can give me."

a/n: he (effectively) lost his job by getting a handjob LOL. poor guy. jokes, idc, this was written out of spite. Happy Kinktober :3

this work belongs to STARRIERKNIGHT . please refrain from plagiarising any of my works and do not repost/translate/modify/copy onto any platforms.

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mono-dot-jpeg · 11 months

Text

child! reader w/blade, yanqing, natasha, & gepard

summary; thoughts being thunk about cute scenarios with child! reader

genre/extra tags; fluff, blade is probably ooc, don't give blade a child, yanqing being a big brother, yanqing and reader gang up on jingyuan, natasha my beloved, gepard big brother arc, but gepard is an awkward big brother, whoops my hand slipped now there's angst (natasha's part), blade wants to punt a kid (/hj)

[gender neutral! reader] [child 7-9! reader] [platonic]

[warnings; implied for reader to be heavily sick often (natasha)]

a/n; *smacks my head* this baby holds loads of child!reader ideas, thanks to their family being the way their family is. good ol' trauma. you didn't pick any characters in particular other than just non-express crew characters. hope you enjoy

it's a fucking miracle that you're even standing next to this man. kafka just had to give you to him. luckily, blade is less violent than he looks. and luckily for you, you hold no fear.

"you look ugly like that." you point at him, your tiny finger inching a little too close to his eye. "why do you look like that?" kafka stifles a laugh as she watches from afar.

"i can't believe i want to punt a child." he mutters. "i don't know, why do you look like that?" he retaliates.

"look like what? ms. kafka says i'm cute!" your hand goes limp to rest on your lap.

"you are anything but cute, you devil spawn."

you gasped, "ms. kafka! blade is being mean!" you get up to run to the woman, who is laughing silently. "he called me a devil spawn... whatever that means!"

"it means you're tiny. and stupid." blade says, watching as you hide behind kafka's leg.

"no, you're stupid!" you stick your tongue out at him.

"you little sh-"

"curse jar!"

"yannie!" you cheered loudly.

"y/n!" he cheers back. you run to him as he picks you up. "do you want to walk around today?" you nodded. "let's go get some allowance from the general first!"

"jing!" you and yanqing arrive at the general's office.

"if it isn't our little cloud knight." jingyuan watches as the young blonde puts you down to go run at him. "i could only wonder what you are doing here with yanqing."

"i wan' to explore with yanqing!" you climb up jingyuan's legs as he watches with a fond gaze.

"is that so?"

you nodded, "but me 'n yan need help." jingyuan looks at you confused before turning to look at yanqing.

"we need some money, general..." jingyuan raises an eyebrow, glancing at you who shows him puppy eyes. and then yanqing tries to play off his ask with an innocent grin.

jingyuan can't help but sigh, "for a lieutenant and a little cloud knight, you two sure are sly." he smiles gently.

"you think we can annoy serval?" an impish grin starts to grow on your face.

"we really shouldn't do that." gepard chides you. you groan.

"but i'm so bored! she's got cool ga- gad-gets."

"gadgets."

"yeah! i wanna see them! i wanna watch serval work!"

"she's probably busy, y/n." you huffed as you struggled in gepard's arms, "stop it!"

"what can we do then?" you pouted. "what do you wanna do?"

awkward silence...

"my idea is better! let's go see big sis!" you tug on his clothes as if it would anything to make him move faster.

"how about we make something for serval? wouldn't that be fun?"

"hm? making something like a gad-gets?"

"gadget. yeah, maybe something like that. or we can draw something for her, and she can put it up somewhere."

"yeah, let's do that!" you cheered, walking alongside gepard and putting your hand in his.

it's no doubt that your parents would leave you in the care of the nicer-est nurse in town (your words, not hers). even if you were a not so amazing state, you can't help but still be happy.

"i think you're a superhero, ms. natasha. i wanna make a story about you!" you've always been a creative soul, it was one of the few things you can do with being bedridden for days on end. writing was a favorite. but you really liked making comics.

"i'm just doing my job, dear. i think you should make a story about yourself." natasha speaks with fondness as she distracts you from getting a shot. "you're just as strong as a hero." her voice is bittersweet but you don't notice it.

"how about i make a story about us? we can be the best-est heroes in the world!" you beamed at your own genius suggestion. "i can be your sidekick!"

"i would love to see that story someday." she smiles. "i know it will be amazing as always." she places a band aid where your shot was taken. her thumb brushes over it once, then again. "i'll even put it up by your bed. framed and everything."

she just hopes you live to see another day.

#hsr x reader #honkai star rail #hsr natasha #hsr gepard #hsr blade #hsr yanqing #honkai x reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail blade #honkai star rail blade x reader #blade x reader #yanqing x reader #natasha x reader #honkai blade x reader #honkai yanqing x reader #honkai natasha x reader

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frenchbreadandeggs · 10 months

Text

The Other Variant of Her (2)

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Reader

summary: Out of nowhere, Gwen Stacy appeared on your Earth, inviting you to the Spider Society in Nueva York. As you reluctantly took her offer, you were shown the beauty of every spider person around HQ. Meeting the founder of the group, Miguel O’Hara. You never knew him, but it seems that he does.

gn!reader, also a spider person

cw. angst, (kinda) ooc miguel o'hara, canon event (it happens), mentions of (multiple) deaths, violence, mentions of blood

words: 9.1k

first part

taglist: @a-helpless-romantic, @bozos-r-us @levisbebe @othersideoftheparadise, @nataliahemsworth

hi hello, this is the second part and the last! gotta say this was fun to write. it's currently 3 am and i have school later but gladly it starts at the afternoon so i can sleep for a bit^^, i think i went overboard with some stuff, canon events happened. hope you all enjoy this! and sorry if i could not tag the others who asked me to tag them. i promise, i tried. also typos cause i made this up until midnight so—

There was an undeniable connection between you and Miguel, but you couldn't quite pinpoint what it was. Ever since he recruited you, you found yourself spending a lot of time in his office. It didn't bother you, although it did disappoint you that you weren't getting as much action as the other Spider-People, like Gwen, Hobie, and Pav. Your friends seemed bothered by it, especially Hobie.

"Nah, mate. 'E's keepin' you to 'imself for some unknown reason. Got you locked up in 'is office since day one," Hobie would say whenever you stepped out of Miguel's office. Whether you were going to grab lunch or hang out with the others, if you didn't have any pressing business in Nueva York, you would return to your own world. But you never paid much attention to Hobie's concerns. You reassured him not to overthink it and mentioned that Miguel was treating you well.

Hobie would look at you with concern, urging you to be cautious. You wondered if Miguel had ulterior motives, given Hobie's warnings, but you also sensed there was something more to the situation. You didn't want to be suspicious of your own boss, so you decided to trust him, following his orders diligently and helping him sort through anomaly reports for the other Spider-People to handle, ignoring Hobie's persistent attempts to convince you otherwise.

In Miguel's dimly lit office, you found yourself sitting in a corner, engrossed in filing an anomaly report. Holding the pad in your hands, you read through the details and typed them into the screen. When you first started working on the anomaly reports with Miguel, you weren't particularly fond of the high-tech gadgets he used. You even admitted this to him, feeling a bit embarrassed considering your age should have made you more familiar with such devices.

"Well, the tech in my Earth isn't as advanced as this," you had once said to Miguel, using it as an excuse for your initial unfamiliarity with the gadgets.

Miguel glanced at you briefly before turning his attention elsewhere. "Yeah, yeah, Lyla," he called out.

Lyla materialized on your shoulder, causing you to jump slightly in surprise. "Yes?" she responded.

"Give them a pad—or anything they can use without complications," Miguel instructed, his focus now shifting to the floating screens in front of him. His fingers flicked effortlessly across the images that appeared.

"Alright," Lyla replied, her voice carrying a hint of mischief. "A 'please' would be nice."

Miguel scoffed, annoyed at the demand his AI was making. "Please," he muttered through gritted teeth.

"Hah!" Lyla exclaimed, turning her attention to you with a smug grin. "Did you hear that, Slinger? This man actually said 'please'."

You could sense Miguel's irritation, accompanied by the frustrated tapping on the screens. With a snap of Lyla's fingers, a pad materialized out of thin air and floated towards you, coming to rest on your lap. Lyla glitched to appear in front of you, still wearing that mischievous smile. You couldn't help but find Miguel's AI both cute and commanding in her own unique way.

"Here, let me show you the basics," Lyla offered, ready to guide you through the functionalities of the pad.

"Slinger?"

A voice jolted you out of your reverie. You blinked and found a small, yellow figure hovering above your face, radiating concern. Startled, you took a sharp breath and tumbled off the metal seat you had been perched on.

"Oh no!"

"I'm okay! I'm okay," you reassured, hastily getting back on your feet and smoothing out any wrinkles on your suit—which luckily, there were none.

You turned your attention to Lyla, still a little disoriented. "What did you call me?"

Lyla tilted her head, her smile unwavering. "Your shift ended ten minutes ago—orrrr do you want to stay here?"

You glanced around the dimly lit room, the orange screens now powered down. It seemed Miguel had called it a day, without even bothering to inform you. You looked back at Lyla, contemplating her question. Shaking your head, you retrieved the pad from the floor and pressed a series of buttons until it deactivated.

"I need to go back to my Earth, unfortunately. I'll see you again, Lyla. Goodbye!"

Lyla nodded in acknowledgment before vanishing, the glow dissipating and leaving the room in darkness. With your mask securely in place, you walked towards the portal, similar to the one you had first encountered, that materialized behind you. Stepping through, you disappeared into the swirling energies, returning to your own world.

The portal dissipated as you stepped out, greeted by the familiar night sky of York New. You found yourself on the rooftop of an industrial building, hoping it was the one where your apartment was located. Shooting a web below, you gracefully leaped into the air, but to your disappointment, it wasn't your building. Undeterred, you continued swinging through the city, Kings, in search of your apartment. From above, you looked down and observed the bustling streets below. Despite the late hour, it still appeared as if it were a busy afternoon.

Finally, you spotted a familiar window and a smile formed on your face. It was your apartment. Shooting a web in its direction, you swung towards it with a sense of anticipation. Landing on the window ledge, you opened the window and entered, feeling a wave of relief. After removing your mask, you took a moment to catch your breath. It had been tiring, sitting in Miguel's office, working on anomaly reports as if you were his secretary.

"Boring? Maybe," you mused to yourself. In your civilian life, you also found yourself engrossed in reading and grading essays as a history professor at a nearby university. Reviewing your students' work, their projects, and conducting research has become a familiar routine.

"Home sweet home, I guess—"

Suddenly, there was a knock on your door, interrupting your thoughts.

"Nevermind."

You hurried to the door, peering through the peephole. Your eyes widened when you saw three familiar faces standing outside, their masks nowhere in sight. Opening the door, you were greeted by Hobie's smirk.

"Took you too long."

"You literally just knocked a second ago—wait, wait, what are you guys doing here?"

"We just wanted to hang out with you, that's all!" Pav exclaimed, his smile radiating warmth.

"Word got around that your New York is different from ours," Gwen added, her hands tucked inside her jacket.

"Obviously it's different, considering you're in a different world. And it's York New," you chuckled, gesturing for them to come inside your cozy apartment. The entrance was adorned with stacks of university papers and photographs of your close friends and professors. It was a homey space that reflected your individuality.

"I literally just got home five minutes ago. Wait here, I'll get you three some drinks." You shot a web towards the fridge, pulled it open, and glanced at your friends. "What do you guys want?"

"Anything," Gwen replied.

"Do you have chai?" Pav inquired.

"I'll take any drink that'll burst my ass," Hobie chimed in, shrugging nonchalantly.

You squinted at Hobie, momentarily taken aback, "But if you don’t have one, anything really."

After preparing the drinks, you all settled down on the couch. Pav chose a bean bag beside you, sipping his drink, while Gwen leaned against the window, holding her cup. Hobie made himself comfortable on the couch, placing his drink on the table.

"So, you're a professor?" Gwen started, her gaze wandering over the pictures displayed around the apartment. "Seems like you really love what you do." she smiled at you warmly, and you laughed, unaffected by the slightly cluttered display of photographs featuring you and your students.

"I enjoy teaching," you replied. Hobie, engrossed in one of your student's essays, chimed in.

"I like your students," he interjected, his eyes skimming the words printed on the white pages.

"Thanks. I try to encourage them to think critically," you responded, appreciating Hobie's interest in your students' work.

"Say," you suggested, a glint in your eye. "Why don't I give you guys a tour of the place?"

The four of you swung in various directions, making stops at different shops to grab a bite and relax on one of the rooftops. It was a joyous bonding experience with the three, engaging in conversations while swinging through the chilly midnight air of Kings. As you hung on a web, a burger in your mouth, you observed Hobie swinging around with fries in his hand. Gwen and Pav were amazed in your world, even offering to fetch more snacks.

With your arms slightly numb from gripping, you headed to the rooftop where the pile of trash that you all had accumulated was located. Using your webs, you fashioned a makeshift trash bag and began collecting the refuse. Hobie joined you on the rooftop, lending a hand in the cleanup as you awaited Pav and Gwen's return.

“So, how’s stuff workin’ in his office?” he said, his back at you. He threw a soda in your way, you raised the trash bag to catch it.

You shrugged, “Nothing really, it’s just the same work I do here all over again but about hero work.”

“Have you at least mentioned him to deploy you?” Hobie now looked at you, his mask was removed so you could see his face, “It’s disappointing that I couldn’t at least see you fight, Gwen told me she said you look cool.”

You chuckled, “Well I did mention it to him, though I couldn’t comprehend what he said so I never bother to ask again,” another trash into the bag, “If lucky, you might see how I fight like what Gwen told you.”

“I sure hope,” he then took the trash bag from you, his smile somehow radiating to you even though there was nothing, “you’re a nice person, I can see it in you.”

“Though you gotta select who to be nice with.”

“Hm? I didn't quite hear that.” you turned to him as you threw the last can into the trash bag Hobie’s holding.

He shook his head, “Nah, it’s nothin’,”

Gwen and Pav arrived, each holding plastic bags in both hands, indicating they had made quite a few purchases. Pav gracefully touched down on the concrete floor, making his way towards you and Hobie, while Gwen followed closely behind, wearing a small smile on her face.

“Hey guys we got this good looking food called Kare—” Pav was cut off when a portal opened behind him.

It’s him. It’s not even after 24/7 you got to see this man again.

Miguel emerged from the portal, clad in his signature streamlined costume. The suit predominantly featured a vibrant blue hue with striking red accents, although the intensity of the red seemed to overpower the color of his Spider-Suit, emitting a bright glow that even hurt your eyes. As was customary, Miguel appeared with his mask removed, revealing his disheveled, swept-back dark hair and the weariness etched across his striking countenance.

Though it was different this time; it was the first occasion you saw him wearing his mask.

On the other hand, you were only wearing a brown overcoat with your Spider-Suit still on because you didn’t bother to change when Hobie, Gwen, and Pav arrived in your apartment. You had planned to change into your comfortable clothes when you return to your apartment, but Miguel’s sudden appearance seemed to suggest otherwise.

“Seems that our little bonding ended too soon,” Hobie said, a tinge of disappointment heard from his voice.

Miguel disregarded Hobie as he made his way towards you. Each step seemed purposeful with a hint of exhaustion. His presence was commanding, his tall and muscular frame seeming to dominate the space around him.

Underneath his mask, you could sense the weariness etched onto his features. Lines of fatigue creased his forehead, you can imagine his eyes held a distant look, as if burdened by the weight of the world.

Your own expression shifted subtly, a mixture of concern and anticipation. There was an unspoken tension in the air, a sense that something significant was about to unfold. You tried to summon a warm smile to your lips, hoping to offer a sense of comfort in the midst of whatever Miguel was going through.

As he neared, his presence seemed to envelop you, almost overpowering in its intensity.

The silence hung heavy between you, pregnant with unspoken words and hidden emotions. In that moment, you could sense the weight of his struggles, the burden of his responsibilities. It was as if the room itself held its breath, waiting for the unspoken to be uttered.

“I sent you a signal earlier, why didn’t you pick up?” Miguel said with a sigh, you can hear his strained voice underneath the mask.

You bit your lip, shoot, you took it off and left it in your apartment, “...I left it in the apartment.”

You sheepishly smiled, Miguel let’s out a frustrated groan. His hands now in his hips as he looked down on you, somehow you could figure out that his eyes are furrowed based on the moving eye lenses on his mask.

“Next time wear it always,”

You looked at him, confusrion print on your face. What does he mean by that? You are always in his office for anomaly reports and anomaly reports alone. Why is he demanding you to wear the ‘goober’ at all times when you are stranded in Nueva York.

Miguel sensed your confused state, “We have a big problem and I need you to be there, alongsides Gwen, Pav, and Hobie. You get to have your very first action mission that you kept bugging me about.”

"Hey, I just mentioned it once, and never again because of your busy ass!" you spat at him, frustration lacing your words. His response was a small sneer, his gaze shifting to the three friends who stood nearby.

“And you three, what are you doing in here?” Miguel crosses his hands on his chest, eyebrows furrowed at them.

Pav sheepishly smiled, deftly concealing the plastic bags that held tantalizing, steaming hot food. His hands moved with practiced ease, ensuring the delicious secret remained hidden from Miguel’s prying eyes. Gwen, standing nearby, appeared unperturbed by the situation, her cool demeanor untouched by Pav's stealthy actions and Miguel’s demandful question. Meanwhile, Hobie casually leaned against the railings, skillfully employing a strand of web to secure the trash bag, demonstrating his resourcefulness and adaptability.

“Just visiting them,” Hobie said, throwing the trash in the air as it landed in the dumpster, “nothing more.”

“Lo que sea, get in.”

Without any time to spare, Miguel entered the portal, followed by Gwen. The plastic bags she was carrying were now handed over to Pav, who gave you a questioning glance, unsure of what to do with the food. It would be a waste to throw it away.

"I'll bring it back to the apartment," you smiled at him.

Miguel's words hit you like a punch to the gut, filling you with a deep sense of worry. As he explained the anomaly outbreak and the appearance of two anomalies in your Earth, your mind raced with concern for your students. Thoughts of their safety consumed you, and the weight of responsibility settled heavily on your shoulders. You remembered that they have ushered you to come with them as a bonding with the class before they graduate.

"The kids—my class, they will be in the vicinity where the anomalies appeared," you uttered, the worry evident in your voice. You couldn't help but imagine the potential dangers they might face, the chaos and uncertainty that awaited them.

Miguel's reassuring presence did little to ease your anxiety. While you appreciated his determination to ensure everyone's safety, the fear for your students gnawed at your insides. Their well-being became your top priority, and you silently vowed to do whatever it takes to protect them.

He gave you and the three instructions, you and Hobie are to scout the premises. Gwen, Pav, and Miguel are to find the two anomalies wandering around the streets of YNC. Your eyes glued on your phone, the bubble text from your advisory class president was chatting you in your group chat. She told you that they will be visiting a museum in an hour, they are using the university’s bus.

“They will be alright,” Hobie came up to you and place his hand on your shoulders, “It’s the five of us against two.”

“I don’t know Hobie—I—I hope so.” you placed your phone down on the ground where your things were placed. Since you and Hobie are scouting, it makes sense that you two will be on top of the buildings. After you gave the coordiates of your advisory class’ bus to Gwen, it did not took look for her to place a tracker on the bus as Lyla sent you a map that show’s where you students are.

“Stay focused, we found Kingpin—Green Goblin is still on the loose. Look out for him.”

Miguel’s voice static from the earpiece you and Hobi share. You and Hobie looked at each other and nod, you swing to another building and surveyed.

“Move.”

You followed, Hobie stayed before following you. You both swing around York New to meet up with Miguel. Gwen and Pav were still trying to find Green Goblin as Miguel surveyed the area and pressing buttons on his hologram.

“How’s everything?” you asked, landing next to Miguel.

“Not so good, Goblin is still in hiding.”

"If you don't mind, I'll go and help Pav and Gwen," Hobie declared, his voice filled with coolness. Without waiting for a response, he swiftly swung past you and Miguel, disappearing into the distance before Miguel could even protest.

You stood at the edge of the building, your gaze focused on the city below. The urgency weighed heavily on your shoulders as you turned to face Miguel.

“Y’know nothing is going to happen when we stand here, right? He's out there causing havoc and endangering innocent lives. We can't let him get away with it.”

Miguel, clad in his futuristic suit, looked back at you from his hologram. He placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

“I know. We're doing everything we can to locate him. But we need to be cautious. Green Goblin is dangerous, and he won't hesitate to attack us.”

“I understand the risks, Miguel, but I can't just stand by and watch.”

Miguel's voice broke through the solemn air, his words laced with genuine concern and a deep sense of responsibility. As he stood by your side, his gaze locked with yours, you could see the sincerity in his eyes. His words resonated within you, soothing the pain and reminding you that you were not alone in this fight.

“You’re a good person, Slinger," Miguel began, his voice steady and reassuring. "But remember, we're a team. We'll find him together, and when the time comes, we'll take him down. Your safety is important to me."

“I appreciate your concern, Miguel, but I can handle myself. I've faced villains before, and I won't back down now. I have to protect this city, protect the people who call it home.”

Before he could utter a word, you unleashed a volley of webs, ensnaring Miguel's limbs and slowing his movement. You know he will chase you down and stop you. You won’t let him. With unwavering confidence, you leaped off the edge of the building, soaring through the cityscape of York New. The wind whipped against your mask, heightening your senses and sharpening your focus.

“Green Goblin spotted in Brooklyn Bridge!”

You heard Pav from the ear piece, following a sound of bomb from a place. Immediately you went to the place Pav has mentioned. The bridge was almost in shambles, you saw the three swinging towards the bridge and scoped everyone as they could. Without any question, you immediately went towards the bridge, grabbing any citizen you could see and place them from a safest place.

There were falling debris from the bridge, you tried to use your webs as much as you can to stop its fall, taking the other people out of the way. Then, you heard a scream—multiple screams.

No.

You turned your head from the screams’ direction, a university bus was hanging at the edge of the bridge. The logo familiar to you, it was the university’s logo where you work at—and you knew who are the ones using it on summer break.

"NO!" Your heart pounded in your chest as you sprinted towards the plummeting bus, the desperate cries of your students echoing in your ears. Without a moment's hesitation, you extended your arms, shooting out a long, sturdy web that latched onto the side of the bus, halting its descent. The sheer weight of the vehicle strained against your webbing, threatening to overpower you.

Gritting your teeth, you summoned every ounce of strength within you, muscles tensing as you fought against the force. Inch by inch, you managed to slow down the bus's fall, but it continued to drag you closer to the perilous edge. Panic surged through you, but you refused to yield. With a fierce determination, you quickly fired another web, this time securing it to a nearby wall, providing additional support. The combined strength of your webs and your unwavering resolve prevented the bus from plummeting any further, as you held on with all your might, muscles trembling with strain.

Then a—

SNAP!

The web strained under the immense weight of the bus. With a sickening snap, the web gave way, releasing the bus from its temporary suspension. The screams of your students pierced through the air, intensifying the sense of dread that clenched at your chest. In a split second decision, you made a daring choice.

Letting go of the remnants of the web, you launched yourself into the open air, hurtling downwards alongside the falling bus. Time seemed to slow as you descended, the rush of wind roaring in your ears. The ground rushed closer and closer, and then, with an earth-shattering impact, the bus crashed onto the unforgiving cement floor beneath the towering structure of the Brooklyn Bridge.

The scene was filled with chaos and destruction, the sound of bending metal and shattering glass echoing in the aftermath of the crash. Your heart pounded in your chest as you assessed the wreckage, the safety of your students weighing heavily on your mind.

Time seemed to blur as you landed on the unforgiving concrete floor, your heart pounding in your chest. Panic surged through your veins as you sprinted towards the mangled wreckage of the bus. Each step felt like an eternity, your mind filled with a flurry of worries and desperate pleas.

"Nonononononono," you repeated in a frantic mantra, taking off your mask. Your voice tinged with fear and urgency. The sight that greeted you was one of devastation. The bus, now a twisted metal heap, was surrounded by debris and scattered belongings. Smoke billowed from the wreckage, the acrid scent filling the air.

"Guys?" you called out with desperation in your voice, the shortness of breath betraying the adrenaline coursing through your veins. Each word escaped your lips with a sense of worry.

"Guys! It's me, Professor History— please respond!" Your voice echoed through the wreckage, a hollow plea bouncing off the twisted metal and shattered glass strewn across the floor. The sound of your fists pounding against the bus added a percussion of desperation to the chaotic scene. Your heart raced, fear clawing at your chest as you anxiously awaited any sign of life from within the mangled wreckage.

The deafening silence hung heavy in the air, engulfing the scene in an eerie stillness. There were no screams, no signs of life emerging from the twisted wreckage of the bus. Just an unsettling quietness that seemed to amplify the weight of the situation. Your heart sank, a knot of dread forming in the pit of your stomach. You strained your ears, hoping against hope to hear even the faintest whimper or stirring, but there was nothing. It felt as if time itself had frozen, trapping you in this moment of agonizing uncertainty.

No screams, nothing but a quiet sound.

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision as the weight of the tragedy settled upon you. A mixture of anguish and grief washed over you, threatening to engulf your entire being. Your body trembled with sorrow, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as you struggled to contain the overwhelming emotions within you.

Each tear that streamed down your face carried the weight of the lives lost. Your students oh your loving students, their dreams shattered, and the futures cut short. The pain in your heart felt unbearable, as the realization of the magnitude of the tragedy consumed you. It was a deep ache that resonated through your entire being, leaving you feeling hollow and broken.

With shaky hands, you reached out to touch the cold, lifeless metal of the bus, your fingers tracing the dented surfaces. The shattered glass beneath your feet served as a cruel reminder of the shattered hopes and dreams of the students who had once filled these seats. Your sobs echoed in the emptiness around you, a heart-wrenching sound that seemed to reverberate through the desolate scene.

In that moment, you mourned not only the loss of their lives but also the loss of the bright futures they had ahead of them. Each tear that fell was a testament to the deep love and care you held for your students, their absence leaving an irreplaceable void in your heart.

As the tears streamed down your face, they carried a profound sense of loss and a desperate longing for the impossible—to turn back time and rewrite the tragic outcome. But all you were left with was the haunting silence and the painful reality of their absence.

The echoing laughter of the Green Goblin cut through the silence, its sinister tone reverberating in the air like a chilling reminder of the villain responsible for this devastation. The sound pierced through your grief, igniting a surge of anger within you.

Wiping away your tears with a trembling hand, you turned your gaze towards the source of the laughter. Your eyes burned with a fiery determination, fueled by the pain and loss you had just experienced. The sight of the Green Goblin standing amidst the wreckage, his grinning visage masked by madness, only served to intensify your resolve.

“You,” you said in gritted teeth, “you won’t escape from what you’ve done!”

You extended your arms and shot a web at one of the upper walls, propelling yourself forward to chase after Green Goblin. The echoes of his maniacal laughter reverberated in your ears, fueling a burning rage within you. The sound was like a taunt, a challenge that you were more than ready to accept.

As you swung through the city, your web-slinging skills guided you with precision and speed. The wind rushed past you, whipping through your mask. Your heart pounded in your chest, adrenaline coursing through your veins, as you closed the distance between you and the malicious villain.

Every fiber of your being was consumed by the desire to bring him to justice, to put an end to his reign of chaos and protect the innocent lives he threatened. The memories of your fallen students fueled your determination, driving you forward even when your body ached and your muscles screamed for respite.

There was sound of scratching static in your ears, “Slinger! Don’t go alone and chase him, he’s too dangerous you—”

You ripped off your earpiece, consumed by an overwhelming wave of rage. It didn't matter which version of Green Goblin this person was. They had taken the lives of your students, the very people who brought light and happiness to your world. They were the reason you fought, the reason you donned the mask and took on the responsibility of protecting others. The weight of grief and anger propelled you forward, fueling your determination to bring this villain to justice.

You followed Green Goblin through the twisting alleys and towering rooftops, determination coursing through your veins. The air whipped against your mask as you maintained a safe distance, observing his every move. Your heart pounded with a mix of adrenaline and anticipation, knowing that this encounter would be anything but ordinary.

Green Goblin spun around, catching sight of your presence. His crazed laughter filled the air as he leaped onto his glider, propelling high above the cityscape. Without a moment's hesitation, you shot your webs, swinging through the sky in pursuit.

The battle unfolded in a chaotic symphony of punches, kicks, and explosive projectiles. You danced through the air, agile and nimble, dodging Green Goblin's relentless attacks with a mixture of acrobatics and web-slinging finesse. Each swing and flip showcased your formidable skills, a testament to the hours of training you had devoted to honing your abilities.

But the Green Goblin was a force to be reckoned with. His strength and speed were unmatched, and his relentless assault began to take its toll. Blow after blow rained down upon you, sending shockwaves of pain throughout your body. Your vision blurred, and your movements slowed as fatigue threatened to overtake you.

Blood trickled down your face, mingling with the sweat beneath your mask. You tasted the metallic tang of it on your lips, a reminder of the brutal reality of the fight. The pain was excruciating, but you refused to let it break your spirit. You were a fighter, a symbol of resilience, and you would not back down.

Not when after they died.

With every ounce of remaining strength, you launched yourself into a final assault. Your fists and webs became a blur of motion as you fought back with everything you had. Your strikes connected, and Green Goblin staggered, momentarily disoriented. It was a fleeting opportunity, and you seized it with unwavering determination.

But Green Goblin was not so easily defeated. With a vicious snarl, he retaliated with newfound ferocity. His blows came faster and harder, each one landing with bone-jarring force. You felt the impact reverberate through your body, weakening your stance with each strike. Your energy waned, and your body screamed in protest.

As the battle raged on, your movements grew sluggish, your responses delayed. You fought to stay on your feet, but the relentless assault pushed you to the brink of exhaustion. It felt as though every ounce of strength was drained from your body, and the world around you blurred into a haze.

In a final, devastating blow, Green Goblin sent you hurtling through the sky. Pain ripped through your body as you spiraled downwards, the ground rushing up to meet you. Your vision faded, darkness encroaching upon your consciousness. The mask that concealed your identity became stained with your blood, a testament to the brutal beating you had endured.

As unconsciousness claimed you, you clung to the hope that you had given it your all.

Strong hands swiftly catch you as you teeter on the edge of consciousness, their grip providing a lifeline in your exhausted state. You couldn't discern the identity of your savior; your weariness was too profound to make sense of the details. With a profound sense of relief, you surrender to the enveloping darkness, allowing it to claim you as the pain in your battered body gradually subsides.

Miguel landed with a controlled grace on a nearby rooftop, cradling your limp body in his arms. Worry surged through him as he beheld your battered form. Gingerly, he reached up and removed your mask, revealing the extent of the damage inflicted upon you. Your face bore the marks of the brutal encounter, streaked with blood and adorned with dark bruises that marred your once serene features. The sight stirred a mixture of emotions within Miguel—worry and anger.

He told you to stay—don’t go. How could you disobey simple rules?

“Miguel,” Jessica’s voice was heard from his earpiece, “He is captured, we’re taking him back—how are they?”

“Beaten up, round up the others and call for backup to clean up the mess the anomalies made.”

“Copy.”

You groaned and slowly regained consciousness, your eyes fluttered open to reveal your surroundings—a futuristic clinic that emanated a sense of advanced technology and sleek efficiency.

The room was adorned with clean, white walls, illuminated by soft, ambient lighting that cast a gentle glow. The air was infused with a sterile freshness, carrying the faint scent of antiseptic agents. The medical equipment and monitors present were state-of-the-art, seamlessly integrated into the surroundings with their sleek design.

The furniture was ergonomic and minimalist, offering both comfort and functionality. The room exuded an atmosphere of professionalism and cutting-edge medical care, assuring you that you were in capable hands within this futuristic healthcare setting.

As you slowly sat up on the bed, a wave of memories washed over you, reminding you of the intense battle with Green Goblin and the person who had saved (probably Miguel) you from the brink of falling.

The pain in your body served as a stark reminder of the brutal encounter, but you couldn't help but marvel at the resilience that had allowed you to survive.

With a deep breath, you swung your legs off the edge of the bed. Thankfully your spidersuit was placed on a white couch, looking good as new.

Still, you have not moved on from what had happened to your students, their deaths too soon for you.

You shake your head, you need to talk to Miguel and the others at least. Ask them what will be the fates of the anomalies, did they even catched Green Goblin. You sure hope they did.

You stepped out of the clinic, your body now clad in your trusted spider suit. As you made your way through the headquarters, you couldn't help but notice the bustling activity of fellow spider people. They moved with agility and purpose, their suits adorned with variations of the iconic spider emblem.

The HQ itself was a sprawling complex, a sanctuary for those who shared your mission of protecting the multiverse. The sound of spinning webs and the occasional hum of futuristic technology filled the air, creating an atmosphere of innovation and readiness.

Walking through the corridors, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unity among your spider brethren. The shared purpose and camaraderie were palpable, evident in the nods of acknowledgment and encouraging nods exchanged as you passed fellow spider people in the hallways.

Finally, you arrived at Miguel's office, the dimly lit room casting an air of mystery. The dominant color scheme of deep blue added to the aura of secrecy and focused intent. The office was sparsely furnished, with only a floating platform holding an array of futuristic gadgets and tools that Miguel relied on for his work.

You missed being here for some reason.

You saw most of the people you knew; Jessica, Gwen, Hobie, and Pav. You rarely speak to Peter, but somehow he is not here despite being around using Mayday to annoy Miguel.

Speaking of Miguel, again, he is on the platform—he used his infamous pose of putting his hands on his waist and looking dismayed or tired.

You approached the platform, marveling at the advanced technology before you. The devices emitted a soft glow, their intricate designs hinting at their incredible capabilities. You knew that within this unassuming office, Miguel planned and strategized to keep the multiverse safe from threats.

Hobie first noticed your arrival, a face of relief when he saw you walking well and alright. You waved at him, pointing at Miguel, indirectly asking Hobie what the hell is the man muttering about. The punk just shook his head, no idea what was happening with Miguel.

When Gwen saw you, she immediately went to you and tried to assist you. You brushed her off, telling her that you are alright and in no need of assistance. You looked back at the platform where Miguel is whispering words in a language you can't understand.

You shoot a web at the rim of the platform and swing on it, landing besides Miguel. You spoke, "Hey, what happened—

You felt a sharp jolt as Miguel's strong grip closed around your wrist, his fingers digging into your skin. His expression was a stark contrast to the usual calm and composed demeanor you were accustomed to seeing. Anger and frustration etched across his face, transforming his features into a portrait of intensity.

His piercing gaze bore into yours, demanding your attention. The air around you seemed to thicken with the weight of his emotions, leaving you momentarily speechless. His grip was firm, almost unyielding, a physical manifestation of his urgency and concern.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he spat, his voice laced with venom. Every word dripped with anger, lashing out like a whip, leaving no room for argument or explanation.

You could sense the depth of his emotions, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily on his shoulders. It was evident that he had been consumed by fear and frustration during your absence, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios. In his eyes, your actions had placed yourself in unnecessary danger, and he was not about to let it go unnoticed.

"I told you specifically to not chase him," his grip tightened around your wrist, you winced, "and you have the guts to fucking remove your earpiece." he growled, his voice low and menacing.

His rage was a tempest, consuming everything in its path. You could see the frustration on his face, twisted by a fiery wrath that threatened to engulf him.

His grip on your wrist was almost painful, his fingers digging into your flesh, marking you with his wrath. It was as if his touch alone could convey the depth of his fury, a physical manifestation of the storm raging within him.

You could feel his anger seeping into your own veins. You met his gaze, refusing to be cowed by his fury. "I had to do something, Miguel. I—"

But then his grip tightened further, his anger flaring up once again. "You're reckless! You think you can just charge headfirst into danger without considering the consequences?"

His eyes bore into yours, a mixture of rage and concern simmering beneath the surface. For a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of understanding, a glimmer of recognition that you were both driven by a shared purpose, even if your methods differed.

"They died, Miguel! I saw them die right before my eyes, I couldn't even erase their screams in my head." you tried to wriggle your wrist from his iron grip, but it seems to tighten even more when you try to move it.

"And you chased him down, for yourself. Beaten up by him almost to pulp—what for?" his grip on you did not lose. You were now trying hard to get out from his grip, even pulling all of the strength to your body so he could let you go.

He did not.

"Miguel—you're hurting me, let go!"

"No, you need to know your lesson!"

"Stop! Please—it hurts—let me go! You're hurting me!" you cried, your free hand getting a grip on his hand and clawing it, hoping that he would let go.

None of the people below you and Miguel tried to stop, Hobie could not stand it and spoke, "You heard them, let them go—"

“¡Hobie, cierra el pico!”

Miguel's voice erupted in a furious shout, silencing Hobie. At the peripheral of your vision, you could see Hobie gripping his guitar. His face evident of annoyance and rage towards Miguel.

Miguel's head turned towards you, you couldn't escape the intensity of his raging crimson eyes. They bore into you with a searing anger, as if trying to carve into your very being. His contorted face twisted with pure rage, a sneer curling his lips as he unleashed his pent-up fury upon you.

"Did you just realize what you've done? YOU COULD'VE DIED!"

Miguel's voice thundered through the room, reverberating with a mix of anger, frustration, and concern. His eyes blazed with an intense fury, their crimson hue piercing into your very core.

His features contorted, his jaw clenched tightly, and his fists were tightly balled up, knuckles white with the force of his grip. Every muscle in his body seemed taut with rage as he confronted you, his normally composed demeanor shattered by the magnitude of his emotions. The air crackled with an electric tension, emphasizing the gravity of the situation and the depth of his anger.

"Please—let go—I can fight for mysel—"

"I'm doing this for you, mi vida!"

There was silence.

A deafening silence that enveloped the room, leaving you and Miguel unable to utter a single word. The weight of the situation hung heavy in the air, filling the space with an uncomfortable tension. Even the onlookers below the floating platform seemed frozen, their eyes wide and mouths agape with disbelief etched across their faces. They witnessed the scene in front of them had already been unfolding. No creases left.

Time seemed to stand still, each passing second accentuating the absence of any sound.

Miguel's furious expression slowly transformed, his features transitioning from anger to a dawning realization, and finally to regret. As his grip on your wrists loosened, you instinctively snatched your hands away, the sting of his earlier aggression still lingering. Confusion and hurt washed over you in waves.

How could this man have mistaken you for someone else all this time? How could he have harbored such rage without truly seeing who you were? The questions echoed in your mind, a mix of frustration and sadness intertwining as you struggled to make sense of it all.

"I—" Miguel's voice trailed off as he reached out towards you, his face etched with a mixture of remorse and apology.

But you were not ready to accept his words, not after everything that had transpired. You held your sore wrists where Miguel's grip had left its mark, the pain serving as a reminder of his unwarranted aggression. A bitter laugh escaped your lips, devoid of any joy or amusement.

"You're out of your mind," you said, your voice laced with a mix of disbelief and frustration. "All this time, you've been thinking of someone who is not me, Miguel. I am not the person you think I am. I am not who you want me to be. I am not yours."

The words cut through the air, sharp and final. The sneer on your face revealed the layers of disappointment and hurt that lay beneath the surface. You leaped off the platform, swiftly accessing the controls on your watch. Fingers swiftly tapping the buttons, you entered the coordinates for Earth-14215, a world where you would no longer be burdened by Miguel's misconceptions.

The portal shimmered behind you, its ethereal presence beckoning you towards new possibilities. With a determined resolve, you unclasped the watch from your wrist and hurled it in Gwen's direction. The small device sailed through the air before landing safely in her outstretched hand.

"Thanks for the pass, Gwen."

As you stood there, your gaze fixed on the portal's swirling energy, it was time to go home.

With a steady step forward, you crossed the threshold, your body engulfed by the portal's radiant glow. As you disappeared into the other side, you left behind Miguel's office, leaving behind the remnants of a past that no longer served you.

You had made up your mind. You were done. You weren't coming back.

It was a rainy night in York, you scouted from the rooftops of the buildings. You have taken care of the criminals and threw them into jail. It's been three hours since you left, a particular white spiderman suit kept following you around and kept interrupting your hero work by helping you, without you even asking for help.

And it irritates you to the bone.

Despite her attempts to explain Miguel's situation and offer her help, you remained steadfast in your determination to handle things on your own.

With each interrupted battle, your frustration grew. The rain-soaked streets mirrored the storm brewing inside you. You had no patience for Gwen's persistent interference, dismissing her explanations as irrelevant. Your focus remained fixed on protecting your city and carrying out your duties as Spider Slinger.

Together, you and Gwen swung through the rain-soaked night, a reluctant duo bound by their shared commitment to protect the city.

"Please, listen to me!" Gwen shouted from the thunder.

"I think what you said is enough, Gwen." you replied, shooting webs by webs on each building to continue your swing.

"But—"

"You can’t patronize his shit Gwen, you’re out of there, I’m out of there too—and that is his problem not ours to fix, now please get out of my Earth before I change my mind.”

Your words dripped with a mix of frustration and defiance as you confronted Gwen. The rain continued to fall around you, adding an extra layer of intensity to the situation. You were determined to assert your independence and distance yourself from Miguel's issues, refusing to be dragged into his problems any longer.

The weight of your words hung in the air, a clear message that you had no intention of tolerating Gwen's attempts to explain or justify Miguel's actions. This was not your burden to bear, and you were unwilling to let it consume you any further. You wanted Gwen gone, back to her own Earth, and you made it clear that any hesitation on her part would not be tolerated.

The sound of a thwip followed by the distinct noise of a portal opening and closing confirmed that Gwen had indeed departed. A sense of relief washed over you as you realized she had respected your wishes and chosen to honor your decision. Despite the tension and disagreement, there was a flicker of gratitude within you for her understanding.

In the aftermath of her departure, the rain continued to fall, its rhythm a soothing backdrop to your thoughts. The weight of the night's events still lingered, but a newfound sense of clarity settled upon you. You were now free to continue your work without the unwanted interference.

You landed on another building, until a familiar sound of a portal opening and closing. With a groan, you spoke with pure annoyance, "Gwen, were you not listening to me or—"

"It's me," a familiar voice resonated through the darkness, cutting through the rain-soaked air. The voice that you don't want to hear anymore

"I'm sorry," Miguel's voice cracked with emotion, the weight of his words heavy in the air.

"I acted out of anger, and I took it out on you. I had no right to hurt you, to hold you so forcefully. It was a terrible mistake, and I deeply regret my actions." His voice trembled with sincerity, carrying the weight of genuine remorse.

"Please know that I never intended to cause you harm. I let my rage consume me, and I failed to see the truth in front of me. I'm truly sorry for the pain I've caused you."

Miguel's voice quivered as he began to recount his haunting past, his words laden with deep sorrow.

"I once pretended to be a husband and a father, creating a false life, taking the place of my variant self. I was unaware of the consequences, the irreversible damage I was causing to the dimension where I didn't originally exist. As the universe disintegrated around me, I witnessed the gradual disappearance of my wife and child, their existence fading from my arms."

His voice choked with grief, a profound sadness seeping through every word. "The weight of that loss, the pain of realizing the lives I had unknowingly destroyed, it haunts me every day. I can't erase the pain I've caused, and for that, I carry an immeasurable burden of remorse."

"You just looked like her."

You looked at him, both standing there, drenched in the relentless rain, facing each other on the desolate rooftop of one of York New's industrial buildings. The downpour mirrored the storm of emotions brewing inside you. A heavy silence descended upon the scene. The weight of the moment left you paralyzed, unsure of how to respond. Despite ten years of being Spider Slinger, and all the years you spent as an individual, you had never quite grasped offering comfort, let alone to a man burdened with deep-seated issues in expressing his feelings.

Time seemed to stand still as both of you remained motionless, locked in a poignant tableau. His slow, deliberate breaths were visible, each exhalation a testament to his inner turmoil. His head hung low, weighed down by the shame of what he had done to you in Nueva York. The rain continued to soak your hair, an icy reminder of the vulnerability you had exposed by removing your mask. The regret tinged your thoughts, but it was necessary for him to witness the anger and disappointment in your eyes. He needed to understand the pain caused by his mistaken belief that you were his deceased wife.

"Then?" you spoke, your voice trembling with a mixture of hurt and resolve. "Why are you even here? You have responsibilities, a busy man. There's no place for you here on my Earth anymore, Miguel."

The bitterness in your words left a bitter taste in your mouth, a reflection of the deep-rooted resentment that simmered within. You watched as he slowly raised his head, his mask dissipating to reveal his face. His sad eyes locked onto yours, piercing through the rain-soaked air. Your harsh words seemed to pierce his chest, evoking a pang of pain even though you were practically strangers. He knew you weren't her, that you were merely a variant of his wife, someone different who didn't share the memories his wife had cherished. You had never shared a life with him, never bore a child together. The absence of even a variant of himself in your Earth accentuated the anguish. It explained why you hadn't reacted when you first encountered him.

Because, in truth, this was your first meeting with Miguel O'Hara.

You were not her, and you were never meant to be his.

"In conclusion, I'm very sorry," he choked out, his voice filled with remorse and self-reproach.

Miguel's words hung heavy in the air, as if echoing the weight of his guilt. He bit his lip, feeling a sharp sting in his eyes. A lump formed in his throat, making it difficult to utter another word. After the incident, he had vowed to himself to bury all personal feelings, to become cold and detached, forsaking any attachments. But seeing you shattered his resolve. The similarities between you and his wife were too painful to bear. In that moment, he longed for the return of both his wife and daughter, even if his actions were irreversible, even if it was an impossible yearning.

"You look pathetic," you couldn't resist the urge to lash out, to release the pent-up tension building within you. The words spilled out, dripping with spite, driven by the turmoil in your heart. You wanted to hurl more insults, to wound him further, but a sliver of conscience held you back. Three words, a petty attempt to inflict some of the pain you felt.

"I know," he replied, his voice cracking under the weight of his sorrow. The rumble of thunder and the relentless patter of rain almost masked his stifled sniffles.

You knew you shouldn't be doing this, that it went against your better judgment, but...

You took a tentative step towards him, narrowing the distance between you. Looking up at him, you saw the confusion etched on his face as you approached. He understood your anger, comprehended the reasons behind it. What startled him, though, was when you reached out, gently cradling the back of his head against your shoulder. The warmth of your embrace enveloped him, a fragile lifeline amidst the tempest of emotions. Both of your arms encircled his neck, one hand resting tenderly on his head, offering a semblance of solace—the only way you knew how.

Gradually, Miguel's rigid body softened, his arms finding their way around your back as he clung to you, afraid to let go. The two of you sank down onto the wet concrete floor, the rain serving as a backdrop to his muffled sobs against your Spider suit. It was a moment of raw vulnerability, an unspoken understanding that sometimes comfort could be found in the arms of a stranger, in the midst of a storm that mirrored the tumult within your souls.

Your fingertips grazed through Miguel's damp hair, feeling the raindrops clinging to each strand. The rain-soaked air enveloped both of you, lending a sense of melancholy to the moment. As his arms encircled you with a delicate touch, you sensed his hesitance, his fear of upsetting you further. Despite the limited time you had spent together, it seemed that Miguel had placed his trust in you completely. From his role as an authority figure to exposing his vulnerability, he had laid it all bare before you.

There was an unspoken understanding between you, a connection forged in the midst of chaos and shared experiences, a bond that transcended mere acquaintanceship. And though words eluded you in that moment, the warmth of your touch conveyed the unspoken support and acceptance you offered him.

"You know, I have not forgiven you." you said.

Miguel lifted his head, revealing a visage stained with tears. His cheeks were flushed, a testament to the emotional turmoil he had endured. His eyes, once vibrant, now appeared weary and disheveled. The traces of sadness etched upon his features spoke volumes of the pain he had carried within. In that vulnerable moment, his raw emotions were laid bare, allowing you to witness the depth of his sorrow and exhaustion.

"How can I?"

You looked at him, your expression softening as you observed Miguel. His face was marked with signs of weariness, evident from the redness in his eyes and the disheveled state of his hair. It was clear that he had been through a lot, and despite the tumultuous situation, he mustered the courage to face you.

There was a certain vulnerability in his gaze, a plea for understanding and forgiveness. In that moment, you realized that perhaps he truly wanted to make amends and find a way to earn your trust. With a small, gentle smile, you conveyed your willingness to give him a chance, to see if he could prove himself worthy of your faith.

You pressed a finger on Miguel's chest where his heart is beating.

"We start from here."

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #spiderverse #ATSV

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