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mo0nfairy · 9 months

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ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ THIS IS A LIFE, PART TWO !

summary :: in every universe, spiderman will inevitably lose the one thing that matters most to him: y/n l/n. miguel o'hara, peter parker, and hobie brown have all suffered through this story. they soon discover another version of you is alive, bound to fall in love with miles morales and to die abruptly. with the prospect of a second chance and a newfound obsession, these four men will do anything to keep you at their side.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 10.2k

content warnings :: yandere!miguel, yandere!miles, murder/death, gore/blood, stalking, age-gap, non-con touching, drugging, invasion of privacy, force-feeding, mentions of rape/assault, mentions of vomit, hanging, insinuations of suicide, physical restraint, child neglect/abuse, child abandonment, & a lot of gross shit.

miguel o'hara's yandere traits are . . .

smothering, territorial, & paranoid

──── Electricity. It is what Miguel O'Hara lost you to on October 17th, 2099. And it is what he felt on May 16th of the same year.

A soccer coach, that is all you were. Simply there to guide a gaggle of tiny rascals toward their dreams of becoming Olympic athletes. That is all you should have been. Spending your days beneath the sweltering sun, collecting quick money and soccer-ball-induced bruises, before leaving Nueva York to settle down elsewhere. That is what you could have been.

Gabriella O'Hara was one of your many students. However, her dad was rarely present during her games. The lack of fatherly presence struck a parental nerve in your body, hence your perceptible favoritism for her. The efforts you made did not go unnoticed by Gabriella, either.

The time she had preferred tying dandelion stems to one another instead of participating with other classmates, you joined the lonely girl and taught her how to craft flower crowns. Since then, she has always arrived to practice with light in her eyes as she gifts you another flower crown of millions. And of course, you thank her graciously for the present. Even after they wilt and wither, they will forever have a home in your residence.

Today was a particularly gloomy Saturday in late March. The carpool Miguel relied on had been cancelled last minute, much to his dismay. The parent he couldn't remember the name of informed him their child was stricken with a case of chickenpox. After reading their incessant apologies, he groans in a fit of annoyance upon realizing he would have to chauffeur his daughter for the day.

Soccer Ball and weed-ridden flower crown in her small hands, Gabriella clambers into the back of the car and fastens herself into the car seat. In the process, she finds yet another way to bring you into the conversation. Somehow in the span of a few weeks, everything Gabriella does revolves around you in some shape or form. If Miguel hears 'Y/N,' 'flower-crowns,' or 'soccer' once more, he is positive he will implode on the spot. Clenching his jaw, he mentally prepares himself for the most excruciating car ride he is sure he will ever endure.

When they arrive at the field, there is no hug, no kiss, not even a wave of goodbye. Miguel merely lets his daughter exit the vehicle herself, ignores her exclamation of "See you later!" and zooms off. Despite how harrowing her father's negligence is, Gabriella knows she will see you and that fact aids all. If she were honest, she would say she likes you far more than she does her own family. It is tacitly evident through the attention you give her. You lighten up like a Christmas tree when she runs and engulfs your legs in a tight hug. Gleefully, you accept her gift of yet another flower crown and praise her for the effort she put into crafting such. And after being so deprived of the necessity of love, Gabriella practically clings to your side like a parasite.

In the meantime, Miguel returns home and hastily sorts through reports sent in by Alchemax. From technological hiccups to your average-day Karen, being in this field never failed to make this man roll his eyes in annoyance. Despite the admiratio he holds for his career, he still grumbles when his responsibilities creep up on him. And much like everything else in his life, he despises it all.

A monitor then pops up beside him, the translucent screen displaying a reminder he had set hours ago. "May 16th, 2099. Saturday. 3:45 PM. Pick Up Child." His head is thrown back in a fit of irritation when he is reminded of her presence. Miguel closes the tab and leaves the expanse of his office, counting down the days until his daughter blows out her 18 candles and he can finally be at peace.

After the car ride spent pondering over why he had chosen this life, he soon arrives at the soccer field. Scrutinizing through the cluster of children playing in the field, he cannot find Gabriella through the chaos. Miguel does not worry about her well-being, as opposed to how other parents would react to their child being missing. He merely huffs before departing from the vehicle. His large hand tracks through his hair as he searches for where the brat had wandered off to, ignoring the lustful gazes from mothers who were explicitly unhappy in their marriages.

Tucked away in the corner is the first-aid center. Within the bell tent, he spots his daughter. She is blissfully happy as she laughs hysterically, which makes her father red with rage. His talons dig into the meat of his palms; his fangs protrude into his lips. He had already driven all this way for her, how dare she force him to travel even further!? Stomping across the field and through the threshold, his towering frame suddenly halts when he takes notice of the additional presence inside the tent.

And just like that, for the first time in his entire life, the anger simply... vanishes. It is almost like magic. Through tireless efforts, Miguel has done everything in his power to deplete this suffocating rage. All efforts made by him were brought to no fruition. In this moment, however, the mere presence of this stranger brings such a candy-sweet shock to all his senses, that he forgets where his anger was in the first place.

They cast a look over their shoulder to acknowledge his sudden entrance. And their features sit like stars on the expanse of their face, their eyes like the sun and moon basking him in its holy light. A kind smile that could rival the luminescence of heaven grows on their face. Miguel is shocked the sight hadn't caused his knees to lock beneath him. They introduce themselves and if he could write their name on his tongue and only ever speak of them, he wouldn't waste another heartbeat.

Y/N, Y/N, Y/N.

The word sounds like flowers in the wind; like an answered prayer for brighter days. Extending their arm out to shake his hand, Miguel fervently takes their hand into his and shivers from the close, yet minimal, contact.

"So, this is the notorious Y/N I've heard so much about." His voice drops to a low husk, attempting to woo you.

Miguel presses your knuckles to his lips and kisses them with fervid haste. The skin, flesh, and warmth pervading the expanse of his lips make him feel weightless. He doesn't have a romantic bone in his body, but with you now in his life, he'd tear every raw bone from his body and place them at your feet if you so much as asked. Just keep making him feel the way you do.

He then introduces himself and punctuates the syllables with the inflection of his accent, knowing of how it drove others wild. In this case, he was not given the heart-lurching sight of you averting your gaze or listening to your flustered giggles. Instead, you yank your hand away from his affections and revert your attention to Gabriella. Miguel had forgotten she was there altogether, and once again, the permeating rage returned once more.

Without your blessed attention, his lost soul returns to the home it built out of anger and misery. He had so greedily absorbed every sliver of good you possessed, he never fathomed how he would feel when it would be inevitably revoked.

Upon closer inspection, Miguel notices how his daughter's cheeks are puffy with stained tears. On her knees are a clutter of superhero-themed band-aids, a few displaying her father in his work attire. You inform him of the tumble she had taken earlier that day and of how there was nothing to concern himself with, gesturing to the bandages adorning her frail legs. He was never worried in the first place, only captivated by your sheer existence.

You then bend down to where Gabriella is seated on an ottoman and take her tiny hands into yours.

"I was going to wait until later on, but I got a gift that I just have to give you!" Gabriella lightens up as if you had told her you were taking her to Disneyland, anxiously anticipating her present.

Quirking your head, you turn to her father. "If that is alright with you, of course." Yes, anything you want. I will give you everything you could ever want.

A nod of his head and you stand to your feet. That mellifluous voice of yours that Miguel could listen to forever apprises Gabriella to close her eyes, which she obliges to and brings her palms to her face. Grasping hold of the gift hidden in the corner of the tent, you begin to tread toward the young girl. Before you had granted her to, she not-so-sneakily peeks through the expanse of her fingers. She can't abstain from squealing in excitement when she catches sight of what is in your palms. She closes the distance between you both and rushes to you, before practically yanking the gift out of your grasp. A harsh scolding bridges upon Miguel's lips for the action. However, when he takes notice of the admiration in your expression, he is rendered speechless with sudden envy.

A flower crown is what you had given her. The detail is exquisite, evident in the sheer awe plastered upon Gabriella's face as she studies it. Strawflower, lavender, eucalyptus, and daisies adorn the garment, as well as strands of amaranth that would cascade down her back. In addition to this, a myriad of other ornamentations clung to the crown. Vibrant gemstones, pastel buttons, and a pink, silken ribbon that ties the crown together in a flawless bow — it is a tiara befitting the most beautiful of princesses. And you told Gabriella she fit that standard effortlessly.

Meanwhile, Miguel stands in the background and seethes. How despairingly he wishes the gift were for him instead. In any other light, he'd say the garment was tacky. Ugly, even. He would have no resourceful use for it, either, and it would inevitably be chucked into the garbage. When it is you who put all care and detail into the gift, however, the story changes. Mere seconds have gone by since he has learned your name and still, he'd flaunt that crown for the rest of his life if you had gifted it to him. No matter the judging heaps of laughter he'd receive from others.

Gabriella thanks you profusely and engulfs your legs in another hug. Her gratitude is met with a reciprocated squeeze, as well. The act of affection is given to one another entirely oblivious to the third party overwhelmed with jealousy. His thick brows are plastered in a permanent furrow and his lips have morphed into an envious sneer. You are so effortlessly good with children and Miguel can't refrain his brain from catapulting to conclusions.

What does your life look like outside of being his daughter's favorite person? Do you have children of your own?

Is there someone else?

You and Gabriella then perform your secret handshake. It had been choreographed during one of the numerous soccer meets after her father neglected to collect his daughter on time. Soon, the two are leaving the tent. And every step away from you feels like walking on hot stones. The further Miguel treads, the scorching temperatures increase. He cannot look back. One glance and he'd be barreling for the poor tent like some rabid animal, desperate for another taste of your bottled happiness.

May 16th had only been the beginning of the Miguel-ridden chaos that would soon embark into your life.

Considering his negligence, you were stunned to see how he had signed his daughter up for several classes a week. But, you become entirely aghast with shock when you find him attending every meeting and game, remaining in the same spot for the entire course. Most parents twiddle on their phones while others mingle with the other adults. Miguel O'Hara was different. His sole, undivided attention was reserved for the actions taken on the field. And his sweet child could not have been more elated.

You presumed this alter in behavior to be a spark of realization that manifested into becoming a better parent. However, as the weeks go by and he continues to attend, you are quick to realize how his attention isn't appointed to his daughter, but it is set on you instead.

It is impossible for you to disinter what about yourself he finds so entertaining. With his eyes glued to you, it fills you with a sense of insecurity when you assume he may be mocking or judging you. The seemingly permanent dead emotion cast on his face makes you squirm with discomfort.

Upon closer inspection, or during the constant chatter he provokes when you're not occupied with the children, you swear the pupils of his eye almost appear... heart-shaped? You also cannot remember a time when he looked you directly in the eye, either. You're sure if you asked him what your eye color is, he'd be dumbfounded (he knows the exact shade by HTML color code, but that fact remains unknown to you). They are locked onto your lips, instead. Do you have something on your face? Maybe something in your teeth? The lack of emotion he communicates through facial expressions has you ridden with worry.

The most evident response you've been able to perceive in his expression was on a random day after practice. In the midst of a conversation with Miguel, another father interrupts him. His face morphs into something murderous when the unwelcome guest has the audacity to ask for your number. He claims it is to inquire you about his son's performance while he is not physically present in the game. With the way his eyes leer to your body, Miguel knows exactly what kind of revolting, perverted visions are plaguing his mind.

Clenched jaw, tense frown, eyes blown wide — Miguel’s chest rises and falls with rapid breaths while he glares bullets into the man. It takes everything within him to not release his talons, flash his fangs, and rip this pervert into nothing but a bloodied mess of gore on this very soccer field.

He is dead by dawn.

Exposed to several counts of rape and assault, Spider-Man hanged that man with his red web-matter beneath a bridge. His written confession was pinned to his chest with a hunting knife.

The disturbing events led his wife to officially resign her son from your practice. On live television, the widow swears on her life that her husband would not do such a thing. The sudden exposure of random crimes without any victims or proof does seem a tad suspicious, you think to yourself. Due to the circumstances, however, you cancel soccer meetups for the following several weeks so parents and children can process these disturbing events.

While you are typing another empathetic message to the apparent-criminal’s wife, another message pings on your device.

The culprit is no other than Miguel O'Hara. As if the news that had spread amongst the city like wildfire had chosen to leave him intact.

As if nothing happened.

Miguel invites you to an ice cream parlor with him and Gabriella, a weird undertone that implies it's a date while his daughter is the annoying third wheel. To get your mind off the poor boy whose father was brutally murdered, you agree to the rendezvous. His response is far too ecstatic to be deemed platonic, but much like all of his other flirtatious insinuations, you ignore it. You are juggling much more important, colossal matters in your life, after all.

Early afternoon rolls around and you arrive a mere five minutes early to the parlor, only to find the two were already seated beneath a pastel-striped umbrella. Gabriella is adorned in the flower crown you gifted her weeks ago, babbling about frivolous matters while her father sits beside her. Chin rested against his palm, you have never seen a more bored expression on a human's face.

Double-checking the clock to ensure Miguel's apathy wasn't a result of your poor planning, you're relieved to see your suspicions were false. You briefly scroll through the new messages on your phone from parents and neighbors regarding their children. As much as you adore your job, juggling the well-being of so many lives can be exhausting.

The click of your car door opening cuts your actions short. Looking at the sudden intrusion, you find Miguel O'Hara towering over you with Gabriella at his side. Her eyes beam beneath the flower crown you crafted, while her father perceptibly softens at the sight of you. Almost as if a tidal wave of relief washed over him after years spent breathing in trepidation. Not wasting another second, Gabriella crawls into the car and engulfs you in a hug. You are able to reciprocate the affection before her father pulls her away from what's his you. He is rather rough with her, but the smile that paints her face aids the dread inside of you.

Miguel lends a hand, which you take with reluctance. He guides you from your beat-up, engine-sputtering vehicle as if you were royalty. Your other hand was now held hostage by Gabriella, who attempts to conquer her father's strength and guide you to where they were once seated. Her efforts are futile when you are yanked into Miguel's sudden embrace. He was never shy with his affections, but this is the first time he was so close to you. And God, is it overwhelming. His imposing frame envelops every inch of you, to where all your senses are deluged in all of him. His cologne, his muscles, his warmth — he is everywhere and it is wholly suffocating.

"I missed you so much..." A beat passes before you realize he is referring to the mere week you have spent without seeing the O'Hara family.

Slowly and painstakingly, he releases you from his tenacious hold. Gabriella is then swift to fill the silence. She grasps your attention easily, something her father has struggled immensely with.

She pantomimes about the fashion show she hosted for her dolls back home and the success she earned during her P.E. class a few days prior. So indulged in the stories of this poor, attention-deprived child, you failed to notice how your hand was still held in Miguel's grasp. His lips find your knuckles, as they always do. The sensation of his kiss against you was nothing out of the blue. The act of affection had become a strange routine for every encounter you both shared. Without your resistance, Miguel fully indulges himself in how much he has missed you and plants more long, abiding kisses to your hand.

When you finally perceive his actions, you swiftly yank your hand away from his relentless affections. An awkward, forced smile sits on your face as you look at him with furrowed brows, seemingly scrutinizing him for some sort of explanation of his actions. Gabriella then pulls you away and drags you like a dog to their reserved table. Not without a sharp demand from her father to be careful with you.

On the surface, you find a colossal bowl of your favorite ice cream. The question lurks of how they had known this fact, but you merely brush it off as dropping the information to Gabriella a while ago. Besides the treat, a bouquet of paper flowers scribbled with bright-hued markers sits. She expresses how she crafted it for you during her time in school. Students were given art equipment and assigned to create a heartfelt gift for their parents. In the brain of Gabriella, she neglected her actual parent and put all her love into creating something perfect for you. And to you, it was all of that and more.

The three of you sit. You thank the young girl for the beautiful gift. Then, you pretend to inhale the scent of fresh flowers and jokingly compliment her on how she picked the finest posy from her garden. Before you can continue to pantomime about the process she went through to craft the bouquet, her father interrupts her. He proposes a gift he has gotten for you, as well.

A box is then placed before you. It is enveloped in vermillion velvet and silver tracings of 'Cartier' are threaded among the sides. You restrain from expressing your shock at the expensive appearance. Flicking the small latch that probably costs more than your bedroom alone, you gently clutch the two adjacent covers and open the box.

Sat inside is a diamond ring. The way the July sun reflects against the gift and into your eyes is harsh. You're shocked you hadn't gone blind from the unwelcome pervasion. The intricacies of the garment are delicate and precious, to where you are afraid of even putting your hands on such finery. You become entirely ridden with shock and terror when you grasp the thin thread attached to the box and read the price tag.

$2,000,000 is written in bold letters, almost as if the striking font was ridiculing you.

As heard through the fits of gossip from bored parents during practice, you were aware Miguel was a billionaire working at Alchemax. In these past few weeks spent handling nagging parents worried for their children's safety, the fact seems to have escaped your brain. And even with receipts that look like phone numbers, you still cannot fathom how pure diamonds are mere pocket change to him.

Jaw on the ground, you don't realize just how much time you spent gawking at the ring. A hum of amused, affectionate laughter clutches you away from your state of captivation. You shift your gaze away to see Miguel and those all-too-familiar heart-shaped pupils. Staring into your soul. It is the most emotion you have seen on his face since you met him. You wonder how many times he has looked at you like that when you were occupied with other matters.

He moves closer to you. You stalk his movements with curiosity, watching as he grasps your hand for the zillionth time since you met him. Uncomfortably pressing himself against you, Miguel reaches over your shoulder and grasps the ring. He evidently indulges in every second spent in close proximity with you. The hot, heavy breath fanning against your ear informs you of what captivated chaos is taking place inside his brain. Goosebumps bloom on your skin when the frigid diamonds meet the flesh of your ring finger. He assumes the sudden shiver engrossing your body is due to his closeness and he does little to hide his perceptible excitement.

You loving him nearly as much as he loves you — that is all he could ever want.

You lightly tread your digits among the ring, almost afraid to dirty the expensive jewelry with your mere touch. You stutter through an attempt at thanking Miguel for the gift. And your awe mending with your gratitude has his heart lurching in his chest. God, you are just so sweet. He is surprised his teeth haven't all rotted just from standing here in your presence.

Gabriella is in a similar state to you, as well. Any child in the presence of jewelry meant to be worn by a deity would react in a similar manner. Though, her childlike wonder fogs all the polite manners she prided herself in having. Her small fingers reach to touch the diamonds, but her efforts are halted a mere picosecond after they had begun.

Miguel snaps his fingers. That is all he does. Gabriella freezes at the sound, turning her attention to her father, and then cowering like a scolded puppy. She scoots away from you, abandoning her endeavors the second his fingers meet his palm. You fear what occurs beneath the roof of their home when there are no prying eyes there to witness anything.

A sultry whisper of "you look perfect" in your ear and the state of discomfort you were in only intensifies. Miguel's finger drags from your left shoulder blade to the other as he begrudgingly moves away from you, returning to his original seat.

Nearly incoherent blabbers of the ring being too much money tumble from your lips as you try and rid yourself of the diamonds. However, no matter how tireless your efforts are, the ring almost seems locked around your finger. A gentle tap to your elbow from Miguel beside you and you halt your efforts. You've heard he is quite scary when angry, after all.

With melted ice cream left on the table and diamonds superglued to your finger, you come to the conclusion that leaving your house today was probably a mistake.

When you do return home, however, you now realize you should have seen the blatant red flags long ago and left Miguel in your shadow. Your incessant assurances of how he just has an odd way of expressing kindness halted you from accepting the truth.

Standing before your bathroom mirror, a myriad of cleaning products from beneath the sink sit before you. Your laptop sits there, too, and displays countless YouTube videos adhering to removing a tight ring. Attempting to unravel the glimmering, red knot tying the ring to your hand, the revelation of Miguel's intentions finally begins to settle. These matters are so important, that you don't even acknowledge how the vermillion string looks oddly familiar to what you see the city's superhero using to travel.

Deep within your thoughts, the sharp vibration of a text message startles you out of your inner turmoil. A hologram expands from your phone left against the bathroom countertop. Lo and behold, no other than Miguel O'Hara has messaged you. He thanks you for joining him earlier (avoiding mentioning how his daughter was there, too). He slides an additional compliment of how diamonds look stunning on you. You're glad the toilet is so close to you, as you may need to vomit from the rotten sweetness of his words.

Instead of replying, as you would normally thank him for his kindness, you ignore his message. You are far more interested in trying to rid your hand of this ring without harming the accessory and washing his $2,000,000 down the drain.

With fruitless efforts and exhausted arms, you slouch against the bathroom wall and wave a white flag. You decide to succumb to the stubborn ring's desires and move on with your nightly routine. Instead of having your usual shower, however, you run a bath instead to avoid harming these damned diamonds. It is almost comical to lay in these bubbles completely nude while still wearing this single piece of jewelry. You wonder how Miguel would react to seeing you like this, physically scowling at the lust-ridden response you know he would have.

Speak of the devil, another message from him chimes on your phone. The hologram expands from its spot on the counter, once more. He inquires why you haven't responded to him, as if you would drop everything just to converse with him. He would do the same for you in a heartbeat, but that fact remains unknown to you.

A mere minute passes before an onslaught of messages begins to pour into the room. The rapid ding! of your phone causes you to clench your teeth with fervent irritation. You groan before abruptly escaping the warm embrace of bathwater to grasp your phone. Ignoring all incessant begs for your attention, you put your phone on mute and savor the tranquility that follows. You also overlook the mentions of "not being able to see you" and "his cameras disconnecting" in favor of returning to your peaceful bath.

Your state of relaxation is short-lived, much to your dismay. Not even several minutes later the tumultuous sound of fists banging on your front door permeates. The sudden intrusion of noise sends a shock of terror into your heart. Due to recent events, you fear the crime that has spread throughout Nueva York is now standing outside your home. Could it be someone begging for help? Or could it be someone eager to take your life? Swiftly ensnaring a robe around your body, you hastily tie the knot as you rush to identify the one responsible for the clamor.

Another groan of vexation escapes your throat when you see Miguel at your doorstep through the peephole. The fear simmers but returns when you can't piece together how on Earth he knew where you lived. You hesitate to open the door, but it isn't like you have much of a choice in that matter.

The door creaks open. And the reaction Miguel has seeing you in a robe and his diamonds is more than perceptible. Almost as if whatever excuse he conjured up for being at your home at this hour had been snagged from his brain. His eyes travel from your head to your toes, then back upwards, before reality slaps him across the face and forces him out of wonderland. The fear pumping through his body depleted the second Miguel saw you, to where nothing but a hot canopy of tranquility embraced him. The confused, puppy-like expression on your face, the thin robe protecting you from exposure, and his precious diamonds on your hand — nothing about this sight could save him from the tsunami of devotion that has swallowed him whole.

His arms are around you faster than you could think. And he just melts.

You meekly attempt to escape his tenacious hold, but your efforts are never brought to fruition. With his large hands clasped onto your body and his face nuzzled into your neck, escaping this man and his smothering love was a mere pipe dream.

If the emotions coursing through Miguel in this moment had somehow become a physical matter, he would care for it like he would a newborn baby. Tend to its every need, soothe it when it fusses, give away every ounce of love his heart can possibly accommodate. It contradicts his current performance as an actual parent, but all of his soul was reserved for you, after all.

"I can't live without you." It has only been several hours since you last saw him. Why is he acting like this?

Your efforts to escape accelerate when the razor-like point of his teeth poke against your neck. A harsh shriek then emerges from you when fangs protrude into your flesh. Something unfamiliar pumps through your system with rapid speed. It courses through your body and envelops every inch with profuse lethargy. The exhaustion satiates everything. It is all you can perceive. You slump against Miguel's toned physique like a wet noodle, to where he fully supports your weight with adoring fervor. Whispers of praise and gentle proclamations of love are the last thing you perceive before you drift off.

The dizzy sight of blurred city lights and bedsheets is what you see next. No Miguel, no bathrobes, no ensnaring embraces. Just you and your warped, distorted vision. You attempt to pull your head forward, only for gravity to fail you when you loll back onto the puffy pillows. When your hazy vision fades into something more distinct, you are finally able to discern some of your physical surroundings.

A bedroom that certainly does not belong to you is what you are met with. It is luxurious. Expensive. Lush. An incredible contrast to the small, decrepit bungalow you called home. The tall windows display the remarkable city from its highest point. The gentle, red-hued lamplight frames the late-night clouds drifting about and the planes soaring through the sky. You are laid against a circle-framed bed where several exorbitant comforters are draped around you. The robe you were adorned in hours ago was gone, too. Now, you are dressed in a high-quality, silken pajama set you do not recognize.

Your head relentlessly aches as you attempt to study the entire scene before you. The sensation is alike someone slamming a hammer into your brain. You bring your hand to your temple in a feeble attempt at easing the ache, but the freezing touch of the diamonds on your finger make you hiss from the stimulation. It channels a groan from your throat. The sound you make is simultaneously met with the distorted echo of a stranger's cooing. They purr out whispers of comfort and love, failing miserably in mending the fear stirring within you.

"Oh, button… You have no idea how long I have wanted this." Miguel fucking O'Hara. That revolting, candy-sweet voice belongs to no other than Miguel O'Hara.

He towers over you, as he always does. Dread tickles your bones and dances among the goosebumps trailing your flesh. Questions swarm within your brain as you attempt to scrutinize what you could have done to anger this man. You've heard through the grapevine how catastrophic his fury is, after all.

Contrary to popular belief, however, Miguel is not the flaming ball of rage he appears to be. Well, he at least isn't like that with you. Everyone else has clear evidence of the absolute rabid dog this man can be. It is evident in his greedy, adoring hands that have been stained red more times than he can count. It is evident in the warm pool of his brown irises that only appear blood-hued when you are not around. It is evident in absolutely everything he does.

This fact doesn't change at this moment, either. With the speed of a predator stalking prey, Miguel steadily climbs onto the bed and straddles you. You can only lay paralyzed and stare at the man above you in trepidation. With frail efforts, you are able to garner a sliver of mobility when you attempt to push him off. He resorts to grasping hold of your wrists and pinning them beside your head. So much for that plan. His abnormally sharp nails dig into your flesh; his nose pokes the bridge of yours when he bends down. His breath fans against your face and the familiar sight of his heart-shaped pupils is now overwhelming. Once again, his eyes are glued onto the one place they always seem to be: your lips. You can practically taste the need exuding from him.

A hologram then appears in front of his face. A monotone, robotic voice emanates into the silent room. "Your heart rate is 110 BPM. This has alarmingly exceeded your average BPM. If you are in danger, please press-"

The anger you heard rumors of fills him to the brim. Something daring to refrain him from drowning you in his love is equivalent to ordering a one-way ticket into the depths of Hell. A grunt and curse emerge from him. With a rushed flick of his finger, the hologram disappears as quickly as it came.

And without another second to perceive his actions, his lips are on yours. It is an almost god-like fervor he possesses. Your relentless struggling flies over the head of the absolute beast on top of you. It is instead met with the sharp prick you felt the night before on your lips. The same sensations flood through your veins, once again. This time, however, you are still able to regain consciousness and the small dosage succeeds in immobilizing your body. Now, you are entirely susceptible to whatever your kidnapper intends to have you endure.

Meanwhile, Miguel is utterly convinced he has left Earth and is now resting on Cloud-Nine. The unadulterated affection and sheer giddiness derived from your kiss bubble in his chest like a fizzy, sugar-ridden soda. He even considers he had somehow gotten drunk on the beverage, even though there is no physical indication of the beverage even existing. The way his heart batters like a savage animal locked in a cage is enough evidence to convince him otherwise, though. This kiss was only done to debilitate you, yes, but he would be a fool if he believed he could hold himself back from indulging in this moment.

Forehead pressed against yours, he speaks with breathless tremor. "I..." He gulps, "I got you another gift, button."

Once Miguel deems himself satisfied, he laps up the drops of blood that cascade from your lips with bone-chilling glee. Reluctantly, he withdraws from the close contact. His attention then begrudgingly drifts from you and to something on the bedside table. You are unable to turn your head and identify his actions, you can only lay on this bed in complete, paralyzed submission.

In his hands is a bowl of your favorite ice cream. "You never finished your bowl at the parlor. Remember?" You are still unsure of where he learned this was your preferred flavor.

When you expect him to bring the plastic, pastel-pink spoon to your lips, he does the opposite. Instead, he feeds himself a spoonful of the ice cream. Then, much to your horror, he presses his thumb to your chin and indulges in another kiss. His tongue slithers into your mouth, to where he coerces you to consume the sugary substance directly from him. Like a fucking mother bird. Your moans of discomfort are mistaken for sounds of pleasure. The noise elicits a muffled grunt from Miguel that vibrates against your lips. After all, the guttural groans protruding from him are enough to inform you he is enjoying this far more than you are.

"You can't just walk into my life, take my heart, then try and leave." Another quick, yet deep, kiss is forced upon you before he continues. "I won't let you. I can’t let you…”

A mess of ice cream, saliva, and stained blood paint your abused lips. Miguel backs away from your mouth and the separation provides you ephemeral comfort. For the umpteenth time, he hastily scoops another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth and fervently forces it into yours. It is absolute torture.

Any attempt at pushing this monster away from you and puking out any trace of him left in you was entirely fruitless. The spongy muscle of his tongue continues to explore your mouth with more heaps of ice cream. Miguel kisses, slurps, and guzzles all remnants of you he can garner. You wonder if he had bought the entire parlor with how much ice cream he appeared to have.

"I love you too fucking much..." All you can do is let him relish in the euphoria he feels upon his actions and pray to God that it will end soon.

This is what life looked like for the following months. Miguel forcing his love onto you the way he forced ice cream down your throat.

And it is what life looked like when he lost you. Miguel forcing the universe to adhere to his needs the way he forced you into being his lover.

October 17th. It was all his fault.

He remembers the day the same way he will never forget you. It was a frigid Saturday morning. Miguel dropped Gabriella off at school for soccer practice, not bothering to wave or kiss his daughter goodbye, once again. Instead, he leaves quickly to purchase an expensive necklace and another order of your favorite ice cream to surprise you. Diamonds and sugar are the best way to someone's heart, right?

The ice cream falls from his hands and splats against the ground when he finds you. The diamonds are now chipped and dented from falling onto the hardwood floors. His breath is lodged in his chest as if his lungs had been crushed beneath the weight of the sight that stood before him. His eyes are blown wide in confused horror as if the mere action of blinking would kill him in his stance.

You lay on the floor of his office.

Lifeless. Cold. Dead.

The vibrant spider webs he used to tie the ring to your hand had conducted an electric flow from the watch he had been working on and into your body.

The electricity you made him feel was now the reason you were dead.

However, Miguel refuses to see this. He brings your body into his embrace, choosing to ignore the lack of reciprocation and silent pulse. You are just asleep, you are just asleep, you are just asleep. Tears overwhelm his vision, hiccups penetrate his chest, and unruly sobs fill the air. Still, he clings to you and persists in what he is desperate to believe as the truth. You are just asleep. You're always so sleepy, it is just too adorable! Maybe some ice cream will wake you up. Right? Right...?

Incessant demands to open your eyes fill the air, which soon turns into a series of relentless, incoherent pleads. Miguel webs the battered necklace and spilled ice cream into his hands. He ensnares the jewelry around your neck, a choked compliment of how beautiful you look barely able to escape through unruly sobs. His trembling hands then bring a spoonful of your favorite ice cream to your lips, ushering you to open your mouth and let him feed you. The tears staining his vision make it hard to see what he is doing. He loses the mobility of the spoon, to where it then clatters against the ground.

Large hands then cling to your face as he forcefully shakes you and calls out your name.

"WAKE UP! Y/N, WAKE UP!" The desperate, thunderous roar could have torn the world asunder with its violent force. It surely would have woken you up, had you been alive. Miguel knows this and it destroys him.

Miguel grasps the watch on top of the desk, you still in his arms. The desire to absolutely destroy the very thing that took you from him was almost feral. When he thought of the intentions he originally had upon creating the machine, however, he sought against it. Clicking the metal walls back into place, he taps a few buttons in the correct order. The room is then adorned in neon colors that frame a pitch-black portal. From here, Miguel stands to his feet with you in his arms and ventures through.

He abandons his daughter, abandons his life, abandons everything.

When he first learned of the existence of the Multiverse through his job at Alchemax, he fantasized about creating the perfect world where you and him can be together. He crafted it from scratch, but it still needed a few more knots tightened and screws fastened before he could have given it to you. Blinding sunshine and vibrant blue skies; healthy green grass and a single house on a hill. The clouds drifting in the sky resemble a myriad of different shapes, where Miguel had hoped you and him could do cloud-gazing with one another. The flowers planted in the soil all contrast in variety and color, where Miguel had hoped you could make him a personal flower crown like you did for his daughter. And of course, an invisible force surrounds the small plot of land to ensure you won't go wandering.

Where it can be just you and him. Where you can never escape his love. Where you can be happy together.

Things are much different now. He was too late. Miguel can only stand here with your lifeless body in his arms, surrounded by the clean home he intended on spending forever in. The satiating grief had turned into desolate numbness. He doesn’t waste another second before taking action. Laying your body into the bed you two were intended to share, he assures himself you are just taking an afternoon nap. Then, he begins to forage the home for something, anything, that will wake you from your slumber. Like sleeping beauty, he desperately muses to himself.

Within several weeks, your poor body had been strapped to the bed with numerous tubes and IVs protruding into your body. Miguel stands by a desk, a myriad of holograms displaying information that would be incomprehensible to even the smartest of people. Eye bags sit heavy on his face from restless nights; his eyes are swollen and red from the lack of sleep.

He doesn't care if he has to kill every person in the Multiverse, endure the most gut-wrenching pain known to man, or even sell his soul to the devil himself. He will do anything to see you open your eyes again. Even if it is just to slap him across the face or to scream at him for taking you from your old life, he still needs it. You'd be home. And that is all Miguel could ever want.

However, he was so occupied in doing everything within his power to bring you back to him, that he hadn't realized just how uneducated he was about the Multiverse. When he wakes up after falling asleep at his desk to the strange sound of something sizzling, he looks and finds the furniture around the room begin to glitch. Almost as if he was living in a simulation. The closer the malfunctions accelerate to you, the quicker he is to take every device plunged into your body and bring you into his arms.

The foundations of the home vibrate beneath his feet, and he then sprints from the bedroom and down the stairs. A violent crash echoes from behind him when he finally escapes through the front door. He doesn't dare to look behind him, he only holds your body closer to him and sprints forward.

A few taps to his watch and a portal unfolds just several yards from him. When he was a mere footstep from escaping with you, the force of the destruction snatched you from his embrace. He tries to fight against the energy pulling him into the gateway he summoned and practically flails his body around like a dying insect. His desperate efforts to retrieve you are of no use when his strength is overpowered by his own machine. Inevitably, he falls into the portal.

A harsh cry of "NO!" flees from his mouth before he finds himself back in Nueva York. Alone.

The world Miguel had put his blood, sweat, and tears into creating had crumbled right before his eyes. And right in the middle of the mess is where the only thing he has ever loved is.

As the story of all Spider-People goes, Miguel uses every bit of energy derived from his grief. He, however, does not use it for the sake of others or to ensure no one ever feels the pain of losing a loved one. Instead, he vows to study more of the Multiverse and create technology that can bring your body back to him. He was so close to waking you up! He just needed a little more time!

During his endeavors, he soon meets Jessica Drew, and all delusions he claimed to be the truth shattered like glass onto concrete. Here, Miguel learns of the "Y/N-Curse," as she so called it. How every Spider-Person is destined to fall hopelessly in love with a version of Y/N, only to lose them in the end. She tells him of how she was in love with her own version of them, too, during her teenage years, which made Miguel spark with territorial rage. After beating around the push for too long, what she tells him causes his entire body to go rigid with shock.

Everyone was so used to the stoic, cold, terrifying Miguel O'Hara. Only Jessica Drew had seen that exterior disintegrate when he learned your body had been destroyed and it was impossible to retrieve you. His absolute worst nightmare had manifested into reality and nothing could ever conquer the amount of pain he feels now.

You are gone.

Forever.

If it wasn't for Jessica's high-speed, spider-induced senses, Miguel would have succeeded in killing her and then himself right in that moment.

From here, he agreed to Jessica's inquiries about starting a society of Spider-People all across the Multiverse. If not for others, then for you. Even if it is not the same Y/N from his reality, any version of you does not deserve to suffer. Still, to live every day watching millions of versions of you die through the numerous holograms sat on his desk tortures him in ways he cannot fathom. It is killing him, but when it is for you, he will do absolutely anything.

He will find a way to stop this curse. Even if it is the last thing he ever does.

With that, your life was over. May 16th, 2099 — the day Miguel O'Hara met the only thing that ever mattered to him. And October 17th, 2099 — the day Miguel O'Hara inevitably lost them.

A year has now passed since Miguel lost you and your story on Earth-1610 has kicked into full gear.

March 30th, 2023. Roughly a month has passed since you began these tutoring sessions. One hour every Tuesday and Thursday. That is all it was; that was all it was supposed to be.

Within the short expanse of 18 years, Miles Morales has never felt such exhilaration then when he is with you. Life has exploded in various hues of rapture, enchantment, and those all-too-familiar sensations of goosebumps blooming across his skin. When he miscalculates an equation on purpose to hear your euphonious voice correct him; when he feigns frustration to feel the warmth of your comfort and reassurance — oh, there is nothing that could ever equate to these newfound emotions. These two hours a week have become the highlight of his life and will forever remain so, he is sure of it.

3:27 PM flickers in neon green on Miles' wristwatch. 33 minutes until he gets to reunite with you. The love of his life, his soon-to-be spouse, the future parent of his beautiful children. It is impossible to contain the effervescent excitement as he sits here atop the numerous pillars adorning the Brooklyn Bridge.

A sketchbook sits in his hand, a technical pen in the other. Only several more empty pages are available, as the other ones have all been painted with your face. More sketchbooks contained with similar drawings are hidden in his bedroom back home. The amount of money his mother has spent on sketchbooks this month has become alarming. Rio is starting to edge over suspicion when his excuses of "I lost it" and "I spilled water on it" have been wrung dry.

And the drawings on these pages are a picture-perfect definition of lovesick. Sketches of what you would wear on your wedding day, illustrations of you and him on adorable dates, and of course, the alarmingly accurate depictions of you. Every detail of your form has become muscle memory now; every feature and "blemish" of yours is imprinted in Miles' brain. His foot taps with anticipation against the stone surface. Oh, he cannot wait to see you again.

Hastily, he shoves the art equipment into his cluttered backpack. A silver web sprouts from his wrist when he jumps from the skyscraper-high pillar. He soars through the city and hums to one of the numerous love songs on his playlist dedicated to you. Swinging past several graffiti pieces he's made of your face and ignoring a poor woman whose purse was being stolen, Miles soon makes it through his bedroom window.

At record speed, he rids himself of his sweaty suit and dresses himself in the best articles of clothing from his closet. A pair of jeans he hadn't doodled on, a Brooklyn Nets jersey over a white tee, and a pair of freshly-bought Air Jordans. For a final touch, a spritz of cologne he stole borrowed from a Tom Ford store. He would wear a tailored suit, but his request to have such was rejected by his parents. You needed to see how serious he was about you. After all, who knows how many others are in line to snag your heart? Miles' body erupts with chills at the mere thought.

Patching up the final efforts of his outfit in the mirror, he hears the front door creak open and the elated tone of his mother escapes through the thin walls. Then, there is your voice. And in our entire universe, there is absolutely nothing that can compare to the sheer music of your voice. He takes a deep breath to eradicate the black dots dancing in his vision, before finally leaving his bedroom. When he turns the corner and makes eye contact with you, the sweet shock it brings to his senses is almost enough to make him collapse onto the kitchen tile.

"Hey, Miles." He certainly would not mind waking up to that every day.

"Y-Y/N! It's good to see you! No, great, actually. It-It's great to see you! I'm happy you're here... Very happy, heh..." The fact he is able to muster a single syllable in your presence is nothing short of a miracle.

A mere 20 minutes has now passed since you have entered the Morales residence. You and Miles are sat at the dining room table, surrounded by a mess of highlighters, study guides, and practice quizzes. And this boy could win an Oscar with how well he plays dumb. Miscalculating equations, picking wrong answers, and misspelling simple words. With the few questions he purposely answers correctly, every "Nice job!" and "You got it!" has him staring at you as if he had looked into the night sky for the very first time. Oh, the sight of your sunlit smile and the sound of your mellifluous voice are seconds away from making him melt into a puddle.

Rio then enters the room with her phone in hand, much to Miles' dismay. As he is about to groan at her presence and demand through clenched teeth for her to leave, she then speaks.

"Y/N/N! Your boyfriend's on the phone! He said he had some trouble getting a hold of you." A knowing smirk is sat on her lips. However, there is also a gleam of disappointment over the fact she couldn't have someone as amazing as you join the Morales family.

With zero romance in your work-induced life, you are puzzled upon receiving this information. However, you then playfully roll your eyes, assuming it was a friend of yours playing a stupid prank. This action, however, told Miles all that he needed to know. The person on the other line has been granted the absolute privilege of calling you theirs.

And his world shatters.

With a "Thank you, Mrs. Morales," you take the phone and leave to the other room. Unbeknownst to you, you leave behind a downhearted mother and a devastated boy trying desperately to gather the pieces of his broken heart. His agony is almost palpable, which Eio takes notice of immediately. She places a comforting hand on his shoulder. She then informs him that there will be so many other fish in the sea the young boy will meet in his life, but she is oblivious to the weight of her son's devotion.

There is no one after you; there is nothing if it can't be you.

Meanwhile, you sing out an amused "hellooooo?" into the phone's speaker. You say your friend's name, exclaiming of how you know this is them and that this stunt they pulled against the infatuated student you tutor was cruel.

You wait for their witty response, to where there is none. All you can hear is the sound of someone's trembling breaths. You say their name in question a few more times, inquiring if the creepy mood was just another silly joke. When all you are met with is sheer silence accompanied by heavy breathing, you bid your friend an annoyed goodbye and end the call.

When you return to the dining room, you are muddled to find there is no one there. Before you are able to call out anyone's name in question, a loud and sharp bang! shakes the entire house. You can hear Rio's muffled voice through the walls. Although you are unable to discern her speech, the perceptible worry in her tone shakes you to your core. What has happened while you were gone? You follow the sounds, only to find her at Miles' bedroom, begging him to unlock the door and let her in. Within said bedroom, it sounds as though a tornado had formed within the small expanse and was destroying anything within its path.

Rio sees you in her peripheral and is swift with taking her phone back, ignoring your worried inquiries, and guiding you back to the dining room. A forced smile is planted on her face as she advises you to pack your things since Miles has suddenly "fallen sick." She begins to pack your things for you and of course, you aid her in these efforts, but she is far more frantic than you are. She slaps several dollar bills in your hand and when you try to inform her this was triple the pay she is meant to give you, your efforts fall on deaf ears. Rio then puts your backpack on you as if you were her child on your first day of Kindergarten.

With a gentle hand on your back, she leads you out the door. On the way, she gives you thanks and apologizes profusely for the unexpected trouble. Before you can reply, the door is slammed in your face. You are left in the dark expanse of the hallway, wondering what on Earth had just occurred. As much as you wish to help, you know there is nothing you can do at this current moment. You consider sending them a gift basket later on to aid Miles through his unexpected "sickness," before returning home as Rio advised you to.

You leave, blissfully unaware of what events are taking place within the Morales household.

When you had left to take the phone call, that is when disaster struck. With tears seeping down his cheeks, Miles abruptly stood from the dining room and stormed off to his room, his mother close behind. He slammed the door shut, locking it before proceeding to take out every sliver of emotion within his body on whatever helpless matter sat closest to him.

Miles' room became a complete disaster within the matter of seconds.

Action figures have been dismembered, posters are torn down, and art equipment has been destroyed. The dents in the wall from what he has thrown about are accompanied by the fist-shaped hole he left in the wall. A window has been shattered, his bed has been upturned, and his desk has been split in half. All emotions barreling through his body wreaked havoc on anything within his path.

His clenched fists form moon-crescent shapes into his palm; his chest rises and falls rapidly with infuriated breaths. His entire body is shaking with misery, rage, and horror. He feels everything at once and it is destroying him. The sobs being pulled from his chest feel like knife wounds through his heart. The tears falling from his cheeks paint his shirt wet and stain his hands from consistently attempting to wipe them away.

How could he not have known?

Through bleary vision, he glances at the door of his closet which has suffered immensely from his havoc, with violent indents and chunks of wood protruding out. Miles then drags his exhausted body across the room.

He enters the closet and locks the door behind him.

How could he not have known?

Just outside all of this destruction, you walk through the bristling streets of Brooklyn. A sharp chill sits on the back of your neck, almost as if someone was hot on your tail. It has you whipping around to verify no sudden danger was there to welcome you to your demise. Usually, walks through the city are calming to you. Tonight, for whatever reason, was different. You excuse it as still feeling perturbed from what had happened moments before with Miles, but the sensation still lingers.

Swinging from building to building behind you is Miguel O'Hara.

He had sat on the top of a neighboring building with a 2023-modeled phone in his hand. Hearing your voice, after a full year of being without the euphonious melody, had his heart halting in his chest. Even after you ended the call, he still sat there. Flabbergasted. Stunned. Euphoric.

The plan he conjured up was swift and flawed. Anyone in their right mind would be devastated to hear your heart belonged to another. Especially Miles Morales. Acknowledging this, he ushered the boy into a full mental breakdown right before you. The sight would surely terrify you, leading you to run away and leave him in the dust of your past. However, this was not the case. Instead, you were concerned about his well-being and wished to stay. The sharp envy coursing through Miguel led him to chuck the phone against the concrete surface of the roof, a few of the shattered remains piercing his skin.

What prevents him from tearing out Miles' throat, scooping you into his arms, and taking you far away is the state of the Multiverse. He refuses to make the same mistake he made a year ago; he refuses to put you in any sort of danger ever again.

For now, he'll create a ridge between you and the boy you're destined to fall in love with. Forging messages, fabricating lies, causing another childlike meltdown of millions. Miguel will do everything in his power to ensure you feel nothing but contempt for this boy while protecting you from your impending death in the process.

He just hopes nobody else in the Spider Society finds out you are alive, as well.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

THE BONUS TRACK !

❝ YOU SAID I WAS THE MOST EXOTIC FLOWER,

HOLDING ME TIGHT IN OUR FINAL HOUR . . . ❞

pinterest owns my heart so i couldn't stop myself. here, here, here, here, and here are some examples/inspiration i used for miguel's penthouse.

gif creds :: miguel.

tag list :: @honey-beeuwu, @thel0v3hashira143, @cailey1011, @mickxxstxvxns-blog, @flaming-vulpix, @puthypirate42069, @dolliemoons, @mikalovesnoodles, @explosiongamora, @thegalacticnacho091, @brinleighsstuff, @shinsou-hoetoshi, @uselessbutinteresting, @amortentor, @fried-milkfish, @officiallypoopoo, @lu-lupe, @belladonnashifter, @forgottenbynature, @marooseshawnash, @funtimefoxybae, @ethnicbratz, @painpainflyaway, @shadepelt4673, @vivacioussaint, @palepettycharmer, @rqdior, @clownwiki, @clever-username96, @bisoudoll, @darlingdontwe, @naiomiwinchester, @weskennedysgirl, @chubbuart, @simpfo, @neytirisarrow, @leilani04, @lizzymizzy-blogg,

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xhdream · 1 month

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I really love your works, and the things you write for jiung ...ughh soo incredibly💕✨️

could you write more about him, anything you want, him being teasing in public, just anything :)

tags: soft dom!jiung, friends to lovers (?), edging (f), praise kink, light choking | mdni

song rec: treat you better - shawn mendes

“don’t let him ruin your night.” jiung’s voice finds you through the banging techno music.

you nod, repeating his encouraging words in your mind, trying to let them do their magic so you can really forget about your ex being meters away from you. the club is suffocating from people, yet the face you’ve been trying so hard to forget is all you see.

you feel jiung taking your face in his hands, his thumbs form gentle patterns on your cheeks that slowly bring you back into reality; drifting you away from the unpleasant memories. it seems that his touch definitely works quicker than his words.

“y/n, look at me.” despite almost shouting in order for his command to dominate the vibrant scene of the night club his tone still has a note of pleading that rings out to you. “focus on my voice… my hands.”

your fingers find support in his shirt as you tug on the collar. you don’t know what it is. is it the power of his voice, the heavy energy around you, gravity, or some unknown secret desires that live inside you, but something pulls you closer into him.

you’ve never been this close to your friend before. the feeling of having your lips centimetres apart from his is something new, but for some reason it doesn’t feel wrong. not at all.

there were times when you’ve enjoyed the scent of his cologne, but it hasn’t made your head dizzy like this, - and you’re only slightly tipsy so it’s not from the cocktail you had. you’re certainly far from drunk, but there’s a possibility that a few more minutes in his embrace can get you lightheaded as if you are.

and his gaze… it definitely hasn’t made you feel like you’re being tortured by thousands of butterflies inside your tummy like it does right now.

“your hands…”

“yeah? tell me.” jiung’s lips turn into a soft smile with just a hint of mischief as he moves them lower on your body, savouring every curve.

“keep them on me,” you beg as your own palms shift around his neck. your thumbs brush his chiseled jawline as you stay pressed into each other, swaying out of sync with the music and the rest of the crowd. his voice has created another kind of melody that you rather move to. “please..”

“i’m not letting you go.”

these kinds of words said by a friend would normally wrap around you like a comfort blanket, however, as you look at jiung now, gorgeously painted from the neon lights with hands roaming on your lower waist and heavy breaths sticking to your face like secret kisses… they make your skin hot; they got you thinking of kissing him.

you don’t realise that you’ve been chewing on your lips until jiung lifts up your chin and swipes his thumb over them without minding your lipstick. his digit brushes the upper row of your teeth before you let it sneak inside your mouth and rest on your tongue. such a small taste of him, but invites an immense amount of adrenaline rush inside your chest.

“can i kiss you?” he asks with a raspier voice, watching you unwrap your soft lips.

and you say yes.

you find yourselves in his apartment. you’ve been here before, but this is the first time you’re laying in his bed - only in your bra with legs spread wide. one of his pillows is placed underneath your lower body with a dark spot forming from the way your arousal builds up, dripping from your cunt.

“doing so well for me,” jiung coos softly while observing your squirming figure. at one point he has to hold you down with a palm pressed against your lower tummy so he can keep his attention on your sensitive spot. “so perfect…”

his index finger continues to move in circles just as slow as it did when he started toying with your clit. occasionally he slips inside you to spread around your slick, making your puffy lips glisten nicely, then he resumes to the overwhelming little shapes in infuriating speed.

you whimper as his slow finger suddenly stops. it freezes in one place causing the thrill to fade away from your core leaving only the lingering warmth that you desperately need to feel snapping.

“jiung… w-why…” you arch your spine, feeling the tip of his fingers brushing against your stomach lightly as a feather; from your bellybutton up to your neckline. they crawl to your neck, wrapping around it just as gently, before he leans to kiss you.

you can’t stop yourself from whimpering in his mouth, feeling so stimulated from every single thing he does to you.

“gonna make you cum now, sweetheart.” jiung’s words almost end with a groan as a reaction from the way he feels you gulping against his hand. “it’s just… you look so pretty when you’re all needy like this, i wanted to look at you a little bit longer.” he pulls back, one hand holding your left thigh, as the other one returns to your clit. “wanna cum now, is that it?”

“yeah, really bad…” you shut your eyes sensing the familiar light brushing of his digit. it barely touches the swollen bud, but you’re so turned on, it instantly shoots pleasure into your tummy. “jiung—“ you moan, grabbing the bedsheets.

he glides it so easily and smoothly from how wet you are; drawing perfect circular patterns that have you feeling like you’re about to melt into the surface.

“go ahead, beautiful,” he encourages you, but without changing the pace of his rubs. “cum for me, i want to see you.”

his gaze is fixated on your convulsing figure that’s succumbed to his control, on the way you whimper and tug the sheets desperately, but his finger doesn’t speed up. it keeps the slow motions going till you start to lose control over your voice, breathing; over your own body.

after you open your eyes you realise that even the butterflies tattoed on his skin look different than they did the last time you saw them. nothing feels the same when you fall in love with your closest friend.

a/n: tysm for reading my works! i’m glad you like them <3 i thought of this scenario while listening to the mentioned song, so i hope you enjoy how this turned out too!! ♡

#💌: xhdream inbox #p1harmony hard thoughts #p1harmony smut #p1harmony hard hours #p1h hard thoughts #p1h x reader #p1harmony x reader #jiung hard thoughts #choi jiung smut #jiung smut #jiung x reader #piwon smut #piwon x reader #p1h smut

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archivistofnerddom · 2 months

Text

The Batch + Getting forehead kisses from their partners

Hunter

Hunter carries so much weight that comes with keeping the family safe and together. You giving him this soft gesture is an acknowledgement of and silent thanks for everything he does. It’s a little action between you two.

With his heightened senses, Hunter frequently deals with overstimulation. You gently brushing back some of his hair and cupping his face calms him. His focus is solely on you in this moment. All his senses focus directly on you as you tilt his head back slightly to kiss his forehead. When you press that gentle kiss to his forehead, he glitches a bit and reaches out for you, holding you close to him.

He won’t say it, but he needs to have you so close to keep him from getting so overwhelmed by everything. And you understand. You stay close and lean into him, pressing one another kiss to his forehead as you hear him breathe more steadily.

Crosshair

He doesn’t trust easily, doubly so after what he survived with the Empire. Trusting you is a Big Thing for him. You can tell how much Crosshair needs gentle, soft reassurance that you’re still there, still around to support and love him.

Crosshair is tense when you slide next to him, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders with one arm. He looks at you intently. You shift yourself enough so that you can press a kiss to his forehead. Crosshair’s hand finds yours, squeezing gently, a little act of gratitude from him.

When you draw back a bit, he moves a bit and presses his forehead against yours. This feels safe. This feels like home. You feel warm when he acts like this with you. Crosshair is telling you that you are important to him without having to say anything.

Tech

This man always has something going on in his head, and he usually has four projects going on at once. Tech is a man of activity. He doesn’t slow down easily.

When you join him at his work bench, he’s happy. Tech likes having you nearby. He smiles at you when you lean over and sneak in a kiss to his forehead. You feel his hand sneak around your waist when you do, keeping you from stepping away after you finish that kiss.

Tech isn’t always good with his words, but he does show he cares with his actions. Accepting your kiss to his forehead and holding you close is one way he says he cares about you. Holding you close after you press this little kiss to his forehead is an enjoyable way for him to take a break from his work.

Wrecker

Wrecker is a very physically affectionate person. He loves openly and freely, often wearing his heart on his sleeve. When he has someone he loves deeply, Wrecker will let them know so clearly how much they mean to him.

You laugh when he pulls you down into his lap, one of his hands on your hip and the other around your back. Wrecker inhales sharply when you cup his face with both hands and kiss his forehead. His hand on your hip tightens a bit, a sign of how much you doing this means to him.

For Wrecker, this gentle sign of affection from you is also a sign that he is safe and can enjoy peace after war and being on the run. Wrecker likes being able to slow down and put down roots with his family and with you.

Echo

Look, Echo has been through a lot. He does so much to get his brothers to safety from their horrible treatment from the Empire. It’s a heavy thing that he’s handle, one that is thrown on top of him still recovering from his trauma at the hands of the Techno Union and his new life with three prosthetic limbs and cybernetic limbs.

You know how much that weighs on him, and it tugs at your heart. In the quiet moments between missions, Echo finds comfort being near you, often taking your hand in his good hand. Adjusting your position, you put your free hand on his scomp gently and press a little kiss onto his forehead.

Echo might be surprised by getting a forehead kiss from you, but he loves receiving it. Your acceptance of him as he is now means so much to him. Echo appreciates having quiet moments like these. He draws strength from having you around, especially as he’s dealing with so much for his brothers.

#the bad batch moments #the bad batch getting gentle kisses #forehead kisses #star wars #the bad batch #tbb tech #tbb crosshair #tbb wrecker #tbb hunter #tbb echo #little scribblings #the bad batch and romance with a partner #the bad batch x reader #the bad batch x you #drabble

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spacebarbarianweird · 3 months

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Hi there, I had this fun idea - while the tinkerer class isn't playable in BG3, can we pretend for a while that it is? You know, Tav and Astarion both showing middle finger to all the gods... Tav can even help him with his condition. Some gadget blocking the sun, artficial blood, stuff like that. Honestly, the of them being this steampunk couple of a vampire rogue and Tav with enhanced crossbow or a gun has made my day. So - do you have aby headcanons about that?

OR perhaps Astarion and an Alchemist who likes to trick people too if that makes you happier? 😉

You are the first to request Artificer! People forget this class since it's not in the game, though, it's official. But some DM believe the Artificers bring unnecessary steampunk vibes.

There is also some naughty, to say the least, stuff, let me know if you want more of this.

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion x Artificer!Tav

In the realm of magic, you are that bitch who brings a gun to a knife fight.

You construct machines and mechanisms out of nothing, enchanting them with unique techno-magic,

Armour to withstand necrotic damage? A healing helmet? A prosthetic hand? A full-time "living" creature, a Nimblewright?

There is nothing you can't do with your crafty hands.

Things are complicated in terms of love.

You are more interested in cogs and gears rather than dates and sex.

You've tried once and it was a huge "ugh".

Virginity is wasted for nothing.

So, you've also learned to make sex toys but it's this side job you pray no one will ever know about.

But customers are never unsatisfied though you sometimes get in trouble.

Mostly, the owners of local brothels try to accuse you of lewd misconduct.

You are finally tired of all this shit and decide to move places.

And the mindflayers take you.

You easily escape, making small machines out of debris to help you survive this madness.

You construct armor, and you enhance swords.

Magic sucks, behold the science!

Astarion makes moves to you, successfully seducing you.

And let's say, none of your inventions have ever satisfied you the same way this troubled vampire does.

You think you are in love. And you believe he is, too.

But later he confesses to you that it was a lie.

He used you. And he is sorry.

You are heartbroken, at the very least. You feel used.

You break up with Astarion, leaving him alone in his misery.

But it doesn't mean you want him to suffer - you kill his master, secure his freedom.

When it all ends, he starts burning alive - running to the shadows, like a rat chased by cats.

You feel bad, especially when you hear vicious mockery from your friends.

But you fail, losing his track underground.

That night, you cry.

The thing is, you've never stopped loving him. You were just too stubborn to admit it. Besides, gods, Astarion tried to be honest for the first time in his fucking life.

And you punished him for opening his heart.

What a vile creature you are?

Half a year later, you meet him at the party.

Astarion looks happy - he is an adventurer and a hero, living his life to the fullest.

And he tells you something that makes your heart stop.

"I wonder if we could be together after all, you know. But it seems like you have a new life, and I am happy for you."

You take his hands in yours and ask him to go somewhere private.

Then, you apologize. You say how much you've missed him and that you love him. And you want to be together.

Instead of an answer, he hugs you.

"There is nothing I want more," he whispers.

In the morning, you leave together to find a place that fits both of you.

Living with Astarion is worth of effort, but sometimes it's almost unbearable.

His nightmares, his breakdowns.

You wonder how tf he survived on his own all these lonely months.

You open your artificer shop in Neverwinter, and Astarion becomes a professional monster hunter.

Thanks to you, he doesn't need to hide in the shadows.

You make him a cape that creates a field protecting him from the sun. The eye lenses to make his eyes green.

You also learn alchemy - first, to make potions to ease his nightmares and anxieties.

Later, you make them to satiate his hunger.

Your crafty hands also come in use in healing his sexual trauma.

Astarion craves intimacy, he wants to enjoy sex. He just can't make himself undress and make love to you.

Problem solved - he can fuck you with a toy you've constructed while being fully dressed and in control.

You also use some of your inventions on Astarion, helping him to reconnect with his own sexuality.

One day, he pins you to the bed, making love to you without any extra tools.

It's been such a wild night that your neighbors "politely" asked to install soundproof shields.

You keep learning alchemy, making more and more potions, and one day you finally get your answers.

There is a way to make Astarion mortal without interfering with dark magic or soul-retrieving pacts.

Science, bitches.

Astarion is hesitant. He is eager to drink any potion you make, but being transformed back into a mortal is very extreme.

You ask Astarion to bring him test subjects.

He drags you a deranged vampire, one of the most miserable Cazador's victims - completely insane, almost an animal, that was hunting in the dark caves.

And it works.

The deranged vampire turns into a deranged mortal. But mortal.

Astarion takes the potion, but, maybe, it's because of how long he's been a vampire or because he's an elf, he doesn't turn immediately.

He falls to the floor comatose.

He stays like that for a month, a terrible and long month when you think you've lost him.

One evening, you hear a strange sound.

Breathing.

He breathes in his unconsciousness.

You put your hand on Astarion's chest.

Heartbeat.

You did it. You cured him.

He wakes up with you on his chest, dizzy and exhausted with some memory gaps.

Piercing you with his natural green eyes.

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric @ayselluna @connorsui @asterordinary @darkarchangel96 @locallegume @brainfullofhotsauce @coffeeanddonutscafe

#spacebarbarian headcanon #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 astarion #bg3 #astarion romance #astarion bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion headcanon #astarion headcanons #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion x reader #tav x astarion #astarion x f!tav #artificer tav #artificer dnd #dnd artificer #tav

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houxe · 3 months

Text

Regarding my SBI/DSMP Fics

TW: Abuse, Trauma, and Mentions of Suicide.

With all that has happened, I did want to come out here and make my stance clear. I will always stand with Shelby (Shubble) and all of the victims who are speaking out against Will Gold (Wilbur Soot). If you still support that bastard, unfollow me and leave my blog and whatever small community I made.

I've already stated this is my Discord channel, but I want to put it here too.

For me, c!Wilbur is so far removed from cc!Wilbur that I don't connect the two. The characters are vessels for my own characterizations and stories. It's a bit like writing Supernatural*, Twilight, or Hazbin Hotel fanfics. I don't support the guy, monetarily or otherwise, he does not interact with fanfics, I have plans to be very vocal that I'm on Shelby's side no matter what/make it clear that what Will did is wrong, and I don't use his real life events as plots in my stories. At least, I certainly don't try to. It's why I typically change traits about the characters. (I.e. Tommy is shorter, Phil is taller, Techno is bulky, and Wilbur always has golden/hazel eyes.)

I'm aware that it's a tad different because it's rp and not something like a full on book or an actor in a movie, but DSMP has also been over for over two years and the characterizations I make for SBI are not at all based on the CCs. Real life Techno isn't a literal terrorist, Phil ain't a father married to a goddess, Tommy is not a traumatized child soldier, and Wilbur isn't suicidal and blowing up countries.

I think I'll likely focus more on Techno, Tommy, and Phil for a while, but I'm not gonna let one dude ruin a fandom and things I've made for myself. Nothing I write is ever made for Wilbur, as I've seen people saying. Additionally, Wilbur was not the only writer. Technoblade, Philza, TommyInnit, and so many others made that story what it was. Not him.

However, if any CCs come forward saying they don't want their old characters interacting with his, I will respect that.

Though I do think there is a tendency to take real life events (i.e. Techno's cancer, LJ's music, Tommy's real life parents, etc.) and put them into fiction about DSMP. I, however, don't try to do that and have stated before that I don't feel comfortable doing so. The truth is that we have not gotten any genuine SBI content outside of DSMP for years. The dynamic in real life is very different from what was presented in the DSMP. Did personalities still bleed over? Yes, I'm not going to deny that, but I'm not going to act like they're exactly the same between character and person either. We've had that conversation like in 2021, it's why we have C! and CC!.

The rather sad truth is, SBI is what got me really into writing and it's a comfort for me that nothing can compare to. Obviously, I don't think it's appropriate to be writing certain types of stories right now or to be involving characters made by CCs outside of the DSMP. I think it's up to everyone else to decide on what they want to do, however, rushing it also isn't the way to go either. Give yourself time to heal and think it over first instead of throwing away something that gives you comfort and has not been associated with by the creators for over two years.

Anyways, fuck Will Gold. Fuck the fact that he hurt so many people, and fuck that he lied and manipulated his way around the damn internet. ESPECIALLY fuck the fact that he tried to diminish what he did and not take proper accountability.

Go and support Shelby so so much, she and everyone who spoke out really deserve it. I'm glad silence on these types of issues is not being normalized.

Here is a list of (American) resources for DV help:

TNLR

RAINN

WOAR

Love is respect

The Trevor project

Futures without violence

National domestic violence hotline

Resource on what DV and abuse looks like

*Changed it from Harry Potter to Supernatural because Harry Potter is a significantly worse and more problematic franchise, even just within the content of the books. It'd be better left in the dust. I've talked about it before, but it was the first thing that came to my mind at the time and was a poor comparison on my part, I'm truly sorry for that.

#tw abuse #tw suic mention #dream smp #ao3 #fanfic #shelby support #tw trauma

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drmslastmorning · 4 months

Note

Sixteenth Day Event Prompt:

Dream breaks Technoblade's trust in prison

A lesson on trust.

Characters: Dream, Technoblade

Words: 5.2k (one-shot)

Warnings: panic attacks, canon typical violence. nothing big.

During Technoblades stay in the prison, Dream gets a little desperate to prove that he is not to be trusted.

Being with Technoblade has lifted Dream’s spirits. It's lifted them a bit much for his taste, honestly. Considering everything the other has done has been quite simple: Exist, take up already sparse food, talk far too much bullshit and annoy the hell out of him. He's not a fan of how easily the piglin hybrid can read him.

Technoblade’s involvement itself is calculated: it's within the plan, it's accounted for. He hasn't accounted for the way he'd make him smile, and distract him from the hell that is the prison.

That shouldn't be a problem in and of itself, Dream measures. He can stay focused regardless.

He doesn't know if the company is within the plan. Of course, Technoblade would've been involved eventually: For the exchange of a favor. But he's been here for a few weeks now. At least, that's what Dream presumes from what little sense of time he's gotten left. He couldn't know for sure and the realization that he couldn't tell leaves his tail swaying nervously. It's somehow easier to sit with your thoughts on your own. Correction: it's easier to ignore them on your own. It's easier to dissociate when someone isn't constantly chatting or snoring your ear off.

Dream doesn't sleep. Technoblade does it far too much. He guesses it's how the other planned on passing the time, and it's not really a bad bet. It's not like there is much else to do. It gives Dream something to do: Study everything there is about Technoblade. Not really intentionally, of course. He's not intending to stare, but could you blame him, when he's the only positive interaction he's had in so long?

The piglin hybrid sleeps messily. Loudly . He eats a lot, and he knows just how to get on his nerves. Though, he guesses he was already well aware of the last two. They've shared a few meals and more arguments.

Dream's passed out only very few times in the time Technoblade has been here, to the point the latter is unsure he's seen it at all. He prefers it that way.

"What are you, anyways?" Rings the question and Dream knows the other didn't miss the way he flinches at the sudden sound. "W-what's that supposed to mean." He says it like a dismissive statement, much less like a question. It's clear he understood exactly what Technoblade means, but doesn't intend to respond unless further clarified. He knows he doesn't pry. "Y'know." Pink hair messily falls over his shoulder. He undid the braid a while ago, and redid it at least 20 times since then.

Dream does know. The pen slips out of his fingers and he curses under his breath as it draws a messy line across the paper, him desperately reaching for it not helping.

"I don't," he lies, "you're distracting me."

Technoblade raises an eyebrow, toys with a potato that he's sure is going to start growing mold within the next 24 hours. "Species-wise, of course." While Dream's gotten a very good look of the other, the piglin hybrid has been kept very.. in the dark, to say the least. Dream makes sure to hide his face, and Techno hasn't attempted to catch a glance whenever he was distracted enough. He'd feel like he's intruding, if he did. Surely there's a reason he always wore that mask, after all. It's rude, he's concluded. "You haven't really let me catch a glance."

"What's it matter to you?" He mumbles, retrieving the pen and annoyedly smudging at the ink that's now splotched all over the paper. Smudging it more isn't really helping, weirdly enough.

"It's something to talk about, Dream."

"I don't feel like talking."

"I know. You never do. It's kinda your thing." He snorts.

"That's-- that's not true. You know that's not true. I just- You already made me ruin this whole page."

"Put that thing down for 5 minutes, Dream. I'm pretty sure we've got plenty of time for you to finish that."

It looks like he's right, but somehow, sometimes Dream fears, he might blink, and Technoblade might disappear into thin air.

"Fine." Dream hisses through gritted teeth, closing the book to set it aside. He leaves the pen amidst the pages to keep note of where he was. "Your tail reminds me of Ranboo’s." Techno remarks, and as if on command, it whips against cold obsidian and then curls up to hide behind his back. "What- are you just going to- analyze things about me?"

"Well, you're not telling me."

"That's still, like, weird." Dream argues, shaking his head. Something about it makes him really uncomfortable. Something about it is something he didn't account for and it makes him nervous.

"Man, you've been eyeing me up and down the entire time and I can't even catch a quick glance." He snickers at the immediate physical rise he gets out of Dream.

" WHAT?? " Oh, that blush is obvious. "I've- You're an idiot, I've literally-" Dream stumbles over his words, messy locks not disguising enough of his face to hide his expression.

"You're- You're stupid. You're just- you're just saying things. That's not even true!"

"I don't know bro, for an innocent man you're getting real defensive."

"I'm not-- That's not-- I literally have not been doing that." Defeatedly, Dream taps his foot against the obsidian, knees dragged to his chest.

"Uh-huh." Technoblade nods, beginning to redo his braid for the third time that day.

"Fuck yourself, seriously, Techno. I don't even know where- where you got that from."

"Maybe from the guy who's been eyeing me up and down."

" I HAVE NOT??? " (Dream’s heart beats in his ears and it tastes bitter and it's uncalculated and it makes no sense and he has to remind himself to breathe.) And it beats. And it beats. And it beats.

"So, what are you?"

"You're not going to let me live that down, are you?" Dream responds, annoyed. "I'm curious and bored." Technoblade answers, too honestly. Too honestly for Dream’s taste. Dream hasn't planned for this. Dream doesn't like the way he sees through him. "The answer- the answer is going to disappoint you, then." He gnaws on his lip for a moment. "Because I don't- I don't actually know ."

Techno raises an eyebrow curiously. He snorts. "You seriously don't, huh?"

"Yeah- uh- why the hell- why would I lie about that?"

"Uh, I mean, you've got the same tail as Ranboo." Techno deduces. "And he's an Enderman. I think?" He shakes his head. "But you're also not really letting me see anything else."

"You're being weird." Dream pushes, hiding his face in his knees.

"Not any weirder than you."

"Can I see your face?" Techno asks, and is surprised by his own question.

"What???" Dream returns, almost instinctively letting more hair fall into his face.

"Your face." He presses, shifting with his coat. "I wanna see your face. It's been so long since I last did."

"Why?"

"Curiosity." Technoblade shrugs, feigning disinterest. Maybe he's just curious. Maybe there's more to it. Dream hates the way he can't tell and he hates the way it makes his heart beat and he hates the way he squirms uncomfortably and he hates the way the proposed intimacy makes him feel and he hates it.

Dream catches his heart in his throat and chokes it with both of his hands.

"No." He responds, met by a dejected, "awwwh", from the piglin hybrid. "Just a quick glance."

"No." He repeats, with more tone in his voice.

"Just a quick one."

"I said no." Dream cringes, crossing his arms. "It's not like I've never seen it before." Techno shrugs.

"Be satisfied with that, then."

"What's the big deal?"

"We're not friends, Techno." His tone of voice seems insincere, but he wants it to be true. They aren't friends. This is purely transactional. Technoblade is here to rescue him on account of a favor. Something is going wrong with whatever he's got planned and now he's trapped here for the time being. It doesn't mean anything.

"Ow." Technoblade shuffles, moves as if something stabbed him. It's dramatics, Dream reminds himself. He's being dramatic. "First off, that hurts." It doesn't, Dream reminds himself. It's theatrics. It's to pass the time, it's to make him feel secure, it's to fool him, it's to- he doesn't know. Make him forget the plan?

"Second off, it's rude. I thought we've been having a real bonding moment here." Technoblade doesn't mean that, Dream reminds himself. "Well- boohoo." He fiddles with his fingers, with the book in his hands. "We're not friends." He has to emphasize that. (lest he forgets. lest he forgets that that too, is part of the plan.)

"I thought we were." Techno reiterates. "I mean, you've been watching me sleep. Would be real weird if we weren't friends."

"Oh my God, Technoblade. I have not-" He cuts himself off, rolling his eyes. He gives up. It's obvious he's just trying to get a rise out of him. He doesn't understand the point. It's distracting. It's going off the plan. It defies everything Dream did this for. He feels dizzy.

"C'mon Dream, I know you're still grumpy I keep calling you homeless, but I'd say we're friends."

"I'm not- I'm not homeless." (you're the one who kept not believing me I've got a big house filled with Redstone.) The thought makes him laugh bitterly.

Techno raises an eyebrow at the clear silent conversation Dream just had in his head. Some voices tell him something, but they sound drowned. The lack of food is beginning to mess with him bad, Techno eats a lot normally, so while he's not opposed to the potato diet itself, he's really been trying to cut down. If not only to not take away the little food Dream has.

Techno really doesn't like the way Sam clearly doesn't mind feeding him as much - considering he literally even gave him cooked potatoes when he asked for it. (it's all to starve Dream.)

"I know, I know. We're roommates right now, remember?" He snorts, which leads into an amused grunt, then translates into him holding out a baked potato in Dreams direction. "You want some?"

"... What."

"It's baked. Should be better than uh, y’know, the ones you've been chowing down." He gestures at Dream’s stack, which is honestly beginning to show mold.

"Why- how is it- where did you-" Dream stumbles and he looks so extremely bewildered Techno can't help but sneak a little fond smile. (Dream doesn't recognize it as such. His gasping heart categorizes it as him making fun of him.)

"I asked and Sam gave them to me. Under the condition I don't give you any."

Dream frowns. Deeply. He shakes his head. "Under the condition you don't give me any." He repeats, in a tone that makes Techno sick. Wipes the smile off his face and replaces it with a frown. "Hey man, it's not like Sam's gonna know."

"He'll know ." Dream reiterates, shaking his head. He feels sick. Sick. Sick. Resisting everything in himself to not knock it out of Techno’s hand.

"I mean, I'm not telling him. Are you?"

"If- if he asks , if I-if." He stutters over his words, he despises the frown on Techno’s lips. He's not disobeying Sam for some stupid- some potatoes. He could handle himself. The clear favoritism gets to his head, and he needs to turn away so he doesn't just grab the potato and throw it into the lava. Or better yet, he's throwing himself in it next.

Techno sighs. "Alright, man. Just thought I'd offer." He rolls his shoulders, then wordlessly eats it. He's honestly worried Dream might just starve to death one of these days. He certainly doesn't look good.

Dream’s heart beats in his ears. He wishes he could bang his head against the wall until he made a big enough hole for it to escape. Wishes he could reach through his own mouth and pull it up by its bits and pieces and squeeze it until there is finally no feeling left.

In the end he does none of that. In the end he frowns at Techno and doesn't say anything else. In the end he reaches his hands into his hair and tugs until he feels a few strands coming loose.

"You're- driving me crazy." He hisses. And it's unreasonable. And it's a weird mood swing from the Dream who was just confused then horrified and is now- maybe jealous isn't the right word, but he doesn't find any better ones to describe what he is feeling. Speaking of feeling, he hates the way his heart jumps in his mouth when Techno looks at him with that stupid snort. That stupid big nose ring, and those stupid big ears, and those stupid big tusks that hang upwards out of his mouth and-

Breathe. Breathe. "Man, I'm just being friendly." Techno says and it snaps a cord. "You're not! Friendly. You're A- annoying , you're, you're taking up already sparse food, you're, you're clearly being favorited by- mi- by the wa- by Sam -" He tugs and he tugs and he tugs and maybe this way he can get rid of this stupid long hair. "All this has achieved is- you're just stuck here now, too . Why the hell didn't you realize it was a trap? I didn't want you to get involved! You have- you- aaaaah!" He groans, frustrated, tired, exhausted, hungry, and for the first time in the while he's been stuck here he seriously wishes he had died already.

It's stupid. It's such a stupid thing to want to give up over. (was any of it even worth it? was any of it even worth it? was any of it even worth it? was any of it even worth it.) He thinks he hears Techno say something but it's dampened by the dread that's surrounding him. Maybe he's having a panic attack. Maybe he's having two. Maybe three. four five six seven eight-- he's been doing so well holding himself together but now he's crashing he's falling apart he's grasping at the pieces of a knocked over 3D puzzle and it does little to put it back together.

He's been doing so well smiling and talking with Technoblade whenever Quackity wasn't here he's been doing so well and he's been doing too well and it's exactly why he's tripping all over himself and falling and falling and falling --

It's a harrowing realization. That scaling any mountain is going to involve so much tripping and falling in the future. And it's more harrowing to him that he's decided to do it all alone. It's better that way, he tells himself, but for a moment, Dream would rather be dead than alone.

Maybe, if he gave up, while Technoblade, while Quackity- while it's- while he's not- while- while there's someone there- while he's not alone- while- if he gave up now, at least someone would be by his side while he did-

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. In, and out, and Dream hears a voice, guiding him, and he's breathing.

Breathe. Breathe. He closes his eyes. It's dark, and it's orange from the light of the lava and he's just barely catching himself.

When he opens his eyes again, he can breathe again. He sees pink strands and his first instinct is to--

He reaches out and tugs on Technoblade’s already messy enough braid. "Ow! Is that the thanks I get????? Ow- ow- Dream that hurts-" And he tugs and he tugs and he tugs and it's enough Technoblade has to stop awkwardly hovering his big hands around Dream's and instead grab onto them, halting the other’s out-of-nowhere violence. " Good ." Dream hisses, and it's venomous, it's almost- uncharacteristic. Techno pulls his eyebrows together and frowns. "You good? You had a little- panic attack there. And now you're attacking me! Scandalous."

Momentarily, Dream is taken aback by the piglin hybrid’s antics. Only momentarily, because as soon as he manages to wipe the way his expression cringes at his own actions off his face, he's back to pulling his hands out of Technoblade’s, taking one, two, three, too many steps towards the lava and almost falling backwards into it. He stumbles, and has to catch himself on the side of the wall. The lava is sizzling so closely behind him he's unsure if some of his hair, or his clothes might already be catching fire. He nudges just a little bit away from it, although he really wishes he could just let himself fall backwards.

He could, he reckons. No better time than now. No better time than when he's not alone with Sam and Quackity with the warden and sir with the violence and torture and-

His head spins. Technoblade says something again but hovers awkwardly out of his reach. Good. Good. This is better. That's how it's supposed to be. Transactional. As soon as they're out of here Technoblade will abandon him. That's how this was intended. He'll make himself heavy enough of a burden that even Techno will hesitate to dare put that strain on his back. That hesitation will be enough, he hopes. He is sure it will be enough. He closes his eyes, breathing. He should breathe, Technoblade is right. He opens his eyes again and his eyes search for Technoblade, who's looking at him with such a stupid expression of pity (and concern and worry and so many things Dream isn't sure he's identifying right and so many things that Dream hopes he is wrong about.).

Dream prays he is wrong about these things. Because God strike him down if he is right. God if he has to face that possibility.

He isn't sure how much time passes. He isn't sure how long they're just staring at each other.

"You better now?", Technoblade says after a long silence, attempting to approach him. Very slowly. As if he's afraid Dream might just stumble backwards into the lava if he startles him like a scared deer. Bitterly, Dream laughs. "Yeah", he catches himself, "Sorry."

"Nah, it's okay. You have the strength of a toddler."

" WHAT??? " That gets to Dream’s head worse than Technoblade probably intends it to, when Dream stumbles over himself and almost catches fire on the lava. Techno snorts, lifting a hand to move it in a manner that's supposed to make him calm down but is only irritating him more. "You're- you're fucking insufferable, Technoblade ." Dream draws a breath through barely parted lips and for a moment he wants to cry.

The piglin sighs. "You know, I've been really patient, but you're making me curious. What happened? Since when are you so-- dead set on pushing everyone away? I mean, I heard Punz betrayed you, which must've sucked- but, Dream, I clearly don't mean you any ha-"

"Fuck off, Technoblade."

"Eh?"

"Fuck off." He reiterates, and he is so, so close to ending it all he needs to remind himself that part of the plan is that he stays alive. Part of the plan is that his heart keeps beating. Maybe he can respawn at least though. It's bitter. He threw himself in that lava a lot when there was nothing to do and the pain of burning alive was, funnily enough, the only thing keeping him sane. "We're not friends. We're not roomies. We're not- You weren't supposed to be here. You're so fucking- stupid- walking into that obvious trap."

Technoblade's vision swims, before it refocuses on Dream and he raises an eyebrow. "Dream- You do know I knew that, right?"

"Right. Right. And that's why you haven't gotten out. That's why you're still stuck here with me annoying me and trying to get under my skin all the goddamn time-"

"Well, I mean, some things went wrong. I'll be out here in no time, though."

(I, I, I, I, I)

I, I, I, I, I

It echoes in Dream’s head. He stares. " We ?" He whispers, it's hopeful, it's meek, and it's such a sudden change from the way he was just yelling.

"Uh, yeah. We. You're getting out of here, Dream."

They exchange looks. Stares. He's too busy reading every pore on Technoblade’s face to be distracted by the fact that he's doing the same to him. He stares at Technoblade’s pink eyes as if they have the answer to every question he's ever had. He hears his heart beat again and has such a visceral reaction to it; he bites down on his lip, balling his fists.

"I don't believe that. I don't trust you for a second."

The piglin hybrid sighs, toying with his coat to his braid, undoing it, since Dream messed it up anyways. "Right. I'm really beginning to believe that."

Dream thinks he hears sarcasm in that tone but he's not sure. He's not sure of any emotion he reads on Technoblade and it horrifies him. Quackity is so much easier to read: and Sam isn't too difficult to read too, he'd say. They're pretty similar, he'd concluded a while ago.

Quackity wears his heart on his sleeve. Observing him is like you're reading a picture book. Whereas with Technoblade he isn't quite sure he's got a heart in the first place. He isn't sure what he thinks of that conclusion. He isn't sure it's logical. Maybe it makes no sense to interpret it that way, he can't justify dehumanizing Technoblade to himself, but neither can he the way he got addicted to burning in the lava.

"What exactly am I supposed to do to make you-- ' trust ' me?" The Blade speaks up and Dream continues watching him for another roughly 20 seconds, not breaking eye contact. He's finally noticed that he's also eyeing him over and it makes something akin to horror crawl down his back. It settles on his spine and whispers to him. He can't make out exactly what it's saying but he knows it's gripping at the edges of his heart. It's digging its nails in and the only reason it's yet to bleed is that they are still in. Like a stab wound, it'll bleed so much more once removed. But it's bleeding either way.

Either way leads to death.

"Want me to prove I trust you? Do a little trust-fall?"

Dream’s face cringes at the way Technoblade snorts. "I- what - no way- I don't trust you and even if you trusted me, there's no way I can- catch you- in my current state."

"I'm going to be honest, Dream, I don't think you would've been very capable of it previously, either."

"You're----- You're really trying to make me hate you." Dream mumbles, kicking the floor, in a similar fashion as to he would before, and Technoblade takes it as a positive sign. He smiles fondly and it irritates Dream to no end.

The piglin hybrid shrugs. "Eh, sure. I'm not sure I can convince you otherwise, anyways."

Something stings but Dream can't identify it. Briefly, he wonders if the other feels something like that, too. Then he crosses that thought out, because he knows that the Blade doesn't own a heart that feels.

His brain rationalizes the dehumanization in a desperate attempt to drown his own feelings. It's not rational and he knows this, but he's horrified that if he looks at Technoblade like he's a person for too long he might forget the plan.

He wants to choke himself out for going down this path alone. But it's the only way to keep them safe. (dehumanizing Technoblade isn't keeping him safe. it's the very thing that's ended him up in this position. the very reason he can't just sit in his cabin and rest. The very reason he's right here and associated with Dream is because they're the same, the same, the same .)

Dream can't read Technoblade. But maybe he just doesn't want to. Maybe the other is written in a foreign language that Dream couldn't possibly have knowledge of in his young and naive years.

The admin sighs tiredly.

"You can't. I don't trust you and it's not like you truly trust me either." Dream huffs a laugh. "You trust me to keep you alive. For my own gain." He gestures at the lava, then at Technoblade. "Since I'm not going anywhere without you. But maybe you will just leave without me."

Techno frowns. Even to Dream it's obvious this conversation is getting tiring. Maybe he's beginning to regret getting under his skin, maybe he's regretting constantly running his mouth, maybe he's considering just going to sleep for the rest of his stay here. Dream doesn't know because maybe after all this time, he's finally forgotten how to read. He isn't even sure he can read himself anymore.

"I mean, yeah, maybe I will. You're not really making it enticing to take you along." Techno exhales heavily, running a hand through his hair. "I'd say you should know I wouldn't actually do any of that, but maybe I misread you."

None of that sounds like anything Technoblade would say. Good, Dream thinks, he's listening. He's not completely dense. He's not completely naive. Of course, the plan is still for the other to take him along. "W-well, you've got a favor to pay back. Technoblade pays back favors."

"Uh-huh."

"And that's all this is."

"Right."

Dream can't decode the bitter way Techno nods. He doesn't understand the way his throat slowly closes up and he feels like he's choking. He concludes it's been plugged by his heart again and he hates the very way the Blade puts even his organs in a disarray. It's irregular. Makes no sense.

"R-right." He repeats Technoblade’s word, glancing away.

"Hey, you let me see your face."

"No I didn't."

"You did."

"I didn't fucking allow you to." Dream crosses his arms, frowns. Techno shrugs, looking at Dream again. The other doesn't look away. "Yeah, but you're still letting me look."

It's not fair. It's not. It's not fair. He can't even rebuke that one. He's tired.

"You've got a lot of freckles." Techno muses, with such a stupid, stupid fond smile. (this isn't part of the plan. Isn't part of the plan.) "Your cheeks are- fuzzy." He snorts and Dream wants to deck him in the face. ( shut up. Shut up. Shut up .) "And your eyes rat you out."

Don't get him involved. Don't get him involved. Stick to the plan. Don't do that to him. Stick to the plan.

It's not worth it. If he changes the plan now- he can't. The plan has to be the way it is. Punz is bad enough. This is bad enough. Dream suddenly feels so powerless that it's crushing.

"And what stupid things do you think they're saying?"

"I don't know." Techno shrugs now, taking a step towards Dream. Cautiously, as if he fears he might startle him and send him into the lava. "Maybe they're desperate." He guesses, stops just out of Dream’s reach. Dream bites his lip bloody.

"Yeah. Desperate to get you to shut up. Get things under control and get us out of here." He grumbles, fists balling. (for a moment, he imagines himself reaching his hand into the lava, cupping it, and then throwing it at Technoblade. He wonders if his hand would last enough for that, or if the lava would burn through quicker. He wonders if that could kill him.)

He wonders how much of it would hit Techno, or if he'd dodge. If he'd call him insane, or if he'd be worried. If he'd be worried for his own safety, or Dream's, or both.

"I'm at it! I'm at it. Someone's really impatient." Techno lifts his hands defensively. "You're the one who designed this thing so- inescapable." Dream licks the blood off his lips, tail flicking behind him. "It'd kind of defeat the purpose if it wasn't."

The piglin hybrid only nods. Dream only returns a nod. They're silent, observing each other as if they are reading a book.

Dream decides he needs to rip his pages out of Techno’s book. He takes a deep breath, looks directly at the other’s face.

"Come over here." He croaks out, embarrassed, clears his throat after. "Come here." He repeats, clearer now.

For a moment, Dream hoped he'd see hesitation in Technos gaze. He sees something, Techno does need a second to listen, but he doesn't see hesitation. He doesn't know what he's seeing. (Worry? Care? Concern?) Concern, for his own or Dream’s or both of their safety.

Technoblade listens and everything in Dream’s body was hoping he wouldn't. He'd hoped he wouldn't. But now he's standing in front of him, left of him lava bubbles. It's hot and unbearable to him, but Dream knows it's like second nature to the piglin hybrid.

"Do you trust me?" Dream asks, it's flat. The croak in his voice disappeared, it's just cold now. He can't read the expression on Technoblade’s face. He doesn't like the way he frowns. He doesn't like the way he has to break his neck to look him in the face when they are so close together.

"What's this?"

"No, shut up, answer the question." Dream shakes his head when Techno tries to gain knowledge on his intent. That won't work. That won't work. He made a plan and he's sticking by it.

Techno sighs. Rolls his shoulders. Then nods. Smiles. "Yeah, well, I do."

(I do, I do, I do, I do, I do, I do. It repeats in Dream’s ears until it turns to venom until it takes over every part of his brain until he can't hear anything else until it tastes bitter and bile and he wishes he could throw up.)

Everything in Dream hoped he'd say no. Everything in Dream hoped he'd say no.

He doesn't breathe for a good minute. Then he holds out his hand. His hand, small, burned, injured. There's little cuts and scars everywhere. He still has all of his fingers, but he is afraid he won't soon enough. "Okay. If you take my hand and close your eyes, do you trust me to not hurt you?" He continues, and his heart deflates when Technoblade listens. He hoped he wouldn't.

He hoped he'd make a snarky comment and refuse. But he doesn't even give him a snarky comment. The piglin hybrid's hand almost completely engulfs his own and Dream feels so small and helpless and weak, all of a sudden. It's like Technoblade is unknowingly pulling the carpet out from under his feet. It's like the obsidian beneath him disappeared. (The hand-holding is weirdly comforting and suddenly Dream wants to abandon everything he thought of, everything he planned. if he could just fall forward and-)

He grips Technoblade’s hand. Harsh. He's not sure where he draws the strength from, considering he hasn't even eaten one potato today. And he isn't even sure he ate one yesterday. He squeezes it, and for a moment, it may come across comforting, or comfortable, or-

Then he violently tugs on the other’s hand. Then he draws both of them towards the lava. Then, suddenly, both of their hands are touching lava. (Dream's barely is. Technoblade’s hand engulfs his almost completely, but he's probably more fire resistant than he is. He braces himself, grits his teeth, burn, burn, burn, burn, everything in himself is screaming to take it all back, to reverse time, to-)

"Let this be a lesson not to, in the future."

#ask #sixteenth-day-event #crivals #rivalsduo #cdnb #cdreamnoblade #dreamnoblade #cdream #ctechno

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fairlyang · 4 months

Text

El perdedor 🕷️

finding your ex at the club

w/c: 2.7K

pairing: ex!miguel x latina!reader

tags: rebound, dancing, a lil gay if you squint, shaking ass, jealousy, delulu ex, slowly folding

notes: i posted this shit back in june and when I was reposting everything I really didn’t wanna repost this one but I think there’s more latinas here entonces para ustedes mis amores <3 (only thing I changed from this was the pov bc it was so bad LMAO but it was my 4th fic of mig)

You roll your eyes at your new fling's friend after making a nasty joke of a girl who just walked past you. He takes notice and tells you to stop being so uptight. "Then stop being such a dick." You say and he snorts.

You roll your eyes and look away from him. Having to deal with this bullshit just for some mediocre dick with alright dirty talk? Probably one of my worst decisions to date.

Next to breaking up with Miguel.... But your ego will never let you admit that you miss him and his won't either, clearly since it's been two months. But you couldn't wait around to find out so you’ve been fooling around a bit. Nothing serious since you’re not in the right headspace for that and Daniel knows that. Just here for the drinks, alright sex, and decent conversations.

You’re in line to get into a club but as it's almost midnight it's the hot hour of everyone wanting to get wasted. "Why can't we go to another club? This line is so fucking long-" a girl from fling's friend group asks.

"This is the only one with incredible strippe-"

You groan and shake your head. "Don't you have a girlfriend?"

"It's none of your business actua-"

"You two didn't break up though, Y/n kinda has a point....." Daniel speaks up and he pretends to cry.

"Whah whah- so what? She thinks she can still be friends with her ex while being with me? Then I'll just have my own fun." He says with a smirk and you have the most disgusted look on your face ever.

The other girl does as well and just shakes her head. The lines finally starts moving and at a fast pace actually until it stops with the people in front of you showing the bouncers their ids. You get your out from your bra making the annoying asshole smirk. "Fuck off."

He holds up his hands in defense and Daniel moves to stand next to you. "Soon as we're in there he's gonna be out of our hands alright?" He whispers and you just nod.

The people in front of you finally show them and you step forward. You give it to the bouncer to the left and he looks at it and feels it for a few seconds before handing it back and nods. You move forward, putting it in your phone case, and wait for Daniel to get his checked and you step into the first set of doors. You both wait for the other two and you can instantly smell all the sweat and alcohol. Amazing.

They both finally join you and walk ahead of you, not caring you guys waited. You give Daniel a look and he shrugs. Asshole goes straight to where there are indeed strippers and home girl was nowhere to be seen. That was fast.

"So drinks?" Daniel asks and you nod following him to the main bar.

You walk through people just standing around by booths and table and other who are just making out. You make it to the bar and Daniel says something you can't hear because of the loud techno with pop music. The bartender takes out two shot glasses and fills them to the very top. Daniel picks them both up and gives you yours.

You raise it up and bring it to your mouth and swallow it fast. You gag a little and he laughs. "You fine with just one?"

"For now yeah I think." You say and put the glass back on the counter nodding to the bartender.

You turn back around and watch as Daniel is looking over at a booth almost near the entrance. How can he even see that far.....

You squint but know you have fucked up eye sight so you just stop. "Oh shit- wait here I think I just recognized someone-" he says and starts walking away.

You blink and call out after him, "you're leaving me like that??"

"I'll make it up to you." He turns to look at you then walks away making you roll your eyes. The audacity.

You let out a sigh and shake your head. Dickhead. You turn back to the bar and take a seat. "Another shot please and can you put it on my friend's tab?" You ask with a slight smirk.

He laughs and nods taking out a clean shot glass and once again filling it to the brim. You smile and grab it, then swallow it faster than the first. You don't gag too bad this time and put the glass down. Then your head snaps to the speakers within hearing one singular second of Gasolina by daddy yankee.

You make your way to the dance floor and move in towards the middle where there's a group of girls just dancing with each other. You smile and just dance next to them when one of them grabs your hand and dances with you. You laugh and move your hips to the beat while singing the lyrics with the other girls. All the girls are dancing with each other and taking turns with each other.

You ended up swapping places with another girl and she had the brightest smile while shaking her ass a bit on you. Which was fine because who doesn't like dancing and shaking ass with the girlies to this song?

Zúmbale mambo pa' que mi gata prenda lo' motore'

Que se preparen que lo que viene es pa' que le den (duro)

The first girl you were with found you again and stands in front of you and grinds against you to the beat. You held her hips and she grabs your other hand to hold it. So cute.

You switch off with her, dancing on her then shaking a bit of ass on her, and she hypes you up, screaming and smacking it playfully. You turn around and start laughing which makes her do so as well. "Girl give me your number immediately!!" She screams and you nod as she passes me her phone.

"I love making new girlfriends cuando sale gasolina. Todas las hermosas salen y se tan divertido!" She screams and you nod. (I love making new girlfriends when gasolina plays. All the gorgeous girls come out and it's so much fun!)

"Rally up all the baddies with just one song." You scream back and she laughs.

"I'm Y/n by the way!"

"I'm Rosa! I gotta go but we should do this again!! You're an incredible dancing partner!" She exclaims and you grin.

"Anytime!!" You say and wave goodbye as she leaves.

You dance to the beat of the chorus of Perra by tokischa with the leftover girlies as you all scream the lyrics and one girl even got on all floors and crawled her way to her friend. You all screamed and you just burst out laughing until your stomach starts hurting and you have to stop to breathe.

Then you hear El Perdedor by Maluma start playing and you get excited because you love singing it.

Baby (¿Pa' qué me estás llamando?)

"Pa que me estás llamando???" You scream with the two other girls that were left from the little circle.

Dime si es verdad que él te trae loca

(Y ¿ahora es que te importa?) ¿Ah si?

You sing the lyrics but notice the girls already left so there's no more circle or a triangle and now you’re just surrounded by couples. Unfortunate.

Aún no lo creo, que en tan poco tiempo y ya besas otra boca

(De mala) ¿Qué?

You listen to the lyrics and widen your eyes. Seems a little too close to home....

Dime cuál fue mi error

Si mi único delito solo fue amarte

Hoy soy el perdedor (Bebé, no)

Él me ha robado el truco para enamorarte

You feel a pit in your stomach suddenly unsure of what it is until you feel a person's presence standing behind you. Their hands grabs your hips bringing you closer to them and you widen your eyes.

Y dime que me amas, aunque sea mentira

No puedo negarte, los celos me están matando

They move your hair from the left side of your face and sing the lyrics to you. oh shit-

Y dile en su cara que aún por mí suspiras

Me parte el alma no volver a verte

"Al fin me toca verte...." He whispers directly in your ear leaving shivers down your spine and arms. (Finally I get to see you)

Y dime que me amas, aunque sea mentira

Sabes que no hay nadie como yo

Y dile en su cara que aún por mí suspiras

No te engañes, no me olvidarás

"I know for you it isn't a lie... and have you told your new man you haven't forgotten about me?" He whispers as those lines play, leaving the lightest kisses below your ear. You pull away slightly pushing him off and turn to look at him.

Está claro que tú mereces alguien mejor

"And you're gonna tell me I deserve better than you?" You ask with a scoff staring right at Miguel O'hara's eyes making him smirk.

No sé en qué fallé, pero no hay otro como yo

Oye ma', dame otra oportunidad

Bien sabes no soy así, solo tú me haces rogar

Mirándome al espejo y peleando con mi ego

Si entre más me alejo, más te pienso

"There's no better than me sweetheart. But you really are the only one I'll ever beg for..." he says his hands slipping to your waist and bringing you as close to him as as possible.

"And I have been fighting my ego trying not to contact you...." he says and you can't believe he's just repeating the lyrics for you and them making complete sense to your situation.

Dime cuál fue mi error

Si mi único delito solo fue amarte

Hoy soy el perdedor

Él me ha robado el truco para enamorarte

He whispers the lyrics softly to you then gets kind of annoyed at the last line making you snort.

Y dime que me amas, aunque sea mentira

No puedo negarte, los celos me están matando

Y dile en su cara que aún por mí suspiras

Me parte el alma no volver a verte

"You have no fucking idea how badly the jealousy has been eating me alive..." he growls and you bite your lip.

"So did you tell him about me?" He asks with a smirk on his face.

Y dime que me amas, aunque sea mentira

Sabes que no hay nadie como yo

Y dile en su cara que aún por mí suspiras

No te engañes, no me olvidarás

"Don't be st-stupid-" you say, not even able to keep a straight face or manage to keep the eye contact.

He scoffs and lifts your chin with two fingers to look up at him. Jesus.

Y si te da la gana de volver a verme

Estaré disponible para contestarte

Y yo sé que, por tu parte, no sientes rencores

Quizás mañana vuelvas pa' que te enamore (More')

"I'm actually not sure if you regret it.. but I know deep down you do." He says and you bite your tongue.

"Y envés de mañana," he whispers and moves his face to leave wet kisses on your neck, "tal ves quieres que te enamores de mi otra ves, ahorita mismo." (And instead of tomorrow, maybe you want to fall in love with me again, right now.)

Cuando tomábamos, lo hacíamos

Fumábamos, y reíamos

Éramos dos locos sin saber pa' dónde íbamos

Pero son cosas del destino

Al pasar el tiempo, tú cogiste tu camino

"E-estas loco- no ha- no hables tonterías." You say as your breathing is suddenly all over the place. (Y-you're crazy- don't ta- don't talk nonsense)

He comes up and nibbles on your ear, his hands dangerously near your ass while yours are on his chest.

Está claro que tú mereces alguien mejor

No sé en qué fallé, pero no hay otro como yo

Dime cuál fue mi error

Si mi único delito solo fue amarte

"Pues porque te pones tan nerviosa?" He whispers and you sigh. (Then why are you getting so nervous)

You feel like you can't even move but you’re not going to admit shit- you can't break that fucking easily.

Hoy soy el perdedor

Él me ha robado el truco para enamorarte

"Porque creo... que yo voy a ser el ganador. Ahora dime en donde está tu otro galán?" He pulls away and looks deep into your eyes. Fuck. (Because I think... that I'm going to be the winner. Now tell me where's your other hunk?)

"Just abandoned my ass- wait- MIGUEL- did you do something to him?!?" You mutter.

Y dime que me amas, aunque sea mentira

No puedo negarte, los celos me están matando

Y dile en su cara que aún por mí suspiras

Me parte el alma no volver a verte

"I'll answer your question if you tell me you love me." He says with a smirk making you groan.

"Miguel I'm not doing this shit with you right now-" you say trying to wiggle out of his grasp fast which you successfully do now trying your best to leave the dance floor.

But he catches up to you, grabs your arm and brings you close to him. Your back against his chest, your ass on his crotch. You bite your lip and shake your head. "Por que apenas vienes a encontrarme?" You look up at him and ask. (Why are you barely coming to find me?)

Y dime que me amas, aunque sea mentira

Sabes que no hay nadie como yo

Y dile en su cara que aún por mí suspiras

Que por mí suspiras, que no, que no, que no

Yo', baby

(Solo fue amarte) Y te hablo claro

He shifts uncomfortably for a second and looks around. "I haven't even been in our universe since the break up love...."

You turn to face him and widen your eyes. "Did something happen?" I ask with a worried expression.

¿Sabes qué?

Él no te hace el amor

No te trata bien

Y que yo fui el primero en tu vida

"I'm not telling you any more. I-I just didn't want to put your life at risk- and well I still don't." He says but it doesn't stop your heart beat from calming down.

"Y-you- can we leave?" You ask and he quickly nods. You hold onto his arm while you try to move past the crowds of people and to the exit.

You walk past the booths by the entrance and Danny was actually there- taking shots off some girl's tits. You roll your eyes and make a mental note to block his ass on everything. "So you really didn't do shit to him...." you mutter and he scoffs.

"You actually thought I did?" He responds sarcastically.

"You're insufferable." You say shaking your head trying to hide your smile.

You walk out the doors and you sigh. He takes the lead in walking you a couple blocks before he pulls up to an alleyway and you furrow your brows. He then makes sure no one is near and pushed a button on his watch so his suit can appear onto his skin. "Really? Instead of an Uber?" You tease and he rolls his eyes.

"Es más fácil." He says and motioning for you to step forward. (It’s easier)

"Claro! Lo que digas codo." You say laughing and holding onto him. (Of course! Whatever you say cheap-stake)

"Jump."

You do so and he suddenly has your legs wrapped around his waist by the side. "You know the drill cariño."

You nod and wrap your arms tightly around his neck. He swings you out and we're high up in the city. All the lights made the city look even prettier especially from up here. Though you never got use to it, the first few times you threw up after. You laugh at the memory and lean your head against his shoulder. You hear him sigh and you do so as well. You’ve missed him.

—————————

translations (lazy to drag em up)

Baby! (Why are you calling me?)

Tell me if it's true that he makes you crazy

(And what's important to you?)

I still can't believe that after such little time you're already kissing someone else

What the hell?

Tell me where I messed up

If my only error was loving you

Today I'm the loser

They've stolen my trick to make you fall in love

And tell me that you love me even if it's a lie

I can't deny you, this jealousy is killing me

And tell it to his face that you still breathe for me

My heart is splitting in two and I won't ever see you again

and tell me that you love me even if it's a lie

You can already see there is no one like me

and tell it to his face that you still breathe for me

Don't trick yourself, you know you won't ever forget me

It's clear that you deserve someone better

I don't know where I messed up but there is no one like me

Listen babe, give me another opportunity you know I'm not like this...you're the only one who can make me beg like this

Looking at myself in the mirror and fighting with my ego the further I get from you the more I think of you

Tell me where I messed up

If my only error was loving you

Today I'm the loser

They've stolen my trick to make you fall in love

And tell me that you love me even if it's a lie

I can't deny you, this jealousy is killing me

And tell it to his face that you still breathe for me

My heart is splitting in two and I won't ever see you again

And tell me that you love me even if it's a lie

You can already see that there isn't anyone like me

and tell it to his face, that you still breathe for me

Don't trick yourself, you won't ever forget me

and if that makes you want to come back to me

I'll be waiting to answer you

I know that for your part you don't feel any resentment

Maybe tomorrow you'll be back to fall in love

When we used to drink we smashed, we filmed it, and we watched it

We were two crazy people not knowing where we were going

But that is talking about destiny

As time went on you chose your path

It's clear that you deserve someone better

I don't know where I messed up

But there isn't anyone like me

Tell me what my mistake was

If my only error was to love you

Today I'm the loser

They've stolen the trick to make you fall in love

And tell me that you love me even if it is a lie

I can't deny you, the jealous is killing me

and tell it to his face, that you're still breathing for me

My heart is splitting in to, I won't ever see you again

and tell me that you love me even if it's a lie

You can already see that there is no one like me

and tell it to his face that you're still breathing for me

Because of my breaths, you're not, you're not

And you know what?

He doesn't make love to you, he doesn't treat you right, and I was the first man in your life

#miguel ohara #across the spiderverse #miguel o hara #miguel ohara imagine #miguel ohara x reader #atsv miguel #miguel ohara oneshot #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara x y/n #spiderman 2099

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in1-nutshell · 4 months

Note

We’ve got the IDW characters and the Prime characters w/ a spiderman-buddy, how’d some of the Animated cast react to having another arachnid-like character around 🔥 🔥 🔥 🔥 🔥

Spider Bud, Spider Bud, does whatever a Buddy can--

The continuation of Spidey Buddy returns!

Hope you enjoy!

Human Buddy Spidey with Team Prime

SFW, Platonic, Human reader

TFA

Optimus Prime

Optimus is a bit surprised when Buddy reveals that they are Detroit’s senior superhero. Not that they were old or anything, but Buddy was doing this superhero business way before the bots came to earth.

Buddy kind of reminds him of a mini version of Blackarachnia who’s way friendlier. Which sometimes leads him to having some… unpleasant flashbacks…

After a bit of talking with Buddy about why he reacts so poorly to their spider attributes, Buddy tries to let Prime know when they are going to be using their powers.

Specifically, the webs and crawling on different surfaces.

Prime really hates it when Buddy crawls around without warning., the webs are a bit more tolerable though.

Buddy crawling on the wall next to Optimus’s helm.

“Hey Prime!”--Buddy

“Hey Bud— PRIMUS! Buddy we’ve talked about this!”--Optimus

“Sorry!”--Buddy

Buddy has taken it upon themselves to teach him how to use his grappling hooks to swing around the city.

Though, days when they have practice are eventful.

But thanks to the practice, he is know more fluid in using the grappling hooks. In return, Optimus always reminds Buddy to check their web cartridges and he always brings extras and a spare web shooter for Buddy in his subspace.

“C’mon Prime! You got this!”--Buddy

“I don’t think this isn’t the best way to do this Buddy!”--Optimus

“This is nothing Boss-Bot! You’ll be fine!”--Buddy

“Was this anything like how you did it when you first tried swinging?”--Optimus

Flashback to multiple failed attempts at singing and falling on a lot of hard surfaces.

“Trust me when I say we are doing the stuff that I know is safe and will work.”--Buddy

“Wait who taught—”--Optimus

“Less talking, more swinging!”--Buddy

Buddy pushes Prime off the building.

He appreciates Buddy’s super strength when they are around the others.

Buddy demonstrated this by casually moving a sleeping Bulkhead from his spot. In Buddy’s defense Bulkhead was sleeping on top of their comic.

Prime swears that Buddy is doing these things to get a reaction.

He likes Buddy’s Spidey sense.

This has come in handy multiple times in the past.

Optimus doesn’t mind Buddy joining them on patrol, but Buddy needs to comm in every hour and never engage with a Con if one did show up.

He is dropping everything if he hears Buddy calling for backup. He is always the second bot to get to Buddy.

Ratchet

He has questions, so many questions.

Like Prime, Ratchet is a bit surprised that Buddy is the Spider themed vigilante. He would have caught onto it quicker if he wasn’t too busy keeping the team from falling apart.

When Buddy showed him their webbing skills, they webbed themselves onto the monitor above his helm.

“This enough proof?”--Buddy

“How—how—is that stuff coming out of you?!”--Ratchet

“Umm… yeah?”--Buddy

“Where does it come from?”--Ratchet

“My wrists?”--Buddy

“But, how though?”--Ratchet

“… I never thought about it before.”--Buddy

“How do you not know?!”--Ratchet

“I just don’t know?!”--Buddy

He wants to check Buddy in the medbay as soon as possible.

Ratchet isn’t familiar with organic anatomy. He started learning a bit for Sari, which nearly turned useless when they found out Sari was Techno Organic.

Buddy’s body is a mutant one from the average human.

Primus just give him a regular patients.

He likes how durable and strong Buddy’s webs are.

He was there to witness Buddy lift Bulkhead.

Buddy was sent to the med bay immediately as Ratchet scolded them for lifting up Bulkhead like that.

“I’m fine Ratchet!”--Buddy

“Since when did you have that kind of strength?! And were you even bending your knees?”--Ratchet

“I was and I’ve carried heavier—er—I’ll be more careful next time.”--Buddy

“What?”--Ratchet

“I’m just gonna go over there.”--Buddy

“In what situation did you have to pick up something heavier than Bulkhead?!”--Ratchet

Ratchet manages to get Buddy to do regular check ups to make sure that everything is working well. While he does the check ups he takes note on what’s normal for Buddy’s body and what’s not.

He is rather fond of Buddy’s Spidey sense.

At first, he was extremely skeptical of this extra sense, until it saved him. After the first few dozen saves, then does he start to acknowledge that the Spidey sense is real.

He definitely scolds Buddy for doing unnecessary tricks in the air when they are out on patrol.

The sirens are turn on to the max when he hears that Buddy needs back up. He is one of the first bots on the scene with Buddy if they ever called in for back up.

Bumblebee

He is ecstatic to find out that Buddy is the Spidey Hero of Detroit.

But he wants proof too.

Buddy webbed themselves to the ceiling and slowly descended upside down.

“Is this enough proof for you, or do I need to web you to Bulkhead’s backside?”--Buddy

“Hey!”--Bulkhead

“Nope this is plenty!”--Bumblebee

“I thought so. And don’t worry Bulkhead I would do such torture. I’d web him to the ceiling before I’d do that.”--Buddy

“Hey!”--Bumblebee

Bumblebee wasn’t around to see Buddy lift Bulkhead. He heard it from Prime when he off handedly said it in a conversation.

He was demanding to see how strong Buddy was with his own optics. The yellow bot was slightly jealous of Prime and Ratchet to have seen such a feat, now its his turn to see it!

That landed with him being carried by Buddy through the city. It would have been fun… if he wasn’t terrified out of his mind.

“This is fun isn’t it, Bee?!”--Buddy

“You know what would be even more fun?ME ON THE GROUND AND NOT BEING SWUNG FROM ROOFTOP TO ROOFTOP WITH ONLY A SINGLE WEB STRAND FROM KEEPING ME FROM BECOMING A PANCAKE!”--Bumblebee

“If you’re scared all you need to do—”--Buddy

“I’m not scared!”--Bumblebee

“So, then you wouldn’t mind me if we swung upside down?”--Buddy

“OH, PRIMUS NO! I mean, I think I’ve had enough for today. But its not because I’m scared!”--Bumblebee

“Sure.”--Buddy

Bumblebee didn’t have a problem with heights when it came down to the swinging; it was the aerial stunts that put him through the loop. He didn’t like those too much.

He likes Buddy’s web and how they swing around in them.

Bumblebee has definitely asked Buddy to race him from one point in the city to the next to see who has the fastest mode of transportation. Those races end up in ties.

When Buddy is on patrol with the team, Bee is usually with Buddy on their route with Bulkhead.

Bumblebee is usually the first to be on scene if Buddy ever called in for back up. He isn’t the fastest on the team for nothing.

Bulkhead

Bulkhead is the most surprised by the news of Buddy being the Spidey hero, but he gets excited quickly.

The Spidey hero had become a role model of his (along with Bumblebee, but he swore secrecy not to tell anyone this) and now knowing that this hero was his friend just made things better.

Bulkhead loves Buddy’s powers.

He has see multiple clips from the TV showcasing Buddy’s webbing abilities. He doesn’t need any extra proof of this existing. Buddy’s his friend, why would they lie to him?

“How did Buddy show their webs to you?”--Bumblebee

“Oh, they haven’t yet.”--Bulkhead

“Don’t you want to see them for real? Don’t you want to see the proof?”--Bumblebee

“Why would Buddy have to prove anything to me? I’ve already seen them on TV before. If Buddy wants to show me them, it’ll be when they want to.”--Bulkhead

Bulkhead wholeheartedly believes that Buddy lifted him in his sleep. How does he know this? Simple.

If he fell asleep, the only other bot that would be able to move him would be Optimus. And even then, Optimus would either gently wake him up or if he tried to move him by himself, the Prime would most likely wake him up with his struggling before moving him an inch from his original place.

And he has seen Buddy lift heavier things.

“How are you so calm about all of this? Did you know before all of us?”--Bumblebee

“No?”--Bulkhead

“Then how are you not freaked out or something!? They LIFTED YOU UP WHEN YOU WERE ASLEEP!”--Bumblebee

“And? I’ve seen them pick up heavier stuff.”--Bulkhead

“Excuse me what?”--Bumblebee

“Bulkhead what did they pick up?”--Ratchet

“Umm…”--Bulkhead

“Bulkhead, What. Did. They. Pick. Up?”--Ratchet

Somewhere in the Plant.

“My Spidey senses are tingling… but where’s the danger?”—Buddy

“BUDDY!”—Ratchet

“Oh… there’s the danger…”—Buddy

Rapid web swinging intensifies.

Bulkhead loves Buddy’s Spidey sense.

He trusts that sense with his life.

When they are out on patrol, he follows Bee and Buddy into their sections of the city.

Bulkhead does remind Buddy to take it easy on the tricks and stunts so they wouldn’t get hurt when they need them.

While he isn’t the first one on scene when Buddy calls for back up, he tries his best to make it there on time and his first concern is Buddy before dealing with the big bad.

Prowl

Prowl had suspicions that Buddy might have been the masked hero after Bulkhead introduced them.

He is introduced to Buddy’s webs when they casually webbed and swung themselves up onto Prowl’s tree as they began to tell him about their day.

Buddy swinging to one of the branches of Prowl’s tree.

“You will not believe the traffic this morning!”--Buddy

Prowl sitting on the floor trying to comprehend what just happened before just rolling with it.

He likes the webs with all their dexterity and natural beauty.

Especially if the webs are organic and not from the web cartilages.

Prowl does ask questions about Buddy’s past when the two are alone. He isn’t surprised when Buddy doesn’t give him any details and most of it is explained vaguely. Mostly he is glad that Buddy was able to share some of it with him.

“You were bitten by an organic spider, and it gave you powers?”--Prowl

“Well, I’m pretty sure that thing was radioactive.”--Buddy

“Radioactive?”--Prowl

“Yep. Moving on.”--Buddy

“And because of this bite, your body reacted by giving you these special features, am I correct?”--Prowl

“You’re saying it like this is weird. I assure you Prowl this isn’t weird for me.”--Buddy

“Oh, then—”--Prowl

“You guys don’t even know about the fangs and claws yet. Trust me there are weirder things in the subway than this.”--Buddy

“The what?”--Prowl

“What?”--Buddy

He wasn’t present to see Buddy lift Bulkhead off the ground. Like Bulkhead, Prowl believes that Buddy can do this feat. Though this was more on video evidence than faith in a friend. Also, it would make sense; they’d need it if they were going to swing across Detroit every night and still have their arms in tack the next day.

Prowl finds out Buddy has strength when he accidentally slipped off a high rooftop and started falling.

He was about to use his jetpack when something wrapped around his chassis and stopped his descent to the ground, holding him suspended in the air. Prowl would then notice that the thing wrapped around his chassis were Buddy’s webbings. Buddy was holding him by the webs while also being suspended from another web from the roof top.

Buddy got a scolding from Prowl after that stunt.

“What were you thinking?!”--Prowl

“I was thinking about saving you!”--Buddy

“You shouldn’t have done that.”--Prowl

“And why not? If you’re telling me to sit back and let my friend fall again, that’s something I’m not going to do!”--Buddy

“Again?”--Prowl

“…Listen, I know my limits with my strength and webs. I would never put you or the team in danger if I didn’t know these things wouldn’t help.”--Buddy

“…All right. Just remember, you may be a superhero, but your still human.”--Prowl

“And you remember that you guys can still get hurt. Its okay to as for help when you need it too, okay?”--Buddy

“Deal?”--Prowl

“Deal.”--Buddy

Prowl likes to train with Buddy’s Spidey sense.

Buddy is most likely the only other person on the team that could keep up with him and his Cyber ninja training.

He has yet to land any hit on Buddy.

Buddy definitely holds this on him.

When Buddy joins them on patrol, Prowl is Buddy’s back up partner if Bumblebee or Bulkhead aren’t around to do their rounds together.

Prowl ties with Optimus in getting to Buddy second if they ever called for back up.

#transformers #transformers x reader #maccadam #tfa optimus prime #tfa bumblebee #tfa prowl #tfa ratchet #tfa bulkhead #human buddy #tfa x reader #tfa x platonic reader #spidey buddy

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