Latest Posts by clownmousesposts - Page 6

❣ 𝘊 𝘙 𝘜 𝘚 𝘏 ❣ || 𝘞𝘶𝘬𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘟 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘖𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵

» crush (ethel cain) « 0:21 ─〇───── 3:20

╔⏤⏤⏤⏤╝❀╚⏤⏤⏤⏤╗ AUTHOR'S NOTE ╚⏤⏤⏤⏤╗❀╔⏤⏤⏤╝ ➤ One day I'll decide how I wanna format shit lmao. ➤ This is a oneshot. ➤ This is romantic. ➤ Reader is gender neutral (except for one use of "maiden" in reference to you). ➤ This oneshot includes Dragonhead/Triad!Wukong, who is apart of the Triad AU belonging to @skittlescripts! ➤ This oneshot in based off @dumplingsjinson's 4th unrequited-but-not-actually-unrequited-love prompt!! I originally had it here but decided to delete it incase you'd like to go into this kinda blind lol. ➤ If this is dumb I'm sorry I haven't had a genuine crush since like 2nd grade /gen. Also romance is NOT my strongsuit despite how much I read LMAO. ➤ TRIGGER WARNINGS include profanity, denial of feelings, avoidance, lying, self-deprecation, angst, and crying. ➤ Word count: 4,297

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

❝ Camo jacket, robbing corner stores; hard odds to beat when you're on all fours .❞

You didn't want this.

You didn't want this.

It started off innocently enough—a blush when you caught the Great Sage's eye, a bit of a tremble to your voice or your knees when his hand brushed yours, squealing into your pillows when he gave you gifts. Embarrassing reactions, yes, but not surprising. Afterall, whole gods have found themselves swooning for the Monkey King even if they've a snowball's chance in hell at actually gaining his affections—what chance did your mortal self stand against the demon's wicked charm? But surely your little... celebrity crush didn't mean anything significant.

Except it did.

You barely ever had crushes growing up, much less attractions so passionate you could call them love. But with Wukong, it came far too easily. You loved the way he spoke, the way he held himself, the way he managed to create a community of loyal allies despite his many enemies. But then you also loved the simple things—his real laugh, the one that made him clutch his stomach and cackle until tears were dripping from his eyes; the way his tail swayed like a dog's and curled into a heart when he was excited; the way he smelt of peaches and flowers, as if he was a whole world just for you to—

No!

No, no, no!

This is how the greatest friendships crashed and burned. An insistent crush and a hopeful heart and a two-timing brain poisoning you with sweet what-ifs and flowery dreams is all it takes for you to make one irreversible, permanent step; for you to pour your heart out only to hear we can still be friends! and watch him drift away.

Well, not you. You weren't going to risk breaking your heart nor your and Wukong's friendship over a crush, no matter how serious. So after many sleepless nights of brainstorming (and daydreaming... goddamnit, brain!), you finally devised a plan to squash your feelings for the Monkey King.

1.) Create distance physically.

You tap your fingers against your thigh anxiously, fighting the urge to scratch angry red blotches into the skin while you wait for Wukong to pick up your call. You thought this method would be easiest for enacting Step 1, hoping Wukong and Macaque wouldn't be able to pick out any lies over the phone, but with how long it's taking him to answer, maybe it'd be easier to avoid him the hard way—

"Hey, peaches!" Wukong's cheery voice greets over the line, making you huff in relief. "What's up? You're not calling to ask if you can come up, right? Because you know I've told you you can just come, riiighttt?"

Your heart swoons ridiculously, and you have to aggressively remind yourself that hanging out with Wukong is the exact opposite of what you want to achieve.

"Yessss, I remember," you force out in a nasally, cracking voice that you pray sounds convincing. "But no, that's not why I'm calling."

"Oh, peaches, are you sick?" Wukong asks worriedly, and you can feel his furrowed eyebrows through the phone.

"No," you snark, and then you force out some rough-sounding coughs, grimacing at the way your throat stings. "This happens every year. Sometime near spring I get super sick for like a month—might be the pollen or something, I dunno."

"I never noticed," Wukong replies softly. "I'm sorry, peaches. I woulda helped you before if I'd realized."

Your heart flips again and you lean away from the phone to form a silent scream before returning. "It's—cough—fine. I'm a big girl, a little springtime bug isn't going to kill me. But it is gonna keep me in my house for a few weeks."

"In that case, why don't I let Macaque handle things for a bit and come over—"

"No!" You snap out, your hand immediately smacking over your mouth at the outburst. Fuck! You think, mind racing to recover from your fumble. You let out a series of coughs as you think, then lick your lips. "S-Sorry... while it means a lot that you'd do that for me, when I get like this... it's just easier to handle it alone. I don't really have the energy to be around people or have them around me."

You cross your fingers, your opposite hand gripping your clothes in a white-knuckle grip as a few beats of silence pass. God, let him believe me so I can hang up—

"Alright, peaches," Wukong replies softly, and you have to lean back so he won't hear the relieved huff of air you let out. You're so busy rejoicing you nearly miss what he says next. "But I'm still going to drop food off to you, alright?" Seeming to sense a coming argument from you, he adds, "I'll just drop it off at your door and send you a message."

You sigh, a small smile forcing it's way on to your face despite the situation still not being as perfect as you'd hoped for. "Guess I can't stop you, sunshine."

"Nope!" Wukong laughs, popping the p. "Get well soon! Who knows what mischief I'll be up to without my angel to keep me on the path of grace?" He cooes with a subtle purr to his words. A wild blush blooms on your face, burning your ear tips as you soak in what he said.

"You're supposed to be able to do that on your own, Great Sage," you croak out, burying your flushed face in your unused hand even though the cheeky monkey isn't here to see it.

"What's the fun in that?" Wukong snickers. Then his voice softens, squeezing your heart. "But seriously, take care of yourself, peaches. If you need space, that's fine, but if you need help, ask. There's nothing you could do that would chase me away."

What he says is sweet, so sweet, and dream-like. His words make you think of a fairytale, with you a fair maiden and him a brave, persistent, dragon-slaying knight.

But life's not a fairytale, and things won't go your way just because you wish on a star.

"Will do, Wuks," you say quietly. "Bye."

"Bye, peaches."

Beep-beep.

Step 1... achieved.

2.) Create distance emotionally.

You couldn't just get rid of your crush (well, you probably could, but that'd entail some magical mumbo jumbo you're not quite desperate enough for yet), but maybe you could weaken it by limiting how much exposure you had to Wukong. Hard, considering how popular he was, but surely not impossible!

So, to start off easy, you got rid of your merch. You were able to sell most of it online, but the more stuff you got rid of, the more... upset you felt. Which made sense, sure—it was stuff you loved, of course, and if you hadn't fallen in love with one of your best friends, you'd never part with it—, but your thoughts felt... insane. You found yourself wondering if people would take care of it, if they'd love it and find the same joy in it that you did.

The idea of someone doing anything less made your skin crawl, and for a few brief moments, you considered doing full deep dives on buyers to make sure the merch was going to a good home. Then you reasoned you sounded absolutely obnoxious, like some creepy fangirl and not a close friend of Sun Wukong, and gave the rest away without any further hesitance.

Goddamn, did it sting though.

True to his word, Wukong stopped by your house once every few days with food and medicine. At first, you were worried he'd try to talk to you or ask to come in, but the only way you even knew he'd been there was when he alerted you with a message. You were grateful for it, but words couldn't describe the relief you had that he left no gifts in the bags.

If he had, that might have set you right back to square one.

Your house felt... empty without Wukong's memorabilia, but you chopped it up to your distaste for change. Obviously the nearly crippling discomfort in your own home was because of the now-barren walls (no way it was because you'd just given away dozens of priceless items...), so you bought some pretty posters of bands, artists, and games you liked and hung them on the wall. It wasn't the same, but you supposed that within time, it'd become your new normal.

You decided to ignore the way that settles on your body like a sad cloud.

Now... for the harder part.

Aside from merch, Wukong had gotten you plenty of personal items. Clothes, jewelry, perfumes, cooking utensils you'd been eyeing, plushies, that sort of thing. You knew just by looking at it that it was expensive, probably things that would land you in debt for life if you'd bought it yourself, and rare, too. Likely some one-of-a-kind stuff, too, knowing Wukong.

You spent three nights despairing over what to do with them. Giving them away to the masses felt disrespectful to say the least, and with the way your heart shrieked, you decided to listen. Throwing them out didn't feel much better, neither did burying them (yeah... you were thinking of everything)... but you couldn't keep them. No, no, no, it'd just encourage your stupid crush if you caved and kept anything, especially the personal stuff!

So you did the only thing you could think of: give it to your family.

It still didn't feel great either way, but at least you knew they were being cared for. And if Wukong happened to ask for any of it back, it'd be easy to retrieve.

You expect to feel relieved at having found a solution, but it only fills you with dread.

All that's left are the notes.

You keep them in a pretty box in your desk. It's a deep red covered in bright splashes of color meant to resemble fireworks, with bright iron hinges on the back so it could open and close. It's perfectly pristine without so much a speck of dust upon it, it's well-cared for appearance taunting you as you lift it out of its drawer and sit on your bed.

You know you shouldn't look at them, but it's not like it'll change anything—you already have them memorized by heart, anyway.

Dear (name), "Sunshine", huh? Can't say it reflects much of who I am as an infamous, invincible god, but I'll take it over "simian" anyday! I think I'll call you "peaches" in return. It has a nice ring, doesn't it? Sunshine and peaches. Like two peas in a pod. Anyway. I hope you like the clothes!

You laugh softly as you read the note. This had been after you mistakenly let your unspoken nickname for him slip after one of his meetings, flustering both you and the unprepared Dragonhead. Despite your furious blush and profuse apologies, Wukong had made you explain your reasoning behind the nickname (which was mostly Macaque's fault—damn him and his "sun and moon" bullshit). You were mortified, thinking you'd set your and Wukong's relationship way back, but when he started calling you peaches...

Sunshine stuck, and you two really did become peas in a pod.

You've torn through the whole box of notes by the time you realize there are tears running down your cheeks, and the realization does little to change that. Instead, you bend over and press your hands to your face, open-mouthed sobs wracking your body.

Why'd it have to be him? You could've fallen hopelessly in love with anyone, and your heart chose him?

Wukong isn't the problem. No, not at all. Next to you, the Monkey King seems wild, volatile, too much. But that's only because you're a, well, mortal, incapable of shining even half as brightly as he does. Wukong's a god, an immortal king, a being who'd felled thousands in mere moments—your best friend deserves someone who could meet him at his level, not force him into some domestic role.

Someone better than you.

The realization sends a sharp wave rocking through your chest, but with it comes some rush of desperation—you don't know if it's to fight for or against something, but it leads you to pluck one of the notes from its place on the bed,

turn it over so you can't see the words,

and fucking shred it.

That night, as you lie amongst the torn pieces of paper, you can't help but feel like a sole survivor among a ruined city.

Step 2 is done.

3.) Find somebody else.

You have to admit, step 3 was definitely a desperate plan B if nothing else worked, and, well...

Nothing else was working.

Your "sick" month had passed, and you were now three months into cold-turkeying Wukong. You were honestly surprised the Monkey King hadn't broken into your house yet, but based on some demon conflicts you'd seen on the news, you figured he was busy.

But that wasn't the problem. What was the problem was your crush hadn't waned in the slightest! In fact, your attempts to get rid of it had only made you want to run further into Wukong's arms, where you'd be drowned in the scent of peaches and flowers and the feeling of soft fur and a strong body against your's and—

Goddamnit!

Part of you felt... tired. Sick of what you perceived as dramatic and begging for a break from the heartache. It whispered to you, questioning how good Wukong was to keep around if he would cut you loose just for a crush—even saying that it'd be good for you! Save you the trouble and put you on the path of healing before it got real bad... whatever that meant.

But the other half of you fought and it fought hard. You wanted Wukong, even if it meant you could only have him as a friend. He made you feel good and you'd die before giving that up—that was why you'd started this whole mess in the first place!

Besides. You were a mortal, temporary and simple. And adaptable and well-aged as he was, Wukong was still a several-millennium old god. Rules, unspoken or otherwise, were bound to look different for various relationships, and as far as you were concerned, falling head-over-heels, squealing-into-your-pillows and feet-kicking in love with one you called your best friend was written in big red letters right under no.

So you're here at a café (far away from Wukong's headquarters, you made sure), sitting across from... your date.

They're gorgeous. With fawn-colored skin, soft brown eyes, and blonde, orange dipped wavy hair, they make you think of summer, of singing birds and beach days and ice cream in the park. And they're sweet, easily cracking jokes with you and complimenting you without overwhelming you.

But they're not Wukong, and the way you remain acutely aware of that as you share sweet treats with them destroys any hope you had of growing out of this crush.

You're trying to think of ways to let them down gently when you hear the door chime go off. A new customer isn't earth-shattering (it's a public establishment, after all), but a chorus of sharp gasps and your date's frightened stare looking past you makes you turn.

And, god, you wish you hadn't.

Wukong walks into the café calmly, his face unreadable as he scans the booths. You're fairly certain you already know why he's here, but when his eyes meet yours you just know you're fucked.

The café owner bee-lines to Wukong. "G-Great Sage!" They greet, bowing low. "What brings you here?"

Wukong doesn't break eye contact with you. "Nothing to do with you," he answers smoothly before approaching you in long strides.

You can do nothing but watch as he approaches, pinning your tongue between your teeth as you hold the intensity of his stare. Your date, seemingly noticing the tension between you two, reaches out to grasp your hand, but you gently pull away with a shake of your head.

"I'm sorry," you whisper sincerely, sliding enough money for the meal towards them just before Wukong reaches your booth.

The monkey eyes your date, unblinking. If this was any other situation (one where you hadn't avoided him for three months), you'd give him a gentle kick to the leg or something so he'd knock it off. But the situation is too tense, his presence too damning, and you're grateful for the few seconds you get from out beneath the demon's fiery gaze.

"Peaches," he finally murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear. "We need to talk."

Fuck.

You get up without a word, placing your purse over your shoulder and heading towards the front door with your eyes on your feet. You can feel everyone's eyes on you—or rather, the two of you, as Wukong walks beside you until you reach the door, which he opens for you. Then he follows you out, staying just far enough behind you that he doesn't step on your heels.

Neither of you speak until you get to a bridge, void of people and surrounded by cherry blossom trees. Wukong stops beside you as you peer over the edge.

"Peaches," he says, his voice still soft. "What's going on?"

Fuck.

You immediately deflect. "How did you find me?"

You hear him suck in a breath.

"How?" You hiss out, glaring up at him.

He stares at you in silence for a moment, then turns on his phone. As he presses a button, your phone vibrates in your hand.

"You tracked my phone?" You ask, blinking owlishly.

"You weren't answering me," replies Wukong simply, pocketing his phone again.

Your face flushes in frustration. "I was out—"

"For three months?"

That makes you go silent. Your phone vibrates again, making the screen light up. You can see Wukong's name in your notifications, but you dare not look to see how many there are, lest it condemn you further.

"You know, I went to your house," Wukong carries on, his voice thickening. "All the stuff I got you is gone."

Fuck. Fuck, fuck.

"Yeah," you mumble, your gaze falling to the ground.

"Why? Did you not like it?"

You're torn between honesty and further denial. In the end, Wukong speaks before you can make a choice.

"You didn't throw out the notes."

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"It took—" his voice chokes out for a second. Your body tenses, your hands turning to white-knuckled fists at your sides. You don't look up. "It took a lot to put them together, surprisingly. Were really dedicated when you tore 'em up, huh?"

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Did you lie about being sick? Did you... were you just trying to get away from me?"

"It's not like that," you say, rushed, and you know as soon as the words leave your lips that you shouldn't have spoken.

"Then what is it like?" Wukong chokes out in a thick voice, but you still refuse to look him in the eye.

"I... needed alone time," you mumble.

"Why couldn't you say that?" Wukong replies, a bit of sharpness to his tone, and you can't help but feel like you've opened up the floodgates. "Do I make you feel so unsafe that you'll lie to get away from me?"

"Don't assume things about me," you snap hotly, your eyes flickering to his. They glow with a subtle red color, fixated on you, a testament to his growing emotion in the situation. But that's not what gets you.

It's the tears collecting in his eyes.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

"What else am I supposed to do?" He grits outs. "You ignored me for three months. You didn't even text back to say if you were still sick, or if you just wanted me to stop contacting you—"

"Wukong, I—" you try, taking a step backward when the monkey flings his arms.

"And you didn't answer MK or Macaque, either!"

"Wukong—"

"You scared the shit out of me, peaches!"

"And I'm sorry for that," you bite out, managing to shut him up for a minute. You gulp, your grip on your purse tightening. "But I had... I have a problem I have to fix—"

"What is it? If you would just tell me I could help!" Wukong exclaims, reaching towards you.

"No!" You shout, twisting away from him. "You can't help, Wukong!"

"You don't know that!"

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK

"I do! I do know that!"

"How?! How could—"

"BECAUSE HOW THE FUCK ARE YOU GONNA FIX ME LOVING YOU?"

Wukong falls silent. Still. Your hands slap over your mouth.

The two of you stand in silence for what feels like forever. The river feels deathly silent, and not even the wind blows. Finally, you remove your hands.

"I-I mean, I can fix it, don't worry," you say quickly, the words spilling from your lips like water. "T-These feelings are temporary, I promise. They're just, uh, a b-bit more stubborn than I was expecting, y-y'know? But they're nothing serious, I swear! I-I know I've been difficult these past few months, I know, I'm sorry, just, please, Wukong, don't leav—"

"They're what?" is all Wukong utters, his stare burning through you.

You startle for a second, hands dropping to your chest. "T-They're temporary," you repeat. "Not serious, I swear. Nothing has to change."

Wukong doesn't reply at first. Then:

"What if I want them to be serious?"

Your heart nearly stops in your chest at the force of your surprise. "What?" is all you can get out, staring owlishly at the demon.

"I said," he speaks slowly, stepping towards you. "What if I want them to be serious? To be permanent? What if I want you to be head over heels for me, hm?"

You shiver as he stands before you, hands ghosting over your hips.

"What if I want it all to change, peaches?"

Your heart thumps in your chest, your mind desperately trying to make sense of what he's saying.

Surely he's not... he doesn't mean...

"I don't understand," you whisper, your hands hesitantly pressing against his chest.

"Oh, peaches," he cooes softly, leaning in until his forehead rests against your's and all you can see are his eyes.

"Wu—"

"I love you, (name)."

Your breath catches in your throat, your mouth falling open in shock. Your entire body freezes, your thoughts halted as you process his words...

and then your heart soars.

"Me?" You crack out, a blush warming your skin exponentially. It's a bit overwhelming, the mix of love, surprise, and unfiltered relief. So much so that you can't stop the tears from building up in your eyes and slipping out as you stare up at him. "You love me?"

"Of course," Wukong says softly, his fingers reaching up to brush your tears away. "How couldn't I?"

A sob leaves your mouth at the question. "'C-Cause you're... I'm—"

"Simple?" Wukong ventures, frowning at your nod. He huffs, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. "Peaches, you are anything but simple. You're brilliant and talented and witty and a quick-learner. You keep me guessing even now, and I've been around for a while," he soothes sweetly, a breath of laughter to his voice.

You can't help but laugh a little with him, your heart swelling at his compliments. Your hands slide up his chest and his neck, feeling the soft fur slide through your fingers, and settle on his cheeks. You mirror him then, your thumbs petting his cheek bones and brushing away the wetness in his eyes. Another wave of fresh tears overcomes you when he leans into your hands.

"You're the closest thing to perfection I've ever seen," Wukong murmurs emotionally, one of his hands retracting to engulf one of your's. "You're my girl. My peach. My qíng rén."

A sob breaks free of your lips again as you pull Wukong against you, hiding your face in his chest as you cry. The Dragonhead curls around you, as if shielding you from the outside world, which you're thankful for.

Damn. All of this to find out the great Monkey King loves you back? You're not complaining, god no! Despite your tears, your heart is doing tricks, somersaults and great leaps and cartwheels. It's just...

You definitely have some communication skills to work on, you think.

That can wait, though, you think then, your crying finally tapering out. You manage to tilt your head enough to see Wukong's face, the demon smiling down sweetly at you. Your fingers fiddle with his tie for a moment before drifting upwards and holding his face again.

"Peaches," Wukong calls softly, holding your gaze. "What're you thinking?"

You pause before answering. "I... I want to kiss you," you admit, watching the monkey's face turn a red hue similar to your's. "Can I?"

His ears wiggle, his nose twitches, and then he nods, and you can feel his tail wagging by your legs.

The time for picking on his adorable monkey mannerisms will come later, because right now all you're focused on is bringing Wukong's lips to your's and finally knowing how it feels to kiss the Great Sage.

It's done at an awkward angle since Wukong didn't let you go, the both of you straining a bit to meet each other in the middle, and you break away fast, but it's perfect to you. Maybe not how you imagined a requited crush kiss going, but it's your greatest wish come true in spite of that.

"I love you," he breathes.

Your breath catches again, your heart still flipping ecstatically. "Say it again."

Wukong grins, fangs peeking out of his smile. "I love you, qíng rén."

As you bring the Dragonhead into another kiss, you think of one thing.

Maybe fairytales do exist after all.

❝ Good men die too, so I'd rather be with you .❞

with a black cat variant s/o (genderneutral!reader):

miles would be like “no! stealing is wrong! 😤 but they look so cool while doing it tho 😩” his mind would be so confused, because yeah you're stealing, but only from rich people and he heard rumors about black cat helping people on the streets. one day he used his invisibility power to spy on you during one of your heist, he could have stopped you a hundred times that day, but he didn't. he might have developed the tiniest crush on you.

gwen thinks that you're the coolest person alive. yeah stealing is wrong, but she honestly doesn't care at all lol. as long as you're not hurting anyone you can rob as many rich people as you want she won't stop you. sometimes you meet on rooftops at night and often end up teaming up with her to defeat some bad guys, then you watch the sunrise together while chatting about your lives.

pavitr is suspicious of you at first, he understands that you're not a threat to the people he protects but he doesn't treat you like an ally either. he kept his distance from you until the day you saved his life; now he trusts you entirely and he likes to do his night shifts in your company. he knows you won't like it but he's very worried about you and your illegal activity, he'd rather have you doing vigilante work with him.

hobie is a big fan. he heard about you as someone who stole the rich to give to the poor and he was like “slay.” he's the one who came to you during one of your heists and asked you to team up with him. now you, pavitr and hobie want to rob museums to return all the stolen objects to their people. hobie admires you a lot, like gwen, he thinks you're the coolest person he ever met and coming from him, that means a lot.

GUYS I CAN ALREADY SEE THE ENEMIES TO LOVERS FICS COMING IN miguel wants to see you as nothing more than another enemy, he really wants to, but it's such a difficult task when you're helping people with the money of your robberies and you're looking so good while doing it too. he tried to stop you on multiple occasions, but every time he was about to put an end to your crimes something in his mind made him fail. for now you two will keep playing that cat and mouse game, well, cat and spider game, but one day you'll have to kiss him on the mouth, that'll calm him down.

Gwen, about Miles: "we’re getting someone new in the group."

Hobie: "Are we stealing them?"

Pavitr: "New or used?"

Gwen: "Wonderful responses, both of you."

Milk Designs Shop on Etsy

💥 Release Soooooon

🐦 Bad Bad Birdie Love Bird Series Blind Box

💕 I love that maid bird!

Jacket obsession

Spider-Verse: You leave a piece of clothing behind with a yandere.

Characters: Miles Morales, Gwen Stacy, 42!Miles Morales, Hobie Brown, Miguel O'Hara

Warnings: Obsession, stealing, yandere tendencies, just them going lovely over a piece of clothing.

Miles Morales:

Oh poor boy at first freaked out trying to get your attention before you enter the portal without your jacket.

“Wait! You’ll get colded.” He shouted as you entered the portal not hearing him.

After a few seconds after with worry in his chest he looked down at the clothing in hand and realized what he had. A piece of you that he could hold while he was away from you, and he hated being away from you, but the boys heart filled up with happiness.

The clothing smell just like you and if he threw it over a pillow it would be like cuddling with you. Boy is over the moon. And I mean like so giddy it’s embarrassingly cute.

He takes it every where with him, to the kitchen it’s in his hands, watching or playing games? It’s in his lap. He smells it constantly and gets really sad after a week when it doesn’t smell like you anymore.

However when you come back to his dimension and request for your jacket his heart breaks. Boy pouts security at the lose but he sees this as a way to get it to smell like you again and steal it after a while.

Overall if you leave anything he will take it and treasure it until you come back because now he has you for the time being.

He’s more of a clingy yandere but he still can’t help but obsessive over his darling.

“Maybe i could give you one of mine- Incase you lose yours again that is.”

Hobie Brown

Cocky little man notices it before you even want to leave and he knows you’ll forget it so he just lets you.

He loves when you leave things behind, thinks it might be a way of flirting. But when you do leave clothing he just feral about it.

Like he just can’t stop smelling it and just wants to hold it all day. He thinks of how cute you look in or how you smile and everything you do just flashes in his head.

Man is devilish to me. So he has a collection of things he steals from your bedroom when you’re out and he sneaks into your dimension. Clothes, shoes, necklaces or anything he can find.

You come back to him for it but he just holds it in his hands, above you and around the room when you try and take it way. “You mean this jacket?” Boy will have so much fun making you annoyed.

Hobie will leave his jacket on your room in hopes you’d wear it and think of him like he does you. He gets a grin when he thinks about it.

“If yah’ wanted to give me your jacket all yah’ had to do was say so.”

Gwen Stacy

You think she’s just chilling? Um no, she isn’t.

She loves you so much, her whole thing is like “I’ve lost to much.” And if she’s a yandere she can’t stop loving everything you do-Anyway.

She wears it and it can be oversized or maybe tight? She doesn’t care. She doesn’t take it off her body until it stops smelling like you or until she needs to get in her suit.

Gwen is maybe fighting with her self for many different reasons and they are:

“This is creepy.” “Oh cares? They smell so good.”

“They did this on purpose, so cute.” “No they just forgot it Gwen.”

Conflict with her own feelings all the time. But she never stops holding it close.

Gwen likes the idea of wearing your clothes to make it know she’s taken and that you’re hers. Can’t stop thinking of when you get to wear her clothes.

Yes, you guys aren’t “Dating” But your all hers.

“Don’t worry, I kept it so safe. By the way, could I borrow it again?”

Miguel O'Hara

Doesn’t care-Joking.

Miguel wouldn’t think about it at first and knows you just forget it and will come back for it later. But as time goes by, a hour, he can’t stopped looking at it for some reason.

He sneaks over like someone is watching him and picks it up. His mouth waters at the smell of you and he wouldn’t be able to let it go.

It might have rinkles on it from him carrying it so much. It’s his stress ball. You guys ever seen a kid carry around a blanket? Well that’s him.

He does feel wrong for obsessing over the piece of cloth but for different reasons then Gwen. He thinks he’s above something like this, doesn’t think it’s a big deal and he should forget it.

But when it puts it down a few seconds, it’s immediately in his hand again.

Yes, he does put it on a pillow and holds it close like he’s protecting you. He’s practically for when you get to be in his arms.

When you asked for it back he stands still for a minute. He feels sad and hates it because it’s just so stupid! Of course he gives you it back.

“I could give you one of mine…Only because that one doesn’t seem like it keeps you warm.”

42!Miles Morales

He’s a lot like Miguel in this situation a bit. And even if I see him as a big, big hard yandere he doesn’t think this is to big of a deal. Now don’t get me wrong he loves it, he just isn’t crazy as the rest of them.

Though, he does like to have it near him when he sleeps like have you close to him, or smell it whenever he can. Of course he has it in his lap when he’s gaming but the jacket never leaves his room.

Will buy the same one as you so you two can match and he can give you his. He thinks about you wearing something of his, like goes crazy just thinking of it.

You ask for it back? That’s cool, just try and get it from him. He loves to tease you to the ends of the earth and he would give it to you when you ask. But you’re just so cute when you get annoyed.

“If you wanted a jacket mami you could have asked for mine. Think mine would look cuter on you away.”

for all the non-native/fluent writers that are using spanish

I appreciate trying to incorporate spanish for Miguel. However, I see you guys saying you’re using google translate and it’s not the best translator as it translates it literally and sounds awkward. A better translator is spanishdict.com and it looks like this,,,,

I put in “you look beautiful today” and it translated it in different ways and shows you what region uses what and how you can use it in different contexts. 100% way better than google.

Also, I’m Mexican so from what I’ve seen from my family members, specifically my uncles and dad, use for the spouses as terms of endearment are cariño, mi amor (my love), mi corazón (my heart), mi reina (my queen) mi vida (my life), and mami. We also don’t use vosotros or vos.

Honestly, I’d also be down to help proofread spanish parts or help see if a sentence or phrase makes sense!!

Hope this helps and can I just say I’m having the time of my life going through these tags.

Them 🖤💛🐝

This is so dumb and embarrassing, but all this egg talk recently has made me think about how Lilia had to potty train Malleus...

LOOOOL baby Malleus attempting to do his business in the kitchen and Lilia moving like lightning to bring him to the toilet omfg 😂

I just thought of a dialogue because of this!

Mini Mal 🐉🍼 did something bad in his mini dragon form and papa 🐉 is reprimanding him for it.

🐉: "Go back to your crib, child!"

🐉🍼: *trudges forward strangely

🐉🍼: *peeks behind him to look at dad

🐉🍼: *trudges forward again, and 🌸 notices that he's got his butt on the ground while he's dragging himself with his front paws

🐉🍼: *peeks behind him again

🌸, whispering: "Why is he dragging his ass on the floor--"

🌸, recoiling in shock: "Oh my god he's wiping shit on the floor--"

🐉: *covers his mouth to stop himself from laughing out loud

i want to give a bit of info to everyone who only knows miguel from the movie:

•he is not a vampire! his fangs are from his spider dna and are filled with paralyzing venom :) fun fact: the size of his fangs makes him mumble so other people don't see them while he's talking!

•he wasn't bitten by a spider like most spider people! spider dna was atomically spliced directly into his genes making him 50% spider

•he doesn't stick like other spider people! he uses the talons on his fingers to climb around and such! fun fact: these talons can easily slice through solid metal :)

•he doesn't have a spider sense! instead, all of his senses are majorly enhanced!

•yes! he always moves like that! he automatically moves like a feral monster because that's what he is!

•he has a fiancé named dana and a little brother named gabriel! they are the two most important people in his life :) fun fact: gabriel recognized that it was miguel in the spider suit the first time he saw him in it!

•his eyes are red because they can see in major details and in complete darkness. fun fact: this makes his eyes super sensitive to light, which constantly gives him migraines :)

•yes! his ass is that huge in the comics, too! everyone in the comics are always commenting on it ^^

•miguel is irish/mexican :)

•he is NOT the original spider man of his universe! there was a peter parker in the past before the year 2099

just wanted to clear up some facts about him movie onlys may have misconstrued ^^

I recently learned that Miles has a baby sister named Billie in the comics 🥹

Dile (Cuéntale)

miguel o’hara x spiderwoman!reader

song inspo: dile by don omar + playlist

main masterlist // nsfw masterlist

word count: 4.5k

summary: Miguel gets jealous of your relationship with Peter. He’s on a mission to prove he’s better.

warnings: SMUT (18+), minors DNI, porn without much plot (I need him carnally), jealous/possessive miguel, biting kink (pretend his bites aren’t paralyzing y’all), miguel being a munch!, unprotected sex (pls be safe irl), overstimulation? (he makes you cum a lot), creampie/breeding kink, dirty talk, operating under the assumption they’re both nude under their suits, Spanish (I’ll put translations in a reblog), mutual pining/a confession!?, way too many italics bc I need to emphasize everything.

A/N: this was just supposed to be a short concept piece…and it ended up taking me three weeks to write bc I just kept adding more. anyways, felt weird to write miguel speaking spanish if the reader doesn’t understand so this is technically latina!reader // as always, feedback is greatly appreciated, reblog and lmk what you think! <333

Translation Reblog

Keep reading

cursed emojis that no one asked for but I don’t care

free to use!

why are 75% of fics on here written exclusively for white people? i am so tired of reading abt the reader blushing or having bright pink lips and white skin like STOPP

neurodivergent and queer people how are we feeling?

Peace and love on the planet earth

donate to my kickstarter so i can build a time machine and

get julius caesar addicted to hentai

seduce cleopatra

“oh but how will you seduce cleopatra?” you might ask because you’re a moron. it’s simple: i’m 6′2″ and i’m fat. fatness was considered attractive back then because if you were fat, that meant you were wealthy enough to get fat. plus, 6′2″ is unreasonably gigantically tall in the BC times. 

so cleopatra will be like “a giant? AND he’s got stretch marks?” and she’ll instantly become infatuated with my rotund, hairy body 

then i will live in royalty for the rest of my days. kickstarter backers will have their names written in my tomb, baffling archaeologists for centuries to come. 

I CAN'T ANYMORE!!!, I HAVE TO ASK IT!!!, I'M SORRY FOR THE SPAM IN THE X READER TAG

Why do you make characters like Miguel or Miles call the Reader "mami"? Is it something Latin American I'm missing? is because I saw the movies in spanish? Anyway, thats NOT the problem, the problem is... DO YOU ONLY KNOW THAT WORD OF ENDEARMENT???

I know what it means. I am Spanish (but, from Spain, specifically). I SPEAK SPANISH. But you will never hear anyone in Spain call someone affectionately mommy or daddy... UNLESS they are married and have children.

Side note, none of you are as bad as you think with Spanish, but you may have problems with the gender of words (understandable, English is more gender neutral one of the few things I like about it, but in Spanish, the masculine form OR ENDING IN "O" it is Usually generalized as neutral too, but not always).

Cariño = all genders (dear)

Cariña = congrats, Inhabitant of a Latin American town, not to be confused with carina.

cielo = literally sky (yo never sais "ciela")

Bolita= small ball (is cute, to chubby, rounded people, BOLITO, is NOT a word, bolita goes for any gender)

churri (I don't know how to define this, but it's affectionate, something old-fashioned)

amor= love

bicho= bug (to be fair, you can say bichito, bichita, aca little bug)

caramelito= little sweet

bombon= bonbon

With gender (for those who are interested, first male, then female)

querido, querida (dear)

canijo, canija (something like a dwarf, little one but affectionately)

principe, princesa (prince, princess)

rey, reina (king, queen)

guapo, guapa (beautiful)

lindo, linda (cute)

nene, nena (baby, coloquial)

pitufo, pitufa/pitufina (Smurf/smurfette, more familiar appellation, but it is said and yes both word works in female)

muñeco, muñeca (doll, the last one also means wrist)

Almost always add "mi" (my) to power it up

has someone done this yet

(Spoilers)

Okay ik this shot is funny

But have we considered how actually terrified peter b has to be here?

Like, he introduces miguel as his friend. We see he was there when miguel's universe fell apart. Miguel puts up with him bringing mayday everywhere and letting her climb all over everything. These 2 had to have been actually close.

So of course peter knew that miguel was going to talk to miles, maybe he knew miguel would say mean shit to him, but this is a face of genuine surprise. Not even the person arguably closest to miguel knew he would (or even could) act like this. Like, look at him!! Hes terrified!! The man he was there for during an entire universe's collapse, the man he considers a friend, the man he let hold his baby, is capable of doing this!!

Man's built like an Enderman

I suddenly understand how Miguel fans feel 🥵

Okay so I've noticed people critiquing the Spanish in Miguel O'hara fanfics and the British Black sling for Hobie. I'm not sure what to do for the British sling for the fanfic I want to post about because I'm black/native and live in the South and have only met 2 British people in my life and they are both white. I've tried to find British sling generators and they suck so I what imma do is just study some black British. YouTubers and see if I can get get down the lingo enough to make it sound natural.

Now for Miguel I actually might have an ace in the hole since my familie's business recently got large Spanish speaking clientele due to me changing our menu to Spanish. And I have spanish speaking friends and family. Irish on the other hand I have an abundance of friends and teachers of Irish descent to can get info from since oddly most of my white friends are of Irish descent.

For the record: I know very little Spanish and can understand and read it way more than I can speak it....But I've learned some things and I want to see if I'm right.

1. Every country has a different dialect. For example Venezuelan and Spain Spanish sounds different from for example Domincan and Mexican Spanish.

2. Spain Spanish is considered 'proper' Spanish and if not favored amongst other Spanish speaking communities. Spaniards are like the British of Spanish essentially. (My black people out there already know since it's like Proper or British English vs the different varieties of Aave)

3. If you have to use a translator DO NOT USE GOOGLE TRANSLATE. Google translate is apparently painfully proper and sometimes does not make since when translated from proper/aave English. Find a different translator as Spanish speaking readers can tell immediately.

4. Miguel is Irish/ Mexican. Irish people actually have their own different dialects that differs in every region. They have different languages spoken in Ireland as well.

5. I'm assuming mixed people of Irish/Mexican descent would appreciate them both featured in fanfics. Maybe?

6. I think for my black people out there that live in America at least if we struggle with black British sling we could lean on black aave in different states that sound similar to it. I feel like Baltimore aave might work. I grew up in Detriot and in the current southern state I'm in and it sounds similar depending on the pronunciation of words. (Btw white people out there who don't have many black friends or people that's live around you, aave or african amercan vernacular English sounds different in every state. For example look up Louisiana aave and New York aave and you will understand) I feel like for black writers our normal aave but just stronger could work as well for Hobie.

So as a takeaway, if you want your fics to read a bit easier for your black, British, and Spanish speaking readers, ya might want to do a bit of research. Or maybe make your own universe version of that charecter. I thought about making a Southern Hobie Brown since I have a friend I want to base him off as he reminds me of Hobie so freaking much. From the dark liner and choker to the constantly critiquing the government and authoritarian figures and not like consistency in certain areas on his life. So yeah that's what I got.

If anyone wants to add on and give some more tips to make my fics better, let me know. I'll be posting soon. Also tell me if I'm wrong.

Just something I think people that write for ATSV should watch

It's Always Been You

Miguel O'Hara x f!reader

Summary: Jealous? Jealous? No, absolutely not. (Or the one where Miguel can't admit he's jealous)

Word Count: 5.8k+

Warnings: Failed attempt at plot. Language. Bad attempt at writing British slang. A lil' Angst. A lil' fluff. Smut. Nipple play, oral (m receiving), p in v. Not beta read.

I feel this is kinda corny. Ya'll let me know.

Minors DNI.

...

Twenty minutes.

It's been twenty minutes since you've gotten wrapped up in a conversation with…that guy. A Spider-Man from a universe perpetually stuck in the era of 1950s greasers. His slicked-back pompadour hairstyle gleamed in the fluorescent lighting of the cafeteria, an unlit cigarette hanging stupidly from his mouth (no smoking allowed on the premises, of course). It shifted this way and that, dancing along with the movement of his lips as he talked and talked and fucking talked. 

And what were you even laughing at? 

Your head was thrown back, exposing your delicate neck, a delicious strip of glowing skin not hidden away by your fitted suit (it should be illegal, really, you wearing that all the time). He wanted to tear it off you—wondered what your skin tasted like, what it’d feel like to sink his teeth into you—make you gasp and cry for him, begging for his touch.

You'd probably sound so pretty begging.

Miguel grunted, shaking his head as if to physically rid himself of his thoughts. They came all too frequently recently.

He watched the exchange, arms crossed over his broad chest as he gnawed at his bottom lip, leaning his large body against a white column in the distance.

"What’s with the face?" Hobie appeared above him, hanging by a web with baby Mayday glued to his back like a spider monkey. The redheaded baby cried in glee, crawling out of her carrier and quickly falling into Miguel's waiting arms. 

“What do you want?” Miguel snapped as he held the squirming baby in his large hands, finally getting her to calm down when he set her comfortably on his shoulder. She settled down, leaning her tiny head against Miguel's.

"Oi," Hobie tutted, landing on his boot-covered feet, "what's got your knickers in a bunch, aye, bossman?" He followed Miguel's line of vision, the two of them now observing your interaction with Spider-Grease (a stupid fucking name as far as Miguel was concerned).

"It's the new bloke that s'got you livid, innit?" Hobie chuckled, watching Miguel's thick brows progressively furrow in irritation, "Plays mean guitar, that one. What’d he do to you?"

"Nothing."

"It's never nothin’ with you, man," Hobbie snatched Mayday back, placing her snuggly in her carrier backpack and slinging her over his shoulder, "bet s’got somethin’ to do with her.” He jerked his head in your direction. 

Miguel grunted, his eyes shifting to glare at Hobie. His intimidation tactic, while usually very effective on others, did nothing but amuse Hobie. He knew he struck a nerve. Talking about you always did.

“Ahh, bingo.”

“What do you want?” Miguel snapped.

“Right,” Hobie dug in his pocket, delighting Mayday with a sweet treat, “Babysittin’ the little one for Peter. Taking the rest of the day off, yeah?” 

“Lárgate.” Miguel waved him off.

“Thanks, bossman.” He was gone almost instantly, swinging away with baby Mayday’s snorting laughter echoing down the hall.

When Miguel's eyes fell back on you, his jaw clenched hard enough to shatter bone. The greaser’s hand was on you, fingers curling around your shoulder. Miguel could read you well enough by now. You didn’t really like it, but you smiled politely, eyebrows tense and nose wrinkled just a bit. You could handle yourself, he knew—he’d seen you take down opponents three times your size (with his help)—but it was a face you’ve rarely made since he’s known you. 

He didn't like it.

It was enough to send Miguel charging in your direction in a heartbeat, towering over where you both were seated. 

“Miguel!” You looked up at him with a grin, and he swore your pretty eyes lit up at the sight of him. 

“How you doin’, Mr. O’Hara?” the greaser smiled, hand falling from your shoulder immediately. Miguel regarded him carefully, eyeing him from head to toe. He couldn’t even remember how this guy got into the Spider Society (he blamed Jessica). He couldn’t even remember his fucking real name. Kevin? Keith? 

“Kenneth Conner, if ya don’t remember, sir.”

Right. Kenneth. 

Miguel remained quiet, eyes narrowing before turning his attention toward you. 

“I need you in the office. Now.” He grunted, walking away before getting a response. He heard you apologize profusely for his atrocious behavior before scurrying to catch up with him.

“You’re rude.” You said when you caught up to him, legs struggling to keep up with Miguel’s much longer strides. He was half expecting you to have that grouchy look on your face—the one you’d make when he added more work to your already large pile of responsibilities. It was cute. But when Miguel looked you over to gauge your reaction, you were hiding a smile behind your fingertips.

Insufferably cute, Lord help him.

“Whaddaya need from me?” You asked, watching him settle on the platform, already getting straight to work. The yellow holographic screens buzzed to life, illuminating his tanned skin as he swiped through them, almost on autopilot.

“Nothing,” he said, his back facing you. 

"Hm, that's strange considering you like to work me overtime, O'Hara." He wasn't looking at you but he knew you'd have your hands on your hips.

"Looked like you needed some help," Miguel muttered, absentmindedly switching between holo screens, viewing them but not really focusing on the information presented to him.

"Needed help from who? Ken?" You laughed—a pretty sound that only amplified his irritation. 

Ken? You were on a nickname basis now? 

"Do you like him or somethin'?" Miguel asked with a scowl as he looked over his shoulder, his red eyes bleeding into yours. You did indeed have your hands on your hips as he assumed, sporting a humorless twist of your lips.

"Pfft, why? You jealous or somethin'?" You mimicked him with a snort. His hands turned to fists at his sides, claws digging into his palms. 

Jealous? Jealous? No, absolutely not. 

"Shut up," he barked, turning away from the system before hopping off the platform, suddenly needing to be anywhere else but there, "Go report to Sector 8." Your jaw dropped, and he almost smiled cruelly at how comedic it was, but he had a reputation to uphold, so he schooled his features, putting on a stoic face.

"What for?" You demanded.

"I like to work you overtime, remember?" Miguel said, breezing past you.

"Mig," you whined, and he nearly stopped in his tracks at the sultry tone of your voice, "I was just about to go home!"

"Not anymore," he called over his shoulder with a sneer, "ask Lyla for the details. Get to work, Chiquita.” 

...

You were bare-skinned and glowing, waiting for him in the safety of his soft sheets.

You looked so small propped up on his pillows—just a pretty little speck in an ocean of dark satin.

Whining. You were always whining for him— impatient—your obscene noises making his blood sing and his cock throb with need. But he denied you, patiently watching from a distance. He smiled, fangs out as you begged, and pleaded for him.

"Touch yourself." He demanded. 

And you did, immediately swirling the pads of your fingers over your swollen clit before impatiently stuffing them into your glistening cunt. In and out they went, coating them in your slick till your pussy gleamed in the moonlight, ready for his thick cock to slide right in.

And that's when Miguel would be on the prowl, approaching slowly like a beast on the hunt, salivating, ready to dive right in.

He loomed over you, taking in the sight of your flushed face, your swollen lips, and your glossy eyes filled with unshed tears. Your legs were spread wide for him, bent at the knees to accommodate him. He lowered his hips, cock perfectly aligned with your opening, slowly pushing his fat head in to split you in half and—

Miguel gasped in the quietness of his bedroom, eyes shooting open, gazing straight into pitch darkness. He was cocooned in his sweaty sheets, chest heaving and cock standing at attention. He groaned, turning to look at the holographic clock on his bedside table. The digital image blinded him for a few moments before he focused on the yellow numbers:

4:00 AM.

He huffed, hands running down the length of his sweaty face in frustration. As if his waking life wasn't bad enough, he couldn't even catch a break in his dreams.

They came just as frequently as the daydreams, usually with the same conclusion: Miguel balls deep in your slippery heat, his hips slapping against your ass—fangs sinking into your pretty neck while you withered under him, scratching angry red lines down his back.

Some nights he'd wake up with his cum soaked into the sheets, a large wet spot blooming where his cock once tented the fabric. On other nights he had to finish himself off before he could even think about going back to sleep.

That night had been no different.

He spits in his hand and palmed himself, tugging and tugging on his cock, hair a mess and head buried in his pillow, till he came. It was hot and moist, his cum leaking through the cracks of his fingers, dripping over his abdomen.

It was messy and it was quick, but he'd do it again and again for as long as you were on his mind. 

And lately, you were always on his mind. 

...

"A date?"

Miguel scrutinized your profile with narrowed red eyes, processing the information like one of his high-tech computers. He blinked slowly, flaring his nose. He felt his skin rise in temperature, his blood steadily reaching a boiling point.

"Mhm," you confirmed, popping a small green grape into your mouth, "he asked me yesterday. Wants to go out tomorrow." Your legs swung back and forth against the ledge of the rooftop of HQ, cradling a white ceramic bowl in your lap filled with the sweet fruit.

"And you're….entertaining it?" Miguel snorted with a shake of his head, keeping his eyes trained on the city below. Cars whizzed by late into the night, lights beaming into the dark sky to the point where not a single star was visible. 

"Why not?" You shrugged, offering him the bowl. He grunted, declining it with a push of his hand, ignoring your frown. Grapes were his favorite but he’d lost his appetite suddenly. "He seems harmless, no?" 

Miguel shrugged in return, "It interferes with protocol."

"Oh please," you sucked your teeth, "didn't you go out with one of the spider-women? Jenna?"

"Eso no cuenta. It was brief." 

"What? Of course, it counts! You dated her for like four months!"

"You kept track?" He shot back, effectively silencing you, your lips forming a tight line.

"That's beside the point." You pouted.

"Like I said," Miguel waved his hand about, dismissing the comment, "brief." 

“I dunno, she seemed really into you.”

“Hm.”

It was a waste of time really. Jenna was nice enough, a smart girl—decent in bed. She knew his coffee order and was almost as serious in her demeanor as he was. But there was one little issue. She wasn’t you. 

She didn't have your smile or your stupid humor. She didn't do that cute little thing you do when you poke your tongue out in thought. She didn't stay up late with him at HQ as you did, needlessly pouring over work just so he wouldn't feel alone. 

When he fucked her all he’d see was your face, imagining what it’d be like having you under him, how your features would twist in the throes of pleasure, back arched, and tight pussy soaking his cock. He’d be drunk on the thought, cumming inside someone who couldn’t give him what he truly wanted. Just a body in his bed. 

His standards were all fucked because of you. You with your pretty eyes and blinding smile. And what did he ever do about it? Nothing. He did nothing but watch you slip farther from his grasp. 

“Well, anyway,” you interrupted his thoughts, popping another grape in your mouth, “What could go wrong? He seems nice enough.”

What could go wrong? What could go wrong? Miguel could think of various ways it could go wrong. He hadn’t even had the time to do a proper background check on the guy (lies—Lyla did an initial background check when Jessica first brought him in, but still, Miguel preferred to do it himself this time around). He didn’t trust him, and he sure as hell didn’t trust him being around you.

"He's a fucking dork." Miguel reasoned stupidly. 

You let out the tiniest huff of amusement. "And you're not?" 

"His mind is literally stuck in the 1950s." 

"Not all of us were lucky enough to be born in the future, Mig," You threw a grape at him, giggling when it bounced off his forehead, "besides, aren't men from the 1950s supposed to be more…chivalrous?" Miguel was unimpressed.

"So you want him to open doors for you? Is that it? Because they open automatically now."

"That's not what I meant!" You rolled your eyes, shoving him lightly.

“What do you even see in him?” He challenged, watching you ponder for a moment, biting your lip in hesitation.

“I dunno. Something to fill the loneliness, I guess.” You mumbled, fiddling with the bowl in your lap. Miguel whipped his head to regard your somber features, an ache blooming in his chest at your words. The wind picked up and played with your hair, and he had half a mind of tucking a piece of it behind your ear. He shifted his hand quicker than he could process but stopped himself short, deciding to place it over your kneecap to give it a squeeze as if to say I'm here, I'm here, I'm always here.

“It comes with the job, Chiquita,” he said instead, voice soft, “You know this.” 

“But it doesn’t have to be that way,” you countered, “we deserve to be happy.” 

Miguel didn't believe that, not really, anyway. He made a noise of acknowledgment, letting his thumb brush over your knee a final time before removing his hand altogether.

“And you think you’ll be happy with that guy?” He finally asked. 

You shook your head, “I didn’t say that. Just something to…pass the time."

Miguel ran a hand through his hair, “So then why are you even trying? Don’t you see that he’s not—” Good enough. He stopped suddenly, a growl brewing in his throat. Kenneth Conner was definitely not good enough. 

But maybe Miguel O'Hara wasn't either.

He remained eerily quiet, his claws digging into the concrete of the roof ledge, the tips strong enough to penetrate. If you noticed, you didn't mention it, your wide eyes pinned to his face in search of answers he wouldn't give you.

"He's not what, Mig?" You questioned softly, bumping your shoulder against his thick arm.

“Nada. Olvidalo.” He grunted when the silence stretched longer than necessary, the sounds of the street occupying the emptiness between them. “Have fun.” Miguel stood, feet planted firmly on the thin ledge. He walked a few paces along it, testing his balance.

“Wait,” you grabbed his calloused hand, your fingers cold against his boiling skin, “you okay?” Your eyes reflected the colors of the scene in front of them, your face shadowed in purples and yellows from the digital billboards as you seemed to plead with him for something he wasn’t entirely sure of. 

“M’fine.” He said curtly, snatching his hand from your grip. He hopped back down, landing on the rooftop ground gracefully, “I’ll see you later, Chiquita.”

“You’re a bad liar, Miguel O’Hara!” You called after him, following his form as he reached the emergency exit. You turned back to face the city, head dipping low and shoulders sagging in defeat when you thought he wasn’t looking.

He was. And his heart ached.

...

"You've been making that face all day," Lyla commented, hovering over Miguel's shoulder as he leaned back against his swivel chair. 

"Why is everyone always commenting on my face?" He muttered, "Can't help the way I look."

"Nope," Lyla shook her little digital head, "according to my data on human emotions, I calculate that you're feeling melancholic. Am I correct?"

"Melancholic is a bit of a dramatic word." Miguel rubbed his tired eyes, plopping his chin on his hand. Annoyed maybe. Lonely maybe. But not melancholic. That would imply he'd given the date you were currently on too much thought, proving your joking claim earlier that week that he was jealous, which he was not—

"Miguel," Lyla danced around his head before settling in front of him like a little forest sprite, hand on her hips and face bent toward him, "Get up, you're done for the day."

"What are you talking about, I still—"

"Go home. All of this will still be here in the morning." She insisted, shutting down the holographic computers one by one.

"Look, I make the rules here." Miguel pointed a threatening finger at his AI as if that would compel her to stop. 

"Yeah, yeah, and I'm telling you that nothing serious is happening right now. The multiverse can wait a few hours while you sleep. You weren't working on much anyway. Go on, shoo." 

Miguel regretted the day he programmed Lyla to control most aspects of HQ, including electrical circuits. The large ceiling lights turned off one at a time, shrouding him in darkness save for Lyla's bright yellow glow.

"Fine." He sighed heavily, making one final attempt to snatch Lyla as if she even had a physical form.

“Goodnight, Miguel.” Lyla grinned before vanishing.

Miguel had no intention of leaving HQ. He had too much pent-up frustration, and too many circulating thoughts in his mind. What good was going home when the stillness and isolation of the rooftop were calling his name?

He took the easy route, ignoring the emergency stairs in favor of scaling the sides of the building till he reached the very top of it. The view was always breathtaking, the bright colors of the city at night stealing his attention. But not this time. Within seconds of reaching the top, he immediately sensed your presence across the rooftop, your figure sitting at the usual spot on the ledge. 

"Chiquita?” He called out, and you turned to look over your shoulder at him. 

Miguel paused, his heart progressively picking up speed. You looked so stunning it was almost like a slap to the face.

He raked his eyes over you, taking in every little detail he could. Your eyes were rimmed in black, lashes darkened, cheeks rouged and lips plumped with color. Your shoulders were exposed, the rest of you covered in a vibrant red dress, fitted to the contours of your body.

Stunning wouldn’t even begin to describe you.

Miguel swallowed thickly, tongue darting out to lick his lips as he stood beside you, choosing to stay below the ledge.

“I was wondering when you'd get here,” you sniffled, letting your nude heels click against one of the metal railings. Upon closer inspection, he noticed your wet eyes, pink nose, and mascara bits dotting under your eyes. 

You've been crying.

Miguel's chest tightened, jaw tensing. His eyes glowed blood red in the moonlight.

"What happened?" He demanded, "Where is he? Did he do something to you?" He began pacing the rooftop, muttering to himself, "I'll kill him, I swear I'll kill him—"

"Miguel—"

"Where is he?" He repeated slowly, nose flared and fangs bared for you to see. You paused, your eyes wide as you watched him transform. You rarely saw him that way, the claws and fangs coming out whenever he was truly in a rage, usually when dealing with troublemakers and anomalies.

"Back home, probably." You quietly answered.

Miguel knew exactly where home was. Earth 5068. He could get there easily, just a few taps of his watch could open a portal and he'd be there in no time. He'd find him, beat his fucking ass—

"Mig, please," you pleaded, watching him pace a hole into the ground, "It's fine, I'm fine."

"No, you're not. This guy made you fucking cry and I'm supposed to be okay with that?" Miguel's suit rippled in the darkness, the blues, and reds glowing over his toned body as if in tune with his chaotic emotions.

"Ugh, just drop it please," you whined, rubbing at your nose, "s'not a big deal."

Miguel stopped his pacing, stomping over with a grunt. Without hesitation he pinched your chin between his large fingers in a tight hold, forcing you to look at him. You sitting on the ledge allowed him to have direct eye contact with you, the railing giving you a boost. You tried to hide away, embarrassed. He was having none of that.

"Chiquita," He tried again, his tone shifting significantly as he searched your face, mapping out every detail he could, "tell me what happened. Please." You closed your eyes, your tongue darting out to lick your lips.

"You were right," you took a breath and paused, waiting for a snarky remark but when none came you continued, "his mind is literally stuck in the 1950s, Mig. Said spider-women aren't normal, that we need to stay at home and leave it to the…men." You scoffed, and Miguel could almost feel your skin burn with rage at the sheer lunacy of the retelling. "Said I'm too pretty to be in the streets saving anyone." Miguel remained quiet, letting you simmer out your emotions. He so desperately wanted to cradle your face in his hand— to brush his thumb over your cheekbone and swipe off the tacky streak of tears. His words were useless now more than ever.

"He's a fucking asshole," you continued, ripping yourself away from his hold just to pinch the bridge of your nose—a habit you definitely picked up from Miguel.

"I could've told you that," he grunted, crossing his arms. Not the best thing to offer. You turned to glare viciously at him, something akin to a spicy kitten.

"Shut up," you hissed, "you're an asshole, too," you pushed him out of the way with a hand to his chest, shifting your body to hop off the ledge. He watched you pace this time, your pencil heels clicking against the ground so loudly he thought you'd crack the cement in your fury. “Had some things to say about you, too, ya know.”

“I’m sure he did.”

“He doesn’t like you.”

“The feeling’s mutual.” 

“Said you’re a giant control freak with a big mouth and an annoying voice."

Miguel pursed his lips before grunting. "That...might have some validity—"

"—So I punched him." You interjected. Miguel blinked, cocking his head to the side curiously.

“...You punched him?” It came out more like a statement rather than a question. You stopped your anxious pacing and nodded, awkwardly standing there, unable to look at him.

“Broke his nose," you were fuming, absentmindedly rubbing your sore knuckles. Miguel’s keen eyes briefly caught a glimpse of the bruise forming over your skin, swirls of purple and blue indicating it was a hell of a punch. Pride bloomed within him, his skin prickling with arousal at the thought of you socking Spider-Grease in the face.

"No one gets to talk shit about you but me.” You mumbled with a certain possessiveness in your inflection, eyes downcast, your exposed pedicured toes robbing him of your full attention. You were pensive, fingers twitching at your sides.

“Oh yeah?” Miguel couldn't help the grin tugging on his lips, taking a tentative step forward as if worried he’d frighten you away. You looked at him, sizing him up with a twitch of your brow before stomping over, the little thing you were.

"You're an idiot, y’know that?" You jammed your finger into his hard chest with every word, a cute pout forming over your lips without you even realizing it. "A stupid fuckin' idiot!" Miguel stopped you before you could stab him with your finger again (why was that painful?), holding your wrist in a loose grip in complete panic, watching how your face fell apart, fresh tears ready to pour from your troubled eyes. “Y-you think I really wanted to go on that date?”

"Hey—hey, what are you talking about?"

You struggled in his grip, successfully yanking your wrist away to drag your fingers under your eyes in a pathetic way of salvaging your makeup. You sighed, shoulders caving in and hands covering your face before you took a pitiful breath. 

"For a genius...you’re pretty stupid." You eventually said, your eyes fluttering when Miguel finally took your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him while his thumbs wiped at the tears spilling over your cheeks. 

“Chiquita…”

“Miguel,” you began, holding on to each of his wrists, “I’ve always wanted you. It’s always been you.” Taken aback by your confession, he shifted a hand from your face to the nape of your neck, his fingertips gliding over your pulse point.

“So you were trying to get me jealous?” Miguel murmured, slowly backing you up until your back hit the ledge, his hands snaking down to grip your hips.

“Mhm,” you breathed, gasping when he lifted you up with ease, setting you on the ledge carefully so that you were eye to eye with him once again. He pushed your knees apart, situating himself between them snuggly. His face hovered so close to yours that he could feel your breath come out in small puffs over his skin, “did it work?” 

“Yeah,” he admitted, his large hands stabilizing you, caging you in, “yeah, it fuckin' did.” He let his lips skim over yours, teasing you a bit before pressing forward to kiss you gently. It was better than he could’ve ever imagined. Your lips were soft and malleable, pushing against his eagerly—wantonly, even. You tasted like peaches, the fruity lip balm you wore overwhelming his senses. Your hands moved up his toned chest before wrapping around his shoulders as he pressed his lips harder against yours, desperate to devour you whole. 

You moaned when he nipped your bottom lip, your fingers tangling through the dark waves of his hair, scratching his scalp. A groan rumbled in his chest, brewing as you continued, lightly tugging at the strands. Your hands felt like fire over his suit, as if hot enough to sear through to his skin. Miguel held you close, your chest flushed against his as he littered you with kisses.

“It’s always been you, too.” He professed quietly into your hair, mumbling as he smoothed down the unruly strands tossed around by the wind. 

“Hm?” You breathed, your nose pressed into his neck, inhaling deeply to secure his scent.

“I said,” he pulled back, tipping your head up by the chin, “It’s always been you, Chiquita.” 

...

He could’ve taken you on the rooftop of HQ. Would’ve. 

You had begged him for it, demanded it of him, even. But he didn’t. He took you home, his home, pressing you into his dark satin sheets like he’d always wanted.

You were pliable, like putty in his hands. 

Miguel wasted no time, seating you on the edge of his bed and getting on his knees in front of you. 

He pulled down the neckline of your red dress, pulling it off completely with your help. Your skin prickled immediately, nipples hardening like tiny pebbles once exposed to the chill air of his bedroom. His mouth watered, dipping his head to mouth at your breasts. You moaned, your fingers tangling in his hair as he nipped and sucked on each pert nipple, lapping at them and covering the sensitive flesh with his warm spit.

“I can suck on these all day,” he muttered over your flesh, “would you let me, Chiquita?” You squealed and sighed under his touch, his lips curling over a bud again to give it a noisy suck.

“Damn, Miguel,” you whispered, head thrown back as he continued to worship your nipples, sucking and tugging on each one till you were a withering mess in his hands, “fuuuuck, that feels amazing.” You held his head to your chest, letting him slurp over each bud, tugging them gently with his teeth.

You pulled his head away by his hair, surging forward to give him a sloppy kiss. His bare chest rubbed against your erect nipples, making you gasp into his mouth.

“Lemme taste you,” you begged over his lips, your hands smoothing over his shoulders and down his toned arms, “please, wanna taste you so bad.” 

“Fuck,” Miguel grunted, nodding his head, “yeah, you wanna taste? Go ahead, it’s yours.” There was a gleam in your eyes, a grin stretching over your swollen lips. You grabbed hold of his cock as soon as you both switched positions. You stared at it for a bit, intimidated. It made Miguel flush with arousal—the thought of you worried from the mere size of him. The large tip was wet, precome already beading at the slit, slowly leaving a sticky trail down the length. 

“Chiquita,” he said, bringing you out of whatever daze you had fallen into, “you gonna have a taste?” His cock twitched in your hand and with a determination he’d never seen before, you nodded wordlessly, slowly taking him in your mouth.

Miguel choked, gripping his sheets in a tight fist, the other fighting the urge to weave his fingers into your hair. 

You took as much as you could, letting your spit coat his length before swirling your tongue over the tip and giving it a nice, long suck. His head lolled to the side, his heavy eyes watching you work over him, jerking the part where your mouth couldn’t quite reach. You had tears in your eyes, the tip jamming against the back of your throat making you gag. It was too much. You pulled away with a pop, coughing, and sputtering over the tip.

“Spit on it,” he growled, and you obeyed, letting saliva pool in your mouth before draping it over his extremely hard length. You both watched it run along the shaft, allowing it to soak him completely before you jerked his cock with both hands. “Goodamn,” he groaned, tossing his head back. You grinned, your watery eyes watching how he fought to control himself.

“Stop, stop, stop, stop—” he panted, slapping your hands away as you giggled, lifting you up from under your arms, forcing you over his lap. “Almost made me cum with your hands.” He pressed his brow on yours, holding you close as he fought to catch his breath. 

“You okay?” you whispered, pushing back his sweaty hair, jutting your hips slightly to let his cock glide over slippery folds. You gasped, biting your lip at how hot his length was against your sensitive core. Miguel nodded, capturing your lips in a messy kiss while gripping your hips.

“Ride me.” He grunted, fingers digging into your skin so hard he knew he’d leave marks. Sweat began to build on his hairline, and it only increased when you mewled, lifting yourself to notch his tip at your entrance. You paused, hips in the air, brow still pressed against his, and dick notched in your cunt.

“Miguel,” your voice wavered, your hands gripping his shoulder in a death grip. You pleaded with your eyes when you looked at him, the silent worry etched all over your face. 

“Go, slow,” He cooed, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear, “Despasito más rico, hm?” You huffed out a tiny laugh, taking in a breath before slowly sinking onto his cock.

You were fucking tight. Unbelievably so. 

“Fucking shit,” Miguel hissed, feeling your walls flutter over his cock as you fought to take him in. You were whining—too big, you’re too fuckin’ big, Miguel—your pussy stretching to its limit. 

“Mmm,” you mewled, sliding down inch by agonizing inch, the heat of your cunt making his cock impossibly harder, “shit.”

You both whined and moaned until you were fully seated, filled to the brim. When you began to slowly bounce on his cock, he snapped his eyes shut immediately, absolute filth flying out of his mouth.

So fuckin’ tight, preciosa—you’re swallowing my cock so good—knew you could do it—goddamn—

He didn’t know what the fuck he was saying. All he knew was that he never wanted you to stop. You covered his cock in your creamy essence, every bounce making an obscene wet noise in the quietness of his bedroom, your juices flowing like a river over his thighs and down to his sheets.

Miguel fell back against the bed, his hands helping you lift off and slam back down.

“Ohhh f-” you whimpered, your pussy getting wetter by the minute. Your breasts bounced, giving him a show as he looked up at you working over him, mesmerized, your faces of pleasure completely etched into his mind.  

“That’s it, Chiquita, doin’ so good for me,” he panted, letting a large hand wander up your sweat-slicked torso, fondling each breast, pinching the nipples. Your mouth parted to release a broken sob. He knew he was hitting deep—so deep in fact that he had you coming thirty seconds later with tears running down your face and eyes screwed shut as your body shook from the pleasure. You clamped down on him, pussy squeezing so tight that it triggered his own orgasm, thrusting as deep as he could while he filled you with cum. 

But that wasn’t the end of it.

He pulled orgasm after orgasm from you, sob after sob, plead after plead.

He had you under him, hips slamming against yours unforgivingly. He had you from behind (he couldn’t wait to spread your ass to watch his cock disappear into your swollen hole). He had you on the floor, your body cushioned by his fluffy carpet.

“I-I’ve wanted this for so long,” Miguel panted over you, your legs draped over his shoulders, folding you in half to rip the sweetest sounds from you, “wanted you for so long—Jesus—you're so wet.” He pulled out his cock, holding it at the base in a fist and slapping it over your puffy cunt. You moaned, stretched under him, sobbing when he put his cock back inside.

“I cant, s’too much,” you whined, holding on to him firmly by the arms. You were painted in his cum, skin covered with his spend, your juices, and spit, a concoction that drove him to the edge over and over and over.

“Yes, you can, baby.” He leaned down to kiss your shoulder and up to your neck before carefully sinking his teeth, just enough to break skin. And that was enough. Your eyes rolled back and your back arched off his mattress as you cried out your pleasure.

He loved seeing you that way, loved how your face twisted and your body withered under his ministrations. It was better than those fucking dreams—better than anything he could have ever conjured up.

When he came for the fifth time that night, he held your limp body close, emptying himself into you, making sure that you took every last drop of him.

And after he cleaned you up and settled with you in his soil sheets, he held you close, your eyes fluttering and your lips quirking into a smile when he whispered in your ear: I'm still gonna kill him.

U know who should be the real villain of spiderverse???

The guy who has to clean all the spider webs.

The whole city is covered with them, the subways, the cars, the tall ass skyscrapers. It's every fucking where and the cleaner is tired.

It's time for his villain arc.

..... I'm sorry for this but....

Imagine a scenario where Miguel is planning to replace the alternative version of himself but, to do so, he has to learn everything he can about him in order to replace him perfectly.

The man could literally pull a Mandela Catalogue.

Just sitting there with your Miguel, knowing there is something identical to him outside the house, calling your name or Gabrielle's....