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I love you

Recovery Time: Chapter 3

Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

No use of y/n

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 4938

Summary: He says his name is Joel. You want to make him feel safe, so you share more of your home with him

Warnings: Eh, not really any in this one.

Series Masterlist

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AO3

_______________

Chapter 3: The Grand Tour

It’s been 3 days and you think he’s said maybe a total of 10 words to you— most of which were a quick thank you whenever it’s mealtime or a bandage change. At least he had manners. You don’t want to press or hover over him so you just let it be. He needs to recover anyway. Without anything to seemingly leave for anymore, he’s finally settled into the situation.

This morning was the first time he’d hobbled around anywhere other than to the bathroom across the hall. You’d been sleeping on the couch and woke up to him looking over the bookshelf next to you. Gus, of course, still sat at your side watching his every movement.

He grabs the collection of Henry David Thoreau works and turns to face you, arms heavy over his crutches, “Alright if I sit on the porch?”

You nod. He places the book in his teeth and awkwardly shuffles through the front door.

“Think he’ll run?” you ask Gus. He raises his eyebrows and huffs through his nose. The tell-tell sign he’s deeply annoyed. You can’t blame him, “Oh, you always say that.”

You fry up some eggs over the wood stove and debate bringing your breakfast out to eat with him but ultimately decide against it. You hadn’t eaten a meal together yet. Hell, you’d barely had a conversation.

Space. Give the poor guy some space.

He’s taken a seat on the bench swing, propping his bad leg up next to him. He seems startled when you bring out the plate of eggs and a cup of coffee.

“That coffee?” he asks, almost in amazement.

“The freshest around,” You place his breakfast on the side table next to him along with a few Tylenol. It was unfortunately the best you had to manage the pain, “I’m gonna… be working around the property. Holler if you need anything.”

“I—” he looks down at the plate like he’s wondering if today’s going to be the day you poison him. “Thank you, I will.” He nods and returns to his book.

You take a few steps off the porch when you hear him speak again.

“Joel.”

You pause and turn back to face him, “What?”

“Joel Miller.”

Did he just…oh.

You smile, “Nice to meet you, Joel Miller.”

_______

He’s southern, you can tell at least that much from his accent. The drawl on certain words. He’s called you ma’am a few times and that felt weird given the obvious age difference. He’s in his late forties if you’d have to guess from the gray in his hair and set lines on his face. You could always just ask him all this, of course, but instead your canning okra across the yard in the produce shed. He doesn’t strike you as someone who would be receptive to a round of 20 questions anyway.

Still, you can’t stop your mind from wandering to him. You hadn’t had anything new to think about in a while.

He’s from the QZ. Anyone who leaves the quarantine zones is killed… at least if they're caught. He came all the way out here for a trade deal, that’s what he claims anyway. If he was trying to get back inside he probably wasn’t Fedra. Good. A Firefly— maybe. Or just a smuggler.

For all you knew there weren’t Fireflies or Fedra anymore. All the info you had on them was at least 5 years old, and you only ever got it from passers-by. The Firefly resistants just blossomed in the last year or two when you were still out in the world. You’d traded with them a few times. They came to your settlement seeking medical aid. Just people unhappy with the status quo, that’s what they said anyway.

You hadn’t been to the city since the outbreak, and that was just fine with you.

You liked it out here. You belonged out here. Whatever small community your little settlement found all those years ago seemed leagues better than whatever was in the QZ. It seemed so long ago— everything you lost. What they took from you.

“Jesus Christ!” you hear a now familiar gruff voice exclaim from across the yard, followed by a bark from Gus. You run out of the shed and around to the front of the house. You round the porch to see a familiar orange and white cat rubbing up on Joel’s leg. You sigh, a little annoyed you rushed over here so fast for this.

“That’s Lilly,” You tell him, “She comes and goes as she pleases.”

“Damn thing snuck up on me,” He scratches his fingers along the cat’s back. Gus responds to the interaction with a growl. “I didn’t do anything,” Joel rolls his eyes at the dog.

Boys. They always fight, no matter what species.

“Gus, let’s be nice to our guest,” You reprimand him, coming to kneel in front of Joel. Lilly strolls over to you. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” He says curtly, almost annoyed, “Look… is there anything I can help with? Around the place, I mean.”

Oh, you weren’t expecting that.

“I don’t think you’re capable of too much.”

“I can hold my own,” He says in the same irritated tone.

“Ya know, most people these days would be happy to have a few days off.” You pick up the cat and sit back cross-legged. “Or at least let their bodies heal.”

“Not me.”

“Clearly.”

This wasn’t about healing. He didn’t want to sit around, you could tell. A man who’s always on the move, just like everyone else in the world. You sit too long and the anxiety sets in. The gravity of it all comes crashing down under the weight of your own thoughts— and he’d been alone in that bedroom for days now. If you’re moving, using your hands… you’re not thinking.

You really get it.

There isn’t any work you think he should be doing, but maybe instead of berating this already traumatized man, you could share a little something of yourself with him. Make him feel comfortable. Make him feel safe.

You sigh, setting the cat aside, “Tell you what, how about a tour? Get to know you’re unwilling prison and explore a little bit. If you're feeling up to it, of course. Get that blood pumping… whatever you have left of it anyway.”

“Ha.” He says flatly, expression not moving an inch.

“So is that a yes I’d love to, or…?”

He pauses, probably physically willing his eyes not to roll.

“Okay,” He grabs his crutches.

You hop off the porch, trailed by a hobbling broad man, an overly friendly cat, and an anxious border collie. Where do you start? You hadn’t shown anyone the property in… ever. It was always a secret. Art liked it that way. That’s what made it so safe. It was so different now from what he’d built— so you start with something you built.

“The gardens,” you enter between a row of onions, turning to face him while you walk backward, “Twelve rows of all of your dietary needs and wants with only a 4 to 6-month waiting period on the product.”

You’re putting on the dumbest commercial announcement voice you can manage. You think you see the ghost of a smile tug at his lips… just barely. You count it as a small victory.

“Looks dead.” He comments, probably noticing over half of the rows are bare. Mostly the greens section.

“If you wanted to see it in its full glory you should have gotten beat up at least a month earlier.” You turn, leaving the garden and heading for the first shed.

You think you catch the corner of his mouth tick up, just slightly, before you continue on your way.

_______

There’s chickens scurrying through the whole garden. You greet them all by specific names as he follows behind you. They don’t even move out of the way when he approaches, completely desensitized to human presence. He’s a little annoyed that he has to make the extra effort to avoid them while on crutches. At least he knows where the eggs came from now.

You’re standing in front of a shed on the other end of the garden. The dog behind him might as well be nipping at his heels to get him to move faster. He’s not used to these damn things. God, he already feels a little worn down just limping a few yards away from the house. Pathetic.

He tries to hide catching his breath when he finally makes it to your side at the shed.

“You good?” You ask him.

“Fine.” He brushes you off a little more harshly than he intended to. He looks at the overgrown faded red shed. A rotting plaque hangs above the large doorway. He reads it, “The Buck Shack?”

“Unfortunately, the name came with the place,” You scoff, pushing the barn door out of the way. “This is the more boring of the sheds. Not that sheds can be that exciting but...” you trailed off. He noticed you did that a lot.

He’s only noticed two other structures on the property. If the name and the smell of this one were anything to indicate, this was the game processing shed. Inside there were maybe 2 pheasants and a rabbit hanging on the wall. Tw empty hooks hang from the rafters, likely for hanging a deer. Concrete floor with a drain in the center, the floor long since stained with the blood of past kills.

A small smokehouse sat in the space with a rack lined sparsely with what he guessed was venison. He looks over at the large counter and sees an open drawer of cutting knives and immediately thinks how stupid you are for showing him this. Of course, he wouldn’t do anything to you, but he’s still a stranger at the end of the day. You don’t know anything about him and you’re showing him where all your sharp things are. Either you're threatening him a little or you're just that dumb. He can’t tell.

Rows of antlered skulls lined the perimeter of the inside. Trophies of hunts long past. “The Buck Shack.” He says again.

“Aptly named, though none of them are mine,” You smile and move over to the neighboring shed. This one is blue with no name apparently. The chicken coop rests in between the two.

He’ll admit, he’s a little more impressed with this one. There are full crates of vegetables on one side and shelves of stacked canned ones on the other. There are literal full garbage cans of apples and potatoes sitting in the corner. The things people would do to get their hands on a place like this. No wonder you’ve been doing so well out here.

“And here’s the rest of the garden.” You smile proudly.

Bill would like you, he decides.

“Damn,” is all he says, limping into the space. “You grew all these? No trading?”

“Traded to get some of the original seeds,” you say, pushing a few more full bags of carrots and beets out of the way, “But that was a long time ago.”

He hobbles back outside and notices the rain barrels placed at the corners of each shed and a hose coiled up next to them. So you used rainwater for the plants but what about the house?

He follows you around the overgrown cabin and gets his answer. You had your own damn water reservoir. A massive corrugated steel tank just up the hill from the house. He’d helped install something like it in some ranch fields back when the world was still whole. It held maybe 5,000 gallons if he had to guess. It sat on the hill just high enough for any pipes to get flow from it. That’s how your plumbing worked out here with no power— You had yourself a little water tower. Gravity did the work for you.

“How long did that take to set up?” He asks, gesturing his head towards the holding tank.

You smile, likely a little proud of yourself, “About a year to get it figured out. The tank was already up there when I got here so that made it easy. Getting the pipes though, was rough. But I had more help back then.”

“And filling it?”

“A manual pump another few more yards up the hill. Go up there for about an hour each week.” You kick one of the half-full barrels at the corner of the house. “It’s a workout. Maybe you can do it in a few weeks and see.”

“Maybe.” Joel scoffs. A hand-pumped well. Was there anything here that you didn’t have to do manually? He turns and notices two cellar doors on the edge of the house. “What about down there?” He nods towards them.

“Oh, this is where I keep the bodies,” You answer just a little too quickly, tapping your foot over the rickety wooden doors. He knows it's a joke, a bad one, but he doesn’t laugh. You roll your eyes and swing the doors open, “Come on, I’ll show you.”

You quickly walk down the steps and he slowly follows, taking each step cautiously. He really hates crutches.

Daylight streams in from above just enough to dimly light the little space. It’s dry storage, just like he suspected. Beans, rice, and some dwindling cans of some grocery store items he recognizes. And a few other fun treats of yours that look to be homemade.

“Wine?” He raises a brow, looking at the shelf of deep red bottles lining the far corner.

“Chokecherry wine.” You confirm, “Had some spare time in the summer a few years ago. Found a bush and a recipe in an old cookbook and decided what the hell.”

“Any good?”

“Absolutely terrible, but it’ll get ya drunk,” You turn and gesture to the other mismatched bottles and jugs that fill the space. “We have maple syrup, some vinegar still, salt, whiskey, acorn flour—”

“Why are you showing me all this?” It comes out harsher than he wanted. He feels cornered, suddenly overwhelmed with it all. Is this all really here? Were you? The realization hits him like a freight train— This place was a fantasy. This couldn’t be real.

A look of pain lightly marks your features. He’s immediately regretful, thinking he’s offended you in some way.

“I just wanted you to…” You trail off softly, crossing your arms and looking away. “This isn’t a prison, Joel. It’s not a death camp either. It’s a home. It’s… safe here.”

The second realization washes over him like a soft wave, warm and assuring. You were showing him your home and in doing so, showing him he was safe. That everything was okay. That you could take care of him… easily. You genuinely wanted to put him at ease with it all. His chest tightens at the thought.

“I’m sorry, I just—” He groaned, looking away as well. “You’ve done somethin’ special here, and it’s amazin’ but it’s… just a lot.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to—”

“No,” He cuts you off, “Don’t apologize. I’m grateful, I am, but–” he feels like an absolute ass. He’s been an ass to you, even after everything you’d done. “It’s a lot.”

“It’s okay Joel,” You smile sweetly, somehow forgetting how cold he’s been. He follows you out of the cellar silently like an embarrassed child.

You’re almost wholly self-sustained here. A marvel in every way. Christ, you even had a freaking wine cellar.

Yeah, Bill would really like you.

The thought of it makes Joel realize the one thing he hasn’t seen on this little tour. One very crucial thing.

“Where’s your fence?”

You raise a brow, “What, for livestock? I don’t think I—”

“No, for people,” Joel is suddenly on edge about this little paradise, “For keepin’ people out.”

You pause, a small wave of… something passing over your face. Realization maybe? Pain? “I don’t need to keep people out.”

“What?” His hands tense on the crutches.

“Joel, you’re the first person that’s made it this far in years.” There’s an emphasis in your statement but it doesn’t ebb any of his newfound worries. “Do you know how deep we are into the woods?”

He thinks, trying desperately to remember which direction he started walking once he was done with the smugglers, all banged up and battered with even more death on his conscience and blood on his hands. He thinks it was north but he can’t be sure anymore. It’s all a blur now. He has no idea how far he walked, how many days it was— nothing.

“No.” He simply says.

“We’re safe, I promise,” you attempt to assure him. You smile and gesture to something further over to the edge of the property. He follows you, stopping right next to a massive flowering bush.

“Lilac?” He says, recognizing the pale purple flowers. They’re fading and spotting in brown, but still smell like summer. A sweet scent he doesn’t think he’s smelled in years. It lifts his spirits, just for a moment.

“Planted them and a few other things all along the border.” You gently cradle one of the bundles of flowers, “These are my wall. You can barely see the house from a distance, what with all the overgrowth on the walls and roof. We’re safe.”

He wants to believe you. He desperately does but he can’t bring himself to. While what you did here was truly something, you were being incredibly naïve thinking these were enough. Flowers to protect you from the world out there? Completely foolish.

Then he thinks about what you said earlier. He’s the first person that has come here in years. Years?

“Who else you got out here?” he asks, cautiously. He’s seen no proof of anyone else but this can’t all just be you running this place like a well-oiled machine.

“You’re looking at the full crew here,” you scratch the dog's ears next to you.

“Traders come over?”

“Nope.”

“Just you?”

“And Gus. Well, you met Lily earlier. She counts too.”

“How long have you been up here? Alone?”

You pause as if trying actually to recall the number. Time loses so much meaning these days. Or maybe you're embarrassed to say. You eventually answer.

“Five years.”

______

The day slowly rolls into the evening and neither of you has interacted much since the tour. He was clearly exhausted from limping around the property by the end, so you insisted he lay down for a nap. After some heavy convincing, he eventually relented. A stubborn man, but not a completely dumb one.

You admittedly feel a little embarrassed from earlier. Strolling him around like a child showing off a school project. You wanted him to feel secure and form a little more trust— but you think you just ended up making him uncomfortable in the end.

Have you really been here 5 years? It was probably so obvious to everyone but you— Your unwanted social isolation. It was this or scrounging for scraps and being worked like a dog in the QZ, at least that’s what people told you. Being cooped up and monitored like animals. You know what choice you’d make ten times out of ten.

Still, your predicament was a weird one. You saw the shock in his face when you revealed it. Or maybe it was disgust? Or pity? Maybe all three. Either way, it all ended there and you went back to canning and he retreated to the house.

The sun was setting now, signaling it was time to head in for the evening but you didn’t want to. You don’t want to face him or the potential of a million questions about your strange little life here all by yourself. Now you know how he probably feels. You were so eager earlier, but now… now you just feel like an idiot.

Eventually, you of course work up the courage to walk back into your house, Gus sitting lazily by the door waiting for you. It was the first time you hadn’t seen him watching Joel’s every movement like a hawk. You guess you all made some progress today.

The bedroom door is closed when you enter the house, with Joel nowhere in sight.

You brought in a pheasant for dinner. Stoking the wood stove, you start to chop up any vegetables you’re afraid will go bad— A head of broccoli and some wilting spinach. You place the prepared pheasant in a broiler pot and feed its leftover bits to Gus, as usual.

“Gizzards and guts. Your favorite,” You scratch the dog's ear. Upon hearing Gus’s obnoxious slobbering, Lilly comes strolling down the hall. You hadn’t seen her since this afternoon, “Decided to stay for the evening, princess? Or you just want a free meal?”

You grab a small chunk of meat from Gus’s bowl and toss it her way. This was your usual night. Alone at the kitchen counter with your strange little family— your whole world.

You hear the bedroom door creak open and uneven footsteps clomp down the hall.

Joel takes a seat at the small bar counter opposite you and you instantly feel put on the spot. Like you’re an insect being observed.

What’s the strange hermit woman doing now?

“How’d you rest?” you passively start the conversation as you place the broccoli into its own roasting pan.

“Fine.” He answers bluntly, staring down at his fingers as he picks his nails. You wonder if he feels like he has to interact with you now. If he’s doing this out of pity or obligation. “Your place is… really nice.”

Mmm, enthralling conversation.

“Thank you.” You say, mindlessly stirring the vegetables around.

A pause.

“Did you find it or a family thing or—”

“Family friend.” You answer, “Well… friend-ish.”

His brows knit together, “Friend-ish?”

Does he really want to know? You tell him anyway. You hadn’t just talked to someone in so long.

“His name was Art. Most crotchety mean old man you’d ever meet.” You smile, remembering his wrinkled face, “My dad was his only friend. He tolerated me. They were the town doctors.”

“What town?” His interest is peaked.

“West Lake. Used to be about 7 miles north from here.” You point in the general direction, “Used to be a town of probably no more than a thousand people. Quiet place.”

“That’s where you’re from?”

“I used to be.” You confirm.

Then more bloated silence. You’ve shared so much of yourself with him now and he’s said nothing. You only just learned his name today. He opened up on his terms, and that was fine. It just felt so strange when you were an open book.

You don’t like this. You don’t like your every move being watched or like you’re stepping on pins and needles in your own home. Is this how it used to be? No, surely not. Something about him though. It sets you on edge.

“I’m sorry.” He finally says. Oh? You turn around to face him. “About earlier. How I’ve been actin’. I’m not… used to this. To bein’ taken care of. It’s usually the other way around.”

“I can tell.” You fucking idiot.

“You made something special here,” He continues as if you’d said nothing, “I just… I don’t know what to do with myself. I wanna be useful.”

Right on cue, Lilly jumps on the counter and rubs against his forearm. He reciprocates with a passive head scratch and an irritated sigh.

“You are useful,” You smile, “You’re keeping Lilly company.”

“Damn thing wouldn’t leave me alone.” He looks at the cat with endearment in his eyes, but his overall expression remains sullen. He seemed to always look that way.

“Well at least one of them likes you,” You both turn to Gus sitting idly next to the counter, eyes once again glued to Joel.

“I don’t blame him,” Joel returns Gus’s pointed look.

You feel a fraction of the tension melt off. Just a little. He was getting comfortable here. Good. If he was comfortable then so were you.

Dinner passes in relative silence, as to be expected for your first official meal together. This wasn’t a first date or anything. Just a meal between two temporary housemates. He didn’t need to share his whole life story with you and you didn’t need to share any more of yours.

You take his empty plate and stack it on yours.

“So, I have to change your bandages again.” You say it almost like a question. Like you’re asking permission.

He looks at you with a slightly puzzled expression, “Alright.” He simply says with a nod.

You drop the dishes in the kitchen and return with some new gauze and a bowl of hot water. He takes the hint and removes his shirt before you can even ask. His movements are slow and pained, not that you mind watching him for just a little longer.

He leans over the table while you scoot a chair over and begin your work. He flinches as you remove his crusted-over old bandages. The area around the wound was tender and red, but no signs of infection. Good.

You start to gently clean it.

“What were you… before it all?” You start the small talk up again. Something easy.

“General contractor,” he answers, “You?”

“Nurse.”

“I never would have guessed.”

You pause… was that a joke? Well, at least he’s loosening up.

You smile to yourself. “Only worked in the hospital for about a year before it hit. Ended up getting more medical practice after the world ended.”

“Ain’t that a bitch.” You swear you can hear an amused smile in his voice. He was getting comfortable around you. Just the simple thought of it warms your heart— just a little.

“You still building stuff in the QZ?”

He lets the question linger but eventually answers. “Not really.”

There was something there. You shouldn’t pry more but you go on anyway, “Are you a firefly, or—”

“No.” He answers curtly, “A smuggler but at the end of the day I’m… not really anything.”

Not really anything, huh? That didn’t seem true from what little you know about him. Still, you don’t push it anymore. Maybe he’ll tell you all about it in due time. When he’s ready.

This time he asks the question first.

“What’s that?” He nods his head toward the corner— toward Art’s old guitar.

“A decoration, mostly.” You answer, wiping the area around his wound dry.

“You don’t play?”

“God no,” you snort, “I’ve plucked around on it a few times but it’s not my thing. Missing a few strings now anyway.”

“You can do plenty with a few strings.” He stares at it, almost mesmerized. A guitar was a rare thing now, you suppose.

“There’s a few changes of strings in the drawer next to it,” You inform him, “Art kept backups for everything. I never knew how to change them myself so I just left it be. Just thought I’d break it.”

He doesn’t say anything else but you can see the gears in his head turning. So he plays. He’s found something here he can actually do. Something he can hopefully enjoy. Good.

You finish taping his bandages down and give him a pat on the knee, “Okay, you’re good to go.”

He grunts what you can only assume to be a thank you and rolls his shirt back on. You made progress today. Gaining trust and giving some in return. Learning a little bit more about one another. You didn’t need a life story but feeling more comfortable around each other would be nice. At least if he was going to stay here for a while.

A selfish part of you hopes he does. That he stays as long as he can. Then you could finally have someone. Not even in a romantic sense but just… someone. Anyone. And the other, more logical part of you, knows he’ll probably be gone the second he can bear to put any weight on that foot.

He had a life he had to get back to. People who probably needed him. What’s that name he called you? Tess. He could be a husband and father for all you knew. But then again, you feel like he would have mentioned that by now. You’re sure you’ll find out one way or another. You’ll learn who Joel Miller is, eventually. For now, though, you’ll keep doing what you’ve always been doing.

Taking it one day at a time.

You get up to walk to your place on the couch, an old fantasy book waiting on the coffee table for you.

“There isn’t another bedroom in here, is there?” He asks.

“Just the one.” You answer, fluffing out the quilt over the couch.

“Okay,” he limps towards you, “I’ll sleep out here.”

“Joel, it’s fine you don’t have to—“

He gently grabs your wrist and you instantly feel every hair on your body stand up.

“You give too much. I won’t take your bed too. It’s your house. Sleep in your bed.”

Not wanting to argue, and admittedly wanting to sleep on a mattress again, you silently retreat back to your bedroom. The sheets smell like him. You don’t entirely mind. If anything just because it was something different. Something new.

This was all going to be new.

______

You wake up the next morning and find Art’s guitar re-strung and tuned to perfection— Joel fast asleep next to it.

#recovery time #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction

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bumpkinspice0 · 1 month

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I'm like so late to responding to this but rest assured I looked at it and giggled to myself several times because it made me just so happy 🥹 Like I should give you flowers or something oh my god ! THANK YOU! I'm just so so happy you're enjoying it and THANK YOU for sharing!!

I'll go ahead and furiously work on the next chapter now (Hopefully be ready to post this weekend)

Recovery Time Masterlist

Joel Miller X Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Ten years into the outbreak and you'd seen a lot. Through it all you'd managed to make a comfortable life for yourself in the end. A lonely life, but a comfortable one... then a bleeding man comes stumbling into it.

Warnings: Dude in distress, Slow Burn, Injury, Hurt/ Comfort, Angst, Forced Proximity, smut, masturbation, pining

All chapters marked with * contain explicit NSFW content (Minors do not interact!!!)

AO3

Chapters

Mystery Man

Recovery Time

The Grand Tour

Trust

Good Time Charlie's got the Blues

Happy birthday Joel Miller

Through the Window*

Storm Brewing

Storm Breaking

Just adding the chapters as I think of them. This story should end up being abooout 20 so far.

Taglist

#recovery time #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #I'm bad at responding to compliments and I'm sorry for that

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bumpkinspice0 · 2 months

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Made this for u 💝

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bumpkinspice0 · 2 months

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this is me all day

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bumpkinspice0 · 2 months

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bumpkinspice0 · 2 months

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bumpkinspice0 · 3 months

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It’s funny because I almost didn’t add that line 😅 maybe because it’s going to be a theme for when a certain Spider-Man gets there IDK 👀

I do love writing some desperate men, tho, what can I say

Parallels Chapter 17: What Is Meant To Be?

Miguel O'Hara x Spider!FemReader

No use of y/n

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4.9k

Summary: You're going to die. It's written in the canon. The canon must always be obeyed... right?

Warnings: Angst O'clock, Talks of death, Near death experience???? Miguel loves so hard, SMUT (again finally) Oral (Fem receiving), Window sex??, sweet sweet desperation

A/N: I worked hard to get this out quickly because I felt bad about making everything so sad lately 😅 Though there still might be enough angsty to make it plenty sad, Idk. I'm sorry anyway

Series Masterlist

AO3

_______________

Chapter 17

What Is Meant To Be?

“Play it again.”

“Miguel, I don’t think–”

“Play it again.”

The simulation of the dingey warehouse restarts. Nothing more than a prediction. A vision of what's to come. A supposed hostage situation set up by the remnants of the Fisk family—a trap for you. It was so simple. He’d seen you dodge gunfire and fight practical monsters, but this is what does it? Trapped inside a warehouse rigged to explode. As indestructible as spiders seemed to be, no one could rightly survive a roof falling on them. A spider can’t dodge bullets forever.

They’d find your body 3 days later, likely a memorial erected in your honor as well as a day of citywide grieving. And two months later a certain captain’s daughter would take up the mantle— and you’d be replaced and slowly forgotten.

There was a 98.9% chance of likelihood for these events. It might as well be a hundred at that point.

You were going to die. This is how you were going to die.

It was predicted to happen within the hour and Miguel was just sitting here waiting for it to happen. How morbid, he scolds himself. He sits there helpless, a pitiful excuse for a hero.

“Mig, I’m so sorry,” Lyla’s small form comes to sit next to his hand, her own small hand mimicking stroking motions over his forearm.

“You weren’t going to tell me.” he mumbles, eyes still locked on the screen of a smoldering building where your body would be dug up from. Only a simulation. It hadn’t happened. Not yet.

“I didn’t know how to. I was… scared.”

“Scared,” He scoffs, “You?”

“You’re not the only one who cares about her, Miguel.'' The AI bites out harshley. It almost catches him off guard. He’s so used to seeing her so bubbly, so quirky and fun. As annoyed as he seemed by it, he always appreciated it. Gabe was smart in programming her to be so fun. He needed someone like that in his life. Someone to help cut through his bullshit. You played that role as well.

“We’ve lost a lot of friends in this job, haven’t we Lyla?”

“We have.”

Miguel expected to be ragging at this point, an inconsolable beast wreaking havoc on his lab. Angry, like he had been since you left. Instead, he’s just numb. Was your fate that easy to accept?

The spider-sense lulls in his head, finally quieting down after the month of torture. Did that mean it knew what was to come? Would he feel it? When you—

He finally buries his face in his hands, muffling a defeated sob. Ah, there’s the tears. After the self-inflicted torture he’d put you both through, this is how it ends? You die and he has to watch it happen like a helpless child on the sidelines. This is the burden he’d taken. He’d done this so many times before. He’d watched horrible things happen because it was the will of the canon— but with you it was… you were…

“Lyla, I’d like to see the probability diagnostics,” He swallows the sorrow, hoping the cold unfeeling numbers of an algorithm might put him at ease. If this was to happen, maybe looking at the ripple effects of it would help him cope. A sacrifice for the greater good of it all.

The equations and graphs illuminate around him, all of them infallible. This was going to happen. And what would your death bring to the multiverse? Nothing. A small blip in the grand scope of it all. A speck of dust in the cosmos, just like all of them.

But if your death was so small, then what could that mean if it didn’t happen?

The thoughts he’d been suppressing suddenly flood his mind. He’s not helpless here. The power to change your fate rested on his wrist, your life so easily saved by the simple push of a button. He’d risked something like this before, but it was different this time. Could saving a life have the same effect? He’d replaced a life, but saving a life…There’s no way to know. And he didn’t have time to run the numbers. He had to act—- now.

“Miguel?” Lyla’s voice chirps up behind him, “What are you doing?”

What is he doing? He looks down to see he’d already typed in the coordinates to your universe. Had he already decided and didn’t realize it? Was it that easy?

“I…” He looks down at the watch. A single push of a button. That’s all it would take. “I don’t know.”

“I know… this is hard,” She hovers at his wrist now, clearing the coordinates from the watch, “But we can’t interfere with—”

“All we’ve done is interfere,” He bites out in a voice he doesn’t recognize. “How is this different?”

Did he really believe that?

Hypocrite, he scolds himself.

Reasoning. He was trying to reason for it. Bargaining for your life to justify his own selfish actions.

He types in the coordinates again, and Lyla clears them before he finishes. He growls, clawing through her projection.

“You’re not thinking, Miguel!” She urges. “I know this is hard. But you can’t. You know you can’t.”

He knows she’s right, he’s not thinking. He doesn’t care. If he could pull this off, if he could save you, then he’d figure it out. He always did. There had to be limits he could push. Options he never considered. Whatever it would take, just to assure your safety.

“You have to understand what’s at stake here.” Lyla says again, her pixelated eyes pleading with him. Despite her seeming so human in every way, she was still just a program doing her job. She was his fail-safe, an assurance to make sure past mistakes weren’t repeated— and now she’s the only thing standing in his way.

“Yes, I do understand,” He says coldly, calmly walking across the lab— to Lyla’s control panel. “It’s time you remember who’s in charge.”

“Don’t even think about it!” She grows to full size. Projections explode behind her, raging fire, explosive blinding lights— all mere illusions. It does nothing to stop him. While she ran things, multiverse travel was still completely operable without her. He opens the panel and begins typing in the reboot code. It’s the one area of the tower she has no control over.

Arachni-bots scurry towards him before falling dead with another push of a button. She’s trying everything. He has to work quickly.

“I’ve called Gabe,” Lyla warns, “Emergency protocol is initiated. He’ll know.”

“Fine, I don’t care.” Miguel punches in the final sequence and all of Lyla’s projections begin to fade. Only her flicking form remains. It’ll take her at least an hour to reboot, that’s more than enough time.

A portal to earth-727 bursts to life in front of him.

“Think about it, Miguel!” Lyla tries to reason one last time as her projection starts to fade, “All of this— Everything— for one person? It’s not worth it.”

He pauses at the portal's entrance, the pull of the spider-sense urging him to step forward.

“Yes. She is.”

The sense crescendos as he shoots through reality, across time and space to save you. The anticipation builds, the anxiety of racing against the clock. He burst through the portal already swinging, taking a quick assessment of his surroundings. Without Lyla to guide his exact location he could've only ended up in a 3-mile radius of you. The sun had already set. He was in Brooklyn, the southside by the looks of it. The warehouse was in the center of Queens, not far but he had to hurry.

As he swings the rest of his emotions come flooding in. The guilt. The shame… the undeniable love for you. How could he have thought such things? How could have just sat by while he watched you die? Had this job really made him so callous? So cold to the world at large?

When did Spider-Man stop trying to save everyone?

You’d given yourself to him so freely and he’d meet your affections with so much disdain— yet you treated him with kindness anyway. You were patient with him like no one had been before, he didn’t deserve it. Yet he won’t give it up. Not anymore.

He’d make it up to you. He’d make it all up to you starting tonight.

The warehouse is in sight. You’d be swinging in from the east. He could easily stop you before you got anywhere near the building. He perches himself on the highest rooftop half a block east of the rigged warehouse and waits. Checking the time, you’d be swinging at any moment, give or take a few minutes.

He waits… and he waits.

He’s not sure how much time has passed before he starts pacing. Did he miss you? No, he has no doubt the spider-sense would have honed in on you.

The spider-sense… in his blind panic he hadn't paid it any mind. Surely being in your dimension would send the alarms blaring in his head. Instead, it was like it was…. Muted. Smothered under something he didn’t recognize. What did that mean?

What if it meant you were already dead?

Dread pushes him off the roof and swinging towards the harrowing warehouse. Crawling up to the closest window, he peers inside. Three armed men stand in the center of the massive room, barrels of explosives around them.

“Where the hell is she?” one of them grumbles, “Doesn’t she usually show up way before the cops? Did Tony call it in?”

“Of course he did,” the second one sighs.

“If she doesn’t come then this was all for nothin’.”

“She’ll come. She always comes.”

“Shut up, both of you,” the final one hisses, turning around to scold the other two. “Look.”

He gives a faint nod to his right… directly at Miguel.

The first bullets whiz past Miguel’s shoulder, one knicking his suit. He was spotted. Idiot. How could be so careless? He barely manages to swing out of sight.

“Christ, don’t shoot in here!” The leader of the three shouts, “Might as well light a fucking match!”

“Fuck you, I’m not letting that bitch get away!” They think Miguel is you? He could hear them arguing, perched safely on the roof. Well that confirms it, you weren’t here.

“She’s here. We got her and I’m not gonna let her pick us off one by one. I’m getting justice for the boys she locked up.” The threatening statement is followed by the unmistakable cock of a gun.

Oh no.

“Wait— WAIT—'' One of them pleads before a shot goes off, immediately followed by a domino fall of explosions.

Miguel just barely swings to safety, the flames licking at his heels.

“Holy shit. Holy shit.” He chants as he rounds the corner onto a rooftop. It happened. The explosion paints the night in harsh oranges, shattering windows and setting off car alarms for miles. He hears police sirens finally approaching. Your death had happened— and you weren’t there for it.

You weren’t there.

Relief overtakes him, dropping him to his knees. He’s not sure if he wants to cry or vomit. Quelling the boiling cauldron of emotions in his brain, he forces himself to focus. He hones in on the spider-sense— desperately humming in the forefront of his mind. It was trying to tell him something. Trying to tell him where you were.

With a wary step forward, he follows it.

________

An emergency distress call from some random universe you’d never heard of. You can’t remember the last time you answered one. Probably when the tower was attacked. They were never meant to be ignored either.

Jess called it in, and with her being so far along in her pregnancy you leaped immediately to help her, along with a good handful of all of your other spider-comrades. She’d just entered her third trimester and you’re truly amazed she’s still working this diligently.

“Gotta get it all out of my system now,” She’d scoffed to you when she’d first announced it, “That and I know you guys can’t do this without me, better help you out now.”

Jessica Drew, always so humble to the point she wouldn’t allow herself maternity leave. God, you loved her but you’d wished she would slow down.

Since she showed no signs of taking a break, offering a helping hand whenever she needed it was the best you could do.

Tonight she certainly needed it, being caught in a sudden gathering of symbiotes. You and about ten other spiders answered the call, just in time it seemed.

You hated symbiotes. It wasn’t as easy as punching them and knocking them out, you had to be clever. Play to their very specific weaknesses— Fire and loud noises. That and they were just nasty fuckers. It's a good chance for you to blow off some steam. You didn’t have to hold back when it came to symbiotes, and for once, that was a good thing.

An hour of messy fighting and a lot of loud noises and fire later, they were all contained. It admittedly felt good to be part of a team effort after your rather less-than-stellar month. These were still your people, they didn’t stop being your people just because Miguel wasn’t part of your circle anymore.

A massive portal opened back to HQ. You’re cue to leave for home.

“Hey,” Jess grabs your shoulder before you can hit the button home, “Come back to the tower with me.”

“I— why?” you’re aware of how cold it comes out.

Jess immediately furrows her brows, “Because I haven’t talked to you in forever and I wanna buy you a coffee so you can describe what it tastes like to me.”

You can’t help but laugh a little, “You miss coffee that much, huh?”

“And booze. And sushi. And hot tubs. And—” She drapes her arm around your shoulder as she continues, leading you over to her bike. Well, if she’s offering a fun ride, who are you to say no?

Yes, you’d been avoiding the tower like a plague just because he’s there. You feel him when you’re closer, the sense jumping at the proximity alone. Just because it was Miguel’s tower though, didn’t mean you weren’t welcome. Your friends were there. Your community. Spider Tower wasn’t just a monolith to Miguel, it was for all of you.

You wonder if you should tell Jess about it all. If anyone would understand it’d be her. You’d probably get a few good minutes of reprimanding you for being so stupid, but then she’d go full protective mode and be your human shield against the big bad Spider-Man 2099. That and the pregnancy hormones were making her more irritable. That’s what friends did, though— right? Made things easier for one another. That and you wanted another shoulder to cry on.

You will tell her, eventually. Not tonight but… soon.

You both burst into the tower, Jess skidding the bike to a spiraling stop.

“I hate it when you do that.” you sigh into her back.

“You spend all day swinging around a city and a little bike ride makes you dizzy?” She scoffs, flipping out the kickstand.

“Yes, shut up,” You groan, practically melting off the bike. Suddenly, You remember why you don’t always accept rides from her, “Why do you ride a bike anyway? Your webs seem perfectly fine.”

“Just to look cool,” She muses, bouncing her hard to the side. Well… you can’t deny that fact. She always did look pretty cool.

The spider-sense was revving in the back of your head. A few weeks ago it would have driven you insane, now it’s just another thing to ignore. Like a cast over a broken bone or an itchy rash. You’d trained yourself to live with advanced senses, you could train yourself to get used to this.

At least until you were ready to take the cure.

You’re halfway to the cafeteria when it’s too much, the sense jumping like a punch to the back of your head. You stumble forward, blindsided by the effects.

“Jeez, you okay?” Jess grabs your arm.

“Fine! Fine…. I think.” You assure her halfheartedly.

The sense calms down into a more annoying ringing, but still stronger than when you first entered the building. Why was it acting up now?

A familiar voice calling your name is your answer. You turn around and there he is, standing at the end of the hallway.

Miguel— and god, he looks awful.

Of course he had to show up when you were starting to feel like yourself again. The sense almost causes you to burst out in tears at the sight of him alone. It was a relief. It was a nightmare.

God, you really don’t want to do this right now.

He takes a few timid steps toward you, “I… I need to talk to you.”

“Why?” you immediately spit back.

“It’s important,” He simply says. This was a bad idea. You want to go with him so badly but you know if you do it’ll open up all of your wounds again.

“What’s going on, Mig?” Jess, bless her, tries to intervene.

“This is between me and her,” Miguel bites out coldly. Jess didn’t often tolerate his bitchy behavior, but she turns to you instead. Her eyes look to you to see if everything is okay— a silent communication only women seemed to possess the power of.

“It’s fine, Jess,” You pat her shoulder assuredly, “I’ll describe some coffee to you later.”

She doesn’t look convinced that it is, in fact, fine but carries on her way regardless. She knew you well enough to be sure that you could handle yourself. She’d suspected something probably since the beginning. Yeah, you really need to come clean to her eventually.

“What do you want?” You practically hiss at Miguel. He barely moves, simply pressing a button on his watch. A portal springs up on your right.

“Not here,” He gestures to the spinning portal. Of course, this all had to be cryptic for no reason. Just another thing to torture you right now. You groan and step through the portal.

It was like walking through a door, your feet landing on solid ground in less than a blink of an eye. A quick glance around and you see you’re in Miguel’s home. It’s dark, the only light coming from the glowing city outside.

You turn to him as he exits the portal behind you.

“We couldn’t have taken the sta—”

You don’t even finish the sentence before he pulls you into him, strong arms crushing you against his chest. You’re not sure what you expected… but it wasn’t this.

It’s embarrassing how good it makes you feel almost immediately. Like just his touch cured your countless sleepless nights. The familiar warmth of his arms seeping into your varying being as if he was holding your soul. Was a hug always this good? It’s certainly better than the last one you shared with him.

The realization jolts you out of his embrace. You weren’t supposed to be together anymore. You weren’t supposed to be doing this shit anymore— right?

“What the hell, Mig?” is all you manage to gasp out.

He stands there, unmoving, his arms still reaching out after you. You can’t read his face, his expression almost blank. Shocked, maybe?

“I… I don’t know—I had to—” he pulls his hands back, examining them as if he’s just killed someone, “Where were you?”

“Where was—” you balk out an annoyed laugh. Is that why he brought you up here, to check in on you? Toying with this all like some child, “On a mission with Jess, doing my job. Are you spying on me now? Do I have to report to you still?!”

He says nothing, letting your harsh yelling linger in the large space. He looks at you again, something you don’t recognize in his eyes. Suddenly all your anger is replaced with pity. What was happening?

“You’re—” He choked on his words, just for a moment, “You’re okay?”

“Am I o—” You take a step towards him, willing yourself not to reach out and touch him. Trying so desperately to hold up that wall. The resistance you’re not sure you had.

The spider-sense… is screaming.

“Miguel… you’re scaring me.”

He nods as if to say I’m scared too. Scared of what, though? You gulp as you break the barrier. You reach out and cradle his massive hands in yours. He sighs at your touch. Something horrible happened… or was going to happen—something to bring this warrior to his knees in a way you’d never seen before.

“I… I don’t know what to do,” he admits shakily. “Little spider, I think I—”

“What do you need?” you ask immediately.

You see the corners of his mouth twitch up just briefly. Cute, but not an answer.

“What happened?” You push.

His hands trail up your arms and come to cup your face. Your eyes flutter, almost instinctively. “Just… just tell me you're okay. Right now. In this moment.”

“Mig—”

You’re not sure who does it. If he pulls your lips to his or if you jump up to meet him. Does it really matter? He tasted like freedom. Like the relief you’d been searching for all these weeks. Had you forgotten so easily? The taste of him. The feel of him. Something so indescribable— like a drug. He was your drug.

It’s a handsy fury, ripping off your clothes as you seemingly try to will his to fade away. There was no time for pleasantries, not this time. There was only hunger— unsatiated, gnawing hunger.

Need. You needed him.

He backs you against the windows, their sudden coldness sending chills up your naked body.

“Miguel, please—” you urge, for what exactly, you’re not entirely sure. Whatever he was willing to give you.

“Te tengo. Te tengo…” He chants as his mouth glides down your body, from your neck, between your breasts, and finally to your waiting cunt.

He engulfs your heat greedily. You don’t recall ever screaming so loud. Sweet, perfect relief. He was perfect.

He brings both of your legs over his shoulders and holds you there, your bare back pressed against the glass for all the world to see— not that anyone likely would from this height. And not that you really cared right now anyway. There was only him. Him. Him!

God, you missed his skillful mouth. Hungerly lapping at you like it nourished his very soul. It did, you suppose in a way. The sinful hunger helped both of you in its own way. Kept you sane. Kept you alive. You can’t believe you’ve lasted as long as you did without him.

You come embarrassingly fast, but you’re not surprised with how much you had pent up over the last month. The orgasm rips you apart like an atom bomb, exposing your raw nerves underneath. Your vision goes white, your mouth goes dry. It was everything you were trying to give yourself all those lonely nights— Miguel gave it to you in two minutes.

His mouth still sloppily runs between your legs as you come down. You squirm in his grasp, your sensitivity now turned up to eleven.

“Miguel,” You plead, “I need you. I need you.”

A rumble emanates from his chest and up your legs as his mouth comes off you. He lowers your legs, holding you at his waist. He stands at his full height again, pinning you there. He trails his mouth back up your torso, pausing at your breasts to lull his tongue over each nipple before he finds your mouth again— his mouth and tongue coated with the taste of you.

“Lo siento, arañita. Lo siento mucho.” he whispers between breaths. You know those words. He’s saying sorry. He’s sorry— you’re sorry too. Sorry for it to have come to this.

He slides inside with a pained moan. Your walls clench around him with familiarity.

“Like you were made for me,” He murmurs as his mouth slides down your neck. Though it’s completely healed over, he knows the mark he left. He stops on it, his tongue tracing the ghost of what was left there. The brand he left on your soul.

He lifts you off his cock and slams back into you brutally. Your head falls back against the window with a defined thunk as he sets a ruthless pace. Bouncing you on his cock like you weighed nothing at all. That’s alright, he can use you.

Your lude erotic sounds fill the space. Wet skin slapping on wet skin. Desperate wordless moans for more. Always more.

“I missed you. I missed you,” You don’t didn’t even realize you were chanting it until your mouth went dry.

“Shhh,” He nips at your lower lip, “I know. God, I know. I missed you too. I— fuck.”

Even amidst the animalistic lust-fueled frenzy, you could feel him trembling under your touch. His body quivering with more than just desire. Your combined anxieties manifesting into something desperate and terrifying. A need that couldn’t just be quelled with just your hands.

Even in your bliss-fogged mind, you felt like a fool for ever letting something like this go. Something so rare and beautiful.

Ever since it appeared in your life you’d been trying to describe this impossible feeling. What was a shared spider-sense? A piece of you that you shared with someone else. How can you define what felt like pure instinct? Give a name to something that was indescribable?

The only thing you knew was that something felt right when you were together. The world made sense when this man was part of it, as infuriating as he could be at times. You were his, he was yours. Not yours in the sense that he belonged to you, but yours meaning he belonged with you. A pair, a set, forever intertwined.

What was the spider-sense to you?

It was home.

It felt like home. He felt like home.

His hips come to a staggering halt as your second orgasm overtakes you. He bites down on your shoulder as he paints your walls. He stands there just for a moment before lowering you both to the ground on trembling legs. Neither of you speaks, panting out the thinning air between each other. Both of you refuse to let go, afraid that this time would surely be the last time you’d ever touch him. Keep him here, now, forever. Nothing could take him away from you right now.

“Reboot complete.” An ambient voice rings through the room. It was certainly Lyla’s but it sounded… different. More robotic.

“Oh no,” Miguel grumbles, his grip on you tightening.

“What? What is it?” Why do you feel panicked? It’s just Lyla.

Miguel pulls away, worry crossing those burgundy eyes, “I… I have to tell you something.”

Before he can continue, a familiar golden glow springs up in the middle of the room. Pixels form together to make the familiar form of the infamous AI assistant. She turns to face you both. Miguel’s suit instantly appears back on his body. You’re suddenly very aware of your nakedness, despite her being a computer program. You grab for your abandoned suit crumbled on the floor, hurriedly shoving yourself back into it.

“Geez, knock first, Lyla,” You scold her.

“You’re—” the program's gaze darts back to Miguel in an instant, “Miguel, you didn’t.”

Miguel sits there shamefully, like a scolded dog.

“I know we’re not supposed to be doing this anymore,” You come to his defense, slipping your arm into the final sleeve, “It just kind of happened.”

Lyla cock’s her head at you. Was she… confused? Did Lyla get confused? Again, she turns back to Miguel.

“You didn’t tell her?”

An unknown fear pricks at the hairs on your neck, “Tell me what?”

Miguel stands, arms outstretched to console you. His mouth was open and ready with an explanation before he was interrupted again.

“Miguel!” Another voice echoes through the large room as it enters the apartment. Gabe. He pauses at the living room entrance. “Oh no. No no no, Miggy. What is she doing here? Estas loco?!”

“Excuse me?” You start before Miguel comes to your defense.

“She’s here because I chose for her to be here,” He steps in front of you, “She has a right to be here.”

“You’re not God, Miguel,” Gabe marches over, slapping his older brother in the chest. Miguel doesn’t react, “You don’t get to make these decisions. No one does.No puedo creer que estés cometiendo los mismos errores de nuevo. No puedo creer—”

“I’ve told you this is not the same. Ella es diferente,” Miguel bites out, looming over Gabe. The younger brother does not back down.

“Bullshit!”

“Hey!” You finally scream. All eyes in the room snap to you in an instant, some angrier than others. “Someone please… tell me what’s happening.”

You see Gabe’s defenses drop, pinching the bridge of his nose as he takes a step away.

“Jesucristo, Mig.” You hear him mumble into his hand.

Miguel looks back to you, some kind of horrifying desperation pulling at his features. You’re not sure why, but it scares you.

“Arañita… Sit down. I have something to tell you.”

_______

Translations:

Te tengo. Te tengo…: I’ve got you. I’ve got you...

Lo siento, arañita. Lo siento mucho: I’m sorry, little spider. I’m so sorry.

No puedo creer que estés cometiendo los mismos errores de nuevo. No puedo creer– : I can’t believe you’re making the same mistakes again. I can’t believe—

Ella es diferente: She’s different

Jesucristo, Mig: Jesus Christ, Mig

Please please please let me know if any of this is wrong

________

Taglist:

@ineedgarlicbread @pinkiemme @thesilenthill @bontensbabygirl @fallenangelsongwolf @raerorigel @littlefreakymunson @viriexo

@w33ni3 @del-ightfulling

Taglist post here!!!

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x spiderwoman!reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction

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